Texas Lonesome (2 page)

His lovesick sibling had been in a trance since his fiancée announced she was going home for a visit. Dustin liked Emmeline Jordan well enough, he did, but to his way of thinking, she’d jumped pretty darn quickly at a chance to go home to Boston when she received the letter from her mother about her father being ill.

Texas and Boston were worlds apart—at least, that’s what his cousin John had told him. John had lived there several years while he received his doctor’s training. It was also where he’d met Emmeline Jordan. She’d originally come to Rio Wells to marry John, only to meet and fall in love with Chaim. Her father was indeed sick, but with gout, a condition that was not life-threatening and surely treatable. She’d promised to be back in plenty of time before the wedding planned in a month.

Right.
Dustin didn’t want to be skeptical, but cynicism was part of his nature, albeit a part of his nature he wanted to change. At this point, he couldn’t help himself.

Tomorrow, after Emmeline departed on the nine o’clock eastbound train, Chaim would need his support more than ever. And Dustin planned to be there for him. Hopefully, once she reached Boston and got a taste of her beloved home-sweet-home, she’d still want to return to Rio Wells and become Mrs. Chaim McCutcheon.

Women!

“They were all home in their beds,” Mr. Wormer, the defense attorney, went on in a small voice. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his sweaty forehead. “None of the accused went out that evening at all.”

One of the said suspects sneered and discreetly jabbed his elbow into the side of another.

“Do you have a witness to corroborate that?” Judge Halford asked.

Mr. Wormer swallowed. “No, sir.”

Dustin actually felt a little sorry for the defense attorney. The skinny man looked so unsure of himself.

He leaned over and whispered close to Chaim’s shoulder, “Do you recognize that kid in the lineup? Seems I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

Chaim looked at the tall young man in chains. “Seems I do, but I don’t know from where. He looks familiar, but his face isn’t ringing any bells.”

“Do you have any defense at all?” the judge barked. Seemed his anger intensified as the room grew warmer.

From his fifth-row seat, Dustin noticed the woman in the front straighten and look over to the same fellow he’d asked Chaim about. Was she here for him?

Dustin craned his neck, but all he could see was the back of her head and a small portion of her profile. The meager glimpse he’d had when she’d rushed forward hadn’t been enough. This was the first woman since losing Lily that stirred his interest. He’d like to know more about her.

Much more.

The judge slammed down his gavel. “Given that these three men have been in my courtroom on almost a weekly basis on lesser charges for the past eight months, and given that you don’t have any defense worth speaking of, Mr. Wormer, and given the evidence is pretty clear even if the witness isn’t here to state it, I’m sentencing them to a year in the penitentiary—if for no other reason but to get them out of San Antonio. If, indeed, Javier Smith is found dead with circumstances pointing to these three, I’ll hang ’em, no more questions asked. Maybe that’ll wipe the stupid grins off their faces.”

A ripple of whispers went through the gathering, and the three accused snapped their mouths closed.

“They finally get what’s coming to ’em!” a man in the back of the room shouted. “Two months ago, they ruined a good portion of the inventory in my store and didn’t care less. I’ve had to close my doors because of the varmints. Good riddance! I hope they hang!”

“Order!” the judge called out.

The bailiff stood, but before he could read the next case number, he spotted the judge waving him off.

“I know what’s next.” The judge looked pointedly at the prosecutor, who picked up on his cue without missing a beat.

“San Antonio charges Noah Calhoun of Santa Fe, New Mexico, with disorderly conduct, fighting, and property damage.”

Dustin sat forward, shock pushing a sharp breath from his lungs.

“Noah Calhoun?” He looked at Chaim. “Did I hear that right? What’s a Calhoun doing in Texas?”

C
haim turned to Dustin, his eyes wide. “That’s where we’ve seen him. The stockyards in Kansas City. He’s a heck of a long way from home to be courtin’ trouble.”

Dustin shook his head. He turned and searched the courtroom for Noah’s oldest brother, Jock Calhoun Jr., or the second in line, Patrick Calhoun. The family included several more brothers that he hadn’t had personal dealings with at the stockyards, and he was sure he wouldn’t recognize them, even if they stood in front of him.

Bad blood had simmered between the McCutcheons and the Calhouns for as long as Dustin could remember. At one time their fathers had been friends, but that was over twenty years ago.

As the story went, Jock Calhoun had been traveling to Fort Stockton to bid for the army contract to supply beef to the outposts. At that time, the only ranches in the area large enough to handle such a contract were the Calhoun ranch that used to be located in North Texas, and the McCutcheons’ Rim Rock ranch in West Texas. The ranch that landed the contract would be set for as long as they held it.

On his way there, Jock Calhoun had been bushwhacked and left for dead, but he didn’t die. He recovered to say that before he’d passed out, he’d seen the brand on the horse of his attacker. The RR of the Rim Rock. Claimed Winston McCutcheon had arranged the whole thing so his ranch would win the bid when Calhoun didn’t show up.

When Dustin’s pa had heard the claim, he went straightaway to Calhoun to assure him that wasn’t the case. His pa had tried repeatedly over the years to convince Jock Calhoun that he had nothing to do with the ambush that left Jock a broken man, but to no avail. Since the Rim Rock had signed the deal and grew to be the most prosperous ranch in the territory, Jock Calhoun stayed firm in his convictions.

The situation remained Calhoun’s word against his pa. The strain between the two clans had steadily grown worse with Jock spreading accusations his pa had no way to refute.

Judge Halford leaned forward. “State your case.”

“Two weeks ago,” the prosecuting attorney said, “Mr. Noah Calhoun and an unknown friend, who skedaddled before the sheriff could arrest him, banged up the Morning Star Saloon. One of ’em rode a horse halfway up the staircase, busting the thing to smithereens, while the other went several rounds with the locals.”

Shaking his head sadly, he eyed the judge. “Sebastian Abano lost three of his five remaining teeth. Two front windows were smashed, as well as glassware, the chandelier, and the establishment’s full stock of whiskey, to the tune of fifty-five dollars. The place was left in a shambles and has been closed ever since.”

The judge nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“Calhoun was arrested but had inadequate funds to pay compensation. These men were present at the time of the fight, and all identify Noah Calhoun as the lawbreaker who started the trouble, as well as riding the horse up the staircase.”

The attorney pointed to three men in the second row, and they dutifully raised their hands while nodding their heads.

The woman sitting in the front of the room leaned forward, elbows gripped to her sides. Her head turned back and forth, following the proceedings. She was taller than most, and had straight, broad shoulders, making her appear strong and resolute. Her neck was as graceful as a swan’s. Her beauty touched Dustin somewhere down deep.

“Mr. Wormer?” The judge looked at the defense attorney.

“My client pleads not guilty, Your Honor. Claims he and his friend were minding their own business when the fight broke out. He admits he threw several punches in self-defense, but that was after the skirmish started. Unfortunately, I was only handed this case this morning and haven’t had a chance to question anyone.” He dug through the creased and rumbled papers in front of him.

The woman bolted to her feet. “What? How can you properly defend him if—”

Judge Halford pointed his gavel. “Take your seat, young lady,” he said sternly, and her hands fisted before she lowered herself into her chair.

She sure was determined. Dustin liked that about her.

“Why is that, Mr. Wormer?” Judge Halford asked.

“My partner, the defendant’s counsel, is indisposed.”

“He’s unwilling to represent?”

“No, sir. He’s out cold from consuming too much whiskey.” Mr. Wormer dropped his chin for a moment. “He can’t represent.”

Laughter rippled around the courtroom, and the judge banged his gavel several times.

The woman surged back to her feet. “This is a travesty!” she exclaimed loudly. “A kangaroo court! Noah’s a responsible young man. He wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“One more outburst and you’ll be escorted out,” the judge barked. “Do I make myself clear?”

She remained silent for a moment.

What is she doing fighting for a Calhoun?

Dustin thought she might go on, but finally she nodded and sank into her seat.

“This is getting more interesting by the second,” Dustin whispered to Chaim. “Why the heck is a Calhoun down here in San Antonio? I don’t see any of his family present, but that young woman seems to be invested. Wonder if they’re involved.”

I hope not.

Judge Halford heaved a deep sigh. “Do you have any defense at all, Mr. Wormer?”

“I believe I have a character witness here, Your Honor. At least, that’s what these notes say.” He scanned down a piece of yellow paper. “And we’ll hear the words of the defendant himself.”

“Very well. Call your witness.”

Mr. Wormer sifted through his papers once again before he snatched one up. “I call . . .” His finger traced along a line. “Sidney Calhoun to the stand.”

Chaim elbowed Dustin in the side and looked over his shoulder. “I thought you said you didn’t see any Calhouns here. McCutcheons and Calhouns can’t be in the same room without getting into a fight.”

Dustin raised an eyebrow while lifting a finger to his lips.

Seeing the woman stand, straighten her skirt, and approach the bench caused a burning chunk of coal to land in Dustin’s gut.

A Calhoun?
What were the chances?

She stopped and looked at the judge.

“And you’re Sidney Calhoun,” the judge said. “I should have known.”

“That’s correct, Your Honor. I’m Noah’s older sister.” She didn’t wait for a response but looked around with wide eyes. “Aren’t you going to have me put my hand on the Bible?”

“No, I’m not. Somebody stole the Good Book from my courtroom this morning. I can assure you that when he’s found, he’ll wish for deliverance. You’re an upstanding young woman. One, I’m sure, who would never tell a lie.”

She batted her lashes at the man old enough to be her father, and smiled. “Yes, Your Honor. That’s correct. Thank you for noticing.”

“Oh brother,” Chaim huffed out under his breath.

Warmth spread through Dustin’s chest. And the uncomfortable burn wasn’t because he was observing the daughter of his father’s worst nemesis. The reaction was because something about her moved him. Earlier, even at first glance, the feelings she’d stirred made him think perhaps she was the one he’d been waiting for his whole life. The conviction put everything into perspective. Gave him hope.

Surprised at himself, he jerked his thoughts into submission. That was stupid. Life didn’t work that way. Not out here in Texas, anyway. And especially not between a McCutcheon and a Calhoun. Fostering any such daydream was unthinkable and unwise. The reality was impossible.

“I always thought Sidney Calhoun was the third son,” Chaim whispered, putting Dustin back on solid ground. “Guess on our trips to the stockyards, I was seeing one brother and thinking he was the other. I’m starting to remember something about a little sister.”

“Agreed,” he said, concentrating on what Chaim was saying. “I know Jock Jr. better than I’d like to, and Patrick too—or their fists, I should say.”

Even though he’d noticed more about Miss Sidney Calhoun than her upstanding ladyship, as the judge had said, he needed to keep square in his mind who she was. That said, the name alone sealed his fate.

He shook his head and said in a low voice, “I can’t count how many times we’ve come to blows over the lie they spread. Jock Jr. especially. He knows how to get my goat.”

“Order!” Judge Halford barked, narrowing his eyes at Dustin and Chaim.

Had the grouchy old lawman recognized them?

The defense attorney cleared his throat. “Miss Calhoun, why do you think your brother is innocent of the charges?”

“Because, Mr. Wormer, Noah is too kind to do any of those things you just mentioned.” She took a moment to pause and smile at her brother standing in shackles against the wall. “From a very tender age, he’s been overly sensitive. As a matter of fact, he sometimes faints at the sight of violence or blood. He abhors fighting.”

Dustin couldn’t stop the bark of laughter before it burst past his lips. A Calhoun sensitive? Maybe to whoever got in the first punch.

She looked up, her gaze scanning the crowd for who had laughed, but didn’t see him.

Judge Halford did, though, and shot him another look.

“So you’re saying that since he’s not the vicious sort, your brother would not take part in a barroom brawl,” Mr. Wormer asked, his tone confident as he pulled his shoulders back.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, sir. Fighting goes against everything he is. He likes to read, and invent things. He’s smart. Even entered university much younger than most. I’m sure if trouble were in the air, he’d leave the establishment.”

Mr. Wormer nodded. “Very good, Miss Calhoun. That is all.”

Her look was all wide-eyed innocence.

The prosecuting attorney stood. “Miss Calhoun, are you living here in town with your brother then? Sharing a dwelling?”

She gazed at the man. “No.”

“Why then are you in San Antonio? You live in Santa Fe, at least seven hundred miles away. Could reality be that your brother has made a habit of getting into trouble, forcing you to come bail him out each and every time?”

A crimson blush crept up Sidney Calhoun’s face. “Like I said, he’s in school, sir, St. John’s. I have talked to him about those silly pranks of his, and he’s promised not to do anything like that anymore. He has his studies to think about.”

The prosecutor leveled a hard stare. “That may be true, but it doesn’t change the fact that Noah has gotten into trouble several times these last few months. And this is the third time he’s left the university without permission, the third time he’s been charged with a crime where you have had to plead his case and get it dismissed. Granted, they were small compared to this charge, but a pattern has been established.” He smiled and held up a telegram. “At least, that is what Thomas Fell, the president of the university, has written here.”

Dustin felt a moment of compassion for Miss Calhoun as she struggled with the statement the prosecution had uttered.

She blinked several times and looked down at the floor. “Just because Noah did a few foolish things in the past doesn’t mean he’s a drunkard and fighter, a destroyer of other people’s property.”

“What will you do if this court dismisses his case? Return him to the university so he can repeat the pattern?”

When she raised her eyes this time, she drilled the prosecutor with a defiant stare.

Dustin leaned forward, holding his breath. Things were not going her way.

“Miss Calhoun?”

“He
won’t
.”

“So you say. And have most likely said each and every other time he’s made trouble before. You do admit that you have traveled several times to speak on Noah Calhoun’s behalf?”

She stared back at him, her chin raised in challenge.

“Miss Calhoun?”

She nodded.

“Please answer the question out loud so the court can hear.”

“Yes, I have.”

The prosecutor returned to his chair and lowered himself slowly. “I thought so. That is all, Miss Calhoun. Since you have nothing more of value to add to this case besides the fact that you’ve become your brother’s keeper, I have no further questions.” He looked over at Mr. Wormer.

“No further questions either.”

With jerky motions, she gathered her skirt. She glanced at the judge, all the while smiling with a stiff face.

Judge Halford tapped his pencil on the top of his desk as she crossed the room to her chair.

Her brother’s attorney sighed. “I call Noah Calhoun.”

“Do you swear to tell the truth?” Judge Halford asked the tall, defiant-looking lad.

Calhoun nodded. “I do.”

“Fine. You will give your testimony from where you stand.”

Mr. Wormer brushed the front of his jacket. “Did you start the fight in the Morning Star Saloon, ride a horse up the staircase, busting it up, shoot down the chandelier, and knock out Sebastian Abano’s teeth?”

“No, I did not.”

Mr. Wormer gave a curt nod. “No further questions.”

Miss Calhoun snorted. To her credit, she stayed in her chair.

Dustin had to hand it to Noah Calhoun. He stood straight without a hint of fear. His voice, when he’d spoken, was clear and firm. Maybe he didn’t know Judge Halford’s reputation for quick judgments and even harsher sentences. The boy could be going away for a good long time.