Authors: Morgan's Woman
“We don’t have to do it this way,” she said to him. “You could forget the bounty on my head and come to California with me.”
Ash didn’t answer for several minutes, then stroked his stubbled chin. “It’s a fair offer, Tamsin. I’ve never been that far west, and I’ve always had a hankering to see the sun set over that rolling blue ocean.”
Her heart pitched into the pit of her stomach. “But you won’t, will you?” Stubborn. He was as stubborn as a Missouri mule. “Does the reward mean that much to you?”
He scoffed. “You know better than that, woman. Don’t be scared. I promised you a top-notch lawyer. I’ve known Henry Steele for some time. I believe he’s an honest man, but in case he’s not, I’ll make certain you don’t come to trial in his courtroom.”
“I’m sure that’s supposed to make me feel better,” she replied. But it didn’t. She was terrified of being arrested and dreaded the disgrace of being behind bars. No one in her family had ever been jailed, other than a great-great-grandmother who was suspected of spying on the British for the Americans during the War of 1812.
What if Ash’s lawyer wouldn’t represent her or wasn’t as good as Ash thought? Suppose the jury believed Henry Steele’s word over hers?
She was a stranger accused of horse theft and murder, a southerner in Union territory when emotions still ran high from the war. What if Ash was forced to testify against her? If he told them that she had stolen his horse, would that make them think her guilty of the killing?
Tamsin shivered. It was all well and good for Ash to talk about obeying the law and upholding a moral code of right and wrong. He wasn’t the one facing a death sentence.
“You know I didn’t commit that murder,” she said.
“Yes, woman. I suppose I do. I can’t figure how the hell you managed to get yourself knee-deep in this much trouble without being guilty as sin, but I believe you.”
“It’s about time!” She gave a sigh of relief. “Then, if you do believe me, you can understand why I can’t go back. Come to California with me.”
Ash reined in and stared at her. “Don’t be stupid, Tamsin. I’m not going—”
“I’m not stupid. Don’t ever call me that again.” Atwood had called her stupid, and it had ended any hope of their making their marriage work.
She knew Ash thought she should trust him. In his eyes, he’d never done anything to make her think that he wouldn’t keep his word. But she was afraid that he was asking more than she could give.
“I promised you I’d take care of you,” he said, reining his horse close to hers. “Stop worrying, and let me do it.”
She sighed again. If only it were that easy.
Four days later, on a side street near the Denver courthouse, Ash escorted Tamsin into a freshly painted office. The small gold building with white trim was so new that carpenters were still nailing cedar shingles to the roof. “This is the lawyer I told you about,” Ash explained. “Dimitri’s the best.”
An elegantly dressed, middle-aged man with prematurely gray hair and gold-rimmed glasses peered over the top of a desk stacked high with books. “Ashton? Is that you?” He rose, replaced a quill pen in an inkwell, and came around the desk to meet them.
“Dimitri.” Ash extended a hand and the little man shook it vigorously. “I’d like you to meet someone,” Ash continued. “Dimitri Zajicek, this is Mrs. Tamsin MacGreggor.”
Dimitri nodded, pulled an embroidered handkerchief from his coat pocket, and wiped at the smeared ink stains on his fingers. “It is my honor, Mrs. MacGreggor. Forgive the mess; it’s usually far worse, but I’ve just
moved into this office and I haven’t had time to complete my customary clutter.” The lawyer rattled on as he escorted her to a chair, cleared a small tea table of heaped papers and folders, and produced a steaming silver pot and delicate cups and saucers.
Dimitri Zajicek was a far cry from her Tennessee lawyer, but his manner inspired confidence, Tamsin thought as she sipped the sweetened tea. She hadn’t known Dimitri for more than five minutes, and here she was explaining her dilemma without the least hesitation.
Ash stood behind her, his hand on the back of her chair. She could feel his gaze on her, and even though he didn’t speak, his being there gave her confidence. “So, you can see that I was afraid to go into the Sweetwater jail,” she said. “I’m certain that the sheriff and Judge Steele are both dishonest. And I truly believe that the judge murdered his brother and plans to put the blame on me.”
“I can’t believe that Henry Steele is that kind of man. But right or wrong, I couldn’t take the chance of her being tried in Sweetwater, Dimitri,” Ash said. “Can you help us?”
“There was a cowboy, too,” Tamsin put in. “I think they called him Broom or Brown. He was there at Steele’s ranch the day I heard Sam and Henry argue. Sam became furious with the man when he wouldn’t throw Henry off the place. They exchanged words, and Sam fired him. The cowboy threatened Sam. He could have returned later and done the killing.”
Ash’s face darkened with suspicion. “You never mentioned this cowhand before.”
“It didn’t seem important. It all happened so fast that I just remembered what Broom said to Sam. I was so sure that the judge was the killer …”
“That you didn’t tell me.” Ash’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the chair back.
“That’s certainly something to look into,” Dimitri soothed as he continued taking notes. Then he paused and glanced up at Ash. “You did hear that Jack Cannon committed another bank robbery south of Pueblo?”
Tamsin’s hand trembled, spilling amber liquid over the side of her flowery blue porcelain cup into her lap.
“No.” Ash’s features hardened. “I hadn’t.”
“In Goldsborough. It’s a small town, but developing into a mining center. A deputy was killed during the robbery as well as the bank manager and a teller. The Cannon brothers are also suspected of that stage robbery in Pueblo, and at least two bank holdups in Nebraska.”
Ash swore softly. “I heard Jack was on the move. A friend told me Cannon murdered a mule skinner and stole his horses. I rode down to Cannon’s uncle’s old place to see if they’d gone to ground, but I didn’t find any sign of them.”
“No.” Tamsin set the cup and saucer on the table. “Stay out of this, Ash. You promised you’d stand by me if I gave myself up.”
A muscle twitched along the length of his left forearm. “I made another promise to Becky that I’d make sure Cannon paid for his crimes.”
Tamsin seized his arm. “She’s dead, Ash. She’s dead, and I’m alive. Has it all been lies between us? Don’t I mean anything to you?”
“You mean everything, woman. But I’ve got to finish what I started.”
“They took a hostage,” Dimitri continued. “A woman customer. The countryside is up in arms, but they haven’t found any trace of them. I hear they’re calling in federal marshals.”
“They won’t catch him. Cannon knows these mountains like the back of his hand.”
“I can look after Mrs. MacGreggor if you want to join the search. I’ll be happy to post her bond.”
“Ash, no.” Tamsin’s voice took on a shrill note as she clung to him. “You can’t do this to me.”
“It would mean a lot if you’d look after her, Dimitri. I’ll guarantee your bond.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Tamsin said angrily. “Take your bounty money and go. After all, you are the great Ash Morgan. The marshals, the posse, they’re wasting their time. You’re the only one who can capture these outlaws and save the hostage!”
Ash flushed under his tan. “I know Cannon better than anyone else. I know his habits and his tricks. I won’t let him lead me into an ambush.”
Dimitri laid down his pen. “Of course, Helen and I will welcome Mrs. MacGreggor into our home,” he continued smoothly, as though he hadn’t heard what she’d said, as though Ash’s running off alone after Jack was the most natural thing in the world.
“That’s settled, then.” The lawyer got to his feet. “Helen and I have had other accused ladies stay with us before, and I’m sure Judge Marlborough will agree. There’s really no provision for women in the jail, and no reason for Mrs. MacGreggor to remain behind bars if she’d give me her word not to try and escape.” He glanced at Tamsin.
“Why not? No one’s going to listen to anything I have to say.” Suddenly tired, she sank into the chair.
“Tamsin.” Ash put a hand on her shoulder. “I have to do this. I’ll be back before you go to trial.”
She raised her head and stared at him through tear-misted eyes. “Will you at least form your own posse, take armed men with you?”
“I work better alone. Besides, I was wrong before when I thought he’d gone to his uncle’s cabin. I might be pulling good guns off on another wild-goose chase.”
“And what if Jack kills you? What then?”
He shrugged. “Honey, I’ve got to—”
“I don’t want to hear it!” She rose to her feet and backed away from him. “If you’re going, then go—straight to hell, you bastard!”
“Maybe I will,” Ash said softly before turning to stride out of the lawyer’s office, leaving her numb and heartsick, already regretting the bitter words she’d flung at him.
Ash’s determination lasted as far as McNarr’s dry goods store, where he bought ammunition, a new rifle, and food to last him a week. It stayed with him as he made arrangements to sell the mule and leave Tamsin’s horses at the livery stable. It even held firm as he thrust a foot into the stirrup and swung up on Shiloh’s back.
As he reined the gelding in a tight circle, Fancy raised her head and uttered a plaintive whinny. Instantly Tamsin’s image formed in his mind, and Ash’s steely resolve cracked.
He swore a foul oath. “I can’t do it,” he muttered. “I can’t abandon her.”
Dismounting, he handed Shiloh’s lines to a stableman. “Put him with the others,” Ash ordered gruffly. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll be staying in Denver.”
“How long?”
“As long as it takes.”
Swallowing his pride, he started back for Dimitri’s office and what he guessed would be a whole lot of apologizing.
It was late afternoon by the time Dimitri, his wife Helen, and a well-chastised Ash accompanied Tamsin across the creaky floorboards into Judge Marlborough’s
chambers. In Dimitri’s home, she’d bathed, washed, arranged her hair, and dressed from the skin out in Mrs. Zajicek’s fashionable clothing.
Jolly Helen Zajicek was three inches shorter than Tamsin and a good two stone heavier, but the good wife’s whalebone-and-elastic corset crushed, pinched, and squeezed every inch of Tamsin’s flesh from hip to collarbone. Side-button cloth boots, a size too small, cramped her toes. And the flannel-covered steel-cage crinoline, two petticoats, and dove-gray, shot-silk taffeta gown with its lined bodice and tightly cuffed three-quarter sleeves smothered her.
The day was stifling hot without a hint of a breeze, but Mrs. Zajicek wore gloves, hat, and cape, and had insisted that Tamsin top her outfit in the same manner. “A lady cannot be too careful not to allow her standards to slip on the frontier,” she’d said with twinkling eyes and a merry laugh.
Tamsin felt that the widow’s hair brooch at her collar was too much, but Mrs. Zajicek would not be swayed.
“You’re going before Judge Marlborough. He is extremely conservative. Under the circumstances, you must make the best possible impression.”
The judge’s secretary, a dour young gentleman in a wool pin-striped suit, showed the four of them into the inner chambers, opened a heavily draped window, and let himself out through a side door.
Tamsin sat gingerly on the edge of a chair, relieving the ache in her pinched toes, and tried to compose herself. Dimitri seemed certain that the judge would allow her to remain as their houseguest and that the trial could be moved here to Denver. She hoped the lawyer was right. But greater than her apprehension of what would happen was the fear that Ash might change his mind again and go off chasing the outlaw Cannon.
She glanced at him for reassurance. He was a far cry from the rough bounty hunter who’d ridden into town with her. He wore an elegant, black woolen coat, a pin-striped shirt, a cravat, and a gentleman’s hat. Someone who didn’t know him might guess at his occupation, but no one would take him for a lawyer or a banker. Proper clothing, stylish haircut or not, Ash Morgan stood out as the dangerous man he was.
A drop of sweat trickled down between Tamsin’s breasts. She felt wrung out, limp. Even having a repentant Ash here with her didn’t restore her usual optimism.
Overhead, a fly buzzed noisily. The purple drapes hung motionless. The only sound in the room was the loud ticking of a clock on the mantel.
Bookshelves lined two walls of the chamber. A large mahogany desk and high-backed chair dominated the room. Not a single paper, not even a pen holder, marred the polished expanse of shining wood. The odor of cigars hung heavily in the still air.
Mrs. Zajicek sat in a chair beside Tamsin. Dimitri stood rigidly erect, hands clasped behind his back. No one spoke, and the fly continued to drone.
Then the door opened and a portly black-haired man entered the room. His plump, florid face seemed too small for the huge black mustache, and his small, spectacled eyes peered out from under equally black brows.
Tamsin remained silent, as Dimitri had instructed her, while he explained the situation. Judge Marlborough listened without interrupting while the lawyer asked for a change of venue and an impartial judge to hear the case.
When Dimitri finished, Judge Marlborough removed his glasses, rubbed them with a starched handkerchief, and balanced them on his nose. He opened his top desk
drawer and removed several papers. Then he rummaged in another drawer for pen and ink.
I have a bad feeling about this, Tamsin thought. Butterflies fluttered in the pit of her stomach, and an unbearable itch had started on the right side of her back under her corset.
Ash’s gaze met hers, and he winked, offering silent comfort.
The judge cleared his throat, then blew his nose loudly into his handkerchief. “You are Mrs. Tamsin MacGreggor?”
She stood. “I am. And I want to say—”
He cut her off. “Sit down, madam. Answer what I ask, no more. You’ll have every opportunity at your trial.” He opened the top drawer again, removed a bell, and rang it before beginning to write on the official-looking document with large bold strokes.