Brett slumped on his bunk and buried his face in his hands. What would this do to his family if, and when, they learned of his fate? He imagined his father growing old and dying under a cloud of shame. How could the respected owner and president of the largest manufacturing company in southwestern Missouri hold his head up if word got out that his son had died a convicted murderer?
Brett thought of his sweet stepmother and how this would hurt her. She’d tried to teach him the right way to live. The way to heaven. When he left this world where would he spend eternity? Words she’d spoken to him echoed in his mind. Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.
He’d never see his family again. There would be no joyous reunion in heaven with his mother and his older sister. Eternity waited less than twenty-four hours away. He’d made no preparation for the journey. Unlike his sisters, who had chosen to serve the Lord, he’d chosen what he thought was freedom. Freedom that led to destruction.
He’d never done much of anything wrong, but neither had he done anything right. Tears filled his eyes and ran through his fingers as the weight of his sins weighed heavily on his heart. They’d been sins of omission for the most part, but no less grievous in God’s eyes than the crime he’d been wrongfully accused of and for which he was now condemned to die.
A vivid picture of another Man who had been condemned for crimes he didn’t commit came to his mind. Jesus died on the cross for him. His blood had flowed for Brett Norris. How many times had he been told that the blood of Christ cleansed the believer of sin? Most of his life his stepmother had told him Jesus died so he would never have to know death.
For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life. It was one of the first verses he’d been forced to memorize. The second verse had been in First John. If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
Those two verses were all a person needed to know to be saved. Mom had told him often enough when he was a boy growing up at home.
Brett dropped to his knees beside the narrow cot in his cell. “I know I have sinned. Father, forgive me.”
As he continued to pray, he accepted Jesus’ sacrifice for him and a great weight lifted from his chest. He smiled through his tears. Soft laughter bubbled within his heart. He was free. Free for the first time in his life. He marveled at the peace that filled his heart. He lifted his hands to heaven in thanksgiving. After a while, he buried his face in the coarse wool blanket covering his cot and shed tears of joy.
When he finally rose from his knees, he noticed the sheriff watching him. “We ain’t got no church here in Purgatory,” he said. “But I been afore. I seen men get religion. Even tried it myself once when I was just a striplin’. When my old man found out, didn’t take him long to beat it outta me.”
“I’m sorry,” Brett said. “But you still have time.”
“Not me.” The sheriff pulled a knife from his pocket and began to clean his nails. “That church stuff is for women and kids. My woman was raised in the church. She was cold as an icicle.” He pretended to shiver, then laughed as if he’d said something funny. “I seen to it she didn’t spew none of that religious garbage ’round Connie. Didn’t want her ruined, too.”
As if the subject were closed, he folded the knife and put it back in his pocket. “You got anyone you want to notify of your upcomin’ demise?”
“Yes, I’d like to write to my father.”
“I got some writin’ tools here.” The sheriff shuffled through his desk and came up with a dog-eared tablet, a stubby pencil, and an envelope. Walking over to the cell, he shoved them through the bars to Brett. He gave a nod and returned to his desk as if he’d done a good deed.
“There’s one other thing,” Brett said. “I have a Bible in my saddlebags. Would you have someone bring it to me?”
“Cain’t see much use for it myself, but when Connie brings your dinner you can ask her to bring your Bible to ya. She’ll mail that letter for ya, too.” He leaned back and propped his feet on the desk. “I’m gonna spend the night with Connie. Deems will stay with you tonight.”
Brett looked up, uncertain what the man meant by that remark, but the sheriff had pulled his hat down over his eyes in preparation for a nap, hiding his face.
Several long minutes later, Brett put the pencil down. Writing a letter to his father, after so long a time was hard enough, but this letter had to be one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Yet he believed he managed to instill in it the joy born in his heart at his acceptance of God’s salvation. He wrote his father’s name and address on the front of the envelope as the girl came in the door with her basket.
The sheriff laid his hat on the desk and sprang from his chair to greet her. He took the basket from her small hands and set it on the desk. His big hand stroked her cheek. “You ain’t gonna be alone tonight, sugar. I’m havin’ Deems guard the prisoner so’s I kin be with you.”
The sheriff stood with his back to the cell so Brett saw the girl’s face. Her eyes flashed fear before they became hard and ice cold for a heartbeat. He gripped the bars of his cell. Something wasn’t right. Then a transformation occurred when a slight smile tugged at the corners of the girl’s mouth. She stepped away from her uncle’s hand and removed the dishtowel from the basket.
“I made stew and biscuits.” Her smile couldn’t have been brighter.
Brett relaxed.
The sheriff sat down at his desk, and she placed the plate in front of him. His big hand closed over her small one, and she laughed. “You’d best eat before ever’thing gets cold.”
She pulled free and stepped back.
Watching the two of them together brought a conflicting message to Brett. What, in truth, was their relationship? The sheriff appeared to be extremely fond of the girl, but fear followed by unadulterated hatred had crossed her face before she looked up at the big man with that hint of a smile.
When she brought the plate for Brett, the warmth in her eyes and upturned lips seemed real. He returned the smile as he accepted the stew. “Thank you, Miss. You’re a wonderful cook.”
Over her shoulder, he saw the sheriff glowering at him, so he hurried to ask. “Would you post a letter for me?”
He balanced the plate carefully in one hand while he handed her the letter. She turned the envelope over and studied the address, but didn’t say anything.
“It’s to my father in Springfield, Missouri.”
“Springfield, Missouri?” Those were the first words she’d spoken to him. Her eyes took on a luminous glow. “Sure, I’ll take care of this for ya.” Before he could thank her, she turned and hurried away.
“Miss!” Brett called as the door closed behind her. She was already gone and he’d forgotten to ask for his Bible.
Chapter 4
Connie hurried from the jail, her mind in a whirl. All she had thought about for months was finding someone who could show her the way back to Springfield, Missouri. Now the man she’d waited and watched for so long was locked in her uncle’s jail with a death sentence hanging over his head. She didn’t have time to waste. If she didn’t act straight away, he’d be useless to her by morning.
She rushed through her household chores, and went out to feed the horses. She scarcely paid attention to her work as she thought of and rejected one plan after another. She stroked Chester’s neck as he nuzzled her pockets for sugar and the best idea she’d had yet took form in her mind. It just might work. She had to take the chance even if she died trying.
She hurried back to the house and shoved the few things she would need, including her wide-blade hunting knife, into a cloth feed sack. She went into her uncle’s room next and lifted the mattress so she could pull out a small bag. The coins inside jingled as she added her uncle’s savings to her sack without the slightest pang of conscience.
A quick glance out front showed the way clear
, but she knew her uncle would be crossing the street for supper at any time. She ran back out to the barn with her filled sack and hid it, her heart pounding in anticipation and fear of being caught.
She hurried up the path to the house and slipped in the back door, closing it softly behind her when she heard footsteps on the front porch. Uncle Everett was home. She moved to the stove and stirred the bubbling brown beans while she willed her pounding heart to settle down. He came up behind her, and she spoke without turning around. “Soon as I get a batch of cornbread made, we’ll have our supper.”
She breathed easier when he turned away and sat at the table to watch her cook. “I’m spendin’ the night with ya, Connie.”
She shuddered at the meaning behind his words, but didn’t speak or show any outward sign of understanding his intentions. She bustled about, stirring the batter and scooping it into a pan to cook. He kept quiet while she slid the cornbread into the oven and closed the door. When she turned toward the cabinet for bowls, in her hurry, she made the mistake of passing too close to him.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her onto his lap. “You’re lookin’ mighty pert tonight. Ya ain’t keepin’ secrets from your old uncle, are ya?”
Connie’s heart rose into her throat. Did he know what she had planned? No, he couldn’t know. Still she didn’t dare arouse his suspicions. She forced a smile to her cold lips. “Of course not, Uncle Everett. I ain’t got no secrets from you.”
“Well, you’d better not have.” His big hand slid up her back. “So how’s about you tell me where your old man hid that gold he took on his last job?”
Connie’s breath caught in her throat. How did he know about the gold? He’d never mentioned it before.
He laughed at the look of surprise on her face. “Ya gonna tell me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” She schooled her expression too late.
His laugh sounded more bark than mirth. “You know right well what I’m a-talkin’ about. Ya think I’m so stupid I don’t know your pa and his gang robbed a payroll up in Missouri? He died right away after and there weren’t no gold on ya when ya showed up on my doorstep. So where’s that gold at? What’d he do with his share?”
“Iffen you thought there was gold, Uncle Everett, why didn’t you try to find it long before now?” She smiled at him.
“I been a-lookin’.” His gaze roved over her. “Right after you come here, I made a trip up north. Didn’t find nothin’ for my trouble, though. Your pa covered his tracks real good afore he passed on.” He rubbed her back. “So how’s about tellin’ your old uncle where that gold is?”
Why’d he keep calling Davis her pa when he knew better? She ignored him and tried to get off his lap, but he wouldn’t let her go.
“I cain’t ‘cause I don’t know where any gold is.” She answered truthfully. If she knew how to get to her gold, she wouldn’t need an escort to Springfield. She’d just hightail it out and go right to the cave where Davis showed her when he hid it. But it’d been too long. She couldn’t remember.
“I reckon ya know more’n you’re a-tellin’ and I aim to find out. One way or another.” His hand moved on up to her head. “But we won’t worry about that now. Give your old uncle a kiss.”
Connie’s stomach twisted and her skin crawled where his hand touched her, but she forced herself to relax. She had spent her first eight years in a brothel. One thing she’d learned there was that a woman could endure anything and even pretend she enjoyed it if the price was high enough. She smiled and leaned down to kiss his cheek. He turned his head enough to catch her lips in a loose-mouthed kiss that made her want to vomit. Still, even though her every instinct pulled her to jerk away from him, she forced herself to remain passive and accept his distasteful caress.
“Well, now, that’s more like it.” He leered, and she shuddered at what she saw in his eyes. She’d seen that same look in the eyes of the men who came to the brothel just before they went upstairs with her mother or one of the other girls.
His hold on her relaxed, giving her the opportunity to shove his hands away and spring to her feet. On the guise of worrying about her cooking, she hurried to the stove. “The cornbread’s gonna burn.”
Thankfully her bread was finished cooking. She set the pan on the table with a potholder underneath and hurried back to the stove. Burns’ touch on her hair and the sound of his breathing crept along her nerves. Without her plan, she might scream at him to leave her alone. She stirred the beans with every muscle tensed.
“I’ve waited a long time for you, Connie, but I ain’t gonna wait no longer. Deems is stayin’ with the prisoner tonight. Soon as we eat, I gotta make my rounds, but I’ll be home for the night when I’m done.” He moved her braid to one side, and his mouth on the back of her neck sent waves of revulsion washing over her. She wanted more than anything to let him know how much she despised him and his advances, but she knew he’d take what he wanted without permission. And he’d make sure she suffered while he did it.
“I know you been lonely since Aunt Rose was taken.” The words sounded hollow and empty to her ears, but he seemed to accept them as sincere. She turned away to dish up a bowl of beans.
“Your Aunt Rose was given to headaches. You don’t have headaches, do ya, Connie?”
“Not often,” Connie muttered as she set the bowl at his place on the table and reached for the cornbread to cut it.
Burns laughed and sat back at the table. “You just be ready tonight when I get home.”
“I will be.” Connie smiled. She’d be ready all right. One way or the other she’d be gone by the time he came home. She’d made up her mind this afternoon. If she stayed here with him wantin’ what he was a-wantin’, she’d kill him for sure, then tomorrow morning she’d be swingin’ from the gallows right alongside the man in her uncle’s jail.
If things worked out as she planned, the condemned man would be going with her. If not, he’d be swinging alone, because she’d be leaving tonight with or without him. She kept her smile in place as she let her mind dwell on the hard calculating facts. No matter what happened to the prisoner, in a couple of hours she’d burn her bridges behind her, in a manner of speaking.
She fixed her own bowl of beans and wedge of cornbread then sat across from the sheriff. After they ate, Burns pushed his chair back from the table. “Take a plate to the deputy and the prisoner, but come right back here. I don’t want nothin’ to happen to you tonight.” He ran a big hand over his thick, dark hair. “Think I’ll stop by the barber shop for a haircut and a shave afore I make my rounds.” He went to the door and picked up his hat. “I’ll be back around eight. You be ready, you hear?”
Connie stuck her trembling hands deep in the dishwater and smiled over her shoulder. “I’ll be ready, Uncle Everett.”
He went out the door, and she relaxed while laughter rose in her throat. “I’m almost ready now,” she whispered.
She dried her hands on a dishtowel and fixed two bowls of beans and put them in a basket along with the rest of the cornbread to take to Deems and the prisoner. She should be sorry for not fixing something better, but she’d been too busy. Her secret smile stayed with her as she left the kitchen sparkling clean and crossed the street to the jail. Inside she set one bowl and two big wedges of cornbread covered with butter on the desk before Deems.
“Thank ya, Miss Connie.” He grinned at her.
She dipped her head in reply, thankful she wouldn’t have to see his face again after tonight. Next she crossed to the cell. The prisoner gave her the hint of a smile when he took the food. He lifted the bowl and sniffed then peeked under the napkin at the bread. “M-m-m. This looks good and I’m plenty hungry. Thank you, Miss.”
“You’re welcome.” She stared into the good-looking young man’s sparkling green eyes. He seemed mighty cheerful for a man facing the gallows. Maybe the gang he rode with was more thoughtful than Davis’s gang. Maybe he thought they were going to rescue him. Maybe he’d want to wai
t for them. He might not want to go with her. She’d better bring a gun when she came back later in case he needed some persuading.
She hurried back to the house and looked around to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. Satisfied that she hadn’t, she took her uncle’s new breech-loading Sharps rifle from the pegs over the fireplace in the small parlor along with plenty of ammunition. She picked up a box of matches and a can of kerosene before she slipped out the back way to the barn.
The few minutes she took to saddle the prisoner’s horse and Chester seemed to take forever. When she finished, she slipped her uncle’s rifle into the scabbard on Chester’s saddle and led the horses through the back gate into the open pasture. There, she swung onto Chester’s back and nudged him south into the gathering darkness while she kept a firm hold on the other horse’s reins.
She moved with care, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be watching and report her movements to the sheriff. She continued until she’d gone in a wide arch around the small town to the south border where the old Barnett place stood silent and alone. The large two-story house on the edge of town had sat vacant since old man Barnett died last winter. She tied Chester and the Buckskin gelding to a sapling. Clutching the box of matches in one hand and the can of kerosene in the other, she moved across the overgrown yard without a sound. The floorboards creaked as she crept over the porch and the rusting hinges of the massive back door squealed in protest when she pushed it open.
The Barnett place had been quite a showplace before the old man was took and could be again with a minimal amount of restoration. “Someday I’m gonna have me a big, fancy house like this one,” Connie spoke in the empty kitchen. Her voice echoed off the walls, bouncing from room to room. Her heart thumped, beating as a drum in the empty house. She’d waited and dreamed so long for this moment. Yet now, with the task before her, her nerves threatened to give out. She moved through the house to the parlor and quickly lit the lamp on the fancy cherry wood table in the dusty room. Furniture sat where the old man left it when he died, except for a thick covering of dust. She looked behind her and saw her footprints on the floor. Wouldn’t matter, though. By the time she finished, there wouldn’t be any tracks left for the sheriff to find.
Connie and the Cowboy (Outlaw Gold) Page 4