turning.
After what seemed like an eternity, the marshal dipped his head in a curt nod of farewell and vanished out of sight, leaving her alone with an avalanche of confused thoughts that ran the gamut from past failings into future possibilities.
* * *
Dale finished his morning shave and studied his reflection in the gilt-framed mirror hanging above the cracked porcelain washbasin in his hotel room. What had Rowena McKenzie seen when she’d stared at him with such intensity? Had she been repelled by his scar?
Are you married? Are you married? Are you married?
The question seemed to whisper at him from every corner of the shabby, well-worn hotel room. Dale shook his head, as if to dislodge the soft feminine voice that appeared to be stuck inside his mind. The attempt proved as futile as swatting at a fly with a piece of string.
He’d never considered that marriage might be an option for him. And yet, he could not stop his thoughts from reeling back to Roy Hagan, a friend he used to ride with in his outlaw years. Born with different colored eyes, Roy had been an outcast all his life. He’d been an outlaw when he met Celia, a bank clerk’s daughter, and escorted her on a trail through the Arizona Territory. They had fallen in love, and despite Roy’s lawless background, Celia had accepted him. She’d given herself to him, had fought to have a future with him. Their love had seemed so perfect, so complete, even with death looming over them, for at that time Roy had not yet broken free from the Red Bluff Gang, or been granted a presidential pardon. But Celia had loved him anyway, had been prepared to risk her life and sacrifice her reputation to be with him.
Could it happen to him? Could a woman love him like that?
Dale scowled at his image in the mirror. Of course it couldn’t happen to him. Rowena McKenzie had stared at him because she’d been repelled by his scar. He had done his duty. He had uncovered the facts, at least enough to piece together a clear picture of the situation.
Number one: he knew that Robert Smith and Elroy Revery were professional fraudsters who had perpetrated the same scam on many occasions. On at least one such occasion Revery—or whatever was his real name—had been shot and carted away by a bolting horse. As Revery had since reappeared, it was evident that he had not died, and the same was likely to apply on this occasion. The lack of a body supported that assumption, although this time Revery had been forced to sacrifice his horse.
Number two: Rowena McKenzie was an honorable person—Dale trusted his lawman’s instinct on that—and she had lived in Pinares for two years, during which time Revery and Smith had been operating elsewhere. During those two years Miss McKenzie had not sent or received any letters or telegrams. She could not have been in contact with the fraudsters. It must be a coincidence that they had come to Pinares.
Number three: Rowena McKenzie had done her best to stop people from investing in the worthless mining shares, and hence it appeared that she was not part of the fraud. However, she had secretly visited Revery in his hotel room, which was evidence of a bond between them. The bond did not seem sinister, with the conmen having some kind of a hold over her, for Miss McKenzie seemed confident that once she revealed the truth about the shooting her troubles would be over. Further, she did not appear to have any dark secrets that could be used to blackmail her.
Number four: Rowena McKenzie had grabbed Kurt Lonergan’s pistol from the holster and fired the shot that allowed Revery to escape. She had done this after Smith, masquerading as one of the disgruntled investors, fell over in the crowd and was unable to use his gun. Clearly, she had facilitated the escape of the conmen, but it appeared to have been an impulse, dictated by the occasion. Had it been premeditated she would have arranged to be carrying a gun.
Number five: Rowena McKenzie was refusing to defend herself against a murder charge. She was waiting for a telegram that would allow her to reveal the truth. The telegram must be to let her know that Revery and Smith were safely out of the territory, and any other territory or state where there might be a warrant out on them.
This information, part fact, part speculation, ought to be enough to convince any judge that Rowena McKenzie should not hang, but should instead remain in custody until she was prepared to talk. He could relay his findings to Sheriff Macklin and be on his way to California. He ought to hurry, sign the agreement to buy his ranch before anyone else discovered the place and pushed the price beyond his reach by offering more.
Are you married? Are you married?
Ignoring the voice that whispered inside his head, Dale pulled his suit coat on. His task was not completed. He understood the chain of events, could be almost certain that Rowena McKenzie had not committed murder. However, she had aided and abetted fraudsters, and he couldn’t consider his job finished until he had discovered what had caused her to do that. It would then be up to the judge to decide if Miss McKenzie was guilty of participating in a fraud, or had merely acted unwisely out of misplaced loyalties.
* * *
Outside, the sky was laden, the ground white with a layer of frost. Steeling himself against the icy wind, Dale hurried down the street to the small brick building that housed the jail and the sheriff’s office.
Sheriff Macklin sat at his desk, feet propped on top, a steaming mug of coffee balanced between his hands. “Go right in,” he told Dale. “She’s between visitors. The cell door is unlocked.”
Dale walked down the corridor, keeping his footsteps quiet. He found Rowena McKenzie in her jail cell, squatting on all fours beneath the window, peering at something on the floor. Like yesterday, she was dressed in a green gown, with a shapeless man’s sweater worn on top to provide an extra layer of warmth.
“Miss McKenzie.”
Even though she ignored his greeting, her body seemed to stiffen. Then she sighed, loud enough for the sound to carry out to him, and hard enough for her shoulders to slump. She scampered up to her feet and turned to him, a frown of dismay on her face.
“I almost had him,” she complained. “Or her. I don’t know which.”
He stepped into the cell. “Had what?”
“Mousie.” Her expression softened. “He—or she—is a tiny mouse. A field mouse, I think. I’ve been feeding him with bread crumbs. He’s been letting me get very close. I was hoping that today he would let me pick him up, but you scared him away.”
“I have that effect on small children and mice.”
Miss McKenzie glanced at him, but either she missed the reference to his damaged looks or chose to pay no attention. Once again, Dale speculated about her past. She must have been brought up wealthy. However, he could sense no bitterness in her, no resentment over her loss of status in life. To the contrary, she seemed to possess the ability to find joy in little things, even having a rodent for a pet.
“Try it,” she urged him now, gesturing toward the floor beneath the window. “Mousie knows she didn’t get all the bread crumbs. She’ll be back.”
Dale edged closer and dropped to his haunches where he could see a scattering of bread crumbs. He wondered if Miss McKenzie realized she had just made her little mouse into a female, presumably for his benefit. He kept still, his attention on the floor. Silence settled over the jail cell. Just as well, Dale thought, for he seemed at a loss for words.
Seconds ticked by, turned into minutes. Rowena McKenzie crouched beside him. Their bodies seemed very close to each other in
