Ana Seymour - Outlaw Wife

After their brief exchange, the three occupants of the sheriffs office had settled down in silence, each busy with their own thoughts. Willow’s had been gloomy. She was thinking back over the past several months, trying to decide exactly where her life had begun to spin out of control.

She could now appreciate the lengths to which her father had gone to protect her from his lawless world. Growing up, she’d resented it. Resented his absences. Resented the fact that she’d had to live with Aunt Maud on a tiny ranch in the middle of the endless bare plains of Nebraska, never seeing anyone. Never visiting a neighbor or being visited by one. When Aunt Maud had died last year, she’d been almost glad because it had forced her father to take her away from the desolation of that place.

Now she finally realized what he had been shielding her from.

She looked around at the jail cell. It had two cots, which were the only furnishings. A chamber pot stood in one corner, without so much as a screen for modesty. Would she have to use it—in plain view of everyone? Would she have to sleep here, watched by strange men? She rubbed her hand along the blanket. It was old and greasy. She swallowed down rising tears.

“They can’t hold you in here, darlin’,” her father told her softly from across the cell, reading her dismay.

She looked out at the man on the bed—the one she’d watched Jake stomp so savagely yesterday that she’d almost lost her breakfast. Simon Grant, the marshall had called him. He appeared to be sleeping. Turning back to her father, she said, “But I was there, Pa. And I did ride with you on those last few jobs.”

“They can’t prove that, Willow. Swear to me that you’ll deny everything if they ask you.”

She glanced again beyond the bars to the injured man. “He said he saw me there.”

“He said he thought he saw you. He was too far gone to know what he saw.”

“I was foolish. I should have kept my neckerchief in place.”

“You were damned foolish to go back to him in the first place. I should have suspected you weren’t off all that time on ‘feminine business’ as you so sweetly put it.”

“He would have died.”

“And we would have sold his blasted horse and been three counties from here by now.”

Willow looked down at her lap. “I’m sorry, Pa.”

Seth hoisted himself up off the bed and went to sit beside his daughter, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Not much use in frettin’ over it now.” He lifted her chin. “You’re not going to turn all Weepy Willow, now are you?”

It had been one of his pet names for her when she was a child, crying to see him ride off yet again for who knew how many months. “Don’t you get Weepy Willow on me,” he’d say teasingly, then he’d take her in his arms and gently wipe away the tears.

“What’s to become of us?” she asked.

“I reckon it depends on that young feller lying over there. They’ve already got about a mountain of things to pin on me. If they can add his testimony, it should be enough to put me at the end of a rope.”

Willow stiffened. The stark words sent a chill right through her middle. They might actually hang her father? It was unthinkable. She looked out again at the stranger who held such power over their fate. “What if he doesn’t testify?” she asked softly.

Seth shrugged. “Not much hope in that. You see what Jake’s boots did to him. Wouldn’t you testify if you were him?”

Her spell of self-pity over, Willow felt her mind beginning to work again. This battle was not lost. As he himself had pointed out, she’d saved their victim’s life. And there’d been a look in his eyes when he’d said it. She’d come to know that look in the year she’d been riding with the band. It meant that a man was interested, as her aunt Maud used to say. She’d never been the least bit interested in return, and she wasn’t now. But if keeping Mr. Grant interested would mean he wouldn’t testify against her and her father, she’d be willing to give it a try.

“Now what’s going through that busy little head of yours?” her father asked.

“Maybe we can convince him not to testify against us.”

Her father pulled his arm away from her. “You can stop that line of thinking right now, Winifred Lou Davis. You just keep your mouth shut and don’t admit anything. It’ll be fine. They can’t keep a young girl locked up like a hardened criminal.”

“Mmm.” She leaned over and planted a kiss on his leathery cheek. Not even Aunt Maud had ever called her by her real name. She’d been Willow since she was a baby, and the only time her father ever called her Winifred Lou was when he was angry or very, very serious.

Seth Davis shook his head and stood. “I’m going to get some shut-eye myself. I can’t even think straight. If the sheriff ever gets back here with that food he promised, wake me up.”

He went over to the other cot and lay down.

Within seconds, Willow could hear his light snores. A life on the run had taught Seth Davis to sleep when he could—anytime, anywhere. But even though they’d been up all night, Willow was wide-awake. She was going over again the brief conversation she and her father had had with the man whose testimony could cost her father his life. She was more and more certain that she hadn’t been mistaken about the way he’d looked at her. Now all she had to do was figure out a way to take advantage of it.

Simon felt as if he’d slept through another entire day, but it couldn’t have been long at all. John was just walking in the door of his office with a tray heaped with food. For the first time since his beating, Simon was hungry. His stomach rumbled in anticipation.

He sat up, feeling almost normal. His horse was back. The marshal had recovered his money belt with almost the entire bankroll intact. He could move again without wanting to puke. Things weren’t so bad after all.

He looked over at the cell. The old outlaw had evidently been sleeping, but he sat up as John walked into the room. The girl was still on the other cot, leaning back against the wall. Her eyes were fixed on him. He ventured a smile.

She smiled back. Lord, she was a beauty. Grimy male clothes and all.

“Sorry it took me so long,” John said, placing the heavy tray on his desk. “Mrs. Harris insisted that I sit myself down for a hot meal before I came back. Land sakes, but the woman’s a pain in the posterior.”

“And you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if you didn’t have her yappin’ at you,” Simon agreed with a grin that didn’t even hurt.

“How’ve my prisoners been behaving?” John asked, ignoring his friend’s comment.

“I’m afraid I’m not such a good watchman, John. I fell sound asleep again. Sorry. I feel like a tuckeredout two-year-old.”

John busied himself with the tray of food, filling three plates with sausages and beans. “That would be the laudanum. I laced your coffee this morning.”

“The hell you did.”

John shrugged. “Cissy’s orders.” And that was that.

Simon let in enough air to qualify as a sigh. He had to admit that whatever John had given him had eased the pain. But it seemed…cowardly, somehow. His father had never allowed himself to be medicated, no matter what he was suffering. He glanced at the cell. The girl was still watching him. “A shot of whiskey would’ve worked just as well,” he said under his breath.

John didn’t appear the least affected by Simon’s grumbling. “Help yourself,” he said indifferently. “It’s in the desk drawer.” He reached over and thrust a plate at Simon. “I’d eat something first, though.”