by Martha Hix
“I’m so sorry, my darling. I–”
“My, my, Sheriff McGuire, you disappoint me. I’ve brought you a vicious murderer–my-self–and do you try to arrest me and keep me locked away from polite society? No, you stand there stuttering.” He took two more steps in her direction. “Are you, or are you not, going to do your duty to the citizens of this county by locking me up?”
She knew his anger went beyond the warrant, and needed to make him understand why she’d broken her word. Shaking, she said, “We need to talk about why I took this job, and what I’m trying to do for you. Please sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit down. But, yes, do tell me what you’re doing for me.”
“I’m trying to clear your name.”
“If you want to do something for me, quit your job.”
She averted her eyes from the daggers of his glare. “I can’t. Not yet. I made a promise to the people of Coleman County, and I won’t go back on it.”
“Why not? You’re pretty damned good at that sort of thing.”
Tension arced between them, for both knew this issue was at the root of their problems.
“Whit, I couldn’t wait for your return. The Lamkins–even the children!–were killed, then I got a clue to the Martinezes whereabouts. I had to take a chance, and hope’d you would understand.”
“Well, I don’t. But do tell me why you instigated a warrant for my arrest.”
“It was forced on me. Captain Dodson–”
“Isn’t that just great. My woman and my old fishing pal didn’t even give me the benefit of a doubt.”
Aching and hurting for Whit, Mariah squeezed her eyes shut. “I believe in your innocence.” In halting tones, she told him about Pablo Martinez and about Slim Culpepper.
Refusing comment, Whit rubbed the back of his neck. “Do your job, Mariah. Unlock that cell door.”
She couldn’t bring herself to do it, and Whit fished in her pocket and took the big iron key in his hand. With one turn, he unlocked the cell. The toe of his boot widened the door’s opening, and he shouldered his way into the confines.
Reaching through the bars, he thrust the key into her hand. “Lock it, Sheriff.” At her hesitation, he frowned. “If you aren’t up to your duties,” he said, “you’d better turn in your badge, ’cause you’re not fit for it.”
Captain Dodson had accused her of cowardice, but his accusation had none of the sting of Whit’s denunciation. Her trembling fingers secured the lock. “I can do my job.”
“Give the girl a star. Oops, she’s already got one.”
She ignored the barb. “Don’t you have anything to say about the situation?”
His eyes cruised up and down her form. “You look damn good in breeches.”
Her pent-up emotions exploded. “Dash it. How can you stand there behind bars and say something about my appearance? Don’t you have anything to say in your own defense?”
Whit turned his back. “Enough’s been said for one morning.”
She heaved a sigh of exasperation. But maybe Whit was right. Enough had been said for the moment. And if she was going to clear his name, she’d better get to it.
Ten minutes later, she entered the office of Dr. John Metcalfe. “How closely did you examine Joseph Jaye’s body?”
“With a fine-tooth comb. He died of asphyxiation.”
“Were there any marks on his body?”
The dark-eyed, dark-haired physician rubbed his slender fingers across his cheek. “He suffered a slight contusion to the left eye. And there was a puncture wound, very narrow and deep, on his neck. It missed the jugular, though. Probably inflicted by a stiletto.”
“Why didn’t you mention this?”
“I told Sheriff Taft.”
“Doctor, why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t ask.”
She gave herself a mental kick for her ineptitude. “In your opinion, which came first: the barbed wire, or the stiletto?” she asked, figuring the last for the case.
“The blade.”
Joseph had been stabbed and, in his weakened condition, someone had strangled him. Who? If Texas men were inclined to carry knives, they preferred the Bowie variety, not slim daggers. But she’d heard that some women of ill-repute favored such weapons.
Mariah’s eyes widened. Quite possibly such a woman could also favor gold hairpins.
The midday sun cut a swatch through the high window of Whit’s cell, landing on his prone form. He was trying to sleep, but rest eluded him, and it wasn’t because the infernal parrot was squawking. Fear for his own welfare wasn’t the problem, for he figured the truth would bear out. The dangers of Mariah’s job scared the hell out of him, which didn’t mean he wasn’t furious with her. He had trusted her. Had. She had let him down.
“Reagor?”
Whit kept his eyes closed. “What do you want, Culpepper?”
“I guess you heard about my ... about everything.”
“Yelp.”
“I had to tell what I knew, but I didn’t want you to think I’m too sissified to face you.”
“Deed done.” Whit opened one eye, and the deputy’s badge winked at him. “Why did you embrace John Law? You sweet on Mariah?”
“No, sir. But I got a lot of respect for Miz Mariah, and she needed my help.”
“It’s going to take more than one skinny cowpoke to take care of all she’s getting into.”
“I’ll do my best,” Slim said in parting.
Whit frowned at those last words. It was doubtful Slim’s best was good enough. She did need help, lots of it. Whit knew Mariah wouldn’t give up her job, and his hands were bound.
He heard someone enter the jail, but ignored the noises. Hating his helplessness, he covered his eyes with a forearm. He had to do something ... but what?
“Never thought I’d see the day Whit Reagor was put in a position to be charged with a crime,” Big Dan Dodson bellowed.
“Neither did I.” Whit eased off the cot and strode over to the bars. “I understand you’ve been busy.”
“Smartly so.”
“Dan, you planning to stay in Trick’em a while?”
The lawman set a cloth bag on the floor. “Yes.”
“Glad to hear it. Dan, you’ve done me some good turns, and I’ve done a few for you. I need another one. Will you help me?”
“Doing what?” the Ranger asked suspiciously.
“Taking care of Mariah. She’s my woman, and I’m scared spitless she’ll get in over her head with this fool job of hers.”
“You’re not worried about yourself?”
“I’m worried about Mariah. If something should happen to her, I ... Dan, don’t let her get into trouble.”
“I’ll do my best.” Big Dan lumbered across the office, fetched two glasses from the windowsill, and blew the dust out of them before making his way back to the cell. Tucking the glasses under an arm, he pulled up a chair and sat down. “May I interest you in a sarsparilla?”
At Whit’s agreement, Big Dan picked up the cloth bag and tipped up a gallon jug to pour two frothing glasses of the sweet, soft drink. Whit took a sip of his, but the Texas Ranger downed his refreshment in one swallow.
Wiping the foam from his handlebar mustache, Big Dan eyed Whit. “Did you know I was the one who insisted on your arrest? The sheriff believes in your innocence.”
Thank God! Comforted in knowing Mariah hadn’t wanted to grab a noose, Whit turned to mocking humor. “Well, isn’t this a fine how-d’ya-do from my old friend?”
Big Dan studied the floor. “Did you kill Jaye?”
“No.”
“Do you have any ideas on who might be responsible?”
“Ideas, yes. But no facts. Charlie Tullos threatened him. But Tullos would’ve sent for hired guns, I figure, and I haven’t seen any of them around. Of course, I’ve been away from here for several days.”
“Hired guns? Such as?”
“In the past he’s used T-Bone Hicks and his two partner
s. If they are around, they’re in some hidey-hole.”
“And you saw nothing of the Hicks gang when you were riding with Tullos against the farmers?”
“Clean your ears, Dan. I already answered that.”
Big Dan refilled his glass. “The sheriff tells me Jaye had another woman. Do you know anything about her?”
“Just that she left her hairpin in his bed not too long before he was supposed to marry Mariah. Whoever she is, she might be the guilty party.”
“What woman would have the strength to strangle a healthy man, especially with wire rope?”
“A woman bigger than Joe, and that wouldn’t’ve taken much. And, Dan, she could’ve had an accomplice.”
“I’ll do some ruminating on that.” Big Dan got to his feet and scratched his head. “You want me to have Chad Nussbaumer come by and talk with you?”
“A lawyer seems in order.”
The Ranger left, and Whit stretched out on his cot, thinking. Who would have been involved with Joe Jaye? Most of the women around these parts wouldn’t have given him the time of day. But there was a hefty gal . . . Why hadn’t he thought of her?
Temperence Tullos.
“Mrs. Tullos, what a surprise.” Mariah wasn’t pleased. She was here at the farm to search the log cabin for clues to Joseph’s mistress, and this interruption was nothing but a delay.
Temperence Tullos, bejeweled and powdered and plumed, swept into the modest cabin. “Hello, Miss McGuire. I hope you don’t mind my intruding ... I meant to come by several days ago–I’ve been ill for quite some time, you see. Influenza. But I do want to offer my congratulations on your election as sheriff.”
“Congratulations? Mrs. Tullos, your husband has let it be known that he opposes–”
“You’re being unfair,” Temperence protested. “And I hope you’ll be fair enough not to assume my husband does my thinking.”
Perhaps she had been too quick to jump to a conclusion, yet there was something odd about this visit, and Mariah wasn’t going to put her trust in this woman whose husband was responsible for causing so much unrest in the area of Trick’em.
“Thank you for your good wishes,” Mariah said benignly.
“You’re welcome.” Temperence stepped over to the fireplace. “You’ve certainly turned this place around. These figurines look nice on the mantel. Are they English? I wouldn’t think to peek at the hallmark. That’s so ill-mannered, you understand.”
Mariah’s time was too precious for chitchat. “Is there something I can do for you, Mrs. Tullos?”
“Yes, there is.” The dark-haired woman swept over to the rocking chair. “May I? I fear my strength isn’t up to snuff.” She seated herself in the rocker. The joints groaned under her weight. “I want to make you a very generous business proposition. Will you sell me the mineral rights to this farm?”
Mariah was taken aback by the strange offer. Didn’t mineral rights include water? Well, even if she hadn’t leased the pond to Whit, she wouldn’t give over precious water for Charlie Tullos’s benefit. “I don’t believe that would be in my best interest.”
“Then let me sweeten the proposition. I’ll take this farm off your hands. Permanently.”
“Why?” Mariah asked suspiciously.
“Your land abuts the Painted Rock, and you have a ready water supply. Our cows are in need of it, and I’m willing to give you two thousand dollars in gold.”
All that money would secure Mariah’s schoolhouse, would ease her monetary woes. It was nothing to sneeze at. But she wouldn’t take Tullos money. No decent person enjoyed the spoils of dirty money and, furthermore, the too generous offer had all the earmarks of being peculiar.
“This property isn’t for sale,” Mariah said.
“Three thousand dollars.”
“I repeat, this property isn’t for sale.”
“Why not? You have no crops or livestock. Everyone knows you’re not a woman of means. Surely you don’t plan to survive on your sheriffs pay.”
“How I make my living is a personal matter, Mrs. Tullos. You’d be wise to mind your own affairs.”
Temperence’s nostrils expanded. “You’re mighty high-handed.”
“And you’re not going to get the pleasure of an argument from me. So nice of you to call, Mrs. Tullos. It’s been a rare treat. Let me escort you to the door.”
Rising from the rocking chair, Temperence pointed a beringed finger. “You’ll regret this!”
Mariah ushered her out the door and returned to her investigation, but snatches of the conversation kept coming back to her ...
“You’ve certainly turned this place around.”
What an odd thing for Temperence Tullos to have said. To what had she made a comparison? How did she know what the cabin was like in the past? To the best of Mariah’s recollections–and why wouldn’t she remember Joseph speaking of such a visitor?–Mrs. Tullos had never before visited the cabin. But obviously she had been here.
Mariah grabbed a chair arm. Was she ... was Temperence Tullos the gold hairpin’s owner?
Chapter Twenty-four
Livid with rage, Temperence Tullos cracked the whip over the horse’s rump as her buggy bounced toward the Painted Rock Ranch. The nerve of that McGuire woman, not selling Lord Joe’s farm!
“And just where does this leave you, Tempie?” she threw to the prairie air.
With a husband she despised. In a land she hated. Without Leroy Smith and no chance of luring him back to Trick’em with the oil scheme. Although she was furious, she did have a vent for her frustrations. Violence. Tonight. Charles was fit to be tied over that Benedict Arnold, Whit Reagor, and he had plans for revenge. Plans that Temperence wholeheartedly approved of. Dammit, she might even join the raiding party.
And when they were finished with their deed, she’d demand one more killing, that of Mariah McGuire!
This would assuage Temperence’s blood lust, and she could get on to making new plans for Leroy. She’d never give up. That wasn’t her way.
Ten minutes after Chadwick Nussbaumer had spoken with Whit about a defense, and five minutes after a big brown envelope was delivered for Mariah, she returned to the jail.
Cooling his heels in the hoosegaw since daybreak had given Whit thinking time. He wanted to know why she’d broken her word, but that could wait.
With his fingers wrapped around the bars, he said, “I’d like a word with you, Sheriff.”
Hesitantly, Mariah approached the cell. Still wearing the breeches, she held a covered bowl in her hand. “I know it’s a little late, but I’ve brought your lunch.”
He couldn’t have cared less about pinto beans and cornbread. “Bring it right on in... Sheriff.”
“I don’t like the look in your eye. You’re not planning something sneaky, are you?”
“Like what?”
“Like breaking jail.”
“Don’t give me any ideas,” he gritted out, hating not only the fact that he was her captive in the legal sense, but also that he was a prisoner of love. But, by damn, he’d get the upper hand in this situation. “Open the cell, Sheriff.”
She did. When Mariah set the bowl on the small table in his cell, Whit moved one hand to a hiding place. Like a flash and before she could escape, he hemmed her in his arms and snapped a manacle around her left wrist.
She started, giving him an advantage in the tussle.
“What are you doing!”
“Shackling you,” he replied, and wrestled to affix the other manacle to the cell bar. He turned the key, then tossed it out of her reach.
“Unlock me. Now! This is highly improper.”
“Too bad. Because this is the only way I can be assured of your safety. And I want a few questions answered.”
She yanked at her bonds, but neither the bar nor the handcuff gave way. “I know you’re angry, but you’ve no right to do this to me. And you’ll wait until your dying day for answers unless you free me”–she glared at him–“right now.”
; Whit realized his wrongdoing, realized brute strength would never work with Mariah. He also realized he could never chain her to him. He stepped back and retrieved the key.
Mariah relocked the door of his cell and tucked the wrist manacles out of his reach, well away from the branch he’d snapped from the tree outside his window and had used to fish for the handcuffs.
Wordlessly, she went to the privacy of her quarters to collect her wits. Nothing was settled between them. She knew he was still angry over her broken promise, but what could she do to heal his hurts and disappointments?
Dressed in clean breeches and shirt, she reentered the jail.
“What happened to your new clothes?” Whit asked.
She swallowed. “They were cumbersome.”
“Yeah. When a gal takes off after outlaws, she needs to be comfortable.”
She crossed to the cell. “Whit, I’m sorry for disappointing you.”
“Are you now?”
“Yes. For both our sakes, could we call a truce?”
For a moment, he stared at her, then rubbed his chin. “Yeah. A truce’ll be fine.”
“Thank you.”
“Mariah ... there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you. I think Temperence Tullos was fooling around with Joe.”
“I think so, too.” Mariah proceeded to tell him about the Tullos woman’s visit and about the talk with the coroner. “Have you ever heard a rumor of Mrs. Tullos carrying a stiletto?”
“No, never.”
Mariah’s obstinate look set her features. “I’m going to bring her in for questioning, anyway.”
“Let Dan do it.”
She moistened her lips, and her eyes met his. “Would that make you happy?”
“Somewhat. The only way I could be truly happy ... Mariah, I’m worried about you.” Whit’s hand snaked through the bars, catching her wrist and bringing her palm to his rapidly beating heart. “You could get hurt. Or killed.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Not if you’re outnumbered.”
“Maybe if you knew why this is so important to me, Whit, you’d understand.”