Come Back

by Melissa Maygrove

  His embrace grew more intentional and his breath brushed her ear. “Mm. Mornin’.”

  “G’morning,” she whispered back.

  A strange noise came from across the room.

  Becca lifted her head and looked past her feet. The deputy was slumped in the desk chair with his head lolled back and his eyes closed. Slow, deep breaths sawed in and fluttered his lips on the way out.

  Some guard he was.

  Seth rose up on his elbow. “Wanna make a break for it?”

  Becca jerked her gaze back and turned it on him. A sleepy grin lit his eyes with mischief.

  She let out a breath. For a moment, she’d thought he was serious.

  He nudged her onto her back, then leaned down and nuzzled her neck. “On second thought, I have a better idea.” He kissed a languid trail from the lobe of her ear to her collar bone, sending shivers rippling over her flesh. His hand slid up her side and grazed the underside of her breast. Even through layers of clothing, the simple touch set her on fire.

  The potent mixture of affection and desire was heady. She loved this man so much. She’d looked forward to coupling with him again from the moment he’d made her his wife. But now, what could she do? Instead of a cozy hotel room, they were stuck in a filthy cell like animals on display in a zoo.

  Becca fought a sudden rush of emotion and tears. What if she was found guilty? They might never be together again.

  Seth lifted his head. “What’s wrong?”

  She tried to speak, but words wouldn’t come. Her chest seized up like a rusty pump.

  Seth’s eyes darted back and forth, searching her face. He shoved himself into a sitting position and scooped her onto his lap, blanket and all. “I was only playing, Becca. I— He was asleep. I was just—” He clutched her tight and buried his face in her hair. “I would never take you in front of anyone—ever.”

  “I know,” she croaked out.

  He pulled back and looked at her. “What has you so upset then?”

  “I...” She dragged in a ragged breath and tried not to burst into tears. “I want to be a good wife to you.”

  “You are.”

  Becca shook her head. He didn’t understand what she was trying to say. “You—” She forced air into her burning lungs and made words come back out. “You married me and I made promises. Now I may not be able to keep them. When the Marshal takes me away, if they find me guilty, you— you’ll be all alone.”

  The deep lines of concern on Seth’s face melted away. He hugged her and settled back against the wall, running his fingers soothingly up and down her spine. “Don’t go getting ahead of yourself. Remember? I made promises, too—to love you and protect you, for better or worse.” He shrugged. “So we’re having the worse first. Let me do the worrying. And the protecting. I’ve braved outlaws, rivers, and Indians to get you. I’m not giving you up without a fight.”

  The deputy snorted and jerked forward in his chair. His startled gaze skidded around the room and settled on them with a look of relief.

  “Relax,” Seth told him. “I won’t tell Hicks about your nap. It’ll be our secret.”

  Arnold pressed his lips into a grimace and smoothed his clothing.

  Boots clomped the boardwalk outside and the door to the office swung open, sending a blast of cold air into the space. Sheriff Hicks stepped inside. He shut the door and removed his hat and overcoat, giving the place a quick perusal. “Any trouble?”

  Arnold shot up and rubbed his palms down the front of his trousers. “Na—” He cleared the sleep from his throat. “No sir.”

  “Fetch coffee and breakfast for these folks, then you can go.”

  Arnold nodded and hurried out.

  “Maybe this isn’t so bad,” Seth whispered as Hicks reclaimed his chair and hooked the wires of his spectacles over his ears. “Not only do we get free food, Rip Van Arnold has to serve it to us.”

  Becca couldn’t help it. She smiled.

  Hicks paused from his work and looked at them, his lip curling in disapproval.

  Her smile faded. She eased off Seth’s lap and sat beside him.

  “Do you need a private moment?” Seth asked quietly.

  “Not yet.”

  “After breakfast, I’ll find you some water and a basin and get Hicks out of here for a while.”

  Becca nodded and managed another smile, but her attention was dominated by the surly sheriff. And the uncertain fate that awaited her.

  Lunch was less appetizing than breakfast and sat in her gut like a big lump of dough.

  Becca couldn’t sit any longer. She pushed to her feet. The movement shifted the tray of dirty dishes on the end of the cot, making them clink.

  She wrapped her arms around her middle and paced. Waiting to learn the fate of your future was torture, but doing so in the confines of a tiny cell was a hundred times worse. Her chest felt as if someone were squeezing it, and her stomach kept tying itself in knots. The anxious idleness was about to drive her insane.

  Seth studied her with a worried frown.

  Her stride paused and her eyes lingered a moment. He’d been loving and loyal, but it hurt to look at him—at all she might lose. She forced her eyes back to the floor and kept pacing.

  The office door swung open and Becca spun around. A tall man walked in, all windblown and covered in dust. The shorter, stouter man who shuffled in behind him was even grimier. The taller one hung up his hat, then swiped the hat off the other man’s head and placed it next to his. As the pair approached the sheriff’s desk, the second man’s hands came into view. Rope bound his wrists, tugging him along like a reluctant farm animal.

  The tall man looked over at Becca and Seth. His brow dipped in the middle as his gaze settled on her. Then, as if he’d shaken off some kind of trance, he pulled his attention away and turned it on the sheriff. “I’m John Murdock.”

  “Sherman Hicks. What can I do for you?”

  “I need to house a prisoner.”

  Hicks stood and planted his hands on his hips. “That’s going to be a problem. My only cell is occupied.”

  Murdock frowned. “This is Quinton Cooley, wanted for murder and counterfeiting. Since I caught him a week ago, he’s nearly escaped twice. I need your cell.” He pulled aside the lapel of his dusty black coat. Sunlight glinted off silver and Becca’s knees went weak.

  Hicks eyed the US Marshal’s badge on Murdock’s chest, then glanced at her and Seth. “Well... I suppose we could work something out.” He hooked a thumb in her direction. “She’s wanted for theft in New Mexico Territory. I sent for a Marshal to take her to the federal judge, but the letter only went out yesterday.” Hicks drew a longsuffering breath. “If you’ll take her for me, I’ll rescind my request and secure your prisoner.”

  “I’m not in the habit of transporting women. I’ll need proper documentation of the charges, including statements from witnesses.”

  Hicks shifted on his feet. “I’ll get it for you.”

  Murdock tilted his head in the direction of the cell. “Who’s that in there with her?”

  “Her husband. He insisted on staying with her.”

  The Marshal eyed her and Seth again, looking them up and down. He turned back to Hicks. “Fine. Let’s make the switch, but I’ll have to leave them with you for now. I need to go see Judge Tate.”

  Murdock’s prisoner backed away, his eyes like large white eggs on his dirty face. “Not Tyrant Tate!”

  “I’m afraid so, Cooley.” The Marshal tugged him toward the cell. “Should’ve paid better attention to where you were when you committed your crimes.”

  Hicks unlocked the door and motioned for them to come out. Becca’s legs shook and her shoes felt as if they were nailed to the floor. When Seth came up behind her, carrying their belongings, she forced herself to walk.

  Hicks pointed to a wooden bench along the adjacent wall. “Sit there and don’t move.”

  She quickly obeyed and took her place on the bench before her quivering legs gave out. Seth
placed their things in a pile on the floor and sat next to her.

  Becca stifled a gasp when Murdock shoved his prisoner into the empty cell and drew his revolver. He aimed it at Cooley. “Untie him and lock him in,” he said to Hicks as his eyes narrowed on his charge. “One wrong move, and you’ll be limpin’ to your trial.”

  Thankfully, Hicks removed the rope and locked the man in without incident.

  Murdock then turned and faced her, gun still in hand.

  Becca stared wide-eyed at the Colt. Her blood rushed to her feet and her breath left her completely. Was it possible to faint sitting down? She lifted her eyes to the hazel ones staring back at her.

  Murdock’s lower lip twitched. Never breaking his gaze, he swept aside his coat revealing a worn leather holster riding low on his hips, then slipped his gun into it as easily and soundlessly as if he were putting a pocket watch away. With one last glance at Seth, he turned and headed for the door.

  Becca sucked in a breath. The spots clouding the edge of her vision faded.

  Seth slid his hand over and threaded his fingers through hers as the Marshal retrieved his hat and left. He tightened his grip in a comforting way, but his skin was as cold as hers. She waited for words of reassurance. None came.

  A sense of finality slithered like ice through her veins. The sheriff had charged her with a crime and summoned a Marshal. He said he had witnesses. Seth couldn’t save her from that.

  Becca longed to look at her husband, to search his eyes and find comfort and hope, but she kept her face forward. The ambivalence in his grip was enough. Her heart would crumble if she saw the same doubt in his eyes.

  The longer they sat there, the more mercurial her emotions became. Beneath the suffocating layer of sadness, a growing surge of anger clawed to get free. She wasn’t perfect, but she was a good person, kind and honest and chaste. All her life, she’d worked hard and followed the rules. And for her trouble, she’d been defamed and deserted. Then—when she had finally been rescued and fallen in love—falsely charged with a crime. The part of her that wasn’t grieving her losses wanted to clench her fists and scream.

  Hicks returned to his desk. He paused to glower at her over top of his spectacles before immersing himself in his work.

  Cooley paced the cell for a while, grumbling. Then he lay down on the cot and rolled over, facing the wall.

  Becca wished she could pace, too. The mindless, repetitive motion would help her cope. But she didn’t dare move.

  With a sigh of defeat, she closed her eyes and wished she were back in her cave.

  About a half an hour later, the office door opened and Charlotte’s husband walked in. As soon as he saw her, one edge of his mouth lifted, changing his expression from icy and hard to cold and smug.

  “Harrison,” Sheriff Hicks said, rising from his chair.

  “Sherman,” he replied with a nod. “I see you made the arrest.”

  “I did, but something’s come up. I need to talk to you.”

  The two men eyed her in unison, then leaned toward each other and spoke in low tones, garbled words she couldn’t make out. From Hicks, she thought she heard ‘short notice’ and ‘complicate things.’

  Harrison straightened. “Not a problem. I’ll make sure you have what you need.” His eyes cut to her, gleaming blatant victory; and, as quickly as he’d come, he was gone.

  Seth’s frame had already hardened beside her. His hand squeezed her fingers so tightly, the tips were turning blue. “What was that about?” he growled near her ear.

  Becca wiggled her wrist and tried to tug her hand free. “Seth. You’re hurting me.”

  He apologized and released her hand, but angry trepidation rolled off him in waves. “What’s going on, Becca? Why did he look at you that way?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  “Was he with you on the trail?”

  “No.” She paused and looked at Seth—really looked at him. His reaction wasn’t one of jealousy or doubt. Beneath his ire, the emotion creasing his face and flooding his eyes was fear. “Char—” It took effort to push the words past her dry throat. “Charlotte married him after she arrived here. He’s the mayor’s son.”

  Seth muttered an oath and raked a hand through his hair. His eyes closed as the back of his head met the wall with a hopeless thud.

  Becca hugged herself and hung her head. She was doomed. She was well and truly doomed.

  Wrapping herself in the silence, she began walling off the part of her heart where feelings for Seth resided. Being torn from him would be easier if she started the process now. At least that’s what she told herself. She knew it was a lie.

  The office door opened, sending a gust of wintery wind her way. Two men stepped over the threshold and lingered at the entrance. They twisted the brims of their hats with grimy hands, and their eyes darted around like skittish colts. They didn’t seem of a criminal element, more like laborers, but the tattered clothes hanging from their gaunt frames convicted them of poverty.

  One of them looked at Becca, then quickly drew his eyes down and away. Something about him was familiar. A chill settled deep in her chest when she realized why that was. She’d seen him on the train.

  Someone prodded the men from behind. They shuffled forward, and Harrison Bradford appeared. “Go on,” he said to them. “Tell the sheriff what you know.”

  The pair approached Hicks’ desk like paupers approaching a king. The man on the right, the rougher-looking of the two, mumbled something to the other and elbowed him in the ribs. The second man reluctantly started speaking.

  Becca couldn’t hear every word that was said, but she heard enough—the irreverent lout was claiming she stole from him during the trip west. Her teeth ground together with the effort it took not to shout in defense of her innocence.

  The sheriff pulled a paper from his desk and dangled it in front of the man who’d borne false witness against her. “Can you write?”

  He muttered a denial and shook his head.

  “Figures,” Hicks huffed. “I’ll write it and you can sign it.”

  “Write one for me, too,” the other man said. “My story’s the same as his, ‘cept for the things she stole.”

  Becca fumed. The second heathen wasn’t even on the train! But it didn’t matter. It was her word against theirs.

  The pine door creaked open again, and Charlotte stepped in, dressed head to toe in in deep blue velvet. She took in the room, her eyes growing wider with each person her green gaze touched until her brows were fully raised and she was staring at Becca. She dragged her stupefaction to her spouse. “Harrison, what’s going on?”

  “I’m helping Sheriff Hicks with a small matter that came up.”

  “What small matter?”

  Harrison approached his wife, wearing a self-satisfied smile that was dimmed with a touch of discretion. “After you told me what your friend did, I decided it shouldn’t go unpunished. Mrs. Emerson has been arrested for her crimes on the trail.”

  Charlotte looked taken aback. “I didn’t want her arrested.” She fingered a fiery red ringlet near her ear and leaned in. “I told you those things in private. I never intended for you to take them any further than our room.”

  “I know,” he said, sounding genuinely repentant. “But we can’t overlook things like this, if we want to maintain the standards of our town.”

  Gone was Charlotte’s haughty confidence. Instead of joining him in a sanctimonious victory cry, she chewed on her lip and worried her white lace cuffs with pale, anxious fingers.

  “Don’t fret,” Harrison said, patting her arm. “Other witnesses have come forward. We should be able to keep your name out of this.”

  Charlotte glanced at the two scraggy men, then nodded, staring at the floor.

  Something flickered in Harrison’s eyes, a quizzical look paired with the barest scrap of compassion. “It will be over soon, my love. As luck would have it, a US Marshal is in town and he has agreed to transport Mrs. Emerson. She’ll be
gone by morning.”

  Some of the tension in Charlotte’s shoulders eased, and she looked up at him with a pasty smile. “Thank you, Harrison.”

  “How was your visit with your mother? You weren’t due back until supper. Did something happen?”

  “No. I’m feeling a little under the weather. That’s all.”

  “Go home and have Henrietta fix you some tea. I’m nearly done here. I’ll be along soon.”

  The pine door opened again, and Becca shivered from the chill. Two men dressed in dusty farm clothes walked in, pausing at the threshold until Hicks motioned to them. They removed their hats and approached. A thin white scar extended from beneath the nearer man’s forelock to just above his left eye. A familiar scar.

  Thick tendrils of defeat wove their way through Becca’s chest. More witnesses.

  “We’re here to speak to you about Miss Garvey,” the scarred one said. He wasn’t reluctant like the first two. This bold slanderer tossed a smile and a nod in her direction before telling his lie.

  “She’s Mrs. Emerson now,” the sheriff corrected, “but go ahead.”

  The man opened his mouth to speak, but closed it and turned when the office door swung open. Five more people came in—two of them women and most of them familiar.

  One of the men stepped forward. “We heard you arrested Rebecca Garvey. We came to give our accounts.”

  Hicks threw a questioning look at Harrison.

  Harrison shrugged.

  He apparently didn’t recruit them, and that knowledge multiplied Becca’s shame. These people had come forward of their own accord. They must truly hate her.

  The rising hum of a gathering crowd came from outside. Charlotte backed up and lifted a handkerchief to her nose as more people pushed through the door, but Becca barely noticed the acrid smell of sweaty bodies. Her spirit was so beaten, her senses were dulled.

  When the marshal cut a path through the throng, she sagged from the jolt of finality.

  Hicks puffed out his chest. “These are your witnesses, Murdock. It’ll take me a while, but I’ll get their statements.”

  Murdock studied the crush of people, then turned his keen eyes on her. Thankfully, not for long. There was something about his regard that reached straight into her mind and squeezed, as if he could extract her very thoughts.