Margaret Brownley - [Rocky Creek 02] (18 page)

“You can’t be serious. He’s a child.”

“He’s a thief.”

She took a ragged breath. “He’s only twelve.”

His eyes darkened. “He’s old enough to know better.”

She drew back. She needed a moment to think. Hiring Scooter to take down signs seemed like a good idea at the time. She was able to help him without making it seem like charity. In retrospect, she wished she’d found another way. Now she had no choice but to confess.

She swallowed hard and lifted her chin. “He was only doing what I asked him to do.”

Rhett sat forward, both hands gripping the edge of his desk. “And what was that?”

“I paid him to steal those signs,” she said.

He shot her a penetrating look. “
You
paid him?” He tilted his head sideways, a dubious expression on his face. “If that’s true, why didn’t he say so?”

“I made him promise not to say a word. That was part of the deal.” She cleared her voice and plunged on. “Since I’m responsible, I insist you release him at once.”

He shook his head, but whether in disbelief or resistance she couldn’t tell.

“I can’t do that.” He let out an audible breath and grimaced. “He’s in jail as much for his own protection as anything else.”

Not sure she’d heard right, her mouth dropped open. “His own protection?”

His eyes softened into pools of appeal. “The folks around here tend to be pretty passionate about their possessions.”

She stared at him in utter disbelief. “We’re talking cardboard signs.”

“The boy’s out of control and heading for trouble. I aim to see that doesn’t happen.” He rapped the desk once with his knuckle. “I also hope that as soon as Maxwell finds out his son is in jail, it’ll shock him out of his stupor. God knows nothing else has worked.”

The door burst open and Redd popped his head inside. “Trouble at Jake’s.”

Rhett rose with one swift move and plucked his hat off a hook. Glancing at her with a look of apology, he dashed out the door.

Frustrated, Jenny paced the floor waiting for his return. She couldn’t stand the thought of that poor boy in jail, and all because of her. There had to be something she could do.

She spun around and stared at the door leading to the jail cells in back. If only . . . The key ring hanging from a hook beckoned her.

“Jenny Higgins, don’t you dare!” No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she reached for the keys. It was almost as if her hand had a mind of its own.

Now it shook so much, she could hardly fit the key into the lock. The door sprang open with a squeak of rusty hinges.

She hurried toward the cell. Three men lay on cots, hats covering their faces. Scooter sat on the floor in a corner, his head down. He looked so forlorn her heart went out to him.

“Scooter,” she whispered, not wanting to wake the other prisoners.

He raised his head and she motioned him to the barred door. He jumped to his feet and moved toward her. “What—?”

“
Shh
.” She glanced at the men. One grizzly fellow removed his hat from his face. He lifted his head off the cot to give her a sleepy-eyed look before resuming his nap.

“Listen,” she whispered. “Stealing those signs was my idea. I should be in jail, not you.” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Rhett had not returned. “We’re going to have to move quickly.” Talking softly, she told him what to do.

Frowning, he shook his head. “It’s dangerous.” He rolled his eyes in the direction of his cell mates. “You could be hurt.”

His concern touched her. She glanced at the prone prisoners. They seemed harmless enough.

“I’ll be fine,” she said. When the stubbornness remained on his face, she added, “Your brother needs you.”

At mention of his brother, the worry lines on his forehead deepened and no further discussion was necessary.

Moments later Scooter had fled jail and she had taken his place. During the exchange, the three men jumped to their feet but not fast enough. By the time they realized what happened, Scooter had already locked her inside.

Now that she got a good look at the men, she wished she’d taken Scooter’s concern for her safety more seriously. Three of the raunchiest, smelliest men she had ever encountered shared her cell.

“Looky what we got here,” one said, scratching his chest. He was the tallest of the three.

“Yeah,” said another, leering at her. The others were bigger, but this one looked meaner, his face flattened and pummeled by numerous brawls.

“Jail just got a lot more interestin’,” said the third man with a toothless grin.

They advanced toward her, backing her into a corner.

“You stay right where you are,” she warned. She stepped onto a cot and held her parasol in front of her with both hands. “Don’t you dare come any closer.”

One of the men laughed. “Who’s gonna stop us?”

“I am! Leave her alone!” Rhett bellowed, and all three men froze in their tracks. No one had noticed the marshal enter the jailhouse.

Eyes blazing with anger, Rhett stared straight at her. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, his voice harsh. “And where’s Scooter?”

Flashing a warning look at the prisoners, she stepped off the cot, but she held her parasol out in front to do battle if necessary. “I’m serving my time,” she said. Rhett’s face grew more menacing, but she continued. “Scooter was acting on my behalf. It’s only fair that I’m the one who is punished.”

She fell silent and waited. Naturally, she expected Rhett to see the error of his ways and release her at once. Since he was taking his own sweet time in doing so, she pointed the tip of her parasol toward the keys dropped in the passageway by Scooter.

Jaw clenched, he swooped the keys off the floor and turned away.

Her body stiffened. He wasn’t going to leave her here— was he? With these . . . barbarians?

As if he had second thoughts, he stopped. She snapped her mouth shut. Head held high, shoulders back, she assumed as much righteous dignity as she could muster.

He turned. His face as grim and unrelenting as before, he unlocked the cell.

She had no intention of making it easy for him. He was wrong to have jailed Scooter, no matter what his reasons, and the least he could do was admit it. “I’m not leaving!”

Let him beg. Let him fall on his knees and plead with her. She had no intention of leaving until he apologized.

“You got that right.” He pointed at the three men who shared her cell. “You, you, and you. You’ve had enough time to dry out. Get out of here, all of you.”

Aghast, she stared at him. Surely he wasn’t serious! He wasn’t going to hold her there, was he? And let those horrible men go free instead?

The three male prisoners glanced at each other as if they couldn’t believe their good fortune, then silently slipped through the open cell door and quickly escaped.

Staring at her, Rhett slammed the steel door shut with a loud clank, locking her inside.

“I hope you’re happy,” he said. With that he stormed away. The door between the jail cells and his office banged shut with such force that she flinched.

Stunned, she tossed her parasol and reticule on a cot. Grabbing the bars with both hands, her thoughts whirled. Rhett wouldn’t . . . he couldn’t. Of course he couldn’t. She forced herself to calm down and take a deep breath. He was only trying to scare her. He’ll be back.

She paced back and forth. Minutes passed. She kicked a wall, then hopped around on one foot till the pain subsided. She cocked her head and listened. Nothing.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” she called.

Still nothing. An hour passed. Maybe more.

She told herself for the hundredth time that he would be back, but the longer he stayed away, the more she worried.

Growing increasingly anxious by the moment, she glanced around in disbelief. She still couldn’t believe he left her in jail. He wouldn’t leave her there all night, would he?

Sixteen

A woman’s dress and deportment should enhance the gentleman on whose arm she appears.

— M
ISS
A
BIGAIL
J
ENKINS
, 1875

I
t didn’t take long for news of Jenny’s incarceration to reach her sisters at the hotel. They rushed to the jail and, for the most part, exhibited the appropriate amount of ladylike hysteria given the circumstances. Jenny could hear their high-pitched voices even before they stepped into the anteroom.

Brenda took one look at Jenny and promptly burst into tears. Mary Lou stood wringing her hands and glancing around nervously as if she expected some creature to jump out of a dark corner.

“Brenda, please don’t cry,” Jenny said gently. She hated for her sisters to see her in jail and was determined to ease their minds. “You’ll mess up your face. Do you want Mr. Hampton to see you all red and blotchy?”

Mr. Hampton!
Jenny groaned inwardly. If her being in jail cast an unfavorable light on either sister, she would never forgive herself.

“I’m not going carriage riding with Mr. Hampton,” Brenda cried, tears rolling down her face.

“Of course you are,” Jenny said. It wasn’t like Brenda to be difficult, but lately she’d been nothing but. “Nothing’s changed.”

“How can you say that?” Mary Lou’s eyes grew wide in astonishment. “You’re in
jail
.”

“So I’ve noticed. However, it’s only a temporary inconvenience.” Rhett wouldn’t—couldn’t—leave her there overnight. “And it’s for a good cause. I’ll be out before you know it,” she added brightly, though with considerably less confidence than she felt.

Her assurances did nothing to appease her sisters’ concerns. Mary Lou looked uncommonly worried, and tears continued to roll down Brenda’s cheeks.

“Marshal Armstrong didn’t sound like it was only t–t– temporary,” Brenda sobbed.

“Of course it is,” Jenny insisted. Still, just to be on the safe side, she drew pencil and paper from her reticule and listed the things she needed. “Bring me a change of clothing. I also need my hand mirror and hairbrush. And perfume.” Though she doubted anything could cover the stench left behind by the former occupants. “And don’t forget my notebook.”

Her sisters stared at her in disbelief while she scribbled her notes and issued orders. She knew from experience that action was the best way to handle their emotional outbursts. Keep them busy and they wouldn’t have time to worry about her.

She reached through the bars and shoved her list into Mary Lou’s hand. “I have three interviews scheduled for tomorrow. If perchance I’m not back, let the men know there’s been a change of location.”

Mary Lou gaped at her. “You’re going to interview here?” She glanced around, her nose wrinkled in disgust. “In jail?”

“Of course.” Unless the marshal sees the error of his ways, which she was beginning to doubt. “What choice do I have? We’ve already wasted enough time. Our money won’t hold out forever.”

Their small farm had sold for more than she hoped, considering the work that needed to be done on it. Even so, the money would have to last until she married off her sisters and could obtain employment.

“Now run along.” They turned to leave, and she called after them. “Don’t forget to act like ladies. And do bring me Miss Abigail Jenkins’s book.”

Jenny didn’t sleep a wink that night, not a wink. Though she sprinkled perfume liberally around the cell, the air hung thick with the smell of alcohol, tobacco, and who knew what else.

She lay on her cot looking out the little square of window high above her head. A star winked back as if enjoying a joke at her expense. Loneliness welled up inside. Her heart squeezed in anguish.

Seldom did she succumb to emotions. She was always the strong one. The one her sisters depended on when things got tough. Never did she let them see her cry or even worry. Even now, she fought to control the tears that burned her eyes, fought them until she realized there was no need. No one was around to see her moment of weakness. She was utterly alone.

How she wished for a shoulder to lean on. Someone to help carry the load.

If only she and God . . .

She considered praying but quickly abandoned the idea. It was no good. She didn’t deserve God’s grace or forgiveness, so what was the point of wasting His time?

It had been a mistake coming to Rocky Creek. If it hadn’t been for that newspaper article describing this horrid town in such glowing terms, she would have gone elsewhere. She’d probably have more luck finding eligible bachelors on the moon than in this decrepit town.

Two more weeks. If Brenda didn’t change her mind about Mr. Hampton or she didn’t find a suitable man for Mary Lou in two weeks’ time, she and her sisters would pack up and leave.

What sounded like a squeaking floorboard startled her. Heart pounding, she lifted her head and strained her ears. Was someone in the marshal’s office? Had someone come to do her harm? Senses alert, she sat up on her cot. Was that the jingling of keys she heard?

She felt beneath the cot for her parasol to use as a weapon. Gripping it tightly to her chest, she lay her head down.

The cot squeaked beneath her weight and she froze. For several minutes she didn’t dare move. No other sound broke the silence.

Rhett stood in his darkened office, keys in hand. He thought he heard her moan or cry out, but now all that greeted him was silence.

Normally he had no qualms about leaving the jailhouse after a day’s work. He simply locked up everything good and tight and never had any problems. Most of his prisoners were rowdies needing a couple of days to cool off or dry out.

Serious outlaws were now sent to the county jail, which was more secure. Jenny was a whole different problem. Stubborn as a mule she was. Independent as a wild Texas horse. Still, he sensed a vulnerability in her that brought out his protective nature. For that reason, he couldn’t bring himself to leave her alone and unguarded.

He hated keeping her locked up, but she didn’t give him much choice. Not only had she freed a prisoner, she put him in a difficult position with the townsfolk. If he let her get away with breaking the law, it would set a dangerous precedent and he couldn’t take that chance.