Wild Texas Rose

by Martha Hix

  Evita, a caring woman of high sensitivity, showed no surprise, either.

  “His body was found on the morning of April 7, 1883,” Mariah stated. “Pablo, when exactly did you leave his employ? It will help us if you can be specific as to the date and time.”

  Nervously Pablo wiped his forehead. “I don’t recall.”

  Mariah read his mannerisms and knew he was hiding something. “On Saturday, the sixth of April, I had planned to marry Mr. Jaye. Does that refresh your memory?”

  “No.”

  “But I know you were at the farm on that date. The next morning you and your family were gone.” She paused. “And Mr. Jaye was dead.”

  Pablo’s left hand started waving. “Leave us alone! We don’t want to be involved!”

  She created a ruse certain to get information. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Joseph Jaye.”

  “No!” Evita cried burying her face in her hands.

  Blanching, Pablo surged upward, the chair toppling behind him. “I did not kill him! Señor Reagor did it!”

  An invisible ax chopped into Mariah’s chest to drive pain into every cell in her body. As if from far away, she heard Slim’s gasp. I love you enough to kill for you. Whit’s wretched words sliced through her heart. But it was only an expression! Her Whit wasn’t physically brutal and wouldn’t take another’s life.

  “Miz Mariah, are you okay?” Slim asked.

  “Yes.” She eyed Whit’s accuser. “Perhaps you’d care to explain,” she suggested.

  “The two señors were arguing. The rancher threatened to kill him. My wife and I heard him, didn’t we, Evita? They got into a terrible fight. Isn’t that so, Evita?”

  His wife nodded, keeping her eyes averted.

  “Is that how it happened, Evita?”

  The small woman chewed her lip before replying. “My husband speaks the truth.”

  Mariah didn’t believe either of them, though she had learned from her father and brothers that in most statements to the authorities, there were grains of truth.

  Whatever the case, she took no joy in grilling the man who had been such a help at the farm. But Whit’s freedom was at stake, and she had to get to the bottom of the truth.

  “You actually saw Mr. Reagor in the act of killing Joseph Jaye?” she asked Pablo.

  “I heard them arguing. And I saw Senor Jaye’s dead body.”

  “But you don’t know for certain who was responsible.”

  “There was no one else at the farm except for the rancher.”

  “Plus you and your family, and you left Mr. Jaye for the ants,” she pointed out. Directing her next question to his wife, she asked, “Why did you run, Evita?”

  Pablo answered for her. “We didn’t run. We left.”

  “Why didn’t you go for the sheriff?” Mariah queried.

  “I told you. We didn’t want to get involved.”

  “No, you told me you didn’t want to be involved in tonight’s questioning, not in the murder.”

  “A mere slip of tongue.”

  “Interesting. Do you make mistakes often?”

  “I ... I . . . I . . .”

  She had him pinned down. “Tell me, Pablo, is there any grudge you have against Mr. Reagor?”

  His nostrils flared, and he reared his head in righteousness. Pablo’s upper lip quivered. “Señor Reagor is an evil man! A rapist. How can you defend him when it was you he defiled?”

  She should have been embarrassed by this smite on her reputation, but her relief at his bias overshadowed her loss. “Can you prove your assumption to be true?”

  “Can you deny it?” Pablo returned.

  “Mr. Reagor is not a rapist.”

  Slim coughed behind his hand. Andy Floyd, whose face had turned beet red, made a hasty exit.

  Big Dan poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and asked, “May I have a word with you, Sheriff?”

  Disregarding the Ranger, she went on, “Pablo, could it be that you might be blind to some of the facts?”

  “I am blind to nothing. Señor Jaye called you names, and the rancher Reagor said he would kill him.”

  “I think you know something that you aren’t telling us,” she said.

  “Let it drop, Sheriff McGuire,” Big Dan boomed. He took Mariah’s arm and steered her toward the door to the dining room. “Culpepper, keep an eye on these folks until Reimschissel gets back.”

  The boards under his feet vibrated as the Ranger directed her through the dining room and into the privacy of the parlor.

  She yanked her arm from the giant’s grip. “That was uncalled for.”

  “You were harassing Martinez.”

  “Harassing? I was trying to get at the truth.”

  “Your haranguing shows only that you defend your lover.”

  “My relationship with Mr. Reagor has nothing to do with my questioning. I was trying to do my job. I will get at the truth.”

  “You’re new, so you’re overzealous. As for the Martinezes, a finer couple you’ll never meet. And I’m sending them over to Brownwood till the trial, for protection from your brow-beating.”

  Seething, Mariah jacked up her chin. “You can’t do that.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I can. I’m pulling rank on you.”

  “If Pablo didn’t actually witness the murder, wouldn’t you think he’s jumping to a conclusion? Answer me that. Another thing, Captain Dodson. If this were indeed a crime of passion, why would Mr. Reagor resort to the cowardly and clumsy use of barbed wire? Why wouldn’t he employ fisticuffs or a gun?”

  “Perchance he wished it to appear the murder was committed by someone opposed to fencing the range.”

  “Well, Captain, you don’t know Whit Reagor.”

  “But I do. I’ll be honest with you, Sheriff. I doubt Whit is guilty, but until we have evidence to the contrary, he needs to be arrested.”

  “He’s no menace to society. We’ll leave him be while I investigate Mr. Jaye’s murder.”

  Slim Culpepper presented himself. “That Martinez feller’s story ... Well, I don’t like the idea of goin’ against Reagor, Miz Mariah, but I have to live with my conscience,” Slim said quietly. “I saw Reagor cozin’ up to you in Lois Atherton’s kitchen. The night of her daughter’s weddin’.”

  “Are you willing to testify to that?” asked Big Dan.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Whit Reagor did not kill Joseph Jaye,” she exclaimed. “He is not a debaucher of women. Nor is he a murderer.”

  The Ranger patted the air. “Calm down, Sheriff.”

  Surely there was a way she could help Whit. If only Conchita were here, she might be able to shed new light on the case. Where was she? Once, Evita had mentioned family in San Antonio. It was highly probable the Martinezes had been on their way to that city when their horse had died. Could Conchita be there? Doubtful, since Brady lay over a hundred miles from San Antonio.

  Where would a pious family, in dire straits, leave a daughter? Mariah asked herself. A church!

  She stood. “Big Dan, will you send a couple of your men back to Brady?”

  “For what reason?”

  “To find Conchita Martinez. We’ll need her to corroborate her parents’ story.” Silently, Mariah prayed the girl would refute the story.

  “Sounds reasonable,” the Ranger replied.

  “Have them check the Catholic churches between here and there. All of them. And when she’s brought back, make certain she doesn’t make a detour by Brownwood to speak with her parents.”

  Big Dan lumbered across the parlor to loom over Mariah. “Fine, we’ll do our job, now you do yours. As sheriff of this county, it’s your responsibility to arrest Whit Reagor for the murder of the Jaye fellow.”

  “I ... I can’t do that.”

  “Then turn in your badge, and I’ll do it.”

  Dismayed at what she must do, Mariah swallowed hard. “I will do my job.”

  She consoled herself. At least Whit was away from Trick’em. Maybe she’d break
the case before he returned.

  Over the next two days, though, she found it impossible to devote much time to her investigation. Taft put up a fuss over being evicted from his cozy quarters at the jail, and it took half a day to convince him that another county would need his “services.”

  On top of this delay, a farmer was found butchering a rancher’s cattle and had been incarcerated. Then a nester’s dugout was burned. Luckily, the guilty parties in the blaze had left clues. Mariah, along with Dodson and his men, had her hands full rounding up the five troublemakers. One of the culprits made the confessions that Charlie Tullos was the force behind fence-cutting, though he’d had nothing to do with burning out the farmer. She couldn’t arrest Tullos, not without a law against wire-snipping.

  At the crack of dawn on the third day after she had become sheriff, Slim Culpepper appeared at the sheriffs office, where Mariah and Gus had taken residence. He tapped on the door leading from the jail to the living quarters.

  Hat in hand, he entered the room. “I know you’re prob’ly riled at me, Miz Mariah.”

  “When you went against Mr. Reagor, you went against me. A kiss in the kitchen is not grounds for implicating him in murder.”

  “I hated to do that, but I had to tell what I saw.” He turned his hat around in his hand. “I didn’t come here to talk about what I done.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “You need a deputy, and I’m wanting the job.”

  “To say the least, Slim, I’m perplexed by you.”

  “I know that, but will you listen a minute? The day the Lamkins got killed, I said to myself then and there I wanted to be as courageous as you. I admire you.” He flushed. “I ain’t very good with words, Miz Mariah.”

  “Actually, you’re doing fine.” His words had deeply touched her, in fact.

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t know what happened to that Jaye feller, but I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of it. You got your hands plumb full, though, with the reprobates that’s doin’ all this trouble-makin’, so let me lend a hand. Please.”

  “What about your job at Crosswind?”

  “Well, I told the foreman about Andy. That boy’s no lenty. He’s a right smart cowhand. Him and his brothers can use a few extra dollars, so he’ll take my place till Reagor gets back.”

  “All right. The job is yours.”

  Slim set to work, and Mariah spent the remainder of the day trying to clear Whit’s name.

  In low spirits, tired, and hungry, Whit returned by dark of night to Crosswind. In the muted light of the study, Edward Strickland was waiting for him.

  “How’s the herd?” Gail’s husband asked.

  “Lost half of them. But, Ed, it’s four A.M., and I doubt you’re losing sleep over my cattle. What’s going on?”

  “I come bearing good news.” He beamed. “The Stricklands are expecting an heir.”

  “You mean Gail ...” Whit shook his head. “But she’s just a baby herself!”

  “She hasn’t been a baby for a long time.”

  Whit shuttered his eyes. Damn! He’d be a grandfather before becoming father to Mariah’s children. If he got the opportunity to sire her children. Could he, in good conscience, ask for her hand in marriage without being honest about Gail?

  Gail ... She’d be a mother soon. His baby was having a baby. Concern and pride filled Whit as he strode over to slap Ed’s back. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. But, Whit, I’m not here just to spread the good news. There’s something you need to know. Mariah McGuire got herself elected temporary sheriff.” Ed leaned a hip against Whit’s desk. “She called in Captain Dodson and his men. Between her and the Rangers and her new deputy, they’ve filled the jail.”

  Whit groaned in exasperation and disappointment. Mariah had broken her word. Why, dammit, why!

  When they had shared so much at his place in town, then here at Crosswind, Whit had had his first taste of peace and harmony in more years than he cared to remember. Foolish thoughts had wound through his besotted head, dreams about a lifetime of happiness with a woman he could love and trust.

  But she’d nailed her true colors to the mast. She hadn’t kept her word.

  Another emotion surfaced. Fear. “She could get herself killed! I’ve got to put a stop to her nonsense.” He quaffed a stiff shot of whiskey, then stomped toward the door. “Where is she? Is she staying in town?”

  “If I were you, Whit, I’d stay put.” Ed put a restraining hand on his arm. “I think you’d better sit down. I’ve got bad news.”

  As Whit listened to Ed’s explanations, he turned from worried to disbelieving, then to defensive. “I’m innocent,” he stated. “She ought to know I’m innocent.”

  “Be that as it may, she’s posted a notice for your arrest.”

  Pacing up and down the study, Whit raked a hand through his hair. “If Sheriff McGuire wants to arrest me, she’ll have to come here to do it.” He halted. If he were in jail, at least he could keep an eye on her. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to surrender.”

  “You’re crazy!”

  “Shut your mouth, T-Bone!” Charlie Tullos slammed his fist on the breakfast table where his two hired guns were swilling down predawn coffee. “My wife said we don’t move against the McGuire woman right yet, and that’s that.”

  T-Bone Hicks thrust out his stubbled, underslung jaw. “You ain’t the one with a dead partner. That redheaded piece killed Zeke when we was after them Lamkins. And Spider and I ain’t gonna sit on our butts much longer.”

  “That’s right,” Spider put in, running a blunt finger under his eye patch. “We didn’t come up from San Antone to sip coffee.”

  Tullos poured himself another cup, then tossed the latest Austin newspaper into the trash. Whit Reagor had turned against his own kind. Tullos’s skin crawled at being doublecrossed by a member of the association. That turncoat was going to pay for stirring up the Austin lawmakers. And Charlie Tullos knew a way to extract payment. Everybody in Trick’em knew Reagor was sweet on that drunken Strickland woman.

  “Well, boys,” Tullos said, “If you want to work off some frustrations, I got a job for you. Set fire to Ed Strickland’s house tonight and make sure his wife’s inside. Matter of fact, I may just go with you to make sure you earn your pay.”

  The gunmen’s three mean eyes glowed.

  “Now get the hell outta here,” Tullos ordered. “I’m wanting to eat my breakfast.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The clang of breakfast dishes rose from the single jail cell occupied by six belching, smacking, and slurping prisoners. Bent over her desk, Mariah signed the paperwork giving Big Dan Dodson and his five Rangers the authority to move the lawbreakers to District Court.

  “You’re terribly quiet this morning,” Big Dan said. “Anything wrong?”

  Mariah had disliked the Ranger that night at Birdie’s house, but she now realized he was a good and dedicated lawman. And she admired him for being able to separate emotions from his job, something she hadn’t been able to do. Nonetheless, Mariah wasn’t of a mind to chitchat. Today was the day she had dreaded. Whit had returned to Crosswind. Today she would arrest the man she loved.

  Her heart aching for him, she dated the last order and held the stack aloft. “You’ll be back when?” she asked Big Dan.

  “This afternoon,” he replied as his subordinates attached ankle bracelets to the prisoners’ legs. Putting his big frame between Mariah and the other men, he asked her, “Are you certain you don’t want help with Reagor?”

  “Absolutely certain,” she replied, trying unsuccessfully to keep her voice strong.

  The sheriffs office grew eerily quiet after the Rangers and their detainees had departed. To break the silence, she set to cleaning the cell. When she finished, she rubbed her tired eyes with the heels of her hands, then sank into her desk chair. How was she going to clear Whit’s name?

  Until lately, she had dismissed a possible li
nk between Joseph’s mysterious mistress and his murder, but yesterday Mariah had decided to consider even the slightest of clues, such as a woman scorned or a jealous husband. She had talked with scores of people, asking them if they had ever seen Joseph with a female. None had. Well, that hairpin hadn’t materialized out of thin air.

  She kept returning to the question: Why had Pablo accused Whit of murder? There had to be a reason, and catching her with Whit wasn’t good enough.

  One thing she knew for certain. Whit had spent a good part of her almost-wedding-day trying to see Mariah. She was beset with recriminations. If she had welcomed Whit, he’d have an alibi. And later, if she hadn’t sent for the Martinezes, Whit wouldn’t be implicated in murder.

  Of course there was no way to prove the time of Joseph’s death, but he had been in a state of rigor mortis when George and Birdie had found him, which meant he had been dead for several hours.

  Why didn’t I take a closer look at the body? she castigated herself. But the coroner had examined Joseph’s corpse ...

  “Top o’ the morning to ya, darlin’.”

  The chair crashed backward as she jumped up to face Whit. Her throat was frozen, rendering her unable to speak, but she drank in the adored sight of him. She yearned to run to his arms and cover him with kisses, but the icy glare in his ink-blue eyes stopped her.

  He knows. She was dying a thousand deaths.

  Dressed in buff-colored trousers and shirt, a black bandanna at his throat, Whit shouldered the door closed. His stance was deceptively relaxed. “So, how’s business? Meaning our business deal. Or have you changed your mind about leasing the Mukewater to a murderer?”

  “You aren’t a murderer, and of course I haven’t changed my mind, Whit. I sent word to your foreman, and–”

  “You don’t want to talk about piddling stuff like that. The lady sheriff has bigger things on her mind.”

  “That’s not true. You know you’re important to me.”

  “Yeah, especially now.” His muscles tensed as he took a step toward her. “I believe there’s a warrant for my arrest for the murder of the venerable Joseph Jaye. I’m surrendering.”