Desperate Hearts (27 page)

Ten more days passed, and Mitch spent every hour nursing Emma, feeding her, helping her to the privy out back, carrying the water, cooking, bathing her, washing her hair, putting creams on her face and body, helping her change into clean nightgowns. She finally had to order him to let her dress and stay out of bed for the
day.

“And shouldn’t you be out there patrolling the streets or something?” she asked. Her voice was back but still
hoarse.

“You trying to get rid of me, woman?”

“No.” They sat at the table drinking coffee. “Never.” Emma smiled at him. “But you have to be tired of this, Mitch.”

“Not when it comes to taking care of
you.”

“Well, I’m not a helpless waif, and I want to get back to a normal life—maybe even plan that trip to Virginia City and get started teaching. We need to get on with life, Mitch, and you need to put your guns and badge back on and go out there and do what you do best. There are no threats to me here in Alder anymore. You have to stop treating me like I’m a piece of
china.”

“You are, to
me.”

“And I love you for that, but I’m also stronger than you give me credit for, and I have an independent streak, like my grandmother, I guess. I want to teach, Mitch, unless and until I become a mother. Then I’ll devote my life to our children, but I intend to do all my own cooking and chores and whatever comes with being a wife out in this country. I can do
it.”

Mitch studied her lovingly. “I have no doubt about
that.”

“And for right now, I want to get dressed by
myself.”

He nodded and rose. “Okay, I will put on my guns and my badge and go out there and see what Len and Randy are up to—no good, I expect. They’re probably both sacked out with Sarah and Hildy and nobody is keeping an eye on
things.”

Already dressed, he took his gun belts from where they hung near the door. He’d finished strapping one on when someone knocked at the
door.

“Who is it?” Mitch
asked.

“It’s Len. I’ve got some New York City man here with me—came in on the morning stage, looking for Emma. Says his name is Cabel Brown from the New York City Police
Department.”

Emma gasped. “Mitch! They’ve come for me!” She backed
away.

Mitch walked over to her and grasped her arms. “Emma, do you really think one person here would let that happen? Now go put on a
robe.”

“Mitch, I know who Cabel Brown is. I remember him from social parties Alan used to have at the mansion. Alan used to bribe men like Cabel Brown. The man arrests
people!”

“Emma! This is Montana, and I’m still the law here. Nobody is going to come here and arrest
anybody
without my say-so. Now put on your robe and sit down at the table. Don’t you be worried or afraid for one
second.”

Emma’s heart pounded as she walked to a hook on the wall and took down her robe. She quickly pulled it on, ignoring the pain of her still-healing rib. She walked over to the table, sitting down and folding her arms nervously, glad she’d already washed her face this morning. Mitch had combed out her hair for her and it was pinned back at the sides. She was reasonably presentable but wished she was
dressed.

Len rapped on the door again. “Mitch, I already disarmed this guy. He says he’s here with some news and not to arrest
anybody.”

Mitch went to the door and opened it. Cabel Brown looked Mitch up and down with obvious surprise. Hesitantly, he stepped inside, looking like a very small man as Mitch towered over
him.

“I, uh, I’m not here to cause any
trouble.”

Mitch nodded. “That would be
wise.”

“You want me to stay?” Len
asked.

“No. Thanks for checking him out first and coming here with
him.”

“Yeah, well, nobody from New York City is gonna get far in this town anymore, that’s for sure.” Len nodded to Brown. “When you’re done here, you can come back to the sheriff’s office and get your
weapon.”

Brown frowned with obvious irritation. “I am a member of the New York City Police Department. I assure you I’m not here to shoot someone. You really have no
right—”

“You’re in Montana, mister,” Mitch interrupted. “We have a right to ask whatever we want of strangers, even a policeman from New York. Like Len said, you’ll get your weapon back when we’re finished here.” He turned to Len. “Go ahead. We’re okay
here.”

“I see you’re wearing your gun. You gonna get off your lazy ass and get back to work
soon?”

Mitch gave him a shove. “I figured I’d just lie around and let you and Randy handle
everything.”

Len grinned and tipped his hat to Emma. “You’re lookin’ much better, sweetheart,” he said, then walked
off.

Mitch closed the door, coming around to offer Brown a chair. “Sit,” he told him, taking a chair
himself.

Brown cleared his throat and removed his black felt hat, looking at Emma. “Hello, Emma.”

Emma nodded. “I certainly never expected to see you of all people here in Alder, Mr. Brown.”

“Well, from what I know, I’m sure you
did
worry you might see
me.”

Emma glanced at Mitch, who kicked Brown’s chair out a little farther. “Sit and say your piece,” he told the man with a warning look. “And don’t be saying anything to alarm my wife. She’s been to hell and back because of Alan Radcliffe, who I’m sure has something to do with why you are
here.”

Brown glanced at Emma again. “I assure you, I’m not here to bring anyone any harm.” He sat down, and started to reach into his frock
coat.

“Hold it!” Mitch told
him.

“It’s just some papers,” Brown told Mitch. “Your thug of a friend already disarmed me, remember?”

“Take the papers out slowly,” Mitch told him. “And if it’s any kind of an arrest warrant, you might as well stop right where you are and head back to New
York.”

Brown shook his head. “I’ve heard a lot about you
vigilantes.”

“And you probably heard right, which is all the more reason to heed what I say. And don’t refer to Len Gray as a thug. He’s a good man, as good as any man in the police department in New York
City.”

Brown slowly removed the papers. “Yes, well, your fellow law officer told me about what happened here ten days ago.” He looked at Emma. “I’m sorry, Emma. Actually, it all might have been prevented if I could have gotten here sooner. Once we learned the truth, we had to get new warrants and permits and such, and by then Alan had a head start on
us.”

“A head start?” Mitch asked. “What warrants are you talking
about?”

Brown shoved a piece of paper over to Mitch. “This is a warrant for Alan Radcliffe’s arrest, not Emma’s.”

Mitch frowned, looking the paper over. He handed it to Emma. “He’s telling the
truth.”

Emma studied it. “The day he…attacked me, he seemed desperate. He seemed to just want an expensive necklace I owned and said he was headed for California.” She glanced at Mitch. “Now we know
why.”

“What was he wanted for?” Mitch
asked.

“Rape and murder,” said Brown. He frowned with concern. “I’m sorry to talk about these things in front of you, Emma, but it seems the man drugged and raped a young woman who came from a wealthy family. I can’t tell you her name because she doesn’t want too many people to know, but she was very brave about it and told the prosecutor. Her bravery came from one of Alan’s maids, who confessed she’d seen Alan push your mother down those stairs and then…drag you
off.”

Emma closed her eyes against the horrible memory. “It must have been Bess who finally told
you.”

“Yes, well, this young girl’s family promised her a job for life if she’d tell us the truth. She also saw Alan drug the girl and carry her to his room. We put a lot of facts together and figured out why you ran off. You should have come to us, Emma.”

“Alan Radcliffe had all of you in his pocket,” Emma answered. “And without a witness like Bess, I would have been arrested for killing my own mother. After I ran off, Alan probably also had you believing I stole from
him.”

Brown ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, well, be that as it may, Prosecutor Hayes said that he sends you his apologies and regrets. And the fact remains that I came out here searching for Alan Radcliffe to arrest him and take him back to New York.” He turned to Mitch. “It is my understanding that you vigilantes already, uh, took care of the
matter.”

Mitch rose and walked over to a cupboard drawer where he kept prerolled cigarettes. “We took care of it, all right. You might say Emma took care of it. She managed to shoot Alan in the midst of him attacking her. The bullet slowed him down enough that he was an easy catch.” He came to the table and removed the chimney from an oil lamp, lighting his cigarette and then replacing the chimney. “Once we got to town, the people here were riled up so much that we held a quick trial right then and there. Judge Brody sentenced Radcliffe to be hanged and the crowd carried out the
sentence.”

“And of course you couldn’t stop them, even though vigilante law rules here and this whole town would probably stop in its tracks if you pulled that gun and told them to back
off.”

Mitch took a deep drag on the cigarette, sharing a knowing look with Brown. He exhaled. “They knew Radcliffe had murdered Emma’s mother and he came real close to killing Emma. She still isn’t fully
recovered.”

Brown glanced at Emma and nodded. “Well, considering that his crime of murder happened in New York, we would have appreciated it if you’d saved him for us, but then, you had no idea that we knew the truth and were after him
ourselves.”

“And I don’t care how important the man was back in New York. Out here, he was of no importance at all,” Mitch answered. “What are those other papers you
brought?”

Brown cleared his throat again. “One is for Emma to sign verifying she witnessed Alan kill her mother. The other gives me permission to find an attorney to handle Alan Radcliffe’s personal possessions, his businesses, home, valuable paintings, horses and carriages, any money in the bank and such, on behalf of Emma, so she gets her fair share. She’d have to come to New
York—”

“No,” Emma interrupted. “I’ll never go back to New York, and I don’t want anything that belonged to Alan Radcliffe. Give it to the poor or the state or whatever is done with unclaimed wealth. I highly doubt there was much left anyway, Mr. Brown, and I don’t want anything to do with anything that represents that man. All I want is what was rightfully mine, and I brought that with me when I left—a necklace that belonged to my mother, and some money that was also hers. I admit I did take a little cash from one of Alan’s dresser drawers. I can give it back if you
wish.”

Brown raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Considering what he did to you, I don’t think a few dollars you took from him will matter. Are you sure you don’t want to claim any of his remaining
fortune?”

“There
is
no fortune, Mr. Brown. And no, I don’t want any of it.” She looked at Mitch. “Is that all right with
you?”

Mitch shrugged, taking another pull on the cigarette. “You know how I feel about it. What’s yours is yours, to take or to
refuse.”

“Mr. Brady, it could be a lot of money,” Brown
explained.

“And I’m not stupid, Mr. Brown. I just don’t want it. I didn’t marry Emma for how rich she might be. Fact is, I didn’t even know she
did
have anything of value when I decided I wanted to marry her. I married her because she’s sweet and beautiful and was so alone I couldn’t stand it. I was alone, too, and we both know about childhood tragedy. I promised her when I asked her to marry me that I didn’t care about her past and didn’t care if she could make me rich. I just plain love her. Is that anything you can
understand?”

“It is, Mr. Brady.” He looked Mitch over. “And it seems your feelings belie your size and rough
exterior.”

“Mitch is a good man, Mr. Brown,” Emma put in. “Cross him and you’ll wish you hadn’t, but it’s not that way with those he cares about. I’m happy, and I thank you for coming here and clearing things up. It must have been a long trip. If you need to rest up before you go back, you can stay at a boardinghouse called Ma Kelly’s. She’ll put you
up.”

“I’ll do that.” He moved a piece of paper in front of Emma. “That document gave your permission for me to choose an attorney to handle your affairs. If you would put something there in your own handwriting stating you want nothing from the estate, I can use that to proceed with dispensing Alan’s belongings and
holdings.”

“Gladly.” Emma took the ink pen the man handed her. She dipped it into a small bottle of ink she kept on the table. Brown turned his attention to Mitch as she
wrote.

“Police work out here must be vastly different from police work in New
York.”

Mitch grinned. “Vastly.” He put out his hand then. “Sorry to be so rude, Brown, but we thought you might be here to try to arrest
Emma.”

Brown shook his hand. “I have a feeling I never would have gotten out of town with
her.”

Mitch squeezed his hand. “You’re damn
right.”

Both men laughed lightly as Emma handed Brown the paper. He looked at Mitch. “May I draw something up to the effect that Alan committed crimes out here and was hanged? I need something
official.”

Mitch rose. “Tell Len back at the jail to take you to Judge Brody. He’ll write something up for
you.”

“Good.” Brown picked up his hat from the corner of his chair and put it on, glancing at Emma. “Again, Emma, I’m sorry for everything you’ve suffered at Alan Radcliffe’s hands. Fact is, we are finding out a lot of people back in New York were relieved to know he was going to be
arrested.”

Emma smiled sadly. “I have no doubt of that, Mr. Brown. And please do thank the young girl who was brave enough to come forward and tell the prosecutor what he’d done to her. That took courage. If she wants to write me or something, I would welcome hearing from her. Sometimes it helps to share something like that with someone else who
understands.”

“I’ll do that.” Brown tipped his hat and Mitch followed him to the door, opening
it.

“Ma Kelly’s place is down to the left, toward the other end of town,” Mitch told
Brown.