The Road to Love (22 page)

She hurried out to the truck and made the trip to town in less time than normal.

First stop, Doyle's office.

She marched right in, not giving her nerves a chance to protest.

“Go right in.” The secretary waved her toward the door and smiled in a way that made Kate's cheeks warm.

Did the woman know the reasons behind her sudden engagement to Doyle? Did she think Kate had sold herself? Well, she might have but no more. She filled her lungs and prayed for courage before she stepped into Doyle's domain.

He glanced up, saw her, scrambled to his feet and came around the desk to reach for her hands. “My dear, I was thinking about you. We need to select rings. Or do you want me to take care of it.”

She stepped back, twisted her hands together in front of her. “I have news.”

Doyle lowered his fists to his side. His expression hardened, welcome replaced with warning. “Sounds like bad news.”

She swallowed hard. While he might consider it bad news, she thought otherwise. Only her nervous concern about his reaction kept her from smiling. “Hatcher has hired his own lawyer. So I no longer need your services.”

Doyle's eyes grew thunderous. He drew his mouth down. “Who did he hire?”

“Johnny Styles.”

“Never heard of him.”

“He defended Hatcher when he was falsely accused of murder.” She ignored the deepening frown marring Doyle's handsome features.

“What about our marriage?”

Kate drew off her gloves then pulled them on again and smoothed them, kept her eyes on her movements then slowly lifted her gaze to his. “Doyle, I would be doing you a disservice if I agreed to go ahead with our wedding. I am fond of you but I don't love you. And I'm not prepared to give up my farm.”

“You readily agreed to sell it when you thought it would get that Hatcher guy off the hook. But not for me. How am I supposed to take that?”

Anyway you want.
But to a lawyer, the implications should be obvious. “I was concerned with justice.”

Doyle slapped the top of his desk. “Nonsense. You've been foolish enough to fall in love with a murderer and a thief. Have you no sense of decency?”

She felt her eyes grow glassy hard. “He is not a murderer nor do I believe he is a thief.”

“And you're prepared to stand by him? Just like that?”

Kate smoothed her gloves again. “I'm prepared to stand for justice, fairness and acceptance. Seems to me Hatcher deserves that. As does everyone.”

Doyle snorted. “He'll be convicted of theft in this case.”

“Not if Johnny Styles has anything to say about it. He's after discovering the truth.”

“Hard to argue against eye witnesses and evidence such as the money in his possession.”

Kate looked steadily at Doyle remembering how he'd rushed ahead of them into Hatcher's quarters. Mr. Styles had placed suspicion in her mind. But no, Doyle wouldn't stoop to such things. After all, he was a lawyer, defender of justice.

“You came begging to me once. You'll do it again. But don't depend on me being so forgiving next time.”

A shiver raced down her spine at the menacing look on his face. And then it was gone, replaced with bland indifference. “I'm sorry you're making such a big mistake but you deserve all the bad luck coming your way.”

She backed out of the office and fled to the street. She hadn't expected him to be happy for her to reject him twice in quick succession. But neither had she thought he'd be glad to see her suffer. She pressed her hand to her throat. She'd always thought him a good, kind person. This glimpse at a darker side startled her.

At least she wasn't going to discover it after they married.

Relieved to have that chore done, she glanced across the street. Next stop, the jail.

She marched across the dusty street and threw back the door to face the sheriff. She would not be turned away this time. But she faced the overweight deputy rather than the sheriff. “I've come to see Hatcher.”

The man huffed and puffed. “Sheriff said not to let you in,” he whined.

“I'm sure he gave you a very good reason.” She pushed past him to the door. Tried the knob and found it locked.

“Well, not really.”

“Then I guess you have no cause to keep me out.” She planted her hands on her hips and gave the man a look that she used when Dougie disobeyed. It had the same affect on the deputy. He shuffled from foot to foot, looked helterskelter around the room.

Kate suppressed a desire to laugh. “Open the door.”

The man muttered under his breath but pulled the key from his belt and stuck it in the door.

As soon as he'd turned the lock, Kate pushed past him and strode boldly into the cell area.

Hatcher leaned against the far wall, watching her, his expression as tightly closed as the door she'd just stepped through. She'd persuaded the lawman to open the door; she intended to likewise break down the locks Hatcher kept around his feelings.

She took in his soiled, rumpled clothes, his lengthening beard. Wasn't he allowed basic necessities such as hot water with which to wash and shave?

She faltered, stifled a cry and pushed steel into her spine then jerked off the gloves and leaned close to the bars. “I met your lawyer.”

“He's a good man.”

“He believes in you.”

“Don't you mean he believes in my innocence?”

“No, he believes in your decency and goodness.”

They considered each other. Kate looked for clues as to what Hatcher thought. About her. About not running any more. “He told me the story about the accident.”

“A man died.”

She nodded. Hatcher might keep his expression rigidly bland, but she heard the note of despair in his voice that he would surely deny if she mentioned it. She didn't bother.

“It's a shame he died. But you didn't murder him. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

Hatcher turned to stare at the cot. “Kate, what do you want?”

“I want a whole lot of things. To keep my farm. To have time to enjoy my children. To see your innocence proved.”

“Did you decide against selling your farm?” he asked.

She grinned. “And against marrying Doyle.”

“You'll find someone else. Someone who is strong enough to allow you to be you.”

“I think I already have.” She waited for him to realize what she meant.

“Good.”

“Aren't you going to ask who?”

“None of my business.”

His answer angered her. He avoided looking at her. Suddenly she knew he didn't ask because he understood she meant him. “Hatcher, what do
you
want?” He didn't reply. “Do you want to keep running? Do you want to be a hobo the rest of your life? Do you want to grow old alone and cold?”

He twitched. Jerked around to face her. “I have to be alone. That way my anger can never again harm anyone.”

“What anger? You are the most gentle, patient man I've ever met.” She lowered her voice. “You're a praying man, a Bible-reading man. Have you ever considered that you are a changed man, thanks to God's work in your life?”

He kept his eyes averted. “Do you think it's a chance I'm prepared to take?”

She stared at him. “You're going to lie down and give up? You're going to walk away and pretend you never met me?” Her voice fell to a strangled whisper. “Aren't some things worth fighting for?”

He finally faced her, his eyes revealing his torture. “Kate, it has nothing to do with worth. It has everything to do with acknowledging what I know lies within.”

She gulped in air, smelled the odor of a hundred unwashed bodies of men who had stayed in the jail. Her eyes stung with anger and sorrow and defeat. “Hatcher Jones, you need to take a good look into your heart and be willing to admit what really lies there.” She hurried from the room before her sobs escaped.

 

Kate sat in the crowded courtroom. The room filled with curiosity as sharp and annoying as the buzz of the flies on the window ledges.

Mr. Zacharius, on her right, jostled against her as he shifted. “Hot, ain't it?” he said to no one in particular but Kate felt compelled to murmur distracted agreement.

She hadn't seen Hatcher since they'd spoken in the jail two days ago. Not that she hadn't tried. She'd gained entrance the next day but Hatcher had more than one way of refusing to see her. He'd remained on the cot, his back to her and gave an occasional snore to let her know his indifference.

She knew better. Understood he thought he protected her by refusing to acknowledge her or admit he might care. So she left him, willing to bide her time.

But she leaned forward, her fingers gripping the edge of the wooden bench as she waited for the sheriff to lead him in.

And then he stepped into view and her world narrowed to the sight of him. His hair had been cut. It shone like ebony. His scraggly beard was gone, leaving a slightly faded look on his cheeks.

She'd given Johnny one of Jeremiah's suits and shirts for Hatcher to wear. The suit tightened across his shoulders. She'd never noticed how broad he was, had seen only his leanness. The white shirt pulled the blackness from his eyes, filled them with a bright sheen as his gaze found her across the crowd. For all she knew and cared they were the only people present. She thought him the most handsome man in the room. No one would think him a hobo now. She smiled, sending him silent messages of love. He tipped his chin, whether in acknowledgement of her feelings or only a simple greeting, she didn't know. Or care. It was enough to see him. Fill her Hatcher-shaped hunger with his details.

He shifted, turned away as the sheriff led him to his place beside Johnny Styles.

Kate continued to drink her fill knowing it would never be enough. She could see him every morning as she woke, frequently throughout the day and last thing before she fell asleep at night and she'd never be satiated.

She jumped as the judge rapped his gavel, tore her gaze from Hatcher to concentrate on the proceedings of the courtroom. Mr. Jacobs was the banker when he wasn't the judge. He looked austere in a black robe.

The sheriff presented the evidence then turned to Johnny Styles with an expression that let everyone know the man was wasting his time.

But Johnny had done his homework. Under cross-examination, Mr. Anderson admitted he couldn't positively identify Hatcher as the hobo he'd chased away several times.

“Never look at their faces anymore,” he confessed.

Then Johnny asked Mr. Anderson to itemize the money he'd kept in his cash drawer.

“Wasn't much. Most of my customers charge until they get some money or provide eggs and butter in exchange for what they buy. There might have been a handful of coins, several one-dollar bills. I particularly remember I had a ten-dollar bill that day. Don't often see one anymore. Had a hard time making change.”

“Do you remember who gave you the bill?”

“Not likely to forget something like that, am I? It was Doyle Grey.”

Kate's quick gasp was echoed by others in the courtroom, though she sensed their reaction was more admiring than hers. The judge banged his gavel and indicated Mr. Anderson should continue.

“Strange thing was he only bought a handful of candy. Annabel, his housekeeper, normally buys his supplies.”

Johnny held out some coins and paper money. “This is the cash found in Hatcher's possessions. Can you look at it and tell us if you think it came from your store?”

Mr. Anderson barely glanced at it. “It didn't.”

“Go ahead. Have a good look. Be certain.”

“I am.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“I told you I had one ten. But I didn't have any fives. There are two there. It's not my money.”

Johnny turned to study the sheriff. Kate knew everyone in the room thought the same as she—why hadn't the sheriff asked these questions before he arrested a man and charged him?

Johnny turned back to the storekeeper. “Let me get this straight. You can't say for certain that my client is the man you saw around your store on several occasions.”

Mr. Anderson nodded. “Guess that's right.”

“And the money found in Mr. Jones's possession is not from your store?”

“That's right.”

Kate knew, as did everyone in the courtroom, that Hatcher had not committed the crime.

Kate watched the back of his head wishing she could see his expression, see how he reacted to hearing his name cleared.

It took Judge Jacobs about three seconds to declare Hatcher innocent. He took more time admonishing the sheriff to make sure of the facts in the future and suggested he should get busy and find the person who had robbed and trashed Mr. Anderson's store. And perhaps, while he was at it, he could find out who'd planted the money in Mr. Jones's possession. Kate knew it was Doyle. No one else had the opportunity. Had she been so hungry for male companionship she'd been purposely blind to his faults? Because there must have been some hint of this side of him that she missed, overlooked. How had she ever thought she could marry him?