efforts on behalf of her family. He really was a dedicated fledgling lawyer.
“Well, someone needed to represent the family.” She paused to thoroughly chew two bites so that Smythe need not fear that she would starve. “With baby Caroline only five months old, Rebecca would not consider taking her on a long trip...and Lantree would never consider leaving them without medical care...so here I am.”
“Indeed.” He sighed, his slim shoulders sagging in his finely tailored suit. “But I’d like to say again that I am perfectly capable of presenting Mr. Walker’s case on my own. That it would be an easier task if you had remained safely at home.”
“None of us doubt your ability, Mr. Smythe, or your dedication to our Boone.”
“‘Our Boone’? You only just set eyes on him a couple of hours ago.”
“As true as that may be, family is family and that is precisely why I’m here.”
And it was. Grandfather Moreland had taken her to his heart as though she was one of his own. And she was Rebecca’s own, who was Lantree’s own. This made Boone Melinda’s own as much as anyone else’s. For all that he was a stranger, family stood by family.
“A quest for adventure is the more likely reason,” Smythe pointed out, “but here you are. I ask that you not make it difficult for me to return you safely to the waiting arms of your kin.”
While she considered a way to rebut that statement, which was difficult because it was partly true, a young woman crossed the dining room then sat in a chair across the table from the judge.
She looked as thunderous as he did.
“I’m quite family oriented,” Melinda said to the lawyer, but she couldn’t help casting a sidelong gaze toward the judge and the woman. “My cousin’s husband’s brother’s future is far too important to leave to strangers.”
“You are more of a stranger to him than the woman who cleans his chamber pot. It was evident that Boone spent the better part of our hearing wondering who you were.”
“I’d like to meet him, put his mind at rest, let him know his family cares.”
“Pregnant! How could you make such a blunder?” the judge snapped a little too loudly. Several heads swiveled toward the table where the pair glared at each other.
“Is she his wife, do you think?” Melinda whispered to Smythe.
Smythe shrugged. “He looks like he blames her for it. If she was his wife, he’d be taking some of the responsibility. Judging by her age, I’d guess she’s his daughter, poor girl.”
Melinda did not openly gawk, as many were doing, but from the corner of her eye, she noticed the judge glare at his cooling meal.
For all that she resisted staring, her ears were not so discriminating. They heard what they heard, and that was the judge saying something about counting both her and her husband out and wanting the advance money back.
“That’s good news,” Smythe murmured. “At least the girl is married, so whatever the trouble, it can be dealt with.”
They ate in silence for a moment, as did the rest of the diners.
“I want to meet my cousin.” She reminded Stanley Smythe, setting her fork down on her plate.
Her guardian’s expression hardened. He slid his glasses up his nose. If he’d had more hair, she guessed it would be standing on end.
“I’ll tell him who you are but I will not have you associating with criminals.”
“Once you’ve worked your magic, he’ll no longer be a criminal.”
“As your temporary guardian, I forbid it.”
She clenched her fingers around her fork.
“I understand,” she said with the most distracting smile she knew how to give. “I leave that to your judgment.”
“You do?”
“Of course.”
His gaze at her was less than believing and she couldn’t blame him for that. She did, indeed, have every intention of meeting Boone Walker.
She owed it to Rebecca to discover everything she could about their relative.
* * *
Boone reclined on a cot in a cell at the Buffalo Bend sheriff’s office, his head cradled in his arms and his elbows jutting out. The space, dimly illuminated by a lamp that shone under the crack of the deputy’s office door, was a sight better than his prison cell back in Omaha.
He watched a dusting of stars through the barred transom set high on the wall that faced the alley. Damned if they weren’t prettier than the finest jewels.
Wind whistled through the slats with a chilly moan. The cold that rushed in wasn’t comfortable but that was a small sacrifice for a breath of fresh air.
Because he’d spent much of his life living in the open and on the run, the thing he had missed the most over the past year of incarceration was fresh air.
Locked up, there had been days when the scent of a hundred prisoners’s sweat and stale pee permeated the prison walls like smoke trapped in a flue. Made a man want to puke.
If, somehow, his dandy little lawyer managed to get his sentence overturned, he’d never again so much as bend a rule that might jeopardize his freedom.
He placed one hand on his chest, over his heart.
“I vow it on my—” he nearly said “honor” but remembered he was short on that virtue. “Hell, I just vow it.”
He’d endeavor to be as reformed as any man could be. As righteous as Lantree had been on his best day. As good as Ma used to pray he would be.
Thoughts of his brother had haunted him over the years. One time he’d even snuck back to the home farm. From the look of things he’d been about five years too late. All that was left of the place was half of the barn and the outhouse minus its roof.
He would have visited the cemetery but it was near sunup and the protection of darkness had begun to fade. And in all truth, he hadn’t wanted to know if Ma and Pa were there. Hadn’t reckoned he could face the dawn if he saw his brother’s grave.
That would have meant that it was too late to beg his forgiveness, if there was any to be had. But now he knew that Lantree was not in that cemetery.
That meant he had lived years hearing the ugly stories about Boone Walker. Did he believe them?
Hell’s curses, even if he didn’t, how would he ever face Lantree given all he had done to break his brother’s heart? Maybe one day he would write, try to make amends, then again, maybe it would be better not to. It might be for the best if he just continued to be a memory, one that probably faded with each passing year.
Something hit the wall near the window. A mischievous kid tossing a rock, he reckoned. Getting a thrill out of riling a killer is something he, himself, might have done as a know-nothing youth.
Damn if that character flaw hadn’t helped get him where he was today.
Hell, he’d been drunk when he’d shot Mantry. And full of himself. He’d been sure as moonrise that he’d get his money back; have the fellow groveling at his feet in apology.
He’d learned a thing or two since then, not that it made him any less of an outlaw.
Over the years he’d done some things just to get by. Most of them he was ashamed of, but he’d never killed again. At least he didn’t have that sin on his conscience.
A pebble sailed between the bars of his cell window and landed on the floor with a thud. Best to ignore it until the kid got bored and went home. No doubt, tomorrow he would be bragging about how he riled the beast and gotten away with it.
With