The Lawman's Surrender: The Calhoun Sisters, Book 2 Read online

  John Benning was as honest as the day was long, and just as stubborn once he made up his mind. Since he wouldn’t bring Abigail back in for more questioning, the task fell to Susannah. She would have to find Abigail herself and clear her own name. Obviously the law wasn’t going to help her do it.

  With a thoughtful expression, Susannah regarded the small, barred window of her cell and started to plan a jail break.

  “Marshal Brown!”

  Jedidiah groaned and, half-awake, reached across the bed, as if searching for someone even in slumber.

  The call came again, louder. “Marshal Brown!” Then there was a pounding noise, like thunder. Was it going to rain?

  “Marshal Brown!”

  With a start, Jedidiah sat up in the bed. Daylight streamed into his hotel room, a rude contrast to the moonlight that lingered in his memories. Scowling, he glanced at the pillow beside him, but there was no evidence that anyone had shared the bed with him.

  He let out a gusty sigh and rubbed both hands over his face. Another dream.

  “Marshal Brown!” Someone continued to shout his name and pound on the door.

  With a muttered curse, he shoved aside the sweat-dampened sheets, grabbed his gun from beneath the pillow, and stalked across the room, unconcerned with his naked state. He positioned himself to the side of the door, then reached over and yanked it open, leveling his Colt at the startled hotel clerk. “What?”

  The young man’s eyes bulged, and his mouth worked for a full minute without any sound coming out of it. Finally he just shoved a piece of paper at Jedidiah and ran.

  Jedidiah slammed the door, then turned to face his empty bed. Crumpling the paper in his hand, he leaned back and pounded his fist against the sturdy wood in frustration. The damned dream was always so real. He hated to wake up to the truth.

  Even the memory of the dream was enough to stir his flesh. He glanced at the paper, but the words blurred before his sleep-heavy eyes. With a muttered curse, he went to the washstand and put down the paper, then poured water into the basin. It was cold from sitting out all night, and he gratefully sponged off his overheated skin, his mind still awhirl with the images the night had brought.

  If it had just been an ordinary erotic dream, he would have shrugged it off as the normal fantasies of a healthy, thirty-nine year old man. But she was in it again, and that wasn’t so easily pushed aside.

  Damn Susannah Calhoun, anyway.

  He finished washing and reached for his pants. Ever since he had met the woman last year, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. Lord knew she was a beauty, but it wasn’t just her looks that drew him. The first time he had seen her, he had been struck by a feeling of recognition, as of she were a part of himself looking back at him.

  That feeling still disturbed him.

  Uncomfortable with the feeling, he had tried to avoid her. But Burr, Wyoming Territory, was a small town, and their paths had been bound to cross occasionally. When they did, conversation became a battlefield of dagger-sharp insults and strategic retorts that grew more heated each time they met.

  Perhaps if he’d never kissed her—or better yet, if they’d just ripped up the sheets a time or two—he’d be getting more sleep.

  Jedidiah grabbed a plain white shirt, buttoned it up, and tucked it into the waistband of his buckskin-colored pants. The woman had haunted him ever since he’d left that one-saloon town.

  She was just a woman, he had thought, and women were easily forgotten.

  But now he found himself dreaming of her nearly every night. More than once he had considered riding through Burr again just to see if he had imagined the whole thing. But he had managed to stop himself before he did something so foolish.

  One thing he had learned in life was that caring brought pain. So except for his older sister, Lottie, he made it a policy never to open his heart to anyone.

  Jedidiah sat on the bed and reached for his boots. He hadn’t seen his sister in a while, and now that the Slater gang was safely behind bars, he planned to go home to Charleston for a visit. He looked forward to seeing his nieces and nephews.

  He lifted his leg to yank on his boot, and his gaze fell on the message still sitting on the washstand. He stomped his foot into the worn leather, then reached for the crumpled piece of paper. He frowned as he smoothed it out. It had better not be more orders. He needed a break.

  The telegram was short and sweet. So was the curse he uttered.

  BABY DUE ANY DAY. CAN’T LEAVE SARAH. STOP. SUSANNAH IN JAIL FOR MURDER SILVER FLATS, COLORADO. STOP. PLEASE HELP. DONOVAN.

  Damnation, he was going to have to put off Charleston, after all. And the reason made even a cynic like him appreciate Fate’s sense of humor.

  He shoved the telegram into his pocket. Jack Donovan was perhaps the only real friend he had in the world, and he was real fond of Jack’s wife, Sarah, too. Now Sarah’s sister, Susannah, was in trouble, and there was no way Donovan could possibly go help. Which left it up to Jedidiah.

  He grabbed his other boot and stamped his foot into it, then quickly donned his dark duster and worn tan hat. He packed his things by the expedient method of sweeping them off the bureau and into his satchel. Then he headed toward the door. He had telegrams of his own to send.

  Chapter Two

  Susannah had decided to make the best of things while waiting for the right moment to escape from jail. Over the past two days, Sheriff Benning had allowed her some small comforts while they awaited the U.S. Marshal who would escort her to Denver. She was grateful for his compassionate nature when a visitor arrived that afternoon.

  Anne Blanchard was a beautiful woman with ivory skin and jet black hair set off by blue eyes that glittered like gemstones. She swept into the jailhouse as if it were a palace, dressed to impress in a gown of sapphire blue silk and snowy lace with a matching parasol. From the disappointed look on her face, she had obviously expected to see Susannah unkempt and in rags, not well-groomed and garbed in a clean dress of pink dimity.

  “Susannah, my dear, how are you?” she trilled in insincere tones. “This whole ordeal must be simply dreadful for you!”

  “Anne, how nice of you to come,” Susannah replied, not meaning a word of it. “How is everyone at the Silver Dollar?”

  “Everything is quite disorganized.” Anne gestured with her hands as she spoke, her accent one of upper class snobbery though Susannah knew she had been born a sharecropper’s daughter in Kansas. “Brick’s brother is coming to take charge soon, and then everything should get back to normal.” She sent Susannah a sly glance. “Of course, it won’t be the same without you performing.”

  Susannah gave Anne a sugar-sweet smile. “I’m certain you’ll get along without me.”

  “I suppose we’ll have to,” Anne replied, patting her stylish raven curls. “After all, it wouldn’t do to have Brick Caldwell’s murderer performing in his opera house.”

  “I didn’t do it, Anne,” Susannah said, dropping the polite facade. “Not that you care. I’m sure you just came here to rub my nose in the fact that you’re probably going to be the new star of the Silver Dollar.”

  “I am going to be the new star. And you, Susannah Calhoun, are going to be hanged for murder.”

  At the glee in the woman’s voice, Susannah raised her eyebrows and said coolly, “Why, Anne, if I didn’t know you had spent that night bouncing on Mayor Rafferty’s mattress, I’d swear that you killed Brick just to get me out of the way.”

  Anne’s ivory cheeks turned crimson, and her eyes narrowed in fury. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  Susannah laughed. “Anne, everyone knows about you and Mayor Rafferty. And he’s how much older than you? Thirty years? Thirty-five?” She scanned the woman from head to toes. “Then again, maybe twenty.”

  “You think you’re so much better than everyone else,” Anne hissed. “Well, it looks like you finally got your just desserts, doesn’t it?”

  “When you pinch your face up like that,
Anne,” Susannah replied blandly, “it makes you look more like Mayor Rafferty’s mother, not his mistress.”

  With a sound of fury, Anne turned and stormed from the jailhouse, shoving past a tall man who was entering the sheriff’s office. He nimbly side-stepped the furious woman, then turned to face Susannah. Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized Jedidiah Brown’s familiar lop-sided grin.

  “You do have a way with people,” he drawled.

  Susannah closed her eyes, then opened them again. No, he wasn’t a figment of her imagination. He was there in the flesh—all six-foot-plus of lean, ain’t-I-charming, devastating male.

  She wished she had a gun.

  Jedidiah got a real bad feeling from the gleam in Susannah’s lovely blue eyes. From the look on her face, he was probably lucky that she was unarmed and behind bars.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “Your family’s worried about you,” he replied, approaching her cell. “And I hear you need an escort to Denver. I called in a few favors and managed to get myself the assignment.”

  Susannah propped her hands on her hips. “I knew I shouldn’t have wired home. I suppose I’m lucky Sarah didn’t come tearing up here in her condition.”

  “Instead they sent me.” He almost laughed at the sour expression that crossed her face. “Your family trusts me. You might consider doing the same.”

  “Trust is usually earned, Marshal. And with the tab you’re running, you’re already way behind.”

  “I’ll catch up.” He studied her accommodations with raised eyebrows. The plain cot had been topped with a luxuriously thick mattress, complete with pillows and a ruffled coverlet. Makeshift curtains hung from the window, and a vase of wildflowers stood on the small washstand next to a silver-backed brush and mirror set.

  She followed his gaze. “Something wrong, Marshal?”

  All the way here, Jedidiah had imagined her scared and lonely in a stark cell. He should have remembered that Susannah Calhoun always landed on her feet. And if he’d remembered what a spoiled brat she was, he would never have lost a moment’s sleep.

  “You seem to have adapted well to your situation, princess,” he drawled, and watched her eyes spark with temper.

  “The sheriff was kind enough to let me have some of my things,” she said tightly.

  He leaned against the steel bars separating them. She was still beautiful enough to stop a man’s heart. Her silver-gilt hair was done up in fancy curls and ribbons, as if she were going to a ball instead of living in a jailhouse. A mixture of emotions, the most prominent of which was annoyance, lit her exotically slanted smoky blue eyes. Her peaches and cream complexion took on a becoming flush as he scanned her from head to toe, noting with masculine appreciation how her store-bought pink dress showcased the body that had inspired his lustful dreams.

  Susannah Calhoun was a hell of a woman. But had she killed a man?

  “Are you finished staring at me, Marshal? It’s quite rude.” She looked down her nose at him, though he was a head taller. “But then, you always were lacking in manners.”

  “I seem to get along well enough.” He tapped one of the cell bars. “I can’t say the same for you.”

  She made a vexed sound and threw up her hands. “Of all the U.S. Marshals, why did it have to be you?”

  “Your family didn’t want you rotting in jail.” He tipped back his hat. “So, did you kill him?”

  “Of course not. Do I look like a murderess?”

  “No, you look like every man’s fantasy come to life. But you know that already.” He ignored her huff of outrage. “Actually, I believe we’re all capable of killing, but the circumstances would have to be right. I imagine that if someone's life were in danger, or the life of a loved one, anyone could kill without losing sleep over it. But we're not talking about what other folks could or couldn't do. We're talking about whether or not you killed Brick Caldwell. And that's a whole other question."

  Susannah stared at Jedidiah in surprised silence. She had assumed he’d believe in her innocence, yet there he stood, calmly stating that he believed she was capable of murder. She had somehow expected he would immediately leap to her defense, though why she should feel such a thing, she didn’t know. After all, except for one kiss, she barely knew the man.

  Then again, he was a man few women would forget.

  She started to pace, slanting a sidelong glance at him. He still looked the same, tall and well-muscled, sun-kissed from head to toe. He never seemed to be in a hurry and did things in his own time. Once upon a time she even had wondered if he made love with the same studied slowness... She jerked her thoughts back from that path.

  He continued to watch her with those hawk-like eyes that revealed no clue to his true thoughts. She had seen those eyes hard and predatory, as well as hot with passion, but Jedidiah Brown was very good at hiding his feelings when it suited him. After all, he’d revealed nothing the last time she’d seen him that indicated he would be gone by the next morning. The sting of his abrupt departure had lingered with her for a long time.

  But she had to admit that he was right. She knew she wouldn’t hesitate to kill in order to protect her life or someone else’s. However, she hadn’t killed Brick Caldwell.

  “I didn’t kill him,” she said out loud.

  He raised his brows. “I’ve heard that before.”

  “I didn’t,” she repeated. “But believe what you want.”

  “It’s not my job to judge you, just to get you to the courthouse for trial.”

  Her eyes narrowed. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about Mrs. Hawkins, but why bother? The man didn’t seem inclined to believe in her innocence, and she was damned if she’d beg. “If that’s the way you want it to be, Marshal.”

  “That’s the way it has to be.” He centered his hat on his head. “Now, where’s the sheriff?”

  “Next door, having his supper.”

  “Good, I think I’ll join him.” He tapped one steel bar with his finger. “Stay out of trouble.”

  “And here I was planning on going over to the saloon to start a brawl.”

  “Resist temptation,” he advised with a chuckle, then turned away and strode from the room.

  She leaned against the bars, watching his retreating form with reluctant appreciation. “Don’t you worry, Marshal,” she said softly. “I will.”

  Maudeen’s Restaurant was crowded and noisy—and the smells coming from the kitchen were so heavenly that Jedidiah’s mouth started to water as soon as he set foot in the door. Miners and businessmen alike crowded together at the tables, roaring at each other’s tall tales and eyeing the pretty waitresses who nimbly wove through the maze of humanity.

  Jedidiah spotted the sheriff at a table in the corner, a dark-haired man with a silver star pinned to his vest. As Jedidiah approached, John Benning looked neither right nor left, merely concentrated on his roast beef dinner in a single-minded way that Jedidiah’s empty stomach could appreciate.

  “Evening, Sheriff,” he said, reaching the table. “I’m U.S. Marshal Jedidiah Brown. I’ve come to escort your prisoner to Denver.”

  Sheriff Benning shook Jedidiah’s outstretched hand, still chewing his roast beef. He gestured to an empty chair, swallowed, and said, “You’re welcome to join me, Marshal. I expect you’re hungry.”

  “You’re right.” Jedidiah slipped into the empty seat. He took off his hat and laid it on the chair next to him, then caught the eye of the pretty brunette waitress and signaled her over.

  Sheriff Benning continued to work on his meat and potatoes as Jedidiah ordered fried chicken and biscuits, with a pitcher of buttermilk to wash it all down.

  “Buttermilk?” the sheriff asked, raising his eyebrows as he forked up more roast beef.

  Jedidiah sent him a look that discouraged further questions. “I like buttermilk.”

  Sheriff Benning shrugged. “To each his own.”

  Jedidiah settled back in his chair. “I went by the jai
lhouse on my way in, Sheriff. Your prisoner looks right at home.”

  Benning chuckled and reached for his cup of coffee “I didn’t see as it would harm anyone to let the gal have a few things to make herself more comfortable.”

  “I noticed that your deputy’s letting in a lot of visitors. Do you think that’s wise?”

  “I don’t see the harm in it.”

  “Even if the prisoner’s been accused of murder?”

  Benning just shrugged and helped himself to more roast beef. “That little slip of a female isn’t going anywhere.”

  Jedidiah believed that Susannah Calhoun could sweet talk any visitor into helping her escape if she decided to, but he kept his feelings to himself. He didn’t want Benning inquiring as to how Jedidiah happened to know Susannah quite so well. “I hope you’re right,” he said instead.

  Benning sighed. “Accused murderers are normally guarded more closely, Marshal, but I have to admit, I sure hated to lock that pretty thing up. The wife and I sat with Miss Calhoun at the town picnic a while back, and we all got friendly after that. Even the children took to her. Then this mess happened.”

  “Why don’t you tell me about it.” The brunette returned bearing Jedidiah’s supper, and he sat back so she could set the food down in front of him.

  “Seems pretty clear,” Benning said. “She sang at Brick Caldwell’s opera house, the Silver Dollar Opera. Caldwell ran a decent place—no whoring going on. Miss Calhoun is a respectable woman, and I never heard tell of her doing anything a decent woman shouldn’t.”

  “Until now,” Jedidiah said.

  “Until now.” Settling into his story, Benning scooped up a forkful of potatoes and gravy. “Brick had his eye on her and invited her to his house after the show for a midnight supper. Next morning he turns up dead. Stabbed with a knife from the supper table.”

  “No other suspects?” Jedidiah bit into a chicken leg.

  “Not a one. Closest we came was the housekeeper, Abigail Hawkins. I talked to her myself. Caldwell’s neighbor saw the housekeeper leave at seven that night, just like she always does. The same neighbor saw Miss Calhoun running out of Caldwell’s house just after midnight like the place was on fire. The way I see it, she was there at the right time and had access to the murder weapon. And if you figure that she might have been fighting off some unwanted attention, it all fits.”