His Most Wanted (13 page)

Now that he was stuck between a rock and a hard place, he'd been forced to take sides to save himself. Not only didn't he believe her innocent anymore, apparently, he hated her.

Presently, her eyes stung with new tears.
No. He doesn't deserve my tears. He should know I'm innocent.
She'd freely admitted she was Velvet Grace, that she'd killed the sheriff. Why should he believe she hadn't murdered the deputy as well?
Because I didn't. And by now, he should know me better. If he'd ever cared about me, he wouldn't doubt me.

She tilted her face up toward the tiny window where moonlight teased and left her filled with longing for freedom. The moisture in her eyes subsided, her anger replacing her sadness.

“Cora?” a familiar woman's voice whispered and a shadow filled the tiny opening.

“Millie?”

“Oh, thank God.” Lamplight flooded the space as her employee raised her lantern to the opening. “I had to wait until dark. Jupiter wouldn't let me leave the Willows to come see you.”

She'd asked Kit to watch over the place. Curious that Jupiter would as well, but he'd been her friend for years. Maybe Kit had truly forsaken her now that she was being held as his prisoner.

“You shouldn't be out here after dark. You know it's not safe to come into town at night. You're not alone are you?”

There was a long pause. “Yes. But I had to make sure you were all right. Oh, Cora!” she cried. “This is so unfair.” The lantern squeaked as she lowered it, and her pale hand reached into the cell.

The worry in her sweet voice brought Cora's tears back, and she sprang up from the ground to take her friend's hand. “Gracious. You're so kind to visit, but you shouldn't have. Jupiter was right. You don't need to come around me. People in town might get suspicious and think you or the others were helping me. I don't want to bring you into what I've done.”

“What you've done? You didn't kill these men.”

Cora pulled her hand free from Millie's grasp. “I'm sorry. I didn't want you to know or have to share the burden, but I really did shoot the sheriff.”

The room fell silent for a moment.

Her throat grew tight. Perhaps Kit wasn't the only one who felt she belonged in the cell, but she couldn't allow her oldest friend to think the worst of her. She hastened to add, “But I didn't kill Jim Hazen. I swear, I never even went after him that night. And I only shot Bill Sidlow because he gave me no choice.”

The lantern reappeared in the opening and Millie's eye and nose filled the space as the girl studied her. “Of course I believe you. You've been like a sister to me all my life. And that bastard Sidlow was a snake who had it comin' to him.” She made a noise that sounded like spitting. “None of us think you're a cold-blooded murderer. We've all vowed to fight for your freedom.”

Cora smiled through her unshed tears. “I love you all. But now you're going to have to take care of each other. Don't worry about me.”

“We'll get you out. There's no way they'll keep you here another day. Not with Kit as sheriff.”

Her chin trembled at the mention of his name. She compressed her lips and turned her face from the telling light. “Obviously, he disagrees, Millie. He put the lock on the cell door himself.”

“We have to convince him you're innocent. He likes you. Maybe you could offer him a deal. You know he's a very handsome man.”

Though she tried not to, her memory returned to her last image of Kit's face as he closed the jail door, his new deputies standing behind him. She'd asked him to keep an eye on the club for her, to which he'd responded with a nod. Then his parting glance had raked over her, stopping for a breath as their gazes connected, and hurt had filled his cool blue eyes.

Why would he still want her? He'd sampled free milk from the cow, so to speak, and now she was just as dangerous to his future as he'd been to hers.

“No, Millie. Now you just clear your head of those kinds of notions. We're not bringing Sheriff Wainwright into this,” she said, making her voice gruff.

The woman sniffed. “We'll lose the club without you. The invitations to the party went out today. Nobody'll come now with you in jail. How will we compensate for such a loss? We always make so much money from the social.”

Tarnation. Millie was right. The Willows depended on that party being a success.

“Look, tomorrow ask Jupiter if they'll allow you to bring the ledger to me. Ask him to do it as a favor to me. Then I'll help you make the rest of the plans for the party. We'll get the Willows back on its feet. Maybe better than ever. Trust me.”

The women of Fort McNamara, prostitutes or not, always got the wrong end of the stick, and they would continue to do so until they spoke up for themselves, their safety and livelihoods. The men wanted willing bedmates, but they also wanted to rule over them, to treat them unequally. Some with their strength and fists.

Well, she wasn't going to let them take her down without a fight.

Cora glanced around the cell again. Perhaps she could figure a way to get out before her trial and hanging. The building had been here since the army had built it years ago, so there might be weaknesses in the structure. A couple draft horses and a pickax might come in handy. Also, not
all
her friends were as honest and law-abiding as Jupiter.

The town thought her an outlaw? Well, she'd show them a real outlaw.

Chapter Thirteen

Kit walked with Ray Thorntree after they'd shared a drink at the saloon. The mayor glanced at him, ducking his chin apologetically. “I hope you don't mind my deputizing those men in your absence. It's just that after both the sheriff and deputy were killed in less than three months, the citizens are getting a little nervous.”

Kit nodded. “The farrier seems a good choice. A good man. I don't know the other one, but couldn't be any worse than the last.” A flash of guilt made him murmur, “Rest his soul.”

After placing Cora in the town jail cell, Deputy Buchanan had returned to his other work duties, and Jupiter had gone to keep an eye on the houses of the Row. Now it was time for Kit to part ways with the mayor. He couldn't shirk his company soon enough. The whiskey they'd shared had been fine, but right now, he wasn't in the mood for company or talking. Sure, he'd love to throw back a whole bottle of liquor for the rotten day he'd had, but he needed to keep his mind clear to think. There was no time to get drunk, especially after what he'd done earlier.

Cora would hate him now, and he deserved it. Christ, to keep her locked up in such a place. But it was the only way to keep her safe from people who would like to see her hung before she even got her trial. He'd seen mobs in other cities break into jails over much less than Cora's supposed crimes.

“It's been a long night, Mayor. Mind if I…?” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the Row.

The mayor nodded. “Sure thing. I'd join you at the Willows myself if I didn't have Mrs. Thorntree waiting for me. Just remember, tomorrow you'll need to visit the judge and let him know we have Cora.” He patted Kit on the back. “He'll set the date for her trial early so she won't have to wait and suffer. You know, it's sad, because I always liked that gal. Our decisions are never easy, but we've got hundreds of people to protect.”

“Right.” He swallowed and found his throat had constricted to the size of a needle's eye.

The only one he ought to protect at the moment was Cora. She'd only done what she'd had to when the town's so-called protection had failed her and the ladies of Fort McNamara. The deputy, Sidlow, McGruder, and other men had preyed on women's vulnerabilities and used them at their leisure. Where had justice been when Andrea was beaten? And when Cora was raped as a young girl?

“Just keep in mind, a bullet in a man's back is not self-defense,” Ray warned as he put his hat on and then he strolled back down the street, leaving Kit alone.

It was true. Not long ago, he'd seen Hazen's body. The killing shot had been right between the fellow's shoulder blades, probably at a distance, shot dead in the alley after leaving his room above the saloon.

When Kit closed his eyes, he recalled that night. Waiting for Cora in her bedroom, he'd prayed she would return safely without causing any harm to herself or anyone else. When she'd arrived later, her hands had held no trace of gunpowder. The only guilt he'd thought he'd read in her expression had been the fear of being discovered as Velvet Grace, and she'd claimed she was only a vigilante who wanted to scare the bastards who'd wronged the townswomen. Yet now everything pointed to her committing cold-blooded murder—the timing, her sneaking out, even the witness, a regular Willows' customer who'd seen her walking outside the saloon and said he would, “Recognize her purdy hair,” at any hour of night.

Had no one else wanted the deputy dead?

Cora had said Hazen had been an accomplice to Sheriff Sidlow, knowing about his arrangement to collect bribes to protect the establishment. Had he requested too much money, perhaps pressing Cora for more than cash in payment? Kit wouldn't put it past the sonofabitch, may he rot in hell.

After all they'd shared these past few days, Cora would've told him if she'd had to defend herself from Hazen, wouldn't she?

Yes, but not if she'd shot the man in the back.

That gave him another pause as he strolled down the lighted street, heading for the Willows. There he could fulfill his promise to Cora that he would look out for her employees and perhaps talk to the ladies about the deputy.

If Cora had intended to shoot Hazen, her aim wouldn't have been true. Certainly not at a distance. She was making progress on the ranch, and with more practice, he was certain she'd make a wonderful marksman someday, but had she been as good a week ago? Hell, no.

He stepped up to the entrance of the Willows and knocked twice. The door opened and Bernadette peeked out. Her wrinkled brow smoothed as she lifted her gaze to his face.

“Sheriff, er…Kit.” Her eyes were red from recent tears.

He held up his palms in a gesture of peace. “Let me in, Bernadette. We need to talk.”

She glanced over her shoulder, then back, worrying her painted lips. “No c-c-customers tonight. M-m-illie's gone out. We're shorthanded right now.”

Cora's friends were just as lost as he was without her.

He removed his hat so she could see his expression better and recognize his sincerity. “Tonight, I'm not a customer. I promised Cora I'd stay here while she's in jail and keep an eye on you.”

“Oh, Kit,” she suddenly moaned. “She didn't do it. She would never hurt nobody.” The woman's eyes glittered in the lamplight and her chin wobbled.

Hell. He didn't have time to placate this girl. The evidence against Cora was so damning. “That's another reason why I need to come in and talk with you. I don't think she did it either.”

She widened the door a little more, her eyes growing bigger. “Really? They found that velvet cloak in her things—”

He waved his hand in dismissal. “Even if she owns the cloak, even if she's the woman from the wanted posters, that doesn't mean she's a murderer.”

“But she surrendered, and you still believe she's innocent? Why?”

He'd asked himself the same question during the whole ride back to town and even as he'd locked the door to Cora's cell, feeling as if he'd just signed his name on a contract with the Devil.

The answer hadn't come to him, but he'd had speculations. Gut feeling? Experience? Her behavior, poor gun skills, shared secrets and her actions?

No. None of that played any real part in his need to vindicate her.

I love her.
The truth whispered and swept through him like a tempest.

The need to protect his heart followed his revelation, but it was too late for that. His chest had been ripped open, exposed and vulnerable. There was no way he'd allow Cora to stay in that tiny little stone cell another minute without doing
something
on her behalf.

Losing his patience, he growled, “Never mind. If you won't help me help Cora, I'll do it alone.”

“Wait!” Bernadette came outside and followed him as he turned his back to her and headed back down the steps. “We'll help. We'll do anything. I'll get the others.”

He swung around, his heart beginning a staccato rhythm, hope renewed. “If we all put our heads together, we might discover who else could've shot Hazen.”

“That's the problem. Everybody hated him.” She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, frowning. “We couldn't let him be alone with any of the girls. All of us have had to fight him off at one time or another, especially after the last sheriff died.”

“I'll talk to each of you, maybe there's a suspect we've not yet discovered. Where's Millie gone at this hour?”

Her eyes filled with worry again. “Don't get mad. She's at the jail with Cora.”

“The jail? In the dark?” The building was no more than four stone walls and a bad roof with no light source. A chain and lock kept criminals from getting out—or, in this case, anyone who might harm Cora from getting in. If someone decided to go after Cora and take justice into their own hands, they'd soon find themselves missing their appendages. “That's very stupid of her at this time of night. Especially with a murderer on the loose.” And no more Velvet Grace around to protect them.

Bernadette nodded. “I told her so too, but she was worried about Cora. She took her some clothes and things.”

He ran a hand across his brow, feeling a flush of guilt. He'd only given Cora a few minutes at the ranch to gather her belongings. Of course she'd need more necessities from her home.

Bernadette lifted a shoulder, then walked with him back up the steps to the door. “She also wanted some advice. We have an event scheduled, our annual Fall Social, and Millie's filling in for the boss. But…nobody knows how to run the club like Cora.”

Yes, he was inclined to agree. Last year, his own brothel had started bleeding money until he'd been forced to search out new jobs for his employees. It had been one of his biggest fiascos, made worse by Uncle Bart's unvarnished disappointment. Kit had argued at the time that it wasn't his fault. The brothel had been mismanaged by its former owner, a malicious gambler, and Kit had only inherited its problems when he'd taken the reins. But his uncle had argued that he should've been able to fix things. Instead, he'd failed in the worst way possible, spending his days in gaming halls and his nights with whores.

Now he was failing the judge, his uncle's former friend. And worse, he was failing Cora.

Why should anyone ever count on him? He was good for nothing except killing.

No wonder Cora had never left the Willows. These girls of hers were adrift on an endless ocean, lost and unable to guide themselves safely. If she'd truly wanted to help them, she should've taught them to be more independent.

He removed his hat and moved for the door.

“Wait,” Bernadette murmured, blocking his way, “didn't you say you used to run a brothel?”

Damn, she must've read his thoughts.

“I did.” He moved inside, carefully avoiding the sultry brunette. Whatever was on her mind, he was in no mood to hear it.

She closed the door and followed him into the foyer. “I know you're a sheriff now and all, but you could advise us, take a look at the books, help Mill—”

“Hell, no!” He half-strangled on his own tongue, trying to reject the idea as fast as possible. “I'm not the right person for advice on running any business. Least of all another club.”

“Caught with your hand in the cookie jar!”
His uncle's graveled voice echoed in his head. Half-dreading, half-missing the sound, he allowed the memory to continue.
“When will you ever learn your lesson, boy? You can't run a business with your cock. Just do the right damned thing for your employees, the rest will follow. Happy employees, well-paid employees, you understand? The boss can't be the only one getting any damned rewards for the work!”

Kit sighed and massaged his temples. The old man had loved to spread his wisdom with a touch of righteousness, but Kit had learned through the years that Bartholomew Wainwright actually was right on most occasions.

If he let Cora's club get in trouble too, he would disappoint Uncle Bart yet again, and more importantly, the one woman who'd somehow put the spark of life back into his heart.

There was no way he'd be able to get any rest this night anyway. He folded his arms over his chest. “Where are the books?”

Cora's ledgers kept him up half the night. After reading her elegant script in tidy columns—items purchased, paid bills, credits, sales, salaries, etc., he realized the Willows ran like a well-oiled machine. By the time Millie arrived less than an hour into his perusal, he could already see Cora's organized bookkeeping made the club quite easy to manage if one only followed her lead. He and the piano player poured over the accounts for hours more.

The business wasn't in the red yet, but if they lost customers due to Cora's arrest, they would soon get there. The Fall Social, according to the past year's records, raised enough cash to get them through the holidays—lean times for bordellos, especially in frontier settlements, when men had less money and philandering husbands spent more time with their wives. According to Millie, crates of liquor had already been delivered, and they would need dozens of paying guests to break even for the order.

Something about holding Cora's books and seeing her handwriting made his chest constrict with guilt and worry for her wellbeing.
Damnation
, he had to find the real killer and sooner, not later.

The other women seldom ventured from the club, so their interactions with Deputy Hazen had been limited—probably for the better. The bastard had cornered them all and tried to force himself on them every chance he'd had, but the ladies had dealt with him successfully with jabs, slaps and punches. Even Andrea had once stopped his unwanted assault with a cup of hot coffee in his lap. No pay, no play—that was Cora's rule. No one in the club mourned Hazen, but neither did they seem to hate him enough to want him dead. Thankfully, the ladies could vouch for each other's whereabouts on the night of the murder too, since they shared rooms in the Willows.

Unfortunately, the women had nothing to offer that would help him to help Cora.

If he couldn't prove Cora didn't kill Hazen, he'd have to save her another way.

At daybreak, he went to the courthouse to speak with Judge Murtagh, but a trial was in session. While he waited at the back of the courtroom, a clerk walked past him with a stack of files.

“All guilty,” the man offered in a lowered voice. “Mostly for murder and horse thievery.”

Kit sat uncomfortably, unable to sleep, too anxious to relax. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that the outcome of Cora's trial
would be guilty as well.

He tightened his hands on the rim of his hat as the bailiff announced the end of the session. Now to finally corner Murtagh and see what he could do.

He followed the judge to his office and waited outside the open door as Murtagh removed his robe and settled behind his desk to light a cigar.