Madeline Baker - Lakota Renegade

by Lakota Renegade (lit)

  Creed shrugged. "She's just a friend." He jerked his chin toward the sack on the bed. "She brought me some cookies."

  "Right."

  Creed shoved his hands into his pants pockets, wishing he could wipe the smirk off the lawman's face.

  "You want something, Sheriff?"

  Harrington shook his head. "No. Just came to make sure she didn't slip you a weapon of some kind."

  "She didn't."

  "You won't mind if I check for myself? You know the drill, Maddigan. Move away from the door and put your hands against the wall."

  Grimacing, Creed did as he was told, a muscle working in his jaw as Harrington searched him. He almost made a grab for the lawman's gun, but Harrington had a reputation of his own, and Creed wasn't ready to see if Harrington could live up to it. Not yet.

  Taking a step backward, Harrington picked up the brown paper bag and looked inside. Grunting softly, he helped himself to one of Jassy's sugar cookies and took a bite.

  "Not bad," he muttered as he stepped out of the cell. "Not bad at all."

  Creed didn't expect to see Jassy the next morning, not after his abrupt dismissal the day before. But she turned up bright and early.

  "Good morning, Creed," she said, her voice hesitant.

  The hurt in her voice, the wariness in her eyes, made him feel things he didn't understand, want things he couldn't put a name to.

  "I . . ." Her gaze slid away, then returned to his face. "Do you want me to go?"

  "No." He ran a hand through his hair, wondering how things had gotten so complicated. "I'm sorry about yesterday, Jassy. I just didn't want you to be subjected to any of Harrington's crude jokes. I . . . I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

  The look of relief on her face made him ache inside. Lord, she was so young.

  Her sweet smile drove everything else from his mind, and he was reaching through the bars, needing to touch her, to feel her softness, to taste her goodness. And for a few minutes, nothing else mattered.

  Jassy came to see him every day for the next five days. She always came early in the morning, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why. He knew she snuck out of the house when Rose was asleep. No doubt Rose would throw a fit if she knew Jassy was making visits to the jail.

  Creed could understand that. He didn't like the idea of Jassy coming to the jail, either, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her to stay away. And he couldn't seem to keep his hands off her, either. He told himself repeatedly that she was way too young and that as soon as he got out of jail he would be moving on and would never see her again. But, right or wrong, he simply didn't have the willpower to resist the silent invitation in her eyes.

  She wanted a kiss hello, she wanted a kiss good-bye, and she wanted several more in between, and he was happy to give them to her.

  He discovered the curvy, little figure that had been hidden beneath the baggy dresses, and he realized that was probably the reason her mother had insisted she wear it. Jassy might be small, she might have the face of a child, but the rest of her was all woman.

  And if he thought about hangmen and iron bars during the long tedious hours of the day, it was Jassy's big brown eyes and provocative lips that filled his dreams. He was sinking in quicksand, he mused ruefully, fast getting in over his head, and he didn't seem to care.

  He loved holding her in his arms, and he loved the way she looked up at him as if he were some kind of white knight. He loved the way her voice turned husky after he'd kissed her a few times and the way her eyes clouded with desire.

  Damn. He'd be safer with the hangman.

  He had been in jail eight days when Harrington informed him that the judge had arrived. His trial would commence the day after tomorrow at ten sharp.

  He couldn't sleep that night. Hour after hour, he paced the narrow floor. Eight days he'd been locked up. Eight days. Thank God for Jassy. She had come every morning, bringing him cookies and apples and newspapers, her ready smile cheering him. But for her, he would surely have lost his mind. But it was almost over now. The day after tomorrow he would be a free man.

  It occurred to him that he had never asked her to come to the trial. He had been so wrapped up in his desire for her that he had never thought to talk about the trial at all. But of course she would be there. She knew how important it was, knew that she was the only witness to the shooting.

  Lord, how he hated being locked up!

  Chapter Eight

  "Maddigan, you've got a visitor."

  Creed sat up. A visitor? It couldn't be Jassy. She'd been there earlier.

  "This here's your attorney," Harrington said with a lopsided grin. He unlocked the cell door to admit a thin, wiry man carrying a black leather satchel.

  Brown, Creed thought. Unruly brown hair, listless brown eyes, limp brown suit, scuffed brown shoes.

  "Neville Durning," the lawyer said.

  With obvious distaste, the attorney stepped into the cell and sat down on the wobbly chair in the corner.

  "Give me a holler when you're through," Harrington said. He locked the cell door with a flourish, then ambled out of the cellblock, whistling softly.

  Creed took one look at his lawyer and knew he'd have a far better chance in court if he was on his own.

  "The trial's tomorrow," Durning said, as if Creed wasn't already painfully aware of the fact. "From what the sheriff tells me, it doesn't sound like you have much of a case."

  "You come here just to tell me that?"

  "I need to hear your side."

  "Why? You've already decided I'm guilty."

  A flush crept into Durning's cheeks. "Be that as it may, you're entitled to council."

  "I've already got the whole town against me," Creed muttered ruefully. "You'd think they could have found me a lawyer who'd side with me."

  "It doesn't matter what I think," Durning said. He adjusted the narrow, wire-rimmed glasses perched on the edge of his nose. "It's what we can prove."

  "The kid called me out and I shot him. It was self-defense."

  "I see. Harrington says there were no witnesses."

  "There's one. Jassy McCloud. She saw the whole thing."

  Durning frowned. "McCloud? The whore's kid?"

  Creed stifled the urge to throttle the man. Instead, he nodded.

  "You don't really expect me to put her on the stand? Who would believe her, especially when everyone in town knows she's sweet on you? Several people have seen you going into her house late at night." Durning shook his head. "No, I don't think putting that little tramp on the stand is a good idea."

  Creed came off the cot, his hands knotted into fists as he stood over Durning. "Don't ever call her that again, you understand me?"

  Durning glared at him. "A jury would have no doubt about your ability to gun a man down in cold blood if they could see you now," he remarked contemptuously.

  Creed took a deep, calming breath. He had to admire the little weasel. Durning put up a good front, but Creed saw the fear in the man's eyes, the tremor in his hands.

  "She saw what happened," Creed said, biting off each word. "Ask her. She's the only witness I've got."

  With a nod, Durning stood up, hollering for Harrington to let him out.

  Jassy didn't come to the jail in the morning. Creed tried not to let it bother him. After all, the trial was in less than an hour. She'd need time to eat breakfast and get dressed. They'd have plenty of time to be together later.

  Sitting on the edge of the cot, he stared at the floor, his insides coiled tight as a spring. In a few hours, it would all be over.

  He glanced up at the sound of footsteps.

  ''Thought you might like to wash up," Harrington said, sliding a basin and a towel through the narrow slit at the bottom of the cell door.

  "Thanks."

  "Whole town's talking about your trial. Reckon it'll be standing room only. Good for business."

  "Glad I could be of help."

  The sheriff chuckled. "Can't wait for the hangin'."

>   "I haven't been tried yet."

  "True, true," Harrington agreed. "But Judge Paxton ain't known as the hangin' judge for nothin'. Harry's mama has been crying to the whole town, tellin' them what a good boy her son was, how he went to church every Sunday. The hell of it is, it's all true. She's got the whole town on her side. People hereabouts are partial to the Coulters."

  Including my lawyer, Creed thought bleakly. "You finished jawin' yet?"

  "Yeah, yeah. I'll be back in twenty minutes. Be ready."

  As the sheriff had predicted, the whole town seemed to have turned out for the trial. Men, women, and children crowded into the courthouse, and it was indeed standing room only.

  Creed's gaze swept the spectators, but there was no sign of Jassy. He sat down where Harrington indicated, telling himself not to worry, she'd be there.

  A few minutes later, Neville Durning entered the courtroom. He took the seat next to Creed with great diffidence, his expression clearly indicating that he was there solely because he had been designated as counsel for the defense.

  The bailiff called the court to order, Paxton took the bench, and the trial began.

  The prosecution's case was short and direct. Harry Coulter had been a decent, God-fearing, law-abiding citizen, an upright young man who had attended church every Sunday and often sang in the choir. He had never been in trouble with the law.

  "Never in trouble with the law." The prosecutor repeated the sentence, clearly enunciating each word, then went on to point out that Creed Maddigan was a well-known killer, a notorious gun for hire, fully capable of gunning down an innocent young man like Harry Coulter. As far as the prosecution was concerned, Creed Maddigan was guilty as charged.

  Ray Braddock was called to the stand. With a smirk in Creed's direction, he testified that Creed Maddigan had threatened to shoot him down in cold blood.

  Two other men, whom Creed recognized as having been at the poker table with Braddock the night he had warned Braddock to keep away from Jassy McCloud, testified that they had heard the threat, and that Maddigan had been cold sober when he made it. Neither had any doubt that Creed Maddigan was capable of murder.

  The prosecution's only other witness was the sheriff. Harrington was sworn in and testified that Harry had been dead when he arrived on the scene, shot once through the heart. A single round had been fired from his weapon.

  Neville Durning called Creed to the stand.

  "Please tell us, Mr. Maddigan, what happened on the night in question."

  "I was leaving the Lazy Ace Saloon," Creed said. "About midnight. Coulter called me out. I didn't know who it was at the time. I fired at his muzzle flash."

  "And killed him?"

  A strangled sob came from the front row. Creed glanced at the woman sitting there. Harry's mother, he thought bleakly. Ray Coulter, dressed in a tweed suit and vest, sat beside the woman, his arm around her.

  Durning cleared his throat. "Would you please answer the question, Mr. Maddigan? Did you kill Harry Coulter?"

  A muscle ticked in Creed's jaw. "Yes."

  "Thank you. Your witness, Mr. Von Meter."

  "Did you know Harry Coulter?" Von Meter asked.

  "Not really."

  "Would you care to elaborate on that?"

  "I met him once."

  "Under what circumstances?"

  "I caught him bothering a girl, trying to kiss her. He hit her when she tried to fight him, and I broke it up."

  "And you think that gave him cause to want to kill you?"

  "I don't know what his reasons were."

  "You expect the court to believe that a young man of Harry's sterling reputation would challenge a well-known gunman to a duel simply because you'd hurt his pride?"

  "I don't know what his reasons were," Creed repeated. "I'm telling you what happened."

  "We have only your word for that."

  Creed's gaze settled on Durning's face. "There was a witness."

  "No one came forward," Von Meter remarked, his voice thick with skepticism.

  "Call Jassy McCloud," Creed said. "She saw the whole thing."

  "Why wasn't she subpoenaed to court?" the judge asked.

  Neville Durning stood up. "She's been very ill, your honor." Durning handed a sheet of paper to the judge. "This is her statement, duly signed, which states that she was at home in bed at the time of the shooting."

  Creed swore under his breath. Jassy had failed him, and his own lawyer had just driven another nail in his coffin.

  "Duly noted and accepted as evidence," the judge said. "Any other witnesses, Mr. Durning?"

  "No, your honor."

  "Excuse me, your honor," Von Meter said. "I've just been handed a note. It seems the prosecution has another witness, after all."

  "This is highly irregular, Mr. Von Meter," the judge replied.

  "I'm aware of that, your honor, but we beg the court's indulgence."

  "Very well, call your witness. Mr. Maddigan, you may step down."

  "The prosecution calls Rose McCloud to the stand."

  Creed swore under his breath as Jassy's sister took the stand, then proceeded, very calmly, to testify that she had seen the whole thing on her way home from work. According to Rose, Creed Maddigan had bullied young Harry Coulter into drawing his gun and had then shot him down.

  "Thank you for coming forward, Miss McCloud," Von Meter said. "Your witness, Mr. Durning."

  "The defense has no questions for this witness, your honor," Durning stated.

  Creed swore under his breath. He could almost feel the rope around his neck because he knew there was no way in hell the jury would believe him now. Rose might be nothing but a saloon girl, but she was a white girl, and he knew from past experience that no white man would take the word of a half-breed over that of a white woman, even if she was a whore.

  Both sides gave their closing arguments, the jury went to deliberate, and Creed was taken back to his cell.

  Jassy's head jerked up when she heard the key turn in the lock. "What happened?"

  Rose shook her head. "I don't know. The jury was still out when I left."

  Jassy tugged against the rope that bound her wrists to the bedpost.

  "Rosie, please, you've got to let me go to him."

  "No."

  "But why? He's innocent, Rose. It was self-defense."

  "I don't care. He's a half-breed, Jassy, lower than poor white trash. He deserves whatever he gets."

  "How can you say that?"

  "Because it's true!" Fists clenched at her sides, Rose took a deep breath. "Anyway, Ray wants him to pay for killing Harry, and he told me . . . Never mind what he told me."

  "He threatened you, didn't he?"

  "Of course not!"

  "What then? Did he promise to marry you if Creed went to jail?"

  "I don't want to discuss it."

  That was it, Jassy thought. Rose was convinced that Ray Coulter would marry her, and Jassy knew she'd do anything to make that happen, even send an innocent man to jail.

  "Creed didn't do it, Rose. You can't let them send him to prison."

  "I'll be back when it's over."

  Rose knew a moment of guilt as she left the room. Everything she had told Jassy was true, but the real reason she wanted Creed Maddigan dead had nothing to do with Ray Coulter.

  Rose had heard the affection in Maddigan's voice when he had come to see Jassy the night Rose returned from Denver. She had known right then that Creed Maddigan wanted Jassy. Why he hadn't already taken the little chit was beyond Rose's comprehension, but she knew lust when she saw it. Maddigan wanted Jassy, and Rose had figured he just might be willing to pay for what he hadn't taken.

  With that in mind, she had taken Maddigan outside and offered Jassy to him, for a price. She hadn't been prepared for the sudden cold rage that had flared in the depths of the half-breed's eyes. His hand had closed over her arm and he had jerked her up close, warning her in a whisper-soft voice that if he ever found Jassy working in the Lazy Ace, he would
cut Rose up so bad no man would ever look at her again.

  The expression in Maddigan's eyes, as hard and cold as stone, had frightened her as nothing else ever had. Now all she wanted was to be rid of him once and for all, to know that she would never have to look into those cold black eyes again.

  The jury wasn't out long. No more than thirty minutes had passed when court was reconvened.

  Creed sat on the edge of his chair, his gaze moving over the faces of the twelve jurors. He didn't like what he saw there. In his gut, he knew they'd found him guilty even before the judge read the verdict. Hell, they'd decided he was guilty before the trial ever started.

  A cold hand, like the hand of doom, settled on Creed's shoulder when the judge read the verdict, then sentenced him to twenty years.

  Twenty years.

  The words echoed and reechoed in his mind as he left the courthouse.

  Twenty years.

  Twenty years. He wished they'd decided to hang him instead.

  So did Harrington. "Can't understand it," the lawman muttered as he locked the cell door. "He ain't never disappointed me before."

  But Creed was too immersed in his own misery to care what the sheriff thought.

  Twenty years.

  He sat down on the edge of the cot, his head cradled in his hands, and stared at the stone floor.

  Twenty years. He saw his future stretch ahead of him, his freedom gone, his days and nights spent imprisoned behind iron bars and high stone walls, and knew he'd rather be dead.

  Chapter Nine

  "Is it over?" Jassy stared at her sister through eyes swollen with tears.

  "Yes. They gave him twenty years."

  "Twenty years," Jassy repeated. She tugged against the rope that bound her wrists to the bed. "Let me go! I've got to go to him, to help him."

  "You're not going anywhere."

  "Yes, I am. You're not going to get away with this, Rose. I'll tell the judge what I saw. I'll tell the sheriff." Jassy tugged on the rope again, oblivious to the pain as the rough hemp dug into her wrists. "I'll tell the whole damn town!"

  "Go ahead. No one will believe you." The candlelight flashed on the knife in Rose's hand as she cut the ropes from Jassy's wrists. "Milt says you can start working in the saloon as soon as you turn seventeen."