Authors: Jade Laredo
Sundown (17 page)
The moment he stared in her direction, she turned her violet eyes upon him. Had she sensed his scrutiny? Taken aback, he sucked in a heart stopping breath.
Tempted beyond reason, he had only wanted to see for himself, but regrettably so. Now he felt cornered by the exquisite creature’s sweltering gaze. Realizing he had made a grave mistake, he pushed away from the counter, marched out the flapping doors, and rushed toward his only sanctuary.
Rosanna
picked up her pace. Through the darkness, she maneuvered stealthily within shadows and around dark corners, careful to conceal her movement. The last thing she wanted was the despicable agent following her all the way to the whitewashed doors of Sundown’s house of worship. Tilting her chin, she squint her eyes at the spiraling white steeple, which glowed beneath pale moonlight.
She knew he was there. He had nowhere else to go. Of all places in Sundown, this was the very last establishment she would think of entering. She had heard of girls plying their trade on Saturday night and then posing on pews Sunday morning. For some reason the hypocrisy did not sit well with her at all. She told herself the only reason she was there was to warn him.
She figured she owed him the least. Tiptoeing up the steps, she paused to check the church doors. As she had surmised, he had locked the doors. The only other option was to check the Parson’s quarters, which was a small cabin just behind the church building. Circling the building, she lost all moonlight and fell into nothing but pitch black darkness. The only thing she could see was a warm glow, which emanated from the nearby cabin. She paused, garnering her courage and then took a deep breath to continue.
“What do you want”?” His familiar voice sounded resigned, somewhat gentle yet decidedly firm in question.
Rosanna
sucked in her breath. The sudden electric current she felt ran down the back of her neck and followed to the bottom of her booted feet. She could see the whites of his eyes, and then his teeth when he finally smiled.
“I came to warn you.”
“Warn me.” He sounded entirely surprised as he simulated her words, and then his voice suddenly took on a hard edge. “Warn me about what?”
“I think I’m being followed.”
“Come with me then.” He whispered. She felt his warm hand take hold of her arm, and she blindly followed as he pulled her along toward the cabin. The overwhelming sensation of his touch tugged at her heart, reminding her of another time long since gone.
Within seconds, she was standing inside the cabin directly in front of him, and staring at him strangely breathless and
uncertain. She noticed he lacked the rugged wildness from the past. Instead, his handsome face was clean-shaven and his auburn hair, clipped short, barely touched around the rim of his ears, not at all the long unruly mane she had longingly remembered.
“
Rosanna
.”
She heard her name, it sounded like a soft echo, his peaceable tone and the tenderness in which he spoke suddenly made her feel shameless.
She had no right being there.
He was a man of God, and she a woman of the evening, living on nothing but seedy avariciousness and a whole lot of damnable misfortune. Swallowing hard, she managed to blurt it out.
“If I don’t turn you in then I’ll never see Julia again.”
Rosanna
held her breath as she watched his jaw
clasp, his eyes narrowed as he tilted his chin, and then shook his head. Not wanting to face him a moment longer, she turned her back and dropped her chin, trying not to cry.
“
Rosanna
.” His voice sounded strained, almost hoarse as if he could not believe what he was hearing. “Who is Julia?”
“My child.”
“Your child?” He sounded stunned, almost
injured. Not wanting to hide the secret anymore, she whirled back around and faced him.
“Our child.”
His dark eyes exposed the agonized tedium of disbelief. Stepping forward, he lifted his hand as if to strike her, but instead, he made a fist and shook it at her.
“How dare you keep me from the knowledge of my own flesh and blood?” His words were no longer gentle but cold and disturbingly unsympathetic. Backing away she cringed, falling to her knees, she cried.
“You were an outlaw, a criminal in hiding, taking up the cloth just to conceal your identity. What did you expect?”
“Yes, an outlaw.” He clipped. For a moment, he stood silent as if weighing her words. Taking a deep breath, he reached for her elbow, and then pulled her into his arms. “Never doubt my faith or my feelings for you.”
Rosanna
buried her face in the crook of his Jude’s arm and sobbed. Shame, hot and fierce poured out of her soul. She had thought him a liar, a charlatan of the church just to save his own hide when in fact he truly did walk with God. She could tell in his placid demeanor, even in his eyes and how they shown a different light. Once cruel and
at times sadistic, he now stood before her compassionate and forgiving.
“Tell me everything.”
Slowly, the riders approached, bearing a steady canter. The leader draped in a floor-length slicker camouflaged himself in black from head to toe. Tall and seemingly precarious, he dismounted with careful precision, surveying his surroundings before motioning his party to dismount as well.
Somewhere in the back of her mind she told herself she had seen this once before, but at the moment she could not recall as to how or even why. She hovered there shivering in a sheer night rail like a sallow ghost, watching t
he vigilant men circle a stagecoach
. She watched as they stepped forward in unison, the clang of silver spurs catching against the
hard-packed earth
echoed beneath heavy footsteps.
Like a flash of lightening, her mind instantly knew what
waited for them
in the stagecoach
. Though she felt weak, as if her essen
ce withered away, the fear gripped her heart giving
her a newfound strength. Bursting forward, she screamed at the top of her lungs, warning them to turn away.
To her dismay, she found
they did not listen. Alarmed the
end was near she knew she
had one more chance before it was too late.
“No!” She cried. To her astonished surprise, her own voice sounded like a banshee’s wail rushing wild upon the wind. “For God Sake, please go back!”
He stopped then, and slowly turned. From behind his makeshift swathe, she sought his sea-spent eyes. They
drew narrow, searching for the
source of wisdom, which beckoned to his core. She watched his indulgent gaze harden w
hen he realized what
he had heard was only a teasing wind. Though his mouth did not move, she heard his thoughts loud and clear.
This is the last time, I promise you.
She saw him then, another man dressed in black, his face she could see was all too familiar. The smile, which
perched upon his lips, was
of sheer pleasure, like a cunning fox outwitting his prey.
Slowly, the mena
cing man reached for his gun.
It only took one-shot. With his back turned, the silver bullet knocked the outlaw to the ground. In return, the other two riders whipped out their guns and shot their gang leader’s assailant. Two men lie on the dust-ridden street, one instantly dead, while the other quietly still as his life bled away.
“No!” She cried
. Hovering above his motionless frame, he lied there like a crumpled scarecrow. The bandanna, which covered his fa
ce, slowly revealed
the rugged outline of his face. He was beautiful just as she had imagined.
Arabella awoke in a panic.
With mouth ajar, she released a feverish breath before jerking her night rail to one side and settling her bare feet upon the grainy rise of the wooden floor. She felt a dribble of perspiration trickle down her forehead until it met with the tip of her tongue. Closing her eyes, she savored the salty moistness while her mind replayed the nightmare in which she just visited yet again.
This time she had seen his face. Clear as the vibrant moon peeking through her bedroom window, she knew without a doubt the identity of her outlaw lover. The realization of his ruse hit her full force like a steaming locomotive about to topple a brick wall. Feeling her hands begin to tremble she clasped her fingers and leaned forward, trying to stave off a round of threatening tears. She had trusted him, and in return, he had made a mockery of her by blindfolding and taking advantage of her and then knowingly from a distance relishing in his triumph over his use of the Sheriff’s daughter.
Arabella stared at the golden glow emanating from her bedroom door, which stood askance. Soft candlelight flickered against a shadowy hallway, reminding her of her father’s vigil over Jenny’s bedside. Did Jenny know? She had so many questions. She realized with dread those qu
estions would just have to wait.
Jenny slowly opened her eye
s. The entire room seemed to swirl in and out of consciousness until she finally managed to fixate on his face. Sheriff Gentry sat in a chair next to the fireplace with his head slightly bent, while cradling a tiny bundle. By sheer instinct, he lifted his head, and stared at her for a long moment, the quiet stretched between them was a deafening gulf. Finally, he broke the silence by clearing his voice.
“You have a son.”
Jenny managed a weary smile as she watched the sheriff rise to his feet. He carried the babe toward her bedside, and then carefully laid the infant in the crook of her arm. She peered at the tiny cherub face and then whispered hoarsely with wonder.
“He is beautiful.”
“Like his mother.”
Jenny caught the sheriff’s sincere gaze. His handsome face seemed unusually soft, not at all the wary creature she was used to seeing. As if suspecting her observation, he dipped his head, and then took a step back.
“The stitches will take some time to heal.” He murmured. “I’m sorry it had to come to this.”
Jenny shook her head. “I’m beholden to you.”
“I suppose you want some privacy now.” He returned. Nodding his head, he turned on his heel toward the door.
“Sheriff?”
He stopped at the door, turned his head and tossed his green eyes upon her. He looked almost impatient as he waited for her to speak. She wanted to tell him everything, beg for his mercy, but the words would not escape her lips. Instead, she returned a grateful smile.
“Thank you.”
Wyeth found Lena downstairs in the kitchen, boiling a pot of water. He took his usual seat at the head of the table and then bowed his head. Weary and bleary-eyed, he fought back an urge to yawn.
“I heard the two of you.” Lena murmured. “Figured I’d get a head start on the coffee before the sun rises. How’s she doing?”
“They’re fine.” He replied his voice held a degree of warmth and concern. “And the boy?”
“Still asleep in my room.” She shook her head. “The poor mite was worried to death about his momma.”
“I reckon so.” Wyeth nodded, scratching a day’s worth of stubble his attention blind-sided by a knock at the front door.
Lena patted him on the back while placing a tin of coffee in front of him. “I’ll get it.”
A few moments later, the Parson Hanly meandered into the kitchen with an arresting creature in tow. He soon recognized the beautiful dark-haired woman as one of Belle’s newest girls he had seen pandering outside the bordello. Keeping this bit of information to himself, he focused on the Parson who seemed unusually preoccupied.
“Parson, it’s a bit early in the morning for house calls, don’t you think?”
“There’s something I would like to discuss with you.”
“Have a seat.” Wyeth returned his voice irascibly impatient. For some reason he suddenly got a peculiar feeling as if he were stuck in some sort of card game with deuces wild. Shaking off the foreboding feeling he shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of coffee. “What can I do for you?”
“I have no choice but to tell you.”
“Come again?”
“What the Parson means is he has no choice but to tell you
the truth
.”
Wyeth leaned back and narrowed his eyes at the dark-haired young woman who suddenly spoke in Parson Hanly’s behalf. Flicking his green-eyed gaze over her, he ignored her insistent tone and looked back at the Parson.
“Let me guess.” Wyeth smiled. Arching a caustic brow, he rolled his eyes and continued. “Bray Hanly is none other than the one and only Luke Shelton?”
“You knew?” Jude lifted his eyes and stared incredulously at the Sheriff.
“I’ve suspected for quite some time.” Wyeth replied calmly. “But what sealed the deal for me was when Miss Jenny called out for Cole Shelton in her delirium.”
The good Parson Hanly, otherwise known as Jude Shelton stared back at him, his expression stolid. The fire, which crackled in the potbelly stove, seemed to spit even louder over the silence, which stretched in those few awkward seconds. Finally, the Sheriff nodded his head and relaxed.
“Why don’t the two of you pull up a chair and let’s start from the very beginning?”
An hour later, Wyeth Gentry sat in his kitchen chair with an expression on his face nothing less than rock-strewn as he stared back at Jude Shelton. If being rendered speechless was something he was accustomed to then surely his utter silence would not have signaled ever so
loudly.
“Sheriff Gentry.”
Rosanna
whispered. “You aren’t thinking of arresting those boys after what you’ve just heard?”
Wyeth looked down at his coffee tin and shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Miss Putnam. No matter what the reasoning behind the hold ups, it still does not make the situation justified. Crimes have been committed, and sooner or later those boys have to answer to the law.”
“You can’t be serious!”
Rosanna
interjected.
“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”
“He’s right.” Jude spoke up in the sheriff’s defense. Removing his Parson coat, he looked over at
Rosanna
and handed the dutiful garment to her. “Including myself.”
“What’s going on here?” She demanded.
“I’m turning myself in.”
Wyeth stood to his feet.
“I’ll spare you the indignity of shackles.” The lawman returned his voice strained. “I want both of you to come along with me to the jailhouse. I have more questions, and I’ll need a witness to your confession.”
Arabella leaned forward in the shadows. Neither her father nor the Parson had seen her sitting on a settee in the parlor. She listened carefully to the astonishing revelation. Closing her eyes, she bit back a sob, which threatened to escape her lips. Shocked tremendously, she shook her head and closed her eyes. Thinking back to the day when Luke had held up her stage, and handed back her locket. The expression in his eyes had been nothing less than haunting. It was as if he had understood her pain, and now sadly she realized he actually did. She quickly conjured an image of a young woman lying on the ground and then of Luke, weeping for his lost love, lying sallied on the ground covered in her life’s blood. The enemy had slain his fiancée.
Arabella now understood his motivation.
Luke did not hold up stagecoaches because he wanted money. Instead, she reasoned he was still fighting the war, trying to hold on to something, which no longer existed just as he still held on to his fiancée. Swallowing hard, she opened her eyes and blinked. The abrupt realization struck her full force.
Just as he still held on to her
.
Was it possible Luke suffered the same anguish as she? Though not nearly as tragic, she had struggled for many years over the loss of Edwin Aberdeen. Killed in the line of battle, the young rebel soldier had died fighting the enemy, not at all a victim of murderous intent.
Arabella shook her head.
It was no wonder Luke lashed out in the way he did. Arabella rationalized he felt cheated and violated in so many ways, and his errant behavior was a reason for his continuous bitter resolve.
He would not stop until he exacted his revenge.
She realized with deafening clarity she had no choice but to help save the outlaw from the demons, which haunted him, but more importantly, she had to figure out a way to save him from no one more than himself.