The Healer's Touch (30 page)

A stone hit the bar. He half rose on his elbow, wondering if it was hailing. But no—pleasant night air filtered through the iron rods. Rolling off the cot, he stood, stretching his strained back muscles.

When a third noise came, he stepped to the window. Moonlight lit the landscape. Boots's radiant face suddenly popped up, and he stumbled backward, his heart thumping. “Boots!” he hissed. “What are you doing here?”

“We're breaking you out.” She motioned with her eyes to Lark, who stood thirty feet away holding the horse's reins.

“Go home,” he snapped. “Now—before someone sees you!” He glanced over his shoulder. If the girls woke the sheriff his whole plan would be jeopardized. This hanging had to go off without a hitch until he reached the gallows and spotted Younger.

“Stand back. We'll have you out of here in a second. We packed your saddlebags with enough water and food supplies to see you through a week.”

Before he could protest, her head disappeared. Helplessly he watched her approach Lark. The two girls conversed in hushed
tones. Norman wouldn't pull those bars off the building; that horse didn't do anything that wasn't his idea. And he'd yet to find much that did appeal to that contrary animal.

Gripping the bars, he whispered in a strained tone, “Go home!”

The girls silently worked, attaching what looked to be a heavy rope around the saddle horn. His gaze fixed on the breakout effort and blood surged to his face.

Leading the horse to the window, Lark called, “Help us tie the rope!”

“Go away, Lark! Go home. Someone is going to hear or see you.”

“Don't worry. We're prepared to run. You'll have to tie the rope around the bars real tight. We don't have enough strength to make it hold.”

Stepping away from the window, he sat down on the bunk. If he ignored them they would go away.
Lord, let it be before they wake the whole town.

A rope appeared on the windowsill. The hemp lay there and then slowly slithered to the ground.

The second attempt failed as well.

Ian sat on the cot, his gut twisting into a tight knot.

The third throw landed a piece of the rope inside the bar. Ian reached and shoved it back to the ground.

Seconds later an angry Boots showed her face between the bars. “Pick up that rope and tie it!”

He shook his head. “Go home and don't make a scene.”

“You're going to hang in less than three hours!”

“Go home, Boots. I'll take care of this.”

A second later the rope landed on the windowsill.

He pushed it off.

After the next attempt, silence reigned. He bided his time until he dared to lift his gaze to the window. Lark peered in, both hands cupping her eyes. Easing back in the shadows, he remained quiet.

“I know you're in there,” she said.

He cracked his first smile. The girl was tenacious, like her sister.

“Answer me, Ian.”

“Go home, Lark. You're going to make the situation worse…” He paused. “What did you call me?”

“Ian.”

He swallowed back a mental groan. How did
she
know his name? “Where did you come up with that name?”

“I found a wallet when Boots and I were gathering greens. It has the name Ian Cawley written in it and U.S. marshal—”

“How long have you had the wallet?” he growled.

She picked herself off the ground and dusted the seat of her britches. “A while—when I found it I didn't think much about it considering the outlaws in the community. I figured someone had robbed a U.S. marshal and probably shot him and disposed of his personal belongings.”

Ian shook his head. “Does Lyric know?”

“She does now. I gave her the wallet earlier—honest, I'd forgotten all about.” She leaned closer and whispered. “Are you really a U.S. marshal?”

His heart sank. Lyric knew his identity.

“Listen.” He pressed closer to the bars. “You have to promise me you
will not
speak a word of this to Lyric. I'm serious, Lark. If you do—I'll—I'll find that young farmer you're so smitten with and introduce him to the prettiest young woman I can find.” That was the direst threat he had in his arsenal.

“It's true?” She gasped. “You really
do
have your memory back?”

“It's hasn't been back long, and I've kept it quiet for a reason.”

Her youthful and slightly dirty features sobered. “You can tell me—I won't tell anyone. I promise.”

“I trust you, Lark, but this time you're going to have to trust me. I don't want anyone to know about my memory coming back—not even Lyric. I can prove my identity to the sheriff when the time is right.”

“But why? Lyric's protected you. She's trying to help you and
find a way to get you out of here. She's in love with you, Joseph…I mean Ian.”

The words sliced through his heart like a knife through warm butter. Closing his eyes, he wrestled with his conscience. Lyric would be fit to be tied when she learned his memory was back and he hadn't told her, but she'd be here now if he had. Spoiling his plan. “Listen to me, Lark. I don't want you or Lyric involved. Now go home until I come for you.”

Boots called from the shadows. “When I throw this rope up to the window you latch on to it. Hear?”

“This isn't going to work, Boots. You're going to foul up my plan.”

“You don't have a plan. You're going to hang in less than—well, I don't know the exact time you have left, but it will be getting light soon.”

“I want you two girls to go home and stay there until this is over.”

She shook her head. “Lyric won't permit it; she won't let you hang. Now here's our plan. We're going to hitch the horse up to the cell bars and rip them clean out. Once that's done, you're to get on the horse and ride like the wind. Boots and I will run home and the sheriff will never know who tore up the jail.”

“Oh, wonderful. I'm sure he won't have the faintest idea who might do something like that.”

“Well—he'll have an idea but he won't be able to prove it.”

Ian glanced toward the darkness. “You tell Lyric for me that I said she is to stay away from here until I come for her. I want you to go now and bring me my wallet. Quickly.” Having his badge on hand would be one more reassurance when the time came to reveal his true identity.

Lark's head appeared. “How can you possibly come for her if you're dead?”

“I can assure you that I am going to do all within my power to make sure that day doesn't come for many, many more years.”

Lark sighed. “You won't let us help you?”

He shook his head. “Not this time, honey. Go home, get the wallet, and bring it back here before dawn. And pray that my plan works.”

“Can't you give me a hint of what you're going to do? What kind of strategy is going to save you from a hanging?”

“A risky one, but I'm willing to take it.” For her—for Lyric.

“Well, it had better be good enough,” she said.

“It will be.”

She eased away from the window and within minutes a rope sailed through the bars with a thump. Pesky female!

He sat for a moment, considering the odds. They were long; Younger had to know that one of his kin was going to be hanged this morning for the plan to work.

The sheriff would have to ignore the bloodthirsty crowd and agree to check his identity with the U.S. marshal's office. That might be the greatest variable of all: The acting sheriff was young and had a strong need to prove his worth.

Latching hold of the rope, Ian's protests dissolved in his throat. He had no assurance that Younger had gotten word of the hanging; he could have ridden out of town an hour after Ian last spotted him. And as Lark had pointed out, dawn was creeping up.

Maybe it would be worth trying to break out.

Just in case.

He grasped the hemp and wound it tightly through the thick bars, testing its strength. The knot held.

“Ready?” a soft voice called.

Sweat now puddled on his forehead. If he was caught he'd be shot on sight. “Where's Norman?”

“Who?” The hushed voice sounded like Boots.

“My horse. Norman.”

“That's his name?”

“Where is he?”

“Standing right here beside me.”

“Listen—he's contrary. When you start to pull keep your hand on his bridle. Tight. Don't let it go slack, or he'll throw the bit.”

“All right.”

Perspiration dripped in his eyes, and he wiped it clear with his right shoulder. If they woke the sheriff he was a dead man. His life hung in the balance between two flighty girls and a stubborn, cantankerous horse.

When had his life come to this? He'd once been an upstanding U.S. marshal, feared by outlaws and revered by his government.

He rechecked the rope's tension, thinking about Norman's fondness for water. Ponds. Creek beds. Fear struck panic
. Lord, please don't let there be anything close by. If the horse took a notion, he'd lie down in the creek.

“There isn't any water nearby, is there?”

“There's a creek that runs by our house, but it's not close to the jail.”

“Good.” He swiped at the beads of sweat rolling off his forehead. If he ever got out of this mess he would leave this holler and never come back.

“Are you ready?”

“Let's get it over with. Ready.”

Boots's and Lark's urging voices filtered through the bars. “Come on, Norman. You can do it!”

The rope grew rigid. Ian focused on the link to freedom as the thick hemp bit into the bars. Brick dust rose into the air.

The rope went limp. Activity ceased. Then it snapped rigid again.

Ian mentally strained with the horse's effort. “Come on, boy.”

The dust was flying now, iron bars straining. Ian stood back, focused on the sight and prepared to leap to freedom. If Norman pulled this off it would be a miracle. Those bars were set in solid brick. Lark's pleading voice came to him. “Come on, you can do it—pull harder!”

“Harder,” Boots's voice encouraged. “Give it all you got, Norman! Norman!”

“Norman?”

Ian froze when the rope went slack.

Stepping to the window he peered out. Had they been detected? Dread lodged in his throat. There wasn't much he feared, but that noose dangling in the wind unnerved him. Until this moment he didn't realize how much he wanted to live, to experience life with a wife and children. To take Lyric in his arms and hold her for the rest of her life.

Silence dominated the darkness. No shouts, no running feet.
God, let that be a good sign.

Pressing close to the bars, he strained to see out.

“Hey!”

Boots's smudged face appeared in the window. Staggering backward, his heart lodged in his throat.

“Boots! For crying out loud—what's going on out there?”

“It's Norman.”

“What about him? He's got the strength to finish the job. That horse is strong as an ox.”

“You know that pond next to the jail?”

“You said there wasn't any water around.”

“I know, but I forgot the pond.”

Mentally groaning, Ian knew the words that were about to come out of her mouth before she said them.

“Norman's lying in the pond and we can't get him up.”

“Drat that horse! Did you try swatting his rump with a willow switch?”

“We've tried everything, honest. He won't get up; he likes it there.”

Agitatedly running a hand through his hair, Ian gave up. “He'll be there until he's ready to get up, and who knows when that will be?”

“What should we do?”

“Go home.” He slumped against the cell window. No real harm
had been done; the bars were still intact and unless the sheriff looked close nobody would notice any damage.

“Yeah, guess we should. We still have one more thing we can try.”

“Boots!” He sprang back to the window, hissing. “Tell Lark to go get that wallet.”

He'd gone along with this foolishness, risked his life even further than required, and now they had to stand back and give his plan a chance to succeed. Granted it would likely prove as faulty as their clumsy jailbreak, but it was the last chance he had. It either worked or he hanged. Now that dawn approached the strategy sounded flawed. Could he really collect the Younger bounty money and go free?

“Can't, it'll be light soon.” Boots's voice faded as she headed off.