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Every day, for five days, Lillian returned and demanded to be allowed to see Woody.

On the sixth day, she went with an entourage of friends, including lawyer Van Dyke, who rattled off all sorts of legal jargon and threatened Sheriff Hobart with some kind of personal lawsuit.

“Fine. I’ll let her in.” The sheriff voiced his displeasure. “But you haven’t heard the end of this. I’ll take it up with the judge tomorrow.”

The lawyer patted Lillian on the back. “That’s quite all right, sheriff. We have a few things to take up with him, as well.”

Hobart narrowed his eyes and waved at the gathering of people outside his jail. “Go on with you now. I’ll let her see her precious Mr. Colton.”

The others dispersed while the lawyer gave Lillian some last bits of advice. He leaned close and whispered, “I’ll be just down the street at the hotel where Woody’s men are being held. That’s another matter that isn’t going to bode well for Sheriff Hobart. That’s illegal detainment, and he’ll answer for it.”

Lillian nodded. She waited until Mr. Van Dyke was a few steps away before she turned to face Sheriff Hobart.

“I’m ready to see Mr. Colton.”

The sheriff opened the door to the jail, but the scowl never left his face. “That confounded city lawyer said I have to let you in, but I don’t have to let you stay very long.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
F
IVE

W
oody heard Lillian before he saw her. She was giving the sheriff a piece of her mind—that was for certain—and it didn’t sound like she was backing down.

He chuckled to himself. She was a lady, but she was a spitfire. Resilient. Stubborn. And he loved her. That realization had encouraged him throughout the day.

“Colton!” the sheriff yelled down the hallway, none too happy it seemed. “You’ve got a visitor.” The rotund lawman stomped his way toward Woody’s cell, with Lillian behind him. “Your fancy lawyer said I have to let her see you, but I can’t let her in there, ’cause that ain’t appropriate, and I don’t trust you. You’ve got two minutes. That’s it.” The man stormed off.

Lillian smiled at Woody and held out his Bible. “I brought this for you. Thought it might bring you comfort and help fill the time.”

He reached through the bars and took the Bible and laid it on his bed. “Thank you.” He reached through the bars again and held out his hands.

She took them in hers and winced. Woody looked down at
her hands. There were open but dry wounds—from the looks of it, blisters that had popped. “What in the world have you been doing?”

She blushed. “Ah . . . well . . . driving the wagon.” She lowered her voice. “I drove back to the farm, only don’t tell Sheriff Hobart.” Lillian shrugged. “Forgot my gloves.”

He nodded and tried to be gentler as he kept hold of her. “There’s something I need to tell you, Lillian.”

“I need to tell you something, too.”

His heart did a little flip. “You go ahead. Ladies first.”

“The judge is coming tomorrow, and he’s an old family friend of the sheriff. Mr. Van Dyke says that indeed all the evidence against you is circumstantial and not very good at that. Jimmy is doing much better, but he will have to stay in the clinic until his strength returns and he’s had enough nourishment. Mrs. Goodman still hasn’t awoken.” She bit her lip. “I think that’s it. Oh, wait! The sheriff still hasn’t allowed Sam and the men to go back to the farm. Mr. Van Dyke said he’s going to sue the sheriff and the town for false imprisonment and illegal detainment. There, I think that’s it.” She gave him a sad look and a sigh. “Okay, your turn.”

“Lillian . . .” He wasn’t as good at spilling information out. How could he tell her? “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. And I need to tell you—”

“Time’s up!” the sheriff bellowed.

Woody grabbed on to her hands tighter. Blasted Hobart.

Footsteps headed toward them.

No time to say all he’d planned. Instead, he blurted, “Lillian, I love you.”

Her eyes rounded and she gasped.

The sheriff grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away from
the cell and headed her down the hall. Poor woman. A glazed, shocked look covered her face. Woody sure messed that up.

But not more than a dozen steps down the hall, Lillian pulled away from her captor and raced back to Woody’s cell. The sheriff huffed and marched after her. “Now, look here—”

But she was quick. Lillian leaned in toward the bars and smiled—mere inches from his face. “I love you, too.” She turned on her heel and dashed back toward the stunned sheriff. “Thank you for your generous amount of time, Sheriff Hobart. I’ll be certain to let everyone know about your gracious treatment.” With an impish grin, she walked out the door.

Woody couldn’t help but smile. Goodness, that woman did things to his heart.

As soon as the sun broke through the cave entrance, Darwin was ready to set out. He’d laid low long enough—nearly a week. The day before, he’d been determined to get some information on Colton and his housekeeper. Lucky for him, he’d managed to meet up with a group of miners who were headed to Angels Camp for supplies. He slipped in with them, heard all the gossip, then slipped out again. No one the wiser.

Colton was in jail, and his housekeeper and son were in the hospital. Better still, he’d learned that the sheriff wouldn’t let any of Colton’s men return to the farm. In fact, he wouldn’t let anyone go to the farm. He wished he’d known sooner. He could have spent the last few days retrieving the rest of his gold. But there was no use moaning about it now. Fact was, nobody was looking for him, and nobody would be able to interfere with his task.

Life couldn’t go better. It was almost as if he’d planned it this way.

He dragged Harry out of bed. “Come on. We’ve got to go get the rest of my gold today. And you need to show me where it is.”

Harry’s wide almond eyes seemed to light up as he nodded. He hurried to dress. “And then you’re going to Mexico?”

Darwin stopped in his steps. “How’d you know that?”

“I heard you talking to yourself the other night.”

This couldn’t be good. If Harry thought Darwin was leaving him, he might not help find the gold. “I’m gonna take care of you first, Harry. Don’t you worry about that. I’ll make sure you don’t have a thing to worry about.” He patted his brother’s shoulder, hoping that would seem brotherly.

Harry came around and hugged him. “I know. I know. I know. You talked about that, too.” He danced around the mine’s entrance. “Let’s go get your gold. Then I can work.” Darwin frowned, having no idea what the big oaf meant, but one thing was for certain. He’d have to refrain from talking to himself anymore.

Harry sang stupid songs all the way to the Colton place and every so often called out the name of random flowers. It annoyed Darwin, but he couldn’t say anything. Ma had said Harry was special, but to Darwin he was just a dim-witted nuisance. Only one more day of this. One. More. Day. He could handle a day.

When they reached the house, Harry kept walking toward the olive groves and then to the barns. “I had to keep reburying it ’cause I didn’t want no one to find it.”

After a couple hours of digging, they’d pulled up three more bags. Harry was sure that he’d also carried a couple out to the Yosemite area, but they were small, and Darwin decided they weren’t worth the trouble. Harry annoyed him too much.

That left two. The largest ones.

“Where’s the rest, Harry?”

“Follow me. I’ll show ya. I remembered real good.”

They trekked back toward the house. The heat of the day was upon them at this point, and Darwin was sweating under the weight of the bags. One. More. Day. Then he’d be free to go on his way.

Harry stopped at the well.

“Why’d you stop?” Darwin looked around him.

“I put the big bags here.”

“Where?” He looked around.

“There.” The big galoot pointed straight down the well.

“You did what?!” Darwin dropped the sacks.

“I put ’em down the well.” He toed the ground and tucked his hands behind him. “I told you that, ’member.”

“No, I don’t remember!” Darwin lost all patience and hit Harry with his hat.
Down
the well. Not
by
it.

Harry flinched but only shook his head. “Was that bad?”

Darwin threw his hat on the ground and let go a stream of curses. “How are we supposed to get them out?”

“I dunno.” His brother wouldn’t look at him now.

“Of all the stupid, idiotic things to do, Harry! I can’t climb down there, and you definitely can’t climb down there. There’s no way to get my stinkin’ gold!” He lunged for his brother and shook him by the shoulders. “We are not leaving without that gold, you understand me?” He shook him even harder. “So you better figure out how we’re going to get it! And you better figure it out fast.”

He picked up his hat, then stormed off toward the house. Who cared if the kid was scared of him now? He’d told him where the gold was—he just couldn’t get to it.

Darwin’s temper needed something to hit. When he climbed the porch, he picked up a rocking chair and smashed one of
the front windows. That felt good. The Colton fellow didn’t deserve to have this property.
Smash. Smash.
Smash
.

Once the front windows were all broken, he threw down the chair and stood on the porch, catching his breath. This land belonged to his family. Colton might’ve built this nice house, but that didn’t matter. His mother had planted the gardens and flowers, and his father had . . . well, his father had been good for nothing but robbing others of their wealth. Still, this had been their home, and it wasn’t right that the bank could just up and take it. Darwin had half a mind to burn it to the ground. He smiled. Maybe that was the answer. He’d get Harry in the house, knock him unconscious, and then set the whole place on fire. That would take care of two birds with one stone. But first, there was the not-so-small task of getting his gold out of the well. Especially since he’d have to go without the other bags. Stupid Harry. How could he take it off the property? He’d never remember where he hid it.

Darwin eyed the well again. That gold was his. And he intended to get it.

No matter what it took.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
S
IX

T
hey needed a miracle. A really big one. Lillian walked into Mrs. Goodman’s room. “Hello, my friend.” She sat on the edge of the bed and squeezed the older woman’s hand. “The judge just met with the sheriff, Woody, Mr. Van Dyke, and the witnesses and decided that there is enough to move Woody’s case to trial. I can’t believe this is happening.” She took in a shaky breath.

“We’ve all been praying and crying out to the Lord. But we need you, Mrs. Goodman. We need you to wake up.” Lillian squeezed the woman’s hand a bit harder and pulled it to her chest. “We need you back in our lives. We need you well. We need you to bake cookies, and sing silly songs with us, and call us all ‘dearie.’” Big fat tears rolled down her cheeks. The doctor had seen signs that the older woman was coming out of her coma, but to Lillian she looked the same.

“Please, Mrs. Goodman. Please, please wake up. You’re the only one who can clear Woody.” The sobs overtook her then. “I love him. And I know you do, too.”

After a good cry, she touched her friend’s face. “You’ve got a
bit more color today. Oh, how I long to see your smile again.” Lillian laid the woman’s hand back down by her side. “Jimmy is doing better. The doctor hopes he’ll be able to go home tomorrow. But I don’t know what we’ll be going home to. Oh, this is such a mess.”

Rubbing her head with one hand, Lillian placed the other on her hip. The judge’s ruling today wasn’t what she’d hoped to hear, but she shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up. Still, Woody would get a fair trial. At least, she prayed it would be a fair trial. Mr. Van Dyke said that if they couldn’t get twelve impartial men together for the jury, he would move to have the venue changed, and that meant they’d take Woody to another town.

The one good thing that had happened today was that the judge allowed Woody’s men to go back to the farm. He warned them not to go anywhere else because he would need their testimony for the trial. But at least they could tend to the olive trees. If there were any trees left to be tended.

She’d tried to explain to them what she’d gotten done and how Harry was probably still out there helping, but warned them he would probably run away if he saw them. Lillian begged them not to chase the young man or yell at him. The men assured her they would do everything in their power to save the crop.

But had she done enough? Why did it feel like her world was crashing around her?

Closing her eyes, she clung to the tiny thread of hope she had left. Woody loved her. God hadn’t brought them this far to abandon them. Whatever came, she would stand by his side.

Turning back to the bed, she watched Mrs. Goodman. The poor woman had been through so much.

A moan escaped the older woman’s lips.

Lillian dashed back to the bed. “Mrs. Goodman? Mrs. Goodman? Can you hear me?”