by Bobbi Smith
Long wanted to tell his colonel that he trusted Brand more than he would ever trust him, but he said nothing. This was not the right time for the confrontation. He swung back up in the saddle. "Yes, sir. I'll see to it. We also have injured men from the posse. They need to be taken to the hospital."
"I'll give the orders," Hancock said tersely.
Long and Brand rode off toward the guardhouse. Both men were glad to be away from the commanding officer.
Sheri was angrier than she'd ever been in her life as she watched them go. She wanted to jump down off her horse and slap the colonel as hard as she could. It was bad enough that Brand was going to be locked up and under guard, but to listen to the colonel and his insults was almost too much for her to bear.
"You!" Hancock saw her then, and for just an instant, his facade dropped and his face turned red with rage.
"Miss St. John is free to do as she pleases," Sheriff Warren explained as he rode up and dismounted before the colonel.
"Isn't she the one who broke the breed out of jail?"
"There are conflicting stories about the incident, so we're giving her the benefit of the doubt, especially since Brand came to our rescue and then surrendered to us peacefully," he said.
"I see," Hancock ground out. "Very well. I'll have the captain see to accommodations for you for the night. Take your wounded to the hospital, and I'll make sure the doctor is ready to see them. You have one dead?"
"Yes, only one, thank God. If it hadn't been for Brand, we all would have been killed."
"Don't let that influence your judgment, Sheriff Warren. You know the man's a killer."
"We'll let a judge and a jury decide that, colonel. If you'll excuse me? I'll tend to my men." After the discussion they'd had on the ride back, he wanted to say as little as possible to the man until they were ready to question him extensively.
Hancock was infuriated by his answer, but bit back what he was going to say. He couldn't lose his temper here with so many people watching. Later there would be time for that. He took one last look around, saw that everything was under control, and turned and strolled off. He went back to his office.
He needed another drink. This wasn't going the way he'd planned.
Sheri couldn't believe that the men from the posse weren't confronting the colonel right then and there. She was livid at the prospect of his getting away with Hale's murder and blaming it on Brand, and she was more than ready to confront the arrogant officer. All the way back, she'd been thinking about what she wanted to say to the man, and it wasn't pretty.
She dismounted and was thinking about following Hancock, when Cecelia appeared.
"Sheri, dear, thank heavens, you're back safe!" she said, hurrying to her like a mother hen. "Maureen was here trying to find out something about you the other day, but there was nothing to be learned. She's gone back to town now with that nice newspaperman. I understand you need quarters for the night, and the rooms you had on your last trip are all ready for you. Come with me, and we'll get you all settled in."
"Thank you, Cecelia. Would it be possible to send word to Maureen that we're back and safe here at the fort?" Sheri was relieved to know that her cousin was fine.
"Of course, my dear. I'll see to it as soon as I take you to your rooms."
She allowed the older woman to lead her off, but her gaze was fastened on the retreating, ramrod-straight back of the colonel. As soon as she got cleaned up, she was going to see the man. Philip might not be ready to confront him, but she was feeling no such constraints. She had a few things to say to the man, and she was going to say them.
Hancock was cold inside. Fear was gripping his soul. He didn't like this. He didn't like this at all. Bits of the conversations he'd had with the lieutenant and the sheriff were haunting him. Had Brand really saved them? Did they really suspect now that he wasn't guilty? He drank straight from his bottle of whiskey. The knock at his office door surprised him.
''Who is it?"
"Sheridan St. John, Colonel Hancock. I wonder if I could talk to you for a few minutes?" Sheri said through the door.
"Yes . . . Just a minute . . ." He quickly put the top bark on the bottle and shoved it into his drawer. "All right. Come in."
Sheri had taken the time to wash up and was feeling much more in control as she ventured into his office. She despised this man for what he was trying to do to Brand, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it, even if the lieutenant and the others weren't.
"Thank you for seeing me," she said with a sweetness she wasn't feeling.
"Of course, it's my pleasure," he replied graciously, all the while grinding his teeth in fury at her presence. "Please have a seat."
"I will, thank you."
"What can I do for you, Miss St. John?"
"I know we're going to be heading back to town just as quickly as we possibly can, so I wanted to take the opportunity to speak with you privately and thank you for all your help."
"You're more than welcome," he said, caught a little off guard. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't this.
"Yes, it will be a pleasure to let my cousin James in Washington know just how much help you were." She deliberately used James's name to remind the colonel of her political connections.
"I appreciate that. So you've done all your research and you're ready to write your book?"
"Oh, sir, I've been writing it the whole time we've been here."
"But won't you need to make some changes? You can't possibly use Brand for your hero now that he's going to hang for murder, can you?" Had he been sober, he would never have said what he was thinking, but he wanted to remind her that Brand was a filthy, no-good renegade, just like the ones who'd attacked them out in the mountains.
Sheri had known the conversation was going too smoothly, and she was glad for this crack in his armor. Her championing of Brand was his weak spot, and she knew that if she was going to get him to reveal anything, that was the way.
"Brand's not going to hang. He's innocent, and we're going to prove it," she said simply.
"We?" he asked quickly.
"Why, Lieutenant Long, Sheriff Warren, and me. And as for my book, well, there will be no problem there at all. You see, though the Brand in my book is framed for murder, the truth comes out in the end. . . ."
"What truth?" Hancock went still behind his desk as he watched her like a predator.
Sheri sensed that he was growing angry, but she did not waver in her determination to confront him in the only way she knewthrough her fiction. "Oh, yes. You see, in my book, Brand, of course, is innocent. He couldn't have done the crime, for he was with my heroine, Rachel. The problem was finding the one who did do it and making sure there was enough evidence to convict." She lifted her gaze to his and did not flinch before the murderous look in his eyes. "I decided the perfect villain was Brand's commanding officer at the fort. He had the motive and the opportunity, and he had long wanted Brand out of the way."
Never in all her years had Sheri seen any expression like the one that flickered across Hancock's face. It was evil . . . pure evil. But as soon as she'd caught a glimpse of it, it was gone. She fought down a shiver.
"What do you think of my plot line?" she asked sweetly, taking care to keep her expression as innocent as possible. "Do you think it's believable?"
Hancock's smile was tight. "I think it's very creative fiction, Miss St. John, but that's what you're paid to do, right? Make up stories?"
"Ah, but sometimes my stories are based on the truth. That's why I'm here researching. My publisher wanted my work to be more authentic, you know." Sheri saw his hands clench into fists so tightly that his knuckles were white. She rose smoothly, sensing the need to make a quick exit. She felt a sudden fear for her life, and she was glad it was daylight and there were lots of people around outside. "Well, again, thank you for everything. I'll be going now."
She did not wait, but started from the room. She moved as slowly as she could make herself
walk, for she didn't want him to know how scared she was. It wasn't easy, though, for she felt his deadly regard on her the whole time she was crossing the room to the door.
"Miss St. John?"
His voice stopped her as she reached for the door knob. She glanced back, and this time she did tremble. He looked like a vicious predator watching her.
"Yes?"
"I'm sure I'll see you again before you go. Thanks for stopping by."
She nodded, then left, wondering if she had done any good at all. She had wanted to shake his control, to taunt him into losing his temper, but now she feared she'd failed miserably and had possibly ruined things for the lieutenant. She hoped not. Disappointed, she returned to her room, and when she got there, she instinctively locked the door behind her. Only then did she feel she was reasonably safe.
Hancock stared at the closed office door. He did not know how he'd controlled himself, but he'd done it and he was proud of himself. He'd wanted to kill her, to wrap his hands around her throat and silence her for eternity. Her and her half-breed hero!
Rage roared through him. He stood up to pace the office. If what she was saying was true, then she knew the truthand it would only be a matter of time before they came for him. He broke out in a cold sweat. They must have some clue to his killing Hale, but he didn't know what. He'd been so careful about it.
He sat back down at the desk to think. He had to take action. He had to do something! He wanted Brand dead, along with the St. John girl. If only he could think of a way. . . . He got out his bottle and took another deep drink. He had little time to waste.
He had to come up with a plan.
Sheri hadn't been gone long when there was another knock at his door.
"Who is it?" he demanded, outraged by another interruption.
"Lieutenant Long, sir. I wanted to report in."
Hancock thought for a moment, then called for him to come in. "How are the wounded, lieutenant?"
"They should all make it, sir. I just spoke with the doctor and they're doing as well as can be expected. He thinks they should stay on for a few more days before trying to make the trip back to town."
The colonel nodded. "That will be fine. Anything else?"
"Yes, sir. There is one other thing I'd like to broach with you . . ."
"Speak your mind, lieutenant. What is it? Are you worried about the breed escaping? I've posted a guard on him."
"No, that's the least of my worries, sir. The truth is, colonel, I've become convinced that the sheriff has arrested the wrong man."
"What? Everyone in the saloon heard Brand threaten Hale! You heard him, too! Everyone knows he did it!" Hancock raged, nearly out of control at the thought of his plan failing. They had to hang the breed; it was what he deserved.
"Not everyone," Philip said coolly, watching the change in his commanding officer and amazed by it. It looked like their hunch was right. Everything did fit. "You see, I spoke with the sheriff and with Brand. It seems you told the sheriff that we left the Gold Bar Saloon together that night, and you know that's not true. Also, when you spoke to Brand when he was in the cell, you told him that you knew he was innocent. Yet, when you speak to anyone else, you say you are certain he did it."
"I was trying to give him some moral support," Hancock lied, his color fading as he faced the younger officer. "And what I said to the sheriff, exactly, I have no idea. He asked me if I remembered anything unusual about that night, and I told him that we'd left about the same time."
"I see."
"I don't understand your point, lieutenant. Are you trying to accuse me of something?" Hancock challenged, wanting to back him down. He'd never known Long to have much backbone before, and he'd never had any trouble controlling him.
"No, sir. There was just one other thing. You left the saloon before I did, but when I returned to my room at the hotel, you were not there yet. I knocked on your door, thinking you'd retired for the night, but there was no answer. Later, as I was falling asleep, I heard you come in."
Hancock flushed as his rage grew. He was being trapped! He knew it! "I was otherwise occupied that night."
"Otherwise occupied, sir?" Philip pressed, sensing he had stumbled upon something important here.
"I . . . uh . . . I paid a visit to Miss Loretta's," he blurted out. "I spent some time with one of the girls."
"Which one, sir?"
"What the hell difference does it make?" he roared.
"I was just going to follow up on your story and see if everything checked out."
Hancock rose to his feet, towering over the younger man. "Are you calling me a liar? I have no reason to lie. I'm the commanding officer of this fort! When I give orders, they are obeyed!"
"Absolutely, sir."
"Then what are you trying to do here?"
"I'm trying to find the truth about a murder." Philip stood, looking Hancock in the eye. He saw the bloodlust there and had the distinct, chilling impression that the man was quite insane. "If you'll excuse me, sir? I have some other things to attend to." He walked out.
Hancock was in a deadly rage. First, they brought Brand back in alive! Then, that St. John woman showed up and all but accused him of the murder! And now! Now! His lieutenant was questioning his very authority! His world was coming apart, and he knew the reason it was happening! He knew the one who had caused all his troubles! It was Brand!
Brand was the one who was responsible for all this! Brand deserved to die, and if he had to be the one to execute him, he would! The hell with the rest of them if they couldn't see the truth that was right before their eyes!
Hancock took out his revolver and checked to make sure it was loaded. He drank again from his bottle and looked out the window. It would be dark soon, and then he would make his move. Until dusk, he would just sit and wait. The time for justice was near at hand.
Chapter Twenty-one
Brand, the Half-Breed Scout, or Trail of the Renegade
The Revelation
Rachel began a slow recovery, and she was thrilled when Brand came to see her. She found herself eagerly waiting for him and anticipating his daily visits.
"You have a visitor," the doctor announced.
Rachel looked up, expecting Brand. She was eager to hear about his day and to just be with him. But she was jarred to the depths of her soul when her fiancé, Carl, walked in.
"Carl!" she said in surprise.
He thought she was thrilled and he went to her and took her in his arms. "Thank heaven you're all right. I came as soon as Mrs. Stewart sent word."
Carl was sitting next to her, telling her of his love and how much he was worried about her, when Brand came to the doorway.
"Who's that with her?" he asked the doctor.
"That's her fiancé," the physician explained.
Brand's expression hardened and he backed from the room without Rachel being aware that he'd ever come to see her.
Rachel had truly thought she loved Carl and that he truly loved her. When she told him how she and Mercy had been captured and how Brand had rescued them, though, his reaction shocked her. He withdrew from her emotionally, suddenly treating her as if she were somehow tainted from the experience. It was then that she realized that she had never loved him. Brand was the man who made her heart sing. Brand was the man who had risked his very life to keep her safe. Brand was the man she dreamed about at night and longed to be with all day.
Hancock waited until it was late. He didn't want any interruptions. He wanted to be alone with Brand. He had a few things to say to him in private.
A deadly calm settled over him. At last he was going to do it. He was going to make the bastard pay. Moving with slow deliberation, he put the top back on his bottle and stowed it back in the drawer. The next drink he took would be one of celebration.
Hancock met no one as he crossed the parade ground on his way to the guardhouse. As he neared the building, he was pleased to see that a guard was posted. At least someone was following his orders.
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"Good evening, private," he said smoothly to the man standing guard.
"Colonel." He saluted.
"I need to speak with our prisoner for a moment. Why don't you take a break? I'll stay with him until you get back."
"Thank you, sir." The private was pleased to have some time off. It had been boring standing guard there tonight. No one was going to bother Brand. He was as safe as he could be locked up there at McDowell. He handed his commanding officer the keys and moved off to get something to eat.
Hancock was smiling. Everything was going so well. Now, all he had to do was get Brand out of that cell. . . .
"Hello, Brand," Hancock said smoothly as he stepped inside the guardhouse.
Brand jumped to his feet at the sight of the colonel. He did not speak, but watched him cautiously. He knew how evil the man was, and he didn't trust him.
"Glad to see me, are you?" Hancock asked with a cold smile as he advanced toward the cell door. "I should think you would be. I've come to release you."
"Release me? Why?" Now Brand was shocked. He hadn't seen or spoken to Sheriff Warren or Lieutenant Long since he'd been locked up here, and he found it difficult to believe that they would send the colonel to free him if they'd finally found proof that he was innocent.
"I spoke at length with the sheriff and Long, and all agreed that a terrible mistake was made in arresting you. Obviously, they jumped to conclusions about your guilt. So . . .'' Hancock paused as he unlocked the cell door and opened it. "You are free to go."
Brand would have liked nothing better than to walk out of the guardhouse a free man, but he hesitated. There was something in the colonel's manner that gave him pause. He knew this man too well, and he suspected that if he was really being freed, Sheriff Warren would have been there with Hancock. "Where's the sheriff? Shouldn't he be here, too? It seems awfully late to be letting me go."
Hancock gritted his teeth as he responded, "I spoke with him at length. In fact, he was the one who told me to let you go tonight. We had talked about waiting until morning, but I thought you'd probably had enough nights in jail cells already."