Breed True (2 page)

She hadn't doubted that at all, since Frank's card playing success was in direct proportion to her ability to distract the mark, and Jewel's full breasts, tiny waist, delicate features, and lustrous auburn hair had proven to be a siren call to most men.

"I've got an angle on something right now. Well, I'm just telling you that I—no—

we—will be rolling in money soon. I'll move you and the girls into a nice house, and we'll
be a family."

Julie swallowed nausea remembering the fierce hatred she'd felt when she screamed at him this morning.
"The prospect of living with you and being a family is a joke. I'd
sooner cut your throat than let you near the twins."

He'd pushed her shoulder, peering inside to make sure she had no defender present.

"Figured you'd have a man taking care of you."

Then, he, who had never held either child, sneered at the rough home she'd given the girls.
"This is no way for my daughters to live."
And then ludicrously, he'd added, almost anxious,
"They are female children, right?"

When he'd decided the way was clear, he'd moved to shove her inside. She'd used the shank of wood she kept by the door for protection, and hit him in the head, giving her time to slam and bar the door.

"Damn it, Jewel, I need your help."
Of course he did. Frank always found ways to use her.

First he'd stood outside and yelled and hammered on the flimsy barrier. Then, when her neighbors ignored her trouble, since it was a common happening where they lived, he'd gotten bolder.

"I'll kick the whole Goddamned shack down around your ears, Jewel."
And he'd started to do just that, lashing out with his boots and screaming threats until he'd kicked a foot through the thin slats that formed the side of the shack.

"Unbar the fucking door, or when I get in, I'll kick your ass so hard it'll make your
nose bleed."
Frank's masterful act as a gentleman was reserved for citizens to be conned.

She'd moved out of that category four years before.

Broke, with no poker stake, he'd demanded that she take up where they'd left off before the girls were born, as shill in his confidence game
. "I've got a high roller in my
sights, and he's going to pay big."

Afraid he'd bring her home down around them, she'd let him in, prepared to fight him if he tried to beat her as usual. But she'd never had a chance. He'd punched her jaw, and knocked her to the ground, using a pair of Old Man Tate's dirty long johns to tie her to the bed. Then he'd snatched up her babies, Emerald and Amethyst.

"You won't see these two precious gems again. I've got a buyer who wants them bad.

Now get your ass back to work, Jewel. I'm not playing." By the time she'd struggled out of the ties, he was gone.

* * * *

"You don't seem inclined to play the grieving widow, do you, ma'am?" Sheriff Potter's remark pulled her back to the present, and she assessed him.
Wonder if I told him
about the four years of hell I just survived, if he would believe or care.

Was he friend or foe? She already knew that, being male, he more than likely fit the latter category. She edged toward the door and murmured softly in the voice she'd learned to use when dealing with men.

"Sheriff Potter, Frank Rossiter was dying when I found him, but I admit, had he not been, I might have been tempted to shoot him." Her words were bitter until she again pictured the blood bubbling around the blade of the murder weapon. That had her swallowing a surge of bile.

Sheriff Potter stood there with his mouth open, trying to decide how to take a woman's indifference to her husband's death. The fact was—she didn't want to talk about her life with Frank Rossiter. She couldn't gauge Potter's intelligence, so she chose her words carefully.

"Frank Rossiter was much stronger than I am, and he was stabbed in the chest. I might have been able to sneak up on him when he was drunk and knife him in the back, because he certainly gave me many opportunities to do so."

There had been several times when Jewel had actually stood over the drunk and disgusting gambler, contemplating just that.

"Or, I could have cut his throat when he was asleep at night. But Mr. Rossiter and I separated our living arrangements months ago, and I have not had reason or opportunity to catch him sleeping since."

And that was, thank the Lord, the truth. She'd left Frank's
protection
when she'd fled the hotel in Wichita Falls in the middle of the night, babies in her arms. Frank had fallen asleep drunk one too many times, and she'd taken the roll of cash he called his grubstake, counting it as money he owed her.

"What time is it?" She interrupted her explanation to quiz the sheriff impatiently.

"Ma'am," Potter took out his pocket watch and studied it. "It's not quite ten o'clock in the evening."

She hurried her defense. "A killing blow to Frank's chest, made with a long-bladed knife, would be much too difficult for a woman my size."

"Yes, ma'am," the sheriff agreed. "I already figured that."

She hid her face so that he wouldn't be able to see her relief. Nobody cared that Frank Rossiter was dead. She was his wife, and she didn't care—no—that wasn't true.
I
do care—I'm glad.

Evidently, Hiram Potter was old-fashioned in his outlook, thinking a wife was supposed to cry when her husband was murdered. She touched the bruise on her left cheek and cast a defiant glare at the lawman.

"My association with Frank Rossiter ended some time ago, Sheriff Potter. I received a note from him this afternoon, demanding that I meet him in the alley by the saloon this evening."

She reached in her pocket and pulled out the note, scrawled in Frank's elegant penmanship. It had been delivered by the old woman who lived in the shack next to hers.

Frank had been sure she'd follow him and in the note told her where to go.

Jewel, if you want the return of your valuables, meet me at dusk behind the saloon in
Eclipse.
Do not defy me in this or your treasure is gone.

An ugly brown stain of dried blood spread across the bottom edge of the paper.

Hiram Potter's frown changed.

"I understand that you and your husband were parted, but you'll need to tell me what you know about his killing anyway. Did he have anything else to say before I arrived?"

Sheriff Potter's question presumed that she would tell him Frank's whispered last words. She attributed that to her explanation and his memories of the gambler's unsavory stay in Eclipse.

Back alleys and shady companions had been Frank Rossiter's natural habitat. He spied on people, found their secrets, and then persuaded them to pay him to keep his mouth shut about them.

Jewel was not surprised that an unknown killer had finally ended her partner and husband's scheming and cheating. But murder was a hanging offense, so she shifted her gaze to the floor.

"Sheriff Potter," she continued quietly. "Anyone could have stabbed Frank Rossiter.

He was a card cheat and a drunk. He didn't scruple who he bilked, and if he couldn't steal a man's money in a poker game, he'd hide in the shadows and rob him of it afterward."

When she glanced up to see how her words had been received, the sheriff gave her a funny look, so she added, "I left him because of his criminal activities."

That is certainly true. His criminal ways got him killed, and I saw it coming. Frank
was a greedy fool and tried to squeeze the wrong mark.

Jewel tried to school her face to grief since the sheriff thought she should be grieving over the gambler's death, but presenting a picture of sorrow for the sheriff's benefit wasn't possible.

I owe someone a debt of gratitude, but right now I need to be on my way. The sheriff
can't be allowed to take up too much time. Frank said the girls are with family. Family
means Ma Siler at the edge of town.

Jewel's panic threatened the harsh veneer of calm she maintained.

Once that horrible old witch hears that Frank is dead, she'll not keep the girls long.

Oh, God, she'll slip them laudanum if they cry.

Three and a half years of beatings and rough treatment had shown Frank's true character. When she'd realized she was pregnant, Jewel had been afraid to tell him, though it had been his drunken assault that had caused it.

He hadn't even looked up from shaving, scraping the razor over his jaw, but he'd still scented her fear like a fox after a rabbit.
"Get rid of it."

He'd grabbed a towel and wiped the residue of shaving cream from his face and calmly buttoned on his shirt.

"I mean it, Jewel. There's no place in our lives for a squalling brat. Get rid of it. Ma
Siler, at the edge of town, will take care of it. Go see her."

And then he'd gone to play poker and left the details of clean-up for her. So she'd lied and told him it was done, lacing her corsets tighter until she was well into her sixth month. It wasn't a condition hard to hide from Frank. He saw what he wanted to see—the mark. It was her job to distract and make vulnerable the prey.

He'd been so mad when he'd figured it out. But even the beating he'd administered hadn't shaken them loose. Her babies had survived. Now they were with the very woman who would have ended their lives.

Panic constricted her lungs as she considered asking the sheriff to get her twins from the hag. But before she could, he asked about Frank's business ventures.

"Uh, rumor has it, Miz Rossiter, that you and your husband have had some shady dealings here in Eclipse. Would you be able to list the folks who might have a grudge against him?"

So, my dealings were shady too.
The irony of that almost brought a sharp correction.

It definitely confirmed her decision to keep quiet about the twins. Besides, there was no telling what Ma Siler would do to them if the sheriff rode up to her door.

"What do you want me to say, Sheriff Potter? I've already explained. My husband and I were apart. He took"—she paused and licked her lips, anxiety marring the calm demeanor she strove to present—"he took certain of my most valuable possessions in an attempt to force me to his will."

That was not a lie, but even so, she looked at her hands, avoiding the gaze of the lawman. For the first time, she noticed Frank's blood staining them. Bile rose from her empty stomach, and she covered her mouth with an almost clean spot on her sleeve, trying to stave off the ripples of nausea that threatened.

"Here now," the sheriff said sharply. "Maybe you should fix yourself up before we talk anymore."

Jewel sucked in a gulp of air trying to quell her roiling stomach and agreed eagerly.

"Please, yes. I need to get out of these bloody clothes."

She thrust her wrist at him where a patch of red was turning rusty on her sleeve. The bosom of her only dress clung to her, wet with blood and other matter.

Sheriff Potter stood up quickly and said, "I'll walk you to your room to get your things."

She didn't want him hanging around. Jewel looked at him, grimly measuring his dedication to job and town.

If servicing the sheriff would get her free, she'd pull up her skirts. Four years of hard living and taught her to use any weapon available.

She studied the sheriff. But she'd assessed the character of men frequently enough to know it was an offer better not made.
I need to get on my way.

Besides, she wasn't staying at the hotel. She'd had no money for a room when she arrived in Eclipse and had stashed her canvas bag holding her few possessions in the alley where Frank had been killed.

"That's all right, Sheriff Potter. I can find my way back to the hotel."

"No, ma'am," was his quick reply. "There seems to be a number of folks who think your husband owed them money. One way and another, it wouldn't be safe for you to stay at the hotel alone."

He took her arm and started off toward the flophouse up the street that doubled as a hotel until she admitted, "I don't have a room there."

Her words seemed to make up his mind about something, and he tightened his grip on her arm, and set a brisk pace walking in the same direction. "Where are we going?"

She panted her question as his long strides half-dragged her down the boarded walk.

"I'm taking you to Comfort's Boarding House. It's at the end of the street. You probably saw it on your way into town. There are women there." He paused and for the first time seemed awkwardly unsure. "You probably need to have the company of females around you at a time like this."

Jewel was surprised. She hadn't figured Sheriff Potter for a sensitive man.

"I doubt if the ladies of Eclipse will appreciate you bringing them a woman of questionable virtue any time, but especially after they most certainly have gone to bed,"

she warned him dryly.

But, it didn't matter. The boarding house was closer to the stable. She'd tied her borrowed horse to the hitching rack behind the building, and as soon as the sheriff left, so would she.

Chapter Two

Her plan changed as soon as the sheriff pounded on the front door of Comfort's Boarding House. The owner, Comfort Quince, answered, and late as it was, the woman was dressed and alert. "Hamilton here, Comfort?"

She nodded at the lawman's question and ushered them inside, speaking to Jewel.

"You look like you've had a spell of trouble. Come on to the wash room. I've always got water heating. You can bathe and put on something more fit."

Jewel wondered at that. The woman acted like strays off the street commonly knocked on her front door. A man stepped into the hall and inspected Jewel with his stare. She edged from his sight, standing between Mrs. Quince and Hiram Potter.

Her stomach tightened convulsively as her hostess led her down the hall, approaching the man who still silently watched. At the last moment, before Mrs. Quince brushed past, he stepped back into the room he had been occupying, closing that door with a click.