Marston wanted to die. He was ready to die. Hell, in all the ways that mattered he’d been dead since the Marshall and his deputies had led him away from that cabin and the only people in the world who mattered.
How long ago had that been? How long had Marston been in this dirty, damp cell? It didn’t matter anymore. All Marston knew for sure was that he would be going swinging tomorrow. The Marshall had made it clear that his hanging was scheduled for the next day and a big crowd was expected to turn out for the special event.
At least Marston had a window to enjoy the sunrises and sunsets… he snorted with annoyance and glanced through the iron bars to the view outside.
The gallows and a graveyard. The Marshall had obviously been trying to prove a point when he’d placed Marston in this cell. Bastard. Or better yet; scum-sucking, whore mongering, cock-less wonder. Marston smiled as he sat down on the tattered cot that served as his bed. He’d just come up with his next greeting for the good Marshall.
Marston gingerly laid down, cursing the pain but forcing it aside.
His eyes drifted closed but immediately flew back open when he saw that soft, pale skin, loving blue eyes and tumbling red curls.
“Damnation!” Marston roared before sending his hand crashing into the brick wall. He relished the pain as his knuckles cracked against unforgiving stone. Marston sat up, hissing in pain when the sheet tore away from the sticky wounds on his back.
He forgot the pain when he heard the door to the cell hall open. As the light poured in from the main office, Marston hoped Marshall Montgomery was coming for another visit so he could share his newest insult with the lawman. Instead, it was one of the deputies; a tall scrawny nineteen-year-old boy named Pete. A tray of food was balanced on Pete’s arm—at least Marston figured it was supposed to be food. Marston knew from experience that the chunky stew smelled like sweat and tasted about the same.
“It’s chow time, Marston,” Pete said as he approached Marston’s cell. “You better eat up because the Marshall says this is your last meal.”
Marston chuckled. There were miracles still left to be found in the world. Pete slid the tray through the small rectangular opening in the bars and Marston took it in his dirty hands. He smelled the stew—yep sweat. He sat the tray down on his crooked table and picked up the biscuit, tapping it against the table several times with a thud.
He let out a sigh. “And such gourmet food it is too.”
Pete let out a snort of laughter before composing himself and putting his serious face back on. Marston liked Pete okay. He was a decent man for a lawman. Marston wondered if Pete knew the truth about the Marshall he worked under—Marston suspected he didn’t.
“Enjoy it, Marston,” Pete noted. “Because the gallows are all you have to look forward to tomorrow.”
Marston nodded as he stepped back to the bars and put his arms through the opening for his tray, resting his forearms against the metal support beam. He winked at the young deputy. “How about you find me some whiskey, Pete? My back is hurting something fierce and I’d like to get me a few hours sleep before I got swinging.”
Pete glanced toward the main office with a frown. “I’m not supposed to….”
“I won’t tell Sir Licks Ass if you won’t,” Marston assured him.
Pete’s brown eyes lit with amusement, but he didn’t manage to purse his lips in disapproval. “You shouldn’t call him names. It makes him mad and that’s why you’re in the shape you’re in.”
Marston reached up and wiped a bit of sweat from his brow with a shaking hand. Damn but fevers and infection were hard to tough out. “Why do I care if he’s mad?” Marston asked. “He’s nothing but a little coward anyhow.”
“Coward?” Pete shook his head. “He took you down didn’t he?”
Marston grinned. “No. I came willingly.”
“Why would you do that?” Pete asked, leaning his hip against the bars of Marston’s cell. “I’ve wondered that since they got back with you. Why does a man who has lived the way you have for almost two decades just up and give himself into the law when they show up?”
“It’s pretty simple, Pete,” Marston replied, scratching at his jaw. “My family was threatened and I figured the best way to keep them safe was to go with your friends willingly.”
Pete sighed and shook his head. “They’re not my friends. And I’m sure the Marshall was bluffing. He wouldn’t have harmed your family.”
Marston’s weak legs ached beneath him. “Keep telling yourself that, Pete. Your boss is as crooked as they come. He makes me look like a puppy dog.”
Pete winced. “You better eat your supper, Marston. That stuff tastes bad enough warm, I’m sure it just gets worse when it’s cold.”
Marston nodded and without warning he reached out his hands lightning fast and snatched Pete’s keys from his belt and his gun from his holster.
Pete jumped back, his face pale as Marston retreated one step back in his cell. He clicked his tongue and smiled. “You gotta be more careful, Pete.”
“I’ll just yell for help…” Pete countered, sweat glistening on his upper lip.
“Won’t do much good when you and I are the only ones here, kid. Everyone else is home and warm in their beds.”
Marston found the sight of Pete’s knees practically knocking together very amusing. Pete swallowed hard. “Are you going to kill me?”
Marston laughed. “Of course not. It’s not like I’m a murderer or anything…” Marston winked. “Oh wait, yes I am.”
Pete nearly fell backward and Marston laughed harder. “Don’t worry, kid, I’m not gonna kill you. You’re the only decent fella around here and I’m just teaching you a valuable lesson.”
Pete didn’t look convinced. “What lesson would that be?”
Marston used the barrel of his revolver to scratch at a scab on his bare stomach. “That things aren’t always what they seem. You got too comfortable against my bars not knowing that I could have killed you a hundred different ways. You thought I was too weak to be a threat and you thought wrong. Don’t ever let your guard down, kid.”
“What are you going to do?” Pete asked. “Tie me up and make your escape?”
Marston shook his head. “Naw, I ain’t runnin’.”
Marston went back to the bars and held the keys and gun out to Pete. Pete stared hard at him for several long moments and then threw up his hands. “Why the hell not?!” he demanded. “You do realize that you’ll die tomorrow, right?”
Marston snorted and let his gaze go out the darkening window. “Hard to forget that when you have a view like mine.”
Pete took the gun and keys and let out a pained sigh. “Then why didn’t you use those to get away? Anyone else would have.”
Marston wondered a moment if Pete hadn’t leaned close to his bars on purpose… perhaps the boy’s fear had been an act and he’d been trying to give Marston a way out. Marston didn’t reckon it mattered. “Because your boss made it clear to me that my family will die if I make an attempt to escape and unlike you, I believe he means it. I love those people more than I love myself so I guess that means I’m swinging tomorrow. Who knows, maybe it’ll be a bright, sunny day with clear blue skies and a light breeze blowing.’ Marston let out a sigh and stared out the window. “That wouldn’t be so bad I guess.”
Silence reigned a moment and then Pete grabbed the bars. “For what it’s worth, Marston, I don’t think I’d hang you if I made the rules. I don’t think you’re a bad man.”
Marston’s lips curved in the ghost of a smile as he looked back at Pete. “Then you’re a fool.”
Pete’s eyes were full of sadness as he tapped the bars with his knuckles. “I’ll be back in a minute with that whiskey.”
“I’d sure appreciate it,’ Marston replied, though his gaze was downward as he studied his swollen, bleeding knuckles. He heard Pete’s bootsteps fade as the heavy door to the main office opened and closed.
“I love you, Rose,” he whispered. “I’m
doing this for you.”
Marston closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to the back of his hand, imaging Rose’s soft skin and her loving blue eyes—the thought gave him the smallest sense of peace.
***
Duke leaned against the stone wall of the jail and fought back a wave of sorrow. Every hope he’d had for aiding Marston escape had just been taken away.
He’d heard what Marston had said to the young deputy. It was just as Duke had figured. If Marston escaped then Marshall Montgomery and every other crooked lawman he could find would be after Rose and the children….
Duke tore himself away from the wall and rubbed at his burning eyes. All he could do was be there tomorrow when his friend breathed his last breaths and he could see that Rose and those children never wanted for anything. That was all there was to do.
Duke went to the saloon at the other end of town and pulled himself up to the bar. He ordered two shots of whiskey, one for himself and one for Marston, and then he downed them both.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Marston stood at the cell window and stared out at the quiet early morning. Mist swirled low in the air and heavy dew clung to nearly everything in the sight. The gallows could barely be seen through the fog, but Marston knew they were there—waiting for him.
Soon the crowds would begin to gather. They always gathered when there was a hanging. Whole families would come to eat, mingle and watch a man’s neck break. For one terrible moment, Marston imagined Rose, Langley and Kaitlyn turning up to watch him die but he quickly shoved that thought aside.
Rose wouldn’t come to this—she wouldn’t do that to Langley and Kaitlyn. Rose… All he thought of was that woman. Those thoughts filled him with pain and yet they were also the only thing that gave him any strength of peace. He’d give just about anything to run his hands through that soft red hair, trace those full freckled cheeks with his fingertips and feel her full warm body pressed against his just one more time.
He would love to hear the oppressive silence filled with the ramblings of that over-talkative ten-year-old he considered his own. Or scold Kaitlyn for raising her hand before speaking….
And he couldn’t help but wonder what the child growing inside Rose would look like. The knowledge that he would never know that piece of himself and Rose was too much for Marston to bear and it had him growling and kicking the rickety table in the corner, shattering the crooked slabs of wood and sending splinters across the cell.
Pain constricted his heart, as Marston laid his fevered brow against the cool metal bars. He was shaking and weak, but he’d be damned before he lay down in that bed and let the Marshall find him looking weak and broken. Marston may have handed himself over to the law willingly, but he’d never let them break him. That would go against everything he’d ever lived for.
Marston heard the heavy door to the main office open and he recognized Pete’s boot steps as the young deputy came down the hall. Marston’s movements were stiff and every step filled him with pain as he went to the cell door.
“Good morning, Pete,” Marston greeted, wearing the fake flashing smile he’d perfected over the years.
Pete’s features and posture were drenched in sadness and Marston wondered if Pete truly understood the kind of man he was so sad over. “It’s not such a good day, Marston. You’re going to be hanging at one.”
Marston gripped his bars and stretched out his aching arms. “What time is it now?”
Pete’s gaze went to Marston’s oozing knuckles and Marston chuckled. “The wall said some things I didn’t like. Now what time is it?” he repeated.
“It’s a little after nine,” Pete replied. He tipped his head toward the broken table. “Did the table run its mouth too?”
“Tables tend to do that,” Marston noted with a nod. He flexed his hands on the bars, causing the muscles in his biceps to bulge. “So what brings you by this morning?”
“I need to get that whiskey bottle back,” Pete stated. “I’d get in an awful lot of trouble if the Marshall found it in here.”
Marston clicked his tongue. “Well we wouldn’t want that now, would we?”
Marston turned his back and headed toward the half-empty bottle of whiskey beside his cot. Pete took a sharp intake of breath and gagged. “Marston, you need to see a doc!”
Marston laughed out loud as he carried the bottle back to the bars. “Why’s that? So he can pretty my back up a bit before they kill me?”
“I guess you have a point,” Pete admitted, scratching at the blond hair sticking out beneath his hat. “Still your back is in bad shape.”
“There’s something we can agree on, kid,” Marston nodded, taking one last long swallow of whiskey before sticking the bottle through the bars to Pete.
“Is there anything else I can get for you?” Pete asked.
Marston thought for a moment. “Can I get paper and a pencil?”
“Sure.”
Pete turned away, but Marston reached out and caught him by the arm. When Pete glanced at him questioningly, Marston released his hold. “And give me your word that once I’m dead and buried you’ll see that the letter I give you gets to where I want it go without the Marshall knowing?”
“Yeah, I’ll do you that favor, Marston. You could have killed me and you didn’t and not too proud to admit it. I’ll see that your wife gets the letter and I won’t let the Marshall know.”
“How do you know it’s for my wife?” Marston grumbled.
Pete shrugged. “I don’t reckon you have a whole bunch of friends you’d bother writing last words to, do you?”
Marston just shook his head and five minutes later he was alone in his cell staring at a blank piece of paper. The words he had wanted to write seemed so simple to think last night and yet this morning with the whiskey wearing off and the pencil in his hand, Marston found it harder.
With a heavy sigh, Marston put the sharp point of the pencil against the thick paper.
Rose,
I hope this letter finds you well, love. My thoughts have never been far from you during this time we’ve been apart. I’ve lost track of the days since they no longer seem to matter. Today is my last morning upon this earth and I must say it’s a peaceful one.
I can hear the birds singing outside my window and there’s a heavy mist in the air blanketing the land and buildings. God, how I wish I could touch you one last time… I want nothing more than to hear your voice and feel your lips against mine.
Words can’t express how bad I miss you, Rose. I hope you’re taking care of yourself. I know you’re taking care of the children because you’re an amazing woman and mother, but don’t forget about yourself.
Tell Langley I love him and that I’m sure he’s gonna grow up to be a man that any pa would be proud of. Tell Kaitlyn I love her too and I’m glad she joined our family. Make sure the nugget knows, when it’s born, that I loved it very much and I’m sorry I couldn’t stick around to get to know him or her.
I want to tell you that I did something that I’d never done before last night. I prayed for God to forgive me for every wrong thing I’ve ever done in my life. It made me feel a little better though apparently he didn’t appreciate the apology enough to figure up a way for me to get out of here without putting you all in danger.
When you see Duke and Jeremiah tell those bastards to rot in hell. I don’t have any sappy words for them. If you don’t mind though could you give my rifle to Jeremiah. The brain-addled man doesn’t realize that it’s actually his rifle and I stole it from him after I lost mine in a card game. And you could tell Duke that I don’t blame him for any of this—that might be something he needs to hear.
Well Rose, I can hear the Marshall moving around in the office so it’s time to end this letter. There’s a deputy here that seems to be an alright man and he’s promised to get this letter to you.
I love you more than you’ll ever know and I’ll see you again someday. I’m not stepping foot inside those gates ‘til you get there.
<
br /> Marston
Marston folded up the letter, wiped his tears on the back of his dirty hand and walked to the bars. He tapped them three times and Pete came back to the hall.
“Thanks,” Marston mumbled gruffly as he handed the paper to the young deputy.
Pete stuffed it deep in his pocket. “It’s been an honor to meet you, Marston Jacobs,” Pete said, holding out his hand.
Marston grinned. “Of course it has.”
***
“Tick-tock. Tick-tock,” Marshall Montgomery called as he made his way down the hall to Marston’s cell at nearly one that afternoon.
“That’s an impressive clock impersonation,” Marston noted dryly without looking away from the window. “Your mother must be proud.”
“And so must yours,” Marshall Montgomery countered with a cold laugh.
“I guess your visit means it’s getting to be that time,” Marston noted. From his cell, he could see the festivities already starting near the gallows and all the families gathered with blankets and picnic baskets.
“Yes it is,” the Marshall replied. “You seem awfully calm for a man who’s about to die.”
Marston laughed at the man’s pouting. “Don’t be so disappointed, Marshall,” he said, stepping to the bars and gripping them loosely. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m not real happy about dying.”
“I’m going to let you out and cuff you, Marston, but you better not try anything. You know exactly what’s at risk if you do.”
Marston’s temper flared. His jaw clenched. “Yes sir,” he growled.
And so, Marston was led from the jail, cuffed with three deputies and the Marshall standing guard over him. Marston blinked in the harsh sunlight and nearly stumbled down the steps when his weak legs buckled.
“You alright there, Marston?” the Marshall asked in an amused voice that lacked any real concern.
“Just fine and dandy,” Marston replied even as a cold sweat slicked his clammy skin. Despite his fatigue, Marston managed to keep his head high and his shoulders back as he stumbled through the crowd toward the gallows.
Things were thrown at him from among the crowd. Rocks and other items pelted his red, seeping back, but Marston didn’t mutter a single grunt of pain.
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