Lorraine Heath (25 page)

“So am I,” Dallas said quietly. He watched his brother high-tail it from the room. He walked to the window and caught sight of Austin galloping into the night. “So who the hell do you think he’s protecting now?”

“If he’s following in the footsteps of his older brothers, it would have to be the woman he loves,” Dee said softly as she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest.

“Christ, I hope you’re wrong.”

Loree heard the footsteps on the porch and slowly brought herself out of the rocking chair. The door opened quietly, and Austin slipped inside. He hung his hat on the peg by the door and stood staring at his boots. He looked like a man who had just taken the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Austin?”

He snapped his head around and gave her a weak smile. “Thought you’d be asleep. Must be near midnight.”

“Almost. What did Dallas say?”

“That we’ll take care of it.”

She furrowed her brow. “What does that mean?”

He crossed the short expanse separating them. “It means we’ll take care of it. I don’t want you to ever tell anyone what you told me tonight.”

“How will that clear your name?”

“Don’t you be worrying about my name. You worry about that little boy that’s sleeping in the cradle in our room.”

“You didn’t tell Dallas, did you?”

He dropped his head back and plowed his hands through his hair. “He’d hired the detective I told you about. Recently he notified Dallas that he thought he’d discovered a link to the land. I don’t know why it took him so long—”

“Because my father bought the land under a false name. So many men used different names after the war, especially if they had something to hide. He’d deserted. He was afraid they wouldn’t sell him the land if they knew the truth …” She looked at him imploringly. “Honestly my father wasn’t a bad man—”

“He just lied and cheated.”

Tears burned her eyes. “I never wanted anyone to know—”

“No one will know. I told Dallas to send a telegram to the detective and tell him his services were no longer needed.”

“And he agreed to do that … on your say-so?”

“He’s my brother. He trusts me.” He hunkered down before the hearth. “I’ll bank the fire. You go on to bed. I’ll be there directly.”

She padded into their bedroom and clambered onto the bed, drawing the blankets over her. Relief swamped her when she heard his footsteps and saw his silhouette in the doorway. As though she’d never see it again, she watched the way he held onto the doorjamb while slipping the heel of his boot into the bootjack and jerking his boot off. She listened to the thud of one, then the other, and the soft tread of his stockinged feet as he walked to the bed, yanking his shirt over his head as he went. She watched his shadow as he dropped his britches onto the floor. In the morning, she’d gladly pick up all his clothes and check them for tears and missing buttons before she laundered them.

The bed sank beneath his weight as he stretched out beside her, folded his arms beneath his head, and stared at the ceiling.

“Why did they think you killed McQueen?” she finally dredged up the courage to ask.

She heard him swallow in the silence that followed her question.

“Lots of reasons.”

“You said you’d made some mistakes—”

“Yep.”

“What did you do?”

He sighed deeply. “The land your father claimed was his belonged to Dallas. Boyd and Dallas fought over it. Dallas made a pact with the devil. He’d marry his sister and when she gave him a son, he’d deed the land over to Boyd. I told you what happened behind the hotel.

“We didn’t know it was Boyd at the time. Dee had heard a child cry out—Rawley. Boyd had hurt him in ways a boy should never be hurt. When Rawley confided in me, I went into the saloon—like a big man—fired my gun right over Boyd’s head and told him that I’d like nothing better than to rid the ground of his shadow.

“There were plenty of witnesses. So when he showed up dead, they figured I’d carried out my threat.”

“But Becky knew differently,” she said softly, understanding the full extent of his love for Becky. He had to have known what their silence might cost him.

“I didn’t think they’d find me guilty so I told her not to say anything.”

“But after they found you guilty—”

“Didn’t see that it would have made any difference. Boyd wrote ‘Austin’ in the dirt before he died.”

“I wonder why he didn’t write my name.”

“My guess is that he planned to but he died before he got around to it. Writing your name wouldn’t have helped if no one knew where to find you so he wrote that first.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs with the realization of what had brought him to Austin. “The man you were looking for in Austin—”

He rolled over and cradled her cheek. “Seems he wasn’t a man at all.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “How you must hate me.”

His thumb circled her cheek in a gentle caress. “Loree, make no mistake. I would have killed him that night but Becky sidetracked me. Boyd had paid some men to kill Dallas, and they’d lashed him to within an inch of his life. We couldn’t prove anything because he’d murdered them in their sleep. He was spawned by the devil, and I’m damned tired of him reaching out from hell and touching our lives. We’re gonna put this behind us. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but by God, I’m not going to let him steal something else away from me.” He dropped his hand down to her shoulder and squeezed gently. “Come here.”

She scooted over until she was nestled in his embrace.

“Tomorrow, we’ll decide what we’re gonna do,” he told her. “But right now I gotta get some sleep.” She heard his deep yawn. “Last night, I didn’t sleep at all, worrying about this morning.”

This morning. How long ago it seemed since he had set out in search of his dream. Every dream he had ever dreamed, she had stolen from him.

His hold on her loosened, his fingers unfurling from around her shoulder. She heard his breathing deepen and slow. She was amazed he slept after all that she’d told him, and thought how much easier it would have been if he’d ranted and raved and told her that he hated her.

She could only surmise that the full implications of her confession hadn’t hit him yet. Sooner or later, he would look across the room and realize all that she had cost him.

She heard the small cry, tempered by the night. She slipped from beneath the weight of Austin’s arm and walked the familiar path in the darkness, lifting her son into her arms and settling into the rocker near the window. She held him to her breast. His tiny fist pressed against her flesh as he suckled greedily.

She loved the child as much as she loved the father. Her gaze traveled across the room until she saw the dark shadow of her husband, asleep. She wondered what he would dream tonight.

She wondered how long before his love turned to hate. How long before he ticked off and counted all the things she’d stolen from him.

Five years of his life spent in prison, and she could only imagine what horrors he’d experienced there—a man with a heart that heard music as beautiful as his did. Little wonder the music had died within him.

She couldn’t give him back those years. She couldn’t remove the scars from his back … or return to him the woman he had once loved—a woman he would be married to today if only Loree had known they had arrested someone for killing Boyd McQueen. She would have turned herself in six years ago, confessed then had she known.

She couldn’t give Austin back anything she’d unknowingly taken from him, but she could return what she’d recently taken. With his innocence proven, he would be truly free of the walls that still held him. He could pursue his dream and there would be nothing to stop him from reaching it.

She glanced down at the bundle of joy in her arms. How could she leave him? If she turned herself in, she had little doubt she would leave her son. She would go to prison just as Austin had. To give Austin his dream, she had to give up hers. Her heart shattered with the thought of never holding this child again, of not watching him grow, of not watching him take his first step. But each day she waited, the debt she owed for killing McQueen increased.

And she could no longer tolerate the thought of Austin continually paying for her actions. Tears streamed along her cheeks. How was she to have known that Fate was more cruel than Boyd McQueen?

Austin awoke to a strangeness that he couldn’t identify. He heard birds chirping outside the window. He heard his son gurgling in the cradle nearby. But he couldn’t hear Loree.

He threw back the blankets and swung his legs off the bed. His gaze landed on his son, his blue eyes wide, his fists and feet swinging at the air. “Hey there, young fella. Where’s your ma?”

Grant cooed and his feet kicked excitedly. Austin yanked on his trousers before lifting his son into his arms. “Well, you’re dry and you ain’t hollering so she must have fed you.” With his thumb, he wiped the drool from his son’s mouth.

“We got a lot of things to work out—your ma and me—but I don’t want you to worry none. I’m doing enough worrying for all of us.”

He padded into the front room. Morning light slanted through the windows. A chill swept through him that was as cold as the stove. He headed for the door. Something on the table caught his eye. He ambled back and picked up the paper. With uneven lines as though she’d been trembling at the time, she’d scribbled, “Forgive me.”

Dread shot through his vitals like the well aimed bullet of a Winchester rifle. He tore through the front door and stumbled onto the porch. “Loree!”

Holding his son close, trying not to jar the boy, Austin rushed to the corral as though going nearer would change what he was already seeing. Her horse was gone. He slammed his palm against the post and screamed her name, knowing even as he did so that it was pointless. She couldn’t hear him.

Grant started to fuss. Austin jostled him slightly. “It’s all right. I’m sure your ma just went for an early morning ride.” Dear God, he hoped that was all she’d done.

He walked back into the house and stared at every inch of it as though just seeing it for the first time. “Reckon we missed the sunrise. I don’t hardly know how to start the day without seeing the sunrise, but I still need my morning coffee.”

He set Grant down on a pile of quilts, but the boy started hollering like his heart would break. Big fat tears rolled down his cheeks.

“All right, all right,” Austin said as he tucked his son into the crook of his arm. The tears and hollering stopped as quickly as they’d begun. “I’ll wait until your ma gets home to have my coffee.” He plowed a hand through his hair. “She can’t be much longer.”

He heard a horse whinny and relief surged through him. He rushed outside and stumbled to a stop at the sight of Dallas sitting astride his horse.

“Did you send that telegram to Wylan?”

Dallas swept his hat from his head and draped his forearm over the saddle arm. “Sure did. First thing this morning, just like I promised.”

“Good.”

“Ran into Sheriff Larkin while I was in town. Seems your wife paid him a visit bright and early this morning.”

Austin felt all the blood drain from his face, his knees went weak, and his heart was pounding like stampeding cattle.

“She told Sheriff Larkin that
she
killed Boyd McQueen.”

Taking a deep breath, Austin swung open the door to the jail and stepped into the front office. The cells were kept in the back behind another door, which Austin knew from experience Larkin kept ajar. Sweat popped out on Austin’s brow and he trembled as though he were the one to be locked up.

He had no fond memories of jail. His trial had been held in the saloon. The judge presided from a stool behind the bar. Austin sat at a table, humiliation wrapping itself around him because Larkin wouldn’t unshackle his hands. He rubbed his wrists now as though the cold metal still bit into his skin.

Larkin was sprawled in his chair, his feet on his desk, his belly lapping over his belt. Austin knew that somewhere behind that insolent gaze the man had some redeeming qualities or his brother never would have hired him.

Austin swallowed hard. “Heard my wife came in this morning with some tale about killing Boyd McQueen.”

Larkin removed the match from between his teeth. “Yep.”

“She lied.”

Larkin raised a graying brow. “Do tell.”

Austin felt a spark of hope ignite within him and he stepped nearer. “I wanted to leave town with that orchestra that was here a few days back, but they didn’t want a man who’d been convicted of murder traveling with them. Loree, bless her sweet heart, thought if she said she’d killed Boyd, they’d let me go with them.” He scoffed and shook his head. “Women. They don’t understand the intricacies of the law.”

Larkin pointed the match at him. “So you’re telling me you killed Boyd?”

“That’s right. When you arrested me six years ago, you sure knew what you were doing. I resented like the devil that you figured out it was me—but I had to admire you as well.”

Larkin dropped his feet to the floor. “Well, I’ll be damned. Your wife sure did tell a convincing story.”

“I’ll bet she did.”

Larkin stood and picked his ring of keys off his desk. He ambled toward the back door like a man in no hurry. Then he stopped, turned, and rubbed his ear. “Suppose you told her where you hid the gun.”

Austin felt as though Larkin had just gut-punched him. “What?”

“The gun you used to kill Boyd. Your wife knew exactly where it had been all these years. Reckon you must have told her.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“And where was it?”

Austin slammed his eyes closed. Hell, he didn’t even know where Boyd had died. “I buried it under some sagebrush—” He opened his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief as Larkin slowly nodded.

“And you’d wrapped something around the gun before you buried it. Want to tell me what that was?”

“A strip of blanket.”

He knew from the hard look in the sheriff’s eyes that he’d given the wrong answer. “A linen handkerchief that had Boyd’s initials sewn into it and his blood soaked through it,” Larkin said.

“Larkin, let her go.”