Linda Castle (7 page)

Flynn was staring unfocused at the sunbaked caliche street when Ted Kelts stepped into his line of vision. The dapper businessman was the last person Flynn expected to see in Tombstone, but then the memory of Moses and Ted mentioning Ted’s trip to Washington flitted through Flynn’s mind. He started to step outside and speak to him but a clutch of people gathered on the boardwalk outside the window blocking his way. Kelts nearly collided with a thin woman who seemed to be in a big hurry. She crossed the street and opened the door to the hotel, then stepped inside the lobby. The threadbare dress was of poor quality and hung on her thin shoulders. She looked around at the lobby and turned.

He felt as if he had been kicked in the ribs by an Army mule. For the first time in memory, his knees went weak as water. He reached out for the back of a nearby green velvet chair for support.

The gold hair framing her face was jaggedly cut and no longer than his fingers, hanging limp and stringy. Her indigo-blue eyes were haunted, yet they glittered in away that was chilling. Her skin was gaunt and pale from lack of sun.

“Mrs. Hollenbeck?” Flynn took a step forward. “Marydyth?” he asked in a softer voice.

She rocked back on her heels at the sound of her name. The last trace of color in her face drained away. Those indigo eyes hardened until they resembled shards of Bisbee turquoise.

“You.” She hoped the one word held all the contempt she could manage. Time seemed to stop while she stared at him. He looked at her, unblinking. Marydyth studied the lean weather-beaten jaw as it jerked spasmodically.
His eyes were as cold as ice-slicked sandstone and they bored into her. For the first time today she was ashamed of her plain prison-issue dress. For the first time today she felt a pang of dread.

Flynn tried to school his features, tried to hide his shock at the change in her. His stomach was knotted up, and it was hard to draw enough air into his lungs.

Dear God, what have they done to you?
he thought, but all he said was “Ma’am.”

She moved suddenly, digging frantically into the pocket of the drab gray dress. She jerked out a folded paper and brandished it at him like a weapon. “I am free-my sentence was commuted by the governor. Go find somebody else to consign to hell, you bastard.” She continued to hold the paper up, as if it were a shield against hurt and harm.

Flynn flinched at the word “bastard,” and felt his pity turn to a hot flash of anger. He would have killed any man for saying that.

“Did you hear me?” she said. “I am free.”

“I heard,” he grated out. But when he didn’t reach to take the paper that she waved in front of her, she shoved it back into her pocket. Her hand hovered near as if she were fearful he—or someone—might take the precious document away from her. “I am not a wanted criminal anymore. You can get on your horse and—” her voice cracked “—just leave me in peace.”

“I came here to meet you, Marydyth, to take you back to Hollenbeck Corners.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’d rather walk.”

She took three steps and closed the distance between them. She slapped him hard across the face. The blow echoed like the crack of doom.

He grabbed her wrist and held it with enough pressure
to still her. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked in a voice that was barely a whisper. “Here? Now? With everybody watching?”

Her eyes darted around the room.

A young man in a pin-striped suit, who had been carrying baggage through the lobby, stopped in his tracks and stared openmouthed. An elderly couple descending the stairs turned and hurried back up, whispering words of disgust and dismay.

She thought of Rachel, and a strangled sob escaped her lips. Marydyth had no reputation left.but her daughter—her sweet innocent daughter would have to live with the sting of rumor. Marydyth drew herself up and tried to find some dignity and pride within the hatred and anger she felt.

Flynn kept hold of her hand, noticing how raw and red it was. Her knuckles were barked and there was not an extra bit of flesh anywhere on her. She glared up at him through a blur of tears, and he felt the venom of her loathing.

“I hate you,” she whispered as if she had heard his thoughts and needed to make herself clearer. “I hate you more than anybody on God’s earth.”

A muscle in his lean jaw twitched.

“Do you hear me? I hate you for what you did to me.” Her voice was raspy and harsh. “You, the noble Marshal O’Bannion, had to find those Wanted posters, had to bring them to the court and let everyone know.” Her voice broke and she started to tremble.

He turned so quickly she had no time to do anything but let him pull her along. His boots dug into the carpet, and he dragged her toward the stairs while he maintained the viselike grip on her wrist. “Come on.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Yes…you are.” His husky whisper was like iron striking against stone. “We are going upstairs.”

Upstairs.

“I would rather die,” Marydyth said as she struggled against him.

“Don’t be a fool, Marydyth,” he said tunelessly.

It was useless. She was no match for his superior strength. He dragged her up the stairs as if she weighed no more than eiderdown. Desperation folded over her as she searched the faces of the people in the lobby.

She knew it would do no good to scream for help.

Nobody in the town would lift a finger to help her, especially not when they found out that she had come from Yuma. And the way she looked, compared to the austere respectability of Flynn’s appearance, also worked against her. She was nothing more than an ex-convict fresh from Yuma. It showed in her face and in her clothing. The residents of Tombstone were accustomed to seeing those convicts when they came out of the territorial prison. Once again, public opinion was condemning her.

The feeling that choked and strangled her during her nightmares engulfed her. She tried to remember to breathe, to slow down the frantic pounding of her heart.

She had lived through hell for three years—she could stand whatever degrading thing Flynn O’Bannion had in mind.

He forced her down the hallway to the last door and dug into his Levi’s pocket for a key.

He twirled her through the door. The momentum sent her backward across the made-up bed. “I hate you,” she repeated.

“So you’ve said.” His voice was as dry and hard as the walls of Yuma.

Panic threatened to undo her when he turned the key and locked the door.

“Open that door this instant” She sat up and faced him down. “You bastard.”

Barely contained fury glowed in his brown eyes. “I wouldn’t make a habit of calling me that if I were you.” His voice was steady and low, belying the turbulent expression in his eyes.

“Just get it over with,” she said. “Take what you want and get out.”

Flynn took off his hat and tossed it hard upon the bureau. “Son of a.” He turned and glared at her. “Is that what you think? That I brought you up here
to.rape
you?”

Her chin came up a notch. Defiance glowed in her eyes. “What other possible reason?”

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

“Well, if you are not going to rape me, then let me out of here. I want to get Rachel and put as much distance as I can between me and this damned territory.”

His eyes widened. He raked a long-fingered hand through his hair and muttered another epithet. “We need to talk.”

“There is nothing we need to talk about, Marshal. Everything you needed to say was said in the courtroom.”

The reminder of the trial sent a strange jab of guilt through him. “My name is Flynn, and I’m not a marshal anymore so I suggest you stop calling me that.”

“If you are not the law, then you have no right to keep me here. Open the damned door. I am a free woman.”

“I know.” He took two long steps toward the bed. “Damn it all, Marydyth, I know about your release-I arranged it”

Icy hands squeezed her chest. “I don’t believe you.”

“Suit yourself.”

With a vicious oath he turned and grabbed the straightbacked chair with one hand and spun it around backward. Then he hooked one leg over and straddled the seat, staring hard at her while he did it.

Her rapid intake of breath sent chills skittering over his arms. He didn’t want to fight with her. Flynn dragged in a deep breath and started again.

“The governor commuted your sentence. But that isn’t why I am here.” He had intended to tell her all the details of the letter and explain how everything had come about, but the look in her eyes changed his mind.

“I came here because of Rachel,” he said bluntly.

She drew herself up and stood stiff as a poker. “Rachel?” She twisted her fingers together in a way that made his insides cringe. “Is—is she all right? Noth—nothing has happened to her?”

Hellfire and damnation. Flynn saw her expression go from angry wildcat to helpless kitten in the blink of an eye.

“Please, tell me. Where is she?” She swayed unsteadily on her feet as if her strength were ebbing away.

“At Victoria’s house.”

She reeled back as if she had been slapped. Hurt etched itself into her thin face. She sagged onto the bed, clinging to the foot rail. “Of course, she is with her grandmother. I haven’t forgotten.how could I forget?” A bitter, nearly hysterical laugh escaped her lips. “After all, Rachel is a Hollenbeck, as Victoria pointed out before I—went—away.”

“She is with Victoria for the day only, Marydyth. She lives at home.” Flynn didn’t know why he bothered to explain. Maybe it was the lonely, haunted look in her face.

“Home?” Marydyth looked up. She appeared to be bewildered, as if the word were foreign. “Rachel lives in her own home? My old home—the house J.C. built for me?”

Flynn swallowed hard. Now was the moment, the right time to put all his cards on the table.

“Yes. She lives with me. I am her legal guardian.” He took no pleasure in the words or the horror that flitted through Marydyth’s eyes.

M
arydyth recoiled as if she had been slapped. Her bottom lip began to quiver. He had known she would react badly, especially after the way she went to pieces in the lobby, but this—this silent collapse of all her hopes—well, it nearly unmanned him.

“Oh, you are a cruel bastard to tell me such a lie,” she hissed while she advanced on him.

He sat in the chair, watching her glare down at him.

I wish she would hit me again.
He could deal with her rage, but the forlorn look in her eyes clawed at his soul. He maintained his position, backward in the chair, staring up at her until she stopped right in front of him.

“Haven’t you caused me enough pain?” she whispered. “Won’t you be happy until I am completely broken?”

“None of this was my doing, Marydyth.”

She shuddered as if someone had tromped across her grave. “Why?” she asked in a small; tight voice.

“Victoria is not in good health. Rachel has been in my care for some time now.”

“Victoria Hollenbeck
gave
my child to you?” Her
blue eyes widened in disbelief. “Just how long have you had Rachel?”

“Almost since you went to Yuma,” he said quietly.

“She gave my child away?” Disbelief rang in her voice.

“Good Lord, Marydyth, she didn’t
give
her to me. You make Rachel sound like a stray kitten.” He snorted in frustration. “The child needed me.”

She reached out and grasped the back section of the chair that was between his hands. Her knuckles turned white with the effort she was exerting to control herself. “Rachel needed me.”

He could not deny that. She had needed her mother then, but the fact was, she needed her more right now.

Marydyth leaned close and glared down on him. “Hating you kept me alive in Yuma. I was certain I could never hate you more than I did when you took me from Rachel—but I was wrong.” She lifted her brows and her face became a mask of deceptive calm. “I have never hated you as much as I do this moment.”

“Unfortunately, that doesn’t change a thing.” He dragged his palm down his face. “We are stuck with each other.”

She blinked rapidly and backed up two steps. “What do you mean we are stuck with each other?” A chill of fear was snaking its way up her spine.

Flynn closed his eyes for a moment, then he shoved himself up from the chair he had been straddling. “This is not going the way I figured. You look all done in, Marydyth.”

“Tell me what you meant,”-she insisted.

He stared down at her. “I am Rachel’s guardian.”

The unsteadiness of a moment ago was gone as she tilted her chin upward to meet his gaze. “You said that.”

“I’m not sure you understand. The guardianship is legal and permanent.”

She released the chair back and strode to the door. “Give me the key to this door. I want to get to Hollenbeck Corners and see Victoria. I want those documents changed immediately.”

Flynn shook his head from side to side. “It isn’t going to be that easy.”

Her eyes narrowed down to slits of blue flame. “What do you mean, it won’t be easy? I am her mother, for God’s sake.” She squared her shoulders.

“You make it hard for a body to go easy on you, don’t you, Marydyth? You’ve got to keep poking and prodding until you have the whole damned story out right now, don’t you?” Flynn shoved the chair aside and advanced on her as if she were prey and he a hungry wolf. “All right, damn it, you’ll have it all. I didn’t want to tell you this way, but you are determined so here it is. Victoria had you declared an improper parent. Because of how you lived—what had gone on in your past—and because you never offered a word in your own defense at the trial. It’s done and it’s legal. You can’t ever get Rachel’s guardianship back.”

“But.but my sentence.the pardon. “

“Didn’t have a damned thing to do with Rachel or those guardianship papers. Victoria had Moze Pritikin do them—he made sure they were binding. The charges—loss of guardianship was because of the riverboats, the gambling—the things that happened before you married J.C.”

And because I murdered Andre,
an accusing voice in her head screamed.
God is making you pay for killing Andre.

Her throat worked for a full minute while she tried to
swallow. She thought that the whole nightmare was over, that she had paid enough, but now she saw that she was wrong. Not only was she still paying for what she had done, her daughter was going to suffer for it as well.

A strangled sob escaped her lips. Flynn could see unshed tears in her eyes. Finally she locked her trembling hands together and clenched her fingers so tight her knuckles whitened.

“But why—you?” She said the word as if it left a bad taste in her mouth.

“I’ve asked myself that same question more than once.” Flynn raked his fingers through his hair. “God knows it was the last thing I wanted.”

“What?” Flynn O’Bannion was caring for a child he didn’t even want? Her heart rebelled at the thought.

“A few people came knocking on Victoria’s door, volunteering to take Rachel in, but most folks were interested in the Hollenbeck money and not Rachel. I was getting ready to leave town, only stopped by to pay my respects because of Victoria’s health, but while I was there I played with the baby. Before I knew what had happened Victoria had sent for Moses to draw up the papers and I was roped in and hog-tied.”

“You could’ve said no,” Marydyth said bitterly.

“Yep, I could have.” Flynn speared her with a withering look.

“Why didn’t you?” She was vibrating with pent-up rage.

“And where would that have left Rachel? Would you rather see her with a pack of money-hungry vultures?”

She could not answer. One part of her wanted to scream that anybody would be better than him, but another part of her knew that was not true.

Flynn O’Bannion was as rigid as iron—unable to stray
from his notion of the truth. But the one black sin that Marydyth could not lay at his feet was greed.

Two hot tears spilled over her lids and ran down her cheeks. She hated herself for letting him see her weep.

“Can I—” She shuddered visibly. “Will you at least let me see her?” It cost her dearly to ask that question, but Rachel was worth the humiliation.

Flynn stared at her in silence while the muscle in his jaw worked rapidly. Marydyth thought he was a lowdown son of a bitch. He tightened his jaw, unable to trust what wanted to come out of his mouth.

Her eyes narrowed when he didn’t answer. “I will see her whether you allow it or not.”

Flynn stalked toward her. “What kind of man do you think I am?” He whirled away from her, cursing under his breath. “Do you think I would hurt Rachel by keeping you from her? Damn it all to hell.” He jerked the bandanna from his neck. “Well, I am not that kind of man, Marydyth. You’ve turned hard and bitter.”

“Prison makes people hard.” She flinched and jerked back when he tried to wipe away her tears. “Losing my child has made me bitter.”

Flynn could only stand there and stare at her with the bright red bandanna dangling from his fingers. She made him mad enough to spit, with her accusing eyes and sharp tongue. But she was also cutting him to the bone with her words. He had never met a woman who could rouse so many conflicting emotions. He cleared his throat and tried to get his own temper under control. Neither would benefit by their tearing into the other.

“Marydyth, I brought some of your old clothes. Let’s try this again, after you’ve changed and dressed. We can get something to eat and talk.”

“I’d rather go hungry.” She practically spit the words in his face.

“Suit yourself.” He turned away, then turned back. Each time she opened her mouth another insult, sharp as an Apache war lance, flew in his direction. He had never thought of Marydyth Hollenbeck as strong or hard but the woman before him now had ample portions of both qualities. “Go hungry if you wish, but I intend to have the biggest steak in Tombstone. If you change your mind, I’ll be in the hotel dining room.”

“I won’t”

He stared at her with his fingers on the key. “After a decent meal we might both be in a better frame of mind to discuss Rachel.”

Marydyth raised her chin and glared up at him. “You really are a prizewinning bastard, Flynn O’Bannion.”

Ten minutes later Marydyth was still staring at the door that Flynn had slammed behind his back. The room seemed to reverberate with the sound of it, or perhaps it was her own thudding heartbeat she heard echoing in her ears.

She thought back to the morning, when she had believed that freedom was hers. Now her dreams of taking Rachel away were nothing but a cold pile of ashes.

Marydyth shook herself, trying to get rid of the chill that had entered her blood. She had to do something. She could not just give in—she had suffered too much to let Flynn O’Bannion win now.

He is hard and he is dangerous. Don’t rile him or he might not let you see Rachel.

“He’ll have to kill me to keep me from her,” she whispered. But her words were full of false bravado; inside she was quaking with fear. He had all the cards on
his side of the table. She was a convict and he was the law.

How could Victoria have chosen him? A mean-spirited marshal to raise a sweet baby girl?

She knew Victoria despised her, but could her hatred run so deep that she had wanted to see Rachel suffer?

Part of Marydyth acknowledged that her hatred of Flynn O’Bannion was somewhat misplaced. After all, it had been a jury that found her guilty.

But it had been Flynn O’Bannion who recognized her likeness on the Wanted posters. It had been Flynn O’Bannion who had put her past together and uncovered it for all the world to see. It had been Flynn who found out the truth about Andre.

He had uncovered a crime that she could not deny. She
had
killed Andre, and it haunted her day and night. But when Flynn O’Bannion told the jury, her fate had been sealed. She knew she deserved to be punished for what she had done. In a way she had been relieved to finally have it all out. She had thought when the world learned of what she had done and she went to prison, that she would at last be free of the nightmares and the guilt.

She had been wrong.

Every night she had relived her crime. Each time her head touched the pillow she saw herself hitting Andre with the lamp and saw herself running from the riverboat. The entire time she had been in Yuma not a single night had gone by when she had not dreamed of Uncle Blaine coming to tell her that he had found Andre dead and she should run for her life.

And now Flynn O’Bannion had the one good thing in her life.

She wrung her hands together and let her thoughts fly
in all directions. She fought to control herself before she succumbed to hysterics.

She was tired—worn ragged. That much of what Flynn said was true. And she was weak as a kitten from hunger.

But the thought of trying to eat at the same table with him made her stomach revolt. How could Victoria have done this terrible thing?

The sound of footsteps preceded a knock at the door. Marydyth clenched her fists. It was probably that bastard O’Bannion, returning to plunge the knife a little deeper into her broken heart.

“Damn you to hell!” She flung the door open and found a boy of about thirteen standing there, balancing two steaming buckets of water at the ends of his gangly arms. His eyes widened and two bright spots of color rose on each cheek.

“Ma’am? I—I brought hot water. Orders from Mr. O’Bannion, ma’am.”

She blinked at him a couple of times, trying to digest what he was saying.

“For washin’, ma’am.” He averted his gaze, never looked at her again as he shuffled past and put the buckets near the washstand.

He was gone with the door shut firmly behind him before Marydyth recovered enough to speak.

“Thank you,” she whispered to the empty room. It had been so long since anyone had done anything nice for her. To find that Flynn O’Bannion—the bastard—had sent up hot water made her want to weep. Instead she laughed, loud hysterical peals of laughter that echoed off the wall. It was all too much. She couldn’t take it all in. Her nerves all raw and exposed, the simple act of having somebody give her hot water was more than she could take.

* * *

The rose-scented soap and clean hot water was like heaven. Marydyth washed her whole body, then did it again just to savor the feel of being clean—and truly alone.

She soaped her hair and rinsed it three times, not satisfied that the taint of Yuma was gone until her hair squeaked when she pulled along the wet strands. Finally, as she fluffed the short irregular tresses with a fresh towel, she drew up her courage and approached the looking glass.

Marydyth gulped audibly. Seeing her reflection for the first time since she had left for Yuma was a staggering moment.

Her eyes were still blue, her hair still golden, but there the resemblance to the woman she had been before ended.

With trembling fingers, she touched the dark smudges beneath her eyes. They no longer winked with laughter and happiness. Now they were deep-set, hollow and haunted. Her fingertips slid over cheekbones that were too sharp and lips that had long ago lost their dewy softness.

J.C. told me I was more beautiful than the Arizona sunrise… I doubt he’d think so now.
She smiled ruefully. She stared into her own eyes for half a minute.

Yuma had not been kind to her.

What would Rachel think? Did she even remember her? Could she recall the mornings that Marydyth bathed her and cuddled her? Or had Victoria made good her threat and removed every trace of Marydyth from Rachel’s life? These were questions that burned at. her, but she could only get the answers by facing Flynn O’Bannion.

Marydyth turned away from the mirror and picked up the valise Flynn had brought. She tossed it on the bed and opened it, pushing aside the knowledge that he had handpicked each item. She could do this—she would deal with Lucifer himself to see Rachel again.

One by one she took out the carefully folded items. Her fingers lingered on the primrose India silk and a flash of memory entered her mind. J.C. had picked the fabric and the pattern when they were in San Francisco. Touching the intricate ruching on the full sleeves brought back more bittersweet memories of how gay her life had been. She shoved them and the pain they brought to the back of her mind, refusing to think about the past