The Lawman's Surrender: The Calhoun Sisters, Book 2 (3 page)

“You think you’re so much better than everyone else,” Anne hissed. “Well, it looks like you finally got your just desserts, doesn’t it?”

“When you pinch your face up like that, Anne,” Susannah replied blandly, “it makes you look more like Mayor Rafferty’s mother, not his mistress.”

With a sound of fury, Anne turned and stormed from the jailhouse, shoving past a tall man who was entering the sheriff’s office. He nimbly side-stepped the furious woman, then turned to face Susannah. Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized Jedidiah Brown’s familiar lop-sided grin.

“You do have a way with people,” he drawled.

Susannah closed her eyes, then opened them again. No, he wasn’t a figment of her imagination. He was there in the flesh—all six-foot-plus of lean, ain’t-I-charming, devastating male.

She wished she had a gun.

Jedidiah got a real bad feeling from the gleam in Susannah’s lovely blue eyes. From the look on her face, he was probably lucky that she was unarmed and behind bars.

“What are
you
doing here?” she demanded.

“Your family’s worried about you,” he replied, approaching her cell. “And I hear you need an escort to Denver. I called in a few favors and managed to get myself the assignment.”

Susannah propped her hands on her hips. “I knew I shouldn’t have wired home. I suppose I’m lucky Sarah didn’t come tearing up here in her condition.”

“Instead they sent me.” He almost laughed at the sour expression that crossed her face. “Your family trusts me. You might consider doing the same.”

“Trust is usually earned, Marshal. And with the tab you’re running, you’re already way behind.”

“I’ll catch up.” He studied her accommodations with raised eyebrows. The plain cot had been topped with a luxuriously thick mattress, complete with pillows and a ruffled coverlet. Makeshift curtains hung from the window, and a vase of wildflowers stood on the small washstand next to a silver-backed brush and mirror set.

She followed his gaze. “Something wrong, Marshal?”

All the way here, Jedidiah had imagined her scared and lonely in a stark cell. He should have remembered that Susannah Calhoun always landed on her feet. And if he’d remembered what a spoiled brat she was, he would never have lost a moment’s sleep.

“You seem to have adapted well to your situation, princess,” he drawled, and watched her eyes spark with temper.

“The sheriff was kind enough to let me have some of my things,” she said tightly.

He leaned against the steel bars separating them. She was still beautiful enough to stop a man’s heart. Her silver-gilt hair was done up in fancy curls and ribbons, as if she were going to a ball instead of living in a jailhouse. A mixture of emotions, the most prominent of which was annoyance, lit her exotically slanted smoky blue eyes. Her peaches and cream complexion took on a becoming flush as he scanned her from head to toe, noting with masculine appreciation how her store-bought pink dress showcased the body that had inspired his lustful dreams.

Susannah Calhoun was a hell of a woman. But had she killed a man?

“Are you finished staring at me, Marshal? It’s quite rude.” She looked down her nose at him, though he was a head taller. “But then, you always were lacking in manners.”

“I seem to get along well enough.” He tapped one of the cell bars. “I can’t say the same for you.”

She made a vexed sound and threw up her hands. “Of all the U.S. Marshals, why did it have to be you?”

“Your family didn’t want you rotting in jail.” He tipped back his hat. “So, did you kill him?”

“Of course not. Do I look like a murderess?”

“No, you look like every man’s fantasy come to life. But you know that already.” He ignored her huff of outrage. “Actually, I believe we’re all capable of killing, but the circumstances would have to be right. I imagine that if someone's life were in danger, or the life of a loved one, anyone could kill without losing sleep over it. But we're not talking about what other folks could or couldn't do. We're talking about whether or not you killed Brick Caldwell. And that's a whole other question."

Susannah stared at Jedidiah in surprised silence. She had assumed he’d believe in her innocence, yet there he stood, calmly stating that he believed she was capable of murder. She had somehow expected he would immediately leap to her defense, though why she should feel such a thing, she didn’t know. After all, except for one kiss, she barely knew the man.

Then again, he was a man few women would forget.

She started to pace, slanting a sidelong glance at him. He still looked the same, tall and well-muscled, sun-kissed from head to toe. He never seemed to be in a hurry and did things in his own time. Once upon a time she even had wondered if he made love with the same studied slowness... She jerked her thoughts back from that path.

He continued to watch her with those hawk-like eyes that revealed no clue to his true thoughts. She had seen those eyes hard and predatory, as well as hot with passion, but Jedidiah Brown was very good at hiding his feelings when it suited him. After all, he’d revealed nothing the last time she’d seen him that indicated he would be gone by the next morning. The sting of his abrupt departure had lingered with her for a long time.

But she had to admit that he was right. She knew she wouldn’t hesitate to kill in order to protect her life or someone else’s. However, she hadn’t killed Brick Caldwell.

“I didn’t kill him,” she said out loud.

He raised his brows. “I’ve heard that before.”

“I didn’t,” she repeated. “But believe what you want.”

“It’s not my job to judge you, just to get you to the courthouse for trial.”

Her eyes narrowed. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about Mrs. Hawkins, but why bother? The man didn’t seem inclined to believe in her innocence, and she was damned if she’d beg. “If that’s the way you want it to be, Marshal.”

“That’s the way it has to be.” He centered his hat on his head. “Now, where’s the sheriff?”

“Next door, having his supper.”

“Good, I think I’ll join him.” He tapped one steel bar with his finger. “Stay out of trouble.”

“And here I was planning on going over to the saloon to start a brawl.”

“Resist temptation,” he advised with a chuckle, then turned away and strode from the room.

She leaned against the bars, watching his retreating form with reluctant appreciation. “Don’t you worry, Marshal,” she said softly. “I will.”

Maudeen’s Restaurant was crowded and noisy—and the smells coming from the kitchen were so heavenly that Jedidiah’s mouth started to water as soon as he set foot in the door. Miners and businessmen alike crowded together at the tables, roaring at each other’s tall tales and eyeing the pretty waitresses who nimbly wove through the maze of humanity.

Jedidiah spotted the sheriff at a table in the corner, a dark-haired man with a silver star pinned to his vest. As Jedidiah approached, John Benning looked neither right nor left, merely concentrated on his roast beef dinner in a single-minded way that Jedidiah’s empty stomach could appreciate.

“Evening, Sheriff,” he said, reaching the table. “I’m U.S. Marshal Jedidiah Brown. I’ve come to escort your prisoner to Denver.”

Sheriff Benning shook Jedidiah’s outstretched hand, still chewing his roast beef. He gestured to an empty chair, swallowed, and said, “You’re welcome to join me, Marshal. I expect you’re hungry.”

“You’re right.” Jedidiah slipped into the empty seat. He took off his hat and laid it on the chair next to him, then caught the eye of the pretty brunette waitress and signaled her over.

Sheriff Benning continued to work on his meat and potatoes as Jedidiah ordered fried chicken and biscuits, with a pitcher of buttermilk to wash it all down.

“Buttermilk?” the sheriff asked, raising his eyebrows as he forked up more roast beef.

Jedidiah sent him a look that discouraged further questions. “I
like
buttermilk.”

Sheriff Benning shrugged. “To each his own.”

Jedidiah settled back in his chair. “I went by the jailhouse on my way in, Sheriff. Your prisoner looks right at home.”

Benning chuckled and reached for his cup of coffee “I didn’t see as it would harm anyone to let the gal have a few things to make herself more comfortable.”

“I noticed that your deputy’s letting in a lot of visitors. Do you think that’s wise?”

“I don’t see the harm in it.”

“Even if the prisoner’s been accused of murder?”

Benning just shrugged and helped himself to more roast beef. “That little slip of a female isn’t going anywhere.”

Jedidiah believed that Susannah Calhoun could sweet talk any visitor into helping her escape if she decided to, but he kept his feelings to himself. He didn’t want Benning inquiring as to how Jedidiah happened to know Susannah quite so well. “I hope you’re right,” he said instead.

Benning sighed. “Accused murderers are normally guarded more closely, Marshal, but I have to admit, I sure hated to lock that pretty thing up. The wife and I sat with Miss Calhoun at the town picnic a while back, and we all got friendly after that. Even the children took to her. Then this mess happened.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it.” The brunette returned bearing Jedidiah’s supper, and he sat back so she could set the food down in front of him.

“Seems pretty clear,” Benning said. “She sang at Brick Caldwell’s opera house, the Silver Dollar Opera. Caldwell ran a decent place—no whoring going on. Miss Calhoun is a respectable woman, and I never heard tell of her doing anything a decent woman shouldn’t.”

“Until now,” Jedidiah said.

“Until now.” Settling into his story, Benning scooped up a forkful of potatoes and gravy. “Brick had his eye on her and invited her to his house after the show for a midnight supper. Next morning he turns up dead. Stabbed with a knife from the supper table.”

“No other suspects?” Jedidiah bit into a chicken leg.

“Not a one. Closest we came was the housekeeper, Abigail Hawkins. I talked to her myself. Caldwell’s neighbor saw the housekeeper leave at seven that night, just like she always does. The same neighbor saw Miss Calhoun running out of Caldwell’s house just after midnight like the place was on fire. The way I see it, she was there at the right time and had access to the murder weapon. And if you figure that she might have been fighting off some unwanted attention, it all fits.”

“Sounds pretty straightforward.” Jedidiah poured himself a glass of buttermilk. “So why is she going to Denver?”

“Caldwell’s relatives are rich folks—own Caldwell Mining and Ore out of Denver. And his uncle is Senator Morris Caldwell. The governor personally asked that Miss Calhoun be extradited to Denver for trial so they can attend.”

Jedidiah’s lips twisted. “Politics.”

“Yeah.” Benning sopped up the last of the gravy with a piece of bread. “I wish I could do something for that gal. She claims Caldwell was trying to force her into his bed, and I believe her. Maybe they’ll rule it as self-defense.”

“But Miss Calhoun claims she didn’t kill Caldwell at all, not that she did it in self-defense,” Jedidiah pointed out.

Benning’s expression turned grim. “Unless another suspect comes into the picture, that gal's in big trouble. I’ve got a feeling Caldwell’s family means to see her hang.”

A vision of Susannah swinging from a rope made the chicken stick in Jedidiah’s throat. He forced himself to swallow. “You may be right,” he murmured.

“Funny about that housekeeper, though,” Benning said a moment later. “Miss Calhoun swears that Abigail Hawkins was there when she left that night.”

Jedidiah put down the chicken leg. “What?”

“Miss Calhoun says that Mrs. Hawkins was still there when she left that night. Can’t see how that could be, since the witness saw Mrs. Hawkins leave the Caldwell place at seven o’clock.”

“What did Mrs. Hawkins have to say?”

“Just what the witness said. That she left at seven, like always. I’ve crossed her off the list of suspects.”

“Already?”

“She was real upset, seeing as how she found the body,” Benning said. “Since there’s a witness to back up her story, I let her go. She left town the next morning.”

“Where’d she go?”

“To a friend’s house in over in Placerville. She said she wanted to take a few days before looking for work somewhere else. Can’t say as I blame her.”

“Do you have the friend’s name?”

Benning glared. “Of course I do. What’s with all the questions, Marshal Brown? I know how to do my job.”

"No offense meant, Sheriff." Jedidiah managed a smile. "I'm a lawman, too, and I tend to be curious."

The sheriff relaxed his stiff posture. “All right then. When are you fixing to leave for Denver?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“I’ll see that Miss Calhoun is ready.”

“I’d appreciate it.” The conversation drifted into more neutral topics, and Jedidiah laughed in all the right places and kept a smile on his face. But all through the evening, one thought played over and over in his mind.

Why hadn’t she told him about the housekeeper?