Jacob didn’t speak. He merely studied Ethan with narrowed eyes, then backed away. He was nearly to the doorway that led to the staircase before Ethan’s voice stopped him.
“Will you do me a favor? For old times’ sake?”
Jacob turned to find Ethan watching him through the iron slats.
“Old times? We were never friends.”
“You’ve been after my tail for so long, Grey, we’re more than mere acquaintances.”
Jacob hesitated, then nodded, realizing he knew as much about Ethan as he did about some of his oldest friends. “What do you want?” he asked, less than graciously.
“I need to talk to Lettie.”
“No.”
Ethan’s jaw became hard, but other than that he didn’t react. “Then can I talk with the Beasleys and a preacher?”
“The Beasleys?” Jacob repeated in disbelief.
“Surely two old harmless women wouldn’t jeopardize your reputation as a strict upholder of the law. I’ll need someone to send word to my family. I’d rather it were the Beasleys who did it.”
Jacob opened his mouth to refuse, then finally shrugged. “Fine. I’ll see if Rusty can’t round ‘em up somewhere.”
“Thanks.”
Once again he turned to walk away but was halted by Ethan’s voice.
“Oh, and Jacob?”
He glanced behind him in impatience. “What?”
“Take care of Lettie for me, will you?”
“She’s my little sister.”
“Yeah. But she’s my woman.”
Although it seemed like hours to Ethan, in reality it was only a few minutes before the door at the top of the steps opened and the Beasley sisters peeked around the edge. They stepped hesitantly inside, and Jacob trailed behind them. He gave Ethan a stern look, then offered one to the ladies that was a little kinder but forbidding nonetheless.
“Five minutes,” he stated bluntly. “And I don’t want any talk passing between you except for a message to his folks.” He turned and closed the door behind him and walked down the steps.
Ethan waited until the heavy thump of the other man’s boots disappeared before standing up and walking toward the door to his cell. His fingers curled around the iron slats and he smiled in what he hoped was a congenial manner, knowing that if he were to set things to rights, he would need the help of these two women.
“Ladies,” he began. “I know you don’t know me, but—”
“We know you,” Alma inserted.
“You’re Lettie’s beau,” Amelia added.
“You know?”
“We’ve known for days,” Alma retorted.
Ethan frowned, amazed that the women had kept such a secret. “And you didn’t tell anyone?”
“Indeed not!” both women exclaimed at once.
Ethan took a step forward, and his voice dropped to a confidential murmur. His palms grew slightly sweaty, knowing that the next few minutes would probably prove to be some of the most important in his life. “Ladies, since you know about … us, can I trust you to do a favor for me?”
Both Alma and Amelia moved closer, glancing over their shoulders as if someone were listening.
“Do you want us to break you out?” Amelia whispered.
Despite his predicament, Ethan’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “No. That won’t be necessary. I need you to send some messages to my family.”
Amelia’s features creased in distress. “Oh, Alma!” she breathed, turning toward her sister. “He has family.”
“Well of course he has family! Did you think he sprouted from a cabbage patch?”
“Alma, I never—”
“Ladies, please,” Ethan interrupted quickly, knowing that if the women got too deep into their argument, his time with them would run out.
At the sound of his voice, both women turned toward him, their faces settling into apple-withered masks of contrition.
“Do you have a scrap of paper? I need to send a telegram to my family and another note to my brother, Ned. Ned Abernathy.”
“Ned? I never would have thought it,” Amelia muttered as she scrambled in her reticule and removed her diary and a pencil. “If you would simply be so kind as to skip some of the more… personal pages in the front, Mr.—”
“McGuire. Ethan McGuire.”
Ethan grinned at her and selected a page in the back. He quickly wrote the necessary information, then ripped the page free. “This will inform my mother what has happened and notify her that I’ll need a lawyer. It also instructs her to change my will, naming Lettie as my beneficiary should anything… happen. At the bottom, there’s a personal item that I’d like my mother to send as soon as possible. When the package arrives, I’d appreciate it if you’d see to it that Lettie gets it right away.”
Amelia reached for the notes, but Alma slapped her hand and took them instead. “We’ll send this immediately. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
“Thank you.” He cleared his throat and glanced down at his feet. “There’s one last thing I’d like you to arrange, if you don’t mind. Before long, it will be common knowledge to everyone that Lettie has hidden me in the boardinghouse for two weeks.”
“Oh my, yes,” Amelia inserted. “Her reputation will be in shreds after staying in the garret with a man for over—
ouch!
” She glared at her older sister, who had reached out and pinched her arm.
“Amelia, hush up!”
“No, she’s right. And that’s exactly what I’m afraid will happen.” Ethan allowed his facade of calm control to drop for a moment and a small measure of his frustration and fear—not so much for himself, but for Lettie—to show through. He’d opened her up to a situation worse than any he’d ever dreamed of, and all because he’d thought he could resolve things himself.
“I’ve arranged for a minister to visit me at two. I need you to see that Lettie is here as well. Can you do that for me? I’d like to see us married before the day is out.”
The two women gasped in delight, but when they looked at Ethan, they suddenly seemed to realize the seriousness of their errand, and their pleasure faded.
“We’ll do whatever we can,” Amelia whispered when they heard the thump of Jacob’s feet on the stairs.
Alma quickly folded the note in half and slipped it down the front of her bodice, then patted the voluminous expanse of her bosom. “You can count on us, Mr. McGuire.”
“Ethan.”
The two elderly women straightened a little after being granted the unexpected pleasure of using his first name upon such a short acquaintance. However, when Amelia opened her mouth, Alma held her sister’s arm to keep her from speaking. “Yes, Ethan. We’ll see to it that all of the arrangements are made. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
The door opened, and Jacob stepped inside. His eyes darted from Ethan to the Beasleys, but he obviously couldn’t tell much by their expressions.
“Your time is up.”
The Beasleys nodded, glared at him, and brushed past, carefully holding their skirts so they wouldn’t lap against Jacob’s boots.
“What did you tell them?” Jacob asked, turning toward Ethan.
“Nothing you need to know. Just tying up some personal business.”
“You know I’ll have them followed.”
“I figured that.”
“It won’t do you any good to try and escape. There’s a crowd of men waiting to catch a glimpse of you. They’d fill you full of holes the minute you stepped out the door.”
“Like I said before, Grey, I’m not about to run from something I didn’t do. And if you shoot me, my blood will be on your hands.”
Jacob’s jaw remained hard, his eyes dark. Without another word, he turned and closed the door behind him. Once in his office again, he stood for a moment, battling the feelings swarming within him. So much had happened in the last few hours: reading Jeb’s clippings, then coming face-to-face with Ethan McGuire after all these years.
And now I suppose you’re going to have to decide whether to believe in your sister’s judgment or continue a five-year vendetta.
But his conscience wouldn’t let him rest.
Very deliberately, Jacob turned to Rusty Janson and said, “Find Gerald Stone and tell him that the prisoner will be delivered into his custody at nine tomorrow morning.”
Rusty evidently understood the import of the message, because he nodded and strode from the office, slamming the front door behind him.
Stepping to the window, Jacob watched his deputy disappear down the boardwalk. Although he tried to control the tension seeping into his body, he could not control the heavy sickness that seemed to settle into his stomach for the duration.
Jacob moved back to his desk and sank into his chair, grasping the long iron key to Ethan’s jail cell. He stared at the front door, waiting for his deputy to return. His only company was the pounding of his heart and the restless
tic, tic, tic
of the key as he tapped it against the desk and formulated his plans.
Before going in search of Lettie, the Beasley sisters made a slight detour down the alley beside the jailhouse. They waited in the shadows of the alley until Rusty had returned and Jacob slipped outside, intent upon reaching the small house behind the marshal’s office, where Jacob’s living quarters were situated.
Alma had earlier outlined a plan of action—one that would keep Jacob out of the office for at least a few hours. Now they could only hope it would work.
“Ready, Sister?”
“Of course, Alma.”
The two of them glanced at each other, half in fear, half in worry, then stepped out of the alley and moved through the grass toward Jacob’s house. They stopped at the door, took a deep breath, and then Amelia began to gasp and cry as if she were on the verge of hysterics. Alma knocked, waited for Jacob’s response, then flung open the door, helping her sister inside.
Jacob glanced up from the plate of food in front of him, rising in concern.
“Ladies, what’s wrong?”
“It’s Amelia. You know how susceptible to a shock she can be.”
Immediately concerned, Jacob rushed to take Amelia by the shoulders and guide her into the room. “You sit down here and tell me what’s happened.”
“If … if you could just fetch me a g-glass of water first.”
Jacob nodded, clearly uncomfortable with a near-hysterical woman on his hands, and dodged outside to the pump. As soon as he’d disappeared, the Beasleys took their positions on either side of the doorway.
“Now remember, Sister,” Alma whispered, “when he comes through the door, hit him over the head enough to stun him. Then we’ll tie him up until morning.”
Amelia nodded in understanding and took her place.
“Ladies, I hope you don’t—”
Jacob stepped through the door, and Alma crashed him over the top of the head with her book-laden purse.
“What the—”
“Hit him, Amelia. Mine didn’t take!”
Before Jacob knew what was happening, Amelia had struck him on the top of his head with her purse. There was a muffled clang, then Jacob’s eyes widened in surprise, rolled back in his head, and he crashed to the floor. Amelia’s bag fell onto the floor beside him with a loud clank.
Alma gazed in surprise at the fallen man, then at her sister. “Well done, Amelia!”
“Why thank you, Sister.”
“I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Amelia straightened with pride.
Alma moved to grasp her sister’s voluminous reticule then frowned when she picked it up. “What in the world have you got in here?”
Amelia’s features creased into a network of worried lines. “I couldn’t find any books that would fit in my bag.”
“So what did you use?”
“Jacob’s cast-iron paperweight.”
Alma gazed in amazement at her sister, then at the figure spread-eagled at their feet. “Somehow I don’t think it will prove necessary to tie the man up.”
Lettie stormed through the jailhouse door, and when Rusty Janson tried to escort her outside again, she dodged his grip and whirled away. She immediately rued the action when her head pounded and her stomach churned. Though she’d awakened nearly an hour before, the effects of the drug Ethan had given her the night before still clouded her mind—but not her purpose.
“I need to see Ethan McGuire.”
“He’s not being allowed any visitors.”
“It’s important that I see him.”
“Not important enough.”
“Jacob would let me see him.”
“No, Miss Lettie. He wouldn’t.”
Lettie tried to keep her voice calm, but a small measure of her desperation seeped through. “You’ve got to let me in, Rusty.”
“No, Miss Lettie, I don’t.”
Lettie resisted the urge to stamp her foot in frustration, whirling instead to glare out the window. A few clumps of men still stared at the jailhouse with hollow eyes, or argued and gestured toward each other in evident fury.
Lettie wrapped her arms around her waist in an effort to still the panic that welled within her. But she kept butting head-on with the certainty that something was brewing in Madison. Something more than a simple arrest and trial. Somehow, she knew other forces were at work. Forces that wouldn’t rest until Ethan McGuire was dead.
Turning, she tried again. “Rusty, you don’t understand. I have to see him.” Her voice grew husky, and she cleared her throat, despising the telltale weakness. “I have to see him, talk to him. Please.”
Rusty shifted his weight and glanced down at his hands. At the first sign that she might be making headway, Lettie pushed her pride aside and begged, “Please, please let me in.”
Once again, Rusty straightened. “No.”
“If you don’t, I’ll tell Jacob about that night you fell asleep on duty. Or the time you came in out of the rain and—”
“Aw, Lettie, you know I can’t let you in. You know what your brother would do to me.”
“He’ll never know.”
Rusty clenched his jaw and stared at a point beyond her shoulder. “No.”
Lettie closed her eyes and allowed the mask of control she’d worn up to date to fall. “They’re going to kill him, Rusty. Please…” Her voice cracked.
“Lettie?”
“Lettie!”
The Beasleys burst through the jailhouse door, but Lettie ignored them. “You have to let me in, Rusty. I love that man in there, and I couldn’t bear it if time were to slip away without my being with him any minute possible.”
“Aw, Lettie,” Rusty moaned.
Alma and Amelia Beasley bustled up beside her, taking her by the arms as if Lettie were going to faint and needed their support. “Rusty Janson, what in the world are you thinking of, being this heartless to a woman in her condition? Can’t you see she’s—”
“In the family way,” Amelia whispered.
Both Lettie and Rusty glanced at the women in surprise, but Alma plunged on. “The last thing she needs right now is a shock. Landsakes! Haven’t you got the brains God gave a piss ant?”
Rusty’s eyes darted from Lettie’s face, to her stomach, to her face, then a point above her shoulder.
“I—I didn’t know.”
“Well of course you didn’t. You’re only a man.”
“But I—”
“A heartless man, keeping this girl away from—well, I can’t even say it. It’s simply too cruel.”
“Too, too cruel,” Amelia echoed.
“Never in all my born days have I seen anyone so wicked.”
“And heartless!”
“I said that, Amelia.”
“It deserves saying again.”
“How true.” Alma threw a fulminating glare in his direction. “This girl carries that man’s child, Rusty. Don’t you think a man deserves to know about a thing like that before he’s taken away?”
“You… you…” Amelia balled her hands into fists, unable to come up with a suitable insult. “You
man!
”
Alma’s head bobbed in a fierce nod of approval.
Rusty swallowed nervously. “But if someone should see—”
“No one will see. Landsakes, this is a jailhouse, not a hotel. Surely you can keep any unwanted intruders away.”
“But Jacob—”
“You leave Jacob to us.”
“Yes, to us.”
“We’ll see he stays put right where he is.”
“Yes, we’ll see.”
“Well…”
“You just keep everyone out and give these youngsters some privacy.”
“Privacy.”
“No one needs to come in, except for the clergy.”
“Clergy!” Rusty shouted. “What in the hell for?”
“We’ve got to give that child a legal name! Even if its father is a criminal—not that I’m saying he is.”
Rusty finally threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine. Fine! Have one of them
soi-rees
up there, for all I care. Just keep it quiet so’s Jacob doesn’t find out.”
Spinning on his toes, Rusty stamped toward the door that led up to the cells. Lettie threw a thankful glance at the sisters and followed him with shaking limbs.
“We’ll be up in a few minutes with the preacher, Lettie.”
“Don’t you worry!”
“You’ve got a visitor, McGuire.” With a gesture of his hand, Rusty motioned for Lettie to step inside the cell block.
Lettie moved into the stone antechamber, surprised by the fact that it was smaller than she’d imagined, but pleasantly cool.
“Hello, Ethan.”
At the soft sound of her voice, Ethan lifted the arm that had lain across his eyes.
“Lettie?” he breathed in disbelief.
“Ten minutes. Then if the preacher isn’t here, I’m sending you home,” Rusty muttered, then backed from the room and slammed the main door shut behind him.
Both Lettie and Ethan remained rooted where they were until the shuffle of Rusty’s feet had disappeared down the stone steps and the ground floor door had been shut.
Ethan rose from the bunk and moved slowly toward his cell door, his eyes trained hungrily upon her face. “I didn’t think they would let you in here.”
“The Beasleys are very resourceful.”
An awkward silence settled between them for only a minute. Then Lettie rushed toward him, thrusting her arms through the iron bars and framing his face in her hands so that she could reassure herself that Ethan was real and unharmed. “I was so scared,” she whispered.
Ethan’s hand slipped through the slats to wrap around her waist, pulling her as close as the bars allowed.
“Why did you drug me that way?” she asked, her voice filled with the panic she’d felt those first few moments after she’d struggled to consciousness.
“I had to.”
“Am I that horrible to make love to?”
“No! But I knew you’d try to follow me to the bank.”
“I wouldn’t have done any such thing!”
“You would.”
She rubbed her thumbs across the contours of his jaw; the stubble of a beard rasped against her skin, and she frowned at the remnants of smoke and grime. Her brow creased in concern when she found several shallow cuts still caked with dried blood and dirt. “Yes, you’re right. I would have come with you.”
“You’re too impulsive.”
“Yes.”
“You’re too impetuous.”
She nodded.
“But…” His hand lifted and slipped through a higher bar so that his thumb could lightly skim across her cheek. His expression became sad and just a little wistful. “But, even though I shouldn’t be telling you at a time like this, I love you, Lettie Grey.”
A slow burning warmth began in her chest and radiated outward. Lettie tipped his head down with her hands so that she could look deep into his eyes.
“I’ll never tire of hearing you say that.”
His lips twitched in a self-conscious smile. “I love you.”
Lettie wrapped her arms more tightly around his neck and pulled him close. “Why?”
“Because you’re you, Lettie Grey.” He drew back, and his expression became at once serious and tender. “Letitia Grey, will you marry me?”
Lettie drew back ever so slightly and lifted her fingers to her lips in an attempt to still the shakiness of her smile. But despite her efforts to appear calm, her eyes sparkled with joyful tears. “I would be honored,” she replied with warm sincerity.
The thump of Rusty’s boots on the steps warned them of his approach.
“You’re sure, Lettie,” Ethan asked quickly. “Nothing has really been solved, you know. I’m still up to my ass in alligators.”
“We’ll see it through.”
“I want you to stay in Chicago with my mother during all of this mess. She’ll want to meet you—and your mother. Promise me you’ll go there.”
“I promise. I’d love to meet her.”
“Promise me you’ll live with all the advantages my family can give you. I ignored the money my mother set aside for my use, but that doesn’t mean you have to.”
“Ethan, you’ll be there with me,” she insisted.
But the silence that settled between them was filled with the tacit haze of their own desperation.
The second door rasped open.
“Promise me, Lettie,” Ethan said quickly, his grip tightening.
“I promise.”
Rusty stepped into the room and glared in their direction. A moment later, the Beasleys rushed past him, carrying a huge parcel wrapped in brown paper and a basket covered with a gingham cloth.
“Pastor Phillips will be here in five minutes, Rusty.”
Rusty only glared at them. “I still don’t know about this. You’re going to get us all into a hell—heck of a lot of trouble.”
“Nonsense.”
“Jacob’s going to come.”
“Oh, he’s not going to come,” Amelia blurted.
Alma pinched her sister in warning, shot her a desperate look, and offered Rusty a quick smile. “What Amelia means is that we just saw Jacob, and he’s all… tied up with affairs in town.”
“Yes, all tied up.”
“He told us to tell you that he won’t be back until late.”
“Very, very late.”
Rusty eyed them in suspicion. “You’d better hope so.”
“Oh, we’re sure about that.”
“Absolutely positive.”
Rusty’s gaze slipped to the paraphernalia the Beasleys held in their hands. “What the hell—heck is all that?”
“Supplies.”
“There’s to be a wedding, you know.”
Rusty growled.
“If you would be so kind as to open the cells for us—”
“
What?
”
“—we have a few things to prepare,” Alma continued as if he had not spoken.
“Shee-it! Why don’t I just escort the man all pretty like down to the church?”
“No, that would be asking too much of you.”
“Far too much.”
Rusty turned to stab an incriminating finger in Lettie’s direction. “
You
go downstairs.”
“Well of course she will,” Alma retorted.
“It’s bad luck to see the groom before the wedding,” Amelia added.
Muttering softly to himself, Rusty grasped Lettie’s arm and dragged her toward the outer door. “After you,” he stated sarcastically.
But the Beasleys paid no heed to his mood. Alma hurried to hand Lettie the brown paper parcel and whispered, “Go on and change into this. I’m sorry it’s not a real wedding gown, but it was the best I could do in a pinch.”
Rusty swore. “Miss Beasley!”
“Move along, Rusty.”
Picking up her skirts, Lettie preceded the harried deputy. Then, left alone in the office, Lettie took a deep, calming breath, set the cumbersome packages on the desk, and untied the string. A soft gasp of delight escaped from her lips when she found a store-bought dress and a set of delicate unmentionables lying within a bed of tissue paper.