Chapter 3   

Elizabeth brushed her hair until it was almost dry. Oh, how she wished her jail cell had a mirror. Earlier the sheriff had accompanied her to the local bathhouse and stood guard outside while she bathed.

Washing her long tresses while in handcuffs had been no easy task, but never had soap and water felt so good.

It had been three days since she’d shot the man she was supposed to have wed, and she had yet to see the judge or even a lawyer.

After arranging her hair into a tidy bun at the back of her neck, she smoothed out the wrinkles of her blue calico dress and dabbed perfume behind her ears. The Texas heat had made her woolen traveling suit unbearable, and she appreciated the sheriff’s wife for insisting on her being allowed to bathe and change into something more comfortable.

Returning the perfume and hairbrush to her valise, she reached for her sketchbook. Normally when she felt sad or lonely or just plain scared, her sketchbook and watercolors gave her solace.

Today, however, her feelings were bottled up, and for once in her life, she had no desire to draw or paint.

Sighing, she returned her sketchbook to her valise and wrapped her hands around the iron bars. The door to the sheriff’s office stood open, and she could see him sitting at his desk. Bracing herself for another confrontation, she called to him.

Sheriff Farley tossed down his pen and jumped to his feet. Muttering, he stormed into the cell room and planted himself outside the iron bars, his fleshy red face suffused with impatience. “Now what?”

Elizabeth drew in a seething breath. “I still haven’t seen a lawyer,” she said. Back home a prisoner would have had access to a lawyer within hours, not days. “It’s not fair to keep me locked up like a common criminal.”

Hands at his waist, Sheriff Farley glared at her, his mustache seeming to droop more than usual. “I don’t know where you came from, but here in Prickly Pear, shootin’ an unarmed man is serious business. That makes you a criminal whether you like it or not!”

Elizabeth gritted her teeth. Back in her hometown, a person was innocent until proven guilty. Apparently that wasn’t true of Prickly Pear. “I told you it was an accident.”

The sheriff scoffed. “Yeah, well, that’s what they all say. Like I explained, the judge won’t hear your case if you don’t have proper legal counsel, and Mr. Livingstone is out of town till next week.”

Elizabeth chewed on her bottom lip. “Are there no other lawyers?”

“Only the one you shot,” Farley said. “Since I doubt the victim would be willin’ to defend you, it looks like you’ll have to hold yer horses till Livingstone returns from his trip.”

“Is Mr. Heywood all right?” The sheriff’s daily reports on the man’s condition left much to be desired, but still she had to ask.

“Far as I know he is, no thanks to you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other criminals to catch.” He glared at her. “The Madison gang held up the bank again,” he said, as if it were her fault. With that he spun on his heel and returned to his desk.

She stared after him. Now wasn’t that just dandy? Like it or not, she was stuck in jail for who knew how long. And what if the judge didn’t rule in her favor? So far no one she’d talked to believed that she’d shot Ben Heywood by accident.

The stagecoach driver hadn’t even let her near Mr. Heywood after she’d shot him, for fear she’d do him further harm. Instead, the guard had tied her up while the driver worked to save Mr. Heywood from bleeding to death.

Pushing the memory aside with a shudder, she paced the width of her cell and tried to think. It wasn’t in her nature to sit around and do nothing. But without a lawyer, it looked like she had no choice in the matter. As for Mr. Heywood, all she could do was hope and pray that he made a full recovery. Not only for his sake, but for hers as well. The last thing she needed was to be tried for murder.

Her thoughts were interrupted by raised voices. Several people had entered the office and were now gathered around the sheriff’s desk, everyone talking at once. Finally, the sheriff shot up from his desk and led the way to her cell.

“You have visitors,” he said, indicating the six people crowding through the doorway behind him.

“You have five minutes,” the sheriff said and stomped back into his office.

The woman wearing a mile-high hat was the first to speak. “I’m Mrs. Baer, and I have to say, you’re as pretty as your photograph.”

“You … you saw it?” Elizabeth asked, not having the slightest idea who any of these people were.

Mrs. Baer nodded. “Yes, and I could tell that you weren’t one of those awful women who use face paint and bosom enhancers to fool a man.”

One of the other women nudged Mrs. Baer with her elbow. “Now, Agnes, you’re embarrassing her.”

Behind her, the heavyset man scoffed. “She should be embarrassed. She shot our son.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Ben … Mr. Heywood is your son?”

“Indeed he is,” Mrs. Baer said with another emphatic nod of the head.

“I’m Ben’s mother too,” said the woman next to her with a thump of her cane. As an afterthought, she added, “I’m Mrs. Norton.”

“And you can call me Mrs. Edwards,” added the small birdlike woman. “I’m also Ben’s mother.”

Elizabeth stared at the three women. “All three of you?”

Mrs. Baer indicated the men with a wave of her hand. “And these are Ben’s fathers,” she said, introducing them by name.

The man she now knew was Mr. Edwards met her gaze with a scowl. Dressed in a frock coat and matching trousers, he looked important, like a banker or politician. “What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?” he asked.

“I–it was an a–accident,” Elizabeth stammered. “I didn’t mean for the gun to go off.”

“You didn’t mention a gun in your letters,” Mrs. Norton said, sounding peeved.

“You read my letters?” Elizabeth gasped.

“Well of course we read your letters,” Mrs. Baer said, as if they were talking about something as innocuous as the weather. “You didn’t think we’d allow our son to marry a complete stranger, did you?”

Elizabeth didn’t know what to think.

Mr. Baer threw up his hands. “I told you that whole catalogue business was a mistake. Just like coming here was.”

Mr. Edwards shot him a look of exasperation before turning his gaze to Elizabeth. “You shot our son, and I aim to find out what you intend to do about it.”

Elizabeth winced at the tone of his voice. She wasn’t sure what he was asking of her. She had no money. She didn’t even have a dowry. “Like I said, it was an accident.”

Mrs. Norton tutted. “I don’t know how you can shoot a man by accident.” She sniffed. “Don’t you have to physically point a gun or something?”

Elizabeth explained the stories she’d heard back home about the Wild West. “So, you see, when your son stopped the stage, I thought—”

“Time’s up,” the sheriff called from the doorway.

“We’re not finished,” Mrs. Baer said.

“We’re finished,” her husband said, taking her by the arm and practically dragging her out of the cell room.

Mrs. Baer didn’t go quietly, and her protests could be heard even after the three couples had left the building.

Elizabeth covered her face with her hands, her mind in a muddle. What a fine pickle she was in, and she didn’t have the slightest idea what to do about it.

Prickly Pear had turned out to be a strange place in more ways than one. Not only did it lack a full-time judge, but it also had some odd ideas about family. How does someone come to have six parents?

She was still pondering this question moments later when a male voice floated into her consciousness.

Someone else had entered the sheriff’s office, and he sounded just as determined as the people who had claimed to be Ben’s parents. A quick glance through the open door made her catch her breath. The man heading her way was not only the man she’d come all this way to wed. He was also the man she’d shot.

She gripped the iron bars and braced herself for his wrath.