A Match Made in Texas

by Margaret Brownley

  He frowned. “Prove it how?”

  “If you’re guilty, then go—walk out of here and don’t look back. If you’re innocent, then stay and fight for justice. Those are your choices.”

  He stared at the open door, and the shadow at his forehead suggested some sort of inner battle. “You fool woman!” he snapped at last. “Don’t you know what this town would do to you if I escaped?”

  His concern for her seemed genuine, and that was a surprise. “Why do you care?” she cried. “You don’t even care about yourself! If you did, you’d work with your lawyer. So go! Get out of here. Spend the rest of your life a wanted man. It’s what you want.”

  The eyes that met hers flashed with sudden anger. “What I want is to find the real killer.”

  “Then work with Bird—”

  “Work with him? He wants me to plead guilty and ask for leniency. Do you know where that would get me?” He sliced his hand across his neck.

  Her heart squeezed in anguish. She felt partly responsible for his plight. A better, more knowledgeable sheriff might have done a better job investigating.

  “I’m innocent.” His eyes, his voice, beseeched her. “Believe it or not. That’s the God’s honest truth.”

  “Then prove it!”

  He frowned. “How?”

  “Tell us what you were doing in Cooper’s room that night. Don’t tell us you’re innocent. Tell us why we should believe you.”

  He stared at the open cell door, and she held her breath. His gaze sought hers and then returned to the gaping door. A shadow winged across his forehead like a raven looking for a place to land.

  Finally, he grabbed hold of a bar and slammed the steel door shut, locking himself inside. The resounding bang was all the proof her heart needed.

  Palm pressed against her chest, her shoulders sagged in relief. “A guilty man would have walked out of here and never looked back,” she whispered.

  “I’ve got news for you,” he said, his voice gruff. “So would an innocent man if he knew what was good for him.”

  * * *

  Rick paced his cell into the wee hours of the morning. He still couldn’t believe it. Amanda had offered him a way out of this nightmare, and like a fool, he had declined.

  He had to be out of his cotton-picking mind. Any sane man in his position would have walked out of that open cell and not looked back.

  Why didn’t he?

  He never intended to go to trial. Find the killer or escape. Those were his two choices. Sitting through another miscarriage of justice was not an option. One such trial was enough. More than enough. That’s why he worked so hard to win the sheriff’s reprieve.

  He rested his forehead against a cold steel bar. Amanda gave him a chance to escape, and he turned it down. Why didn’t he walk out of that cell and forget everything he left behind?

  He knew why. Oh God. He knew why. His walking away would be a confession of guilt. At least that’s how Amanda would see it.

  It had been a long time since anyone believed in him. Believed in his honor and goodness. If he was doomed to hang from the gallows, he wanted to know that one person believed in him. Not just any person: Amanda.

  There was another reason he refused to leave that cell. He knew what the town would do to her if he vanished. She was strong, tough even, but nothing she’d undergone so far could compare to what would have lain ahead had he taken her up on her offer.

  So there it was. The unmitigated truth. He didn’t care a hill of beans what happened to him. But he sure in blazes cared about what happened to her, and that was the shocker.

  Twenty-eight

  A hushed silence fell across the courtroom as Rick took the witness stand.

  He searched the faces of the spectators as he had the waiting crowd. He thought he saw the man who killed Cooper outside, but maybe not. If only he could remember what made a man with no distinguishing features so memorable. Something…

  His gaze returned to Amanda, and his heart fairly leaped. Her face, her eyes told him she was rooting for him all the way. Today, the doubts that had darkened those gorgeous eyes of hers in the past were now gone.

  He tried to recall how long it had been since someone truly trusted and believed in him. Years. The last time he saw his father alive, Rick swore up and down that he didn’t kill Christy. But doubt remained in his father’s eyes, and that look would haunt Rick till the day he died.

  Rick was in many ways his mother’s son and had her restless spirit. While his father was perfectly content with his small farm, Rick wanted more. Much more. He wanted to raise horses and had even considered raising thoroughbreds.

  Such a lofty goal had made his father wary of him. His mother had big dreams too, and look what happened. She deserted the family. That made his father suspicious of all ambitious people, Rick included.

  Even his sister had her doubts about his innocence, though she stuck with him through thick and thin. He’d almost forgotten how it felt to have someone honestly believe in him, no matter how tenuous. It made him feel human again. More than that, it made him want to fight for his life like he’d never fought before.

  He prolonged the moment a tad longer than necessary before pulling his gaze away from Amanda and turning to his lawyer. By George, if Amanda believed him innocent, surely he could make someone else believe him—someone like a juror.

  With a new sense of determination, he answered his lawyer’s questions in a clear, strong voice.

  Yes, he knew Cooper. The man worked for him. No, he didn’t kill him. He went on to describe his surprise at finding Cooper dead. He answered honestly, truthfully, with no hesitation. He stared straight at the six-man jury who would decide his fate. Did they believe him? Hard to tell anything from the granitelike faces turned toward the witness box.

  Birdseye walked him through everything that happened the night of Cooper’s death. Rick described his near lynching, and all eyes turned to Amanda as he explained how she had saved him.

  At last, Birdseye stepped away from the witness stand and turned to the prosecutor. “Your witness.”

  * * *

  Sensing trouble ahead, Amanda sat forward, her back so rigid and straight, it could have been laced with steel. Though the room was stiflingly hot, a cold chill streaked down her spine, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake.

  The prosecutor stood, straightened his bow tie, and buttoned his frock coat before walking to the witness stand. His name was Joseph Hampton, but everyone called him the Hammer, a name that reflected his method of questioning. He looked too self-assured for Amanda’s peace of mind, like a dog about to tackle a bone.

  “Mr. Rennick is it? Or is it Mr. Barrett?”

  Rick looked momentarily taken by surprise but quickly recovered. “My name is Rick Barrett, but I go by Rennick.”

  “Would that be the same Rick Barrett who owned the J. Barrett horse ranch in the Panhandle?”

  Rick stared at him, his face drained of color.

  “Shall I repeat the question?”

  “That won’t be necessary. Yes, I once owned a horse ranch.”

  “And are you the same Rick Barrett who was once married to Christy Ann Rennick.”

  “Yes.”

  Judge Lynch leaned toward the witness stand with the hearing horn at his ear. “What did you say?”

  “I said yes!”

  The Hammer faced the jurors and asked, “Could you please tell the court what happened to Mrs. Barrett?”

  “She was shot dead.”

  Gaze riveted to the stand, Amanda didn’t realize she held her breath until her lungs began burning.

  “I mean prior to her death.” When Rick failed to respond, the prosecutor continued. “Isn’t it true that Mr. Cooper had his way with your wife?”

  A collective gasp rose from the spectators, and Amanda pressed her fingers t
o her mouth.

  Rick moved uncomfortably in his seat. “Yes, that’s true.”

  “And isn’t it also true that you were tried and convicted of her death?”

  “Yes.”

  A buzz of shocked voices rose from the spectators. Judge Lynch let his gavel drop. “Order!”

  The prosecutor fired questions in rapid succession, but Rick didn’t waver or look away. Instead, he quietly answered—repeating his answers on occasion for the judge’s benefit. Loud or soft, every word he uttered added yet another nail to his coffin.

  Nails digging into her palms, Amanda listened to Rick’s testimony, and her heart sank.

  The prosecutor’s eyes fairly gleamed as he regarded the six-man jury. “And isn’t it true that you spent five years in prison, convicted of your wife’s death?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Would you please tell the court how you happen to be walking around free?”

  “A witness came forward with information proving Cooper killed my wife.”

  The wind rushed from Amanda’s lungs. Spending time in jail for a crime he didn’t commit was bound to earn the jurors’ sympathies. It had certainly earned hers.

  The prosecutor stepped back and could barely control his excitement. “So what you’re saying is that Cooper killed your wife, and you went to prison.”

  “That’s correct.”

  The hammering continued, each question more incriminatory than the one before it. “Would it be safe to assume that you hated the man?” He ran a finger the length of his mustache, and his chest puffed out—an unmistakable sign of triumph.

  Amanda felt her insides turn over.

  This time, Rick did hesitate, and three jurors jotted something into a notebook. “You could say that.”

  “Would it also be accurate to say you hated him enough to kill him?”

  Birdseye jumped to his feet and voiced his objection, shouting to be heard over the buzzing crowd, but he was too late. Rick’s motivation for killing Cooper was no longer in question. The damage was done, and by the end of the day, the case was in the hands of the jury.

  * * *

  Amanda hardly slept that night and jumped out of bed before dawn. At nine o’clock that morning, the jury was scheduled to deliberate, but that wasn’t the only thing on her mind. Today, Josie and Ralph were leaving for Arizona Territory.

  She was also anxious to check out the Steckle farm peacocks. Tom Steckle had been there the night Pepper and his gang tried to lynch Rick. Was Steckle at the Golden Spur Saloon when she found the second feather? She didn’t remember seeing him in all the confusion, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there. Maybe one of her posse members could answer her question.

  She arrived at the train depot with no time to spare and immediately spotted Mama, Papa, Meg, Grant, Josie, and Ralph huddled together like frozen sheep. Dismounting her horse, she wrapped the reins around a ring on a post and hurried to join them. Everyone made an effort to maintain a cheery demeanor, but it didn’t take long before they were all in tears, even Papa.

  Amanda threw her arms around Josie. “Oh, I wish you didn’t have to leave.” Arizona Territory seemed so far away. Amanda couldn’t help but worry.

  The house sale—everything—had happened quickly thanks to Meg and her husband. The newspaper editor had no trouble finding someone to replace Josie. The popular Miss Lonely Hearts column would live on in her absence, but nothing would be the same.

  “It won’t be forever,” Josie said cheerfully. “Once Ralph’s lungs are strong again, we’ll come back.”

  Amanda knew it was a lie even before she saw the shadow cross Ralph’s face. Lungs got weaker over time, not stronger. Nevertheless, she forced a smile. Right now, she needed to believe anything was possible. They all did.

  Josie pushed a strand of hair away from Amanda’s face. “Take care of yourself. I worry about you.”

  Amanda looked up at her sister with tear-filled eyes. “Please don’t worry. You need to concentrate on that handsome husband of yours.”

  “You know I will. Meanwhile, promise me you’ll stay out of trouble.”

  Amanda shrugged. “You know me. Trouble is my middle name.”

  “That’s what worries me.” Josie turned to Meg. “I wish I could be here to help with the baby.”

  “Oh, Josie…” Fresh tears rolled down Meg’s cheeks.

  Grant put his arm around his wife. “Maybe when the baby’s old enough to travel, we’ll come and visit.”

  Josie brightened. “Oh, you must. You simply must!”

  Ralph picked up the tapestry carpetbag by his side. Their furniture and other belongings had already been packed into one of the boxcars. “It’s time.”

  “Promise you’ll write every day.” Mama dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

  “Of course I will,” Josie said.

  “And be sure to keep your hat on straight,” Amanda said. If a woman’s hat was arranged properly, she could handle anything. Or almost anything…

  “Ah, yes, the hat.” Josie flashed the hoped-for smile before turning to Papa.

  A suspicious gleam in his eyes, Papa wrapped an arm around Josie and shook Ralph’s free hand. “You take care of my girl, you hear?”

  Ralph’s eyes were shiny too. “You know I will.”

  A uniformed conductor called, “All aboard!”

  His cry started a flurry of activity around them as other passengers bade good-bye to loved ones and hurried across the platform toward the train, some dragging small children by the hand.

  Following another round of hugs and tears, Ralph helped Josie onto the train before boarding himself. Almost as soon as they vanished from sight, the door whooshed shut, and the whistle blew. Steam hissed from the engine; couplings clanked, and wheels began to turn. The train moved slowly at first along the steel rails and gradually picked up speed.

  Soon, all that was left was a dot on the horizon, no bigger than a period at the end of a sentence. Amanda turned to find her father still gazing at the now-deserted tracks as if willing the train to come back.

  She knew what it had cost him to come today. After last year’s near-fatal train accident, her father had avoided the station. The town’s two time zones had caused one train to leave too late and the other to arrive too early. Though he never spoke of it, Amanda knew he blamed himself for not allowing the town to adapt sooner to standard time.

  “Papa!” she cried and rushed into his arms.

  He held her close, his tears mingling with her own. “Don’t ever leave,” he said.

  She looked up at him. “I have no intention of leaving, Papa.” At least not permanently. Two-Time, with all its faults, was and always would be her home.

  “There are many ways of leaving,” he said, and she realized he wasn’t talking about moving away. He was afraid for her life. “If I lost you…”

  He dropped his arms to his sides and walked away, looking older than his years. Amanda started to follow, but then thought better of it. Knowing her father, he would rather be alone.

  She was the last to leave the train depot. Her vision blurred by tears, she rode away with a heavy heart. Crazy as it seemed, she already missed Josie. Her oldest sister had stood up for her through the years. More than once, she had saved Amanda’s skin following one of her many rebellious escapades. They’d had their fair share of arguments, as all sisters did, but their devotion to each other never wavered.

  Blinking away tears, she started toward the Steckle farm. There was still work to do, and if she hurried, she could make it there and back before the jury arrived at a decision. She wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to check out the farm. Even if she could prove the feathers came from Steckle’s peacocks, how would that help Rick?

  Such were her thoughts that she didn’t notice the crowd of people outside the courthouse until she
heard Scooter call to her.

  She reined in her horse and shaded her eyes against the sun. What the—

  Scooter waved his hat. “The jury has a verdict.”

  “So soon?” But it was only—what? A little after nine. How could they decide a man’s fate so quickly? Scooter waited for her to tether her horse, and together, they hurried inside. Her heart pounded, and she could hardly breathe. Her legs threatened to give out.

  The jury was already seated, and so was the judge. As was his habit, he turned over his collection of hourglasses on his bench before proceeding. “Have you reached a verdict?”

  The foreman stood, pushed his spectacles up his nose. “We have, Your Honor,” he said, remembering to speak in a strong, clear voice.

  The bailiff took the written verdict from him and handed it to the judge. Judge Lynch showed no expression as he unfolded the paper. He blinked and read the penned words.

  Taking what seemed to Amanda forever, he refolded the paper. “Would the defendant please stand?”

  Rick and his lawyer rose to their feet.

  At the back of the courtroom, Amanda waited with clenched fists. Please, please, please let the verdict be not guilty.

  “Well, what is it?” the judge demanded, jamming his hearing horn to his ear.

  “We, the jury, in the case of Texas versus Richard Brandon Rennick, also known as Barrett, find the defendant guilty of first-degree murder.” The last word was barely out of the foreman’s mouth before the courtroom erupted in bedlam.

  Rooted to the spot, Amanda felt like the world had come to an end.

  Twenty-nine

  Amanda found Tom Steckle greasing his windmill on top of a tall wooden tower. Still in shock from the verdict, she was more determined than ever to follow every lead, no matter how insignificant it might seem. If only she had more time. If she didn’t find something in the next couple of days, it would be too late to save Rick.

  Perched on a high platform, a piece of straw in his mouth, Steckle looked like a scrawny bird building a nest.

  No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than a crested head popped up from behind a bush. A peacock strutted toward three peahens. He fanned his tail to its full four-foot height, revealing a spectacular display of iridescent blue, green, and purple feathers. With an unpleasant honk, the male strutted about the yard. If his intention was to gain the peahens’ attention, he failed miserably. The females were more interested in pecking at the dirt than their swaggering suitor.