her.
He’d like to see the man who didn’t swallow every word the enticing creature had to say.
Boone would decide later if he believed her or not. Years ago he had believed everything Martha Mantry had told him and look where that had gotten him. Over time he had discovered that women could be skilled at getting what they wanted by flashing a comely smile or a swishing a pair of rounded hips.
Just what was it that this one wanted?
“I would simply like to ask that you look at your own past, Your Honor, or at your own grandchildren, if you are blessed.” Miss Every Man’s Dream wrung her fingers. “Even little girls are born with a spoonful of mischief. The only difference between Mr. Walker and myself is a bit of good luck.”
That and the fact that she had not likely ever put her lips to a bottle of whiskey or carried a gun on her hip thinking the world was as easily conquered as the dust under her boots.
“And here is something to consider...did you realize that Boone Walker has a twin brother?” She arched a pair of prettily shaped brows. “At first, this might not seem to relate to Mr. Walker’s situation, but upon reflection you will see that it does. The boys’ parents named them the same name. Boone Lantree and Lantree Boone. I ask you, sir, what kind of parents name their children the same name? Lazy ones, I say, and uncaring—the boys were doomed from the start by the very people who were supposed to nurture them.”
She sure as shooting wasn’t describing his folks. They were not lazy or uncaring. Ma and Pa had named them for their grandfathers. By giving him and his brother both of the names, no one got offended.
Since he didn’t know what the woman was up to, and she seemed to be on his side, he didn’t correct her. Probably should, though. It wasn’t right to let Ma and Pa’s memory be sullied. Every day it ate at him; how he’d caused them grief over the years. They had gone to their rewards many years back from fevers, he’d come to find out. He always wondered if they died believing the things said about him.
“A twin, you say?” The judge leaned forward on his elbows. “If the parents were so neglectful, what became of Lantree Boone Walker? What has he done with his life?”
The woman sighed, looking sorrowful.
Did she know Lantree? His brother had always been a square shooter, always the responsible one.
He ought to have asked his lawyer about Lantree, but never had. Too much of a coward, he guessed, to come face-to-face with what his running must have cost his twin. Even given their opposite personalities, he and his brother had been close growing up. Right up until the day Boone had run, leaving Lantree cradling the body of a dead man.
Smythe did mention that it was Lantree who was paying his fees. He did know that little bit.
“He’s a hardscrabble cowboy, branding, roping, cussing.” She shook her head in what he saw as exaggerated sorrow but the judge seemed too smitten with her pretty pout to notice the insincerity.
She was truthful about the cussing, though. His brother did cuss. “Hell and damn” as he remembered it. The phrase was his brother’s one claim to wildness.
He doubted that Lantree had changed that much over the years. Must be that the woman was trying to show that because of Ma and Pa, neither of them had had a chance at growing up respectable.
Hell, being a cowpoke wasn’t so unrespectable, not like being an outlaw was.
“Lantree Walker was the only other reliable witness to the shooting,” Smythe declared. “His testimony at the time was that it was a fair fight, maybe even favored Mantry since he was a man coming against a boy, but the widow’s words held sway. Young Boone, fearful to his bones, had run away, as children will do.
“I could not help but be appalled that, at my client’s trial, Lantree Walker’s original testimony was not presented. All we heard were the written lies of a convicted thief and child exploiter along with the deranged memory of an inebriate. Clearly, Lady Justice wept on the day that Boone Walker was convicted.”
“Just so,” the woman added with a quick glance in his direction.
Boone didn’t know who this “innocent child” was they kept talking about. It sure hadn’t been him. He’d been born wild and only become more unruly over the years. On that long-ago day that he’d taken his money to town, Lantree had taken his, too. But his brother had put his in the bank.
While they’d been born twins, identical to look at, they had never been peas in a pod.
“I’ll need some time to sleep on what’s fact and what’s not.” The judge stood, stretching his back. “We’ll meet tomorrow, ten o’clock sharp.”
The woman took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She gazed at Boone as though his fate was of some importance to her.
She nodded and then turned with a swish of that fancy womanly fabric. The scent of roses followed her. That was pleasant, given that he hadn’t smelled a rose in some time.
He watched her bustle twitch to and fro while she walked toward the big set of doors that led to the street behind the saloon. When she pulled the door open, a flurry of leaves blew inside.
Who in tarnation was she?
* * *
Stanley Smythe waived his fork as he spoke to Melinda Winston across the table in the dining room of the Inn of the Golden Buffalo. She could not truthfully say that she knew what the lawyer was going on about...in fact, she could not even say that she actually saw him.
While she did a fair job at stabbing her lunch with her fork, even chewing a bite now and again, she was fairly consumed by her first impression of the black sheep of the family.
No matter how she tried, she could not get Boone off her mind. How could she when she had spent the better part of the two-week journey to Buffalo Bend wondering what he would be like?
Would a condemned man seem different than any other? Would evil intent glint from his eyes? Or would he have the same demeanor as an innocent man?
And, having listened to Lantree’s recollections of what had happened that long-ago night, and having been spellbound by the lawyer’s presentation of an innocent boy wronged, she did believe that he ought not to have been convicted. While there was no denying that he had killed a man, it was clear as raindrops that it had not been in cold blood.
Still, it wasn’t the first murder that had folks shivering in their beds at night. There were reports of many other heartless crimes, each one more wicked than the next.
This morning in the courthouse, she had studied Boone long and hard. During that time, she did not feel evil lurking behind his eyes.
Melinda, having a well-favored face and figure, had, of necessity, developed a keen sense of male integrity. She had come to read men as easily as she read books. She’d had to. If she succumbed to every sweet talker who presented his suit, she would be in sorry shape.
Yes, within Boone she did see a troubled soul, one who carried a great deal of guilt. But she had to agree with Lantree, and with Stanley, when they insisted that Boone was not who the tabloids portrayed him to be.
Seeing Boone earlier,
