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  “Here?” Pearl asked disbelievingly. “He’s coming here?”

  Augusta shook her head. “No, he’ll go to Cleary’s house.”

  “Well, you’re not going to be there,” Wilson said firmly. “You’ll not go anywhere with a strange man. As a matter of fact, you’re not going anywhere with anybody. You’ll be staying here where we can keep an eye on you.”

  Pearl laughed aloud. “And your sister thought you’d never get a backbone and grow up, youngun.” She looked fully at Augusta then. “Do you think Cleary’s been shot? Or do you think that fella’s just tryin’ to get you away from here for his own reasons?”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice sounded weak and uncertain, and Augusta shook her head. “I really don’t know what to think.” She looked around her at the circle of faces, Glory and Janine having joined the group in the parlor. “If Cleary’s been hurt, I should be there, I suppose. But I told the sheriff I was going to wait till I heard for sure before I did anything.”

  “Well, that oughta deliver a killing blow to old Roger Hampton’s plans for you, I suspect,” Pearl said sharply. “I’ll warrant that man thought he had you right where he wants you, and if I know anything, I’ll bet he’s gonna plot to be sure Cleary is deader than a doornail, one way or another.”

  Her heart ached with the uncertainty of it all, and Augusta felt a great weakness overtake her. For the first time in years, she was hesitant about the direction she would take next. Somehow she couldn’t sense that Cleary was near death, for certainly she would know, would feel the impending doom hanging over her like a dark cloud. And if he was on the side of the law, as he claimed, he’d return to her either with or without another wound for her to tend.

  Struck with the vision of the ambiguous future before her, she leaned her head against the couch. “I’m tired,” she said flatly. “I’ve just nicely discovered that I’m going to have the child of a man who’s traveling on the edge of the law. He’s never made it a point to be totally honest with me from the beginning. And I think I’m tired of seesawing back and forth.”

  Her eyes opened wide and she fastened her gaze on Glory. “Go on upstairs and find me a place to sleep, Glory. I’m staying here until I know which end is up.”

  “I’ve never taken testimony from a dead man before,” the judge said, settling himself into a chair beside the bed. “But if this is the way the Pinkerton Agency wants to handle things, I’m willing to go along with it.”

  Cleary focused on the man beside him, willing the urgency of his pain to recede. The wound was not nearly so bad as others he’d suffered through the years, and head shots always bled like the very dickens. He’d been living with a banger of a headache for three days. Three days during which life had gone on outside this building.

  He’d known, from secret visits with Judge Horace Hodges, that the Pinkerton man in charge of this operation had loaded a rough wooden coffin with a couple hundred pounds of rocks. With less ceremony than tossing a dead woodchuck over the fence, it had been buried in a pauper’s grave, purporting to be that of J. Cleary, gunman and bank robber.

  Cleary ached for Augusta, fearful that news of his death might have reached her already. There was no way to reassure her, and the success of this mission depended on secrecy, anyway. His testimony was essential to the outcome of the hearing and trial of the defendants who now sat in solitary confinement.

  Lest anything happen to him, the judge had decided to take his testimony today, at his bedside. That he would also appear in the courtroom, three days hence, was a given. But this was a precaution, one Cleary could well understand.

  “All right,” Judge Hodges began, “I’ve got my clerk here ready to write down your statement. Let’s get to it.”

  Cleary’s head pounded with a vicious rhythm, but his thoughts remained clear as he spoke. The medication was gone from his body, and he’d spent a miserable night with no relief from the pain, but the doctor promised a dose of painkiller as soon as this ordeal was done. To that end, Cleary set out to describe the plan he’d formed and put into motion, beginning almost a full year ago when he’d settled in Collins Creek. He told of being notified by Nicholas Garvey that events were underway, putting Cleary at the forefront of the action. Then he continued with a detailed description of his activities since that time.

  The clerk’s hand flew across page after page of lined paper, and though some of Cleary’s testimony was already known to Judge Hodges, he listened intently. “How many bankers were in on this?” he asked finally.

  “Three in all,” Cleary told him. “Nicholas Garvey set things up and called me in. I asked for the Pinkerton men to back us up, and then spent six months involving myself with the gang, searching out their leaders.”

  “More than one?” the judge asked.

  “Yeah. That was the problem. We needed to get to the man at the top, and in order to do that, the banks took losses. Now, with almost the entire kit and caboodle of them in custody, we stand to retrieve some of the gold and cash they took. Some of it’s gone, but with this mess cleaned up, it should be safe for the banks and the government to transport whatever they need to. There’s one more man to nail, and I suspect he’ll be here at the trial to gloat.”

  He grinned and his voice hardened with promise. “We’ll grab him then.” Sobering as he considered the future, he spoke a prophecy he feared was all too true. “At least things will be safe until someone else comes along and decides to take up where this gang left off.”

  He looked at the judge and felt a pang of regret as he spoke his mind. “I fear we’ll have the criminal element with us so long as there are banks to steal from and trains to rob.”

  Judge Hodges nodded, his mouth twisting with a wry grin. “I’m afraid you’re right, son. But we can only catch one at a time, and this bunch is gonna get sent up for more years than they can count.”

  He rose and flexed his shoulders. “I’ve got to get back to the courtroom. There’s another case on my docket this afternoon.” He looked at Cleary with a measuring eye. “I’ll expect to see you in court on Friday. Till then, you lay low and keep yourself safe. I don’t want to take any chances with someone sneaking in here and getting rid of our star witness.”

  “I go along with that,” Cleary told him, aching for the promised dose of oblivion the doctor had promised, once this interview was a thing of the past.

  From the doorway, the medical man met his gaze and, seeming to recognize Cleary’s thoughts, he entered the room. “I think my patient needs to sleep, Judge. I’ll have him on his feet by Friday, one way or another. You just leave us a deputy here to keep an eye on this room.”

  “Already seen to it,” Judge Hodges told him, offering a hand to Cleary.

  His head banged in rhythm to the firm handshake the judge offered, and Cleary winced, then closed his eyes.

  “He’s here,” Pearl said sharply from the door of the parlor. “I figured he’d show up. The man’s not about to turn you loose, Augusta.”

  Rising from the sofa, Augusta cast a long look at her friend. “I might as well see him for a minute. He needs to know he’s not welcome anywhere near me. If Cleary was here, he’d nail his hide to the wall.”

  “If Cleary was here, a lot of things would be different,” Pearl said tartly. “And you don’t need to be getting upset again. We just nicely got you calmed down.”

  “I’m fine.” Augusta waved aside her concern and walked across the parlor toward the screened door.

  “I’d think you’d have given up,” Augusta told the man waiting there. “I don’t know why you followed me here. I’m not going anywhere with you, Mr. Hampton.”

  Roger shrugged, and shook his head. “Sorry to hear that, ma’am. I’ve got to take my leave. I’m heading back to Dallas now. I can’t miss the hearing and the trial, and if your husband lives long enough, I’ll see him there. I’ll be sure to give him the message that you didn’t want to see him one last time.”

  “You do that,” Augusta said
sharply. “And don’t bother to come back here again.”

  She watched him leave, thankful that she’d met Roger this time surrounded by friends. He’d struck a note of fear in her that hovered yet in her mind. She’d had a close call with him, had not been smart enough to discourage him right off that day in Dallas when he’d approached her as she left the bank. He’d offered a five-dollar gold piece, asking if it were hers. Had she dropped it?

  Stunned that a man so honest could be found in the city, Augusta had dithered over his query, then felt a blush cover her cheeks as she sensed his regard for her person. Before many days had passed, she’d begun to recognize him as a fortune seeker, and her flight to Collins Creek had been a twofold retreat.

  Her shelter would, she’d decided, be more effective in a small town, where her soiled doves might find work or perhaps even a husband, once they were trained for a new venture. And leaving Roger behind had sealed her decision. She did not trust the man, and became aware that her money held an appeal he could not resist.

  In fact, looking back now, she wondered if he might not be somehow involved himself, in the whole fabric of Cleary’s problems in Dallas.

  “You sent him packing, I see,” Pearl said from behind her, joining her to watch Roger ride down the road.

  “Yes. I don’t trust the man. Never have and never will.”

  “He’s a looker,” Pearl observed. “But I’ve seen his kind before. I’d call him a four-flusher, rotten to the core.”

  “Well, he almost fooled me right off, when I met him in Dallas. He had me nailed as a woman with means, and he was determined to get his hands on my money. It didn’t sit well when I came to Collins Creek, so he came after me. I suspect now he’s just determined to get his pound of flesh one way or another. And Cleary seems to be his target.”

  “He’s no match for Cleary,” Pearl said stoutly. “You’ll see.”

  “Well, I’m not sure I am, either.” Augusta stepped back from the doorway. “My husband has a lot to clear up before I’m willing to go back to his house. I don’t propose to be left in the dark any longer, Pearl. I wanted a husband who could be honest with me, and I won’t have a man who’s determined to trot off and get himself in a peck of trouble every time I turn around.”

  Pearl grinned. “Anytime you want to call it quits with him, I’ll bet there’s six or eight other females more than willing to take your place, ma’am.” She laughed aloud. “In the meantime, just settle in here and let us tend you for a while.”

  “That’s exactly what I plan on doing.” Augusta headed for the stairs and began the climb to the second floor. “I’m going to ask Janine to help me let my dresses out tonight. I need some breathing space, in more ways than one.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Miss Augusta? May I come in?” Nicholas stood on the porch the next morning, his hat in hand. Augusta touched the latch and the door swung open, the spring protesting as it stretched.

  “Certainly, you may,” she said politely. “How did you find me here?”

  His grin was quick. “Everyone in town knows you’ve left Cleary’s house to move back into the shelter,” he said cheerfully. “You’re quite the topic of discussion.”

  “Well, I certainly never meant to be,” she said sharply. “I don’t appreciate folks following my every move.”

  “Then you shouldn’t be so much in the public eye,” he told her, strolling behind as she walked into the parlor. He took a seat, looked around and leaned back in the chair he’d chosen. His boots were polished, his trousers sharply creased, and his hair gleamed like a crow’s wing in the sunlight. An altogether attractive man, Augusta decided.

  But he couldn’t hold a candle to Cleary, she thought glumly, as she sat upright in a straight chair. And why that should be was not a puzzle as far as she was concerned. Cleary, though not handsome in the conventional sense, had a quality, an appeal that no other man possessed, to her way of thinking.

  He’d made her love him. With very little effort, he’d claimed her, heart and soul, and even the flashing good looks of Nicholas Garvey held little appeal to her senses.

  “What can I do for you this morning?” she asked, hoping in her heart of hearts that he carried news of Cleary’s whereabouts and well-being.

  “I thought I’d drop by to see if you were handling things well,” he said quietly. His smile was gone, his eyes serious as he held her gaze. “I know you’re worried, Augusta. I don’t blame you. The news from Dallas is not good.”

  She stiffened. “What have you heard? The same claptrap Mr. Hampton tried to pass off as the truth?”

  Nicholas looked down at his boots, as if a weighty matter merited his consideration. “I think you came close to disaster with that man, Augusta. There may have been plans in the works for you to be taken to Dallas, in order to convince Cleary not to testify against the gang.”

  “Then why didn’t it happen?” She felt a sick fear grip her heart, adding to the concern for Cleary that occupied her thoughts.

  “I don’t know for certain,” Nicholas said. “He may have had second thoughts, or maybe he cares about you more than we realize. Whatever his reasons, he left alone on the early train to Dallas. I consider it good riddance, and I have a notion he’s going to come to disaster once he reaches there. However, the story he used to lure you to accompany him might not have been a total fabrication, my dear.”

  “He said Cleary was wounded, and probably would die in jail.” She made the blunt statement without embellishing it in any way, and held her tears in abeyance while speaking the words. Her pillow was still damp from the abundance she’d shed during the night hours. She felt drained, her eyes dry and burning, her heart sore within her breast.

  “Well, Cleary’s not in jail. That much I know for certain. I got a wire from a Judge Hodges in Dallas this morning. He tells me that a coffin was buried two days ago in a pauper’s grave on the outskirts of Dallas. The wooden marker bears Cleary’s name.”

  Augusta felt a rushing wind fill her body, clouding her thoughts and causing her hands to tremble as she lifted them to her face. “Is he sure?” she asked, holding her voice steady with an amazing effort.

  “He’s sure there was a coffin buried, yes. But I thought it was odd that he didn’t tell me there was a body in it.”

  She lowered her hands slowly to her lap and lifted her gaze to his. “I don’t think I understand.”

  “I read it three or four times before it sank in that he was telling me something beyond the words themselves, Augusta. No doubt there was a chance that the wrong element would be privy to the wire, no matter how secret such things are supposed to be. I think, and God above knows I hope I’m right…I think Cleary’s alive, and they’re holding him, probably hiding him somewhere, until the trial.”

  She stood and paced to the window, forcing her legs to be strong, her knees to hold her body erect. Outside, the trees still held the green hues of summer, but the corner of the garden visible to her eyes contained only tangled tomato vines, with a few green specimens still clinging tenaciously. A few feet over, dried plants aboveground hid the hills of potatoes beneath, waiting to be dug. She thought of using the three-tined spade to bring them forth. A good job for her this afternoon, she decided.

  “Augusta? Are you all right?” Behind her, Nicholas’s voice was concerned and quiet, filled with dark whispers of doubt. She heard him approach across the carpet, felt his warmth behind her, and with a wrenching cry, she turned to him.

  His arms circled her with gentle care, one hand touching her shoulder, the other patting at her back. “He’s alive, Augusta. I feel it, deep inside, where such things as trust and a belief in God’s justice abide.” He looked down at her, one palm moving to cup and lift her chin, until her gaze met his. “I want you to have faith in the man.”

  Tears flowed silently, and agony seemed to grip her with iron claws. Yet, in the face of Nicholas Garvey, she saw an optimism that penetrated her despair. “I hope you’re right,” she whi
spered. “I’ve lost my parents and my home, then found a new family here in Collins Creek. My brother has returned to me, but in exchange I’ve lost Jonathan.”

  “Jonathan? So that’s his name.” A grin enveloped the dark features as she watched. “He signed his account with just his last name,” Nicholas explained. “Wouldn’t say what his Christian name was, and I didn’t press him. He’s not the only man I’ve met who doesn’t tell all he knows.”

  He reached into his pocket and drew forth a clean white handkerchief. Unfolding it, he offered it for her use, and Augusta took it thankfully. Her eyes wiped free of tears on its pristine surface, she held it in her hand.

  “Thank you for giving me a shoulder to cry on,” she said, attempting to smile. “I’m taking back the statement I just made. I don’t know for sure that I’ve lost Jonathan, do I? And I’m not willing to admit defeat.” She sniffed once and drew a deep breath. “Besides, I’m quite angry at him, and if I believe he’s truly alive, I can work up to being really furious and enraged by the time he shows up on my doorstep.”

  “And what are you so furious about?” Nicholas asked, his lips curving in a tender smile. “You’re too nice a lady to hold a grudge.”

  “Well, I’ve been working on this one for a while,” she admitted. “He’s never been honest with me, and the longer I think about it, the angrier I get.”

  “Did you ever think that maybe there were things he couldn’t tell you?” he asked.

  She shot a look of disgust in his direction. “You make a good pair. Are you certain you’re not related?”

  He backed away, picking up his hat from the sofa and holding it at his side. “No, not by blood, but we probably have some similarities, deep down.” Eyes that took note of her tearstained cheeks and then settled on the clenched fists at her waist were dark with mystery.

  “I can’t tell you anything else, Augusta, only that I’ll keep my ear to the ground. We probably won’t know much more until things are settled in Dallas. In the meantime, I may be reading between the lines, but the honorable judge didn’t tell me to come post haste to Dallas to claim Cleary’s coffin, and that gives me reason to think that we just need to sit tight.”