Chapter 9   

Ben arrived at Elizabeth’s boardinghouse later that morning with the news that Livingstone had returned to town early and was waiting to see her.

“I was able to reach him by telegram,” Ben explained, “and he arrived on the morning train.” When she failed to respond, he arched a brow. “I thought you’d be happy to hear that.”

She thrust the morning newspaper at him. “Have you read this?”

Sighing, he took the paper in hand and tossed it on an upholstered chair. “Elizabeth—”

“They want me to hang,” she said, her voice breaking. Tears sprang to her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

He reached out with his good arm and pulled her close. Careful not to press against his injured arm, she laid her head on his chest and sobbed. Her tears soaked his shirt, and his manly scent filled her head. He let her cry it out before dabbing at her cheeks with his handkerchief.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” he said softly. “I won’t let it.”

She wanted so much to believe him, but could one man alone—even one as popular as Ben—really fight an entire town?

She pulled away from him, but only so she could gain control of her senses.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes … I’m sorry. It’s not like me to—”

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “Anyone in your shoes would be upset.” The tall clock in the corner chimed the hour. With a glance at it, he tossed a nod at the door. “We’d better get going. I want you to meet with Livingstone before facing the judge again.”

“Give me a moment,” she said.

Before she left the room, Mrs. Culpepper entered, her face melting like butter upon seeing Ben. “What happened to your arm?”

While Ben explained, Elizabeth ran upstairs to fetch her bonnet, gloves, and purse, stopping only long enough to say a quick prayer.

Livingstone’s office was only a block away from the boardinghouse, but they were forced to take the long way around to avoid Ben’s many curious friends and acquaintances.

They finally arrived at their destination. Bookended by the undertaker on one side and the feed shop on the other, the modest adobe office was offset by an impressive sign reading J. A. L IVINGSTONE: ATTORNEY AND COUNSELOR AT LAW.

Ben hustled her inside. After locking the door and drawing the window shades closed, he made the introductions. He then stood at the back of the cramped room. Elizabeth sat in the chair facing Livingstone’s desk and waited while he perused her file.

Livingstone was dressed in dark trousers and white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Hair the color of black shoe dye was brushed back from a widow’s peak.

Elizabeth didn’t have a good feeling about him. He just didn’t seem as forceful or as commanding as Ben Heywood. Nor did he seem to have Ben’s confidence in her innocence.

As if he guessed her thoughts, Livingstone set the file aside. Folding his hands on his desk, he regarded her with a frown that made his blunt mustache twitch.

“If you’d shot anyone else, I could get you off like that,” he said, snapping his fingers. “But Heywood …” He sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin. “And the editorial in this morning’s paper didn’t help.”

Reminded of the harsh words used against her in the Prickly Pear Gazette, Elizabeth felt a searing pain in her heart. Of all the people she had to shoot, why did it have to be the town’s favorite son?

Ben moved to the side of her chair. “As I explained, Miss Colton shot me by accident.”

“So you said.” Livingstone shuffled the papers on his desk. “Tell me again how the … incident occurred.”

Ben shrugged in exasperation. “My mothers sent away for a mail-order bride without my knowledge.” He went on to explain how he’d stopped the stagecoach. “I was afraid that once Miss Colton arrived in town, my parents would overwhelm her, and she wouldn’t know what hit her.”

Livingstone checked his notes. “Okay, so you opened the stage door, and she fired her gun.”

“By accident,” Elizabeth said, emphasizing the word. “I thought he was a bandit out to do me harm.”

“By accident,” Livingstone repeated, underlining something on his writing tablet.

“I’d heard a lot of scary stories about outlaws,” Elizabeth explained. “A woman alone can’t be too careful.”

Ben nodded. “That’s got to be her defense.”

“Yes, but it may not be enough.” Livingstone stuck his pen in the penholder and steepled his hands beneath his chin. “As I’m sure you know, it’s gonna be hard to convince the townsfolk of Miss Colton’s innocence.”

Ben made an impatient gesture with his good arm. “I don’t care a fig what the public thinks.”

Livingstone pushed out his breath with a whooshing sound. “You know as well as I do the judge’s opinion can be swayed by public opinion.”

Elizabeth looked from one man’s grave face to the other, and she felt what little hope she had fade away. “So, what do we do?”

The two men exchanged a glance. “We pray for a miracle,” Livingstone said. “That’s pretty much all we can do.”

Ben hardly slept the night before Elizabeth was due in court. He couldn’t help it. He felt partly responsible for what had happened.

He didn’t doubt that Livingstone would do his best to plead Elizabeth’s case, but a lawyer could only do so much. And with the whole town against her, things sure as blazes didn’t look good.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he rubbed his forehead and tried to think. But a vision of Elizabeth’s big blue eyes and bright, pretty smile kept coming to mind. He remembered all too clearly how she’d felt when he held her, her head against his chest. Even now he could smell the faint scent of her perfume, as if it had become a permanent part of him.

He grimaced. What was wrong with him? It wasn’t like him to obsess over a woman.

He just wished he had a better feeling about the outcome of her case. It didn’t help that she was a stranger in town. The citizens of Prickly Pear tended to look after their own. Livingstone was right; nothing short of a miracle would save her.

Closing his eyes, he thought of all possible legal defenses he could and discarded them one by one.

Finally, he did what he always did when a task seemed impossible: he prayed for help. God, I know there’s got to be a way to save Elizabeth, but I need You to lead the way.

After taking care of his morning ablutions and dressing in his usual dark trousers and frock coat, he donned his wide-brimmed hat and made himself a quick cup of coffee. Anxious to talk to Livingstone and discuss possible defenses, he grabbed his attaché case and left his apartment over the gunsmith shop without bothering with breakfast.

The sound of church bells filled the air as he stepped outside, and the street was lined with revelers.

Stopping in his tracks, he craned his neck to see over the heads of the crowd. A horse-drawn carriage headed his way, carrying a newlywed couple. The groom was the mayor’s son, and Ben remembered with a start that he had been invited to the wedding, along with what looked like half the town.

Cheers rose as the carriage passed by and the couple waved to their well-wishers. Then something strange happened. Something totally unexpected. Ben caught a glimpse of the bride, and for one crazy moment in time, he imagined that she was Elizabeth.

Blinking, he shook the vision away. With a clearer head, he realized the dark-haired bride looked nothing like Elizabeth. Then why …?

Irritated by such thoughts and even more annoyed that the wedding had held him up, Ben headed for Livingstone’s office on foot, only to find he was too late. The office was closed and a sign in the window read In Court.