Jackson's Woman Read online

  Jericho turned from Wiggins and grasped Deputy Hamblin’s beefy hand. “Good to see you back, Henry. Can’t tell you much except I heard a gunshot and ran in here to find some scalawag fixin’ to shoot Miz, er, LaFleur here.”

  Deputy Hamblin nodded to Vera. “Ah, Miz LaFleur, I’ve been hearing a lot about you.”

  She looked up at the gray-haired, brawny lawman who’d apparently led the unsuccessful search for Verity. She cringed at the assessing look in his cold blue eyes.

  “Hope you weren’t hearing bad reviews,” she quipped in an attempt to keep him focused on her stage persona.

  “No, ma’am, I understand you’re quite a songstress. The boys say your performance is terrific. So, what exactly happened here?”

  Vera glanced around at the gaggle of intent watchers. She was hesitant to tell her story in front of the entire town because of her fear that someone would make the connection between the attack on her life and her more apparent resemblance to Verity Me-Bride.

  Picking up on her hesitation, and perhaps mistaking it for modesty, Deputy Hamblin turned to the onlookers. “Say, fellas, I appreciate y’all coming around to lend a hand, but I need to take Miz LaFleur’s statement so why don’t you all head on back downstairs?”

  At their grumbling response, Jericho raised a hand. “Just a minute! Miz LaFleur and I are grateful for all your help and to show our appreciation, the house wants to buy all of you a drink. But that offer’s good only for the next ten minutes.”

  The small crowd didn’t need more encouragement The quicker men moved en masse through the narrow doorway, nearly trampling the slower moving men in their gleeful anticipation. In a matter of seconds, the room was cleared, leaving only the deputy, Jericho and Vera behind.

  Hamblin nodded at Vera’s nightshirt. “So, you must have been in bed when the ruckus started?”

  Vera glanced down. Seeing her scandalously exposed legs, she felt the color rise in her face. “Oh, goodness, excuse me for a moment, please.”

  As if he, too, had just noticed her bare limbs, Jericho took the deputy by the elbow. “Maybe we’d better conduct our visit in the parlor. Can I offer you a drop of brandy, Henry?”

  “The good stuff?”

  “My pleasure.”

  When the two men stepped into the front room, Vera sagged onto the bed. She hadn’t realized what an emotional toll the evening’s experience had taken on her. She was so tired she felt as if she could crawl beneath the covers and hibernate for the next full month. No doubt, Doc’s elixir—however weak—was having some effect.

  Dragging herself to the closet, she donned the only respectable garment she owned, a blue calico day dress that Jericho had purchased for her at Morgan’s Mercantile. After a quick swipe at her hair, she dabbed a cloth in water and wiped the sleep from her eyes. Maybe she could stay awake another five minutes. She yawned. Maybe.

  Opening the bedroom door she joined the two men who rose to their feet when she entered the room. There were some things about living in the past that she liked; the reverence most good men felt for women, for instance.

  Taking the settee for her wide skirt, she smiled and nodded at the men, their cue to sit again. Slowly, she was learning the rules of the frontier social structure.

  The deputy sat on the straight-backed, horsehair chair kitty-corner to the sofa. Jericho crossed the room to slide onto the settee beside Vera. She moved her voluminous skirt to accommodate him, grateful for the open endorsement of his close proximity.

  When everyone was settled, Henry Hamblin smiled at her. “Feelin’ better, Miz LaFleur?”

  “Thank you, deputy. Yes, I am.”

  “Then let me ask you some questions, see if we can catch this varmint. Jericho says you woke up and felt like somebody was in the room with you?”

  She hesitated, recalling that awful moment when she knew someone had broken into her room. As if sensing her distress, Jericho’s hand slipped beneath the folds of her cotton skirt to clasp hers. Buoyed by his unflagging support, she pushed aside the raw emotions evoked by the memory and raised her chin. “That’s right. I couldn’t actually see him but I sensed he was there.”

  Hamblin stared at her for a long time before speaking. “Kind of like your instincts were honed, looking for danger, is that right?”

  “I guess you could say that.”

  “Then this intruder—’cause if I understand right, nobody actually saw him—that so?”

  “No, I never saw his face,” she said.

  The deputy looked to Jericho for confirmation. He shook his head. “I had a sense of a large man, but there was no light in the room, no moonlight, and, frankly, he took me by surprise. I heard a shot, raced in and was hit in the belly soon’s I came in the doorway.”

  “That’s when he shot you—while you were on the ground?”

  “Yeah, like the yellow-bellied lizard that he is.” Jericho gingerly touched the fiery gash along his temple.

  “I see.” Hamblin turned his attention back to Vera. “This man must’ve been watching you for some time for you to...feel it and wake up.”

  “I suppose,” she responded, wondering where he was heading with his odd questions.

  “And yet you believed he wasn’t there to, um, force his attentions on you?”

  Slowly tossing her head, Vera considered his question. “No. This was no overly ardent admirer. He intended to kill me.”

  Hamblin leaned back on the rigid chair and stared into her eyes. “Now why do you suppose that was, Miz LaFleur? I mean, I’ve been an Arizona Ranger for more years than I care to count and I have to tell you, I’ve never met up with a fellow who had such an unnatural bent as to want to kill a beautiful woman.”

  He twisted his head to face Jericho and continued in a conversational tone. “Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

  Before Jericho could reply, the deputy continued his verbal speculation. “No sir, it don’t seem natural. Now I’ve seen family squabbles that got out of hand and someone died, and I’ve seen ladies kilt because of jealous rages, but I’ve never known of a man to sneak into a woman’s bedchamber with the pure purpose of wanting to kill her.”

  A dead silence filled the air as Vera tried to think of a response. In her time, women murdered in their beds were an all too common occurrence. It was refreshing to realize the law in Jerome found such crimes remarkable.

  Yet, without exposing her own secret, how could she explain that the would-be killer had ample reason to wish her dead? No doubt, whoever had attacked her thought she was Verity—and the only person who knew someone other than herself was guilty of Rafe’s murder.

  Jericho cleared his voice. “Maybe the man did attack out of jealous rage. Maybe he saw her onstage, thought she was singing to him and built up a story in his mind that she was...was his. Then, if he saw her come into my room...maybe that provoked him.”

  Hamblin tapped his fingers against his bearded chin as he considered the explanation. “Maybe so, Jericho. That might be an acceptable explanation ’cept for one thing.”

  “And what’s that?” Jericho ran his fingertip along the rim of the brandy snifter and polished off the golden dregs.

  Vera could see Jericho was trying to act nonchalant, as if the motive behind the attack would turn out to be some acceptable masculine failing. But his fear—and hers—was almost palpable in the still room. Henry Hamblin was edging too close to the truth.

  The deputy set his empty snifter on a small table and leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees, his chin resting between his thumbs. “From what the boys tell me, Miz LaFleur’s only been in town a couple days. Don’t seem likely that a man would get all het up about a woman he’s only seen once or twice.”

  He raised a hand to forestall Jericho’s objection. “No, no. Let me finish. Now I’ll grant you a woman as handsome as Miz LaFleur here could engender some powerful emotions in a man, if you’ll forgive the personal reference, ma’am?”

  Vera nodded, not trusting her voice to spea
k.

  “But it seems there’s a much more likely explanation,” Hamblin continued.

  Again silence filled the room until the tension was as real and edgy as the fear she’d felt waiting for news outside the mine after the accident. The gentle ticktock of the grandfather clock in the corner was as loud as the tolling of doom.

  Finally, Jericho broke the quiet. “And that other explanation, Henry?”

  “Well, seems more simple if we was to accept the fact that Vera LaFleur probably ain’t this purty lady’s teal name. Is it, ma’am?”

  Vera sat stock still, not answering, barely daring to breathe.

  “Now I may be a little slow, but my eyesight ain’t give out yet. Reckon your costume and all that falderol you painted your face with might have fooled the men, but, ma’am, you ain’t wearing no face paint now and the answer’s clear as the nose on your putty face. You’re Verity McBride or my name ain’t Henry Makepeace Hamblin.”

  “DON’T RECKON we’ll need the handcuffs, will we ma’am?”

  Recognizing the deputy was asking for her word that she wouldn’t attempt to escape custody, Vera shook her head. “No, I’ll go peacefully.”

  “The hell you will!” Jericho slammed the flat of his hand against the solid wood door. Whirling around he jammed his hands on his hips and glared at Hamblin. “You’re sentencing her to death and you expect her to just give in and go quietly?”

  “There’ll be a trial, Jackson. Ain’t going to be no lynching in my jurisdiction.”

  Jericho laughed, a harsh guttural noise that told Vera just how desperate he believed her situation to be. “A trial? You must be joking. When the hell has anyone with Indian blood ever received a fair trial in this territory?”

  Seeing Vera’s stubborn look, Jericho added, “Guess we don’t have much choice, do we? If she doesn’t give herself up to the law, they’ll just put a bounty on her head.”

  He hated to frighten her even more, but he had to make her understand the seriousness of the situation. Now that she’d been found out, a cell in Prescott was the only place she’d be safe.

  Hamblin placed a calming hand on Jericho’s shoulder. “I don’t think you’re giving folks hereabouts much credit Everyone knows Rafe Wilson was meaner than a cornered rattler, and that’ll count some with the jury. And Miz McBride and her mother are pretty respected in this town. My missus still talks about the time she stayed up all night nursing our youngun through the fever.”

  “Yeah, but your missus can’t serve on the jury,” Jericho retorted.

  Suddenly, Vera understood his very real concern about a jury trial. This was the late nineteenth century, Arizona was still a territory and women didn’t yet have the right to vote. That meant the working men of Jerome, Rafe’s cronies and drinking buddies, would comprise the jury of Verity’s “peers.”

  A cold sickness swept through Vera, and she rocked from the realization of her true peril. “Whwhat about a change of venue?”

  “Say what?” Hamblin’s grizzled gray eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

  “What are the chances of moving the trial to a larger city? Someplace where Rafe’s friends won’t serve on the jury.”

  “Ah. Well now, I don’t see why not Jerome ain’t got a courthouse or even a judge. We’d have to wait for the circuit judge to come around next month anyhow. No reason not to just take you down to the county seat Might be better all around.”

  “County seat?” She hated to expose more of her ignorance of her surroundings, but he could be talking about Cottonwood or Phoenix.

  Jericho’s concerned glance told her information was being conveyed that she should already know. “Prescott’s the seat of Yavapai County, Ver. Most official business is conducted there.”

  She nodded. “Will I have the benefit of a lawyer?”

  “Of course!” Hamblin snorted. “Where do you think you are-in some lawless outpost of civilization?”

  Henry Hamblin’s good-ole-boy facade was merely that, she realized with a start. Underneath his shucks-howdy exterior, an intelligent, educated man was in complete control. She’d do well to remember not to underestimate him again in the future.

  Raising her chin, she stepped forward. “All right. When do we leave for Prescott?”

  “First thing in the mornin’.”

  “That means I’ll have to spend the night in jail.”

  Jericho and Hamblin exchanged a glance. The deputy cleared his throat and stared with entirely too much attention to a porcelain figurine on the occasional table. “Er, uh, no, not exactly.”

  Crossing the small room to stand in front of her, Jericho took her shoulders in his firm grasp. “Jerome doesn’t have a jail.”

  “Oh.” She sighed, relieved that she wouldn’t have to spend the rest of the night on a urine-soaked cement-floored cell.

  Her sense of relief was short-lived when she recalled that uneasy glance they’d exchanged. A sick curiosity forced her to ask, “Where do you house the prisoners before taking them to Prescott for trial?”

  Hamblin picked up the porcelain figurine to study it in even greater detail. “Uh, we, um, usually just handcuff ’em to a, er, wagon wheel or something.”

  “What!”

  She couldn’t believe her ears. Into what kind of barbarous society had she fallen prey? “You mean you just leave people tied up in the street like dogs? Overnight?”

  Hamblin frowned and slowly nodded. “Most of our prisoners are just drunks who need to sleep it off anyhow. If it’s raining or cold like tonight, though, we usually shackle them to a wagon inside the livery stable.”

  How much worse was this nightmare going to become before she finally woke up? Or before she finally regained her old life? Suddenly, the tiny one-bedroom apartment she shared with Squiggles, her tabby cat, seemed like the safest haven on earth. If she got out of this mess Vera vowed never again to complain about lonely weekends and a boring life. Boring wasn’t all that bad.

  While the nausea boiled in her stomach, she at last found her voice, although she could barely force out more than a whisper. “So, I’m to spend the night bound to a wagon wheel and left in an unheated barn?”

  Hamblin laughed uneasily. “Now that you talk on it, it don’t seem right. Reckon I’ll have to make other arrangements. If we didn’t have Missus Hamblin’s sister from Saint Louis staying with us, I’d put you up at our place.”

  “Why can’t she just spend the rest of the night here?” Jericho asked as he released Vera’s shoulders.

  Hamblin hesitated. “Don’t know that she’d be safe here, once word gets out.”

  “If you don’t tell, how will anyone know?” Jericho asked reasonably.

  “I have to wire the sheriff in Prescott. You know full well that Marvin Shott’s a terrible gossip. Minute I hand him the telegram and take my leave he’ll run to the nearest saloon and spread the word.”

  Jericho raised his head and stared at the deputy. “She’ll be safe here. I’ll see to it.” He Nipped back the edge of his long black jacket, exposing the pearl-handled Colt .44 bolstered to his thigh.

  Hamblin rubbed his chin. “And I have your word Miz McBride will be here in the mornin’? Ready to travel to Prescott?”

  Jericho nodded. “You have my word.”

  Vera collapsed onto the settee. Just like that they’d settled her fate. It never occurred to either of them to ask her how she felt about her own sleeping arrangements. Although to be fair she’d obviously already been in accord with a similar plan. Still, she had to accept the fact that she was in another time, one where women had no real say about their fate. She’d fallen into a world she didn’t understand and couldn’t cope with yet. At this point, the best she could hope for was the freedom to live out her life in this unenlightened and hostile world.

  Chapter Ten

  Deputy Hamblin finally left after obtaining Jericho’s word that Vera wouldn’t be left alone. Jericho closed the door behind him and exhaled a deep, ragged sigh of frustration.

 
He’d repaid his debt to Min-e-wah by placing her only daughter in jeopardy. Instead of taking her directly to the Apache village as he should’ve done, he’d made the unilateral decision that she needed medical help and insisted she accompany him back to Jerome. A decision that might now cost her life.

  A few days ago, her biggest problem had been defending herself against Rafe Wilson’s drunken rages. Now, thanks to Jericho, she also had to worry about Rafe’s killer, a bloodthirsty lynch mob and a racially biased jury. Good job, Jackson.

  He turned from the door, finally ready to face her accusing eyes.

  The dark eyes that met his gaze, however, were meltingly soft, almost heartbreaking in their obvious trust. The cold shell that had tightly bound his heart for so many years thawed like the last snowflake under a bright spring sun.

  Crossing the room, he paused before drawing her into his arms. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” he whispered into her soft hair.

  “It’s not your fault,” she murmured. She was stiff, unyielding for a heartbeat before melting against him.

  His fingers clenched convulsively, drawing her so close he thought her bones would surely penetrate his flesh. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t been so pigheaded, so sure I was right—”

  She drew back and pressed a fingertip against his lips. “Shhh. I believe in the system, Jericho. I’ve always championed following rules and operating within the bounds of the law. I can’t abandon that faith now or my whole life will have been a sham.”

  He couldn’t believe she was so ready to let him off the hook. He didn’t deserve amnesty, and he didn’t deserve to have a woman like Vera in his arms. Unable to release his own guilt so easily, he once more sought to shoulder the blame. “I should’ve taken you to the Apache encampment as soon as I pulled you out of that mine shaft.”

  Vera smiled gently. “That was the first time you saved my life. But, Jericho, I’ve never lived among the Apache. The world I know has always been the...white world. No, this is where I need to prove my innocence. That wasn’t a mistake. You’ve shown me nothing but kindness.”