The Lawman's Surrender: The Calhoun Sisters, Book 2 (8 page)

They made it safely to the sheriff’s office. Jedidiah dismounted and tied up both their horses, then helped Susannah down. They stepped up onto the wooden sidewalk, Jedidiah’s hand on Susannah’s arm. At this range, it was obvious to all who watched that she wore handcuffs.

“It’s her!” someone whispered loudly.

“Easy to see how she led those men to their demise,” another muttered.

“The Black Widow of Barton Falls here in our town!” a third exclaimed. “Think we’ll be famous?”

Susannah’s steps faltered. The Black Widow of Barton Falls? She turned to look at Jedidiah, who wore an expression of startled guilt.

“Now look what you’ve done!” she hissed.

“Get inside.” With a wary look at the crowd, Jedidiah shoved her into the sheriff’s office, slamming the door on the crowd behind them.

“What can I do for you, folks?” The sheriff rose from behind his desk. He was a big man, rather handsome with slick black hair and dark eyes, and he had the look of a pugilist about him. A shiny silver badge adorned his white shirt, and a six gun nestled against his thigh.

Jedidiah stepped forward, hand extended. “I’m U.S. Marshal Jedidiah Brown,” he said. “This is my prisoner. I was wondering if I could borrow your jail for a spell.”

The sheriff shook Jedidiah’s hand. “I’m Sheriff Barkley Jones. You must be the ones we’ve heard tell about.” He turned a considering glance on Susannah. “And you must be the Black Widow of Barton Falls. A lot of folks have gotten stirred up about the news of you passing through these parts.”

Susannah waited for Jedidiah to correct the sheriff’s mistaken impression.

“Then you can see why I’d like to borrow your jail for a bit,” he said, to her astonishment. “I have business to attend to here in town, and I don’t want a mob getting to my prisoner.”

Susannah let out a squeak of dismay that made the sheriff stare at her.

Jedidiah pretended not to notice.

“I don’t blame you for wanting to lock this pretty thing up,” the sheriff chuckled. “Fact is, a lot of men are all bent out of shape at the thought of a husband killer in town.”

“I noticed that.”

“You can bring her on back.” Sheriff Jones took the keys off a hook on the wall and led them back toward the cells. “The jail’s empty now except for old Homer Gatling, sleeping off a wild hair he found at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.”

The sheriff unlocked a cell and opened the door. Jedidiah turned to Susannah. “Give me your hands,” he said quietly.

She raised her hands, wishing him to the devil with every fiber of her being. Her thoughts must have shown on her face, for when he unlocked the handcuffs, his movements were as wary as if she were a keg of dynamite with a lit fuse.

Which wasn’t far off the mark.

He slipped the handcuffs in his coat pocket and gestured for her to enter the cell. Head held high, she walked inside, then turned to stare at him defiantly, her arms crossed.

Sheriff Jones closed and locked the door. Jedidiah looked at the other lawman. “Would you give us a minute alone please, Sheriff?”

Jones nodded, sent Susannah a speculative look, and headed back to his desk in the other room, keys jingling. Jedidiah stepped up to the bars.

“I’m sorry about this,” he said. “But I need to leave you somewhere safe, and this was the best I could think of.”

“And where are you going?” she shot back. “The saloon, I suppose?”

“You suppose wrong.” He leaned toward the bars, his face taut with annoyance. “I’ve about had it with that mouth of yours, Susannah Calhoun.”

“Please, just call me Black Widow,” she replied with a sweet smile.

His lips thinned. “So I miscalculated. I’ve already apologized for that. If you weren’t so conspicuous, none of this would be necessary!”

“Oh, let’s do blame this on me!” Hands on her hips, she sauntered up to the bars until all that separated them was the cold, hard steel. “I can’t help the way I look, Jedidiah Brown. Or the way people react to it.
You
are the one who came up with that ridiculous story!”

“I’m trying to help you.”

Her eyes widened. “Into the hangman’s noose, perhaps!”

He pointed a finger at her. “You’re the one who got herself into trouble. I’m doing everything I can to keep a rope from around your pretty neck, so I suggest you forget the snotty remarks.”

“Considering I’m traveling with a man who considers me guilty of murder, I think I’m entitled to a few snotty remarks!”

“I never thought you were guilty,” he shot back. “I thought you were capable. There’s a difference. But no matter what I think, Brick Caldwell is dead. It’s my job to find out who killed him and bring that person to justice...and I don’t think it was you.”

She gaped at him. “But...but you’ve been treating me horribly and acting as if you think I’m guilty. And you’re taking me to Denver!”

“It’s my duty as a U.S. Marshal to bring you to Denver. But I am also sworn to see that justice is done. And that includes tracking down a witness who can prove your innocence.”

 
Hope flickered in her breast. “You’re going to help me?”

“I’m going to find Abigail Hawkins,” he corrected. “I’m going to hear her testimony, and hopefully she’ll swear to the fact that Brick Caldwell was alive when you left him.”

Susannah’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you were acting so contrary,” he replied. “It’s easier for me to do my job if you cooperate. And given the way this town has been acting, I wanted to clear the air before I leave you alone again. I’m on your side, Susannah. I care what happens to you.”

She gave him a soft smile. “You do?”

“Sure.” He shrugged casually and gave her a pleasant smile. “I care about everybody. That’s what a marshal does. He rights the wrongs so the bad men go to jail and innocent people can live in safety.”

“I see.” Her smile faded. “So that means when your job is done here, you’ll be moving on.”

“That’s right.”

“Then you’d best get going, Marshal,” she said in a falsely bright tone. “The sooner you get your man, the sooner you can be on your way.”

“In a hurry to see the back of me, princess?”

“In a hurry to get out from behind these bars,” she corrected. “Go on, Marshal. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

“You’d better be.” He tugged his hat low over his eyes, and with a last, warning look, he strode away.

The sun was well on its way to setting when Susannah left the jailhouse.

She knew Jedidiah would want to kill her when he discovered that she’d run off, but she really didn’t have a choice.

Over the course of the day, a buzz of growing unrest had escalated among the townspeople. Several times, Sheriff Jones had stepped outside to calm what was turning into an angry mob of upset husbands who objected to having a black widow killer in their midst.

There had been a lull in the protesting around suppertime, as all the stalwart husbands of the town went home to fill their bellies at their wives’ tables. Susannah’s own stomach had started to growl when Sheriff Jones came back into the cell area, followed by a petite woman carrying a dinner tray, whom he introduced as Mrs. Molly Pruitt.

The sheriff unlocked the cell door, allowing the diminutive woman to enter the cell. Mrs. Pruitt had smiled at Susannah, reminding her of a doe with her big brown eyes and delicate stature, and placed the covered tray on the small table next to the bed. Then, when the sheriff’s back was turned, the sweet lady pulled a napkin away from the tray, grabbed the piece of pipe she had hidden there, and hit Sheriff Jones on the back of the head with it.

Susannah had watched in stunned amazement as the lawman dropped like a stone.

Mrs. Pruitt grabbed the sheriff’s gun and pointed it at Susannah. “It would be better if you came along quietly,” she said in a small, whispery voice.

“I agree,” Susannah said, and walked out of the cell ahead of Mrs. Pruitt.

And so it was that Susannah found herself in the cellar of Pruitt’s Bed and Feed, a combination boarding house and restaurant only two doors down from the sheriff’s office.

Mrs. Pruitt urged her into the cellar, lit a lamp, and closed the door, shutting out the sunlight. Then with a squeak of disgust, she dropped the gun to the earthen floor.

“I hate guns,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

Susannah gaped at the woman.

“Well, I do,” Mrs. Pruitt insisted, obviously reading Susannah’s puzzlement in her face. “They’re so noisy and dangerous! I do so hate violence.”

Susannah felt as if she’d stepped into some bizarre dream. “But I saw you hit Sheriff Jones in the head with a pipe!”

Mrs. Pruitt twisted her slender fingers. “Well, he wouldn’t have let me take you out of there otherwise,” she reasoned. “Though I suppose I could have asked.”

“No, I think you read the situation correctly.” Susannah sat down on a pile of flour sacks. “Might I also mention that you led me here at gun point?”

“Oh, that was for your protection,” the woman responded. “This way they can’t say that you broke out of jail—not if I forced you to go!”

There was a convoluted logic there that Susannah had to acknowledge. “Why don’t you tell me why you went through so much trouble?”

“I need your help,” Mrs. Pruitt said. She glanced around as if expecting someone to leap from behind the stores piled around them.

“My help? What for?” The only help Susannah felt capable of providing was fashion advice, though that couldn’t be what the woman referred to—even though her baggy gray gown was two sizes too big for her small frame.

“I want you to kill my husband,” Mrs. Pruitt replied.

Susannah stared at the woman, noting the desperation in those doe-like eyes that seemed too big for her pale, delicate face. Molly Pruitt was serious—and Susannah was in big trouble.

“Damn you, Jedidiah Brown,” she muttered beneath her breath.

Jedidiah stared at the fallen sheriff and the empty jail cell.

“Damn you, Susannah Calhoun,” he muttered.

The sheriff groaned, and Jedidiah went over to help the man rise from his prone position on the floor. Leaning him in a sitting position against the bars of the cell, he crouched down and waited for Sheriff Jones to fully regain his senses.

“What happened?” the lawman groaned, raising his hand to gingerly feel the back of his head.

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Jedidiah replied.

“Where are we?” The sheriff looked around, the groaned again as he noticed the empty cell. “Don’t tell me that husband killer got away?”

“Afraid so. Do you know who hit you?”

“Must have been her.” Sheriff Jones squinted as he tried to focus his memory. “All I remember is letting in Mrs. Pruitt with the prisoner’s dinner. Next thing I know, here we are.”

“Who’s Mrs. Pruitt?”

“Hal Pruitt’s wife. Sweet little thing. They run the boarding house a couple doors down. I doubt she hit me. She’s just a small woman and not given to violence. It was probably the other one, the one we know hates men.”

As much as Jedidiah believed that Susannah was indeed capable of such an act, the chance that she had done it was negligible. Why would she escape jail, knowing Caldwell was out for her head and that Jedidiah was working to find the witness who might be able to prove her innocence?

Then again, anything was possible with Susannah Calhoun.

“Do you want me to fetch the doc?” Jedidiah asked.

“No, I’ll be okay. Have a heck of a headache, is all. I spent the day keeping that mob at bay. The husbands in town aren’t real keen on having a woman like her around. It was getting ugly for a while there.”

“Ugly enough that someone might break her out of here and try to take the law into his own hands?”

The sheriff’s eyes widened. “I didn’t think of that.”

“What about this Mrs. Pruitt? Could her husband have put her up to something like this?” Jedidiah asked.

Sheriff Jones looked thoughtful. “That Hal Pruitt is a mean son-of-a-gun. Runs Pruitt’s Bed and Feed and makes loans to a lot of the other businessmen. He owns a share in some of the mines hereabouts too. If he weren’t a respectable businessman, I’d be keeping my eye on him just ’cause he’s so nasty. But all he’s ever done that comes close to breaking the law is have a few too many over at the saloon now and again. You think he might have something to do with this?”

“Don’t you?” Jedidiah countered. “His wife was the only one in here.”

“I don’t know what to think. Hal did seem to be shouting the loudest this afternoon. Something about teaching the woman a lesson. But that’s just Hal. I figured he was just liquored up again.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Jedidiah stood and checked the bullets in his Colt. “I’m going over to Pruitt’s.”

“I should probably come with you.” He started to rise, then winced and sat back down again. “Then again, you’re a U.S. Marshal. You’re not gonna go shoot up the place, are you?”