Rebecca Hagan Lee - [Borrowed Brides 01] (33 page)

Peaceable, Wyoming Territory

November 1872

“Help!”

David Alexander sat bolt upright in bed, instantly awake. He thought he’d heard cries for help in his sleep.

But when he sat silently for a moment, he heard nothing more.

“Was that one of your friends, Greeley?” he asked the battle-scarred cat curled up next to him. “I could’ve sworn I heard someone.” The orange tabby arched his back, yawned, then settled back down in the warmth of the bed.

Though the cat seemed undisturbed David listened intently. It must have been a dream. He didn’t hear anything except the tinny sound of an out-of-tune piano from the saloon four doors away. Horace Greeley yawned again. David felt like doing the same. He slipped down under the sheets, pulled the quilts up over his ears, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

The pounding on the back door roused him the second time. “What does a man have to do to get a good night’s sleep around here?” he muttered, flipping back the covers. David grabbed his pants and stumbled out of bed. He hopped from one foot to the other as he pulled on his trousers, then stepped into his boots. He stamped his feet, forcing the cold leather over his woolen socks. Pausing a moment, David took time to scratch the soft fur on Greeley’s head. “Another fight, no doubt,” David muttered to the cat. “In one of the saloons.”

The pounding persisted, louder this time. “All right, all right, I’m coming,” David yelled.

Raking his fingers through his hair, he stuck his arms into a shirt before he yanked the front door open.

A skinny boy of perhaps eight or nine stood bundled up against the cold in an assortment of dirty rags. “You gotta come quick, Mr. Alexander!”

“Why? Who are you?” David asked, surprised to see a child at this time of night. Usually his midnight visitors were disreputable characters.

“I’m Coalie.” The boy stepped forward and tugged on the tail of David’s shirt, gesturing toward the commotion down the street. A group of townspeople, bundled up in quilts and heavy winter coats, stood outside the largest saloon in town.

“You gotta come. They’re takin’ her away.” Coalie tugged again, harder.

“Who?”

‘Tessa.”

David took a step back. He didn’t know anyone named Tessa.

Coalie shook his head, gripping David’s shirt with surprising force.
“Hurry!”

“Just let me get my coat.” David reached back through the open door and grabbed his sheepskin jacket from the peg. “Who’s…” He turned. Coalie was running down the street toward the saloon. “Who’s Tessa?” David shrugged into his jacket. He slammed the door of the office behind him. There was only one way to find out. He sprinted after the little boy.

“What’s going on?” David asked, pushing his way toward the front of the crowd a few minutes later. He could see Coalie edging closer and closer to the entrance of the Satin Slipper.

“There’s been a murder,” someone answered. “A stabbing or some such. In one of the girls’ rooms. Caught her red-handed.”

“Look!” someone else called. “They’re bringing her out!”

The doors of the Satin Slipper Saloon swung wide. Several men stepped outside onto the sidewalk. In the center of the group stood Deputy Harris, a young woman held close to his side. Dressed in the gaudy costume of a Satin Slipper girl, she stood out: the only woman in a group of men, her bright blue dress eerie in the distorted light of pre-dawn morning.

A knot of anger tightened David’s stomach as he watched the faces of the men and women in the crowd. The townspeople milled about, circling the front entrance of the saloon, surrounding the woman like vultures over a carcass. David frowned, lines of concern etching his face. The lawmen had brought her out of the warmth of the saloon into the bitter cold without so much as a blanket around her. The flimsy sleeveless dress she wore was no protection against the frigid Wyoming weather. It left her neck and arms uncovered, exposed to the leers of the men, the wide-eyed stares of curiosity seekers, the cold. David gritted his teeth. The deputy must have arrested her and dragged her from her room before she even had time to find her shoes. Her stocking feet were bare against the frozen wooden planks. David’s disgust mounted. She faced exposure and the danger of frostbite in addition to the gossip and speculation of the townspeople while Peaceable’s deputies, in thick coats and sheepskin jackets, huddled together on the sidewalk, talking.

Although she was possibly a criminal, David admired her quiet dignity. She didn’t shiver or cry or beg for mercy. She simply waited, the center of attention but apart from it. Facing the curious onlookers, she searched the crowd.

Coalie slipped from his hiding place behind a post and rushed toward her. “Tessa!” He moved past her guards and flung his arms around her waist, pressing his head against her skirts. Lifting her bound wrists, Tessa looped them over Coalie’s head, hugging him close. She pressed a kiss on the top of his blond head.

“Tessa,” Coalie panted, “I brung help.” He let go of her long enough to point to David Alexander.

Tessa looked up and found David, meeting his gaze.

Her eyes were blue, David realized, as blue as the dress she wore. She was gazing at him with an intensity that surprised him. Yet her face revealed nothing except a glimmer of her intense relief at finding Coalie.

As David watched her, witnessing the joy and satisfaction on her face as she held the boy in her arms, he doubted Tessa was capable of committing a crime. She didn’t look like a criminal.

And she certainly didn’t look like a murderess.

In that moment he decided to take the case.

Deputy Harris obviously didn’t like his prisoner holding on to the boy. He raised her arms while one of the other deputies motioned for Coalie to move. Looking up at Tessa, Coalie hesitated for a moment, then stepped away from her. Tears sparkled in his big green eyes. He brushed at them with the back of one hand before he darted into the street. Head down, apparently embarrassed by his display of emotion, Coalie tripped over his feet and fell on his stomach in the street.

“Coalie!” Tessa tugged against the deputy’s greater weight, trying to break free.

David jerked in reaction. Without stopping to think, he elbowed his way through the people blocking his path. He reached Coalie’s side only moments after another man pulled the boy to his feet.

David looked at the other man, surprise mirrored on his face as he recognized a friend he hadn’t seen in years. The morning’s events had taken another dreamlike turn. “Kincaid?”

“Shhh.” With an almost imperceptible nod of his head, the man met David’s gaze. David understood the warning. It was universal. Any man who’d ever been a spy knew that look meant back off. Reaching out, David took Coalie’s hand and pulled the boy to his side.

Kincaid faded into the crush of people.

David bent down and brushed the dirt and slush from Coalie’s clothes. “Are you okay?”

“You gotta help Tessa.” Coalie leaned toward the saloon girl, pulling against David’s hand as he called her name. “Tessa!”

She turned, managing a half-smile, apparently for Coalie’s benefit. “I’m all right. Everything will be fine.”

“Wait!” David shouted to the deputy. “You can’t take her to jail.”

Deputy Harris stopped. “Course I can.”

Peaceable’s newest attorney sprinted across the street. “What’s the charge?” David demanded. He’d heard the accusation from someone in the crowd, but he wanted legal confirmation.

“Murder. She killed a man.”

“This woman?” David asked. It seemed so unlikely.

“Yeah.” The deputy shuddered. “She slit his throat while he lay in her bed.”

“Who is she supposed to have killed?”

“One of Myra’s regulars. A man by the name of Arnie Mason.”

David looked Deputy Harris straight in the eye. “I’m coming with you.” He shrugged out of his coat and draped it around the shivering woman’s shoulders.

She glanced up at him, surprised.

David couldn’t explain the impulse that had made him leap to the woman’s rescue. But then, he couldn’t explain anything that had happened so far. The whole thing felt unreal. David smiled. Perhaps he was still in his bed. Maybe he’d wake up in the morning and find this was all a dream.

“Suit yourself,” Harris told him. “She can use a good lawyer. But leave the boy out here. Kids ain’t allowed in the jail.”

David looked down intending to tell the boy where to wait. But Coalie was gone.

David looked back up. The woman’s gaze was on the small figure running down the street, but David knew she’d been staring at him. He’d felt the impact of her sky-blue eyes.

* * *

Several minutes later, David faced her across the width of a jail cell.

“Did you kill him?” He leaned back against the door to the cell. He felt the cold metal bars on either side of his spine through the layers of clothing—the finely woven fabric of his linen dress shirt and his cotton undershirt. Controlling the urge to shiver, he waited for a response, shifting his wide shoulders into a more comfortable position.

The silence lengthened. David tried again. This time his voice was softer. “I asked you a question. Did you kill Arnie Mason?”

She gazed up at him, her large blue eyes wary. “No. I didn’t kill anyone. I wouldn’t do anything to risk—” She stopped abruptly. “No.”

David studied his client. She sat on the bare mattress of the cot, away from the bars, next to the wall. His coat, draped across her shoulders, gaped open, exposing her dress and a fair amount of flesh. She made no move to close it. She held herself in a rigid pose, her bloodstained hands clenched into fists, her knuckles whitened under the strain. She was shaking, but whether from anger, fear, or cold, David didn’t know. He reached for the dirty saddle blanket folded on the foot of the cot and shook it out, nearly gagging in reaction. The blanket was rank. David let it fall to the floor, then kicked it through the narrow space between the bars. David had seen many criminals jailed during his career, but seeing Tessa locked in a cell with a bucket, a bare mattress, and a filthy blanket bothered him. She didn’t belong in these surroundings.

“Can we get another blanket?” David shouted to the deputy.

“One blanket’s the rule, Mr. Alexander,” the deputy shouted back. “There’s one on the bed.”

“Not anymore. Your last occupant used it for an outhouse.” David wiped his hands down the legs of his trousers. “Do we get a blanket or are you planning to let her freeze?”

“One blanket per prisoner.”

“Who’s responsible for that little gem of a rule?” Sarcasm bit the edge of David’s deep voice.

“City council.”

David crossed the width of the cell, pulled his coat tighter around her shoulders, and tucked the wool collar securely beneath her chin. He could smell the odors of the Satin Slipper on her. The yeasty smell of beer, the combination of cigar smoke and whiskey, and the tangy, metallic smell of blood. She didn’t move, nor did she speak. She simply continued to look at him.

His fingers brushed the fabric of her dress. It was slick and cool to the touch. Satin, he realized. Light blue satin cut low in the front and high at the hem, barely covering her knees. A saloon girl’s dress, now splattered with blood. He allowed his gaze to wander. Black net stockings covered her shapely calves and knees and feet. No protection against the harsh Wyoming winter, against the cold seeping through the walls of the wooden jail.

“How about a cup of coffee?” He raised his voice enough for the deputy to hear.

“Prisoners get two meals,” came the reply. “Breakfast and supper.”

“I’m not suggesting a meal,” David told him. “I’m talking about a cup of coffee. It’s cold back here.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Alexander. I’ll pour you a cup soon as you come outta there.”

“What about her?” David asked.

“Prisoners get two—”

“I know.” David muttered an obscenity beneath his breath. Damn bureaucracy. The deputy followed the rules to the letter. David exhaled slowly and pulled out his pocket watch, counting the seconds in an effort to control his mounting frustration. The sun hadn’t even risen. Didn’t these people realize that with a little cooperation they could all go back to bed until it did? He looked at his client. Though her features were delicate, her jaw was set stubbornly. Her deliberate silence puzzled him, yet something about her made him want to help. To take her small hand in his protective grasp. Something he couldn’t quite identify. And then, there was the boy…

“Are you Tessa O’Roarke?” David asked, using the surname he’d gleaned from the deputy. Her name sounded Irish and so did her brogue.

Tessa raised her head. “It’s Roarke. Not O’Roarke. Tessa Roarke.”

Tessa looked him over. Tall, broad-shouldered, and well muscled, he dwarfed the cell. He was handsome; there was no doubt about that. But his type of good looks differed from the rugged handsomeness of her brother. His skin was copper-tinted, smooth-shaven. His eyes were dark, his features more refined. Tessa took a deep breath. The scent of him filled her nostrils, surrounding her senses. Clean.

Unlike Arnie Mason. So unlike the sour metallic scent surrounding Arnie Mason. Tessa turned her gaze back to his face. He blinked. Arnie hadn’t blinked. His blue eyes had stared sightlessly while the dark blood ran in rivulets from his throat onto her dingy white sheets and her dress. Her blue dress.

Tessa glanced down. “Sweet Mary!” His blood stained her dress. Shocked anew, she bolted up from her seat. David’s sheepskin jacket slid to the floor.

He stepped forward.

“Look at me.” She tugged at the fastening of her costume. “Sweet Mary, look at me.” Her gaze darted from her dress to David’s face. “No, don’t! Turn your back!”

Standing there, facing her, David refused to obey. He watched as she reached behind her and began to yank at the opening of her gown.

Tessa Roarke unbuttoned as far as she could reach, then turned and presented her back to him. “Please, help me. I can’t stand to—”

“Bring a blanket,” David shouted to Deputy Harris.

“Only one bla—”