Brides of Arizona, page 18
“My mother gave me her old mourning dress. She said it’s sensible for travel.”
The deputy stepped away and hung the ring of keys on a nail near the cluttered desk. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, turned to face her, and relaxed his slim frame against the wall. “Don’t think you can fool me. I know your type. You think you can shed a few tears and a man will do exactly what you want. Well, this man won’t. You can cry all you want, and it won’t do you any good.”
Kathleen’s mouth dropped open. “I’ve never in my life done that. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not a widow. I’m not a thief. I came to Tucson to visit my cousin. You have no right to put me in this cell.” Anger welled up inside. Who did he think he was, dragging her off to jail and accusing her of such ridiculous things? She glared at Quinn, using the practiced glare that always made her siblings cringe and do exactly what she’d asked of them.
Quinn appeared unaffected. Walking around the desk into the shadows beyond, he began to unbutton his shirt with a studied nonchalance. Kathleen turned her back, unwilling to watch. The rear door banged. She could hear water splashing as he cleaned the manure from his face and shoulder. She’d nearly laughed at the deputy when she’d first seen the manure splashed across his ear. Then, as now, the seriousness of her situation sobered her.
A feeling of helplessness wrapped around her. God, what is going on here? Why am I in jail? I’ve never done anything against the law.
The rough boards of the floor echoed like a hollow drum as the deputy clumped to the desk and pulled a different shirt from a peg on the wall. Kathleen tried not to watch. He had to be the handsomest man she’d ever laid eyes on. A slightly hooked nose added strength to his face. With his hat off, she could see the dark blond waves in his hair. She wondered if they gleamed even more in the sunlight than they did in the shadow. If looks were all a woman needed in a man, this one would make a fine husband.
What am I thinking? This man threw me in jail for no good reason, and all I can do is admire him. Kathleen wanted to kick herself … or maybe someone else.
After crossing to the front of the small cell, Kathleen wrapped her gloved fingers around the metal bars. She wondered how many truly desperate characters had gripped the bars this way before her. “I’d like to know how long you plan to keep me in here. My cousin’s husband should be here any time to pick me up. What about my trunks? If someone takes them, you’ll answer for it.”
Deputy Kirby pulled out the chair, settled into the seat, and lifted his booted feet onto the scarred desk. “I’ll send someone to fetch your trunks. We can store them for a time. Where you’re going, you won’t be needing them.”
Waves of red-hot anger blurred Kathleen’s vision. “Exactly where do you think I’ll be going, besides my cousin’s house?”
The deputy reached up and ran a hand through his unruly waves of hair, leaving them in even more disorder. “Why, Ma’am, I reckon you’ll either be going to prison for a good, long time or swinging from a gallows when I’m done with you.”
Chapter 2
Kathleen could feel the blood draining from her face. Her grip tightened on the bars as her knees began to shake. She refused to show weakness before this lout who was bent on intimidating her. There must be some way to get him to see reason. Her cousin, Glorianna Sullivan, would be expecting her today. She’d sent a telegram at the last major town to let Glory know exactly what day she would arrive. Lord, let someone tell Glory or her husband where I am. Please, help me.
“I can’t imagine the good townspeople in Tucson would allow you to hang an innocent woman.” Kathleen fought a wave of dizziness at the thought of a hanging. “Our justice system is better than that.”
“It is—if you’re innocent.” The deputy pulled a knife from his pocket and began to clean his fingernails as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “Of course that fella in ’73 claimed to be innocent too. Didn’t do him any good.” He paused, his light eyes gazing at her with the intensity of a hunter watching his prey. “The townsfolk hung him anyway, along with those three Mexican fellas who murdered Vicente Hernandez and his wife. Mrs. Hernandez was expecting their child. Folks were riled up real good. When folks out West get riled up about something, they’re hard to reason with.”
“Didn’t anyone try to stop them? Didn’t they get a fair trial?”
“Naw.” Deputy Kirby’s chair legs thumped on the floor as he sat up. He shoved the knife into his pocket and pulled out his pistol. “Old Milton Duffield tried to convince the boys to stop. He got a lump on the head for his troubles and slept through the whole lynching.”
Nausea swept through Kathleen. Her legs felt as if they would give out. She leaned into the bars. “And where were you, Deputy? Didn’t you try to stop them, or were you at the head of the mob?”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m here to uphold justice, not to take it in my own hands. If I’d been in town, I would have tried to stop them. So happens, I was out of town on business.”
Pulling out a rag, he began to polish his pistol. “I reckon you’ll come up before Doc Meyer in a couple of days.”
“A doctor? I don’t need a doctor. I need to get out of this jail.”
He grinned, and his handsome face took on a boyish quality. “Oh, Doc Meyer isn’t really a sawbones. He runs the drugstore. He’s also our justice of the peace. He hears all the cases like yours, then decides what we should do.”
Slipping his pistol into the holster, he strode across to her cell. “Ma’am, if you hold any tighter to those bars, you might leave marks on them. Why don’t you have a seat on that bunk in there, and I’ll run out and fetch you something to eat. There’s one thing I know about riding the stage—you can build up a mighty thirst and hunger.”
“I’m not hungry.” Kathleen knew her dry throat could use something. “I would appreciate a drink, though, if you’re sure it won’t be wasted on someone who’s to die so soon. I’d also like to speak to the sheriff.”
“You’ll have to talk mighty loud then. The sheriff is off with a couple of U.S. marshals on a manhunt up north.” His eyes twinkled, and she found she couldn’t turn away. “Now, Ma’am, I wouldn’t have it said we mistreat our prisoners here in Tucson. I’ll be back with your food in two twitches of a burro’s ear.”
She couldn’t resist a parting shot. “I suppose lynching isn’t considered mistreatment?”
He laughed. “No, Ma’am. Not when the criminal is as guilty as you.”
The door creaked shut behind him. Kathleen could hear the scratch of the key turning in the lock. Tears burned in her eyes. What was going on here? She’d just come to Tucson to visit Glory and help her with the new baby. Everything seemed to be going wrong. The trip out here was miserable. The stage broke down twice, and the driver’s stories of Apache attacks nearly scared her to death. Now, here she was so close to her destination but locked in a stinking jail on false charges, threatened with being hung. What next?
She released the bars. On legs that promised collapse at any moment, she made her way to the cot. She sank onto the dingy mattress, closing her eyes in relief at being able to sit. The next moment, the smell of stale sweat and unidentified odors assaulted her. How could these people claim to be civilized when their jail was little better than a pigsty?
Slipping her gloved hands beneath her veil, Kathleen covered her face. Even through the gloves, she could feel the raised mark on her cheek, the mark that set her apart from others. She didn’t understand why God had allowed her to be like this, but she tried not to question, only trust. Today, trust seemed too far from her grasp. She felt ugly, unwanted, and abandoned. All the feelings of hatred and fear directed at her from childhood seemed to crash over her now. She wept, silent tears dampening her travel-stained gloves.
“Thank you, Señora Arvizu.” Quinn smiled at the widow as she placed the plate of food in front of him. He inhaled the spicy scent of chilies. “I’ll need another plate to take to the jail with me in a few minutes.” The señora nodded, then squeezed her way past him to set a plate in front of Edward Fish, owner of Tucson’s first steam-powered flour mill.
“Have you heard the good news?” Ed moved close to Quinn.
Scooping beans onto his fork with his folded tortilla, Quinn gave Ed a questioning look. “What news would that be?”
“The new schoolteachers have been hired and will arrive in a few weeks.”
“Schoolteachers? They need two teachers to replace one?” Quinn shook his head, puzzled at the expense the town was taking on.
“Two female teachers.” Edward’s lips twitched with a rare smile. “Unattached teachers.” He straightened and forked a bite into his mouth.
Quinn stared as he chewed. In this town, unattached white females would be a novelty. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of. Don’t they realize this is a waste of money, hiring women for the job? Unless they’re the worst women in the world, they’ll be married off within six months, and then the town will have to look for another teacher.”
“That’s true, but think of the advantage we single men have. Since I lost my wife, I’ve wanted to remarry. Maybe one of these young ladies will be just right for me. You can bet I’m willing to give them a chance.”
“I still think the board should have given John Spring the raise he asked for or the assistant he needed.”
“Well, if one of these ladies proves to be good marriage material, I’ll be grateful to Spring for the uproar he caused. The school board was right. They can easily afford two female teachers for the one hundred twenty-five dollars a month they were paying him. His demand for an assistant or a raise of twenty-five dollars a month so he could hire his own assistant was ludicrous.”
Quinn shoveled the last mouthful of beans into his mouth, swallowing before he continued. “I don’t know. I think bringing women out here is a mistake. Not too long ago, we were having Apache attacks. This is man’s territory and should remain that way until it’s safe for women.” He stood. “Besides, before I’d consider getting married, I’d have to meet a woman who’s got plenty of spunk and courage.” A vision of hazel eyes and a star-marked cheek floated through his mind. He pushed the thought away. He refused to be attracted to a criminal.
“Nice talking with you. I’d better get back to the jail and feed my charge.” Before Ed could ask more, Quinn pushed his way through the crowded tables and collected a plate of food to take with him.
The outside air had cooled as the sun dropped low in the sky. Quinn drew in a deep breath, then wrinkled his nose. Despite washing, the scent of manure still clung to him. Then again, it could be the smell of the Tucson streets, known for piles of dung. With all the freight traffic through town, no one seemed to be able to find a solution for the mess the horses and mules left behind.
Few of the town’s inhabitants wandered the streets at this hour. Most were at home for their evening meal or somewhere like Señora Arvizu’s eatery. Quinn grimaced at the thought of spending the night at the jail. He couldn’t leave a female occupant by herself all night even with the door locked. He’d have to set up a cot. Sleeping on an uncomfortable bed made the thrill of catching the Widow fade a little. Pushing away the thought, he resumed the walk toward the jail, thinking instead of the stir of excitement that would sweep the territories when he sent a telegram tomorrow announcing the capture of the Veiled Widow.
The jail door complained loudly as Quinn pushed it open a few minutes later. The Widow was rubbing at her cheeks when he glanced her way. Had she been crying? In the dim light, it was hard to tell. Quinn snorted softly as he set the plate of food down and went out to fetch a cup of cold water. Just like a woman to resort to tears to get someone to feel sorry for her. Well, he wasn’t letting down his guard around this woman. If he did, who knew how many more people would end up robbed or killed before her criminal activities ceased?
“I brought you some supper.” Quinn slipped the plate and cup through the appropriate slots in the bars. The woman eased off the bunk and took the meal from his hands.
“Thank you.” She balanced the plate on the cot, lifted her veil a bit, and drained the contents of the cup.
Guilt washed over Quinn. He should have given her some water before he went to find supper. He would have treated his horse better than he treated this woman. Just because she was a criminal didn’t make her any less human. He could almost hear the lecture his pa would give him about treating others fairly despite their outward appearance.
“I’ll get you more water.” He put his hand through the bars. She gave him the cup, then sank onto the cot and picked up the plate as he left. A minute later, he carried the full mug back to find her staring at the plate balanced on her knees. “Is something wrong?”
“I … um. No, nothing.” She picked up the tortilla, unfolded it, and turned it over as if examining it for some reason. Cocking her head to one side, she turned her face to him. “I don’t mean to be rude, but can you tell me what kind of food this is?”
Quinn chuckled. “I hadn’t thought this might be your first time eating Mexican food. That circle of dough in your hand is a tortilla. The Mexicans use it like bread. They scoop up their food into the tortilla or use it to get food on the fork. The other food is beans with chilies and some meat with peppers and vegetables mixed together. The taste is good, but you might find the food a little spicier than what you’re used to.”
She nodded and took a tentative bite, lifting the veil with the back of her hand. Quinn caught a glimpse of her perfectly formed chin before she dropped the veil and began to chew.
“You might have an easier time eating if you were to take off that veil. Seems to me the thing must get in the way a lot.”
“I’m fine.” She must have decided she liked the food. Other than taking the time to retrieve the cup of water he held, she continued to eat with dainty bites. Quinn walked back to his desk and sat down, trying to ignore her. He didn’t want to think about how vulnerable she looked as she bent over her plate, her delicate hands trembling just enough to notice. How could this woman appear so miserable when she was covered from head to toe in black? Instead of giving the image of an austere matron, she portrayed that of a vulnerable, needy lady in distress. No wonder so many men had fallen under her spell.
The Widow stood and crossed to the cell door. “I’ve finished. Thank you for the food and water.”
Quinn retrieved the utensils, placing the cup on his desk. Snagging his hat from the rack by the door, he hesitated before walking out. “I need to return these to the eatery. Then I’ll be making my rounds. The door will be locked so no one will bother you.”
Jamming the hat on his head, Quinn slammed the door behind him. Why had he said that? Since when did he need to explain himself and his actions to some common criminal? He stalked down the street, stopping at Señora Arvizu’s to drop off the plate and fork. His foul mood stayed with him as he went throughout the town, checking doors of businesses already closed and greeting those still on the streets. Quinn hurried to get to the jail before full dark set in, since he’d left without his lantern. What had this woman done to him? He’d never gone off with his thoughts so mixed up before.
“Deputy Kirby. Quinn.” A man’s voice called out to him. Quinn turned. A man in a cavalry uniform moved slowly down the street, a woman heavy with child on his arm.
“Conlon.” Quinn felt himself relax somewhat at the sight of his good friends. “What are you and Glorianna doing out so late? Taking a walk?”
Even in the dimness of the evening, Glorianna Sullivan’s eyes flashed fire. “Quinn Kirby, did you or did you not arrest my cousin?”
“Now why would I arrest your cousin? I don’t even know who your cousin is.”
Glorianna Sullivan could be a formidable force to reckon with when she was angry. Right now she appeared to be furious.
Conlon gave Glorianna a grin, pulled her closer to his side, and patted the hand she’d wrapped around his arm. “Glory’s cousin, Kathleen, was supposed to arrive on the stage. I got home from the new fort site a little late. By the time we got there, the stage had gone. Kathleen’s trunk was waiting by the side of the street, but she wasn’t there. We heard you arrested a woman who got off the stage, so we’ve been looking for you.”
A feeling of impending doom settled heavy on Quinn’s chest. “I arrested a known criminal who came in on the stage. I didn’t ask her name.”
“What did she look like?” Sparks flew from Glorianna’s green eyes.
From the storm building in Glorianna, Quinn knew his description fit that of her cousin. He felt like squirming, wishing the dark would close in and he could hide. That forlorn woman sitting in the dingy jail cell was Kathleen O’Connor, not the Veiled Widow. How would he ever explain this?
Chapter 3
Long hours in a swaying stagecoach, uncertain about her safety, had taken a toll on Kathleen. Though normally very optimistic, right now she was so weary, she couldn’t think straight. Every muscle in her body cried out in agony from the constant shifting on the long ride to Tucson. Road dust covered every inch of her body. She felt as if she hadn’t had a bath in weeks rather than days. In fact, she smelled almost as bad as the filthy mattress underneath her. Despair became her companion in this cell. The dirt walls, probably made of the adobe bricks Glorianna had written to her about, started to close in around her.
Kathleen pulled the small but stylish hat from her head, sticking the hatpin through the side to keep it safe. She felt naked without the veil, yet she didn’t care anymore. What did it matter if people saw her face? Her mother’s gasp of shock at the thought filled her mind. Mother had always been embarrassed at having a marked daughter. Although treated well enough at home, Kathleen had to hide behind the veil when she went out in public. Even then, her mother never stood close to her or sat with her at church as if, by distancing herself, she could avoid the taunting and ridicule Kathleen received.
