time I heard, it was against the law to own another human being,” Brace said in that same soft, low voice. “You can own a horse or a dog, but there’s no way you can put your brand on a child.”
“Where’s the judge in this godforsaken town?” Lester asked harshly.
Brace smiled, a feral grin that he’d been told turned him from a nice, decent gentleman into a wolfish creature who could scare the britches off the devil himself. He stood taller, his hand once more touching the butt of his gun. From beneath the brim of his black hat he cast a scornful glance at the man before him.
“The judge comes into town every two months or so,” Brace said. “He should be here in a couple of weeks. Would you like to wait for him in one of my cells?”
That the second cell was currently holding a young woman was information Lester Clark needn’t know, Brace thought. Especially since she’d just as soon shoot the man as look at him. And for a moment he wondered which of the two was the more dangerous.
“You’re not locking me up, mister,” Lester snarled. “I haven’t done anything illegal.”
“Well, don’t ruin your record now,” Brace told him. “I’m takin’ this boy to see the doc, and from there we’ll find something to eat at the hotel.”
“I’m real hungry,” the boy said softly, as if he feared his father might overhear his words. He was about as close to Brace’s leg as he could get without climbing it. The urge to snatch the child up and into his arms was almost irresistible, but Brace settled for bending to the boy, brushing a big hand over the lad’s dark hair and squeezing gently at his narrow shoulder.
“Come along, son,” he said, holding tight to the small hand that was now fisted around his index finger. With a glance over his shoulder at Amos, he sent a silent message, and the blacksmith apparently had no difficulty in deciphering it.
“I’ll keep an eye on things,” he said curtly.
Lester Clark stood in the middle of the road and watched Brace’s departure, and the venom of the glare he cast upon the man and child was almost palpable, Brace noted. The boy trotted along without complaint, and Brace looked down at him as they neared the jailhouse.
“I got somebody inside you might like to see,” he said. “Want to make a quick stop?” And without waiting for a reply, he crossed the threshold of his office. Jamie sat at the desk, his boots propped on its surface, his hat sliding down over his eyes as he dozed.
“You want to bring Miss Murphy out here?” Brace asked quietly, and then had a hard time restraining his smile as his deputy jerked to attention. His boots hit the floor and he was upright in seconds.
“Yes, sir, I can do that,” he said, glancing down at the boy who held Brace’s hand as if it were a lifeline. Snatching up the keys from the desk drawer, he hastened through the door, and in moments Brace heard the rattle of the lock, and then the squeak of the cell door opening.
“What’s going on?” Sarah Murphy’s voice held a puzzled note, and then she was there in the doorway, and the child beside him shivered and uttered his aunt’s name with a pleading sound.
“Aunt Sarah?” Poised beside Brace, the boy tugged his hand free and launched himself at his aunt with a cry of anguish. “Aunt Sarah,” he repeated, and as she bent to receive him, he reached her and clung to her. His legs circled her waist and his arms wrapped around her neck, his small face buried against her throat.
“Let me take him,” Brace offered quickly. “He’s too heavy for you.”
Sarah shot him a look that might have made a lesser man tremble. “Don’t touch him. It’s me he needs.”
Brace pushed his chair toward her instead, waving a hand at the wooden seat. Sarah settled there, rocking the child and crooning words of comfort against his dark head. For a long moment the two men were silent, then Jamie turned away, as though his emotions were caught up in the drama before him.
“Stephen. Oh, Stephen, I’ve been looking for you,” Sarah said quietly, pulling back from the boy’s grip to look into his eyes. “Are you all right?” She held him away from her, scanning his small form, her gaze snagged by a bruise on his forearm. “What happened here?” she asked.
“Nothin’,” Stephen said, as if the purple abrasion were of little account. And it probably was hardly noticeable to the lad, Brace decided, now that his aunt held him close. “Everything’s all right now, Aunt Sarah. I knew you’d find me.”
She looked up at Brace, her eyes filming with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I owe you.” And then she looked toward the doorway and beyond it to the road. “Where’s his father?”
“Over at the livery stable, trying to figure out what his options are,” Brace said. “I offered him a bed here, but he wasn’t of a mind to accept. I suspect he’s gonna stay at the hotel for a while, unless he gives up and heads on down the road. But I wouldn’t count on that, ma’am.”
“He won’t get this child from me,” she said fiercely, her grip on Stephen tightening. “I’ll do whatever I have to in order to keep him safe.”
“Well,” Brace began, his mind working as he reached for her and eased her from the chair, “let’s go over to the hotel first off and feed this young man some breakfast.”
“It’s closer to dinnertime, isn’t it?” Sarah asked, her confusion apparent.
“Yeah, I suspect it will be by the time we make a stop at the doctor’s office, but this boy hasn’t had anything to eat today, unless I miss my guess.”
She looked down at Stephen, whose gaze traveled from one adult to the other in a bid to keep up with the conversation. “Haven’t you eaten this morning?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, ma’am. Pa said we was in a hurry.”
“I’ll just bet he did,” she muttered. Her face dark with anger, she lowered Stephen to the floor before her and he stood where she’d placed him, apparently willing to do whatever she bid him. “Let’s go,” she said, gripping his hand and walking to the doorway. “Lead the way, Sheriff.”
“This isn’t anything permanent, ma’am,” Brace told Sarah. They sat at the small table, watching Stephen devour a plateful of pancakes and eggs, and Brace felt more than a twinge of anger at the man who’d neglected the boy to such an extent.
“I’ll not give him up,” Sarah said firmly. She clasped her hands before her on the white tablecloth and her chin jutted forward as if she had drawn a line in the sand and dared him to step over it. “Lester is not getting his hands on him again.”
“He’s his son,” Brace said quietly. “I broke the law by taking Stephen today, if you really want to know the truth. I can keep him at arm’s length till the judge comes to town in a couple of weeks, but I doubt you’ll have a leg to stand on once we go to court and present your case.”
Sarah leaned over the table. “I don’t care what it takes, Lawman, I won’t give him up again. Did you pay attention to what the doctor uncovered in his office? Didn’t you see the bruises he wears?”
“Yeah, I saw them,” Brace said agreeably. “But the fact remains that Stephen’s
