Rebecca Hagan Lee - [Borrowed Brides 02] (2 page)

“Tessa,” Coalie panted, “I brung help.” He let go of her long enough to point to David Alexander.

Tessa looked up and found David, meeting his gaze.

Her eyes were blue, David realized, as blue as the dress she wore. She was gazing at him with an intensity that surprised him. Yet her face revealed nothing except a glimmer of her intense relief at finding Coalie.

As David watched her, witnessing the joy and satisfaction on her face as she held the boy in her arms, he doubted Tessa was capable of committing a crime. She didn’t look like a criminal.

And she certainly didn’t look like a murderess.

In that moment he decided to take the case.

Deputy Harris obviously didn’t like his prisoner holding on to the boy. He raised her arms while one of the other deputies motioned for Coalie to move. Looking up at Tessa, Coalie hesitated for a moment, then stepped away from her. Tears sparkled in his big green eyes. He brushed at them with the back of one hand before he darted into the street. Head down, apparently embarrassed by his display of emotion, Coalie tripped over his feet and fell on his stomach in the street.

“Coalie!” Tessa tugged against the deputy’s greater weight, trying to break free.

David jerked in reaction. Without stopping to think, he elbowed his way through the people blocking his path. He reached Coalie’s side only moments after another man pulled the boy to his feet.

David looked at the other man, surprise mirrored on his face as he recognized a friend he hadn’t seen in years. The morning’s events had taken another dreamlike turn. “Kincaid?”

“Shhh.” With an almost imperceptible nod of his head, the man met David’s gaze. David understood the warning. It was universal. Any man who’d ever been a spy knew that look meant back off. Reaching out, David took Coalie’s hand and pulled the boy to his side.

Kincaid faded into the crush of people.

David bent down and brushed the dirt and slush from Coalie’s clothes. “Are you okay?”

“You gotta help Tessa.” Coalie leaned toward the saloon girl, pulling against David’s hand as he called her name. “Tessa!”

She turned, managing a half-smile, apparently for Coalie’s benefit. “I’m all right. Everything will be fine.”

“Wait!” David shouted to the deputy. “You can’t take her to jail.”

Deputy Harris stopped. “Course I can.”

Peaceable’s newest attorney sprinted across the street. “What’s the charge?” David demanded. He’d heard the accusation from someone in the crowd, but he wanted legal confirmation.

“Murder. She killed a man.”

“This woman?” David asked. It seemed so unlikely.

“Yeah.” The deputy shuddered. “She slit his throat while he lay in her bed.”

“Who is she supposed to have killed?”

“One of Myra’s regulars. A man by the name of Arnie Mason.”

David looked Deputy Harris straight in the eye. “I’m coming with you.” He shrugged out of his coat and draped it around the shivering woman’s shoulders.

She glanced up at him, surprised.

David couldn’t explain the impulse that had made him leap to the woman’s rescue. But then, he couldn’t explain anything that had happened so far. The whole thing felt unreal. David smiled. Perhaps he was still in his bed. Maybe he’d wake up in the morning and find this was all a dream.

“Suit yourself,” Harris told him. “She can use a good lawyer. But leave the boy out here. Kids ain’t allowed in the jail.”

David looked down intending to tell the boy where to wait. But Coalie was gone.

David looked back up. The woman’s gaze was on the small figure running down the street, but David knew she’d been staring at him. He’d felt the impact of her sky-blue eyes.

* * *

Several minutes later, David faced her across the width of a jail cell.

“Did you kill him?” He leaned back against the door to the cell. He felt the cold metal bars on either side of his spine through the layers of clothing—the finely woven fabric of his linen dress shirt and his cotton undershirt. Controlling the urge to shiver, he waited for a response, shifting his wide shoulders into a more comfortable position.

The silence lengthened. David tried again. This time his voice was softer. “I asked you a question. Did you kill Arnie Mason?”

She gazed up at him, her large blue eyes wary. “No. I didn’t kill anyone. I wouldn’t do anything to risk—” She stopped abruptly. “No.”

David studied his client. She sat on the bare mattress of the cot, away from the bars, next to the wall. His coat, draped across her shoulders, gaped open, exposing her dress and a fair amount of flesh. She made no move to close it. She held herself in a rigid pose, her bloodstained hands clenched into fists, her knuckles whitened under the strain. She was shaking, but whether from anger, fear, or cold, David didn’t know. He reached for the dirty saddle blanket folded on the foot of the cot and shook it out, nearly gagging in reaction. The blanket was rank. David let it fall to the floor, then kicked it through the narrow space between the bars. David had seen many criminals jailed during his career, but seeing Tessa locked in a cell with a bucket, a bare mattress, and a filthy blanket bothered him. She didn’t belong in these surroundings.

“Can we get another blanket?” David shouted to the deputy.

“One blanket’s the rule, Mr. Alexander,” the deputy shouted back. “There’s one on the bed.”

“Not anymore. Your last occupant used it for an outhouse.” David wiped his hands down the legs of his trousers. “Do we get a blanket or are you planning to let her freeze?”

“One blanket per prisoner.”

“Who’s responsible for that little gem of a rule?” Sarcasm bit the edge of David’s deep voice.

“City council.”

David crossed the width of the cell, pulled his coat tighter around her shoulders, and tucked the wool collar securely beneath her chin. He could smell the odors of the Satin Slipper on her. The yeasty smell of beer, the combination of cigar smoke and whiskey, and the tangy, metallic smell of blood. She didn’t move, nor did she speak. She simply continued to look at him.

His fingers brushed the fabric of her dress. It was slick and cool to the touch. Satin, he realized. Light blue satin cut low in the front and high at the hem, barely covering her knees. A saloon girl’s dress, now splattered with blood. He allowed his gaze to wander. Black net stockings covered her shapely calves and knees and feet. No protection against the harsh Wyoming winter, against the cold seeping through the walls of the wooden jail.

“How about a cup of coffee?” He raised his voice enough for the deputy to hear.

“Prisoners get two meals,” came the reply. “Breakfast and supper.”

“I’m not suggesting a meal,” David told him. “I’m talking about a cup of coffee. It’s cold back here.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Alexander. I’ll pour you a cup soon as you come outta there.”

“What about her?” David asked.

“Prisoners get two—”

“I know.” David muttered an obscenity beneath his breath. Damn bureaucracy. The deputy followed the rules to the letter. David exhaled slowly and pulled out his pocket watch, counting the seconds in an effort to control his mounting frustration. The sun hadn’t even risen. Didn’t these people realize that with a little cooperation they could all go back to bed until it did? He looked at his client. Though her features were delicate, her jaw was set stubbornly. Her deliberate silence puzzled him, yet something about her made him want to help. To take her small hand in his protective grasp. Something he couldn’t quite identify. And then, there was the boy…

“Are you Tessa O’Roarke?” David asked, using the surname he’d gleaned from the deputy. Her name sounded Irish and so did her brogue.

Tessa raised her head. “It’s Roarke. Not O’Roarke. Tessa Roarke.”

Tessa looked him over. Tall, broad-shouldered, and well muscled, he dwarfed the cell. He was handsome; there was no doubt about that. But his type of good looks differed from the rugged handsomeness of her brother. His skin was copper-tinted, smooth-shaven. His eyes were dark, his features more refined. Tessa took a deep breath. The scent of him filled her nostrils, surrounding her senses. Clean.

Unlike Arnie Mason. So unlike the sour metallic scent surrounding Arnie Mason. Tessa turned her gaze back to his face. He blinked. Arnie hadn’t blinked. His blue eyes had stared sightlessly while the dark blood ran in rivulets from his throat onto her dingy white sheets and her dress. Her blue dress.

Tessa glanced down. “Sweet Mary!” His blood stained her dress. Shocked anew, she bolted up from her seat. David’s sheepskin jacket slid to the floor.

He stepped forward.

“Look at me.” She tugged at the fastening of her costume. “Sweet Mary, look at me.” Her gaze darted from her dress to David’s face. “No, don’t! Turn your back!”

Standing there, facing her, David refused to obey. He watched as she reached behind her and began to yank at the opening of her gown.

Tessa Roarke unbuttoned as far as she could reach, then turned and presented her back to him. “Please, help me. I can’t stand to—”

“Bring a blanket,” David shouted to Deputy Harris.

“Only one bla—”

“Forget the damned rules, Harris. Just bring another blanket!” David barked out the words before turning his attention to the small cloth buttons on Tessa’s dress. He moved a couple of steps closer.

She moved with him, the top of her head bumping his chin. David backed away.

“The deputy is bringing another blanket.” He raised his voice loud enough for the words to carry back to the deputy. “A clean one. And some warm water.”

Tessa nodded.

David stared at the locks of heavy red hair that had escaped her bun and hung down her back. His fingers itched to touch it.

He forced himself to return to the task at hand.

David moved aside the thick mass of hair to undo the tiny satin-covered buttons on her gaudy costume. It was a first for David. He’d never undressed a client before. But he’d never represented a woman before, or rushed to a jail to save one. He had her dress half unbuttoned before he realized she wasn’t wearing a corset. The dress was cut too low and too close to her body to accommodate one. He felt the chill of her skin as he opened her dress, smelled the cheap flowery perfume used by the women at the Satin Slipper. But it didn’t smell cheap on Tessa. It was light, floral, intoxicating. David shook his head as if to clear it as Deputy Harris arrived with a fresh blanket. He could feel himself going through the motions, knew he was awake, yet everything still seemed unreal. Like a dream.

He finished unbuttoning her gown, then handed her the blanket as she slipped it off, along with her stockings. “Comfortable?” David asked.

“Not very.” She sat huddled on the cot, the blanket wrapped around her. Beneath it her underclothes clung to her skin, but Tessa kept them on. Removing her dress with him there had probably been bad enough; removing her undergarments would surely be unthinkable. She hoped the night wouldn’t hold too many more humiliations. “But I’d rather wear this”— she lifted a corner of the blanket—“than those.” She nodded toward the blue dress and the black net stockings.

David shoved the discarded clothes through the bars, and Deputy Harris quickly removed them. Minutes later the deputy brought two mugs of steaming hot coffee along with the water without being asked a second time. He even threw a few more scuttles of coal into the stove, but the heat barely penetrated the cold of the hallway and the cell.

David grinned as he watched Tessa Roarke sipping her coffee. It was remarkable how quickly rules, even city council rules, could be broken, to soothe a distraught woman. He studied her as he sat across from her in a straight-backed wooden chair. She appeared calm.

David cradled his own cup of coffee in an effort to warm his hands. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Tessa fixed her gaze on him. “I could.”

“Well?” David waited.

She answered him with a question of her own. “What about Coalie?”

“What about him?” David took a sip of coffee.

“Is he all right? Was he hurt?”

“He’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Now it’s your turn,” David reminded her. “I answered your question. You’re supposed to answer mine.”

“Who are you?” she asked. “Why are you here?”

“That’s two more questions.” David shifted his weight on the uncomfortable chair, then stood up. “My name is David Alexander. I’m an attorney. I’ve come to offer my services.”

Tessa snorted in disbelief. It was a tiny, elegant snort, but a snort all the same. “Out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Maybe,” David answered.

“No, thank you. I’ll keep my own counsel,” Tessa replied, not wanting to admit she didn’t have the money to pay him. She didn’t want to admit the pittance she earned at the Satin Slipper barely covered room and board.

“That wouldn’t be wise.” David looked at her closely. She obviously didn’t want him as an attorney. And he certainly didn’t need the aggravation. He studied the dark bluish rings under her eyes and the way her teeth bit at her bottom lip. She might not want him, but she
needed
him. And for some reason he wanted to help. “You’re going to need a good attorney, Miss Roarke.”

“Are you a good attorney?” The musical lilt in her voice was very pronounced.

“My clients think so.”

Tessa stood up and took a couple of steps toward him. “What about you, Mr. Alexander? Do you think you’re the
best?
”

“Not the best,” David answered. “But good.”

“Good enough for a saloon girl accused of murder?”

“Yes,” David told her.

“At least you’re honest.” She turned on her heel and walked back to the cot, carefully stepping around David’s coat. “I hope you’re right.”

Deputy Harris spoke from just outside the cell. “I’m gonna have to cut this short, Mr. Alexander.”

“I’m conferring with my client.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to come back later,” the deputy said. “I gotta make my morning rounds through town, checkin’ the windows and doors. I can’t leave you in the jail by yourself.”

David turned to face the lawman. “Afraid she’ll escape?”