With Autumn's Return (Westward Winds Book #3): A Novel (2 page)

“It’ll happen,” Bennett said with more confidence than he’d displayed during the trial. “People trust you. That’s why I hired you. You can convince ’em.”

“I hope so.” Jason felt a surge of excitement flow through his veins. This was the reason he’d become a lawyer: to see justice done. While the three years of drafting wills, bills of sale, and articles of incorporation that had constituted his legal career thus far had paid his bills and given him a comfortable nest egg, it wasn’t what he’d envisioned when he’d studied law. This trial represented everything he sought: to exonerate innocent men. “Just remember what I told you. Keep your eyes down, and no matter what happens, do not smile. You want the jury to know that you’re a serious man.”

Bennett nodded.

Half an hour later, Jason stood in front of the jury, carefully making eye contact with one man after another. They appeared to be listening intently, even the man who’d yawned so frequently during the various witnesses’ testimony. Jason had spoken for six minutes; now it was time for his final statement.

“And so, gentlemen of the jury, you see that my client, Adam Bennett, was as much a victim as his beloved wife. We’ll
never know why the stranger entered the Bennett home that night, whether he was intent on robbery or something else. All we know is that Helen Bennett is dead. The prosecuting attorney has tried to convince you that her husband killed her, but we know otherwise. Helen Bennett died at the hands of an unknown assailant, leaving her husband alone in this world, bereft of the woman he loved. The prosecuting attorney told you that my client had his wife’s blood all over him. We do not deny that. You heard Adam Bennett’s testimony. You know that he acted as any loving husband would. He gathered his wife into his arms, trying to save her. If I had a wife and had found her covered with blood, I would have done the same. So, I venture, would you.”

Jason took a deep breath, pausing long enough to let his gaze move from one juror to the next. When he was satisfied that he had their full attention, he delivered his conclusion. “Adam Bennett is no more guilty of killing Helen than you are, and so I ask you to deliver the only possible verdict: not guilty.”

As the jury filed from the courtroom into the adjacent deliberation chamber, Bennett caught Jason’s eye and winked. A wink? The corners of his client’s mouth turned up in what appeared to be a fleeting smirk, causing a knot of alarm to settle in Jason’s stomach. Something was amiss, for that was not the reaction he had expected.

It took the jury less than an hour. When they returned to the courtroom, their faces solemn, not one looked at the defendant. That was not a good sign. Jason felt his palms begin to sweat, and when he glanced at Bennett, he saw the man swallow deeply. The smirk was gone. His client was as nervous as he.

For a moment, the only sounds were the shuffling of feet and an occasional cough. The judge stared at the jury. “Have you reached your verdict?”

The foreman nodded. “We have, your honor.”

“And what do you find?”

The foreman handed a folded piece of paper to the judge. Waiting until the judge opened it, he confirmed the contents. “We find the defendant, Adam Bennett, not guilty.”

As the words registered, exultation rushed through Jason, brushing aside the shards of doubt that had assailed him. It was over. He’d done it. He’d won his first trial.

At his side, Bennett cheered. “I knew it!” he cried. “I knew you could do it.”

Though he frowned at the outburst, the judge declared that Adam Bennett was free and banged his gavel to dismiss the trial. The courtroom erupted into pandemonium as spectators reacted to the decision. The prosecuting attorney’s grim expression left no doubt of his opinion. Jason would visit him later and tell him the truth, that he’d done an outstanding job of presenting his side of the case. But first Jason needed to talk to his client. His former client.

He turned to the man who’d sat beside him for days, intending to shake his hand, but something in Bennett’s expression stopped him. Gone was the innocent look that he’d seen in those light blue eyes each time they’d met. In its place, Jason saw satisfaction and something else, something he would almost call evil.

“She deserved it, you know,” Bennett said, not bothering to lower his voice. “She wouldn’t listen to me. The Bible says a wife needs to obey her husband. She wouldn’t, and so I had to kill her.”

Bile rose in Jason’s throat, and for a moment he thought he might be ill. The pride he’d felt over winning his first criminal case vanished, replaced by the realization that he’d been wrong, horribly wrong. It didn’t matter that he’d been duped, that his client had lied to him. The simple, brutal facts were, Adam Bennett was guilty, and thanks to Jason, he was now a free man.

“Wait,” Jason said as Bennett headed for the door. Perhaps there was something he could do. Perhaps he could persuade Bennett to give himself up, to accept the sentence he deserved.

Laughter echoed off the courtroom walls. “You can’t do anything to me. Nobody can.” It was as if the man had read Jason’s mind. “I’m not guilty. The jury said so.”

And I’m a fool, Jason reflected as he gathered his papers and prepared to leave. It appeared that Mrs. Moran had been right, after all. She’d taken him aside the day he’d announced that he wanted to study the law and had advised not setting his sights so high. He should have been a farmer. He should have spent his days growing things rather than trying to serve justice. Turnips weren’t guilty of anything, and wheat didn’t kill innocent women. But the pride the reverend had warned Jason about had made him believe he was destined for a different life. Look how it had turned out. Instead of preserving justice, he’d defended a criminal and helped a guilty man go free. At least the reverend wasn’t here to witness his son’s shame. If he were, he’d be thankful that Jason had never called him pa.

“Jason,” one man called as he exited the courthouse. “What do you think?”

“Did you know?” another demanded.

Jason brushed them off, not wanting to talk to anyone. He needed to compose his thoughts; he needed to come to grips with what had happened; most of all, he needed to forget that today had happened. He’d been gullible, foolish, stupid. The adjectives bounced through his mind, each stronger than the preceding.

Normally he enjoyed the five-block walk from the courthouse to his office, but nothing was normal about today. Today was the day that Jason Nordling, the man who thought he was destined to be a prominent trial attorney, set a guilty man free.
Pride goeth before
destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.
The verse from Proverbs that the reverend had quoted so frequently reverberated in his brain. Jason had been proud that Adam Bennett had chosen him from all the attorneys in Cheyenne. He’d believed the man when he’d said that Jason was the only attorney for him. No wonder! No one else would have been so easily manipulated. Jason Nordling was a fool, an unmitigated fool.

By the time he reached his office, he wanted nothing more than to disappear through the doorway and never emerge. But as he approached the building, he noticed that the door next to his was open. This must be the new doctor’s first day. Jason had seen workers entering the building as they constructed the interior rooms, and he’d seen the gold lettering that proclaimed it the office of E. M. Harding, MD, but he had not met the man. He might as well do it now. It was only neighborly. Besides, the day couldn’t get any worse.

“Hey, Doc!” he called out as he walked through the doorway.

Elizabeth’s breath caught as her heart began to pound. It had finally happened. Her first patient had arrived. This was what she wanted, but oddly, when she’d envisioned this moment, she had believed the first person to seek her services would be a woman. How silly. Men needed treatment as much as women, and there were more men than women in Wyoming. A patient was a patient, and this particular one was very, very welcome.

Taking a deep breath and forcing herself to walk slowly, as if this weren’t the moment she’d been anticipating all day, Elizabeth entered the waiting room, her eyes making a quick assessment of her caller’s condition.

“Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?” He did not look ill. Far from it. If she had been asked to describe a man in peak health, it would have been this one. At least six feet tall, he was blessed with glossy dark brown hair, lightly tanned skin without the slightest hint of pallor or sallowness, clear brown eyes, broad shoulders, and a face that most women would find exceedingly attractive. His features were perfectly sculpted, and were it not for the square chin, he might be called beautiful rather than handsome. The chin gave him a look of determination, verging on stubbornness.

Dressed in a suit that appeared to have been tailored for him and an expensive hat held in his hand, he seemed a successful, healthy businessman. Elizabeth could not imagine why he was consulting her. Perhaps he had come on behalf of his wife, yet he exhibited none of the urgency she would have expected of a man with an ailing spouse. As she took a step closer, Elizabeth noticed that his eyes appeared filled with pain, and tiny lines had formed next to his lips. Perhaps the man was suffering from dyspepsia.

“I’m looking for the doctor.” As if to underscore his words, he glanced at the open door to her office, as if he expected to see someone seated at the desk.

“I am the doctor,” she said firmly.

“You?” A frown accompanied the question. “You’re E. M. Harding, MD?”

Elizabeth tried not to bristle, though the man’s attitude reminded her of her classmates. They’d given her the same incredulous look the first day. When that and their obvious disdain had not discouraged her, they’d resorted to other tactics, including attempting to sabotage her work.

“Indeed I am Dr. Harding, Elizabeth May Harding.” She would not list her qualifications, for they had been clearly spelled out in the notices she had placed in the
Telegraph
. “Whom do I have the honor of addressing?”

He blinked, and Elizabeth knew there was no dust mote in his eye. The blink was an involuntary reaction, caused by his trying to accept the fact that she was not a man. When she’d worked in the hospital wards, some of her male patients had refused to let her treat them. Others had grudgingly agreed, but all had greeted her arrival with incredulity. This man was no different.

For a second, she thought he would not deign to respond, but then he said, “Jason Nordling.”

Her neighbor. The handsome, charming man whose presence Charlotte claimed would keep her safe at night. The man whose defense of Adam Bennett made the front page of the paper each day. He was supposed to be in court, convincing the jury that his client was innocent. The trial might be over, but if that was the case, he certainly didn’t look like a man celebrating a victory.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Nordling.” That was an exaggeration, but perhaps if Elizabeth pretended that she hadn’t noticed his discomfort at discovering her identity, this encounter might improve. After all, he was her neighbor, and if there was one lesson Mama had taught her daughters, it was to be polite to neighbors. And, though Elizabeth now believed it unlikely, there was still the possibility he was a patient. “Is this a social call, or do you require my professional services?”

One eyebrow rose, as if the question amused him. “I assure you, Miss Harding, that I have no need of your professional services today, nor will I ever.”

He took another step into the waiting room, his gaze moving slowly as he appeared to assess the furnishings. Elizabeth revised her initial impression. Jason Nordling wasn’t simply determined or stubborn; he was arrogant. He might not choose her as his physician, but there was no reason he should deny her the courtesy of addressing her as “Doctor.”

“Mr. Nordling, my name is Dr. Harding, and I assure you,” she said, throwing his words back at him, “that even the healthiest of men needs a physician occasionally.”

This time both eyebrows rose, and when he looked at Elizabeth, he gave the impression of looking down that perfectly chiseled nose. “If I needed a doctor, it wouldn’t be you.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath, trying to release her anger even as she recognized that part of that anger was directed at herself. It appeared she’d been a fool to believe that Cheyenne was different from New York City, that its citizens would accept her as a doctor, despite her gender.
You can leave now.
That was what she wanted to say to the man with the supercilious expression, but the pain she’d seen in his eyes
stopped her. Her instincts told her there was more to this man than simple prejudice.

“And the reason you wouldn’t consult me is . . .” Perhaps she was inviting trouble, but Elizabeth wanted to be certain she understood the cause of his disdain. Perhaps he was disturbed by something else and she was nothing more than a convenient target for his frustration.

Her hopes were dashed when he studied her, his eyes moving slowly from the top of her head to her toes in what seemed an insolent appraisal. “I’m certain you know the reason.” Once again, his voice held a sarcastic note. “It’s the same reason you’ll find it difficult to attract other patients. Dr. Worland may be getting on in years, but he’s . . .”