Lorraine Heath (36 page)

It suddenly occurred to her that she had no idea what was going on, what exactly had brought the sheriff out to the house. “I’m not—”

“You got blood on your shirt,” Sheriff Larkin pointed out.

Austin glanced down and touched his fingers to the slender trail of blood that ran along the side of his shirt. He looked up and met the sheriff’s gaze. “Must have scratched myself.”

“You got somebody that can vouch for your whereabouts last night?” Sheriff Larkin asked.

Austin took a step back, his gaze darting between Cordelia and Sheriff Larkin. “What in the hell is going on?”

Sheriff Larkin blew out a big gust of air. “Mrs. Leigh, I didn’t want to break the news to you like this, but Boyd was murdered last night. We found him out on the prairie. Gut shot.”

Cordelia staggered back and wrapped her arms around the beam. She’d been angry at him, quite possibly had come to hate him, but she hadn’t wanted that for him. No one deserved that slow agonizing death. “Who do you—” Her heart slammed against her ribs as Sheriff Larkin turned his full attention on Austin.

“Now, then, boy, you got someone who can swear you were with them last night?”

Austin looked at Cordelia, a silent appeal for forgiveness in his eyes, before he quietly spoke. “No.”

“That’s too bad,” Sheriff Larkin said as he stepped off the porch, jangling the manacles. “Because Boyd wrote your name in the dirt before he died.”

While Dallas’s fever raged, Cordelia constantly rained cool water over his body and worried about Austin.

A circuit judge had arrived that morning, and he saw no point in putting off the inevitable until Dallas had recovered. “Dee?”

She moved up at the sound of Dallas’s raspy voice and laid her hand over his where it was tied to the bedpost. They had been forced to bind him, spread-eagle, to stop his thrashing at the height of his delirium.

She brushed her lips over his fevered brow, his eyes glazed with pain. “You have … to get away,” he rasped. “No, we’re safe now. We’re home.” “Home?”

She laid her cheek against his bristly one. “Yes, we’re home.” “Bury me beside our son.”

The rage exploded through her. “You are not going to die!” She clamped her hand beneath his chin, digging her fingers into his jaw. “Do you hear me? You are going to have a son, but only if you live. Do you hear me? You’re going to get what you want.”

He looked at her through a pained gaze. “Not … what …
I
want.”

His eyes closed, and she felt his tensed body relax. She wondered if the fever was damaging his brain. A son was what he wanted. All he’d ever wanted. Why was he denying that now?

Near dusk, she heard footsteps along the hallway just before Houston walked into the room. His face told her the verdict long before he was able to speak the words.

“They found him guilty.”

Her heart plummeted. “How could they find him guilty?
I
should have gone to the trial.
I
should have testified—”

Houston wrapped his hands around the bedpost and leaned his forehead against the scrolled wood. “It wouldn’t have made any difference. Not after it came out that he had threatened to kill both Boyd and Duncan. Damn it all, he even went so far as to shoot a bullet into the saloon wall right above Boyd’s head and announce that he wanted to rid the ground of Boyd’s shadow.”

Cordelia slammed her eyes closed.

“I wanted to shake him when I heard that testimony,” Houston added.

“This is going to kill Dallas when he’s well enough to understand what happened.”

“Yep. The sheriff is escorting Austin to the prison in Huntsville tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

Houston nodded. “Think the sheriff is afraid that if he waits until Dallas is well, Dallas will interfere.” Houston laughed derisively. “He’s right.”

“I need to talk to Austin.”

“I’ll watch Dallas. Amelia’s cooking supper. Thought we’d stay here tonight, do what we can to help you because we sure as hell can’t help Austin.”

The jail was built of brick, but it didn’t look as grand or as lovely as her hotel. It looked cold, hard, and depressing.

The sheriff’s office was small. He sat at his desk, his legs crossed over papers scattered on top. A door at the back stood ajar.

“Reckon you’re here to see Austin,” he said as he brought himself to his feet.

She nodded, her voice knotting in her throat. She had to be brave, she had to be strong.

He pointed. “You’ll find him through that door.”

Cautiously, she walked through the door, not certain what to expect. Bars stretching from the floor to the ceiling ran along both sides of the corridor. Other bars divided each side into two. Four jail cells altogether.

Austin was in the last one, leaning against the brick wall, his hands cupping Becky Oliver’s face while her fingers clutched his shirt through the bars.

He turned his head slightly and gave Cordelia a halfhearted smile. “Hey, Dee.”

The truth of his situation hit her hard. “I’ll come back.”

“That’s all right. Becky was just leaving.”

Tears streaming along her cheeks, Becky tilted her head back to look at Austin. “Let me tell them, Austin.”

“Shh.” He touched his thumbs to her lips. “You just wait for me, sweet thing. Like we talked about.”

With a sob, she released her hold on him and skirted past Cordelia. Austin turned his face toward the wall. Cordelia could see his throat muscles straining, working. She gave him time to compose himself before she quietly approached.

“I didn’t kill him, Dee,” Austin said as he met her gaze.

Reaching out, she trailed her fingers over his bristly cheek. “I know that, Austin. That’s the one thing I’ve never doubted in this whole mess.”

He looked as though she had just lifted a weight from his shoulders. “How’s Dallas?”

“His fever hasn’t broken, but I just left Dr. Freeman. He’s going to see what more he can do.”

They looked at each other—with so much to be said—but here, with the words traveling between iron bars, too much remained unsaid. Taking a deep breath, Cordelia finally ventured, “You’re protecting someone, aren’t you?”

Austin dropped his gaze to his boots, the toes sticking through the bars as though searching for freedom. “Cameron?” “No.”

“If it’s the person who killed Boyd—” “It’s not.”

“But you were with someone that night, weren’t you?”

He continued to stare at the floor, and the truth dawned on her so clearly that she wondered why no one else had thought of it. “Becky,” she whispered hoarsely. “You were with Becky.”

He lifted his gaze.

She wrapped her hands around the cold bars. “That’s what she meant when she said, ‘Let me tell them.’ Austin, she can vouch for you—”

He shook his head sadly. “It’s just five years, Dee. It’s not worth ruining her reputation. It’s not worth bringing her shame. We want to live here. Raise our children here. I won’t have people whispering behind her back.”

“But you’ve been accused of murder. You don’t think people will whisper about that?”

“When I get out, I’ll figure out who did it, and I’ll handle it.”

“But, Austin … five years.”

“Houston married Amelia five years ago, and it seems like yesterday. It’s not that long.”

“It’s an eternity when you have no freedom.”

He wrapped his hand around hers. “You tell Dallas to stay clear of this.”

Reaching through the bars, she hugged him as fiercely as she could. “You take care of yourself.”

“Take care of my violin and my horse. I’ll need them both when I come home.”

Cordelia wept with relief when Dallas’s fever finally broke near dawn. The pain hadn’t gone away with the fever, but they were able to untie him. He was incredibly weak, too weak to sit, but he managed to slurp broth from a spoon that she held to his lips … over and over … off and on throughout the day whenever he wasn’t sleeping.

While he ate, she prattled, explaining things that had happened since they’d returned to the ranch, carefully avoiding any mention of Austin. She told him about moving the fence back beyond the river, the death of Rawley’s father, her plans to add a theater to Leighton.

Talk of the theater made him smile.

Houston and his family remained at the house and took turns seeing to Dallas’s needs. To say he was a difficult patient was an understatement.

The third morning after his fever broke, Cordelia walked in the room to find Dallas sitting on the edge of the bed taking short gasps of air, his hands knotted around the mattress, sweat beading his body.

“You shouldn’t be up,” she scolded as she hurried into the room and set his breakfast tray on the foot of the bed.

“Where’s Austin?”

The moment she’d dreaded had finally arrived. All the words she’d practiced saying suddenly seemed trite, insignificant. She knelt in front of him and placed her hands over his. She could see the pain etched in his features, the strain in his muscles. How she hated to add to his pain.

“He’s in the prison in Huntsville.”

He blanched as though she’d struck the whip against his back again. She tightened her hold on his hands.

“Boyd was murdered. Apparently, before he died, he scrawled Austin’s name in the dirt. They sentenced Austin to five years in prison because he had threatened to kill Boyd. And Austin wouldn’t say who he was with the night Boyd died.”

“Who was he with?” Dallas said through clenched teeth.

Cordelia pressed her forehead to his knee. “He doesn’t want anyone to know.” She looked up, her eyes pleading. “Give me your word that if I tell you, you won’t betray his trust.”

He averted his gaze, and she watched him swallow. “Give you my word,” he said with resignation.

“Becky Oliver.”

“Get my horse saddled.”

Cordelia fell to her backside as Dallas stood. “You gave me your word.”

“I’m not gonna break my word, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let him give up five years of his life for a woman.”

He took a step, faltered, reached for the bedside table for support, and sent the table and himself crashing to the floor.

He cried out in pain, rolling to his stomach. Cordelia yelled for Houston. He stormed into the room and dropped to his knees beside Dallas, slipping his hands beneath Dallas’s arms, trying to help him get to his feet.

“What happened?” Houston asked.

“I told him about Austin,” Cordelia said.

Dallas glared at his brother. “Why in the hell didn’t you do something?”

“I did all I could do. The evidence was stacked against him, and he wouldn’t open his goddamn mouth. The one time he should have opened it, and he kept it closed.”

Struggling, Houston finally got Dallas to his feet. Dallas shoved away from him, staggered, and regained his balance.

“Austin told me to tell you to stay out of this. It’s his problem and he’ll take care of it,” Cordelia said.

“He has a hell of a way of taking care of it. Prison, for God’s sake.”

Dallas walked stiffly across the room, jerked the drapes down, shoved open the door, and stepped onto the balcony. He took a breath of fresh air, fighting off the pain and nausea. He thought his back had been in agony, but the hurt didn’t compare to the anguish ripping through his heart.

“There really was nothing we could do,” Houston said quietly from behind him. “The judge was lenient with his sentence because of the antagonism that existed between the two families.”

Dallas flung his arm in a wide circle. “Look out there. I own it. Every goddamn acre, but it didn’t stop my son from dying. It didn’t stop someone from abducting my wife. It didn’t stop Austin from going to prison for a murder he didn’t commit. What the hell good is it?” He bowed his head. “I want to see him, Houston.”

“I know you do, but he’d rather you didn’t. I know we raised him, and it’s hard to see him as anything but our baby brother, but he’s a man now. He knew what it would cost him if he held his silence, and he was willing to pay the price. All we can do now is give him a place to come home to.”

“What in the hell did he think he was doing?”

“Reckon he thought he was following in our footsteps, doing whatever it took to protect the woman he loves.”

Cordelia waited until Dallas’s strength returned, until his wounds had healed enough that he could wear a shirt and effectively manage the affairs of his ranch.

Taking a deep breath of fortitude, Cordelia rapped her knuckles on the door to Dallas’s office. Her courage faltered when his voice rang out, bidding her to enter.

She would never again step into this room, never again hear his voice booming on the other side. Even as she opened the door, he smiled as he came to his feet. Always the gentleman. Always the man she would love.

She crossed the room as quickly as she could, clutching her hands together. Dallas tapped his pencil on her meticulous notes.

“You took care of a lot of loose ends while I was … recovering.”

“I tried to manage things as I thought you might. Your men were most helpful.” She took a step closer. “Dallas, I’ve given our situation a great deal of thought—”

“Our situation?”

Her mouth went dry, and she wished she had brought a glass of water into the room with her. “Yes, our situation. Our marriage was one of convenience. The reasons holding it together no longer exist. My family does not deserve, nor will they gain the right to hold your land as their own. And I can’t give you a son.”

He tossed his pencil onto his ledgers. “Dee—”

“I think we should petition for a divorce,” she stated quickly, flatly, before her resolve melted away like a solitary snowflake.

“A divorce? Is that what you want?”

She forced herself to keep her gaze focused on the disbelief mirrored in his eyes, knowing it was the only way he would believe her. “I think it would be best for both of us.”

He walked to the window and gazed out over his land. “Do you know what life is like for a grass widow?” he asked, his voice low. Turning, he met her gaze. “No matter what reasons we give, people will question your morals, not mine. They’ll blame the failure of our marriage on you, not me. Your prospects for building another business, for finding another husband, will dwindle—”