Keegan's Lady (61 page)

"That's right. You've just proven Paxton's guilt, girl, not the other way around. He shot Beckett to get revenge! Just like Keegan did your brother."

"No!" Caitlin cried. "How can you people be so blind? Ace Keegan doesn't need to shoot anyone in the back. Why bother? There isn't a man amongst you, including my brother Patrick, that he couldn't gun down in a fair fight. Use your heads! Think! You know what I'm saying is absolutely true."

Before anyone could interrupt her, Caitlin rushed on to ask, "How many of you believe there can be any honor among thieves? There is none, I can assure you! If men will steal together, they will steal from one another without blinking an eye." She waited for that to sink in. "And that's exactly what happened. When Camlin Beckett sold the Circle Star to Joseph Paxton in St. Louis, Paxton paid him a thousand dollars. Yet when Beckett returned to No Name from St. Louis, he reported a sale of only five hundred. A swindler swindling the swindlers! It's right there, in black and white. Undeniable proof."

"How do you know how much Paxton actually paid?"

Someone else yelled, "Yeah, are we supposed to take Keegan's word for it?"

Caitlin gulped, praying no one would call her on her next claim. "I've seen Paxton's bill of sale with my own eyes! Ace Keegan kept the paperwork all these years. I didn't have time to go out to his ranch and fetch it, but the deed and bill of sale are there. I've seen them, I'm telling you. Paxton paid a thousand dollars! Not five hundred. And Camlin Beckett attested to that himself with his signature. Yet according to my father's journal entries, which Mr. Banks holds in his hands right now, Camlin Beckett returned to No Name with only half that amount."

"Beckett cheated the others out of five hundred dollars?" another man in the crowd asked.

"Yes, and he was dancing with the devil, believe me. My father was no one to cross, as all of you well know."

"You say in' Conor killed Beckett?" someone asked.

"I'm saying one of them did," Caitlin admitted. "One of them discovered that Beckett had cheated them. I maintain it was that man who shot him in the back. Not Joseph Paxton. My father and his friends hanged an innocent man!"

Caitlin began to search the crowd for the faces of the men responsible for Paxton's death. So far, they'd held their peace, probably because they were hoping the situation might still swing in their favor. Caitlin hadn't managed to completely convince this crowd of her claims as yet. As long as her story was being met with opposition, Paxton's killers undoubtedly felt safe.

She spotted Dublin first. His face was one from her nightmares, round and florid, his beady little eyes like those of a snake's. She expected him to be glaring at her, enraged because she would dare to sully his good name. Her rapist. Dear God, how she hated him. Even in the torchlight, the injuries Ace had inflicted on his face were apparent—puffy discoloration along his cheekbones and around his eyes, a swollen blue welt at the bridge of his nose. Caitlin doubled her hands into fists, wishing it had been she who'd pummeled him.

To her surprise, Dublin wasn't even looking at her. Instead, his gaze seemed to be fixed on a point at the edge of the crowd. Someone stood in the shadows of the buildings. A faceless someone who was watching the goings-on, but not taking part.

Caitlin squinted, trying to make out the man's face. The brightness of the torchlight frustrated her. Before she could move to see better, Aiden Connel's voice rose from somewhere in the crowd.

"How do you explain the difference in money?" he demanded of the shadowy figure. "You went to St. Louis with Camlin. How was it you didn't realize he'd filched some of the proceeds?"

"Because her whole story's bullshit! That's how!" the man retorted, stepping into the light as he spoke. Caitlin recognized that voice even before she could see the man's features. Estyn Beiler, the marshal. "The girl's grasping at straws, trying to save her husband's miserable neck! A discrepancy in her father's ledgers? Ha! Have you found it yet, Banks? Hell, no. She's fabricated the entire story, trying to make us doubt the rightness of what we're about to do, which is to hang a cowardly back shooter!"

"I fabricated nothing!" Caitlin cried.

"The truth is," Beiler retorted, "Joseph Paxton was as guilty as sin. He shot Beckett in the back, just like Ace Keegan shot your brother. Like father, like son. As for the members of our little association being swindlers? How dare you tarnish your father's good name, and him in the grave, unable to defend himself. Have you no loyalty at all? Though why it surprises me, I wouldn't know. Your brother is dying, and here you are, defending his killer! You're no kind of daughter. Or sister, for that matter. You've sold out, heart and soul, to that back-shooting bastard. You're the worst kind of whore, turning your back on your own family."

Scenes from over the years flashed through Caitlin's mind, making her shake with impotent fury. "That's right! I've sold out, heart and soul. I'd rather be Ace Keegan's wife than my father's daughter, any day. Conor O'Shannessy was a black-hearted, cruel bastard, and all of you know it."

Gasps of shock rose from the crowd. Caitlin turned on the masses. "You know it's true. All of you saw the bruises on me, time after time. You knew what happened when he staggered home, reeling drunk. But did any of you lift a finger to help me? Never. You were all afraid of him, just like I was." Caitlin met the gazes of the men who stood closest to her. "Well, I'm not afraid anymore. He's dead and buried, his only legacy to this town a host of atrocities none of you want to admit even happened! Call me Ace Keegan's whore, if you like. I'll bear the title with pride. My father wasn't fit to lick my husband's boots."

Beiler bellowed with laughter. "Do we have to stand here and listen to this tripe? Sing Ace Keegan's praises if you want, but not where we have to hear them. As for the way your father abused you?" He pressed a hand over his heart. "We weep rivers of tears. You seem to be in fine form now. If he had been as black-hearted as you claim, you'd have the lasting injuries to prove it.

"As for this entertaining story you've hatched up, I will remind you that I was there, young lady. I have my faults, but no one in his right mind would ever accuse me of being a thief. I jail the thieves around here, in case you've forgotten. I've been putting my life on the line for the people in this town for years, upholding the law. True, we sold Paxton some scrub land. When he got here, he didn't like the parcel we'd selected and tried to squat on the Circle Star, which was a piece of Conor's prime ranch land. We ordered him off. He got mad, came gunning for us, and shot Camlin in the back when he caught him off alone. That's the real story. I was there. I ought to know."

Looking into Beiler's eyes, Caitlin saw a burning hatred. Fear mushroomed inside her. There was no mistaking that look. Beiler wasn't simply standing aside, letting the mob have their way because he could do nothing to stop them. He wanted Ace to be hung.

Why? She no sooner asked herself that question than she knew the answer. She'd guessed wrong. Oh, God, she'd guessed wrong. It hadn't been Camlin Beckett who'd purloined half the swindling proceeds twenty years ago. It had been Beiler. Camlin Beckett must have accompanied Beiler to St. Louis and somehow discovered his treachery. To keep him quiet, Beiler had shot him in the back and blamed the murder on Paxton.

Terrified that the men around her would believe Beiler and not her, Caitlin cried, "I have proof, Mr. Beiler. My father's ledgers. Look at them, Mr. Banks. It's all there. Our wonderful marshal is lying through his teeth."

Beiler laughed again. "Right. And how can we know Paxton paid a thousand dollars for the land? She claims there's a deed and bill of sale back at Keegan's place, but you don't see it, do you? Are you going to take Keegan's word for it? Or hers? One look at her face, and anybody can see she's crazy in love with the bastard. Hell, she's even admitted as much. Keegan's whore, and proud of it!"

A man at the back of the crowd yelled, "I say let's go ahead and hang him. She has no real proof. Just a bunch of supposition! Keegan shot Patrick O'Shannessy. Who else would have done it?"

"That's right!" someone else yelled.

"Make him pay," a woman cried.

Caitlin's gaze swung back to Ace. He looked deeply into her eyes. "Go home, Caitlin," he called huskily. "Please. Do this one last thing for me. Go home."

A man who'd been leaning against the oak tree stepped over to Ace's horse. With unnecessary roughness, he checked to be sure his prisoner's hands were still securely tied behind his back. It hit Caitlin then. She'd given it her best, and she'd failed. They were actually going to hang her husband, and there was nothing she could do to stop them.

After checking Ace's bound wrists, the man stepped up into one of the stirrups to check the noose around Ace's neck. Ace jerked his head to one side, his expression frustrated, his eyes never releasing hers. "Please, honey. I don't want you seeing this. Go home and wait for Joseph."

"I can't," Caitlin cried raggedly. "Don't ask me to. You don't abandon the people you love! And I love you, Ace. With all my heart!"

Ace jerked his gaze from hers to look out over the crowd. Caitlin was so terrified it took her a moment to register that a tense silence had blanketed everything. She turned to follow her husband's gaze.

"You may love him, sis, but I sure as hell don't," a weak voice called out. "Fact is, I hate the man's guts, and everyone here knows it. That's why what I've got to say is so important. Folks know I won't defend him without good reason."

Caitlin's heart nearly stopped. Patrick. She went up on tiptoe, trying to see through the crowd. She glimpsed her brother's shock of red hair, Doc's grizzled gray head bobbing beside him. "Patrick! Dear God, what are you doing here?"

Much like the sea for Moses, the crowd suddenly parted between her and her brother. Faintly illuminated by flickering torchlight, Patrick stood there, wearing faded denim trousers and the bandage that swathed his chest. He was clearly too weak to stay on his feet without the doctor's support. His face was deathly white, his eyes a smoldering blue.

"Bess told me what was happening out here. I just came to set the record straight, that's—all." His knees buckled. Doc grabbed to keep a hold on him, making Patrick wince. "You folks—" He broke off, his quavering voice trailing away into silence. He let his head loll, then with obvious difficulty, forced it back up. "You're about to—hang the wrong man."

Caitlin took a step forward. Her brother was clearly in no shape to get up out of bed. The fact that he had done so was all the proof she needed that he was sorry for everything he'd said and done. So sorry that he was willing to risk his life to rectify matters.

"Oh, Patrick." Caitlin could barely see for the tears. "I can't believe you're doing this."

"Wait just a damned minute!" Beiler shouted. "Patrick's out of his head with fever. Anyone can see that! Nothing he says right now can be taken as fact."

Doc held up his hand, silencing Beiler and anyone else who might have tried to interrupt. "He's not out of his head. The fever's broken. The way I see it, if the young man wants to talk, the least you folks can do is listen. Where's the harm in that?"

The crowd went quiet again. Patrick worked his mouth, swallowed, took a careful, tremulous breath. Finally, in a raspy voice, he said, "The other day, I came into town, bragging"—he broke off to take another breath, obviously so weak that every word cost him dearly—"that I had kicked Ace Keegan's ass. The truth is, it was real easy to kick 'cause the man wouldn't fight back. He just stood there and let me—hit him. Back when he first married my sister, he promised her he'd never lift a hand against me. I heard him say it. The other morning, he kept that promise and just stood there while I beat him half stupid. I was so drunk I didn't care. Just took advantage of the situation."

Conversation began to buzz at this revelation. Caitlin closed her eyes to blink away the tears. Patrick. No coward, her brother. And she felt sure no sister had ever been more proud. It wasn't just that he'd dragged himself up from bed to come out here. It was that he was willing to humiliate himself to set his wrongs aright.

When she opened her eyes again, Patrick was looking directly at her. "That and the fact that my sister disowned me got me to thinking. Ace Keegan couldn't be as bad a man as I thought, not if she'd grown to love him that much, not if he'd go that far to keep a promise to her. After I sobered up, I started going through my father's records, found the discrepancies Caitlin has been trying to tell you about. If Paxton paid a thousand for the Circle Star, like Keegan claims, what happened to the other five hundred?"

Patrick let that question hang there for a moment while he caught his breath. During the lull, Doc shifted his hold so he might bear more of Patrick's weight.

"Like my sister," Patrick finally continued, "I figured Beckett had filched the other half of the money. That one of his friends, maybe even my own father, had caught him red-handed and shot him. Last night, I came into town to confront Marshal Beiler with what I'd learned, to demand that he find out who really killed Beckett and clear Paxton's name. He said he'd think about it, that he'd try to figure out which of his friends had done it, Connel or Dublin."

"Me?" Dublin roared from amongst the crowd. "I never shot Camlin. He was my best friend."

"This is absurd!" Beiler cried. "The man's out of his head, I tell you. He never talked to me about anything! Who're you going to believe, me or someone crazy with fever?"