Twenty

A rush of warm autumn air drifted in through the open door to stir the curtains as the judge stepped inside. He carried with him his satchel and a bible. Dressed in the formidable black suit he wore to court, he strode across the silent room to deposit his belongings on his desk.

The hotel’s main dining room converted into a crude courtroom with relative ease. A narrow table faced the room, and two smaller tables sat opposite it. Chairs had been collected from all over town and arranged in crowded rows to face the judge who would sit at the front of the room. Sunlight filtered through the lace curtains, filling the room with heat that by midafternoon would be oppressive.

It was a satisfactory courtroom. Utilitarian and neat, there would be no distraction from justice, of that Judge Snoose was certain. He smoothed a hand over the rough wooden table and sank into the simple, hard-backed wood chair.

Anger unlike any he’d experienced pierced him as he recalled his discussion with the men he’d come to pass judgment on. There had been a cold indifference in them, a petty, almost childlike lack of understanding. He likened it to his grandson’s inability to comprehend why he couldn’t have candy before dinner.

A slight scuff of a boot drew his attention and he glanced up. Standing in the doorway, a faintly familiar sandy haired man leaned on the doorjamb. Judge Snoose blinked as he sought to recall where he’d seen the man before.

“Aw, Mr. Duncan, what can I do for you?”

“Just came to see how things were progressing.” Tom straightened from the doorway, his hands in his pockets. “You settle in all right?”

“Never better. The proprietor of this establishment is a fine businessman. My room is most comfortable.” Tom nodded, his brows pulled together in an all too familiar expression. “Is there something bothering you, Mr. Duncan?”

“You could say that.” Tom strode across the room, his steps purposeful, like a predator stalking its prey. “What’ll happen to them if they’re convicted?”

“Considering the nature of the crimes they stand accused of, they’ll either spend a great many years in prison or hang. Why?”

A nervous, uncertain look crossed the young man’s face, piquing his interest. “I’m not one for hangings. Matter of fact the very idea sickens me. This time though, I hope you show them the same concern they had for Rylee.”

“Yes, Marshall Jackson informed me that you’re quite close to Miss Parys. I can understand your desire to see them punished to the fullest extent of the law. However, hanging is not something that is to be taken lightly. I’d not condemn a man to it without just cause.”

A dark look entered the opaque eyes staring at him, sending a chill straight to his bones. “Richard Duncan would have killed her if we hadn’t stopped him. His actions have far-reaching costs. Do you think that this town is going to forget what he did? That I’ll forget what he stole from her, from me? I won’t. If it comes down to it, I’m praying you hang him—because the truth is, he’s safer dead than alive.”

The banked hatred and rage in his voice disturbed Mortimer Snoose as he watched Tom Duncan stride back out the door. The lean cowboy stalked past the window, his face twisted into an ugly mask that would have made the devil quake in his hooves.

It struck Mortimer that there was more to this situation than he’d been led to believe. Just who was this Rylee Parys, and why was the nephew of her alleged attacker so determined to see him hang? The arrival of the first witnesses to the proceedings pulled him from his thoughts and he watched the fair-haired woman take a seat next to the window. A bad feeling grew in his belly and he wondered why this trial felt like death had already come to call.

~ * ~

For the second time that day, Tom stepped into the courtroom. Unlike before, it was now crammed with townsfolk, and a sweltering, sticky heat. Sitting beside Roy and a man in a fancy suit, his uncle looked every inch the put-upon cowhand. Tom swallowed against the rising impulse to grab the older man’s throat and squeeze until there was no life left. Instead, he followed the deputy’s directions and strode to the front of the room and faced the judge.

“State your name, sir.” Judge Snoose waved a hand at him.

“Thomas Michael Duncan.”

“Mr. Duncan, do you swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

“I do.”

“Be seated.” Judge Snoose indicated the chair with the handle of his gavel. “Mr. Sarrel, you may begin.”

“Thank you, your honor.” Frank Sarrel rose to his feet and buttoned his freshly pressed suit. His warm, understanding green eyes met Tom’s as he approached him. “Mr. Duncan, might I inquire as to how Miss Parys is doing?”

“As well as can be expected,” Tom replied.

Frank Sarrel nodded his understanding, “To clear up any confusion for the court, could you explain how long you’ve been in town?”

“Almost nine months. I got back the end of March.”

“And where were you before your return?”

“I served in the Ninth Cavalry. I was in many locations during the war, too many to name.”

“How long have you known Miss Parys?”

“All my life. We grew up together until I went back east to further my education,” Tom replied.

“How would you describe her? Ladylike, genteel?”

Tom hid a smile as the room erupted into muted snickers. “Rylee Parys is a hard woman to understand. To know her would mean you’d have to know the wind. Being around her is like riding the wildest bronc out there while fighting an all-out battle. You never know which way you’re going to get hit.”

“Would you describe your relationship with her as proper?”

“Indeed. There’s no such thing as getting to know her any other way. Rylee’s a crack shot and she’s not like some women. She don’t wilt at the first sign of pony tracks.”

Frank nodded. “How did she and your uncle get along?”

“They tolerated each other. Rylee never spoke evil of anyone—other than me—and that was because of a misunderstanding. She never indicated that she held any animosity toward him.”

“Do you believe she had backed out of a deal for her land with him?”

“No. Rylee gave her word. She’d die before she’d break it. It’s always been how she does business.” Tom frowned as a nagging thought settled. “Even when we were children, if she said she was going to do something, she did it.”

“How did you uncover the fact that Richard Duncan was the person who wanted to kill Miss Parys?”

“I went over to Rylee’s place a few days ago. The house was on fire and Rylee’d been badly beaten and left to die in the fire. I brought her home, to be cared for until we could find the men responsible. I had my suspicions about the person involved and confronted him. He denied it. During the course of our discussion, I heard Rylee’s scream through an open window. When I got to her, Richard Duncan had wrapped his belt around her neck and was kicking her into the dresser. There is no doubt in my mind that he intended to silence her.”

“Is there any way you could be mistaken in your belief?”

“No.”

“Thank you, Mr. Duncan.”

“Mr. Pivie, you may begin questioning the witness.”

Tom met the lawyer’s gaze across the narrow confines of the room. The man looked as calm as though he was preparing to go to Sunday dinner. Tall and lean, the man resembled a bean pole, his dark hair slicked back from his face and a thick; handlebar mustache graced his upper lip.

“Mr. Duncan, how do you feel toward the defendant?”

“He’s a low-lying, sneaking polecat who deserves to hang.”

“What connection does he have to Miss Parys?”

“None.” Tom stared at the other man, a hard knot of unease forming. “Other than being the man who tried to kill her.”

“Please, Mr. Duncan, stick to the facts.” The lawyer smoothed his coattails as he stood and strode across the floor. “What is your relationship to Miss Parys?”

“Why?” Tom tilted his head slightly. “You thinking I’m to blame for this, huh?”

“Mr. Duncan, I find it hard to believe that your uncle would suddenly turn into the monster he’s been painted. What transpired between him and Miss Parys is of more importance—”

“Rylee Parys is my neighbor, my friend.” Tom sighed impatiently. “She also controls the water to every farmstead and ranch within this country. Her stock is some of the best working horses I’ve ever seen. What exactly is it you’d like to know?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“I can’t imagine what I’d be forgetting.”

“My client,” he waved at Richard, who smirked victoriously at Tom, “has stated that your relationship with the alleged victim is a bit more than friendly.”

Tom clenched his teeth and stared at the cold face of his uncle’s lawyer. If he admitted the depth of their relationship, Rylee stood to lose whatever respect these people accorded her. However, if he didn’t tell, what would Richard do? How could he spare Rylee’s privacy and dignity without compromising himself and the case? He shifted in the chair and leaned back, his arms crossed over his chest. “Rylee and my relationship is personal. I see no need to divulge what sort of business we have.”

“Come now, Mr. Duncan, surely you’re aware that withholding evidence is—”

“What are you imply about her and my involvement?” Tom demanded.

“Is it not true that you and she are lovers? That you’ve been carrying on a scandalous affair in the hopes of getting the water rights?”

Tom shifted amid the whispers that raced like wildfire through the room. “I think you need to check your source. What does he know of our relationship? It begs the question of how exactly it is that your client came to know that information. Skulking about in the night, in other people’s homes like some thief. Now if you’ve something to ask me about the events in question, get on with it. My involvement with Rylee is none of your business.”

“Very well, can you explain to me how you discovered your uncle’s involvement with the crimes in question?”

Tom shot the judge a glance before facing his uncle and the fancy lawyer. “As I said a minute ago, I realized it was Richard Duncan when I heard a scream coming from the upstairs of my home. When I raced into the bedroom where Rylee was recovering from her recent brutalization I found him kicking Rylee against the dresser, her face battered and the wide leather strap he habitually wears around her neck. When I asked him about it, he said he did it to help the family and our ranch.”

“What exactly do you mean?”

Tom blinked and settled back in his chair, the creak of the wood loud in the silence. “After he called her several unsavory names, he insinuated that his attacks upon Rylee Parys and Elizabeth Longley were both done with the intent to further the Duncans' power and control within the area.”

“Do you expect us to believe that my client—”

“I expect you to do nothing.” Tom leaned forward, his voice dripping with venom. “You're defending that man for a crime he committed. You’re trying to paint him in some rosy picture. The fact is he stole something far more valuable than his pathetic life. Because of him, two women in this town have suffered and endured agonizing shame. His attempts on Rylee’s life have cost me any hope in hell of—”

“I see, so what you’re saying is that you’ve found a much less public means of getting the land and water?”

“No. I don’t want the land, water, or anything but her,” Tom denied firmly.

“One must doubt those words, Mr. Duncan.”

Tom snickered at the man’s haughtiness. “Really? Because you believe in seducing the enemy into a false sense of security while you steal their souls from them? Stick to defending him, leave my relationship and my desires for Rylee Parys alone.” Tom glanced at the judge, rose to his feet and stepped away from the chair. “I’ve got better things to do than sit here and help you paint him as some sort of gentleman. If you have nothing else to add, Judge Snoose?”

“No, no.” Mortimer waved him aside and turned to the defense attorney. “Call your next witness.”

“Elizabeth Longley.”

Tom paused for a moment, his eyes meeting the young woman’s before he strode out of the room. As he stepped off the steps, Tom glanced behind him. It didn’t surprise him that his relationship with Rylee had come out. He only hoped that folks were more accepting of it than they had been of the woman herself. With an agile leap, he was mounted and turned for home.

~ * ~

Rylee watched Tom ride into the yard, his shoulders hunched beneath his shirt. A pang of regret hit her before she turned from the window. She’d done this. She’d hurt him with her pride and unwillingness to bend. If she’d given in, maybe ... With a tired shake of her head, Rylee pushed those thoughts aside. There was no use in recriminations. What was done couldn’t be undone.

She sank onto the edge of the bed and stared at the wall. The sound of boots on the hard floor drew her attention and she turned her head to watch the door swing open and Tom step into the room.

“Hey, you’re up.”

“Just barely,” Rylee replied with a tiny smile.

“How you feeling?”

“Sore. But Doc said that’s normal. My hand’s broken, two ribs…”

Tom sank onto the edge of the bed next to her and pulled her into his embrace. “I’m sorry, Rylee. So very sorry.”

“Why? You didn’t do this to me,” she whispered into his chest.

“I should have seen something. Maybe if I’d come home sooner…”

“What if’s don’t matter.” Rylee patted his thigh. “They’ll only eat you alive.”

“I suppose you’re right. Come on, you should rest. You’ll probably have to testify before too long.”

“Probably.” Rylee let him ease her back on the bed, his strong warm body wrapping around hers. The weight of his arm around her waist was uncomfortable, but she loathed the idea of him moving it. Warm and tender, his fingers drew small circles on her abdomen and his hot breath ghosted over her neck as the shadows crept across the floor. She listened to his breathing even out. His fingers slowed and stilled before she let sleep claim her.

~ * ~

The glow of the full moon filled the room when Rylee woke. She glanced over her shoulder to see Tom lying next to her, wide awake. His heavily lidded eyes stared with heated intent at her face, tracing over each feature. Desire, hot and potent, darkened his gaze and she shuddered.

“Tom?”

His hand shifted, moving up to cup her shoulder and pull her toward him. With her stretched out on her back, he rose up on an elbow. “Forgive me. For all of this, for being such a fool,” he pleaded.

“Of course,” Rylee whispered, her eyes darting between his eyes and lips. She offered a soft moan of pleasure as he lowered his head and pressed his lips to her. Impatient fingers tugged loose clothes, eager to get to bare skin. Rylee slowly traced the hard, hair-covered muscles of Tom’s chest, following natural lines. His muted groans of pleasure soaked into her skin, awakening her own growing need.

A gasp of ecstasy escaped her as his hand worked its way up beneath her nightie and up her naked thigh to cup her heat. His thumb drew small circles on the tiny bundle at the center of her core. Arching into his caresses, she tilted her head, letting his lips trail down her throat. Her body jerked and trembled as he nibbled at the pale skin, his tongue laving each tiny hurt.

She whimpered when he pressed a hot, open mouthed kiss to her breasts through the thin cotton. His lips closed around a turgid nipple, tugging on it. Rough and moist, his tongue traced over her tip, flicking it gently until she was writhing beneath him.

Desperate to feel him, her hand reached out, closing over his hardness beneath the worn denim he hadn’t shed. Impatience ripped into her as she undid the button fly and pulled his length free of the confines of fabric. His muted groan of relief filled her with pleasure and she stroked him softly.

“Please.” Her soft moan echoed in the room as he reared up. She opened her lips to receive him when he kissed her, his tongue dueling along hers. A startled squeak escaped her when he rolled, pulling her on him. The hot length of him between her legs was a strange, unusual sensation in the position they were in. Her hands braced on his chest, she stared down at him as a slow grin crossed her face.

Knees braced on either side of his hips she leaned forward, seeking his mouth. The friction of warm denim against her flesh was almost unbearable as her body tightened and spun. She groaned as he reached between them, his fingers probing her moist flesh. Her back arched as he sank two fingers into her. Slow and steady, he pulled them out and sank them in, his thumb brushing against her clit at the same time. Rylee’s eyes drifted shut, her awareness centered on his touch. She whined in protest when his fingers slid free of her body. He trailed his hands across her flesh, to grip her hips.

“Tom?” Uncertain, Rylee shifted, longing a deep ache within her.

“Trust me,” he replied and pressed a kiss between her breasts. His body shifted beneath hers, and he guided his length to her core. Gentle, patient, he pushed down on her lower back, letting her sink down onto him. They groaned in unison at the sensation before she shifted.

“That’s it,” Tom encouraged. “You can do it.” He pulled the flimsy cotton of her cover off her body and tossed it aside, sitting up partially as she moved back and forth on him.

Rylee felt the coil of pleasure tighten within her until she trembled on the precipice of the fall. Her head tipped back, she wallowed in the feel of his hands on her breasts, of his mouth on her naked flesh, the rasping of denim against her skin and the blanket beneath them.

Harsh and panting, their breathing filled the room, echoing within each other’s heartbeat. Desperate for the release her body craved, Rylee moved sharply and a muted pained gasp escaped her as the movement jarred her ribs. She wiggled when Tom grabbed her hips, holding her steady as he thrust upwards into her heat. His mouth slammed over hers to capture her muted scream as the stars burst behind her eyelids and she tumbled into the blessed oblivion of sexual satisfaction.

Deep within her, a kernel of pain formed at the barest hint of realization. She couldn’t stay in Clearwater. It would kill her to be so close the man she loved and unable to reach out to him. She refused to smother him, to hold him captive with guilt because he would always blame himself for what had happened.