Heart Of The Lawman

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Memories of her life in Hollenbeck Corners rose unbidden to her mind. Images of her fine clothes and the house J.C. had built for her flashed through her consciousness. She had been rich, and, if not liked by the townspeople, she had at least been respected for the position her husband held. But that was long ago, before Flynn O’Bannion had found the Wanted posters. Before the terrible thing she had done came back to haunt her, before God found a way to punish her for her sins.

Marydyth shook herself and focused on the washing, forcing her emotions to the edges of her mind. When she was sure the blaze of rage was subdued, she allowed herself to think again.

It was odd. When she came to Yuma she was a bundle of emotions. Then she slowly changed. First her compassion had died, followed by her ability to feel pain. The only defense against the crushing brutality inside these walls had been to stop caring, stop feeling. Marydyth had been thankful when she stopped experiencing those emotions, it made each day more bearable. She had allowed herself to retain only two emotions in this place; her love for Rachel and her hatred of Marshal Flynn O’Bannion. Two emotions, as different as hot from cold or ice from fire, but both had kept her sane.

And both were of equal measure and intensity. She hated Flynn with the same passion that she loved Rachel.

Marydyth was bent over the washtub when the short hair at the back of her neck prickled.

She stiffened, suddenly alert and aware. Living in this pesthole had required her to develop senses and hone instincts she had never known she possessed. Even when she had been on the run after Blaine had forced her to marry Andre, she had not felt as hunted as she did within these walls.

She gripped the sides of the washboard, ready to use it as a cudgel to defend herself. She partially turned, keeping the tub of hot water at her back for protection.

Marydyth met the fetid breath and unwashed stench of one of the prison guards. “Superintendent wants to see you in his office.”

The information refused to register in Marydyth’s brain. “See me? Why?”

“If I knew, I sure as hell wouldn’t be tellin’. Come on.” She received a bruising prod from the thick oak stick the guard carried.

“Move out,” he barked.

Marydyth released her grip on the edge of the washboard. She wiped her hands on the front of her dress. Putting one foot in front of the other she blocked out the pain in her side as she made her way through the darkness of the thick adobe passages.

Flynn rose from the wing-back chair in the lobby and sauntered to the front window of the Russ House. It afforded him an unobstructed view of the main street of Tombstone. Nellie Cashman and Mrs. Cunningham had done a fine job of making their hotel a success. The flooding of the mines in ’86 had dealt a hard blow to Tombstone, but as Flynn stared out the window he saw the town bustling with the usual assortment of bad men and businessmen. The place was fighting its way back with a mighty roar.

Idly he wondered if reopening the Lavender Lady would restore some of Hollenbeck Corners’ former glory. The idea rattled at the back of his brain as he scanned the street.

A painted cat entered one of the saloons across the street with a provocative flash of her turkey-red petticoats. A rowdy cowboy answered her invite, yelling hearty whoops into the dry air as he dismounted his horse on the run and nudged the swinging doors aside.

Flynn found himself smiling at the randy hombre. It seemed a lifetime since he had followed a woman like a buck in full rut. And longer than that since he had whooped in anticipation of bedding a whore. Since Rachel had come into his life he had been too busy to indulge in those pleasures.

His gaze fell upon a woman with a sedate blue bonnet walking from the direction of Schafer and Lord’s Mercantile. A gentle breeze made the feather on her hat sway back and forth.

He never did find a housekeeper to replace sour Mrs. Young, and it was just one more thing he had to deal with. He dragged off his Stetson hat and raked his fingers through his hair while he was chewing on the notion.

A whistle blew. His worry about Mrs. Young drifted away on the fading sound. The train from Yuma had arrived.

Marydyth Hollenbeck looked up and tried to stop the pounding of her heart. She was nearly home.

Home.

The word practically took wing and flew!

She gripped the seat in front of her with her workworn knuckles and waited until everyone else had gotten off the car. Then she rose, trying not to tremble, and headed for the door.

People stared at her and pointed, whispering about how she looked, but she didn’t care. They could not see beneath the jagged hair or the shabby dress the superintendent had given her before they let her out. They could not see her heart leaping with joy, or the tears of happiness threatening to pour forth. They did not know that the pitiful, threadbare creature who walked among them had a daughter named Rachel.

Marydyth inhaled air, fresh, free air, and nearly pitied the people beside her because they were not even aware there was a difference. How could they know the simple joy she felt by being able to walk where she chose?

Her feet were light as her heart as she made her way through the streets. The instructions had been simple. She was to use the money provided to buy a ticket to Tombstone. There, somebody would meet her and take her to Hollenbeck Corners.

Home.

A hundred plans flew through her head when she thought about it. She was so happy. She wanted to break into a run, to hurry to the hotel to get on her way to Hollenbeck Corners.

Who would meet her? Victoria? Moses Pritikin? But really she didn’t care who. All she could think of was collecting Rachel. Then they could begin their lives anew. They would pack only a few things, and then leave all the bad memories behind. She would get them on the train and they would just go.

Maybe Denver—or perhaps San Francisco. J.C.’s fortune would certainly buy a simple house in a respectable neighborhood. She could see that Rachel had a good education. Piano and dancing lessons—a proper finishing school.

Maybe she should learn a language. French?

France would be nice. Paris. There was nothing to stop her now—no bars, no ghosts. Marydyth was free. God had seen fit to show her mercy. She was going to be the very best mother any child ever had. There was only the two of them, but it was enough.

Dear God, it was enough to be a family.

She mumbled a prayer of thanks that the Lord had forgiven her for her sins as she put her feet on the boardwalk and hurried down the street toward the hotel.

Flynn chewed the inside of his jaw and searched every face that went by the hotel. He had made sure Marydyth had been told nothing, given no particulars about her release.

There were things he wanted to say himself. There were things that she would have to know before she saw Rachel.

Flynn was staring unfocused at the sunbaked caliche street when Ted Kelts stepped into his line of vision. The dapper businessman was the last person Flynn expected to see in Tombstone, but then the memory of Moses and Ted mentioning Ted’s trip to Washington flitted through Flynn’s mind. He started to step outside and speak to him but a clutch of people gathered on the boardwalk outside the window blocking his way. Kelts nearly collided with a thin woman who seemed to be in a big hurry. She crossed the street and opened the door to the hotel, then stepped inside the lobby. The threadbare dress was of poor quality and hung on her thin shoulders. She looked around at the lobby and turned.

He felt as if he had been kicked in the ribs by an Army mule. For the first time in memory, his knees went weak as water. He reached out for the back of a nearby green velvet chair for support.

The gold hair framing her face was jaggedly cut and no longer than his fingers, hanging limp and stringy. Her indigo-blue eyes were haunted, yet they glittered in away that was chilling. Her skin was gaunt and pale from lack of sun.

“Mrs. Hollenbeck?” Flynn took a step forward. “Marydyth?” he asked in a softer voice.

She rocked back on her heels at the sound of her name. The last trace of color in her face drained away. Those indigo eyes hardened until they resembled shards of Bisbee turquoise.

“You.” She hoped the one word held all the contempt she could manage. Time seemed to stop while she stared at him. He looked at her, unblinking. Marydyth studied the lean weather-beaten jaw as it jerked spasmodically. His eyes were as cold as ice-slicked sandstone and they bored into her. For the first time today she was ashamed of her plain prison-issue dress. For the first time today she felt a pang of dread.

Flynn tried to school his features, tried to hide his shock at the change in her. His stomach was knotted up, and it was hard to draw enough air into his lungs.

Dear God, what have they done to you? he thought, but all he said was “Ma’am.”

She moved suddenly, digging frantically into the pocket of the drab gray dress. She jerked out a folded paper and brandished it at him like a weapon. “I am free-my sentence was commuted by the governor. Go find somebody else to consign to hell, you bastard.” She continued to hold the paper up, as if it were a shield against hurt and harm.

Flynn flinched at the word “bastard,” and felt his pity turn to a hot flash of anger. He would have killed any man for saying that.

“Did you hear me?” she said. “I am free.”

“I heard,” he grated out. But when he didn’t reach to take the paper that she waved in front of her, she shoved it back into her pocket. Her hand hovered near as if she were fearful he—or someone—might take the precious document away from her. “I am not a wanted criminal anymore. You can get on your horse and—” her voice cracked “—just leave me in peace.”

“I came here to meet you, Marydyth, to take you back to Hollenbeck Corners.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’d rather walk.”

She took three steps and closed the distance between them. She slapped him hard across the face. The blow echoed like the crack of doom.

He grabbed her wrist and held it with enough pressure to still her. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked in a voice that was barely a whisper. “Here? Now? With everybody watching?”

Her eyes darted around the room.

A young man in a pin-striped suit, who had been carrying baggage through the lobby, stopped in his tracks and stared openmouthed. An elderly couple descending the stairs turned and hurried back up, whispering words of disgust and dismay.

She thought of Rachel, and a strangled sob escaped her lips. Marydyth had no reputation left.but her daughter—her sweet innocent daughter would have to live with the sting of rumor. Marydyth drew herself up and tried to find some dignity and pride within the hatred and anger she felt.

Flynn kept hold of her hand, noticing how raw and red it was. Her knuckles were barked and there was not an extra bit of flesh anywhere on her. She glared up at him through a blur of tears, and he felt the venom of her loathing.

“I hate you,” she whispered as if she had heard his thoughts and needed to make herself clearer. “I hate you more than anybody on God’s earth.”

A muscle in his lean jaw twitched.

“Do you hear me? I hate you for what you did to me.” Her voice was raspy and harsh. “You, the noble Marshal O’Bannion, had to find those Wanted posters, had to bring them to the court and let everyone know.” Her voice broke and she started to tremble.

He turned so quickly she had no time to do anything but let him pull her along. His boots dug into the carpet, and he dragged her toward the stairs while he maintained the viselike grip on her wrist. “Come on.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Yes…you are.” His husky whisper was like iron striking against stone. “We are going upstairs.”

Upstairs.

“I would rather die,” Marydyth said as she struggled against him.

“Don’t be a fool, Marydyth,” he said tunelessly.

It was useless. She was no match for his superior strength. He dragged her up the stairs as if she weighed no more than eiderdown. Desperation folded over her as she searched the faces of the people in the lobby.

She knew it would do no good to scream for help.

Nobody in the town would lift a finger to help her, especially not when they found out that she had come from Yuma. And the way she looked, compared to the austere respectability of Flynn’s appearance, also worked against her. She was nothing more than an ex-convict fresh from Yuma. It showed in her face and in her clothing. The residents of Tombstone were accustomed to seeing those convicts when they came out of the territorial prison. Once again, public opinion was condemning her.

The feeling that choked and strangled her during her nightmares engulfed her. She tried to remember to breathe, to slow down the frantic pounding of her heart.

She had lived through hell for three years—she could stand whatever degrading thing Flynn O’Bannion had in mind.

He forced her down the hallway to the last door and dug into his Levi’s pocket for a key.

He twirled her through the door. The momentum sent her backward across the made-up bed. “I hate you,” she repeated.

“So you’ve said.” His voice was as dry and hard as the walls of Yuma.

Panic threatened to undo her when he turned the key and locked the door.

“Open that door this instant” She sat up and faced him down. “You bastard.”

Barely contained fury glowed in his brown eyes. “I wouldn’t make a habit of calling me that if I were you.” His voice was steady and low, belying the turbulent expression in his eyes.

“Just get it over with,” she said. “Take what you want and get out.”

Flynn took off his hat and tossed it hard upon the bureau. “Son of a.” He turned and glared at her. “Is that what you think? That I brought you up here to.rape you?”

Her chin came up a notch. Defiance glowed in her eyes. “What other possible reason?”

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

“Well, if you are not going to rape me, then let me out of here. I want to get Rachel and put as much distance as I can between me and this damned territory.”

His eyes widened. He raked a long-fingered hand through his hair and muttered another epithet. “We need to talk.”

“There is nothing we need to talk about, Marshal. Everything you needed to say was said in the courtroom.”

The reminder of the trial sent a strange jab of guilt through him. “My name is Flynn, and I’m not a marshal anymore so I suggest you stop calling me that.”

“If you are not the law, then you have no right to keep me here. Open the damned door. I am a free woman.”

“I know.” He took two long steps toward the bed. “Damn it all, Marydyth, I know about your release-I arranged it”

Icy hands squeezed her chest. “I don’t believe you.”

“Suit yourself.”

With a vicious oath he turned and grabbed the straightbacked chair with one hand and spun it around backward. Then he hooked one leg over and straddled the seat, staring hard at her while he did it.

Her rapid intake of breath sent chills skittering over his arms. He didn’t want to fight with her. Flynn dragged in a deep breath and started again.

“The governor commuted your sentence. But that isn’t why I am here.” He had intended to tell her all the details of the letter and explain how everything had come about, but the look in her eyes changed his mind.