Jillian Hart (33 page)

"Hurting like son of a gun." Jack tried to sit up. Nausea dropped him back onto the pillow. "Palmer's arrested me for the cattle rustling."

"He claims that his evidence is irrefutable," Doc said, though he looked skeptical.

"Irrefutable, huh?" Jack breathed in and out, trying to think through the black, suffocating pain. Palmer was just trying to shift the blame, trying to frame Jack for crimes he couldn't have committed.

He knew who he was. Well, maybe not entirely, but he had memories, a family, a past, a childhood, and a name.

"Here's some hot tea. This will help warm you up a bit." Lissa smiled, and made his heart stop.

She loved him. It shone in her eyes like the brightest sun, like moonbeams and stardust and dreams. He would give anything to be the man she needed. Jack accepted her tea, accepted the heated brush of her kiss. She was heavy with his child; the fabric of her skirt stretched over the generous curve of her belly when she settled down on the stool at his side.

He thought of all he had promised her, of the commitment he made to her. He'd had no right, no business marrying her in the first place. He could see that now, and wished he had made different choices.

He could never claim a wife and child of his own. He was his father's son, a man who killed, a man who didn't blink in the face of violence. That was the one truth he could no longer escape.

"I'm going to get you out of here." Lissa's determination was as big as a Montana sunset, all fiery color and light. "Jeremiah's friend is a lawyer, and—"

"No." Jack gave her back the cup of tea and sat up. His skull pounded and dizziness swam through his head, but he gritted his teeth. He could be determined, too. "Send a telegram to the district judge."

"But he's talking about hanging you." She choked back tears.

"I deserve a trial. It's the only way I'm going to prove my innocence—and I
am
innocent." Jack covered her hand with his. Her hands were like ice even in the middle of the day. "Do it, for me. Only a higher authority can make Palmer come to heel."

"But—"

"Just do it." His words were harsher than he meant, but there could be no argument.

Hurt glittered in her eyes. "Jack, I—"

"Do it." He softened his voice, but held back all the gentle feelings she made burn to life in his chest.

Sheriff Palmer was a dangerous man. He preyed on his friends and neighbors, and he intended to kill an innocent man to cover his own crimes.

Lissa was not safe near such a man. She was not safe here with him, her own husband. Jack turned to the doctor. "Take Lissa out of here. And don't let her back in."

"It is too cold for her, and with the problems she's had before, I agree." Doc stood, took the empty teacup from Lissa's fingers.

"No. Jack needs me. I'm fine, really—"

"I don't want you here." It was only the truth. Looking at her tore him apart, so he turned away. "Get her out of here, Doc. And make sure she gets in contact with the judge, like I asked."

"Will do." Concern crossed Doc's brow, but he didn't ask, didn't judge. He took Lissa by the elbow. "Come, let's get you some rest."

"No. I can't believe—"

"Believe it." Jack felt his chest tighten, his heart harden. "And sign the telegram from me—Jack Emerson."

"Why can't I see Pa?" Chad asked as soon as Lissa cleared the table.

"Because your pa is in jail."

"With Ike?"

"Because of Ike." Lissa bent to fill the basin from the stove.

"But I wanna see him."

"We can't." She straightened, set the enamel basin on the counter.

"But he's my Pa! I gotta tell him about how well I'm ridin' Comet."

"I know you miss him, Chad." Lissa's heart ached with the loneliness, with the injustice of it. "We just have to be patient."

Will pushed open the back door and ambled in, his snow-covered coat dripping on the floor. He shrugged it off and hung it on the peg by the threshold. "I'm going to town, Lissa. Did you want to come?"

"Yes." She reached for a bar of soap. "Can you wait for me, or are you in a hurry?"

"I'll be pleased to wait." Will glanced at the stove. "As long as you provide me with a cup of coffee and a couple of your sweet rolls."

"You have a deal." Lissa grabbed a knife and began shaving lye into the washwater.

"Folks are saying he's guilty." Will waited until Chad had fled the room, excited about a trip into town on the sleigh. "Folks say Palmer has the proof he needs."

"I've heard what folks say." She slid the cups into the water, then the flatware. "Do you believe it?"

"Of Jack? No." Enamel clanked on iron. Will set down the coffeepot and padded over to the table. "I think Palmer has the wrong man, and he's being stubborn about admitting it."

"He wanted me to send a telegram for him. I had to have Jeremiah ride all the way up to Sweet Creek Flats to send the wire."

"Do you think it will help him?"

"He thought so." She scrubbed the knives, then the spoons. "Ike wouldn't let me see him yesterday."

"I could try to persuade Palmer to change his mind."

Lissa glanced over her shoulder. "I like the sound of that."

Hammering echoed in the cell and reverberated through his head. Despite the cracking pain, Jack climbed up on the cot to look out the tiny window. He could see the street, coated thick with snow, smell the scent of wood smoke in the air.

If he stood on his toes he could see the bright color of raw lumber leaning against the awning post of the jail, and the feet of the men as they worked—building the scaffold.

"When's the hangin' gonna be, Sheriff?" a man asked. He sounded like Anders, a man who had lost his herd and held a grudge against Jack.

"As soon as we get this thing up." Palmer sounded cocky, proud of himself—too damn proud.

Jack listened to the hammering and doubted the judge could intervene in time.

* * *

"What are they buildin', Mama?"

Lissa opened her mouth but could not force an answer around the knot in her windpipe. Her gaze arrowed to the scaffolding.

"Will, stop the sleigh."

The floor was already built. Sawdust and mud littered the base of it, the bright wooden surface already slick with falling snow.

"Mama, what are they buildin' that for?"

The sleigh skidded to a halt. She climbed out, careful not to slip. "Chad, I want you to stay with Will. Will, could you take Chad over to Blanche's, please? Tell her what is happening."

"Sure thing." Grim-faced, Will snapped the reins against Charlie's behind. The horse and sleigh pulled away, Chad's question high in the air.

"Mama, what's it for?"

She knew. Cattle rustling was a hanging offense. Sheriff Palmer was wasting no time.

"Ike." She caught him by the arm, forcing him to turn around.

"Why, Lissa. I didn't think you would have the courage to show your face in town today."

"Why wouldn't I?" She wanted to wipe the smugness off his face. "Jack is innocent."

"I have proof. Anders says he saw a bay horse with socks and a blaze, just like Jack's, ridden by one of the men who stole his herd."

"He saw Jack clearly?"

Ike's eyes glittered. "He saw a man fitting Jack's description. That's good enough from a distance."

"It's not proof, and you know it." Lissa felt cold with anger. "Give him a trial, or let him go."

"Not on my life." Palmer flipped the hammer from one hand to the other. "No one can say I'm not doing my job. I've stopped the man who has been stealing from our friends and neighbors."

"Don't you dare hang him." Lissa grabbed hold of Ike's collar and held him hard.

"Don't dare me." He had to struggle to break her hold, and when he did he held her wrist hard enough to bruise it. "I can have your beloved husband swinging by his neck by supper, if I've a mind to."

"Don't you—"

"Let me take you down a peg, Miss High and Mighty." Ike wrenched her wrist, dragging her after him.

Lissa stumbled on chunks of ice and snow, struggling to keep on her feet. Her added bulk made it harder. She slid to a breathless stop behind him in the jail office. He grabbed a burlap sack and upended it An old hand gun bearing the ranch's brand etched into its wooden grip clattered to a rest on Ike's desktop.

"You took that from Jack when you arrested him." She wasn't fooled.

"No. Ian McBains and Deputy Deakins found it. I hear he wanted to give Jack a chance to prove his innocence first since your husband is Will's boss, but Jack couldn't do it."

"No." Lissa recognized the old Colt as one of the extra guns they kept in the tack room in case of an emergency. The last time she'd seen the gun was just after Jack brought in the mountain lion. "Anyone could have grabbed the gun and dropped it in McBains's field."

"Anyone with a bay gelding matching your husband's description. Old Lady Mcintosh, who was up tending her ill husband late at night swears she saw Jack ride past her cottage on North Fork Road driving a herd of cattle."

"By himself?"

"With his accomplices." Palmer's grin glittered with triumph. "This comes as warning to your ranch hands. If I find any more evidence, they may be the next to hang."

Fury threatened to overtake her. She fought for breath, feeling the tension tight in her shoulders, clutched around her spine. Pain sliced through her stomach. She was only upset, that was all. She breathed deep, trying to relax. "I'm going to prove you wrong, Ike. I don't know how, but I'm going to—"

"Palmer!" Jack's voice interrupted, ringing in the corners of his cell. "Get Lissa out of here."

"You're in a fine position to be giving orders."

"I don't want her here."

"I want to see him." Lissa turned her back on the sheriff's evidence.

Palmer grabbed her by the arm. "You're leaving. And if you're lucky, you'll be a widow before nightfall."

"Jack?" she called as Palmer escorted her to the door. She tried to fight him, as strong as she was, but the baby she carried was priceless. She did not want to risk falling. "Jack? Answer me."

Nothing. Not a word of love. Not a request for help. Nothing.

"See? He's guilty." Palmer chuckled as the snow struck her face, as the bitter wind burned her exposed skin.

"Jack." His name still tumbled from her lips, ached in her heart.

The only answer was the ring of the hammers in the still morning air.

Jack heard her tears, felt the weight of what he'd done as Palmer slammed shut the jail door and he was alone.

His memories might be patchy, but he knew enough to know why he had never married, never wanted a wife and family, never wanted to face his past. Lissa was safer away from Sheriff Palmer, and away from the man his father swore he would grow up to be.

Jack just needed rest, that's what Lissa told herself as Blanche tucked her into bed in the family's spare room. Jack had hit his head. He wasn't himself. Tomorrow he would be glad to see her, would welcome her with that lopsided grin she loved so well, had kissed so often.

A tiny voice inside her, the one that often spoke truth, reminded her there was another problem, one not even the strength of her love could soothe away. Jack had remembered, she was sure, and he was going to leave her.

"Sleep well," Blanche's voice caressed the sincere wish like the lamplight in the room. She turned down the wick, the flame died, and only the dark grayness of a stormy afternoon remained.

Lissa felt fatigue weigh down her body like lead. She closed her eyes, drifting off into a world of darkness and no dreams.

A sharp pain tore her awake, followed by another. A tight clamping around her stomach brought tears to her eyes, panic to her heart.
It can't be.

"Blanche!" She stood, hand on her stomach. Her water broke, running down her legs onto the polished floor, and she felt the ebb of her last hopes. It was too early. Much too early.

The door flung open. Lamplight from the hallway tumbled into the room, brushing over Blanche, wearing an apron, a paring knife in hand. "Lissa? Lissa, what's wrong?"

Another pain clamped tightly, and she groaned, unable to hold it back.

"Oh, Lord." Blanche slipped the knife into her apron pocket and grabbed Lissa's arm. "We have to get you back to bed. Jeremiah! Run and get Doc. Then ride out to the Johanson's ranch and fetch Sophie. Hurry!"

Jack.
Lissa thought of him locked away in that cell, ice white on the bars. "Tell Jack."

"Jeremiah will." Blanche's touch was comforting, solid, stable in a world overtaken by pain.

"I can't lose this baby." Lissa gritted her teeth, determined this time would be different. "Please, don't let me lose Jack's baby."

It was too early, though. Much too early.

Chapter Twenty-Two

"I want you to drink as much of this as you can." Sophie knelt beside the bed, one of Blanche's china cups in hand. Steam lifted from the cup, curling invitingly.

Lissa managed to shake her head. "I can't."

"It's pineapple weed tea." Sophie held the cup to Lissa's lips. "You must drink. It will build up your blood for childbirth. It will give you strength."

Another contraction gripped her. Pain built in her back, tightened like a vise around her stomach. Sweat gathered on her brow, dampened her body. She gasped for breath. "I still have seven weeks to go."

Sophie nodded. "Drink."

Lissa did, sipping the tart tea, letting it slide down her throat. "Michael Junior was born this early. He wasn't strong enough to breathe on his own."

"Drink more." Sophie tipped the cup.

Soothing tea sluiced over her lips, into her mouth. She tried to swallow, and swallowed tears instead. She'd known all along this could happen. How could she bear to lose Jack's child?

The contraction released her, and she leaned back into the pillows. Exhaustion enveloped her.

"Rest as much as you can." Sophie set down the cup, took her hand.

Lissa heard Sophie turn to whisper to Blanche, but the words were lost to her as another wave of pain washed over her.

"Here's some more tea." Sophie padded quietly into the midnight dark room.