Judith French - Morgan's Woman

She raised her head and stared at him through tear-misted eyes. "Will you at least form your own posse, take armed men with you?"

"I work better alone. Besides, I was wrong before when I thought he'd gone to his uncle's cabin. I might be pulling good guns off on another wild-goose chase."

"And what if Jack kills you? What then?"

He shrugged. "Honey, I've got to-"

"I don't want to hear it!" She rose to her feet and backed away from him. "If you're going, then go- straight to hell, you bastard!"

"Maybe I will," Ash said softly before turning to stride out of the lawyer's office, leaving her numb and heartsick, already regretting the bitter words she'd flung at him.

Ash's determination lasted as far as McNarr's dry goods store, where he bought ammunition, a new rifle, and food to last him a week. It stayed with him as he made arrangements to sell the mule and leave Tamsin's horses at the livery stable. It even held firm as he thrust a foot into the stirrup and swung up on Shiloh's back.

As he reined the gelding in a tight circle, Fancy raised her head and uttered a plaintive whinny. Instantly Tamsin's image formed in his mind, and Ash's steely resolve cracked.

He swore a foul oath. "I can't do it," he muttered. "I can't abandon her."

Dismounting, he handed Shiloh's lines to a stableman. "Put him with the others," Ash ordered gruffly. "I've changed my mind. I'll be staying in Denver."

"How long?"

"As long as it takes."

Swallowing his pride, he started back for Dimitri's office and what he guessed would be a whole lot of apologizing.

It was late afternoon by the time Dimitri, his wife Helen, and a well-chastised Ash accompanied Tamsin across the creaky floorboards into Judge Marlborough's chambers. In Dimitri's home, she'd bathed, washed, arranged her hair, and dressed from the skin out in Mrs. Zajicek's fashionable clothing.

Jolly Helen Zajicek was three inches shorter than Tamsin and a good two stone heavier, but the good wife's whalebone-and-elastic corset crushed, pinched, and squeezed every inch of Tamsin's flesh from hip to collarbone. Side-button cloth boots, a size too small, cramped her toes. And the flannel-covered steel-cage crinoline, two petticoats, and dove-gray, shot-silk taffeta gown with its lined bodice and tightly cuffed three-quarter sleeves smothered her.

The day was stifling hot without a hint of a breeze, but Mrs. Zajicek wore gloves, hat, and cape, and had insisted that Tamsin top her outfit in the same manner. "A lady cannot be too careful not to allow her standards to slip on the frontier," she'd said with twinkling eyes and a merry laugh.

Tamsin felt that the widow's hair brooch at her collar was too much, but Mrs. Zajicek would not be swayed.

"You're going before Judge Marlborough. He is extremely conservative. Under the circumstances, you must make the best possible impression."

The judge's secretary, a dour young gentleman in a wool pin-striped suit, showed the four of them into the inner chambers, opened a heavily draped window, and let himself out through a side door.

Tamsin sat gingerly on the edge of a chair, relieving the ache in her pinched toes, and tried to compose herself. Dimitri seemed certain that the judge would allow her to remain as their houseguest and that the trial could be moved here to Denver. She hoped the lawyer was right. But greater than her apprehension of what would happen was the fear that Ash might change his mind again and go off chasing the outlaw Cannon.

She glanced at him for reassurance. He was a far cry from the rough bounty hunter who'd ridden into town with her. He wore an elegant, black woolen coat, a pinstriped shirt, a cravat, and a gentleman's hat. Someone who didn't know him might guess at his occupation, but no one would take him for a lawyer or a banker. Proper clothing, stylish haircut or not, Ash Morgan stood out as the dangerous man he was.

A drop of sweat trickled down between Tamsin's breasts. She felt wrung out, limp. Even having a repentant Ash here with her didn't restore her usual optimism.

Overhead, a fly buzzed noisily. The purple drapes hung motionless. The only sound in the room was the loud ticking of a clock on the mantel.

Bookshelves lined two walls of the chamber. A large mahogany desk and high-backed chair dominated the room. Not a single paper, not even a pen holder, marred the polished expanse of shining wood. The odor of cigars hung heavily in the still air.

Mrs. Zajicek sat in a chair beside Tamsin. Dimitri stood rigidly erect, hands clasped behind his back. No one spoke, and the fly continued to drone.

Then the door opened and a portly black-haired man entered the room. His plump, florid face seemed too small for the huge black mustache, and his small, spectacled eyes peered out from under equally black brows.

Tamsin remained silent, as Dimitri had instructed her, while he explained the situation. Judge Marlborough listened without interrupting while the lawyer asked for a change of venue and an impartial judge to hear the case.

When Dimitri finished, Judge Marlborough removed his glasses, rubbed them with a starched handkerchief, and balanced them on his nose. He opened his top desk drawer and removed several papers. Then he rummaged in another drawer for pen and ink.

I have a bad feeling about this, Tamsin thought. Butterflies fluttered in the pit of her stomach, and an unbearable itch had started on the right side of her back under her corset.

Ash's gaze met hers, and he winked, offering silent comfort.

The judge cleared his throat, then blew his nose loudly into his handkerchief. "You are Mrs. Tamsin MacGreggor?" She stood. "I am. And I want to say-" He cut her off. "Sit down, madam. Answer what I ask, no more. You'll have every opportunity at your trial." He opened the top drawer again, removed a bell, and rang it before beginning to write on the official-looking document with large bold strokes.

Tamsin started to speak again, but Dimitri cleared his throat and motioned her to silence. The clock ticked, competing with the scratching of the judge's pen. Finally, the door opened, and Tamsin's knees went weak as Sheriff Roy Walker entered the room.

Judge Marlborough raised his head. "Sheriff, you'll take Mrs. MacGreggor into custody and hold her in the Sweetwater jail until her trial," he ordered.

"Like hell!" Ash leapt to his feet.

"Hold your tongue, Mr. Morgan, or I'll find you in contempt of court."

"This isn't a trial," he fired back. "You haven't listened-"

"Don't tell me how to manage my courtroom!"

"This isn't a courtroom!"

"Any place I say is a court. One more word from you, Mr. Morgan, and you'll find yourself behind bars."

"Sir-" Ash began.

"Is that clear?"

"Crystal clear, your honor," Dimitri put in. He motioned Ash to sit down.

"Good," Judge Marlborough said. "It's fortunate for us all that Sheriff Walker was already in Denver on prior business."

"Please, your honor," Dimitri protested. "My client has voluntarily surrendered herself, and she's willing to post a high bail. She's no threat-"

Walker's boot heels clicked on the polished floor as he walked toward Tamsin. "You're coming with me, lady."

"No." She recoiled but made no attempt to flee. In these clothes, in the middle of Denver, where would she go?

"Your honor," her lawyer argued. "Mr. Morgan-"

"I'll take full responsibility for her appearance in your court," Ash said. "My reputation speaks for itself."

Judge Marlborough's artificially black eyebrows came together in a forbidding frown. "This woman is accused of a heinous crime. Samuel Steele, an honest rancher and respected member of the Sweetwater community, was shot in the back. There will be no bail for your Mrs. MacGreggor. She's a citizen of Tennessee. She's already run once. I'll take no chance on it happening a second time."