Lamont merely gazed at her, his silence as good as a confirmation.
Although she’d insisted all along that her father was innocent of murder, there was a part of her that wasn’t certain. It was the part that remained a little girl, afraid of his drunken wrath. And now, though she was relieved to know she was right, she didn’t know whether to be relieved or sickened by the ugliness of the crime. “Your lie got my father killed.”
“Your father was hanged by all those righteous townsfolk.” His voice was rife with sarcasm.
“He wouldn’t have been in jail if you hadn’t lied to the sheriff.”
Lamont shook his head. “They wanted somebody to blame. Your father was an easy target.” He leaned down toward her. “Get out of Locust, Dulcie, before you become their next sacrificial lamb.”
TWENTY-TWO
RYE watched Virgil Lamont leave town. He knew where the man was headed and hated the jealousy that cut through him. Dulcie had made her feelings clear concerning him, and what she did with another man wasn’t any of his concern. Except he couldn’t even think about her with Lamont without wanting to thrash the peddler.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he leaned against a building, his figure hidden by the alley’s shadows. He expected one or both of the Carpenters to leave the store and walk home soon. However, the only one he cared about was Peter, the weak link.
Voices drifted out of the saloon across the street, along with the scent of whiskey and beer. The hunger, never far away, beckoned him. One shot of whiskey wouldn’t do any harm, and it would help him get past the jealousy gnawing at his insides. Except he knew one shot wouldn’t do anything but make him want another and another.
He clamped down on the craving, ignoring it like he learned to ignore many things while locked in the stockade. More minutes crawled by, and Rye’s calf cramped. He walked in tight circles to relieve it, keeping to the shadows.
Finally, after full dark had fallen and only the moon and stars lit the night, Mrs. Carpenter came out of the store. She marched away in the direction of her home. Through the hardware store’s window, he could see a light shining dimly from the back room.
Rye settled his hat brim lower on his brow and crossed the street. He ducked into the alley and went around to the back door of the hardware store. Hoping it was unlocked, he turned the knob and pressed the door inward. It creaked softly and Rye froze. After a few moments of silence, Rye breathed again and pushed the door open far enough that he could slip inside.
He spotted Peter immediately, the younger man’s back to him as he packed items into a crate. Approaching Peter with stealthy steps, Rye managed to get within five feet of him before the young man turned around.
Peter’s eyes widened and he stumbled back. “What’re you doing in here?”
Rye pulled his Navy Colt out of its holster and aimed it at Carpenter. “You and I are going to call on a friend.” He motioned for Peter to move toward the back door. “Let’s go.”
The young man shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Rye eased the revolver’s hammer back. “I think you will, because if you don’t I’m going to put a bullet through your hand. It’d be awfully hard to keep Mrs. Carpenter happy if you only have the use of one hand. She’d probably have to find someone even younger than you.” Peter’s complexion became scarlet, but Rye had to give him credit—he didn’t rise to the bait. “Are you coming the easy way or the hard way?”
Peter untied his apron, his hands shaking. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Rye prodded the younger man out the back door ahead of him. He’d tied Smoke and another horse in the trees on the edge of town so no one would see them leave. Once the two men were mounted, Rye took the reins of Peter’s horse.
“We’re going to the Pollard place,” Peter guessed after a few minutes.
“Yep.”
Rye didn’t feel inclined to talk. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing the peddler’s wagon parked in front of Dulcie’s cabin, and he was even less excited about seeing him and Dulcie together.
Carpenter remained silent the rest of the way, but Rye sensed his growing unease. The cabin came into view, as well as the wagon parked in the front. However, he saw Lamont in the wagon and Dulcie standing beside him. Bewildered, he and Peter rode into the yard.
Dulcie stepped away from Lamont and looked from Rye to Peter and back. “What’s going on?” Her voice was wary.
Rye dismounted and motioned for Peter to do the same. For a moment, it looked as if Peter might bolt, but he did as Rye said. The young man’s gaze skittered to Lamont, his apprehension obvious.
“Peter here has something to tell you,” Rye answered.
“No, I don’t,” Peter denied.
“I should get back to town,” Lamont said.
“I don’t think so,” Rye said. “You’ll join us.” When Lamont lifted the reins, Rye pulled out his Navy Colt. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”
Lamont scowled, but climbed down from the wagon. “Is Madeline inside?” Rye asked Dulcie.
“She’s asleep in the loft.”
“We’ll talk in the barn.” Rye prodded both Carpenter and Lamont ahead of him.
Dulcie fell into step beside Rye and asked in a low voice, “Peter and Mrs. Carpenter killed him, didn’t they?”
Surprised, Rye glanced sharply at her. “How—”
“Lamont told me, more or less. He said Mrs. Carpenter paid him to lie to the sheriff, too.”
“I guess you didn’t need my help after all.”
Dulcie smiled ruefully. “I could use your help convincing the sheriff.”
“That’s why I brought Peter here. I’m hoping we can convince him to confess.”
“I’d like to try,” Dulcie said, determination and a hint of fear in her expression.
Rye didn’t think she could get Peter to talk, but it was her father and she deserved the chance. “All right.”
Once inside the barn, Rye kept his revolver trained on the two men. “Mrs. McDaniel would like to say something, and you’re both going to listen like gentlemen.”
Dulcie crossed her arms to cover her trembling and looked at Peter. “How’s your stepmother?”
“Fine,” Peter mumbled.
Lamont snorted a laugh.
Dulcie knew she risked Rye learning of her shame with Lamont, but she couldn’t let cowardice sway her. “You would know about Mrs. Carpenter, wouldn’t you, Lamont? Seeing as how she’s been paying you with her favors.”
Just as I paid him with my favors.
“You’re lying.” Peter’s accusation sounded more desperate than confident.
“Have you and Mrs. Carpenter”—Dulcie’s face heated— “been together, Lamont?”
The peddler remained silent for a long moment. He glanced at Peter then shrugged and nodded. “Yes.”
“No!” Peter launched himself at Lamont, and they both fell to the ground. The two men were close to the same size but Peter’s rage gave him the advantage as they fought.
As much as Dulcie wouldn’t have minded letting them continue fighting, she needed them in one piece to talk to the sheriff. “Rye?”
He nodded, understanding what she wanted, and waded into the fisticuffs. Grabbing the back of Carpenter’s shirt, he pulled him off Lamont. The peddler’s nose was bleeding and it appeared Peter had broken it.
Peter fought against Rye’s hold, and Rye pressed his gun barrel against the younger man’s side. “Hold it, Carpenter.”
The enraged man stopped fighting and Rye released him. Peter hunched his shoulders as he panted and glared at Lamont. The peddler struggled to stand, a hand to his bleeding nose.
Clenching her hands at her sides, Dulcie almost felt sorry for Peter. However, she took selfish delight in seeing Lamont’s handsome face marred by a broken nose.
Lamont glowered at Peter. “Martha Carpenter played you for the fool. All she wants is your father�
��s money, and she used you to get it.”
“We’re going to get married after we leave Locust,” Peter argued.
Dulcie wisely remained silent.
Lamont laughed. “More likely she’ll seduce another man to kill you next time.”
Peter suddenly looked very young and confused. “She said she loved me.”
“You said you loved me.” Dulcie heard the echo of a memory in his voice, only it was to Jerry she’d said the words.
“Did she convince you to kill your own father?” Dulcie asked the young man softly.
Peter stared at the ground and nodded. “She said we could take his money and get married and live in a city. It would be just the two of us.”
Lamont opened his mouth, but Dulcie shook her head in warning. Although what the younger man had done was appalling, Dulcie understood the sway of passion and false words of love.
“My father and your father are dead because Martha used you, Peter,” Dulcie said. “You have to tell the sheriff what happened. You have to stop Martha from doing this to someone else.”
Dulcie glanced at Rye and caught him studying her, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Maybe it was better she didn’t know. She’d said terrible things to him, words she regretted, but she’d felt betrayed.
Peter sniffed and drew his wrist across his eyes. “I-I’ve been having nightmares since I k-killed him. Maybe they’ll go away if I confess.”
His plaintive tone made Dulcie’s eyes sting with tears. “Maybe they will, Peter,” she said gently.
Rye ushered both Lamont and Peter back out to the yard. As they readied to return to town, Dulcie moved over to Smoke and laid a hand on Rye’s calf. She looked up at him. “Come back after you’re done at the sheriff ’s office.”
Rye blinked. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. There are some things I have to tell you.”
Rye lifted his head and looked out into the dusky evening. “There’s something I have to tell you, too.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
As Rye rode away with the two men, Dulcie wrapped her arms around her waist in the cool evening air. Her father’s name would be cleared, but what of those who lynched him? How would they be punished for their crime?
However, the most important question remained. Could Rye forgive her?
IT was long after dark when Rye finally left the sheriff’s office and rode back to Dulcie’s. Nervousness battered him as he headed back, but he forced himself to ignore it.
As he dismounted in front of her cabin, the door opened and a rectangle of light spilled out. His breath caught in his throat at the feminine vision that stepped onto the porch. Dulcie’s long hair cascaded over her shoulders and a halo of reddish gold surrounded her face. A dark green dress hugged her breasts and followed the smooth curves to her slender waist and rounded hips. Desire kicked him below his belt.
“I was afraid you changed your mind,” Dulcie said with a tremulous smile.
He managed a grin. “I was thinking the same of you.”
“Come on in.”
Rye climbed the steps and removed his hat. Self-conscious despite the many times he’d been in the cabin, Rye stood awkwardly by the door.
“Have you eaten supper?” she asked.
Startled, Rye shook his head.
She gave him a look that reminded him of when she scolded her daughter. “Sit down and I’ll get a plate for you.”
“You don’t have—”
“I know I don’t have to.”
Still ill at ease, Rye hung his hat on a hook and crossed to the table where he sat down.
Dulcie set a plate loaded with fresh vegetables, a thick slice of bread, and venison in front of him. She returned a few moments later with two cups of coffee, one of which she set by his food. The other she clasped between her hands as she sat across from him. “How did it go at the sheriff ’s office ?”
“Peter Carpenter told him what happened. Lamont swore he made a mistake with the day he saw your father and Carpenter arguing. He’s lying, but the sheriff really didn’t have anything to hold him on. He brought Martha Carpenter in and she denied everything, but between Peter and Lamont’s testimonies, she’ll spend some time in jail, too.” Rye shoveled some food into his mouth. Her cooking tasted sinfully good after the two meals he’d eaten in town.
“What will happen to Peter?”
“Since he confessed and turned himself in, he might just end up in prison the rest of his life instead of being hanged.”
Dulcie scowled. “Martha is guiltier than him.”
“I know, but that’s the way it is.” Rye finished eating.
Dulcie appeared troubled, but didn’t comment. “Would you like some more?” she asked.
“No thanks. It was good, Dulcie. Real good.”
She glanced down, but not before Rye caught the rose blush in her cheeks. “I’m glad you liked it.” She licked her lips, her tongue drawing Rye’s attention to her mouth. “Now that my father is cleared of the murder, do you think the sheriff will arrest anyone for the lynching?”
Rye wished he had better news. “No. He told me again tonight there were too many involved and he didn’t recognize any of them.” He paused. “I’m sorry, Dulcie, but I think your father’s death will go unpunished.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“Is Madeline still asleep?” Rye asked, hoping to draw Dulcie out of her melancholy.
“In the loft.” She refilled their coffee cups. After a few minutes, she spoke. “I’m sorry.”
Startled, Rye asked, “For what?”
“For being so quick to judge you.” Her small laugh was mocking. “As if I have a right to judge anybody.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Dulcie. I should have told you the truth when I first got here.”
She studied him, her teeth nibbling on her lower lip. “You know the place in the Bible where it talks about casting stones?”
Rye nodded, puzzled.
“I’ve made some terrible mistakes, Rye,” Dulcie said, her voice rough with hidden emotion. “I tricked Jerry into marrying me. I don’t think he was looking for more than a good time, but I was determined to get out of Locust.” Her face flushed. “I got with child, and he did the decent thing.” She laughed without humor. “Probably the first and only decent thing he ever did.”
Uncomfortable, Rye glanced down. Her sin was slight compared to his.
“Did you know Jerry very well?” she asked.
A heavy weight settled on his chest. She deserved the entire truth this time. “Not really.” He scrubbed his damp palms on his thighs and listened to his heart drum in his ears. Facing the hot brand was nothing compared to facing Dulcie. “I was with him the night he died.”
Her eyes widened, her expression wary.
Rye could barely talk past the dryness in his mouth and throat. “I dared him to walk on the roof.”
“Were you drunk, too?”
Rye closed his eyes, wishing he’d never come here, never faced Jerry’s widow. But then, he never would’ve met Dulcie either. “Yes. After Mary and our baby died, I started drinking.”
The air around them seemed to disappear in the brittle silence. Then he felt a soft hand on his and he opened his eyes to find Dulcie leaning across the table and gazing at him intently.
“If it wasn’t you, it would’ve been someone else. Or he might’ve done something foolish some other time simply to impress a woman.” Dulcie’s voice was strong and her expression without the angry hatred he expected.
For so long he’d pictured what her reaction would be when she learned the truth of his guilt. Yet none of those imagined came close to her calm acceptance. “He was your husband,” he said, feeling foolish.
“He was a drunk and a whoremonger. You were a better father to Madeline these past weeks than Jerry ever was,” Dulcie said without hesitation.
Dizzy with relief, he squeezed her hand that rested on his.
“There’s
something else I have to tell you,” Dulcie said. “Something else I’m ashamed of.” Her voice broke.
Rye thought of Burt and what he’d said about Dulcie and
Lamont. “Does it have to do with Virgil Lamont and how you got back to Locust after Jerry died?”
Dulcie’s complexion paled, leaving her freckles standing in stark relief on her face. “Lamont told you?”
“No, he never said a word. I heard some things in town.”
Suddenly she laughed, but it was tinged with hysteria. “Lamont wanted me to sleep with him tonight in exchange for his silence. But it seems everybody already knows.”
“It was only gossip, Dulcie.”
She sobered. “No, it’s the truth. Virgil Lamont was selling his goods around the fort right after Jerry died. I asked him where he was headed next, and he said south, to Texas.” Dulcie held onto his hand tightly. “He said he’d give us a ride. I didn’t even question him. The next day, he said he expected some payment for us traveling with him. I didn’t have any money.
“Lamont threatened to leave Madeline and me in the middle of nowhere if I didn’t agree to sleep with him.” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat. “I had to do it. If it was only myself I would’ve taken my chances, but Madeline’s life was more important than anything.”
Rye barely managed to restrain his fury. “I’ll kill the bastard.”
“No, you won’t. He gave me a choice, and I did what I had to. He never hurt me or Madeline, and I think in his own way, he came to care for us.”
“How can you say that? He forced you.”
“No.” Her face reddened. “I’m ashamed to admit it, but my body liked what he did. I didn’t want to like it, but I couldn’t help it. It was the same way with Jerry.”
Rye had lain with whores because his body liked it, too. Did he have any right to judge Dulcie for enjoying the same?
A Reason to Believe Page 27