She wiped a trickle from the paper-thin skin of his cheek. “You need to forgive yourself.”
“Ain’t no forgivin’. No forgettin’, neither. I failed his mama. His sister.” His gaze scoured the floorboards. “Failed him, too. Rips a man apart watchin’ his son die inside.”
The desolation in his voice raised a salty lump in her throat. “Henry—”
He backed away. “Roy’ll be leavin’ to make his rounds here in a bit. You ready to go?”
“I’ve packed a small bag.”
“Best get it. Soon as Roy rounds up a posse and lights out after the prisoner fixin’ to escape, you and me gotta skedaddle for Galveston.”
****
The keys still taunted from their perch on the wall. Even in the dark the damn skeletons—black iron that should’ve melted into the night—glittered.
Daniel slumped onto the cot and rested his forehead in upturned palms. Dying would be easy. Any man could die. But waiting, roasting alive, suffocating under the utter silence in the alley…now that was hard.
No Henry, no dogs, no Honey for the past two nights. Hours that were both too long and too short filled with a powerful lust to commit the crime for which he’d hang day after tomorrow.
He clenched both hands into fists and relaxed his jaw enough to snarl through teeth set on edge. “I take it back. The second man I kill will be the last.”
Turning his face to the heavens, he put all the strength he possessed into calling down a favor. “Let me out of here. Make Halverson send me to Hell one-on-one.” Clawing at tight muscles in the back of his neck, he slouched against rough-cut stone. “I swear I’ll take him with me.”
A squeaky hinge yanked him to his feet. Halverson? Maybe God granted prayers after all.
A shadow slipped between the door and the frame and hurried behind the marshal’s desk.
Daniel squinted. “Henry?” Sure steady on his feet for a drunk. “Where the hell have—”
“Hush up, boy. Ain’t got time for chitchat.” The codger yanked the iron ring from the wall and then rummaged through the drawers until he withdrew a familiar gun belt and revolver.
In two strides, Daniel met the scarecrow at the cell’s gate. “How’s Honey?”
Henry handed the battered holster and Colt through the bars. “I’ll lead Roy in the wrong direction.” With trembling hands, he sorted the skeletons, peering at each in turn. The rattling bit Daniel’s nerves. “Figure I’ll head to the farm. Man oughta die where his heart is.”
Where his heart is. For reasons he couldn’t explain, the notion left a dent in Daniel’s eagerness to be out of this damn box. If he had a heart, the cursed organ might wander the earth forever looking for a place to stop beating. “How’s Honey?”
“There’s a horse out back.” The rattling stopped. Gripping Daniel’s freedom between thumb and forefinger, Henry fixed him with a resolute stare. “I want your word ’fore I let you loose.”
He clamped the old buzzard’s wrist, prepared to snap bone. “Answer my question. How’s Honey?”
Henry jammed the key into the lock. “She’ll be fine soon as you get her to Galveston.”
Chapter Seven
Missed meals took a toll. The race up the narrow staircase from the café’s kitchen left Daniel winded and shaky. He rested against the wall long enough to catch his breath, button the placket of his shirt, and make a vain attempt to swipe away the sweat streaming into his eyes. Not even hard blinks chased the saltwater’s burn.
Honey had to have heard him coming; had to realize his steps weren’t Henry’s.
God help him if she kept a weapon for defense. Heaven knew he must look the part of a desperado with one foot on the gallows steps.
He sucked a lungful of air and eased open the door. Hands at shoulder height, palms forward—just in case—he sidled into the dark room.
Unless packed full of bricks, the carpetbag she clutched to her beautiful bosom posed no immediate threat.
The danger lay in wide-but-unflinching Montana blues.
And her honeyed whisper. “What are you doing here?”
Hell if he knew… Oh, yeah. “I came for you.”
If her eyes got any wider, he’d fall in and drown. “You’re supposed to be—”
“Folks very seldom catch me doing what I’m supposed to be doing.” He lowered his arms and stepped toward her.
She backed away, clutching the bag even tighter. “Where’s Henry? If you’ve harmed—”
“He’s fine. He sent me.” Another step forward faded her back again. She dropped a glance to the three pounds of iron adding unwanted weight to his hip. He returned his gun hand to shoulder height and softened his tone. “I know. I’m bigger and scarier out here than I was behind bars, but I won’t hurt you.”
He’d have given her his word, but vows were good for only one thing: covering lies. The truth left a foreign taste—spiced with a drop of honey—on his tongue.
“We gotta go.” He reached for the carpetbag.
If she gripped the valise any tighter, she’d drag it inside her chest. Lucky bag.