Come the Spring (42 page)

The prosecutor stood up. “Your Honor, before we go any further, will you please ask Miss James one last time to look at the defendant. Maybe recalling the sequence of events…”

“This poor woman has been through a terrible time,” the judge said. “You and I both have to accept that we were about to hang an innocent man.”

“Please, Your Honor,” the prosecutor pleaded.

“I don't mind,” Bell's attorney called out.

The judge ordered the sheriff to unshackle the defendant and bring him over so that the witness could get a close look at him. When Bell stood in front of the railing, the judge reluctantly turned back to Rebecca. “This is the last time I'll ask you. Is the man standing in front of you one of the Blackwater gang?”

“No, he isn't,” she insisted.

“Yes, he is!”

The shout came from the doorway of the judge's chambers. Everyone turned as Jessica slowly walked forward into the courtroom. She wanted to run to the stand and tear Rebecca from her seat so outraged was she, but Daniel had made her promise not to go any farther than the defense table so that she wouldn't be near the killers she was condemning.

The rage was building momentum inside her. Images kept flashing into her mind. Malcolm down on his knees looking up earnestly as he tried to be helpful … Cole carrying her baby across the fiery inferno, the roof collapsing behind him … Franklin's head exploding …

Daniel grabbed her arm to keep her from going any farther. He stayed by her side, but Cole had already
moved to the center aisle and was diligently searching the audience for signs of hidden weapons.

“He was in the bank. I saw him put his gun to the back of a man's head and shoot him. I saw everything,” she shouted, “because I was there.”

She was pointing at Bell when she made her accusations, but her attention was centered on the woman who'd tried to kill Caleb and who'd shot Marshal Cooper. Rebecca was shaking her head in denial as she started to stand, then fell back against the chair. Her face was so white she looked as though she were rapidly bleeding to death.

The crowd was going wild, the judge was pounding his gavel, and in the fracas a young deputy in the back of the room shouted, “Those men are armed, Judge.” He then tried to bring his rifle up.

Before anyone in the crowd could summon a scream or dive for cover, Daniel's gun was out, his arm fully extended, his target the center of the deputy's forehead. The man hadn't even gotten his rifle past his waist when he realized it was too late.

“Put the gun down, boy.” The command was given in a deep, yet surprisingly calm, voice.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cole had seen Daniel draw his gun on the deputy and had already whirled around to face the only other men in the courtroom who were armed. The sheriff was one, a deputy standing in front of the side door was the other.

It was an instinctive reaction on the sheriff's part to go for his gun as soon as his deputy shouted, but Cole had his gun trained on him the second his fingers wiggled. Cole simply shook his head at the sheriff. The message was clear.

Rebecca frantically searched the audience for Donald. He had promised her he would sit in the third or fourth row. She slowly slipped her hand into her pocket.

The judge came out of his seat and leaned forward
with both hands planted on his desk as he roared, “What's the matter with you people? Don't you know better than to draw on two U.S. marshals? Even I can see their badges, and I'm as blind as a bat.”

Rafferty's voice lashed out over the crowd and was so thunderous he was able to get through to them and avert a panic. A collective sigh rolled through the assembly as everyone calmed down. Several men chuckled with relief.

Rebecca was slowly bringing her derringer out of her pocket, holding it steady in the palm of her hand with her thumb pressed against the barrel. She found Donald quickly; he was sitting at the end of the fourth row next to the aisle on her side of the courtroom. He was close, very close, and as she watched him, he gave her a barely perceptible nod before turning his attention to the deputy guarding the side door on her left. She understood what he was telling her and looked at Bell.

The judge took his seat, adjusted his flowing black robe, and squinted at the assembly. They still appeared to be a little unnerved, and he decided to give them another minute to recover.

“Marshals, you can holster your guns,” he ordered. “Which one of you is Daniel Ryan?”

“I am, Your Honor.”

The judge motioned him to the bench. “You sure cut it awfully close getting here,” he remarked.

Daniel didn't offer any excuses or explanations. “Yes, Your Honor, we did.”

“I happen to know a great deal about you, son, because I make it my business to find out everything I can about men like you, and I have only one thing to say. It's an honor and a privilege to finally meet you.”

Daniel didn't know what to say in response. The judge had already turned his attention to Cole. “What's your name, Marshal?”

“Cole Clayborne.”

Rafferty nodded. “I've heard a tale or two about you as well. Of course, I know the stories can't possibly be true.”

“I'm sure they aren't, Your Honor,” Cole answered, wondering why the man wasn't getting to the urgent matter at hand. Cole kept glancing at Daniel to make sure he was still in control. He noticed the way Daniel was watching Bell, and knew that wasn't a good sign.

The judge rose to address his assembly. “All right now. I've given you enough time to soothe your ruffled feathers and settle down. From this point on, I don't want to hear one peep out of any of you. If I do, I swear I'll order these fine marshals to escort you out the front doors.”

Silence resulted from his firm decree. Rafferty turned to Jessica and sat back. “Young lady, who are you?”

“My name is Jessica Summers.”

“State your business with this court.”

She took a step closer to the center of the bench and looked up at the judge.

“I witnessed—”

“I'm your witness,” Rebecca screamed.

“I'm telling the truth,” Jessica insisted.

“She's lying, Judge,” Rebecca countered. “I was there.”

Heads turned back and forth from one side of the courtroom to the other as accusations were volleyed. Daniel crossed behind Jessica and handed the judge a paper.

Rafferty noted the seal at the bottom of the sheet, read the contents, and nodded. “Well … well…”

Shaking with rage, Jessica was irrationally determined to make Rebecca tell the truth. First, she knew, she would have to make the woman lose her control.

“Move back, Jessica,” Cole ordered when she took a step forward.

Jessica quickly did as he ordered, but didn't take
her attention off the woman she was determined to destroy.

“Cuff that prisoner, Sheriff,” Daniel ordered.

“It was you,” Jessica shouted. “You set the fire. You tried to kill my son. You hurt Grace. You shot Marshal Cooper. Surprise, Rebecca—Cooper didn't die. Oh, yes, he's alive and well,” she taunted. “And quite able to recall who he saw and what happened. The judge is reading all about it right now. Cooper wrote a nice long letter.”

The news staggered Rebecca. She collapsed against the back of her chair and stared at Donald, imploring him with her eyes to help her.

Donald was thoroughly enjoying himself. There was a hint of a smile on his face as he sat there with his head tilted ever so slightly to the wall while he watched and listened. How thoughtful of the marshal to insist that the only living person who could possibly identify him stay on the opposite side of the courtroom. She couldn't see him in the crowd, not with the sea of faces gawking at her and Rebecca. Thanks to the overly cautious marshal, Donald didn't have to worry.

He would continue to sit back and patiently bide his time. He knew Rebecca expected him to help her escape, but he had no such intention, of course. He would wait it out and then sneak away. The poor dear was looking quite desperate now. Donald knew exactly what would happen as soon as he gave her a signal. She would jump to her feet and attempt to use that pathetic little gun she had hidden in her pocket. One of the lawmen would shoot her, of course.

Donald also knew what Bell would do. He wouldn't continue to stand there with his head hanging down, his shoulders stooped, and his hands limp at his sides, looking like the sheriff's whipping boy. Why, he hadn't moved a muscle since he'd shuffled across the room to the railing in front of the star witness.

The cold-blooded murderer was as cunning as a fox. He was waiting for his opportunity to spring into action. The sheriff had already relaxed his guard—the old fool was still looking around for his handcuffs—and barely paying his prisoner any notice at all, which Donald knew was just fine with Bell. The sheriff was going to have to get close to Bell in order to shackle him, and when he did, Bell would attack. Donald expected him to go down in a blaze of bullets, and while the deputies and the marshals were firing, Donald would fold into the inevitable stampede as the crowd swarmed out the doors to escape.

A man in the back row jumped to his feet and reached into his hip pocket, drawing both Cole's and Daniel's attention.

“Hands up,” Cole shouted as he strode up the center aisle amid the spectators, his gun trained on the stranger.

“I'm unarmed, I'm unarmed,” the man stammered. “I just needed my handkerchief.” He then sneezed, drawing smiles from those around him.

Jessica was trying to figure out who Rebecca was looking at in the crowd. Who would she know in Blackwater …

“Cole,” Jessie screamed as she rushed across the room, “he's here. The leader … he's here.”

Daniel raced toward her and jerked her back just as Donald gave the signal to Rebecca.

Rebecca leapt to her feet and fired one shot through the sheriff's temple, but before his legs could begin to fold, Bell was behind him and had his gun. He fired at the deputy guarding the side door, hitting him in the center of the chest, then whirled and fired at Jessica. Daniel shoved her to the floor in the nick of time, but the bullet caught him in the left shoulder.

Pandemonium broke loose as the crowd jumped to its feet, obstructing Cole's view.

Bell, diving for cover at the side of the witness-box,
fired at Daniel, but the shot went wild, for Daniel was already in motion. He shot the gun out of Rebecca's hand. She screamed and fell backward. Daniel hit the table, slid across on his side, his gun blazing. Bell lunged back and froze. Daniel fired again as he dropped to the floor, rolled, and fired again, this time at point-blank range.

Indifferent to the ear-shattering screams surrounding him as people tried to escape, Daniel dropped his empty gun, grabbed the other one out of his left holster, and slowly got to his feet.

It wasn't over yet. Daniel slowly extended his arm, cocked his gun, and waited. His eyes bored into those of his enemy. Golden brown eyes stared back.

Cole was desperate to get to Jessica. He fought like an animal to get through the crazed people clawing their way to the doors. He hadn't been able to get a clear shot since the first gunshots were fired, for the crowd had swelled to its feet and surged in on him, screaming and shoving and pushing to get away.

Cole was finally able to shove his way through the crowd. His gun was out, but when the last men were shoved aside and he finally had a clear view, his heart dropped.

Donald had Jessica in front of him and was backing toward the side door. One arm held her tightly around the waist. The other held a gun under her chin, the barrel pressed against her throat.

Jessica was fighting like a wildcat, scraping his arm with her nails and kicking his legs with her heels.

He seemed impervious to her struggles. “What we have here, gentlemen, is called a standoff. I'll blow her head off, and I'm sure that by now, with my rather colorful history, you know I'd get a kick out of watching your expressions after I kill her. Oh, I know you'll get me, but not before I see how you react when her head explodes.” His voice hardened into concrete. “It'll be messy. I've done it before.”

Jessica dug her nails into his skin, drawing blood. “Stop it,” he ordered. “What's it going to be, Marshals?” he demanded as he edged back.

Cole was slowly advancing down the center aisle. He was about five feet away from Daniel, coming toward him at an angle now, when Donald shouted to him. “Stop right there. I don't mind dying,” he boasted. “I've seen so much of it lately. If you want her to keep on breathing, you'll stop right there and drop your guns.”

Neither marshal reacted. Cole's arm was rigid. Daniel shook his head. “You aren't getting out of here. Let her go.”

“I can't do that,” he said. “She's going with me. Look there. Rebecca's crawling toward the judge's chambers. That's my girl.”

Jessica kicked hard and struck bone. She felt as if she were being cut in half, so forcefully did he squeeze her.

“I told you to stop,” he shouted in her ear.

“I won't stop until you let me tell Cole I love him. I have to tell him,” she whispered. “I'll help you escape, I'll do anything you say…”

Donald laughed. “Isn't that sweet,” he called out to the marshals. “The little lady wants to say something to you.”

“You got a clear shot?” Daniel asked Cole.

“No,” Cole answered, his voice harsh.

“Go ahead, angel,” Donald urged. “You can tell him.”

“Cole,” she cried out.

He was dying inside. Dear God, please don't let him hurt her … don't let him …

“Abilene.”

He knew what she was asking him to do. He had her permission, he had his target, his gun was cocked, but God help him, he couldn't do it.

Daniel took the shot for him.

“No.” Cole roared the denial. In his mind's eye, everything happened in slow motion. He saw Jessica's eyes flutter closed, saw her body drift downward to the floor. His mind wouldn't accept any more. He emptied his gun into the bastard, spraying him up against the wall. Cole didn't stop. He kept pulling the trigger again and again and again, the only sound now the clicking as the empty chambers rotated, until Daniel grabbed the gun out of his hand.