The Lawman's Betrayal (3 page)

After the mare had quenched her thirst, she hobbled the animal in a patch of green grass. While she hated restricting the mare’s movements, she’d be in big trouble if the horse strayed. She’d never get out of this alive.

The sun had started its downward trek. Night fell quickly on the prairie, so she scurried to gather wood for a fire. Once she had made a circle of stones, she lit the dried branches. Thank God the clerk at the mercantile had known what she needed. If he hadn’t included matches, she would’ve been faced with a long cold night. She found the coffee pot and marched back to the stream. After filling it, she returned to the fire, added coffee, and set the pot over the hot coals. Soon, a delicious aroma wafted over her camp. She put bacon to fry, then opened a can of beans and dumped the contents in a small pot.

Ten minutes later, she sat and leaned back against the saddle to eat her dinner. It wasn’t much of a meal, but she was eating it as a free woman. She smacked her lips. Beans had never tasted so good.

Her thoughts turned to her pardon. It’d happened out of the clear blue sky. Who’d spoken on her behalf?

And why?

A quick glance at the setting sun told her she had about twenty minutes of daylight left—just enough time for a bath. She grabbed the bag that held her few belongings and rifled through the contents. When she found a white shirt and black riding skirt, a smile teased her lips. It seemed like an eternity ago when she’d packed for the trip to the prison. She could hardly remember what she’d included. Further inspection revealed boots, undergarments, a hair brush, soap and other toiletries. Thank God—she could get out of this prison dress and feel human again.

She scooped up the clothing and headed down to the water. She slid the ugly dress over her head, tossed it to the ground, and stomped on it, laughing as she did so. The undergarments followed. She’d burn them tomorrow.

As Naomi waded into the chilly water, shivers of delight washed over her. This bath was symbolic—washing away the pain and shame of the last three years. She unpinned her hair, allowing the long tresses to fall free. With a sliver of soap, she washed her tangled curls, then dove below the surface to rinse the suds out. When she surfaced, she finished bathing and walked toward the river bank.

A man stood there, hat pulled low, gun in hand. A scream erupted from her throat, and she crouched down in the water. He pushed the hat back. U.S. Marshal Wes Cooper. “You! What are you doing here?”

“Making a point.” He holstered his gun.

“You scared me half to death,” she chastised him. “Just what point are you trying to make? Other than prove you’re a real jackass?”

“You’re an easy target, Mrs. Brecker. You need to go back and wait for the supply wagon. It’s a lot safer than being out here alone.” He slapped his hat against his thigh.

“Well, I was fine until you showed up.”

He quirked a dark eyebrow at her. “Yeah, but I could’ve been a low life looking to have me some fun.”

“Next time, I’ll have my rifle handy—and blow you away. Don’t forget I’m a convicted murderess.” She wagged her finger at him. “I knew some two-legged polecat was following me. I could just feel it. I should have listened to my instincts. I just didn’t know it was a lawman. Next time I won’t be so careless.”

“This could have been the last time.” He shrugged and walked toward the campfire. “That coffee sure smells good,” he yelled over his shoulder.

As he walked away, Naomi admired the long length of him. From his broad shoulders to tapered waist to his muscular thighs, he was all man. To her amazement, her body responded. Heat rose from the center of her being, bringing a flush to her face. She could imagine being in his arms…and his kiss…and more. She’d not looked at a man—in that way—for a long time. Not since the last time with…Roy.

What in Heaven’s name was wrong with her?

Besides, he thought her guilty of murder. Why had he followed her? Then it hit her right between the eyes—clear as a bell. He thought she knew where the stolen money was hidden. Was that why the governor had pardoned her?

Memories of Roy Brecker surfaced, bringing tears to her eyes. The man she loved. Her husband—the man she thought she knew. Until that last night when he’d confessed that he’d not only been involved in all those crimes, but had master-minded them as well. All those business trips as a salesman had just been a cover-up. It was only when she’d told him she was going to have his child that he’d decided to give himself up and take his chances with the law.

Before he could do that though, someone had killed him and his alleged mistress—and framed Naomi for their deaths. A dance hall girl named Rose had testified that her friend, Rita Jones, had been having an affair with Roy, and that Roy was going to leave his wife and run away with her.
A woman scorned
—the prosecutor had called Naomi, one who’d killed her husband and the other woman out of anger and jealousy.

Then she’d lost her baby in prison.

Now she was alone.

Alone with her revenge.

She shook her head to clear her mind. If she stayed in this water any longer, she’d be a prune. After checking to see if the marshal’s back was still turned, Naomi waded out of the water and dried off as best she could. She hurriedly donned the white shirt with its ruffled collar and pearl buttons and the black riding skirt. As she joined the lawman at the campfire, he took the last few bites of her meal. “Why don’t you make yourself at home, Marshal?”

He quirked his eyebrow, and the broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Thank you, Mrs. Brecker. That’s right neighborly of you.”

Naomi lowered herself onto her bedroll. She grabbed her valise, found her hairbrush, and ran it through her tangled tresses, all the while trying to ignore her surprising, and unwanted, attraction to Wes Cooper.

****

As he watched her, Wes’s insides churned. What was it about a woman brushing her hair that was so sensual, so exciting it turned a man’s knees to jelly? The setting sun caught the honey-blonde mane in its golden glow. It seemed to hold the light. Now that she was dressed in form-fitting clothes, and even though she was thin, her womanly curves were obvious. Her mouth was perhaps a smidge too wide, her lips full…kissable. The word came unbidden to his mind. What the—?

He reminded himself that she was guilty of murder. It would be idiotic to get involved with her. It was his job to gain her confidence and find out the whereabouts of the stolen guns and money. Besides, she didn’t appear to be interested in him at all. Irritation gnawed at him, and he laughed at his own arrogance.

Had she been involved in all the robberies and hold-ups? Had she known of her husband’s activities—even condoned them?

The newspaper also reported that Naomi had disavowed any knowledge of a mistress. She’d heard Roy and another man arguing. When she went downstairs, her husband and Rita Jones were dead. There was a man in the room, but she’d only caught a glimpse of him before he hit her over the head. When she woke up, the man was gone and she was sprawled across Roy’s body, a gun in her hand. That’s when the sheriff had appeared.

But no one believed the man on the stairs existed. Her attorney had argued that a member of Roy’s gang had killed him, but the jury hadn’t believed that either.

Wes glanced at Naomi as she continued to brush her hair, all the while trying to picture her committing such a heinous crime, but he couldn’t. While she didn’t seem to be the type, he supposed jealousy could drive one to do almost anything, even commit murder. He’d seen it happen many times before in his ten years as a lawman. He couldn’t understand it; he’d never cared for anyone that much. Regret brought a soft derisive smile to his lips.

Outside the prison walls, the Brecker woman was more relaxed, her features soft and gentle. Her hands caught his attention. Broken fingernails and callouses proved her time in prison had not been easy.

Worst of all, the mental scars didn’t even show.

“Stop staring at me.”

Her words jerked him back to the moment. “Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t realize I was staring.”

“I feel like I’m on trial—all over again. I don’t like it at all.”

“Just wondering what you were thinking about.”

A soft smile touched her lips. “I was thinking that I could see the moon, and there were no bars to block my view.”

“Prison had to be tough on you.” He grabbed a stick and stirred the fire, sending orange embers into the night sky.

“Yes, it was.” Her lips pinched into a thin line, and her voice shook. “But that’s all behind me. Why did you follow me? What do you want?”

“I don’t want anything from you, Mrs. Brecker. I’m just trying to help.” He took a sip of his coffee.

“Why? Why do you want to help me?”

Because it’s my job and…you’re all alone…and vulnerable…and gorgeous
. He shrugged. “Because I’m a nice guy.”

“Try again, Marshal.”

“Name’s Wes.”

“Well, try again, Wes.”

He stifled a laugh.

“Why don’t you tell the truth?” She shook her hairbrush in his direction. “You think I know where the stolen money is, don’t you? Well, I really hate to disappoint you, but I’m telling you straight, I don’t know anything, except I’ve lost three years of my life.” She grabbed her blanket and rolled over, turning her back to him.

His gaze followed the curved line of her hip, down the slim legs. He licked his suddenly dry lips. “You were married to him. Are you telling me you didn’t know he was Roy Barker and that the Barker gang was running rough-shod over the countryside? They robbed banks, stagecoaches and trains, killing innocent people while doing it. Sorry, Mrs. Brecker, but I don’t believe it.”

She flipped over on her side and glared at him. “I really don’t care what you believe, Marshal.”

“I know.”

“Is that why you want to help me? So you can have the money for yourself? I’m sure being a lawman doesn’t pay very much.”

“It pays just fine, Mrs. Brecker.”

“If you say so, Marshal.”

“I say so.”

“What is it that you’re getting out of this?”

Wes frowned. “Nothing. Like I said, I was just at the prison when you got out. Paul Campbell is an old friend of mine. I thought you might need a hand. That’s all.”

“Sure.”

The sarcasm in that one word was enormous. He didn’t like lying to her, so he changed the subject. “So, tell me, how long were you married to Brecker?”

“You’re sure full of questions, aren’t you?” A lock of hair fell across her forehead, and she brushed it back from her face. “Well, my personal life is none of your affair. Now leave me alone.”

Wes heaved a sigh. It’d be easier to kiss an angry rattlesnake than get any information out of this woman. Well, the direct approach hadn’t worked, maybe he should circle around it and change the subject. “How do you know so much about a rifle? Most women don’t know which end is which. Your husband teach you?”

“You probably won’t believe this either, Marshal, but I never saw Roy wear a gun, much less use one.” She locked gazes with him as if daring him to call her a liar. “I didn’t think he even owned one.”

“Okay. I believe you.”

“Like I said, I don’t care whether you believe me or not.” She pulled the blanket up under her chin and stared off into the darkness. “Of course, I guess there was a lot I didn’t see—or want to see...maybe.” Her voice trembled, and she swiped a hand across her eyes. “I was a blind fool.”

Wes fidgeted. Like Nate Harper, he hated it when a woman cried. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, he fooled a lot of other people, too.”

“It doesn’t help at all.”

“They say time heals all wounds, Mrs. Brecker. Maybe you just need some more time.” Wes leaned over, grabbed the coffee pot, and poured a cup of the strong liquid.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get over it…I know I’ll never forget,” she said, her voice turning hard and cold.

Wes could almost feel her pain. “So if Roy didn’t teach you how to use a gun, who did?”

“Not that it’s any of your business either, but my pa taught me. A long time ago. A lifetime ago.”

“Your folks still alive?”

“Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“I’ll bet.” She locked gazes with him. “When I wake up in the morning, you’d best not be here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He touched his finger to the brim of his hat and grinned at her. She glared in return. As she turned back over, a tremor shook her body. “You cold?”

“No,” she said over her shoulder.

“Liar.”

“I’m not cold.”

“Well, I am. It’ll get a lot colder before morning. If you’ve got another blanket, you may want to grab it. I’ll get more firewood.”

He shoved himself to his feet and walked off into the trees. After finding some dried branches, he returned to camp. A quick glance showed Naomi asleep by the fire. The soft light caught the honey-blonde hair and followed the rounded curve of her hip and the long line of her legs. His breath caught in his throat. With a curse, he tiptoed up to the fire, knelt, added several branches, and stacked the rest nearby. It could get really cold out here on the prairie.

Light snores told him she was asleep. He tiptoed closer to make sure. The blanket had slipped down, leaving her shoulders uncovered. He tugged it up, an unsettling protective feeling hitting him. He reminded himself to stay objective. This was a job—nothing else.