He kissed her again, a quick peck this time. “I’ve packed everything but your clothes. Why don’t you run and jump into something while I tie up our bedrolls? I saved out the rest of that cold chicken to eat on the ride to town.”
When he stepped into the smoky cabin minutes later, she had donned the blue serge dress with its very proper white collar and cuffs.
“What’s this?” he teased. “We’re riding horses, you know.”
“And I’ve turned over a new leaf,” she said haughtily. “I’m a new woman.” She strove for lightness, hoping the truth of the matter didn’t show. The truth, that she was a new woman, a woman deeply in love with someone who didn’t love her. Someone who before this day was out could be heading back to Yuma Prison to die for a murder he claimed not to have committed. Pray God they didn’t learn otherwise.
“Dressing up for Junior, huh?”
She flung her head, swishing the braid she had just finished tying with a strip of lace from her pantaloons. “For whoever can free Hunter and clear you,” she corrected primly.
He grabbed her shoulders, and she fairly melted beneath the sensual glow in his eyes. He kissed her, wet and hot and solidly. “When we run into Junior, just make sure he knows who you belong to.”
She exploded.
“Belong to?” But she wasn’t really furious. Inside her heart hummed a joyous tune. Not that she would ever allow herself to belong to anyone, but for the time being it wouldn’t hurt to keep that part quiet.
He had just settled in to kiss her again when they heard the approach of horses. From the one front window they watched three men ride up the rocky draw.
“It’s Tom,” she said.
“No one ever comes here,” Trevor said.
Jacy glanced quickly at the smoldering remains of her doeskin riding habit. “The smoke?”
“Likely.”
She turned to him, all indecision gone. “Go,” she said. “Hurry.”
He frowned. “And leave you here alone? Not on your life.”
“It’s your life, Trevor. You’re the one with a price on your head. No matter whose side Tom’s on, it isn’t yours. The best you could hope for if he catches you is being returned to Yuma. And this time you would die.”
“But, Jace, damn, I can’t leave you to that man. He might—”
“He’s Papa’s friend. That’s all I know. I’m not suspicious of him. I’ll make it, Trevor. Go.” She grabbed his face, kissed him hard. “Please go. For me.”
He pursed his lips. She watched him consider.
“Please, Trevor.”
“All right. I’ll go. But I’ll be watching you, Jace. Tell him I kidnapped you.”
She had but time to nod, before he dashed out the back of the cabin and down into the valley where their horses were tethered.
Shots rang out. Her heart fell. Resolutely, she stepped onto the crumbling rock porch. The three men drew rein in a swirl of rocks and dust. She recognized Tom Guest, mostly by the tuft of wiry hair he had always worn on his chin. It matched his wiry build. He looked the same, except his thin face was now so wrinkled there wasn’t a smooth place on it. His cheeks looked like rusted washboards. His brown hair was gray, although nowhere near as white as Drummond’s. He squinted at her through eyes that were hard, yet weak, but again nothing like as weak as her father’s.
She watched Tom recognize her. His face turned white, or so she imagined. “Jacy? Is that you?” His gaze swept her from head to foot. She wasn’t sure he had ever seen her in a dress before. “What the devil are you doing…” He stepped down from his horse and tossed the reins over the animal’s neck. “…here?”
Inspiration finally struck. She flew down the crumbling steps. “Oh, Tom, it’s you. Thank goodness. I’ve been so frightened. I just knew it was over.”
Tom Guest approached her warily. “What’s going on?”
“I was kidnapped…”
“Kidnapped.” His face froze in an instant of terror. “By that damned Fallon? I wrote Hardin to keep that murdering sonofabitch away from you.”
She grimaced and hoped she was a better actor than her father’s friend. “He made Wes Hardin look like a Sunday School teacher.”
While she spoke, Tom motioned his cowhands into the cabin. “Get him, men. Shoot to kill. And try to stay out of his line of fire. He’s one mean bastard.” He turned back to Jacy. “Sorry, honey.”
“He’s already dead.” In her search for a way to keep Tom’s men from following Trevor, the thought had popped into her head and she used it without half-thinking.
“What do you mean, dead?” Tom demanded.
“Didn’t you hear the shot?” she improvised. “Just as you rode up. It was a bounty hunter, or so he claimed. He looked like he had just crawled out of a hole somewhere. He grabbed Trevor, said he was worth one thousand dollars.”
Tom whistled through his teeth. “Didn’t know it was that high.”
“That’s what the man said. Dead or alive, he said. When Trevor tried to run for it, the man shot him.” She buried her face in her hands. “Oh, Tom, it was horrible. I’ve been so frightened. How did you know to come?”
“The hands saw smoke coming from this way during the night. Thought we ought to check things out.”
“It worked,” she said with a sigh. “I threw some old leather things in the fire, hoping to call someone to my aid. I’m so glad it worked.”
“Me, too, honey. But…I don’t understand. Why did Fallon kidnap you and bring you here? This should have been the last place on earth he would run.”
“He used to live here, in this cabin.”
“I mean to Arizona. To the ranch.”
She shrugged, struggling to keep up with Tom’s questions. “I never understood exactly. He kept raving about proving his innocence, finding witnesses that hadn’t come forward, things like that. It was horrible. And to think Hunter is still in prison for what that man did.”
“Never did make much sense,” Tom agreed. His men came around the side of the house. “Drummond was right about that no-account drifter.”
Patience, she cautioned, when she felt her hackles begin to rise. Keep calm. Don’t go too fast or he will suspect. “At least you’ve come. Now, can we go home? Papa said you’re running the ranch while we’re gone.”
Tom Guest’s head snapped around. His bushy brows knitted. “He did?”
Jacy watched him draw several deep breaths. “The least I could do,” he finally said. “Stuns me yet, knowing Drummond was run out of the territory the way he was.”
“I thought Clem Spence got the ranch, in exchange for defending Hunter.”
Guest hurrumphed. “Some defense. Should have gotten the boy off. Maybe now, with Fallon out of the picture, Drummond can persuade the court—”
“I might as well be the one to tell you,” she interrupted, for his line of thought was close to her own, and she wanted time to consider her next move. “Papa will never return to the Diamond K. Or even to Arizona.”
Tom cocked his head, obviously puzzled, or pretending to be. “What?”
“He can’t. He signed an agreement to never cross the territorial line again.”
Guest considered. “Even if Hunter were cleared?”
“Even if the sun turns green. And another thing, Tom. The worst of all. Papa has lost his mind.”
Tom Guest was truly stunned. His reaction was spontaneous and clearly in character with distress for a friend’s misfortune. “What an ungodly toll this tragedy has taken on everyone concerned. Drummond Kimble had the sharpest mind in the territory.” He frowned, genuinely rueful. “Even if I did disagree with him on that statehood matter, he was the man we needed to carry us into the next century.”
“I thought you should know, Tom,” she added, “you being Papa’s best friend. You also know how hard I’ve tried to get Hunter a new trial. We decided if—when—he’s free, we will move to somewhere in Texas.”
“You’ve all agreed?” he asked, skeptical. �
�Everyone knows how much you loved this place. We figured you would come back fighting.”
She smiled to hide her dismay. Who was everyone? she wanted to ask. “I’ve had enough fighting to last two lifetimes. I suppose you can make something positive out of almost anything, even being kidnapped. Coming back was a catharsis for me. I’ve said my good-byes. Now, if we could just free Hunter, we could get on with our lives. The children need him.”
Tom Guest had always been a good father. She added the bit about the children in case he still was. Tommy, an only child, had been close to both parents. His mother doted on his every move. Now his mother was dead.
“How is Mrs. Guest?” she asked, since she wasn’t supposed to know about the woman’s death.
“Another casualty of this damned thing,” Tom said unexpectedly. “She died a couple of years back.”
“Oh, no. I’m so sorry. What…I mean, what do you mean, another casualty?”
He stiffened slightly, then shrugged. “She always felt so close to you and Hunter. Like she’d somehow helped raise you after Margaret died.”
That was true, Jacy allowed, but certainly not enough to kill a person. Especially since neither she nor Hunter had ever felt particularly close to Oleta Guest.
“And Tommy?” she asked. “Do he and Mary Jane live in Gila Bend?”
Tom’s face lengthened. Genuine sadness filled his eyes. She saw Drummond in them, Drummond’s pain and loneliness. “Tommy moved on. After his mother died, he picked up stakes and moved out to California. The Imperial Valley. I never hear from him. Mary Jane writes once in a while. He…he blames me for his mother’s death.”
“I’m sorry, Tom.” And she was. For five long years she had lived with a man who lost his son.
“Mary Jane says he’ll come around someday,” Tom added. “But someday may be too long. I’m getting on now. Someday may be too late.”
“Ironic isn’t it? You and Papa, best friends. Both of you lost sons, and you can’t even be together to comfort each other.” After a while, she broached the topic she had been formulating since Tom mentioned Hunter being free. “You wrote Wes Hardin that Hunter’s appeal was denied because Trevor escaped and murdered a guard to do it.”
Guest nodded.
“Now that Trevor is…dead, could we try again?”
Guest chewed on the side of his mouth a minute, thinking. “I’ll see Clem. With what you’ve told me, maybe there’s a chance. Can we verify Drummond’s…uh, loss of memory?”
“It isn’t just a loss of memory,” she said. “Papa has lost his mind, his ability to think, to reason, to work. He spends all day either sitting in a park feeding alligators or drinking, when he can find someone to foot the bill. We’ve been living on nearly nothing.”
“You look well, though.” His gaze scanned the prim blue dress that had been worn but one time, if Jacy remembered correctly. She started to show him her hands, but decided against it.
“We’ve managed.”
“Can’t say as I’ve seen you wear too many dresses.”
“I’ve changed, Tom. As much as Papa, but in the other direction, thankfully. Someone had to take charge.”
“And the family really needs Hunter,” he mused.
“Yes. Each one of us needs him. But more than that, he needs to be set free. I’ll never believe he murdered Ana Bowdrie. Nothing, absolutely nothing was proved.”
Tom sighed. “It was political, Jacy. You know that. Hunter’s part in it, I mean. Purely political. Drummond had made some powerful enemies. Men who, I might add, are even more powerful today. When they saw a way to get rid of their archrival, they took it. It won’t be easy convincing them to back down.”
“But you’ll try?”
He stroked his chin beard and stared into the distance, thoughtful. “I could ride into Gila Bend…”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Not a good idea,” Tom said hastily. “According to what you told me, you’re not supposed to be anywhere near this territory.”
“I was brought back against my will,” she reminded him. “Now that I’m here, I might as well try to find someone to help Hunter.”
Tom stroked his beard again.
“Maybe I can help,” she added. “I can wire Wes Hardin to send notarized accounts of Papa’s condition.” And add something about Trevor’s plight. She must think of a way to word it. Hardin could send people to look for Trevor. To help him.
“Maybe that’ll work,” Tom agreed. “If you’re sure…”
By the time they arrived in Gila Bend, Jacy’s white cuffs were laden with dust and her hair straggled from her braid, but her hopes were higher than they had been in five years, those that weren’t with Trevor. If he showed up in Gila Bend, all would be lost. She wasn’t sure Tom, or anyone else for that matter, would recognize Trevor. Before the trial, he had met few of Drummond’s associates. He stayed mostly on the ranch, venturing into Gila Bend only occasionally. Or so she had thought.
If he and Ana…
No, he and Ana had not had an affair. She was positive of that now. After last night. An urgent sense of anxiety fluttered through her. She must save him. Get word to Wes Hardin. She prayed it would be enough.
They arrived just before noon and took Clem Spence by surprise. He was a fair-headed man of forty or so. Jacy had always thought of him as weak-spined, but knew that could be because he failed to clear Hunter.
“There was that witness…” Clem said after a lengthy stare at Tom Guest. Jacy snapped to attention.
“Witness? What witness?” She looked back and forth between Clem and Tom. When Tom finally nodded, Clem continued.
“Miss Abbie Brownley.”
“Abbie?” Jacy felt her heart flutter. The letter she had stolen from Tom’s dresser was in Trevor’s saddlebags…she hoped.
“No relation to the late Ana Bowdrie,” Clem explained, “except for being a…well, you might say, a sister in the trade. Miss Brownley was a neighbor of Miss Bowdrie.”
“A neighbor?” Again she looked from Clem to Tom, then back. “You mean at the time of the murder?” There had been rumors, never confirmed, much denied, of a neighbor who witnessed the crime.
“Miss Brownley?” she began, “What did she see?”
“She’d be a better one to tell you than me,” Clem said. “I’ve never spoken to the lady. She hightailed it until the trial was long over and those concerned with it had gone on to other things.”
Other things. Prison. Exile. Lost minds and territorial governorships. And these two men knew the details, details that would have saved her brother, her father, her…And Trevor. Damn them, these two men knew. She drew a heavy, steadying breath, conscious now of not giving away her feelings. She could ruin everything by one slip. She must be on guard.
“May we speak with Miss Brownley?” she asked Clem, careful to keep her voice modulated.
Clem raised brows, questioning Tom. Jacy fumed.
“First things first,” Tom responded. “Those in power won’t be swayed by a tardy witness. Send that wire to Hardin, Jacy. See what we can come up with.”
So Jacy sent the wire, requesting a notarized letter from a physician declaring Drummond Kimble incompetent. She hated to do it. Then again, it was a small price to pay for Hunter’s freedom.
And it was the truth. Hadn’t she had to make every decision that had been made for the last five years? Hadn’t she been the one to pursue Hunter’s freedom?
Drummond’s mind or Hunter’s freedom? The choice was the same as it always had been.
She added a sentence detailing how a bounty hunter had killed Trevor Fallon and another shorter sentence, like an afterthought, to the effect that she had seen one of the reptiles Hardin had favored in Arizona, that it was indeed rare and in danger of extinction.
To Tom’s question, she explained, “Wes Hardin collects rare species of reptiles. Last night I saw one he is especially interested in.”
Clem chose to stay behind while Tom and Jacy wal
ked the distance to Abbie Brownley’s impressive two-story Victorian clapboard, after Jacy insisted that no, she did not want to wait until after lunch, no she did not need to rest, no she would not hear of remaining in Clem’s office while Tom and Clem performed the unsavory task of interrogating the unwilling witness.
“Let me go in first and prepare her,” Tom suggested on the porch. “If we barge in and rile her, we aren’t likely to get the time of day.”
Jacy agreed, taking a seat in one of the half-dozen ladderback rockers that lined the railed porch. In a town of adobes this white monstrosity stuck out like a sore thumb. Jacy wondered how Miss Brownley had come by such a fine home, who had paid for it. And why.
It seemed only reasonable in light of the little she had learned so far that Abbie Brownley had somehow profited from the misfortune that had befallen the Kimbles, and further, that Tom Guest, in light of the letters stashed in his dresser drawer, was somehow involved with her.
Had that involvement begun before or after the murder of Ana Bowdrie? Why in heaven’s name did the two women possess such similar names?
And finally, could those who had heaped such good fortune on Miss Abbie Brownley be persuaded to turn loose of the Kimbles, for once and for all? For the first time in five years Jacy looked forward to a future outside Arizona. She was anxious to get on with it.
Tom returned to beckon her from the door. “We’re in luck,” he said quietly, ushering her into the grand old house, that wasn’t so old at all.
Except for the furniture, which looked old and well-loved. The first thing Jacy noticed was that the picture of New York Harbor that hung in the hall beneath a sideboard looked extremely familiar, down to the ornately gilded frame.
Even the sideboard was identical, as far as Jacy could see in passing, to the one that had sat in her mother’s entry hall all Jacy’s life.
“Jacy Kimble, at last we meet. I’m Abbie Brownley. Just call me Abbie, dear.”
Jacy started at the voice, and was shocked to see a woman not much older than herself emerge from the parlor, hand stretched in greeting. She wore a modestly cut gown of bright orange silk, a color which almost matched the deep orange of her hair.
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