Stars swirled before her eyes. She grabbed the window sill to steady herself. “I don’t wish to talk about this, Marshal. My trial is over. I’m not guilty of anything. Besides, as you just heard, I’ve been pardoned.” She turned her back to him. “Now would you please leave me alone?”
“The article also said he had a mistress, you found out, and that’s why you killed him—and her.”
She whirled to face him, her hand, as if by its own volition, rising to strike him. He grabbed her wrist in an iron grip.
“Now, now, Mrs. Brecker. Assaulting an officer of the law could put you right back behind bars.” He smiled at her, a smile without humor.
“Oh, how dare you. You, you…you’re despicable.” She pulled her hand free. “Stay away from me.”
The door opened, and the warden entered the room. She’d never been so glad to see him before. She returned to stand at his desk.
“All right, Mrs. Brecker, here’s your money and your personal property. Please check and make sure everything is accounted for.”
He held out a valise and an envelope. Although she wanted to count the money, she stuck the envelope in the pocket of her skirt. “Thank you, Warden. I’m sure everything is there. I’ll be leaving now.”
“I wish you the best of luck, Mrs. Brecker.”
“Thank you.” She scurried to the door. She could hardly wait to get out of this office—away from the cold blue eyes. She told herself to get used to the censure. Since everyone in Gila Bend thought her guilty, she would probably be ostracized. Her so-called friends had disappeared at her trial.
But if she could survive three years of prison, she could survive anything.
She slammed the door behind her.
***
Wes Cooper laughed aloud as the door slammed.
“Well, what do you think, Wes?” The warden pulled a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from his desk drawer. He splashed amber liquid into the glass and handed it to Wes. “What’s your impression of Naomi Brecker?”
“Well, she’s definitely not what I expected.” Wes lowered his big frame into the chair. “I expected someone older—and harder. She’s young, kind of pretty. With her hair all pulled back, you could see the strain on her face. Although you couldn’t really tell under that horrible dress you make these women wear, she has a nice womanly figure, a mite on the skinny side. I liked the color of her hair, like warm honey. I liked the dark green color of her eyes. I don’t know what it was about her eyes, but they looked kind of empty…vulnerable maybe. She sure didn’t seem to be a killer.” And even if she were, the idea of tracking a woman left a bad taste in his mouth, but it was part of the job.
“Yeah, I feel the same way. Definitely not the murderess type. She’s always come across as a real lady, well-mannered, educated. Very genteel. She’s got that air about her, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, but real ladies don’t murder people or condone robbing and killing.” For a moment, Wes wondered what had prompted this lady to kill. Killing a man wasn’t easy, even for him, a man of the law. What had caused her to step over the line?
“I guess not. She’s always sworn that she was innocent.” The warden’s lips curled into a half smile. “But then, everyone here proclaims their innocence.”
“Yeah.” Wes chuckled as he rubbed his jaw. “I imagine so. Did she ever have any visitors?”
“I don’t think so.” The warden picked up the file and studied it. He shook his head. “Nope. Not a soul.”
“What about mail? She ever write any letters?”
“No.”
“Did she ever receive any letters?”
“No.”
“Hmmm. Kind of strange. You’d think some relative would have come to visit or written her in three years. You sure about that?”
“Yes. We log in all visitors and open all the inmates’ mail before we give it to them. Maybe her family, if she’s got one, disowned her. Maybe they were too ashamed to have anything to do with her.”
“That could be. Still…I would have thought…but I’ve been wrong before.” Wes sipped his whiskey, then scrubbed his hand across his lips. She might protest her innocence, but her family and friends had evidently written her off as guilty. “Was she close friends with any of the other inmates? Ever talk much to anyone in particular?”
“Not that I know of. Not any one more than another. From what the guards say, she mostly stayed to herself.” The warden snapped the file shut.
“Not much to go on, Paul.”
“Sorry. The governor seems to think you can take care of this.”
“I’ll give it my best.” Wes raised his glass to the warden. “I must say you do serve a good glass of whiskey, Paul.”
“It’s my reward to myself for taking this miserable job out here in the middle of nowhere.”
“So tell me about this assignment.” Wes held his glass out, and Paul refilled it. “I thought Jake Burleson was supposed to take it.”
“He was, but he got himself killed trying to bring in Johnny Miller.”
Wes grimaced. “Hadn’t heard that. Jake was a good man.”
“Yeah, he was. Leaves a wife and three kids, too. Damned shame. Do you remember that robbery over at Fort Jameson? Where the military payroll and a couple of wagons of rifles and ammunition were stolen?”
“Yeah, I remember. From what I heard, they must have had an inside person. It was all too easy.”
“You’re right. One of the enlisted men finally came forward and admitted to helping Roy Barker’s gang steal the guns. For a price, of course. Then, a couple of months ago, some of those rifles surfaced in the hands of some renegade Indians. Stirred up considerable public outcry. The governor wants those guns found and soon. He thinks Mrs. Brecker may know where they are. Your job is to follow her and find them.”
Wes shrugged. “That may not be so easy. Even assuming she knows anything, that was over three years ago. They could be anywhere by now. Brecker’s gang hasn’t been seen or heard of for quite a while. Maybe they split up and went their separate ways. Rumor has it they may have even gone down to Mexico or up to Canada. Evidently, they made no plans to meet up with her.”
“We can only hope they left the country. They were a bad bunch. The governor’s convinced that they’re still in the area, holed up somewhere, or using this area as a home base. He wants them caught. If anyone can do it, Wes, you can.”
“I don’t know. The trail’s pretty cold. Brecker always seemed to stay one step in front of the law. But I appreciate the confidence in me.” He rose to his feet and ambled over to the window. Movement by the gate caught his attention. Naomi Brecker stood there, her valise in her hands looking small and helpless. Her hair caught the sun’s rays and gleamed in the bright light.
Then, as if she knew he watched, she glanced up at the window. Maybe it was a flight of fancy, but she angled her chin up, shot him a defiant look, walked out the gate and across the street. He laughed to himself. A small town of sorts had sprung up around the prison. The slim figure headed for the livery.
“Well, I’d better get to work. Mrs. Brecker is on the move.”
“Sure wish you could stay and have dinner, Wes. I’m in need of some masculine company. I’m a little tired of females.”
Wes barked out a laugh. “Not many men would say that.”
“Probably not, but if they could change places with me for a while, I’m sure they’d say different.” The warden grinned, rose to his feet, and stuck his hand out. “Send me a report when you find anything out, and I’ll make sure the governor gets it.”
“Will do.” Wes shook the warden’s outstretched hand. He grabbed his hat from the chair, put it on, and tugged it down on his forehead. With a smile at the warden he left the room.
Five minutes later, he found her—and found himself wondering why he was so fascinated with this woman, a convicted murderess. She definitely wasn’t the type of woman he normally gravitated to.
As he rounded the corner of the livery, he saw her, a frown on her face, squared off with Nate Harper.
“Look, lady,” Nate said, then spat a wad of tobacco. “I done told you. Fifty bucks for the horse. Take it or leave it.”
“But—”
“Nate Harper,” Wes broke in, “you know that nag ain’t worth fifty dollars. At the most, she’s worth twenty.”
Nate frowned at him. “But I’m throwing in the saddle and saddle bags, Wes. They’re worth something.”
“Come on, Nate, give her a break.”
She glared at him. “I don’t need your help, Marshal.”
He shrugged. “Whatever you say, ma’am. Go ahead—pay fifty for the animal. No skin off my back.”
She hesitated, looking from him to Harper and back. “Mr. Harper?” She lifted her eyebrows at the liveryman, her full bottom lip quivering. She looked so pitiful that even Harper caved.
A long sigh escaped Nate. “Oh, all right, but I tell you, it just ain’t fair. I caint abide a woman’s tears.”
“Thank you, Mr. Harper.” She sent him a brilliant smile, all the while ignoring Wes. “I really appreciate it.” She opened the envelope the warden had given her and counted out the money.
After she took out the twenty, Wes could see there was very little left. His admiration inched up a notch—she had grit.
“Can you ride, Mrs. Brecker?” She turned those amazing green eyes to him, and Wes found himself drowning in a sea of green.
“Yes, I can ride.” She patted the mare’s neck. “Mr. Harper, you said you had a rifle you’d sell me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He disappeared to the back of the livery. In a few moments, he returned with a rifle.
“How much?” she asked.
“Twenty-five dollars.”
“How about twenty?” she countered.
Nate cursed low under his breath. “All right. Twenty.”
“Ammunition?”
“You got to get that at the mercantile.”
“All right.” She examined the rifle, and from her sure movements, Wes could tell she was familiar with the weapon. “Seems to be in good shape.” With a nod, she counted out the money and handed it to Harper.
Jamming the gun in the scabbard, she turned to Wes. “Yes, Marshal, I can shoot, too.” She looped the handle of her bundle over the pommel and climbed into the saddle. With a wry smile, she smoothed her skirt down.
“I don’t like to butt in, ma’am, where it ain’t no concern of mine, but I think you should wait for the next supply wagon. It’s a long way to Gila Bend. Lots of varmints out there, both four-legged and two-legged.”
She locked gazes with him for a moment. She shook her head, tears misting in her eyes. With her sleeve, she wiped them away. “You’re right. It’s not any concern of yours. Although I hate to admit it, you’re probably right, Marshal. I appreciate your concern. That would be the smart thing to do, but you don’t understand. I can’t, I just can’t. That’s all I can say.”
Somehow, he understood. He couldn’t imagine being locked up for three days, much less three years. He’d be a crazy man by now. “I think I understand, but I still say it’s too dangerous for a woman to be travelling alone out there.”
“I’ll just have to risk it. I can’t stay.” She nudged the horse with her heels and headed down the street. As he watched, she stopped at the general store. In a few minutes, she walked out carrying a larger sack. Several drifters standing in front of the mercantile moved to block her. Wes tensed, ready to step in if there was trouble. But she stepped around them, tied the sack to the saddle horn, and, without a backward glance, rode out of town.
Wes uttered a low curse and pulled his hat down over his forehead. He didn’t fancy this job, yet the badge he wore gave him no choice.
“Get my horse, Nate.”
Chapter Two
Naomi reined in her horse by a small stream where willows draped their feathery branches over the clear water. She hadn’t covered much ground, but the three hours in the saddle had her whole body aching. The heat had sent rivulets of sweat running all down her body. She fancied she smelled a bit ripe. Like she had in prison where they’d let the women bathe only once a week. Now that she was free, she planned to bathe every opportunity she could.
The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. The entire afternoon she’d felt someone was following her. As a shiver snaked down her spine, she glanced uneasily over her shoulder. But no puffs of dust marred the horizon. Nothing stirred on the vast prairie. The marshal’s warning came back to her, and butterflies churned in her belly. But it was too late to do anything now except go on.
She slid from the saddle. Her muscles groaned in protest when her feet hit the ground. She grabbed the saddle horn to steady herself, feeling a hundred years old instead of twenty. Gingerly, she rubbed her backside.
Several oaks sat back fifty feet from the water’s edge, the shade beckoning invitingly. She’d not thought to buy a hat, and her nose and neck had sunburned. She sighed loudly. The prudent thing to have done was to have gotten a room at the hotel and waited for the supply wagon, but it’d been too close to that horrible place. Besides, when had she ever done the prudent thing? She knelt by the stream, scooped up handfuls of water, and splashed the cooling liquid over her face and neck.
After resting a few minutes, Naomi unsaddled her horse and led the mare down the river bank to drink. She patted the animal’s nose. “Even though you’ve got a few years on you, you’re still a beautiful girl. You should have a name. I think I’ll call you Jo…for Josephine. That’s what I was going to name my baby if she were a girl, and Joseph if it were a boy. Yeah, Jo it is.” Unbidden tears gathered in her eyes, and she swiped at them with her sleeve. Would the pain of losing her baby ever go away?