Give My Love to Rose (38 page)

At least Marston had a window to enjoy the
sunrises and sunsets… he snorted with annoyance and glanced through
the iron bars to the view outside.

The gallows and a graveyard. The Marshall
had obviously been trying to prove a point when he’d placed Marston
in this cell. Bastard. Or better yet; scum-sucking, whore
mongering, cock-less wonder. Marston smiled as he sat down on the
tattered cot that served as his bed. He’d just come up with his
next greeting for the good Marshall.

Marston gingerly laid down, cursing the pain
but forcing it aside.

His eyes drifted closed but immediately flew
back open when he saw that soft, pale skin, loving blue eyes and
tumbling red curls.

“
Damnation!” Marston
roared before sending his hand crashing into the brick wall. He
relished the pain as his knuckles cracked against unforgiving
stone. Marston sat up, hissing in pain when the sheet tore away
from the sticky wounds on his back.

He forgot the pain when he heard the door to
the cell hall open. As the light poured in from the main office,
Marston hoped Marshall Montgomery was coming for another visit so
he could share his newest insult with the lawman. Instead, it was
one of the deputies; a tall scrawny nineteen-year-old boy named
Pete. A tray of food was balanced on Pete’s arm—at least Marston
figured it was supposed to be food. Marston knew from experience
that the chunky stew smelled like sweat and tasted about the
same.

“
It’s chow time, Marston,”
Pete said as he approached Marston’s cell. “You better eat up
because the Marshall says this is your last meal.”

Marston chuckled. There were miracles still
left to be found in the world. Pete slid the tray through the small
rectangular opening in the bars and Marston took it in his dirty
hands. He smelled the stew—yep sweat. He sat the tray down on his
crooked table and picked up the biscuit, tapping it against the
table several times with a thud.

He let out a sigh. “And such gourmet food it
is too.”

Pete let out a snort of laughter before
composing himself and putting his serious face back on. Marston
liked Pete okay. He was a decent man for a lawman. Marston wondered
if Pete knew the truth about the Marshall he worked under—Marston
suspected he didn’t.

“
Enjoy it, Marston,” Pete
noted. “Because the gallows are all you have to look forward to
tomorrow.”

Marston nodded as he stepped back to the
bars and put his arms through the opening for his tray, resting his
forearms against the metal support beam. He winked at the young
deputy. “How about you find me some whiskey, Pete? My back is
hurting something fierce and I’d like to get me a few hours sleep
before I got swinging.”

Pete glanced toward the main office with a
frown. “I’m not supposed to….”

“
I won’t tell Sir Licks
Ass if you won’t,” Marston assured him.

Pete’s brown eyes lit with amusement, but he
didn’t manage to purse his lips in disapproval. “You shouldn’t call
him names. It makes him mad and that’s why you’re in the shape
you’re in.”

Marston reached up and wiped a bit of sweat
from his brow with a shaking hand. Damn but fevers and infection
were hard to tough out. “Why do I care if he’s mad?” Marston asked.
“He’s nothing but a little coward anyhow.”

“
Coward?” Pete shook his
head. “He took you down didn’t he?”

Marston grinned. “No. I came willingly.”

“
Why would you do that?”
Pete asked, leaning his hip against the bars of Marston’s cell.
“I’ve wondered that since they got back with you. Why does a man
who has lived the way you have for almost two decades just up and
give himself into the law when they show up?”

“
It’s pretty simple,
Pete,” Marston replied, scratching at his jaw. “My family was
threatened and I figured the best way to keep them safe was to go
with your friends willingly.”

Pete sighed and shook his head. “They’re not
my friends. And I’m sure the Marshall was bluffing. He wouldn’t
have harmed your family.”

Marston’s weak legs ached beneath him. “Keep
telling yourself that, Pete. Your boss is as crooked as they come.
He makes me look like a puppy dog.”

Pete winced. “You better eat your supper,
Marston. That stuff tastes bad enough warm, I’m sure it just gets
worse when it’s cold.”

Marston nodded and without warning he
reached out his hands lightning fast and snatched Pete’s keys from
his belt and his gun from his holster.

Pete jumped back, his face pale as Marston
retreated one step back in his cell. He clicked his tongue and
smiled. “You gotta be more careful, Pete.”

“
I’ll just yell for help…”
Pete countered, sweat glistening on his upper lip.

“
Won’t do much good when
you and I are the only ones here, kid. Everyone else is home and
warm in their beds.”

Marston found the sight of Pete’s knees
practically knocking together very amusing. Pete swallowed hard.
“Are you going to kill me?”

Marston laughed. “Of course not. It’s not
like I’m a murderer or anything…” Marston winked. “Oh wait, yes I
am.”

Pete nearly fell backward and Marston
laughed harder. “Don’t worry, kid, I’m not gonna kill you. You’re
the only decent fella around here and I’m just teaching you a
valuable lesson.”

Pete didn’t look convinced. “What lesson
would that be?”

Marston used the barrel of his revolver to
scratch at a scab on his bare stomach. “That things aren’t always
what they seem. You got too comfortable against my bars not knowing
that I could have killed you a hundred different ways. You thought
I was too weak to be a threat and you thought wrong. Don’t ever let
your guard down, kid.”

“
What are you going to
do?” Pete asked. “Tie me up and make your escape?”

Marston shook his head. “Naw, I ain’t
runnin’.”

Marston went back to the bars and held the
keys and gun out to Pete. Pete stared hard at him for several long
moments and then threw up his hands. “Why the hell not?!” he
demanded. “You do realize that you’ll die tomorrow, right?”

Marston snorted and let his gaze go out the
darkening window. “Hard to forget that when you have a view like
mine.”

Pete took the gun and keys and let out a
pained sigh. “Then why didn’t you use those to get away? Anyone
else would have.”

Marston wondered a moment if Pete hadn’t
leaned close to his bars on purpose… perhaps the boy’s fear had
been an act and he’d been trying to give Marston a way out. Marston
didn’t reckon it mattered. “Because your boss made it clear to me
that my family will die if I make an attempt to escape and unlike
you, I believe he means it. I love those people more than I love
myself so I guess that means I’m swinging tomorrow. Who knows,
maybe it’ll be a bright, sunny day with clear blue skies and a
light breeze blowing.’ Marston let out a sigh and stared out the
window. “That wouldn’t be so bad I guess.”

Silence reigned a moment and then Pete
grabbed the bars. “For what it’s worth, Marston, I don’t think I’d
hang you if I made the rules. I don’t think you’re a bad man.”

Marston’s lips curved in the ghost of a
smile as he looked back at Pete. “Then you’re a fool.”

Pete’s eyes were full of sadness as he
tapped the bars with his knuckles. “I’ll be back in a minute with
that whiskey.”

“
I’d sure appreciate it,’
Marston replied, though his gaze was downward as he studied his
swollen, bleeding knuckles. He heard Pete’s bootsteps fade as the
heavy door to the main office opened and closed.

“
I love you, Rose,” he
whispered. “I’m doing this for you.”

Marston closed his eyes and pressed a kiss
to the back of his hand, imaging Rose’s soft skin and her loving
blue eyes—the thought gave him the smallest sense of peace.

***

Duke leaned against the stone wall of the
jail and fought back a wave of sorrow. Every hope he’d had for
aiding Marston escape had just been taken away.

He’d heard what Marston had said to the
young deputy. It was just as Duke had figured. If Marston escaped
then Marshall Montgomery and every other crooked lawman he could
find would be after Rose and the children….

Duke tore himself away from the wall and
rubbed at his burning eyes. All he could do was be there tomorrow
when his friend breathed his last breaths and he could see that
Rose and those children never wanted for anything. That was all
there was to do.

Duke went to the saloon at the other end of
town and pulled himself up to the bar. He ordered two shots of
whiskey, one for himself and one for Marston, and then he downed
them both.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Marston stood at the cell window and stared
out at the quiet early morning. Mist swirled low in the air and
heavy dew clung to nearly everything in the sight. The gallows
could barely be seen through the fog, but Marston knew they were
there—waiting for him.

Soon the crowds would begin to gather. They
always gathered when there was a hanging. Whole families would come
to eat, mingle and watch a man’s neck break. For one terrible
moment, Marston imagined Rose, Langley and Kaitlyn turning up to
watch him die but he quickly shoved that thought aside.

Rose wouldn’t come to this—she wouldn’t do
that to Langley and Kaitlyn. Rose… All he thought of was that
woman. Those thoughts filled him with pain and yet they were also
the only thing that gave him any strength of peace. He’d give just
about anything to run his hands through that soft red hair, trace
those full freckled cheeks with his fingertips and feel her full
warm body pressed against his just one more time.

He would love to hear the oppressive silence
filled with the ramblings of that over-talkative ten-year-old he
considered his own. Or scold Kaitlyn for raising her hand before
speaking….

And he couldn’t help but wonder what the
child growing inside Rose would look like. The knowledge that he
would never know that piece of himself and Rose was too much for
Marston to bear and it had him growling and kicking the rickety
table in the corner, shattering the crooked slabs of wood and
sending splinters across the cell.

Pain constricted his heart, as Marston laid
his fevered brow against the cool metal bars. He was shaking and
weak, but he’d be damned before he lay down in that bed and let the
Marshall find him looking weak and broken. Marston may have handed
himself over to the law willingly, but he’d never let them break
him. That would go against everything he’d ever lived for.

Marston heard the heavy door to the main
office open and he recognized Pete’s boot steps as the young deputy
came down the hall. Marston’s movements were stiff and every step
filled him with pain as he went to the cell door.

“
Good morning, Pete,”
Marston greeted, wearing the fake flashing smile he’d perfected
over the years.

Pete’s features and posture were drenched in
sadness and Marston wondered if Pete truly understood the kind of
man he was so sad over. “It’s not such a good day, Marston. You’re
going to be hanging at one.”

Marston gripped his bars and stretched out
his aching arms. “What time is it now?”

Pete’s gaze went to Marston’s oozing
knuckles and Marston chuckled. “The wall said some things I didn’t
like. Now what time is it?” he repeated.

“
It’s a little after
nine,” Pete replied. He tipped his head toward the broken table.
“Did the table run its mouth too?”

“
Tables tend to do that,”
Marston noted with a nod. He flexed his hands on the bars, causing
the muscles in his biceps to bulge. “So what brings you by this
morning?”

“
I need to get that
whiskey bottle back,” Pete stated. “I’d get in an awful lot of
trouble if the Marshall found it in here.”

Marston clicked his tongue. “Well we
wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

Marston turned his back and headed toward
the half-empty bottle of whiskey beside his cot. Pete took a sharp
intake of breath and gagged. “Marston, you need to see a doc!”

Marston laughed out loud as he carried the
bottle back to the bars. “Why’s that? So he can pretty my back up a
bit before they kill me?”

“
I guess you have a
point,” Pete admitted, scratching at the blond hair sticking out
beneath his hat. “Still your back is in bad shape.”

“
There’s something we can
agree on, kid,” Marston nodded, taking one last long swallow of
whiskey before sticking the bottle through the bars to
Pete.

“
Is there anything else I
can get for you?” Pete asked.

Marston thought for a moment. “Can I get
paper and a pencil?”

“
Sure.”

Pete turned away, but Marston reached out
and caught him by the arm. When Pete glanced at him questioningly,
Marston released his hold. “And give me your word that once I’m
dead and buried you’ll see that the letter I give you gets to where
I want it go without the Marshall knowing?”

“
Yeah, I’ll do you that
favor, Marston. You could have killed me and you didn’t and not too
proud to admit it. I’ll see that your wife gets the letter and I
won’t let the Marshall know.”

“
How do you know it’s for
my wife?” Marston grumbled.

Pete shrugged. “I don’t reckon you have a
whole bunch of friends you’d bother writing last words to, do
you?”

Marston just shook his head and five minutes
later he was alone in his cell staring at a blank piece of paper.
The words he had wanted to write seemed so simple to think last
night and yet this morning with the whiskey wearing off and the
pencil in his hand, Marston found it harder.