by Ford, Linda
Cole seemed to rouse himself. “Of course.”
“Let’s get this over with then,” the lawman muttered before pivoting on his heel and stalking toward the door. Over his shoulder, he called, “Gooding, I’ll need you to come with us and fill out a written statement.”
“It’d be my pleasure.”
Panic bubbled up.
When Cole made to move past her, she sidestepped to block his path, her palms flat against his chest halting his progress. “Wait! Cole, talk to me,” she pleaded, tears flowing freely now. “You can’t go to jail for a crime you didn’t commit! Why aren’t you fighting back?”
The expression on his face, when he at last met her gaze, froze the blood in her veins. This was not the man who’d surprised her with a sleigh ride a few short hours ago, stringing popcorn and trimming the tree and...and kissing her as if she was his entire world. This was not the man she’d fallen in love with. This man was cold. Unreachable. His guard as impenetrable as ever. “Do me a favor. Don’t come to the jail.”
She gasped. “Please don’t shut me out! Not now. Not when we need each other more than ever.”
His hands settled heavily on her shoulders. Not to pull her closer or give comfort, but to move her out of his way. “Please just do as I ask.”
Then he was striding out the door and into the night, vaulting into the saddle and riding out with her father and the sheriff. On his way to jail.
* * *
The metal bars of his cell mocked him. You really believed you could turn things around? Start fresh? The no-account son of the most hated man this side of the Tennessee River? It would have been better for Rachel and Abigail if you never came back.
Weary beyond words, he sank onto the narrow cot and tugged his hat down to cover his eyes. In his current mood, he didn’t wanna see or talk to anyone. Anyone being Shane Timmons.
For the past hour, the astute lawman had sat at his desk without speaking, flipping through papers and occasionally eyeing Cole as if expecting him to say something.
The rustling paper stilled and the chair scraped back. When footsteps didn’t immediately follow, Cole tipped up his hat and found the lawman leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he regarded him with uplifted brow.
“You do realize what the punishment for horse thieving is, right?”
Death by hanging. He couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud. Sweat rolled down his spine.
“Of course,” Shane went on, “Gooding has agreed to drop the charges if you swear to leave town and never come back.”
Should he be relieved by the knowledge? A life apart from his wife and daughter would be no life at all. Still, what choice did he have?
The lawman’s gaze turned intense, scrutinizing. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this. One word from you as to the owner of that cigar butt and you can go home to your wife and child. We both know he’s framing you, trying to run you out of town. With your testimony, Gooding would be in that cell instead of you.”
Exactly. “I can’t do that to Rachel.”
“What do you think this is doing to her?”
Cole hung his head, unable to get the image of her stricken face out of his mind. This is for the best, he reassured himself. If not Lawrence, someone else would want him gone. What kind of life could Abigail have with him for a father? Folks had long memories. They would never let her forget who her father and grandfather were and would treat her with the same derision as they had him.
Yanking his hat down to signal he was finished with the conversation, he stretched out on his back and attempted to ignore the yawning ache in his chest. This time, leaving here would surely kill him.
* * *
With trembling hands, Rachel pushed through the sheriff’s office door later that night, her gaze shooting past Shane, seated at his desk on the left, to the jail compartments lining the back wall. Only one was occupied. Stretched out on the cot, his hat covering his face, Cole appeared to be asleep.
“You have a visitor, Prescott.”
Settling his hat on his head, Shane stood and locked gazes with her. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
She nodded, thankful for the small kindness, and slowly approached the iron bars. The bleak, sparse space compounded her despair. He should be home with her and Abby, not here. Not alone at Christmas. Imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit.
“Cole?”
He bolted upright, his hat sliding to the floor as he pierced her with his dark gaze. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I couldn’t stay away,” she pushed out on a shaky breath.
“Who’s taking care of Abigail?”
“Megan’s at home with her.” Gripping the bars, she pressed her face close. “Cole, I know my father orchestrated this whole thing with Blackie. Tell me the truth—is he the one who attacked you? Did he set fire to the cabin?”
Pushing to his feet, he covered her hands with his own. She sighed at his warm touch, aching to be in his arms and draw comfort from his strength. The cold, metal barrier prevented that.
His expression gentled. “Everything’s going to be all right, you’ll see.”
“How can you say that?” she demanded, his lack of emotion stirring hers. “Nothing will be all right! Not with you locked up like this. Abby needs you. I need you...” Her voice broke. Tears shimmered near the surface.
“Please don’t cry, sweet pea,” he murmured, reaching through the bars to wipe away the escaped moisture.
“Who’s going to play Joseph? Who’s going to rock Abby to sleep? Who will take me on s-sleigh rides?” She sniffed. Pulling her hands free, she buried her face in her hands.
Not so long ago, she’d convinced herself a life without Cole was for the best. What she wanted. Now, she couldn’t imagine living without him.
“Rachel,” he groaned, torment lacing his voice, “go home. This isn’t helping.”
Lifting her head, she did nothing to hide her true feelings. “I’ve come to a decision.”
Wariness edged his mouth. “What’s that?”
“I want to share my life with you. For us to live together as a real family, as true husband and wife.”
A muffled moan rumbled deep in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut. “That’s out of the question now.”
“There has to be some way to prove your innocence.” And my father’s guilt. She shied away from the notion.
“Listen to me, your father has agreed to drop the charges if I leave town.” Sorrow flickered in his hazel depths. “I think it would be for the best. My presence has caused you nothing but trouble. You and Abigail will be better off without me.”
“He can’t do this,” she protested, indignation burning in her chest. Her father had no right! She would not allow him to interfere in her life this way. If Cole decided to leave, and she desperately hoped he wouldn’t, it would have to be of his own accord, not because he was forced. Pivoting on her heel, she marched toward the door.
“Rachel! Where are you going?”
“To make this right.”
* * *
Sick with nerves, her body flushing hot and cold, Rachel guided Cocoa through the darkness. Please, God, give me courage to face my father. Comfort my husband and free him from this horrible situation.
Entering the clearing, she saw light spilling from the open barn doors and headed that direction. She dismounted and, taking Cocoa’s reins, led her inside. Her knees threatened to give out. Her father was an intimidating man, particularly when angry. But she had right on her side. She would not back down.
“Father? Are you in here?” Her gaze swept the stalls on either side, the scents of hay and horse and kerosene filling her nostrils.
In the shadowy corner, a tall figure unbent and stepped into the light. “Rachel, what are y
ou doing here this time of night?”
“Stephen!”
At the sight of her brother, her fright and worry spilled forth and, rushing into his arms, she wept against his chest. He smoothed her hair.
“What’s wrong, sis?”
“Oh, Stephen, it’s a nightmare!” She eased back to peer up at his concerned face. “Father has done something terrible.” She told him everything that had happened, including the attack. “Cole was with me last night. I know he didn’t do it.”
His face clouded over, his words measured. “You think Father was behind it all? That he attacked Cole and set fire to the cabin in order to run him out of town?”
The admission was a difficult one. “I do.”
His mouth compressed to a thin line. “How’s Cole taking it?”
Rachel stepped back, surprised he didn’t argue or defend their father. Did that mean he shared her conviction?
“It’s like he’s given up. I don’t understand why he isn’t defending himself.”
“Consider his position. If he does, he’s ultimately accusing Father of concocting this whole thing with Blackie. He wouldn’t want to hurt you that way.”
It made sense. He’d consistently protected her feelings, enduring her parents’ verbal attacks without complaint. The love and respect she had for him expanded, eclipsing all doubts.
“Oh, wouldn’t he?” Her mother appeared in the doorway, her brown-black eyes gleaming fiercely in the lamp’s glow. “That man has inflicted hurt after hurt, and yet you still refuse to see his true nature.”
Fisting her hands, she responded evenly, “No, Mother, you refuse to see his true nature. Cole is a good man. He left because he got scared. He was beginning to care about me, and for someone who’d spent much of his life alone, that couldn’t have been easy to deal with. To make himself vulnerable, to expose his heart when he’d had nothing but hatred and derision aimed at him his entire life. You and Father didn’t help matters. And I—” she pressed her palm over her heart “—was more worried about other people’s opinions than my own husband’s. I didn’t stand up for him like I should’ve, but that’s changed. I’ve changed. I love him, and I don’t care what anyone else thinks. His opinion is all that matters.”
Lydia’s shoulders slumped with regret. “I did my best to protect you and Abby. When I destroyed his letter, I thought for sure we’d never have to deal with him again. But like a bad penny, he keeps turning up.”
Rachel froze. “You did what?”
Beside her, Stephen muttered under his breath.
“I destroyed his letter.” She lifted her chin in defiance. “Burned it, actually. I was in the post office a month or so after he left, and when Mr. Giles mentioned you had received one from him, I offered to deliver it to you. Of course, I had no intention of doing so. I was aware of your tender feelings for him, and I wasn’t about to risk you doing something foolish, like asking him to return.”
Reeling both from her mother’s admission and utter lack of remorse, Rachel struggled to speak. He’d written, just as he’d said. Only, it hadn’t gotten lost. Betrayal left a bitter taste in her mouth.
How was it possible she’d lived her entire life blind to her parents’ true natures?
Fingers clutching the folds of her cloak, she stammered, “How could you do that to me? To Abby? H-he might’ve come back. In fact, if he’d known about the pregnancy, I’ve no doubt he would have.” Her head jerked back. “Oh. Right. That’s what you feared, wasn’t it? That he wasn’t the heartless villain you and Father made him out to be. That he would, in fact, do his duty to his wife and daughter.”
“Don’t make me out to be in the wrong here. I did what I did to protect you and my granddaughter.”
“No, you did it to control me. You love and support me as long as I do what you want. I do love you, Mother, but I refuse to live that way.”
Dazed and distraught, she snagged Stephen’s coat sleeve. “If you see Father, will you tell him I was here?”
His face was a mask of concern. “Where are you going?”
“Back to the jail.” Exhaustion pulled at her, but what was that compared to what Cole was enduring? “I want to talk with Shane and see if there is anything I can do to help get Cole released.”
Placing both hands on her shoulders, he peered down at her with concern. “Rachel, it’s late. There’s nothing more you can do tonight. You need your rest. I’ll ride over to the cabin with you, make sure you get home safe, then come by after breakfast and accompany you into town. I’d like to see Cole, myself.”
“But—”
“He needs rest, too. Leave it until morning, all right?”
Knowing he was right, she nodded reluctantly, dreaded the long night ahead. How would she be able to get a moment’s sleep with him locked in that horrible jail? Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. What if she couldn’t get him released?
The presentation couldn’t go on without Joseph. Even if there was someone else willing to play the part, she was in no position to direct. Her emotions were raw. On edge. The sight of rosy-cheeked children wearing the costumes she’d made and Cole’s beautifully painted backdrops would cause a meltdown.
Lord, we need Your help.
Without it, she feared this Christmas would go down as the worst in her lifetime.
* * *
Christmas Eve morning, Cole watched, dumbfounded, as a parade of folks passed through the jail—some to bring food, some to offer a word of encouragement and some to pray with him. Exhausted, eyes bleary from a troubled night, he found it difficult to speak past the emotion clogging his throat.
These people, many who’d shunned him in the past, believed in his innocence. Believed him, Cole Prescott, over Lawrence Gooding. Father God, it appears You’ve turned their hearts, allowed them to see the truth. I’m grateful, truly I am, but I can’t help worrying what this will do to Rachel. He knew from experience what it was like to have a father who thought himself above the law. Shameful. Humiliating.
He’d wanted to spare her the misery. Rachel’s well-being and happiness had come to mean more to him than anything else. Plain and simple, he loved her. Lying in a jail cell gave a man plenty of time to think, to examine his life and heart. Only now did he realize he’d loved her from the start, perhaps even before that fateful night at Clawson’s. Growing up, he’d admired her from afar, nursed a boyish crush, all the while knowing she was out of reach. Safe. When he’d suddenly found himself tied to her, sharing a living space with her, he had no chance at all of being safe.
Lost in thought, oblivious to the conversations on the other side of the bars, he didn’t at first look up at the sound of newcomers. The sudden hush caught his attention.
When he raised his head and looked into Rachel’s cherished face, his heart jumped in recognition. Without conscious decision, he stood and approached the bars, soaking in the sight of her. He couldn’t bear to be apart from her for a single day. How could he possibly walk away from her for good? Seeing her current anguish, he entertained serious doubts about his ability to do it.
“Cole,” her whisper came out as a plea. Her fingers were ice cold on his.
He managed a half smile. “Sweet pea.”
Her hood slipped back, her shiny hair was arranged in a simple braid that hung down her back. Pale shadows beneath her eyes did nothing to detract from her beauty. He’d give anything to be able to hold her close...
Timmons lifted a hand. “I want everyone out except for Rachel and Stephen.”
As folks streamed silently out the door, Cole studied his brother-in-law, who appeared a touch nervous, and transferred his gaze to Rachel. “What’s he got in that flour sack?”
Worry lines marred her forehead. “I don’t know. I asked him about it, but he refused to say.”
Hands on his hips, Timmons leveled
a narrowed gaze at the young man. “What ya got there?”
Determination tinged with regret marking his youthful features, Stephen set it on the desk. “A pair of pants Pa gave me the day after Cole’s cabin burned down. He told me to get rid of them, but I didn’t. I wasn’t sure at first why he wanted them destroyed, but then I heard about the fire and...” He shrugged, obviously torn.
Rachel’s hands fell away as she turned to watch the exchange. She held herself straight and still as a statue, braced for the worst. Cole was tense, as well. He was witnessing the disintegration of a family. A difficult thing to watch.
Extracting the article of clothing, the sheriff held them up to his face and sniffed. “They smell like kerosene.”
“Yes.”
He stared at Stephen. “You believe these are your father’s pants and that he was wearing them the night of the fire?”
He snuck a glance at Rachel and Cole before nodding. A shudder tore through Rachel, and Cole reached through the bars and rubbed her arm.
Taking out his key ring, Timmons unlocked the top right drawer of his desk and pulled out a small pouch, tossing it to Stephen. “This was found in the rubble. Recognize the brand?”
His jaw firmed the moment he caught sight of the cigar butt. “It’s the Prince of Wales brand my pa smokes.”
Rachel raised a quivering hand to cover her mouth. It was one thing to suspect one’s parent of misconduct, quite another to have those suspicions confirmed.
Satisfied, the lawman strode to unlock Cole’s cell. “Looks like you’re once again a free man, Prescott.” He arched a sardonic, it’s-about-time brow.
The door swung open, and he rushed forward, eager to have his wife in his arms. But she stopped him with an upheld palm, her moist gaze searching, intent on getting answers.
“You knew, didn’t you?”
Aching to hold her, impatient with the delay and hoping against hope she wouldn’t hold it against him, he nodded.
“You didn’t say anything because you were trying to protect me.” Two fat, silver tears snaked down her pale cheeks.