Wagon Train Wedding

by Rhonda Gibson

  Noah squirmed against her. The little boy reached for Flynn, demanding, “Hold you.”

  Flynn took the boy in his arms. He understood her need to protect the boy. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Her voice cracked. “I was afraid.”

  Those three words tore a hole in his heart. He nodded and hugged Noah, then pulled the boy back to look in his little face. “You be a good boy. Stay with Ma.”

  Noah threw his little arms around Flynn’s neck. “Pa.”

  Flynn felt a knot develop in his throat. For the first time, Noah had called him Pa. He patted the baby’s back. “That’s right! Pa.”

  The baby gave him a wide smile and then reached for Cora again.

  Flynn gave her the baby and then turned to leave. Making his voice hard and cold, he announced, “Sheriff, I’m done in here.”

  The sheriff opened the cell door. It was all Flynn could do not to look back at his small family. He knew he broke Cora’s heart by not showing her any warmth, but he had to make Hank believe he didn’t love or trust his wife anymore. This would take some hard dealing and wisdom.

  “Well, what’s going to happen to her, Sheriff?” Flynn sat down in the chair beside the bigger man’s desk.

  “That depends on a few things. I’ll need to find out which of them is telling the truth.” His gaze moved to Hank, who looked as smug as a cat with a canary in its mouth.

  “I’m not one to tell a man how to do his job, Sheriff, but I am curious why Mr. Marshall isn’t in jail also. After all, she claims he’s the one who killed her sister. If accusation is enough to land someone in jail, then he should be there, too.” Flynn had the satisfaction of watching the grin slide right off Hank’s face.

  “Now, hang on just a minute. I’ve been waiting here three days for my son to arrive. If I had killed my wife, I could have stolen my son while you were on the trail. I had plenty of opportunities. But I did things right—I went to the law, which is something she never did.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared back at Flynn.

  Flynn shrugged. Now he understood why he’d had that feeling of being watched at various moments throughout the journey. How long had Hank traveled alongside the wagon train? And how was it that none of the guards had seen him? Either Hank was exceptionally good at hiding or he was lying.

  “I’ll send a telegraph to the sheriff in Independence and see if we can get some answers. Until then, the little lady stays here.” The officer looked at Hank. “Don’t leave town. If you so much as sneeze wrong, you’ll be in that other cell.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I want to see her hang. What about my son?” Hank walked to the bars of the cell.

  It took everything in Flynn not to get up and drag the man away. He didn’t believe for a moment that Cora was capable of killing her twin sister. He also didn’t doubt that Hank would harm the boy, if he got him.

  Flynn laughed. “You want the sheriff to give you the boy so you can hightail it out of here? How stupid do you think he is?”

  Flynn looked at the sheriff, who raised a bushy eyebrow at him. Clearly the man was wise to his tactics, but he didn’t respond. That was to Flynn’s favor.

  Hank pointed his finger at Cora. “So you are just going to let her keep him?”

  The sheriff pushed his chair back and stood up. He walked across the room to the potbellied stove and picked up the coffeepot. “Why not? Both are safe in there, and she’s clearly the one that baby trusts.” He walked back to the desk and poured himself a cup of the thick brew.

  Flynn stood also. He walked to the door and opened it. “Well, I need a shave, haircut and a bath.” He left before anyone could respond. Taking long steps, Flynn walked to the side of the building and waited until Hank left. He watched as the man swaggered his way to the saloon. He could tell Hank believed he’d won.

  Once he was inside the saloon, Flynn reentered the jailhouse. Cora sat in the corner of her cell while Noah crawled on the floor to the bars. His heart ached seeing her in there, looking sad and rejected.

  The sheriff didn’t even look up from his paperwork. “Figured you’d be back as soon as he left.” He looked up. “I’d like to see your badge before we continue.”

  Had Cora told the sheriff that he was a lawman, too? His gaze met hers and she shook her head no.

  “No, she didn’t tell me. Either you’re a greenhorn or you know we can spot each other a mile off.” He took a drink of his coffee and frowned.

  Flynn chuckled. “Well, I’m not a greenhorn, but I have been on a dusty trail for months, so I might be a little rusty.” He sat down in front of the desk. “You don’t believe Hank Marshall’s story any more than I do.”

  “You’ve got that right. I didn’t like the man when he walked through that door three days ago and I like him even less now.” He turned to Cora. “Are you sure there isn’t anyone who knows that Grace Marshall came to you that night?”

  She stood and picked Noah up off the dirt floor. “No one else saw her. Gracie didn’t want anyone to know that Hank beat her or that she was leaving him. She told the Clarksons she was a widow and wanted a fresh start.”

  “Then it’s going to be hard to prove that he’s the guilty party rather than you.” The officer sighed heavily. His glance raked over Flynn. “Do you have any thoughts?”

  Flynn turned to face Cora. “I’m sorry I wasn’t very kind earlier. I wanted Hank to think I’m angry with you and that I don’t believe you.” He watched her try to smile and fail miserably.

  “It’s all right. I don’t blame you for being angry with me. I should have told you everything long ago.”

  The sheriff cleared his throat.

  Flynn turned his attention back to him. “Cora says Hank is a drunk who likes to hit women.”

  The sheriff nodded. “Yep, that I believe. He goes in the saloon every night and half the time sleeps there at a table, stone drunk.”

  Flynn was glad that the sheriff had proof that at least one part of Cora’s story was true. “I just saw him go into the saloon. If we wait a little while, he’ll be on his way to drunk soon. We don’t want to wait too long or he’ll claim he didn’t know what he was saying.” Flynn knew he was rambling, but an idea was forming. “I’ve got it, Sheriff.” The thought had just come to him and he knew exactly how he could get Hank to confess to killing his wife.

  The sheriff chuckled. “You have a plan?”

  “Yeah. Let’s head over to the saloon. I’ll explain on the way.” Flynn turned his attention back to Cora. “If this works, you’ll be out of the cell before tomorrow morning and Hank will be in it.”

  “I pray you are right,” Cora answered, sitting back down on the hard bench.

  Flynn wanted to tell her it would all be all right. That he loved her and had spent his time away from her this afternoon trying to figure out how to tell her and ask her to remain his wife. Now he wasn’t sure what their future held, but he did still love her, and if it was possible, he’d keep his promise and have her out by morning.

  “I’ll send Mrs. Amor to come sit with you. She’s nice and always brings food with her when she comes.” The sheriff pulled his hat from the hat rack beside the door and put it on his head.

  Flynn followed him out the door. When they got outside, he asked, “At the saloon, what is your drink of choice?”

  The sheriff slapped him on the back. “Tell Sam you want Sheriff Amor’s special drink. He’ll fix you right up. I’m going next door and telling the wife to make a visit to the jail. Don’t do anything at the saloon until I get there. I’ll stay in the background so that if you need me, I’ll be there.”

  A few minutes later, Flynn walked into the saloon. He didn’t normally go into taverns if he didn’t have to. He never drank and dreaded doing so now to trick Hank, but the man would get suspicious if Flynn refused to have a drink. The bar covered most of the back wall, whe
re brown bottles covered the shelves. Tables were scattered about the floor and a flight of stairs was off to the right. Flynn moseyed up to the bar.

  “What can I get you, stranger?” Sam wiped the spot in front of Flynn.

  Flynn spoke in a very low voice. “I’ll have Sheriff Amor’s specialty.”

  The bartender nodded. He turned his back on Flynn, pulled a bottle and glass from under the shelf. He turned back around and poured the brown liquid into the glass.

  Flynn took the glass and sipped. He was ready to flinch at the bitter taste of what looked like whiskey but was happily surprised when his tongue encountered sweet tea. “Thank you.” He downed the glass. “I think I’ll have another.”

  “You might want to pace yourself. This stuff goes right to the brain.” Sam kept an admirably straight face as he poured him another glass.

  Hank sat in the corner nursing his drink and looking anxious.

  Flynn had to wonder if Hank was worried that Flynn might confront him or if he’d had enough drink to be bothered that his story might not be as believable as he’d thought. Either way, as far as Flynn was concerned, Hank should be afraid.

  Flynn lowered his voice and asked, “What’s that fella over there having?” He tilted his head sideways to indicate he was talking about Hank.

  The bartender leaned forward and wiped at the stains on the bar. “Strongest whiskey I carry.” He shook his head. “He’s on his third glass and I believe he’s run out of money.” Sam winked at him and then pulled another bottle from under the counter. “Maybe you should share this bottle with him.” He topped Flynn’s glass off with the sweet tea and grinned. Then he shook the sheriff’s special brew. “You best go slow on this stuff, though.”

  Flynn took the whiskey bottle and bellowed, “I might just do that.” He took another drink from his glass. He lowered his voice so that only the bartender could hear him and said, “As soon as my friend arrives, which should be any moment.”

  Sam nodded his understanding. He left the whiskey bottle on the table and looked around. “Stranger, business is slow right now.”

  Flynn looked about also. He looked up the stairs and saw a pretty blonde looking down at him, and beside her, a not-so-pretty redhead. “Well, it’s still early in the day. I’m sure it will pick up.”

  The sheriff walked through the door.

  “See what I mean? There’s my friend. Care to top me off one more time?” He dropped several coins on the counter and waited for Sam to pour from the iced tea bottle, then scooped up the whiskey and headed to Hank’s table. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sheriff walk to the counter and sit on the bar stool at the end, closest to Hank’s table.

  Flynn reached Hank’s table, his steps a little wobbly. “Care to share a drink?” he asked, waving the bottle in front of himself as if he were already half-drunk.

  Hank eyed him wearily. “Why would you want to drink with me?” he demanded with a slight slur.

  Before answering, Flynn thumped the bottle down on the table in front of Hank.

  Flynn pulled out a chair, spun it around so that the back faced the table and then straddled the seat. He refilled Hank’s glass with whiskey and said, “I want to thank you for revealing to me that my wife’s a murderer.” Flynn pretended to shudder. “Imagine what she’s capable of if she killed her own sister. She might have killed me in my sleep.” He allowed his words to slur slightly, too.

  Cora’s brother-in-law drank all the liquor from his glass and held it out, grinning, for Flynn to refill. “Naw, Cora’s the mild one. Her sister, Grace—now, she’s a fighter.”

  “Isn’t Gracie the sister that Cora killed?”

  Hank seemed to get his focus back. “Isn’t that what I said?”

  “Earlier, yes. And I want to thank you. I was getting tired of her and the boy, so you helped me get rid of her and you get your boy back. We both are winners.” He took a drink from his glass, making sure not to gulp the contents. He needed to make Hank think he was drinking heavily also, if his plan was going to work.

  Chapter Twenty

  Cora watched as a woman she’d never seen before entered the jail. She was a little taller than Cora, with blond hair and blue eyes. Cora was thankful that her visitor wasn’t Hank or another man. She couldn’t get out of the cell, but that didn’t mean someone else couldn’t get in.

  The woman smiled at her through the bars. “Come on. I’m busting you out.” The twinkle in her eye said she was teasing...but then she pulled a key from her apron pocket and inserted it into the lock.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Cora picked up Noah and stepped farther away from the door.

  The woman’s smile grew even bigger. “It’s all right. I’m Mrs. Amor, the sheriff’s wife. He asked me to move you to our house. According to him, if your husband’s plan works, the men don’t want you anywhere near this jail when the real killer is brought in.”

  Cora felt herself relax. She smiled at the woman. “Where are we going?” She picked up the baby’s bag and walked through the jail cell door.

  Mrs. Amor made a funny face at Noah. He laid his head on Cora’s shoulder and grinned. “He is such a sweet boy.”

  “Thank you.” Cora hugged Noah close.

  “Let’s get out of here. I am always telling Stephen he should clean this place up, but do you think he does? No, of course not. Once a week I come over, but this last week I’ve been busy, so the place is a wreck.” She led the way out of the jail. “Be sure to close the door,” Mrs. Amor said over her shoulder.

  Cora closed the door and hurried to keep up with her. She was surprised when they went to the house next door. “You live next door to the jail?”

  Mrs. Amor opened the door and held it for her to pass. “We do.” She closed the door and led the way through the living area and into the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”

  Her stomach chose that moment to growl.

  Mrs. Amor laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes. Have a seat and I’ll fix us dinner.”

  Cora sank into the nearest chair. Noah began to push against her. Her gaze moved across the spotless floor. “Down,” he demanded.

  Not seeing anything that could harm the baby, Cora asked, “Do you mind if I let Noah crawl on the kitchen floor?”

  “Of course I don’t mind.” Mrs. Amor placed a jar of pickles on the table.

  Cora stood and stretched. “Can I help you?”

  “No need. I’m serving cold brisket, potato salad and a few veggies—it’ll be ready in a flash. Just relax.The men will be back soon.” She paused and smiled. “I hope.”

  What could Flynn be doing that would make Hank confess to murdering Gracie? Cora’s mind had been occupied with the trip from the jail to the house, so she’d not thought too hard about what Flynn was up to. But now she couldn’t ignore her fears. Hank was capable of murder, that much she knew, so was Flynn safe? She felt the dull ache of foreboding. She loved Flynn, had for a while, but when this was all over, would he forgive her for not telling him about Gracie, Hank and Noah? Would he still want to end their marriage? Did he care about her the way she did him?

  “Why don’t we eat now?” Mrs. Amor suggested. “You are going to wear a hole in my floor.” She smiled, taking the sting out of her words.

  Cora hadn’t even realized she’d been pacing. “I’m sorry.” She scooped Noah off the floor and sat down. “What do you think they are doing?”

  Mrs. Amor filled a dessert plate with a spoonful of potato salad. “I can’t say.”

  Noah reached his hand forward to grab the salad.

  “Wait, Noah. We need to pray first.” Cora took his small hand in hers. She looked to her hostess, who bowed her head.

  Cora had to admit that Mrs. Amor knew how to pray. She prayed over their meal, asked for the men’s safety and the success of the ladies’ bake sale before saying amen. Cora helpe
d the baby eat and nibbled on her own meal. Her eyes kept going to the door. “Are they coming here when they finish whatever they’re doing?”

  Mrs. Amor stacked dishes in the sink and began to wash them. She handed Cora a tea towel to dry the dishes and answered, “Yes. It may take a while. You know how it is to be married to a lawman.”

  “No, I don’t. Flynn and I married right before we left Independence. I learned he was a lawman a few hours before the wedding.” Cora dried the dish and sighed. “Honestly, I didn’t know or understand what that meant, until now.”

  “Oh, honey, you still don’t know.” She handed Cora a plate.

  Cora looked down at Noah. He played with the spoons Mrs. Amor had given him. Noah banged the floor and the cabinet, then looked up at her with a big grin. He was her whole reason for everything she’d done over the last several months: taking the Oregon Trail, marrying Flynn and going to jail. As she looked down at his sweet face, Cora knew she’d do it all again and more.

  “Elsie! We’re back.”

  Both Cora and Mrs. Amor turned to look into the living room.

  “We’re in here!” Mrs. Amor called back.

  A few moments later, both Sheriff Amor and Flynn walked through the kitchen door. Noah saw Flynn and toddled across the floor as fast as his chubby little legs could go. He grabbed Flynn’s pant leg and leaned into him.

  Mrs. Amor smiled at her husband. “Are you two hungry? I put two plates on the back of the stove.”

  “As a bear,” her husband answered.

  Flynn scooped up Noah. His gaze caught and locked with Cora’s.

  “Come sit, Flynn,” the sheriff ordered, pulling out a chair at the table.