Diamond

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  “You aren’t there, Pa,” she whispered. “You’re here beside me, just like always. Except now, I can’t see you. But you’re here. I just know it.”

  She stepped aside so that the others could pay their last tributes. Ranch foreman Cal McCabe looked grim as he shoveled dirt over the casket. limping behind him was the trail cook. One big fat tear splashed down his cheek, and he rubbed it aside with the back of his hand.

  Watching as each of the wranglers followed suit, Diamond felt the sting of tears burn her eyes, but she blinked them away, horrified at such a weakness. She sniffed. Pa wouldn’t have cried. And neither would she. She was a Texan, born and bred. And a Jewel, as well. Pa said that made her special, but also gave her added responsibilities. He’d always taught her that she needed to be tougher, stronger, more honest, more disciplined. Right now she didn’t feel like more of anything. She felt robbed of everything she’d ever loved. And helpless to do anything about it.

  Helpless. That was the worst part. Nothing she could do would bring Pa back. Nothing.

  She lifted her chin and stared straight ahead. She’d heard the whispers from the crowd, had seen their sideways looks, but chose to ignore them. How could anyone be concerned about clothes at a time like this? Only one thing mattered. Her father had been shot in the back. It was up to her to avenge that cowardly act.

  She watched as the town banker, Chester Pierce, lifted a shovel of dirt and scattered it. He turned and drew her into his arms and she nearly gave in to the need to weep.

  “Oh, Uncle Chet.” Though he wasn’t a blood relative, Diamond had always called him uncle. She drew in a breath and struggled for control.

  “I know. I know.” He patted her shoulder and continued to hold her close.

  Chet Pierce had handled the Jewel finances through bad times and good. In the early days, he had loaned Onyx Jewel the money to add to his herd and meet his payroll. And Onyx had repaid him a hundredfold, banking his profits in town, despite the fact that larger banks in Eastern cities had offered more security. The friendship between the two men had benefited the town of Hanging Tree, since Chet Pierce was able to make loans to other, smaller businesses, thus expanding his own bank until it had become a powerful force in the state of Texas.

  When the grave was covered with dirt, the young, charismatic minister, Reverend Wade Weston, stepped forward and caught the young woman’s hand, speaking a few words meant to soothe. “Onyx rests in peace now, Miss Jewel.”

  “Peace?” The word was louder than she’d intended, distorted with fury. “My pa will never rest in peace until the coward who shot him is hanged.”

  “Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.”

  “No, Reverend Weston.” She snatched her hand from his, relieved to have a stronger, fiercer emotion nudge aside her grief. “I’ll be the one to avenge my father’s death. You can count on that.”

  Heads swiveled as a single horse galloped up the hill. The crowd parted for a tall, sun-bronzed man wearing the badge of a marshal. He strode forward until he reached Diamond.

  “Thought you might like to know,” Marshal Quent Regan muttered. “Early this morning, I arrested a man for the murder of your father.”

  Her head came up sharply. Her gaze narrowed. “Who is he?”

  “Name’s Adam Winter. Newcomer to Hanging Tree. Don’t know much about him—” he rubbed at his tender shoulder, which he’d wrenched in his brawl with the prisoner “—except that he’s said to be quick with his temper, and just as quick with a gun. I’ve asked my deputy to look into his claim that he owns the land just west of yours, where I found him scratching out a living. Maybe his claim of ownership is genuine. Then again, maybe not.” He glanced at the banker for confirmation.

  Chet Pierce shrugged. “Don’t know much about this Adam Winter. He could be just a drifter and squatter.”

  “Where is he now?” Diamond demanded.

  “In jail.”

  “I want to see him.”

  “Maybe you ought to wait. I mean, with the funeral and all...”

  “I want to see him now,” she said in a dangerously soft voice.

  No one had ever argued with a Jewel when that tone of voice was used.

  She turned and made her way through the tangle of curious townspeople, with the wranglers following. Most had worked for Onyx Jewel for years, and respected him. But even those who had recently hired on had soon learned that they were in the presence of an extraordinary man. Onyx Jewel had always worked alongside his men. With single-mindedness he’d carved an empire in the wilderness. And the young woman in their midst was a worthy heir. She had inherited not only his wealth, but his drive and determination, as well. There was no job she wouldn’t tackle. And few men, with the exception of tough ranch foreman Cal McCabe, would dare to challenge her.

  Diamond pulled herself into the saddle and took off without a backward glance at her father’s grave. With the townspeople looking on, whispering at this strange turn of events, the wranglers followed, setting off at a thunderous pace.

  As the earth trembled beneath the volley of hoofbeats, Reverend Weston felt a sudden wave of sympathy for the stranger who was about to taste Diamond Jewel’s venom.

  “This funeral service is concluded,” he announced.

  When he looked around, he realized his words had been unnecessary. The townspeople were dispersing as quickly as possible, so they wouldn’t miss the expected fireworks in town.

  “Adam, the deputy out there says they’ve already wired a federal judge to come and hold a trial.” Zebulon Forrest was a gnarled, withered old man with cracked leather skin and a graying beard that disappeared inside a ragged shirt. Despite the fact that he’d been found sleeping in a wagon on Adam’s property, the marshal had released him, after learning that the old man merely worked for Adam.

  “Then it’ll be up to the federal judge to find me innocent.”

  “Are you crazy? These people are getting ready for a hanging. Somebody killed the town hero, and they want to taste blood.”

  Adam Winter said softly, “It won’t be mine, Zeb.”

  The old man clutched the bars that separated them and studied the man who reclined on the hard cot, his hat shielding the morning sun from his eyes. “From what I’ve heard, this town has a history of hanging men first and asking questions later. There must be something we can do to get you out of that cell.”

  Adam shoved the hat aside and turned his gaze toward his old friend. “I guess if life has taught me anything, it’s that I can’t change fate.”

  “Damn it, Adam.” Zeb ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He knew what Adam Winter was thinking. Hadn’t they been through hell and back together? Hadn’t they been forced to watch too many good men die? Maybe they’d been helpless to stop all that, but this ... this wasn’t fate. This was just some federal marshal looking for a scapegoat. It was so unfair, the old man was itching to grab a club and start swinging. But there was no one to swing at. Except maybe Adam. Damn him for giving up without a fight. It wasn’t like him.

  “You’ve got to fight back,” Zeb cried, trying to fire up some enthusiasm. “Fight like hell. Or else, they’re going to use you for a sacrificial lamb.”

  Adam got to his feet and started across the cell, limping slightly. “Let it go, Zeb. There’s nothing—”

  Their heads came up as the door was thrown open and a cluster of wranglers trailed behind the federal marshal.

  “There’s your father’s killer, Miss Jewel.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence.

  “Leave me,” came the hushed, slightly breathless voice.

  At once the others did as she commanded. When old Zeb tried to remain, the marshal caught him by the arm and dragged him away to the outer office.

  Diamond waited until the door closed. Then she yanked off her hat and absently slapped it against her leg, sending dust flying. She peered through the bars at the man who stood facing her. She should have known he’d be a big man. Taller even
than her father, and broader of shoulder. Onyx Jewel had been nearly six feet of pure muscle, but he would have been no match for Adam Winter. The man who faced her had dark, shaggy hair, badly in need of a trim. It curled over the collar of a tattered shirt. There was a stubble of dark hair on his chin and cheeks, and she recalled that the marshal had said he’d arrested him while he slept in the shack he called a ranch. His eyes were smoky gray, and his gaze held her even when she tried to look away.

  Adam Winter studied the tall, slender figure. It had been a shock when she’d removed her hat. From a distance he would have mistaken her for just another wrangler. But her hair, the color of autumn leaves, was a glorious tangle that fell to her waist. In the sunlight streaming through the small, narrow window he could see the way her shirt strained against high, firm breasts. Her tiny waist and softly rounded hips were encircled by empty gun belts. Her guns, no doubt, lay on the marshal’s desk, to be claimed when she was leaving. Up close her face was a small oval, with high cheekbones and eyes that were more green than blue. Eyes that were studying him as though he were a rattlesnake.

  “The marshal tells me your name is Adam Winter.”

  Again that voice, soft, breathless. But not from fear, he realized. Not from nerves. From a deep, raging passion. It was obvious that she was struggling to keep a tight rein on her fury. But it would be no match for his own, if he allowed it to take hold of him. He cautioned himself to remember that this young woman was steeped in grief.

  “That’s right.”

  “Why did you kill my father? What did he ever do to you?”

  “I didn’t kill your father, Miss Jewel. The marshal arrested the wrong man.”

  “Quent warned me that you’d say that.”

  “Then why did you bother asking?”

  “Damn you. You’re so sure of yourself. So smug.” Her eyes narrowed. He could almost see the sparks. One hand curled around the bars of his cell until her knuckles were white. “You took away the only thing that ever mattered to me in this world. I had to lay my father in the ground today.” Her voice was layered with pain. “Do you know what that felt like?”

  He held his silence, but something flared briefly in his eyes. Something that mirrored her pain.

  She took no notice. She bent and pulled a pistol from her boot, then straightened and leveled it at him. “I ought to shoot you in the back, the same way you shot my father. But I want you to see me while I pull this trigger, Adam Winter. And I want to see your eyes when you know you’re dying.”

  He moved so quickly she had no time to react. In one swift motion he caught her hand and pulled it through the bars, twisting until the gun slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor of his cell. With his other hand he caught her roughly by the shoulder and dragged her close, until she was pressed tightly, painfully, against the bars of the cell.

  “Little fool,” he said between clenched teeth. “Do you really want the death of an innocent man on your conscience for the rest of your life?”

  She could feel the strength in his hands as he caught and pinned her. Could feel his breath hot against her cheek. And could see in his eyes a terrible black rage that matched her own.

  No man had ever dared to lay a hand on her in such a bruising, intimate manner. She was, after all, Onyx Jewel’s daughter. Her father’s reputation had always managed to insulate her from the tougher side of her countrymen. Now, imprisoned against her will, she felt a strange heat slowly building within her. The heat of anger, she reasoned.

  “Let me go.” She was surprised at how difficult it was to speak.

  “When I’m good and ready.” Adam continued to press the bones of her hand and knew that, with one simple movement, he could snap them like the wings of a bird. His other hand grasped her shoulder, holding her firmly when she tried to pull back.

  She was neither small nor fragile. But she was soft, as only a woman could be. Though she dressed like a man, she was unmistakably female. And for all her tough talk, a frightened, confused one at that.

  All the anger, all the rage, seemed to drain out of him as quickly as it had filled him.

  He released her and bent to pick up her weapon. As he straightened, he saw the way her eyes widened in fear. Almost at once the fear was replaced by a challenging look.

  “Go ahead. Shoot me. But I won’t turn tail and run. You won’t get a second chance to shoot someone in the back, Adam Winter. If you shoot me, you’ll have to face me while you do it.”

  She was startled when he handed her the gun through the bars of his cell. It was a calculated risk, he knew, but one he had to take. She could still turn the gun on him. But he was betting that her quick temper had already begun to cool.

  Their fingers brushed and she felt another rush of heat. She pulled away as though burned.

  “If you’re smart, Miss Jewel, you’ll put this back in your boot before the marshal sees it. I don’t think he’d take too kindly to his prisoner being shot before the town has a chance to enjoy a good hanging.”

  It galled her to know that he was right. But in these few moments, she had lost her will to kill. Only now was she aware of how foolish, how rash, her actions had been.

  With great reluctance she slid the pistol into her boot. “I intend to listen to every word spoken at your trial. And when they’re ready to hang you, Adam Winter, I’ll tie the noose myself.”

  His voice was rough. “I understand how you feel. I’d do the same to anyone who hurt my loved ones.”

  “Damn you, Adam Winter. Don’t tell me that you understand. No one will ever know the pain I feel. I’ll never forgive you. Never.”

  She turned and, pulling open the door, strode away, leaving the door to slam behind her.

  In the silence, Adam stood, head bowed, hands clenched. It looked like Zeb was right. The town was ripe for a hanging. And without a doubt, so was Onyx Jewel’s daughter.

  Chapter Two

  “What did Mr. Jewel say to you about the defendant’s cattle, Mr. McCabe?”

  Judge Bernard Thompkins spoke to the ranch foreman, but his attention was captured by the rapt faces of the people crowded around to witness the trial. As expected, the locals were spellbound.

  He regularly traveled across Texas holding federal trials involving murder or bank robberies. He was well aware that his stern demeanor and theatrical presence brought a bit of excitement to these otherwise drab little towns. As a young man he’d dreamed of joining a band of traveling actors. Instead, he’d joined his father’s stuffy law firm, where he’d toiled for thirty years. Though his hair was silver and his middle thickening, his heart was still that of a young man. And in truth, these past few years he’d been having the time of his life in his very own traveling circus.

  “He said to drive Adam Winter’s cattle off our land and see that they stayed off.”

  The crowd murmured, and the judge rapped on his table for silence.

  The trial was being held in the back room of Durfee’s Mercantile. It was the only room big enough to hold the crowd that had gathered to watch Adam Winter face the music.

  The judge’s table had, until today, held Durfee’s complete supply of petticoats, corsets and ladies’ drawers.

  The marshal and his deputy sat on either side of Adam Winter, who had been brought in with his hands and feet chained, in case he should attempt to escape. The marshal figured the chains also added weight to Winter’s accusation of guilt. It didn’t hurt that Winter had been in jail for over a week, with no chance to bathe, shave or change his clothes. Everything about the defendant shouted guilty.

  A few chairs had been set up for distinguished onlookers, such as the mayor and his wife, the minister, the banker and, of course, Diamond Jewel. The rest of the townspeople were forced to stand shoulder to shoulder. Those who couldn’t fit inside were milling about outside, listening through the open window.

  It was a festive crowd. The men had been up since dawn to see to their chores so they could hurry into town. The women wore the
ir Sunday best. Children of all ages swung from tree limbs and chased after one another. It was a fine day for a hanging.

  “Deputy Arlo Spitz contends that Adam Winter threatened Mr. Jewel. Did you hear such a threat?”

  “No, sir.” Cal McCabe squirmed. A sworn oath was a sacred trust. And he wished to hell he could recall such a threat. He just wanted this over so he could return to the ranch. He much preferred riding the range to being confined in a courtroom.

  At Cal’s denial, the judge turned his stern gaze on the deputy seated beside the prisoner. Arlo flushed and swallowed, causing his Adam’s apple to bulge in his throat like a bullfrog. He thought he remembered a threat, but then, he’d just been hoping the two men would get into a brawl. Nothing he enjoyed more than a good fight.

  “Thank you, Mr. McCabe.” The judge turned to a tall stick of a man with thin brown hair and eyes as sad as a hound’s, peering balefully through round spectacles. “I suppose you’d like to ask a few questions, Mr. Burton?”

  “Yes, sir.” Rayford Burton got slowly to his feet. The moment he’d received Zeb’s telegram, he’d dropped everything to come to the aid of his old army sergeant. Especially when he’d heard that the defendant was Adam Winter. After all, he owed his life to Adam. As a scared young recruit, he’d lost his nerve at the first sign of battle, and would have taken a bullet in the back if it hadn’t been for the kindness of Adam Winter, a more seasoned fighter, who’d pulled him down behind a log and stayed with him until he discovered his courage.

  With his limited legal training, Rayford spent most of his time these days in Pennsylvania drawing up wills for wealthy clients, or preparing bills of sale and eviction notices. Since his arrival in Hanging Tree three days ago, he’d asked hundreds of questions of the townspeople and made voluminous notes, hoping to appear as professional as possible. But he felt as lost as a six-year-old on his first day of school. He was still just that scared recruit.