11th Hour Rose (10 page)

A flash of understanding lit within her. Beneath the condescending attitude she glimpsed such vulnerability the whole of her soul ached. He was always so overprotective of women. “I’m not your wife, Davy,” she said quietly, intuitively. “I have no intention of dying on you.”

*              *              *

Lilly’s words speared David like an ice stake to the heart. Cold flushed through his veins, withering his anger like wildflowers in winter. His gaze locked with hers and his gut twisted painfully. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to take her back in his arms, bury her from the world, and protect her from harm. Davy took her face in his hands, smoothing his thumbs along her cheeks. He stared down into her powdery blue eyes, so clear and earnest, that a bit of the rust on his heartstrings washed away. He could not deny how perfect Lily had fit in his embrace. Better than anything he’d imagined. He didn’t know where it came from but suddenly it was Lilly he needed, Lilly who infused his heart and soul with hope. Even as panic raced through his head he could not let that go.

“I couldn’t save her, Lilly,” he rasped in a gravelly voice. “But I will save you.” He released her and strode to the office door, unlatched the lock, and yanked the portal inward. “George! Is that you?” He stepped into the adjacent office, sweeping his gaze through the jailhouse until his eyes fell to the sheriff.

“What is it you need, son?”

“We have a problem,” Davy supplied, gesturing to Lilly behind him. “A big problem.”

*              *              *

“Papa, no.” Lilly implored nearing desperation later that evening. She rounded the kitchen table, perching on a chair beside her father. “Marshal Langston is nothing but a high handed brute who believes women are good for nothing more than keeping house.” Frustration over Davy’s refusal to accept her help lent a cruel bite to her words. Despite her anger, however, the memory of his lips still burned upon her flesh. It was all quite confusing.

George Hudson folded his newspaper in half and set it on the tablecloth before him. He quirked a reproachful brow. “First of all, that is not true. David Langston is one of the best men I know, but moreover, Lillian, he is right.”

“Right?” She leapt from her seat, planting her hands on her hips. “How can you be taking his side? We have the opportunity to save lives and stop a murderer.”

“But not at the expense of your safety, Lilly.” Her father sighed, weariness edging his face. He traced a thumb and forefinger around the upper edge of his bushy salt and pepper mustache. “I’m not taking anyone’s side. Th—”

“But, Papa, I—”

“That’s enough, Lilly.” Her father stood, his tone taking on an iron edge that brooked no room for argument.

Shocked to silence—her father
never
spoke so harshly to her—Lilly snapped to attention
.

“This is a very delicate situation,” he continued. “Tensions are running high throughout the city. We need to keep this investigation close to the vest and in all truth, Lil, given the nature of these murders I agree with Marshal Langston. You should not be overly involved.” His visage softened a bit. “Davy is worried about you. And so am I.”

Stubbornly she crossed her arms and moved to the window. Several guards milled about outside the fenced yard. “You’re all impossible.”

“That may be, but I will not hear another word about this, Lilly. Stay out of it.”

11
^th
Hour Rose

Eight

Wednesday afternoon Davy took his daily walk past Mrs. Bridger’s seamstress shop searching for anything unusual or anyone repeatedly skulking about. In truth, he found himself keeping a keen eye out for Marcus Brady. Though Davy had to admit, his suspicions were bound in nothing concrete. Perhaps he was just jealous of Marcus’s attention to Lilly.

Lilly… Her lovely visage floated through his mind, a little smirk on her droll lips, her eyes crisp and knowing.
Hell.
He’d avoided her for two days, certain this ludicrous infatuation would diminish with absence, and yet, he could not banish her from his thoughts. It was as though her very essence invaded his being. Eyes that looked straight through him.
Saw
his inner pain. He shivered and stuffed thoughts of her deep inside the rusty hinges of his heart.

Irritably Davy flipped open his pocket-watch, glancing down at the face with unseeing eyes. What a mess. The last thing he needed was trouble with a woman. He was moving west in a matter of weeks. He snapped the watch shut, forcing his thoughts to the wire he’d received from another lawman the day of the festival. He should be receiving a package of information any day now. To his mind, the evidence couldn’t arrive fast enough.

The door to the seamstress shop opened, interrupting his trail of thoughts. Perhaps he should speak with Mrs. Bridger again. She may… have…

Bloody Hell.
Davy clenched a fist, red-hot anger boiling in his gut.

Lilly.

She stood on the steps of the seamstress shop, smiling and waving up at Mrs. Bridger as she descended the steps. A quick assessment of the street revealed none of the guards he’d ordered to keep watch on her.

“Lilly!” he roared, drawing the startled notice of several passersby. Davy checked his wrath, grinding his teeth as he strode determinably through the street.

She stopped at the base of the wooden stairs and lifted her gaze, fixing him with a level, albeit cool, regard.

He rapidly closed the distance between them. “What are you doing?” he growled, trembling, enraged beyond any rational thought. She could at least have the decency to
look
remorseful.

“Marshal Langston,” she said formally, which only served to irk him further.
“I was just on my way to find you.”

Davy crossed his arms. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” The barest tremor tempered the defiance in her tone. She paled and pulled a letter from her reticule, passing it to him with shaking hands. “I received this yesterday evening.”

Davy cursed under his breath. He didn’t need to read the missive to know what it contained, but he skimmed the contents anyway.

             
Miss Hudson,

              Take this as a token of my admiration and find yourself something new at the dress shop.

              Sincerely,

                            Your one and only… Bram

P. S. I am very fond of blue.

A slow burning fuse lit within Davy.
Bram. Who the hell is Bram?
He refolded the single page with forced restraint. The realization Lilly truly had fallen into the killer’s sights staggered him in no small measure. He sucked in a ragged breath, resisting the urge to shred the letter.

Lilly swallowed, nervously sweeping a loose hair from her forehead. “I received twenty dollars as well.”

“Do you have any idea who sent this?”

Lilly shook her head and met his gaze. “No. The other day I thought the roses were from you. Bram appears to be a secret admirer of sorts.”

Davy opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, grabbed her arm and proceeded to drag her the two crowded blocks to his office.

“David, slow down!” She wrestled his iron hold. “I can’t keep up.”

He did not reply or check his stride. He needed to move. To get her out of the streets. Out of plain view. Miserable thoughts assailed his brain. Visions of murdered women—Lilly’s face on their mangled bodies—haunted him. He pulled her up the creaky wooden stairs at the back of the jailhouse and into his office closing the door behind them.

Only faint sunlight lit the room. He crossed to his desk, striving for self-control and desperate to ignore the pounding ache in his chest. Long shuttered emotions battered at the internal cage he’d locked them in, threatening to break free. Davy did not want to dwell on what any of those feelings meant, but they were growing evermore difficult to ignore, and Lilly seemed squarely rooted at the center of his inner turmoil. At long last he faced her.

She stood by the door as quiet as he’d ever seen her, face ashen.

“Why did you keep this from me?” He raised the letter, throwing it down on his desk.

“I knew you’d overreact and prevent—”

“Overreact?
Overreact
!” He quite simply
exploded
, stomping across the tiny room to confront her. “Is there any other
reaction
I might have to your being plied with gifts from a serial killer?”

Her face paled further, the color draining from ashen to pallid snow. “Davy, I—”

“Jesus. What were you thinking?”

“If you would stop interrupting I’d tell you.” A flash of color returned to her cheeks as a bit of fire rekindled in her eyes. She hesitated, lifting her chin, silently daring him to scold her again.

With effort David held his tongue.

“I wanted to visit Mrs. Bridger’s shop before telling you of the letter because I knew you’d stop me from going at all.”

Damn right.
He ground his teeth and clasped his hands behind his back.

“I don’t want the murderer to suspect we know the purpose of his letters.” Lilly gulped, her voice gaining strength as she spoke. “If he does not suspect then we can capture him if…
when
he makes an attempt on my life.”

“No.”

“David, must you be so stubborn? We have a real opportunity here. We—”

“We’ve had this discussion once before and I’ll not hash it again. The subject of using you as bait is closed.”

“And how am I to feel if another woman dies in my stead?”

That
statement gave him pause—no more than two seconds worth—but Lilly capitalized on it.

“You know of guilt and responsibility, David. Do not subject me to that fate. Let me help. Let me save lives.”

Davy turned away from the intensity of her gaze. If given the chance she would make one hell of a solicitor. He hardened himself against the power in her words. The blasted woman would see herself to the grave by tomorrow if he did not take charge and protect her from herself. “You are going home,” he said harshly. “I will double the guards. That bastard will not come near you.”

She planted defiant hands on her hips and quirked a challenging brow. “You, Marshal Langston, cannot tell me what to do.”

“Is that so?”             

*              *              *

Davy smirked and Lilly knew she was in trouble.

Before she could react, he seized her about the waist and hefted her up in his arms.

“David! What are you doing?”

He hauled her through the inner door and into the jailhouse. Unceremoniously he marched across the main room, into the empty jail cell, and dropped her in a heap atop the old cot.

“David Langston!” Lilly shrieked, scrambling through her sea of skirts off the narrow bed slats.
Too late.
Davy swiftly exited the cell and banged the iron door shut. The latch clanged into place. “Let me out of here!” She fumed. “You can’t do this! Just wait until my father hears!”

“Deputy Winston.” Davy turned calmly to the lawman standing by desk in the main jailhouse. “She doesn’t leave without my express say so. Understood?”

“Joe…” Lilly growled, spearing the deputy with a daggered, warning glare.

Winston shuffled uncertainly. “What about the sheriff, sir?”

“I don’t give a damn about the sheriff.” Davy’s eyes flicked challengingly toward the cell, Lilly scowled at him through the bars, gritting her teeth. “My command is higher than his and I’m saying she doesn’t leave. It is a matter of life or death and that is final.”

“If you say so, Marshal, but George ain’t going to like this.”

*              *              *

Davy narrowed his gaze at the deputy. He didn’t like having his authority challenged. “I will deal with George.”

“Very well, sir.” The deputy scooped his hat off the desk, placing it on his head. He glanced once again from Lilly in the cell back to Davy. "If you two will excuse me. I want no part of this.” Winston strode to the door and promptly departed, leaving Davy completely alone with Lilly.

Deafening silence ensued.

Good. Perhaps she was coming to see reason.
No
… He shook his head. He knew better than to believe she’d see the wisdom in his keeping her from harm. Even without looking he could
feel
her fuming.

She crossed her arms, skewering him with a glare of lethal calm. “Let me out of here this instant.”

He strode to the door, wrapping both hands around the bars. “Lilly, I’m sorry, but you really gave me no choice.”

“You have no right to lock me up.”

He tapped the U.S. Marshal badge adorning his vest, turned on a heel and marched to the sheriff’s desk. He dropped into the chair and matched her scowl glare for glare. In a battle of wills he’d never been bested.

After about thirty seconds of epic stare down, Lilly’s entire demeanor changed. Her expression softened and she shrugged, averting her gaze. She sashayed to the narrow wooden bench, running her fingers over the scarred, faded wood and perched delicately on the edge. She folded her hands in her lap and smiled as amiably as one settled in for an afternoon visit.

David regarded her warily, utterly shocked. He could handle yelling and screaming, ranting for release, but… smiling? “What are you about, Lilly?”

She cocked her head to the side, the movement demure and feminine and intriguingly out of place in a jailhouse. “Forgive me, Marshal, I’m not certain what you mean?”

He leaned in, eyes narrowed. “You never give in. At least not easily.”

Once more she shrugged and Davy had the distinct impression he’d been had.

“You can’t leave me in here indefinitely,” she said. “It is only a matter of time before some drunk is dragged in and I’ll need to vacate this space.”

He refused to acknowledge her logic, maintaining his hooded glare.

Besides…” her voice dropped and her lashes fluttered coquettishly. “This is the perfect opportunity to talk about us.”