Maureen McKade

by A Dime Novel Hero

  * * *

  “Damn it, there’s got to be somebody around here who’s had some bad dealings with Preston.” Jake rubbed his grizzled jaw and paced back and forth across the straw-covered floor.

  Charlie curried Satan’s mane in a hypnotic motion. “I ain’t heard anything bad about him the whole time he’s been here. What about before he come to Chaney? He get in any trouble back where he come from?”

  Jake halted in front of Satan’s stall and leaned against the top rail. “I’ve got someone checking on him back in Chicago. That’s where Preston grew up. The problem is, we’re running out of time. The trial starts tomorrow, and I have nothing.”

  “And Preston has everyone eatin’ out of his hand,” Charlie growled. “Pretendin’ he’s the hurt one. How’s Kit doin’?”

  “As well as can be expected. I took some more clothes in for her yesterday morning. Freda got Patrick to let her out long enough to take a bath at her place.” Jake held his hand out to the midnight-colored stallion, who nuzzled it with his velvety nose. “She’s not sleeping, though, and she’s been sick.”

  “She tell you that?”

  Jake laughed without humor. “She keeps telling me she’s fine, and not to worry.” He spun around, startling the stud horse. “How can I not worry about her? Johnny keeps asking me when his mother’s coming home, then he wants to go see her. It damn near kills me to see him cry for her at night.”

  “What about you?” Charlie asked in a low, rumbly voice. “How’re you holding up?”

  Flattening his palm against a post, Jake leaned forward and hung his head. “I want her back home where she belongs.”

  “You love her, don’t you?”

  Jake straightened and gazed at Charlie. “Helluva lot good it does now.”

  Pete Two Ponies stepped out of the shadows. “And a lot of good feelin’ sorry for yourself is doin’ for her, too.”

  Startled, Jake tossed Pete a glare. “I wish you wouldn’t pop in and out like that.” He narrowed his eyes. “How do you do that, anyhow?”

  Two Ponies shrugged. “Old Indian trick.” He approached Jake, aiming a gnarled forefinger at him. “There’s only one way to fight fire.”

  Jake nodded impatiently. “Yeah, with fire. What does that have to do with defending Kit?”

  “You say that newspaperman has everyone believing he’s one of your god’s saints. Maybe you ought to be creatin’ your own saint.”

  A smile grew across Charlie’s broad face. “That’s a mighty fine idea for a broken-down Indian.”

  Puzzled, Jake looked from Pete to Charlie and back. “I don’t get it.”

  Two Ponies frowned. “I thought heroes were supposed to be smart.”

  Charlie snickered and came out of Satan’s stall. “At least smarter ’n the bad guys.” He clapped Jake on the back. “Let me explain it to you.”

  Two hours later, Jake sipped coffee in Freda’s kitchen.

  “What is a ‘character witness’?” she asked.

  “People who will testify that someone is basically a good person,” Jake explained. “I was hoping you would be a character witness for Kit.”

  Freda nodded vehemently. “I will, if it will help her.”

  Jake smiled. “I thought you might. I know a lot of folks in this town don’t think much of her, but could you come up with a few others who might testify on her behalf?”

  She thought a minute, then nodded, a sly grin sneaking across her face. “Many people I know who stay quiet, but Kit has helped them. Maybe if you talk to them, shame them into speaking up, they will do so.”

  Jake pulled a paper and pencil from his pocket. “Give me their names and what Kit did for them. I’ll take it from there.”

  Kit heard the inner door open, and she laid her pencil and paper on the thin cot. Patrick came to her cell and unlocked the door.

  “Time to face the judge,” he announced in a gentle voice.

  Kit swallowed back the trepidation blocking her throat, and pressed her spectacles up on her nose. Smoothing her dress over her thighs, she stood up. A wave of dizziness threatened to upset her stomach, and she folded her arms, pressing them against her abdomen.

  “Are you all right, lass?” Patrick asked in concern.

  “I haven’t been sleeping very well.” She hoped she wouldn’t get sick in the courtroom. “I’ll be all right.”

  She could tell she hadn’t quelled his worry, but her own fears consumed her. Patrick guided her out of the police station to one of the saloons that doubled as a courtroom. The smell of flat beer, stale smoke, and unwashed bodies nauseated her. She cupped her hand over her nose, blocking out only a portion of the vile odors. She gagged, and only sheer force of will kept her from vomiting.

  Keeping her gaze fixed straight ahead, Kit didn’t allow herself to look at the people who filled the chairs. Her chest tightened, and she couldn’t seem to get enough air into her lungs. Jake’s tall, impressive figure came into view and he took hold of her hands, helping her into one of the two chairs at the front. He sat beside her.

  “Are you all right? Your face is as white as a sheet,” he said, keeping his warm fingers wrapped around her ice-cold ones.

  Her lungs expanded, replenishing her oxygen, and the nausea abated slightly. She gazed at the familiar angles and contours of Jake’s beloved face, the face that had kept her sane during the long, lonely nights in her cell. The loving concern in his expression brought tears to her eyes. All she wanted was to go home and fall asleep in the circle of his arms.

  “I’m fine,” she managed to say in reassurance.

  “Don’t worry. Everything will work out.”

  Kit nodded. “I know. My hero’s never let me down before.”

  A smile twitched Jake’s lips. “Not even when he had to be dragged out of the saloon?”

  “Only make-believe heroes are perfect,” she said gently. “I prefer mine to be slightly flawed.”

  Jake kissed her, and for a moment they were all alone, oblivious to the roomful of spectators.

  The judge entered, and Jake helped Kit to her feet. Once the black-robed man was seated, she lowered herself back into her chair.

  Judge Blair banged his gavel once on the scarred poker table, and silence ensued. Glancing at the paper in front of him, the judge scowled. He looked at Jake. “You must be Jonathan Cordell’s son.”

  Jake nodded. “That’s right, Your Honor.”

  “Played poker with your father a few times. A helluva bluffer.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  The judge studied Jake. “Couldn’t stop talking about his son, either. He was mighty proud of you going to law school.”

  Kit looked up at Jake, who appeared startled. Sensing his overwhelming emotion, she laid her hand on his forearm.

  “Thank you for sharing that with me, Your Honor,” he said, his voice husky.

  Judge Blair nodded. “I see you’re defending your wife. I’d be remiss if I didn’t suggest she get another lawyer.” He turned his shrewd gaze to Kit. “Would you prefer other counsel?”

  She shook her head. “I trust my husband implicitly.”

  “All right, then let’s get on with it,” the judge said.

  The prosecutor and Jake gave their opening statements, then David Preston was called to the stand.

  Kit stared at his expression, full of thinly veiled hostility, and she wondered why no one else could see the evil in him. His face was pale, his steps short and deliberate as he held his slinged arm close to his side. He milked his injury for all the sympathy he could get.

  Kit locked her fingers together and laid her hands in her lap. Her insides churned with the remembered terror Preston had caused her. Jake’s jaw muscle clenched, but he gave her a reassuring smile before returning his attention to the proceedings.

  After Preston was sworn in, the prosecutor began his questioning. “Would you tell us what happened three days ago?”

  David Preston grimaced with theatrical flourish. “I rode out
to the Cordell ranch to visit Mrs. Cordell. Kit and I were old friends, and I wanted to be sure she was all right with her husband out of town. After I got there, she invited me into the house for a cup of coffee. I accepted her invitation and followed her into the kitchen. There I found out she had more than coffee on her mind. She told me she was unhappy in her marriage to Jake Cordell. She asked me to hold her.”

  Kit closed her eyes against his vicious lies.

  “Did you?” the prosecutor pressed.

  Preston sighed. “Yes. I know it wasn’t proper, but I thought she only wanted comfort, and we had been friends.”

  “She wanted more?”

  “I had never believed the rumors about her.”

  “What rumors were those?”

  “That she gave her favors freely. I believed she was a decent woman despite her choice of clothing.” Preston paused melodramatically. “She wears trousers.”

  Jake jumped to his feet. “Objection. What Kit prefers to wear has no bearing on the charge.”

  “Sustained,” the judge said.

  “So you comforted Mrs. Cordell?” the prosecutor prompted.

  “Yes. Then she began to kiss me. I tried to tell her it was wrong, that she was a married woman, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  Kit stared at her white knuckles, and her fingernails cut into her palms. She couldn’t look at Jake. Did he think there might be some truth to Preston’s testimony?

  “So you tried to dissuade her?”

  Preston nodded. “Then she got angry because I wouldn’t do what she wanted me to. At that point I decided I should leave, so I turned around and that’s when she shot me.”

  Kit couldn’t hold back her indignant rage any longer. She jumped to her feet. “You’re lying! You were the one who tried to—”

  Judge Blair banged his gavel on the table. “Sit down, Mrs. Cordell.”

  Jake grabbed her shoulders and leaned close to her. “Kit, do as he says.”

  Jake’s voice brought some control back to her outrage. Bile inched up her throat, and she clasped her palm to her mouth. “I’m going to be sick.”

  He turned to Freda, who sat directly behind them. “Take her outside to get some air.”

  The petite woman put her arm around Kit’s waist and helped her out of the saloon. Kit made it to the alley before she lost what little was in her stomach. Freda rubbed her back with circular soothing motions, and after a few minutes, Kit wiped her damp brow with her forearm. With some embarrassment, she saw that Patrick had joined them.

  She mustered a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry. I thought I could handle Preston’s lies.”

  “It’s all right, lass,” Patrick said. “I’ll take you back to your cell so you can lie down. Jake’ll be along in a bit. He’s goin’ to cross-examine Preston, then the judge will probably be adjournin’ for lunch.”

  With Patrick and Freda flanking her, Kit returned to the jail. She lay on her lumpy cot and closed her eyes.

  A little later, Jake joined her in the cell, concern in his rugged face. “How’re you feeling?”

  She nodded and sat up. Jake lowered himself to the thin mattress beside her.

  “How does it look, Jake?” she asked, unable to hide a tremor in her voice. “And don’t lie to me.”

  “Judge Blair has a reputation for being fair.” Jake sighed. “But Preston did a damn good job of making himself look like the injured party.”

  “And the bullet wound helped,” Kit added. “What’s going to happen this afternoon?”

  “The prosecutor will call in character witnesses for Preston.”

  Kit worried her lower lip between her teeth. “The things Preston said about me—I couldn’t bear it if you thought any of it might be true.”

  “You know I believe you, Kit.” Jake’s face turned stormy. “Preston’s a lying son-of-a-bitch who’s going to get his due when I get my turn to call witnesses for the defense.”

  She looked up, alarmed. “You aren’t going to put Johnny on the stand, are you?”

  Jake glanced down at their twined hands. “I don’t know.”

  “You said you wouldn’t.”

  He captured her with an intense gaze. “Were you telling the judge the truth when you said you trusted me implicitly?”

  Kit searched his eyes, finding nothing but concern. With jerky motions, she nodded. “Yes.”

  “Then trust me.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, and Kit leaned into his embrace, resting her cheek against his suit jacket. His heart pounded with a steady comforting rhythm.

  “I want to go home, Jake,” she whispered hoarsely. “I want this nightmare to end.”

  “It will, honey, it will,” he said softly.

  An hour later, Kit sat in the same chair at the front of the courtroom. For the entire afternoon, she listened to Mayor Walters, Bertie Wellensiek, and others extol the virtues of David Preston until she thought she’d be sick again. When the judge adjourned for the day, she was actually relieved to return to her cell.

  She urged Jake to go home, tuck Johnny into bed, and make sure the boy said his prayers.

  “He asks God to bring you home every night,” Jake said as he left.

  Kit kept her tears at bay until she was certain Jake was gone. Then she buried her face in her hands and allowed the wave of homesickness to overcome her. She missed Johnny so much that she physically ached to hold him. She had promised she’d teach him how to work with the yearlings, and now she might not be able to keep that promise.

  Her only consolation was that his father was with him. Two months ago, Kit wouldn’t have believed Jake would be able to handle fatherhood, but he’d proved her wrong. A powerful bond existed between him and Johnny, a bond that would never be broken.

  In the solitude of her cell, she offered a prayer of thanks to God for bringing Jake home and for giving her the courage to reveal the truth. If she was convicted, she’d be comforted by the fact that her son would be loved and protected.

  After Johnny had cried himself to sleep, Jake restlessly wandered downstairs. The house seemed lifeless without Kit’s presence, and desolation filled his chest. He wanted her home, lying beside him at night. If it weren’t for those sanctimonious hypocrites Bertie Wellensiek and Mayor Walters, Kit wouldn’t be sitting in a jail cell. For the first time, Jake wished he was more like the fictional hero. That Jake Cordell wouldn’t be fretting his defense.

  Wandering into the library, Jake sank into the chair behind the desk. Kit’s floral scent drifted around him, deepening his loneliness for her. Hoping to divert his thoughts, he opened the desk drawer to find the box that held his father’s Colt—the gun Johnny had used to shoot Preston.

  He reached for the weapon, but his gaze settled on a stack of envelopes tied together by a frayed piece of cloth. Picking up those instead, he held them up to the moonlight streaming in the window behind him. They were addressed to him.

  Puzzled, Jake lit a lamp and settled back in his seat. The neat handwriting was obviously a woman’s. It wasn’t Maggie or Kit’s penmanship. What other woman would’ve written him? He glanced at the date on the first envelope: 1870, nearly twenty-five years ago. Unease prickled through him.

  His fingers trembling, he plucked the tie from the letters. He opened the top one and carefully unfolded the brittle yellow parchment. Silently he began to read.

  My dearest Jake,

  I hope you are doing well. I think of you often and pray for your safety. I know you’re too young to understand, but I couldn’t live out there. I wanted to take you with me to live in the city, but your father wouldn’t allow it. In his own way, he loves you more than even he realizes. Be good, and please don’t blame yourself for my leaving. It was nothing you did, my dear son. I will always love you, and I will always be with you even though you cannot see me.

  Love, Mother

  Jake’s throat closed, and moisture filled his eyes. He picked up the next letter and read that. Two hours later, he set the last one down on t
he desk. He scrubbed his wet face with his palms.

  His mother hadn’t abandoned him; she’d loved him all these years, and he hadn’t even known. The last letter was dated six years ago, right before his father had been killed. She had probably continued to write, but the letters had been undeliverable.

  He seethed with anger and pain. Why had his father hidden them from him? Perhaps it the same reason Kit hadn’t told him about Johnny. Maybe Jake’s father been afraid he’d lose his son, just as Kit had been fearful he would take Johnny from her.

  Judge Blair’s words drifted through his thoughts: he was mighty proud of you.

  His eyes burned anew. He had believed neither one of his parents had loved him. Now he knew he’d never been without love. He couldn’t blame his father; he was only doing what he thought best. But could he put twenty-five years of bitterness behind him?

  He resolved to write his mother tonight and hoped it wasn’t too late.

  But first, he had to give Johnny the choice Jake hadn’t been given: the choice to keep his mother.

  Chapter 21

  Kit had slept little the night before, and the stench of the courtroom triggered her nausea again. She had eaten little supper and no breakfast, so she was able to hold the sickness at bay. Jake, looking as exhausted as she felt, greeted her with a smile and kiss.

  “It’s our turn today,” he said.

  Kit tried to muster a measure of confidence, but all emotion seemed to have been drained from her. How could Jake prove her innocence? The only witness was Johnny, and Kit didn’t want the young boy subjected to the probing questions and accusations that might lead to the truth.

  As if living someplace between reality and dreams, Kit rose when the judge entered. After four nights in jail and being under the constant scrutiny of narrow-minded townsfolk, she wanted it over.

  Jake took hold of her arm and urged her to sit. “Trust me, Kit.”

  She blinked, and the fog cleared. Taking a deep steadying breath, she nodded.

  After one last concerned look at Kit, Jake called his first witness. “Defense calls Henrietta Jacobs.”