Love in the Balance (35 page)

“What makes you think I can sew? I don’t even own a needle.”

His lip curled, exposing a chipped tooth. “You are completely worthless.”

The dog outside barked once, then whined in pleased recognition. Michael raised his gun.

“Don’t open the door. Whoever that is, get rid of him.” He turned a full circle. Then holding his side he shuffled to rest against the wall next to her bed.

“Molly, it’s me,” Bailey called through the door. “Is everything all right? I see your lamp is lit.”

Her heart pounded. Bailey wasn’t hurt, but he would be if she wasn’t careful. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m looking over the account books.”

When she heard his voice again, it was closer—as if his forehead was resting against the door. “Did you find anything?”

Should she tell Bailey what she’d discovered? If she didn’t she might never get a chance to. Michael could kill her and burn the account books, and no one would know. Michael slid down the wall and crouched on his haunches, sweat gathering on his troubled brow.

“I found where Russell was cheating us.” Her voice wavered, but she forged on. “He was selling oak planks, billing out oak planks but recording pine planks in the ledger. It’s all here—thirty-six oak planks moved in the inventory book, thirty-six pine planks paid for. Again and again. Probably to help his son.”

Molly broke her gaze from Michael’s and looked at the two books laid out on the table. Hair ribbons of every color peeked from between the pages, blue ribbon in the inventory book corresponding with the blue in the account ledger. There were at least a score of ribbons, proof that once Russell had started siphoning the profits, he’d brazenly stolen at every opportunity.

Bailey’s sigh could be heard through the thick door. “You know, I’d almost rather the loss was due to my mistakes than to hear that about Russell. What is Mrs. James going to do now with both her husband and her son wanted?”

Michael’s face was gray. He’d given up all pretense of keeping his gun on her, appearing to struggle against pain and wooziness.

Well, he hadn’t murdered her yet. Molly reached for a dishcloth, dampened it, and passed it over the bed to him.

“We can take care of Mrs. James. Michael has enough to think about without worrying over his mother.”

The deep lines of agony around his eyes softened. He took the cloth and mopped his face, giving Molly a glimpse of the blood-covered arm that had been pressed against his stomach.

“Speaking of Michael,” Bailey said, “he can’t be far away. Got his horse shot out from under him. Colton said there’s blood in the saddle, too, so be sure and keep your door latched. We’re searching around town before we head to the James place.”

Molly nodded.

“Molly, I need you to answer me, hon.”

She swallowed. One more moment of silence and Bailey would bust in . . . and get shot in the process.

“I’ll be careful. I’m just . . . I’m sleepy. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’ll go, but some good news first. Michael’s saddlebags were as loaded down as a Wells Fargo coach. That must be the money Russell stole. Your pa will be happy.”

The pistol was lying on the floor now, although still in his grip. It was an odd-shaped gun. Her head cocked.

“And finding the gun will clear Anne of murdering Mr. Nimenko,” she said.

“What?”

“The strange gun. The missing foreign gun of Mr. Nimenko.”

Michael’s head bolted upright. He lifted the gun and pointed it at her again.

“If you find it, I mean. If you find Mr. Nimenko’s gun, then everyone will know that Anne is innocent.”

Silence.

“I’ve got to go,” Bailey said. “I’d better join the others.” His fingers tapped against the door. “I love you.”

Molly froze, unable to answer.

Michael’s eyes turned into mean slits. “Answer him,” he mouthed, “now.”

She looked away and tried to forget the murderous weapon pointed in her direction. One slide of Michael’s slippery gloves and she was dead. She might never have another opportunity.

“I love you, too, Bailey.”

The tapping stilled. “Good night, Molly.” And he was gone.

———

Bailey stepped off the porch but broke into a run as soon as he was certain his footsteps couldn’t be heard.

As much as he’d enjoyed hearing the words come from her mouth, he knew that something was wrong. Nothing could’ve enticed him to declare himself through a door except the fear that he wouldn’t get another chance. Her answer convinced him that she had the same concern. Michael James was inside.

Street by street the word spread and lookouts surrounded the cabin until Sheriff Colton was found. Every eye was trained on the only door and window in the structure. Soon Russell James joined the knot of men gathered behind the church. Then he drew his share of the glares.

“I hate to tell you, Russell,” Reverend Stoker said, “but it looks like your boy has been shot.”

“You think he’s in there?” Russell ran his finger under his collar, even though no necktie was present.

Bailey stepped up. “I could be wrong, but the signs point to it. I spoke to Molly through the door, and something had her upset.”

Russell’s face paled. “Molly is with him?”

Bailey didn’t answer. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? Molly had told him about Russell’s guilt with Michael listening. As a witness against his father, Michael had every reason to want her dead. Bailey should’ve kicked in the door at his first suspicion.

Russell put a hand on Bailey’s arm. “Let me talk to him. He doesn’t want to hurt Molly. I can get him out.”

“I don’t know,” Sheriff Colton said. “He’s facing murder charges. Why would you help us capture him?”

“To atone.” Russell released Bailey’s arm. His voice rose so no one in the posse would miss his words. “That money you found—I stole it. I’ve been robbing Mr. Lovelace so Michael could have a fresh start in Mexico. I’d ruin my life to give him a future, but I won’t sacrifice another innocent person. I think I can talk him into turning himself in.”

Colton looked to Bailey as the sole representative of the Lovelaces’ interest. “I’ll arrest Russell right now if you’d rather. We’ve got a clear confession.”

Russell couldn’t tear his eyes away from the lit window across the lawn. Bailey knew that Russell wasn’t concerned about doing time, he wasn’t thinking about escaping—Russell wanted his son to have the opportunity to get it right in the end.

Shouldn’t Bailey, of all people, understand?

“I trust Russell. Let’s give him a chance.”

Spurs jangled in the darkness as the men fanned out and found barriers to hide behind. Bailey made it nearly to the porch and crouched behind the rain barrel.

“Michael! Are you in there? It’s your father,” Russell called.

A shadow passed across the curtain. Guns rose, but no one fired.

“Are you hurt badly, Michael?”

Bailey was close enough to hear his answer.

“It’s bad, Pa, and I’m not spending the last minutes of my life being harassed by no lawmen. I’ve got nothing to lose.”

Bailey knelt on one knee and dug his leading foot into the soft ground. If he had to charge the door, he’d get a good sendoff.

“We could get Dr. Trench,” Russell said.

“It’s too late. Send everyone away.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Sheriff Colton hollered. “If it’s as bad as you think, don’t you want to see your father before you pass?”

“You aren’t going to let me,” Michael called.

“Sure we will. Send Miss Lovelace out, and your father can come in to you.”

The door moved. Bailey leaned forward, ready for anything. Michael James appeared, leaning heavily on Molly, his pistol pressed into her side.

With the light behind her, Bailey couldn’t see her face, but her tiny steps told him that she was bearing Michael’s weight. The man kept his right elbow pressed tightly against his stomach and was bent almost double.

“Send him in,” Michael gasped. “She’s my guarantee.”

“Your father confessed to embezzlement,” Colton said. “I’m not sending another criminal in for you to plot with until you release the girl.”

“You’d better think again, Sheriff. You don’t want her blood on your hands,” Michael said.

Molly whimpered as he dug the gun into her side. Bailey gripped the rim of the rain barrel and half rose. If he could draw Michael’s fire, someone would pick him off before he could shoot Molly.

“Her blood wouldn’t be on the sheriff’s hands.” Russell took a step forward. “It’d be on mine. I’m the one who helped hide you after you were accused of killing Mr. Nimenko. I came between you and justice, and if you kill again, it’ll be because I believed in your innocence. You said you had nothing to lose, but you do. You still have a chance to make things right. You could leave this world showing mercy, and you still have time to find mercy for yourself.”

Michael panted, sweat rolling down his face. “I’m not ready to die, Pa. I want to talk to you . . . and Reverend Stoker. You promise they’ll let me?”

“I promise, son. Let her go.”

The gun dropped to the ground. Bailey was the first to reach Molly. But only after she and Russell had eased Michael to the porch did she allow him to lead her away.

———

“He wasn’t going to hurt me, not after I tried to help him.” Molly rubbed her arms, working warmth into them after her chilling encounter. From the way Bailey walked with his hands crammed in his pockets, she guessed that he disagreed. She might as well give up trying to convince him. Michael James didn’t need her to defend or accuse him any longer.

The sun was rising on what promised to be a clear spring morning. Had someone wanted to track Bailey and Molly as they meandered in the meadow behind the church, the dewy grass held an easy trail. But anyone looking for excitement was still at the parsonage, talking over the dramatic events.

“I forgot the ledgers. Are you going back for them?” Molly asked.

“You’re already thinking about the money?” He rolled his eyes. “That man—a murderer, remember?—held a gun to you. I gave Russell my sympathy and forgiveness, but seeing his son manhandle you nearly made me rescind my offer. I don’t know how you can take it so lightly.”

“I was worried at the time, but everything is set aright now. No more danger lurks, the money is recovered, Father’s health will be preserved—everything we wished for has happened.”

“Not everything,” he protested. “Aren’t you curious about how I knew you were in danger? It was because you’d never told me that you loved me before. So either you lied to send me a signal, or it was the truth and you had to tell me because your life was in danger.” He took her arm and turned her toward him. “Which was it, Molly? Will you tell me that you love me when you don’t have a gun to your head?”

“Bailey”—Molly pulled away as gently as she could—“I’m leaving, moving to Austin.”

“Austin? Why now, when everything is falling into place?” He blinked. “Did Nick find you a job?”

She couldn’t tell him about her conversation with Reverend Stoker, not if it would hurt the relationship between the two men. She shook her head. “Another friend.”

He drew in a quick breath. She must have surprised him, but this time it wasn’t pleasant.

“I’ve tried to atone for what I put you through. I understand if you don’t trust me—”

“That’s not it,” she said.

“Then don’t leave, not without an understanding between us. Last time we parted we had no pledge, nothing to hold on to. If there’s the slightest possibility that we have a future, tell me now, so I have something to hope for.”

Molly wrapped her arms around herself. She’d dreamt that someday their union could be blessed, but Stoker was right. Bailey was better off without her. Remembering that was the only way she could force the cold words from her lips.

“I know my mind. It won’t change. I need to get away from . . . from everyone.” Could he hear the blood coursing through her veins and crying out that she was a liar? Could he see the effort it took to disguise her love?

“If that’s the honest truth, I’ll go.” His eyes never left hers, and when she refused to answer, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I wish there was something I could do, could say, to persuade you.”

Was she truly determined to release him? Molly knew the loneliness of going without his companionship. She’d suffered it once already, and putting miles between them wouldn’t lessen her love. But if she’d been willing to marry Edward for her family, what wouldn’t she sacrifice for Bailey?

And yet, he wasn’t gone. He stood before her—broad shoulders that had shared her burdens even after she’d betrayed him, hands that had worked on her family’s property to avert disaster, and a heart that turned to God and desired to do right, seeking Him even after failure. He was everything she wanted in a partner, but she couldn’t have him.

“At least we can say good-bye this time.” Had she meant to voice that thought aloud? Molly definitely hadn’t counted on his reading her mind, but with her eyes straying to his lips, he could hardly miss her meaning.

One eyebrow rose. “If by a
good-bye
you mean a kiss, I think I can oblige—but only under certain conditions. We can’t let this get out of hand.”

Molly’s face burned. The branches above them trembled in the early breeze. For all her brave talk, Molly had feared that she wouldn’t see another morning. After surviving her ordeal, what kind of a risk was this? “It’ll be all right.”

“But we already know how quickly our . . . um . . . enthusiasm can—”

“Forget it.” Molly threw her hands in the air. “It was just a kiss, but if you’re going to carry on so . . .”

She spun on her heel, fully anticipating the warm hand that grasped her arm.

“It’s never been
just a kiss
for me.” Bailey tossed his hat on the fencepost and then took her hands. “This is what you want? I have permission?”

Molly stood tall and tried to calm her brittle nerves, determined to show him that she wasn’t easily led astray. A quick survey of the meadow told her they were unobserved, so she nodded. She’d kissed Bailey before, so why did she feel like a maiden being led to the edge of a volcano? Why was this time different?