Surrender to Love (38 page)

As she squared her shoulders decisively, Dee swallowed the secret knot of disappointment that rose in her throat.  The gavel rapped harshly, its hollow echo reverberating in her ears with finality, forever sealing the fate she had so stubbornly chosen/

It wouldn’t be so bad, she reassured herself again as an iron-tight hand grasped onto her arm and turned her from the courtroom.  But this time, when the words formed in her thoughts, they weren’t quite so convincing as before.

XXX

Reginald MacLeary shook his head resolutely as he watched the raven-haired young woman being led from his sight, and an indecipherable curse fell from his lips.

Blast it, this girl was a tough one to crack.  And she had something, too.  Something more than just street smarts and bravado.  He had seen it in the glimmer of her eyes, the firm stand she had taken before him.

So why hadn’t she accepted his offer when the door of opportunity had been so wide and inviting?  He had managed to place at least a half dozen girls like her across the western states and territories in the past four months.  Pickpockets.  Prostitutes.  And they’d all jumped at the chance for a better life.  All except this one – this sharp-tongued waif whom they had dragged kicking and cursing, her violet eyes cutting to his very soul.

MacLeary
ran his fingers through the neat salt-and-pepper strands of his beard and stared down at the paper before him.  Almost twenty years old. On her own for at least the last nine – probably more if her mother was one of the typical sort that populated the slums.  And she was smart, too – had to be to survive as she had.

Drumming his fingers idly against the smoothness of the oak desktop, he continued to gaze at the papers before him.  Delilah St. John.  Quite the name, he mused as a brief smile flickered across his tired features.

Quite the young woman, he added as the humor in his face quickly faded, and if she continued on this path, he knew she’d be dead before she reached her twenty-first birthday.

MacLeary
swore again silently as he rose from his seat; he wouldn’t give up on her yet – whether she liked it or not.  She needed a second chance…and he had the perfect placement for her.

XXX

Dee bit back a cry of pain as a booted foot swung soundly into her ribs.  Gasping for breath that staunchly refused to come, her hand groped blindly until her fingers wound firmly into the snarled locks of her assailant’s hair.

“Lay off,” she growled as she leapt onto her attacker and straddled the large, thrashing form beneath her.  Drawing back a fist, she tightened her grip.  “Come near me again, and I’ll black your other eye.”

The rattle of keys and a harsh shout from outside the cell whipped her to attention, and abruptly Dee released her hold, retreating to the farthest corner of the small cubicle as her heart pounded a wild cadence within the confines of her chest.  A t hin stream of lantern light spread across the straw bedding, illuminating the ugly features of the jailer who peered through the bars.

“Fanny, I
ain’t tellin’ ya again to shut yer mouth,” he snapped.

“I didn’t do
nothin’, Ronnie.  It’s all her fault,” shrilled the whining voice that belonged to her enemy.  “She’s trouble, I’m tellin’ ya.  Stole the bread you gave me for dinner.  Now I ain’t gonna get nothin’ until tomorrow.”

Liar!  Dee fought the fury that threatened to burst from her as her hands methodically worked themselves into deadly fists.  The fat cow’s accomplices had held her fighting form and stolen her only pair of shoes while Fanny leisurely sampled Dee’s own meager rations, not bothering to even leave so  much as a crumb.  She hadn’t taken a thing from anyone!

“Shut yer trap, Fanny.  Yer so damned big you ain’t gonna waste away in the next twelve hours.  But you,” the brute commented with a sneer as he jabbed a pointed finger in Dee’s direction.  “If I hear any more problems coming from here, yer to blame. Ain’t had no trouble ‘til you got here this afternoon.”

He carelessly tossed the dredges of his tin cup into the cell, and Dee flinched as a wash of stale water struck her.  She locked her gaze on his
unmovingly, and when he finally turned away, she raised a hand to wipe the droplets and slinging strands of hair from her face.

She wanted to cry, but she didn’t.  She wouldn’t.  She never cried – couldn’t even remember the last time she had done so.  She’d seen tougher times than this, and she’d managed to outlast every single one of them.  This instance was no different…except for the fact that, in here, she had absolutely nowhere to hide.

Swallowing the lump that rose in her throat, Dee curled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms securely around them.  Five hours she had been here – not even one whole day – and this was what she had to look forward to for the next seven hundred and thirty.

She stifled a cynical laugh as she leaned back against the cold, damp stonework of the walls and stared out into the darkness.  Damned rattrap this place was.  Even the coal shed she had called home was a right better sight than this.  One thin blanket they were each allotted – and Dee had fought Fanny tooth and nail to keep that; musty straw bedding to cozy into while, at the same time, praying nothing snuggled back; one communal chamber pot that sat in the corner for four of them – emptied once a day by the smell of it…if they were lucky.

Animals they were, every last one of the women who shared her confinement.  Fromt eh moment she had been thrust into this tiny box they had  been on her, and Fanny, the obese, self-appointed leader of the group, had been at the forefront of her torment.

But Dee had shown them, hadn’t she?  She had showed them all she wasn’t some sniveling little weakling who’d bend easily under their abuse.  Quicker than Fat Fanny could say “Jack Sprat”, she’d been on them, her short, neat nails unsheathing with a fury that surpassed their own.

The past five hours had seemed more like five years, but, in the end, Dee had won – or would have had that jailer not come to Fanny’s rescue.  What a fool she had been in choosing this place…and she deserved every bit of misery for putting that pride of hers before common sense. 

Dee swiped and angry hand across her eyes as the unfamiliar sting of tears blurred her vision.  She wouldn’t cry, she told herself again with continued insistence.  She had made her decision, closed the deal with her silence.  But those two years, which, just moments ago, had seemed as though they would pass in the fleeting blink of an eye, now loomed menacingly over her like a hangman’s noose.

It was too late to even think of what might have been in the great Out There.  It would never be.  Not now.  Not ever.  No Montana….  No indians….

No future.

The tears stung.  Once again she closed her eyes against the void of nothingness that perpetually filled her tomorrows, and tried to unsuccessfully convince herself that she really didn’t care.