Sundown, p.21
Sundown, page 21
“A letter.” She thumped the page in front of him. “It’s all in the letter.”
Emma’s eyes sparkled like a prospector about to explain how he struck gold. “From a Marshal in Boseman, Montana. Silas Thornton rode into town last year and stopped in his office. He spent almost a month trying to track down the Montana killer, so the Marshal got to know him well enough. He learned Thornton was a lieutenant in the Confederate Army. Here’s the best part, Thornton stole battle plans for the defense of New Orleans.”
Thornton was a traitor to the South!
Emma reached over and gulped down Wyatt’s water. “When New Orleans fell, the Union Army took the city and divided the Confederacy in two. It was the beginning of the end of the rebellion. Thornton escaped and never set foot in the South again. That’s why he only worked in northern and western states.”
“You just may have rescued my case from the trash heap.” The letter changed everything. After a brutal day in court, Emma had delivered evidence he could use to impeach Thornton.
Excitement built as Wyatt read in silence. He finished and shouted, “I could kiss you!”
Heads turned in the cafe, embarrassing Emma and Wyatt. “I'm sorry. You’re really something.”
Emma grinned. “I am.”
“Would you like something to eat? You certainly earned it!”
A smile curled from the corner of her mouth. “Well, if you’re buying, sure.”
Wyatt signaled the waitress, who came to the table, and Emma ordered.
When the waitress left, Emma clasped her hands on the table. “Did you fix things with Sadie?”
Wyatt pointed to his wet clothes. “What do you think? She’s going back to Sacramento.”
“I’m sorry. Really, I am.”
Was she? Her words said she was, but her expression said something else.
Wyatt scanned the letter again. He now knew more about Thornton’s past. His thoughts became a blur of possibilities. “Someone in Sundown knew Thornton betrayed the South and enticed him here with promises of Confederate gold.”
Emma glanced at Hackett, then leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Wyoming was a Union territory, but there’s plenty of southern sympathizers in town. That’s why Amos and his family rarely set foot in Sundown. If everyone knew what Thornton did, most would be pleased that he helped shorten the war and save Union lives. But to a lot of people in this town, Silas Thornton is a traitor.”
“Any who fought for the South?”
“Sure, probably a dozen people who moved here from the South after the war. And plenty of Confederate sympathizers, but few talk openly about it now.”
“One of them killed Thornton. I’m certain of it!” “I’ll do some digging into back issues of the paper. If I work all night, I can have a list for you in court tomorrow.”
When the waitress set her dinner in front of her, Wyatt managed to grab a bit of his meal and gesture to her plate with his fork. “Eat up. You have a long night ahead of you.”
Emma chuckled. “I appreciate your concern.”
As she began to eat, Sam Hampton entered the café. He noticed Emma, then rolled his eyes and left the café again.
While they ate, Clint Hackett finished his meal and paid the bill. On his way out, he stopped by their table.
Emma snatched the letter and held it on her lap. Hackett wore the arrogant grin Wyatt would never get used to. He studied Wyatt’s face. “For someone who had a day like you did in court today, you look surprisingly positive.”
“Tomorrow’s another day.”
Hackett’s brow wrinkled with concern. “I’m sorry how the revelation about Grace Parker came out. I had no idea, she and you... You had no way of knowing she’d be a witness in this trial. I can’t see you’re in any legal jeopardy, but if I were you, I’d patch things up with your fiancée.”
Why was everyone so concerned with his love life? “I tried.”
“From what I saw from my table, you didn’t try hard enough.”
Hackett shook Wyatt’s hand and winked at Emma. “Well, enjoy your meal, you two.” His words hung in the air, but Emma didn’t seem to notice.
Hackett walked toward the lobby, then came back and, without being invited, sat at their table. His earlier cockiness had vanished. “I never thanked you, both of you, for taking care of me the night before the trial started.”
“You would have done the same for me,” Wyatt suggested.
“Not sure that I would have.” Hackett stood. “Regardless of what happens at trial, I owe you.”
When Hackett left, Emma gave the letter to Wyatt, who stuffed it in his pocket.
While she ate, Wyatt couldn’t help but admire the features he’d come to know, Emma’s intense blue eyes, the smooth skin often covered with printers’ ink. A few strands of her red hair framed her face. He thought back to that night after the dance and the kiss he could still feel.
He hadn’t fixed things with Sadie because he didn’t want to. The life she wanted wasn’t for him.
She paused and then cocked her head. “What?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re looking at me funny.”
Had he been that obvious? “I was just wondering about you and Clint Hackett.”
With a heavy sigh, she set down her fork. “We share a wall between offices, so we see a lot of each other. He’s handsome, witty, intelligent and well-dressed. Shall I go on?”
Wyatt shook his head. That’s all he needed to know.
A grin swept across her face. “A lot of women find his smug arrogance appealing, not me.”
Wyatt held up both hands. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
Emma stared at her food and stirred the peas with her fork, not meeting Wyatt’s gaze. “When Pop died, Clint helped me settle the estate. He was kind and professional.”
Wyatt could see Emma struggling with how much she wanted to say.
She met Wyatt’s gaze. “We went to dinner a couple of times.” Emma bit her bottom lip and her eyes glistened. “He made me laugh at a time in my life that I needed laughter… and comfort when I needed comforting.”
Wyatt felt like a cad for getting her to talk about something she hadn’t wanted to share.
Emma touched Wyatt’s hand. “But I wasn’t interested, and he didn’t seem to be until…”
“Until what?”
She took her hand back. “Until you came to town. Since you arrived, he’s been acting like a jealous schoolboy.”
Jealous? Sundown’s ladies’ man Clint? Did Hackett have true feelings for Emma, or did he just not like to lose?
Emma went back to stirring her peas. “While I work on the list, you better go fix things with Sadie.”
“You’re quick to offer romantic advice.”
She finished her meal and dabbed her face with the napkin.
“After Pop rescued me from my failed marriage, he sold the paper in Denver, and we moved to Sundown. Pop started the Gazette; Clint got my marriage annulled. Now you know everything about me and about Clint and me.” She jumped to her feet and threw her napkin on the chair. “Thanks for the meal. See you in court tomorrow.”
“Emma.” Wyatt stood and thought about going after Emma. He wanted to tell her how he felt, but only an hour ago, he was explaining to Travis and to himself why his personal life didn’t matter. He dropped into his chair.
The gray-haired waitress handed Wyatt the check. “I hope you’re more successful in court tomorrow than you were tonight with the ladies.”
CHAPTER 31
The sky was still dark when Wyatt was awoken by the sound of a horse’s hoofs. He jumped out of bed, grabbed his pistol and raced to the front door.
He threw open the door as the rider came to a stop in front of his house.
Frank Colfield, tugged on the reins of his horse. “My Pa died last night.”
Wyatt held the gun to his side, “I’m sorry to hear that, Frank.”
“It’s Jeb. I’m worried he might blame you and Travis.”
“Is he drinking?”
Frank shook his head. “That’s what worries me.” He tugged on the reigns and galloped off back toward his ranch.
As if Wyatt didn’t have enough trouble. He went inside, closed the door behind him and set the gun beside his holster on the kitchen table.
Wyatt got ready for what might be the final day of the trial. He dressed, tying his tie in the mirror. It wasn’t perfect, but few things were.
In the kitchen, he glanced at his holster and gun. He thought of Frank riding over in the dark to warn him. Wyatt didn’t care about court rules. He buckled his holster and slipped into his suit coat.
In the barn, he saddled Clementine and rode toward Sundown in the darkness. As he made his way along the familiar path, Wyatt set aside the mistakes he made and focused on what he had to accomplish in court.
As he approached the town, the first rays of the morning sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over the grassy horizon and the town beyond; sunrise in Sundown.
He rode past the train depot. The air hung heavy in the early light of day. Sundown was waking up, its streets stirring with the bustle of a town on the brink of a momentous day.
Dismounting at the livery stable, Wyatt tethered the horse with practiced ease, patting the mare’s flank before setting off toward the courthouse.
Every step seemed to echo in the still, quiet morning. As he walked, dozens of eyes followed his every step. Whispers rustled through the air like a gentle breeze, carrying with them a mixture of curiosity, judgment and speculation.
Each passing minute brought him closer to the courthouse. The air, it seemed, grew thicker, a palpable sense of unease settling over him like a shroud. When he reached the quiet park, the courthouse stood as a silent sentinel bearing witness to an event that would unfold on this fateful day.
Wyatt approached the building and steeled himself for what lay ahead, his jaw set with determination as he prepared to face the looming specter of his brother’s fate.
When he opened the courthouse door, Clint Hackett sat hunched over at the prosecutor’s table, jotting down notes.
Wyatt’s boots echoed on the wood floors. As he reached the defense table, Hackett approached him with the same look of determination Wyatt felt. Hackett stuck out his hand. The two men shook. The firm grip of their handshake conveyed a silent under-standing between the two adversaries, a mutual acknowledgment of the gravity of the day’s proceedings.
“Good luck today, Wyatt. I suspect the jury will get the case by the end of the day. You’ve done a good job. No matter what happens, you need to realize no one could have defended Travis any better.”
His words hung in the air between them, a moment of camaraderie amid their fierce rivalry.
Hackett nodded toward the clock above the courthouse doors. The clock above the door was broken, the hands stuck at five minutes until twelve, as if time itself had frozen.
“New courthouse. Old clock. Which do you think it is?”
Wyatt wasn’t sure what Hackett was talking about. “Is it five minutes until midnight or five minutes
‘til high noon?”
Wyatt chuckled and shrugged.
Hackett pointed to Wyatt’s holster. “You need to check your pistol with the bailiff.”
“I will when he gets here.” Wyatt stood, unbuckled his holster, and set the gun on the table.
When Hackett returned to the prosecutor’s table, Wyatt couldn’t shake the feeling that newfound mutual respect had arrived between them.
The courthouse door flew open, and Frank Colfield burst in, eyes wide and face flushed. “Wyatt, Jeb just rode into town! He’s headed for the sheriff’s office.”
Jeb was going to kill Travis! “Is he drunk?”
“Stone-cold sober.”
Wyatt grabbed his gun from the table, pushed throw the swinging door and hurried out the courthouse door with Frank right behind. The two men ran through the park toward Main Street.
Wyatt’s heart pounded, not from the physical exertion, but the fear knowing Jeb intended to kill Travis. They passed the Sundown Gazette, and Emma stepped outside. She hurried after them as they raced past.
He could make out Jeb sitting atop his horse outside the sheriff’s office. The door to the sheriff’s office opened and the sheriff, Travis and Deputy Stone stepped onto the walkway.
Jeb climbed off his horse and stood in the middle of the dusty street shouting something Wyatt couldn’t make out. Deputy stone shoved Travis back into the sheriff’s office as Sheriff Black stepped onto the street and faced off against Jeb.
As Wyatt closed the distance between himself and the confrontation, doors slammed as town folk disappeared from the street and took cover inside the buildings that lined the street.
Frank fell behind. Wyatt ran as fast as he could. Sheriff Black couldn’t hit tin cans from twenty paces. He didn’t stand a chance against a sober Jeb Colfield.
Jeb gestured toward the sheriff’s office and shouted something Wyatt couldn’t make out. He was still a hundred yards away and knew he wouldn’t make it in time to stop the gunfight. As he ran, Wyatt fired a shot into the air and shouted, “Don’t do it, Jeb.”
For an instant, everything seemed to slow. Jeb and Sheriff Black's hands hovered near their holsters, a deadly dance of imminent violence. In seconds, one of the two men would likely meet their maker.
Jeb went for his gun first. The sheriff’s draw was fast; his hand moved like lightning. A shot rang from his gun, then another. The shots echoed loudly in the tense silence of the deserted street.
One of the bullets found its mark, hitting Jeb in the shoulder with a sickening thud.
Jeb staggered backward, a pained expression contorting his face as he clutched at his wounded shoulder. Jeb’s gun had barely cleared the leather when a third shot rang out.
The oldest Colfield brother screamed and collapsed to the ground. He reached for his boot. The bullet intended for the sheriff had instead found a different target, Jeb’s own foot.
Wyatt had seen it before. The shock and pain of the bullet slamming into Jeb’s shoulder caused him to pull the trigger on his own gun before he could aim.
Wyatt skidded to a stop in the dirt, his eyes wide in disbelief. He surveyed the scene that still smelled of gunsmoke and holstered his gun. He couldn’t believe the unexpected turn of events.
Sheriff Black drew fast, but his shot wasn’t accurate. One of his bullets struck Jeb and the other hit the hotel sign that now hung from a single hook above the door, squeaking as it swung.
With Jeb writhing on the ground, Sheriff Black moved swiftly and took Jeb’s gun, then stared down at the man with a mix of relief and determination. A smile curled from his lip, and he holstered his pistol.
As Jeb lay on the ground moaning, Frank reached his brother and stood over him. “Damn, Jeb, you shot yourself.” He doubled over with laughter.
Travis and Deputy Stone came out of the sheriff's office as town folk poured out of the buildings and gathered around the scene.
Wyatt could never have imagined the sheriff beating Jeb Colfield in a gunfight. He was glad the sheriff had come out of the gunfight unscathed, but even more, he was relieved Jeb had been stopped in an attempt to shoot Travis.
From the corner of his eye, Wyatt saw Sam Hampton and Sadie watching from outside the hotel.
Emma arrived, sucking in gulps of air. Seeing he was unharmed, she wrapped her arms around Wyatt, planting a kiss on his lips that was as sweet as a summer peach. It was a moment that the world seemed to pause for a breath.
Her presence, like it had so often the past two weeks, brought calm to the chaos before them. He saw a multitude of emotions in her blue eyes, relief that he was unharmed and safe in her arms and worry about the danger he had faced and the risks he had taken to protect those he cared about.
“I thought… I heard three shots. Are you all right?” Emma touched the side of his face. Wyatt saw another emotion, tender and caring. Something unspoken passed between them.
“I’m fine.”
Emma glanced toward Sadie, slipped her arm from Wyatt's and stood beside him. “I’m still searching for information that I know will help you at trial, but when I saw you run past with your gun drawn, I dropped everything.”
“Emma…” He had so much he wanted to say, but the center of town was hardly the place.
“I still have plenty of boxes of old newspapers to look through. I’ll see you in court.” She squeezed his hand and headed back toward her office.
Doc Wilson pushed through the crowd carrying a black medical bag. He examined Jeb’s shoulder. “You might have to shoot left-handed from now on, but the wound won’t kill you. Let’s see about your foot.”
Jeb was still clutching his right foot, moaning. “It hurts.”
The doctor waved Frank Colfield over. “I need to see what we’re dealing with. You’d better hold him. Does anyone have a knife?”
A knife landed two feet away from the doctor’s bag.
Stone smiled. “You’re welcome to use mine, Doc.” She stood beside the sheriff. “Nice shootin’, Sheriff. You’re still as fast as ever with the gun.”
The sheriff took off his hat, ran his hand through his white hair and blew out a sigh of relief. “I’m still fast enough, but I wasn’t aiming at his shoulder.”
Wyatt couldn’t help but smile at the sheriff. “Looks like you’ve got plenty of good years left.”
The doctor picked up the knife and shook his head. “Your foot’s already swelling. I’ve got to cut it off.”
Jeb's eyes widened. “My foot!”
The doctor smiled. “Your boot.”
Jeb winced as the doctor went to work on the boot. He cut the top of the boot on both sides. “Hold him. This is going to hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.”
Frank took hold of Jeb’s shoulders.
Doc Wilson grasped the bottom of the boot with a determined look in his eye. “Now, hold steady, lad.” With a vigorous yank, off came the boot, causing Jeb to let loose a scream that could rattle the very rafters of a barn.
