The Lawman's Betrayal Read online

  Wes shrugged. “That may not be so easy. Even assuming she knows anything, that was over three years ago. They could be anywhere by now. Brecker’s gang hasn’t been seen or heard of for quite a while. Maybe they split up and went their separate ways. Rumor has it they may have even gone down to Mexico or up to Canada. Evidently, they made no plans to meet up with her.”

  “We can only hope they left the country. They were a bad bunch. The governor’s convinced that they’re still in the area, holed up somewhere, or using this area as a home base. He wants them caught. If anyone can do it, Wes, you can.”

  “I don’t know. The trail’s pretty cold. Brecker always seemed to stay one step in front of the law. But I appreciate the confidence in me.” He rose to his feet and ambled over to the window. Movement by the gate caught his attention. Naomi Brecker stood there, her valise in her hands looking small and helpless. Her hair caught the sun’s rays and gleamed in the bright light.

  Then, as if she knew he watched, she glanced up at the window. Maybe it was a flight of fancy, but she angled her chin up, shot him a defiant look, walked out the gate and across the street. He laughed to himself. A small town of sorts had sprung up around the prison. The slim figure headed for the livery.

  “Well, I’d better get to work. Mrs. Brecker is on the move.”

  “Sure wish you could stay and have dinner, Wes. I’m in need of some masculine company. I’m a little tired of females.”

  Wes barked out a laugh. “Not many men would say that.”

  “Probably not, but if they could change places with me for a while, I’m sure they’d say different.” The warden grinned, rose to his feet, and stuck his hand out. “Send me a report when you find anything out, and I’ll make sure the governor gets it.”

  “Will do.” Wes shook the warden’s outstretched hand. He grabbed his hat from the chair, put it on, and tugged it down on his forehead. With a smile at the warden he left the room.

  Five minutes later, he found her—and found himself wondering why he was so fascinated with this woman, a convicted murderess. She definitely wasn’t the type of woman he normally gravitated to.

  As he rounded the corner of the livery, he saw her, a frown on her face, squared off with Nate Harper.

  “Look, lady,” Nate said, then spat a wad of tobacco. “I done told you. Fifty bucks for the horse. Take it or leave it.”

  “But—”

  “Nate Harper,” Wes broke in, “you know that nag ain’t worth fifty dollars. At the most, she’s worth twenty.”

  Nate frowned at him. “But I’m throwing in the saddle and saddle bags, Wes. They’re worth something.”

  “Come on, Nate, give her a break.”

  She glared at him. “I don’t need your help, Marshal.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever you say, ma’am. Go ahead—pay fifty for the animal. No skin off my back.”

  She hesitated, looking from him to Harper and back. “Mr. Harper?” She lifted her eyebrows at the liveryman, her full bottom lip quivering. She looked so pitiful that even Harper caved.

  A long sigh escaped Nate. “Oh, all right, but I tell you, it just ain’t fair. I caint abide a woman’s tears.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Harper.” She sent him a brilliant smile, all the while ignoring Wes. “I really appreciate it.” She opened the envelope the warden had given her and counted out the money.

  After she took out the twenty, Wes could see there was very little left. His admiration inched up a notch—she had grit.

  “Can you ride, Mrs. Brecker?” She turned those amazing green eyes to him, and Wes found himself drowning in a sea of green.

  “Yes, I can ride.” She patted the mare’s neck. “Mr. Harper, you said you had a rifle you’d sell me?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He disappeared to the back of the livery. In a few moments, he returned with a rifle.

  “How much?” she asked.

  “Twenty-five dollars.”

  “How about twenty?” she countered.

  Nate cursed low under his breath. “All right. Twenty.”

  “Ammunition?”

  “You got to get that at the mercantile.”

  “All right.” She examined the rifle, and from her sure movements, Wes could tell she was familiar with the weapon. “Seems to be in good shape.” With a nod, she counted out the money and handed it to Harper.

  Jamming the gun in the scabbard, she turned to Wes. “Yes, Marshal, I can shoot, too.” She looped the handle of her bundle over the pommel and climbed into the saddle. With a wry smile, she smoothed her skirt down.

  “I don’t like to butt in, ma’am, where it ain’t no concern of mine, but I think you should wait for the next supply wagon. It’s a long way to Gila Bend. Lots of varmints out there, both four-legged and two-legged.”

  She locked gazes with him for a moment. She shook her head, tears misting in her eyes. With her sleeve, she wiped them away. “You’re right. It’s not any concern of yours. Although I hate to admit it, you’re probably right, Marshal. I appreciate your concern. That would be the smart thing to do, but you don’t understand. I can’t, I just can’t. That’s all I can say.”

  Somehow, he understood. He couldn’t imagine being locked up for three days, much less three years. He’d be a crazy man by now. “I think I understand, but I still say it’s too dangerous for a woman to be travelling alone out there.”

  “I’ll just have to risk it. I can’t stay.” She nudged the horse with her heels and headed down the street. As he watched, she stopped at the general store. In a few minutes, she walked out carrying a larger sack. Several drifters standing in front of the mercantile moved to block her. Wes tensed, ready to step in if there was trouble. But she stepped around them, tied the sack to the saddle horn, and, without a backward glance, rode out of town.

  Wes uttered a low curse and pulled his hat down over his forehead. He didn’t fancy this job, yet the badge he wore gave him no choice.

  “Get my horse, Nate.”

  Chapter Two

  Naomi reined in her horse by a small stream where willows draped their feathery branches over the clear water. She hadn’t covered much ground, but the three hours in the saddle had her whole body aching. The heat had sent rivulets of sweat running all down her body. She fancied she smelled a bit ripe. Like she had in prison where they’d let the women bathe only once a week. Now that she was free, she planned to bathe every opportunity she could.

  The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. The entire afternoon she’d felt someone was following her. As a shiver snaked down her spine, she glanced uneasily over her shoulder. But no puffs of dust marred the horizon. Nothing stirred on the vast prairie. The marshal’s warning came back to her, and butterflies churned in her belly. But it was too late to do anything now except go on.

  She slid from the saddle. Her muscles groaned in protest when her feet hit the ground. She grabbed the saddle horn to steady herself, feeling a hundred years old instead of twenty. Gingerly, she rubbed her backside.

  Several oaks sat back fifty feet from the water’s edge, the shade beckoning invitingly. She’d not thought to buy a hat, and her nose and neck had sunburned. She sighed loudly. The prudent thing to have done was to have gotten a room at the hotel and waited for the supply wagon, but it’d been too close to that horrible place. Besides, when had she ever done the prudent thing? She knelt by the stream, scooped up handfuls of water, and splashed the cooling liquid over her face and neck.

  After resting a few minutes, Naomi unsaddled her horse and led the mare down the river bank to drink. She patted the animal’s nose. “Even though you’ve got a few years on you, you’re still a beautiful girl. You should have a name. I think I’ll call you Jo…for Josephine. That’s what I was going to name my baby if she were a girl, and Joseph if it were a boy. Yeah, Jo it is.” Unbidden tears gathered in her eyes, and she swiped at them with her sleeve. Would the pain of losing her baby ever go away?

  After the mare had quenched her thirst, she hobbl
ed the animal in a patch of green grass. While she hated restricting the mare’s movements, she’d be in big trouble if the horse strayed. She’d never get out of this alive.

  The sun had started its downward trek. Night fell quickly on the prairie, so she scurried to gather wood for a fire. Once she had made a circle of stones, she lit the dried branches. Thank God the clerk at the mercantile had known what she needed. If he hadn’t included matches, she would’ve been faced with a long cold night. She found the coffee pot and marched back to the stream. After filling it, she returned to the fire, added coffee, and set the pot over the hot coals. Soon, a delicious aroma wafted over her camp. She put bacon to fry, then opened a can of beans and dumped the contents in a small pot.

  Ten minutes later, she sat and leaned back against the saddle to eat her dinner. It wasn’t much of a meal, but she was eating it as a free woman. She smacked her lips. Beans had never tasted so good.

  Her thoughts turned to her pardon. It’d happened out of the clear blue sky. Who’d spoken on her behalf?

  And why?

  A quick glance at the setting sun told her she had about twenty minutes of daylight left—just enough time for a bath. She grabbed the bag that held her few belongings and rifled through the contents. When she found a white shirt and black riding skirt, a smile teased her lips. It seemed like an eternity ago when she’d packed for the trip to the prison. She could hardly remember what she’d included. Further inspection revealed boots, undergarments, a hair brush, soap and other toiletries. Thank God—she could get out of this prison dress and feel human again.

  She scooped up the clothing and headed down to the water. She slid the ugly dress over her head, tossed it to the ground, and stomped on it, laughing as she did so. The undergarments followed. She’d burn them tomorrow.

  As Naomi waded into the chilly water, shivers of delight washed over her. This bath was symbolic—washing away the pain and shame of the last three years. She unpinned her hair, allowing the long tresses to fall free. With a sliver of soap, she washed her tangled curls, then dove below the surface to rinse the suds out. When she surfaced, she finished bathing and walked toward the river bank.

  A man stood there, hat pulled low, gun in hand. A scream erupted from her throat, and she crouched down in the water. He pushed the hat back. U.S. Marshal Wes Cooper. “You! What are you doing here?”

  “Making a point.” He holstered his gun.

  “You scared me half to death,” she chastised him. “Just what point are you trying to make? Other than prove you’re a real jackass?”

  “You’re an easy target, Mrs. Brecker. You need to go back and wait for the supply wagon. It’s a lot safer than being out here alone.” He slapped his hat against his thigh.

  “Well, I was fine until you showed up.”

  He quirked a dark eyebrow at her. “Yeah, but I could’ve been a low life looking to have me some fun.”

  “Next time, I’ll have my rifle handy—and blow you away. Don’t forget I’m a convicted murderess.” She wagged her finger at him. “I knew some two-legged polecat was following me. I could just feel it. I should have listened to my instincts. I just didn’t know it was a lawman. Next time I won’t be so careless.”

  “This could have been the last time.” He shrugged and walked toward the campfire. “That coffee sure smells good,” he yelled over his shoulder.

  As he walked away, Naomi admired the long length of him. From his broad shoulders to tapered waist to his muscular thighs, he was all man. To her amazement, her body responded. Heat rose from the center of her being, bringing a flush to her face. She could imagine being in his arms…and his kiss…and more. She’d not looked at a man—in that way—for a long time. Not since the last time with…Roy.

  What in Heaven’s name was wrong with her?

  Besides, he thought her guilty of murder. Why had he followed her? Then it hit her right between the eyes—clear as a bell. He thought she knew where the stolen money was hidden. Was that why the governor had pardoned her?

  Memories of Roy Brecker surfaced, bringing tears to her eyes. The man she loved. Her husband—the man she thought she knew. Until that last night when he’d confessed that he’d not only been involved in all those crimes, but had master-minded them as well. All those business trips as a salesman had just been a cover-up. It was only when she’d told him she was going to have his child that he’d decided to give himself up and take his chances with the law.

  Before he could do that though, someone had killed him and his alleged mistress—and framed Naomi for their deaths. A dance hall girl named Rose had testified that her friend, Rita Jones, had been having an affair with Roy, and that Roy was going to leave his wife and run away with her. A woman scorned—the prosecutor had called Naomi, one who’d killed her husband and the other woman out of anger and jealousy.

  Then she’d lost her baby in prison.

  Now she was alone.

  Alone with her revenge.

  She shook her head to clear her mind. If she stayed in this water any longer, she’d be a prune. After checking to see if the marshal’s back was still turned, Naomi waded out of the water and dried off as best she could. She hurriedly donned the white shirt with its ruffled collar and pearl buttons and the black riding skirt. As she joined the lawman at the campfire, he took the last few bites of her meal. “Why don’t you make yourself at home, Marshal?”

  He quirked his eyebrow, and the broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Thank you, Mrs. Brecker. That’s right neighborly of you.”

  Naomi lowered herself onto her bedroll. She grabbed her valise, found her hairbrush, and ran it through her tangled tresses, all the while trying to ignore her surprising, and unwanted, attraction to Wes Cooper.

  ****

  As he watched her, Wes’s insides churned. What was it about a woman brushing her hair that was so sensual, so exciting it turned a man’s knees to jelly? The setting sun caught the honey-blonde mane in its golden glow. It seemed to hold the light. Now that she was dressed in form-fitting clothes, and even though she was thin, her womanly curves were obvious. Her mouth was perhaps a smidge too wide, her lips full…kissable. The word came unbidden to his mind. What the—?

  He reminded himself that she was guilty of murder. It would be idiotic to get involved with her. It was his job to gain her confidence and find out the whereabouts of the stolen guns and money. Besides, she didn’t appear to be interested in him at all. Irritation gnawed at him, and he laughed at his own arrogance.

  Had she been involved in all the robberies and hold-ups? Had she known of her husband’s activities—even condoned them?

  The newspaper also reported that Naomi had disavowed any knowledge of a mistress. She’d heard Roy and another man arguing. When she went downstairs, her husband and Rita Jones were dead. There was a man in the room, but she’d only caught a glimpse of him before he hit her over the head. When she woke up, the man was gone and she was sprawled across Roy’s body, a gun in her hand. That’s when the sheriff had appeared.

  But no one believed the man on the stairs existed. Her attorney had argued that a member of Roy’s gang had killed him, but the jury hadn’t believed that either.

  Wes glanced at Naomi as she continued to brush her hair, all the while trying to picture her committing such a heinous crime, but he couldn’t. While she didn’t seem to be the type, he supposed jealousy could drive one to do almost anything, even commit murder. He’d seen it happen many times before in his ten years as a lawman. He couldn’t understand it; he’d never cared for anyone that much. Regret brought a soft derisive smile to his lips.

  Outside the prison walls, the Brecker woman was more relaxed, her features soft and gentle. Her hands caught his attention. Broken fingernails and callouses proved her time in prison had not been easy.

  Worst of all, the mental scars didn’t even show.

  “Stop staring at me.”

  Her words jerked him back to the moment. “Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t realize I was st
aring.”

  “I feel like I’m on trial—all over again. I don’t like it at all.”

  “Just wondering what you were thinking about.”

  A soft smile touched her lips. “I was thinking that I could see the moon, and there were no bars to block my view.”

  “Prison had to be tough on you.” He grabbed a stick and stirred the fire, sending orange embers into the night sky.

  “Yes, it was.” Her lips pinched into a thin line, and her voice shook. “But that’s all behind me. Why did you follow me? What do you want?”

  “I don’t want anything from you, Mrs. Brecker. I’m just trying to help.” He took a sip of his coffee.

  “Why? Why do you want to help me?”

  Because it’s my job and…you’re all alone…and vulnerable…and gorgeous. He shrugged. “Because I’m a nice guy.”

  “Try again, Marshal.”

  “Name’s Wes.”

  “Well, try again, Wes.”

  He stifled a laugh.

  “Why don’t you tell the truth?” She shook her hairbrush in his direction. “You think I know where the stolen money is, don’t you? Well, I really hate to disappoint you, but I’m telling you straight, I don’t know anything, except I’ve lost three years of my life.” She grabbed her blanket and rolled over, turning her back to him.

  His gaze followed the curved line of her hip, down the slim legs. He licked his suddenly dry lips. “You were married to him. Are you telling me you didn’t know he was Roy Barker and that the Barker gang was running rough-shod over the countryside? They robbed banks, stagecoaches and trains, killing innocent people while doing it. Sorry, Mrs. Brecker, but I don’t believe it.”

  She flipped over on her side and glared at him. “I really don’t care what you believe, Marshal.”

  “I know.”

  “Is that why you want to help me? So you can have the money for yourself? I’m sure being a lawman doesn’t pay very much.”