River Song

by Sharon Ihle

  She glanced up and raised an eyebrow as she studied the man behind the title. She'd never had contact with any member of law enforcement, much less someone as distinguished as the aging gentleman sitting before her. She was awed, properly humble in his presence.

  Even so, as she studied this bespectacled beacon of a socially correct society, Sunny had to work to keep from laughing.

  Unaware of her amused gaze, Judge Hoy frowned as he scrutinized the papers in his hand. The expression caused the excess flesh in his brow to ripple into folds, and dropped his jowls, already sagging like the breasts of an old Apache squaw, even lower.

  Sunny closed her eyes. Judge Hoy couldn't be real. None of this was real. It just couldn't be happening. She inched her eyelids open and carefully peeked around the room.

  She was standing in the austere judge's chambers of the Yuma County Courthouse.

  Cole Fremont was standing beside her, his fingers frantically counting the change in his pocket.

  And she was draped in a satin dress of robin's egg blue trimmed with ostrich tips and lace. She looked more like a fancy model in the Montgomery Ward catalogue than Sunflower Callahan.

  It was happening, all right.

  But was it fitting? Was it fair to the handsome man standing beside her? Sunny stole a quick glance at Cole and nearly swooned. He was even more handsome today, resplendent, in fact, in his new store-bought suit of charcoal gabardine with matching vest and shiny black boots.

  He deserves more, she thought, guilt skipping stones across her heart. He absolutely deserved more than a hastily arranged marriage to a half-breed girl dressed up as a white woman.

  She bit her lip and turned to Cole. Whispering under her breath, she said, "You, we all were very tired last night. I am thinking as we look on our decision in the morning light, it may no longer be such a good idea. I will understand if you wish to leave now."

  Cole straightened his tie and whispered back, "This is one sentence you'll not escape, little stubborn flower."

  "But, please look and see who you shall be tied to, see that the woman who will carry your name is not the fine lady you deserve."

  Indulging her, Cole turned his head and smiled. "You're right. You're not the lady I deserve. You are much more than I could ever hope to be worthy of."

  Struggling to keep her voice low, out of the judge's range, she said, "You do not understand, lizard-brain. I am not what I appear to be and shall never be again."

  His eyes wide, Cole slowly turned to her. "What the hell does that mean?"

  "It means I am not pleased to be inside this dress, that you have wasted the entire morning and a lot of your money trying to turn me into a lady. I cannot stand to be pinched by this dreadful corset, and I shall never wear these awful bustles again."

  Eyebrows cocked, Cole examined her and said under his breath, "Is that a promise?"

  "That is a guarantee."

  "Good." He caught the end of his mustache between his fingers and twirled before adding, "That'll make it a hell of a lot easier to rip off your clothes when the mood strikes."

  Judge Hoy raised his head. Pausing for a moment, he narrowed his gaze, then returned to his work.

  Blushing like a schoolgirl, Sunny brought her lace handkerchief to her face and lowered her head. Her wedding bonnet, a fashionable pale blue shirred chiffon, tilted forward sending the tip of an ostrich feather across her brow.

  Her composure returning, Sunny lifted her chin and blew a puff of air toward the errant feather. Glaring at her husband-to-be, she muttered under her breath, "Why do you make jokes when all I wish to do is show you the future with a half-breed wife? Have you thought how you will explain me to your proper white neighbors? What will they think of a wife who will not ride a horse in the manner of a fine lady?"

  "The women will be jealous, and the men—well, I suppose I'll have to fight to keep them away from you."

  Grumbling under her breath, she snapped, "That is enough of your malarkey, Cole Fremont. Think of your family, your father."

  "My father isn't marrying you. I am."

  "But he will disown you. He will never forgive you for such an insult to his name."

  Cole shifted his position and pushed his toes against the tight leather of his new boots. "My father will get used to the idea, but I'm beginning to wonder if you will."

  Sunny ignored his last remark and twisted the lace hanky around her hand. "Your father will never get used to having an Indian in the family."

  "Given a little time," Cole sliced in with a sigh, "when he realizes he'll lose his only son if he doesn't get used to you, you'll find he won't mind having your around one bit. Now that's enough of this conversation."

  "I have not finished speaking." Suddenly indignant, Sunny was unaware her voice raised with each word. "This forgiving father of yours. Will he not mind having a horse thief in the family?"

  Again Judge Hoy looked up. This time, he openly stared at the young couple, his brows drawn tight, creating a small canyon between his eyes. Then he cleared his throat and resumed scratching his name on the papers.

  Cole dropped his voice to a bare whisper, his green eyes twinkling with amusement, and said, "Consider Dust Bucket a wedding present from me to you. You only borrowed what was yours."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, really. Now be quiet."

  "I am not finished yet."

  "Yes, you are."

  Sunny turned and slammed her hands onto her hips. "You are not thinking this through, Cole Fremont. How can you expect your father to welcome the woman who murdered his son-in-law as a member of the family?"

  Judge Hoy's chin snapped up as if hit with a rabbit punch. He slowly moved his hand across the desk and jabbed his pen into the inkwell. Then, his syllables thick as sorghum and molasses, he drawled, "Excuse me, suh. Might I have a private word with you?"

  Cole glanced at Sunny and ground his teeth before approaching the desk. "Yes, Your Honor?"

  "Suh," the judge began, his gravelly voice as low as he could get it, "I wouldn't dream of tellen another man how to run his business, but there are a few disturben things reachen my ears here."

  Judge Hoy leaned forward, the slightly rancid odor of the sow belly he'd eaten for breakfast preceding his words. "Are you absolutely certain you want to go through with this weddin? I have completed the paperwork, but you’re more than welcome to back out."

  "Oh, no sir. Excuse our behavior, we're just a little nervous."

  "Uh, huh." Judge Hoy inclined his head to the left, looking past Cole. "Well," he muttered, his curious gaze perusing the half-breed, "whatevah, suh. I just want to be sure you know what you're getting into."

  "That I do," Cole assured him. "That I do."

  Several sharp raps on the chamber door ended the speculation, the conversation. Judge Hoy glanced up at Cole. "Would that be your witnesses, suh?"

  "I sincerely hope so."

  "Then go let them in and we'll get this thing over with."

  "Ah, yes, Your Honor."

  As he turned, the door banged open and Patrick Callahan practically shoved a large pear of a woman through the doorway.

  "Top o' the mornin' to ye," he exclaimed, guiding the woman as if he pushed a wheelbarrow. "Looks like we've come to the right place."

  The judge rolled his chair away from the desk and slowly rose. Stepping down off the platform, he approached the newcomers. "And who might y'all be?"

  "Patrick Callahan, sir." The Irishman stuck out his hand and pumped his greeting, then added, "Father of the bride and proud of it."

  Raising a deliberate brow, Judge Hoy looked to the plump woman. "And you, my dear?"

  "Millicent," she giggled, covering her mouth with her fingers. "Millicent Noland, a friend of the family." She wore a startling violet dress trimmed in magenta and bright pink, and sported a matching shepherdess hat adorned with several high-flying ostrich plumes.

  Millicent leaned forward, her voluminous breasts spilling over the rim of her low-cut bodi
ce, and tried to get Sunny's attention. "Yoo hoo, Cactus Flower," she called through a giggle. "Congratulations, sugar. He’s a real dandy."

  Lifting his bifocals above the bridge of his nose, Judge Hoy peered at Millicent. Then he quickly dropped the spectacles back in place. Clearing his throat, he folded his hands across his girth and said, "Since we're all together now I suggest we get on with the proceedins."

  "Amen," Cole said with a shake of his head.

  "Mother of God," Sunny mumbled, stealing a glance at her maid of honor.

  "Let the party begin," Patrick exclaimed as he clutched his chest, grasping the outline of his whiskey flask.

  Three pairs of eyes bobbed along with Millicent's backside as she waddled down the wooden sidewalk on her way back to The Bucket. When Sunny was certain the fancy woman was out of earshot, she turned to Patrick and complained.

  "Is that the best you could do, Pop? Could you not have found a woman who at least knows my name?"

  "I think Cactus Flower is kinda cute," Cole said, hoping to smooth things. "The possibilities for nicknames are endless. You've got Cacci, Tussie, not to mention—"

  "Please, I do not care to hear them. I was speaking to my father."

  Patrick leaned over and kissed his daughter's cheek. "Now, lassie," he soothed, "do'na take it out on yer new husband. I told ye finding a proper lady to bear witness for ye wouldn't be so easy on short notice. I believe we should praise the Lord that Millie were kind enough to offer her services."

  "Humph." Sunny lifted her chin and blew the ostrich feather of her brow. "I would imagine there are many in this town who might well praise the Lord for Millicent and her services."

  With a sigh and a shake of his head, Patrick turned to his new son-in-law. "Aye lad, and I can see ye'll be havin' some trouble taming this girl o' mine. May I be offerin' ye a wee bit of advice?"

  Cole winked as he glanced at Sunny and said, "I expect I'll be needing all the advice I can get."

  Patrick's grin spread as he took center stage. "We've a sayin' in the old country ye'll do well to keep in mind. There's more than a ring of truth in these blessed words, so listen careful, lad." Patrick slipped the flask out of his jacket before he offered his pearls of wisdom. "In yer upcoming life, my son, ye'll be findin' three without rule: a wife, a pig, and a mule!"

  "Pop," said a horrified Sunflower/

  "Tsk, tsk," Patrick chuckled as he unscrewed the top from the flask. " 'Tis nothin' but the truth, lassie, and yer young man will be knowin' it soon enough. Let us drink now to the happy times." Patrick leaned back and took a swallow from the silver container, then passed it to Cole.

  Raising the flask, he swiveled to Sunny and said in toast, "To the most beautiful bride a man could ask for." Then he tilted his head and took a drink.

  Sunny didn't wait for her husband to pass the bottle. She reached over and snatched it from his hands. "To the sheriff and whatever he decides to do with me." She took a swallow, then recklessly added, "And to the scorpions hiding in my room at the Yuma prison."

  Her words were an arctic blast in the desert heat. Being reminded of the formidable hurdle they still must clear turned Cole's expression grim. "That isn't where you are going, Mrs. Fremont. Don't even think about it."

  "I have no choice until my brother is freed and I am cleared."

  "Then I guess we'd better get to it."

  Cole raised his brows and shrugged, giving Patrick an out, but the older man strode back to the courthouse door. "Ye'll not be gettin' rid o' me till me children are free and we can celebrate as a family."

  He stepped across the threshold, replacing the flask in the pocket nearest his heart, and gestured for them to follow. His grin beaming with confidence, Patrick turned to the right and pushed his way inside the office of the sheriff of Yuma County.

  The Irishman rapped his knuckles on the desk, startling the sleeping deputy so badly that he nearly tipped over in his chair.

  "Ah, what—yes?" the young man managed to spit out as his chair legs banged against the wooden floor. "Kin I help you?"

  "I'm Patrick Callahan from up river a wee bit. I've brung Mr. and Mrs. Cole Fremont of Phoenix. We're lookin' fer a minute of Sheriff Moffit's time."

  "I'll see if he's in." The deputy jumped to his feet and shuffled to the glass door at the back of the small room. He rapped on the frame with his knuckles, then opened it a crack. "Some folks from Phoenix out here to see ya, Allen. Should I let em in?"

  With a short nod, the deputy turned back to the visitors. "You kin come on in."

  "Thank ye kindly, sir." Patrick led the newlyweds through the doorway, then made the introductions. "Afternoon, Sheriff Moffit. Remember me?"

  The sheriff cocked his head, then shook it. "Face is familiar, but I can't seem to recollect the name."

  "Callahan," he snapped. "Patrick Callahan. This here's me daughter, Sunny, and her husband Cole Fremont from Phoenix."

  Lifting his gaze to her, he squinted as he examined her features. "Oh, yes, now I remember. You had an Indian squ—wife who was killed a few weeks back. Right?"

  "Good of ye t' keep it so fresh in yer mind," Patrick grumbled.

  Allen Moffit pushed out of his chair and circled the desk, measuring the trio with careful eyes. "I'm Sheriff Moffit," he said, brushing past Patrick. "Nice to meet you both." Forcing a smile, he shook Cole's hand and tipped an imaginary hat to Sunny. His gaze still lingering on the woman, Allen arranged three chairs for his visitors, then walked to the back of his desk.

  "Please sit down," he offered, easing into his own padded seat. He slid his palms against the sides of his head, making certain each slicked-back hair was still in place and said, "Haven't any new leads for you, Callahan if you're here about your wife and son's untimely death."

  "That's only one reason we stopped by," Cole cut in, already certain he wasn't going to enjoy doing business with the man. "You can call off your dogs. One of the killers confessed to the murder in Phoenix and the other's dead."

  The sheriff whistled, then looked at Patrick. "I'm mighty glad to hear that. I expect knowing that has set your mind at ease somewhat."

  "Somewhat," Patrick admitted, "but not nearly enough." He turned his ice blue eyes on Cole, clearly giving him the lead.

  Accepting, the rancher explained. "Sean Callahan is sitting in jail in Phoenix for the death of the man who killed Moonstar. We need your help to set him free."

  "And Sean would be?" The sheriff turned his palms up.

  Patrick blurted out, "Me son. The one the dirty low-down pond scum didn't kill."

  His expression indifferent, Allen leaned back in his chair and propped his boots on the comer of his desk. Folding his hand with the fingertips facing him, he studied his immaculate nails, looking for even the slightest bit of dirt.

  With a heavy sigh, he finally made an observation. "I don't see the problem here unless this boy, a half-breed I assume, shot the man in the back."

  "It weren't like that."

  Her patience thin, Sunny muttered, "It was me. I killed the son of a bitch, and I would do it again."

  The sheriff's boots slipped off the desk as he jerked forward and jackknifed to the floor with a resounding crash.

  Patrick's mouth dropped open and he exclaimed, "Now where'd ye be pickin' up such cussin', me lassie?"

  Sunny turned her face to the wall, ignoring them both.

  Sheriff Moffit's interest peaked, he asked as he righted his chair, "Is that a true fact, ma'am?"

  "That is only a small part of the facts," Cole jumped in. Telegraphing a warning to Sunny, he glanced at her then went on. "My wife is involved in this mess, but she is so distraught over the whole damn business, I feel I should relay the story for her."

  Allen's high arching brows raised even farther as he considered Cole's proposal. With a shrug, he finally said, "Go ahead, but make it plain and simple."

  "Thank you, Sheriff." Cole slid out of his chair and walked around behind Sunny. His hands resting lightly on her shoulde
rs, he smiled pleasantly and said, "The dead man—Buck Wheeler—was the foreman of my ranch back in Phoenix. I brought him to Yuma along with another hand several weeks ago for a little cattle business."

  Pausing, Cole gave the sheriff a few moments to absorb the information. "The three of us split up here. I took the Gila River trail on horseback. Buck and Stormy took the train to Maricopa.” Feeling Sunny's shoulders tense under his hands, Cole pressed his fingers into the muscles and lightly massaged them.

  "Only thing was,” he continued, “those two decided to make a detour. Moonstar and her son Mike were the casualties of their senseless slaughter."

  Sheriff Moffit nodded. "I'm familiar with the story, Mr. Fremont. Just what is it you're driving at?"

  With a reassuring squeeze to his wife's shoulders, Cole explained the events leading up to Buck Wheeler's death and Sean's subsequent arrest, omitting only Eileen's name. When he'd finished, he looked across the desk and said, "I think you'll have to agree there's been a serious miscarriage of justice here. Sean doesn't belong in jail any more than Sunny does."

  Raising one whip-like eyebrow, the sheriff muttered, "Is that so?"

  "Yes, sir. I believe Sean should be released immediately and my wife granted a full pardon. It's the only decent thing to do."

  "We're talking justice here, not decency, Mr. Fremont." Frowning, he cocked his head. "Let me see if I have the facts straight. You say this Sean was with a woman— helping her in some way—yet, she didn't come forward to clear his name? Mighty strange and mighty suspicious to my way of thinking."

  Vaguely uncomfortable, Cole tried to explain. "The woman, he was only trying to protect her reputation, you know." Hit by an inspiration, Cole winked. "He did spend the night in a field with her and all. You know how those things go."

  "No, sir, I don't." Sheriff Moffit sat straight up in his chair. "Why would anyone give a good gall dang if two injuns decide to spend a night rutting in the bushes?" At Sunny's gasp, Allen inclined his head. "Begging your pardon, Mrs. Fremont, but that's a pure and simple fact."

  Leaning back in his chair again, he narrowed one eye and stared at Cole. "Course, I could see a problem if that woman weren't an injun. That it?"