River Song (48 page)

Unable to argue the point, Cole pressed his lips together.

"I believe that is
answer
enough." Disregarding her long skirts, Sunny grabbed Cole's hand and pulled. "Come. Let us return to my father's house. He has much experience with these pure-blooded idiots. He will know how to deal with them."

Because he was so tired, because he had no other answers for her, Cole allowed himself to be led.

After they returned to the house, Cole slipped back into his chair and quietly observed while Sunny and her father compared notes, worked at finding a reasonable solution, and argued over which Callahan would claim responsibility for the death in Phoenix.

As they bantered in their unique blend of Quechan/Irish expressions, Cole sipped his whiskey and mulled over several ideas. One in particular, one that had popped into his mind several times during his long journey tracking Sunny, kept returning, blooming into something much more special than a solution to a problem. The idea, he suspected with an inward grin, had been churning in his mind for several days. Was now the time to present it?

Patrick made the decision for him. "I kin see the smoke
billowin
' outta
yer
ears from here, lad.
Out with it.
Have ye an idea for
helpin
' me girl outta this mess?"

"Maybe," Cole said with a short laugh.

Patrick refilled his glass. "Let's hear it, lad.
Time's
awastin
'."

"All right."
Cole's expression became guarded, serious. "I've been sitting here doing a little thinking, and you know, I have to admit that Sunflower Callahan stands a pretty good chance of convincing the sheriff she killed Buck in self-defense."

"See, Pop," Sunny cut in. "I thought that would be the best thing to do."

"Ah," Cole said, adding steam to his train of thought, "but there will be a price. I'm willing to bet the spring calving there'd be a sentence of some kind." Cole pinned Sunny with his gaze, then took a large gulp of whiskey. "You'd probably have to endure at
least
a short vacation in the Yuma Territorial Prison."

Sunny and Patrick shivered in unison.

Glancing from father to daughter, Cole leaned across the table and lifted one eyebrow. His grin crooked, boyish, he said, "But I'm also thinking I might know a way to get her off scot-free."

At their curious expressions, he explained.

"I'm willing to bet your farm, the sheriff would never dream of tossing Mrs. Cole Fremont into that hellhole."

 
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

Sunny read the oak and brass name plate again:
Judge James R. Hoy.

She glanced up and raised an eyebrow as she studied the man behind the title. She'd never had contact with any member of law enforcement, much less someone as distinguished as the aging gentleman sitting before her. She was awed, properly humble in his presence.

Even so, as she studied this bespectacled beacon of a socially correct society, Sunny had to work to keep from laughing.

Unaware of her amused gaze, Judge Hoy frowned as he scrutinized the papers in his hand. The expression caused the excess flesh in his brow to ripple into folds, and dropped his jowls, already sagging like the breasts of an old Apache squaw, even lower.

Sunny closed her eyes. Judge Hoy couldn't be real. None of this was real. It just couldn't be happening. She inched her eyelids open and carefully peeked around the room.

She was standing in the austere judge's chambers of the Yuma County Courthouse.

Cole Fremont was standing beside her, his fingers frantically counting the change in his pocket.

And she was draped in a satin dress of robin's egg blue trimmed with ostrich tips and lace. She looked more like a fancy model in the Montgomery Ward catalogue than Sunflower Callahan.

It was happening, all right.

But was it fitting? Was it fair to the handsome man standing beside her? Sunny stole a quick glance at Cole and nearly swooned. He was even more handsome today, resplendent, in fact, in his new store-bought suit of charcoal gabardine with matching vest and shiny black boots.

He deserves more
,
she thought, guilt skipping stones across her heart. He absolutely deserved more than a hastily arranged marriage to a half-breed girl dressed up as a white woman.

She bit her lip and turned to Cole. Whispering under her breath, she said, "You, we all were very tired last night. I am thinking as we look on our decision in the morning light, it may no longer be such a good idea. I will understand if you wish to leave now."

Cole straightened his tie and whispered back, "This is one sentence you'll not escape, little stubborn flower."

"But, please look and see who you shall be tied to, see that the woman who will carry your name is not the fine lady you deserve."

Indulging her, Cole turned his head and smiled. "You're right. You're not the lady I deserve. You are much more than I could ever hope to be worthy of."

Struggling to keep her voice low, out of the judge's range, she said, "You do not understand, lizard-brain. I am not what I appear to be and shall never be again."

His eyes wide, Cole slowly turned to her. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means I am not pleased to be inside this dress, that you have wasted the entire morning and a lot of your money trying to turn me into a lady. I cannot stand to be pinched by this dreadful corset, and I shall never wear these awful bustles again."

Eyebrows cocked, Cole examined her and said under his breath, "Is that a promise?"

"That is a guarantee."

"Good." He caught the end of his mustache between his fingers and twirled before adding, "That'll make it a hell of a lot easier to rip off your clothes when the mood strikes."

Judge Hoy raised his head. Pausing for a moment, he narrowed his gaze,
then
returned to his work.

Blushing like a schoolgirl, Sunny brought her lace handkerchief to her face and lowered her head. Her wedding bonnet,
a fashionable
pale blue shirred chiffon, tilted forward sending the tip of an ostrich feather across her brow.

Her composure returning, Sunny lifted her chin and blew a puff of air toward the errant feather. Glaring at her husband-to-be, she muttered under her breath, "Why do you make jokes when all I wish to do is show you the future with a half-breed wife? Have you thought how you will explain me to your proper white neighbors? What will they think of a wife who will not ride a horse in the manner of a fine lady?"

"The women will be jealous, and the men—well, I suppose I'll have to fight to keep them away from you."

Grumbling under her breath, she snapped, "That is enough of your malarkey, Cole Fremont. Think of your family, your father."

"My father isn't marrying you. I am."

"But he will disown you. He will never forgive you for such an insult to his name."

Cole shifted his position and pushed his toes against the tight leather of his new boots. "My father will get used to the idea, but I'm beginning to wonder if you will."

Sunny ignored his last remark and twisted the lace hanky around her hand. "Your father will never get used to having an Indian in the family."

"Given a little time," Cole sliced in with a sigh, "when he realizes he'll lose his only son if he doesn't get used to you, you'll find he won't mind having your around one bit. Now that's enough of this conversation."

"I have not finished speaking." Suddenly indignant, Sunny was unaware her voice
raised
with each word.
"This forgiving father of yours.
Will he not mind having a horse thief in the family?"

Again Judge Hoy looked up. This time, he openly stared at the young couple, his brows drawn tight, creating a small canyon between his eyes. Then he cleared his throat and resumed scratching his name on the papers.

Cole dropped his voice to a bare whisper, his green eyes twinkling with amusement, and said, "Consider Dust Bucket a wedding present from me to you. You only borrowed what was yours."

"Really?"

"Yes, really.
Now be quiet."

"I am not finished yet."

"Yes, you are."

Sunny turned and slammed her hands onto her hips. "You are not thinking this through, Cole Fremont. How can you expect your father to welcome the woman who murdered his son-in-law as a member of the family?"

Judge Hoy's chin snapped up as if hit with a rabbit punch. He slowly moved his hand across the desk and jabbed his pen into the inkwell. Then, his syllables thick as sorghum and molasses, he drawled, "Excuse me,
suh
. Might I have a private word with you?"

Cole glanced at Sunny and ground his teeth before approaching the desk. "Yes,
Your
Honor?"

"
Suh
," the judge
began,
his gravelly voice as low as he could get it, "I wouldn't dream of
tellen
another man how to run his business, but there are a few
disturben
things
reachen
my ears here."

Judge Hoy leaned forward, the slightly rancid odor of the sow belly he'd eaten for breakfast preceding his words. "Are you absolutely certain you want to go through with this
weddin
? I have completed the paperwork, but you’re more than welcome to back out."

"Oh, no sir.
Excuse our
behavior,
we're just a little nervous."

"Uh, huh."
Judge Hoy inclined his head to the left, looking past Cole. "Well," he muttered, his curious gaze perusing the half-breed, "
whatevah
,
suh
. I just want to be sure you know what you're getting into."

"That I do," Cole assured him. "That I do."

Several sharp raps on the chamber door ended the speculation, the conversation. Judge Hoy glanced up at Cole. "Would that be your witnesses,
suh
?"

"I sincerely hope so."

"Then go let them in and we'll get this thing over with."

"Ah, yes,
Your
Honor."

As he turned, the door banged open and Patrick Callahan practically shoved a large pear of a woman through the doorway.

"Top o' the mornin' to ye," he exclaimed, guiding the woman as if he pushed a wheelbarrow.
"Looks like we've come to the right place."

The judge rolled his chair away from the desk and slowly rose. Stepping down off the platform, he approached the newcomers. "And who might y'all be?"

"Patrick Callahan, sir." The Irishman stuck out his hand and pumped his greeting, then added, "Father of the bride and proud of it."

Raising a deliberate brow, Judge Hoy looked to the plump woman. "And you, my dear?"

"Millicent," she giggled, covering her mouth with her fingers.
"Millicent Noland, a friend of the family."
She wore a startling violet dress trimmed in magenta and bright pink, and sported a matching shepherdess hat adorned with several high-flying ostrich plumes.