With Emily Cavanaugh dead, no one would be sad. Lying in puddles of blood, her eyes hollow and cold as they were in life. An old dog walked in, sniffing the body, then stretching out beside it. Dogs tend to whimper or howl, but not this one. A delicate lacey gold and ruby earring lay across from the body. There would be no shortage of suspects since she was a mark for attacks.

. Jarrod, trying to concentrate on his work, hearing the ruckus between his secretary Anne and other clucking voices, went to investigate.

"What is going on out here?" Jarrod stood with his hands on his hips, glowering at the group of women, unappreciative of the interruption.

"Mr. Barkley, I tried to___"

"Mr. Barkley, we’d like a word with you," Mrs. Simmons said, pushing in front of Anne, then looking at her. "In private." Anne, turning her back on Mrs. Simmons, resumed her work. Mrs. Simmons and five other women, all stiff and proper, brushed by Jarrod, in military style, entering his office.

"What do they want?" Jarrod asked.

"It’s about Emily Cavanaugh’s niece, Elizabeth Marlowe." Anne said.

"Well, it won’t be a pro bono case."

"Mr. Barkley!" A staccato voice, cutting the air like a knife, sent a shiver through Jarrod. Jarrod, adjusted his vest, standing straight as a post, entered his office, ready for battle. Anne giggled as a cacophony of voices all rising at once, assaulted Jarrod as he entered. Jarrod put on the brakes, using his harshest voice, "Mrs. Simmons." Grateful for the silence, Jarrod continued, "Why are you all here?"

"It concerns Elizabeth Marlowe." Mrs. Simmons said.

"She doesn’t have legal counsel?" Jarrod said.

"How did you know?"

"Can anyone think of a worse person to defend."

"She’s entitled to counsel." Mrs. Simmons said.

"Is that right." Mrs. Simmons did not care for Jarrod’s flippancy.

"She is not responsible for the sins of her aunt."

"The devil was her aunt," Mrs. Eaton said.

"None of you care for Elizabeth Marlowe. You all thought of her as an empty headed flirtatious house wrecker. No better than Thelma or Belle over at the saloon." Mrs. Simmons sniffed and Mrs. Eaton cleared her throat. The others said nothing. "On the other hand, it’s quite possible that the jury would be swayed by the fact that Emily Cavanaugh got what she deserved. Elizabeth would make it easy by batting her big blue eyes at the jury."

"Will you do it?"

"There’s a lot of incriminating evidence against her."

"That’s why we want you," said Mrs. Simmons.

"I’m so lucky." Throwing down the gauntlet, he said, "I’ll do it."

"Bless you," they chorused.

Elizabeth Marlowe sat in her cell, flipping through a fashion catalogue, looking at the latest styles from Paris and sighing. One of her big fetishes, apart from men, clothes and jewelry. An earring convicted her.

"You have a visitor," Fred said.

"Ooh, I do," she said, tossing the catalogue aside and rising. She smoothed out her skirt. Her golden mantle of luxurious hair came loose, covering part of her cheek. Her voluptuous figure packed into a dark blue silk dress, heaving with every breath upon seeing Jarrod. She glowed as she tucked the loose tendril back into hair.

"Elizabeth."

"Counselor," she said, thrusting her ample bosom forward, while folding her hands in front of her like a nun.

"The ladies at the church asked me if I would be willing to defend you. Naturally, I would need to speak with you first."

"I see." Jarrod pulled a chair over, straddling it. Elizabeth took the cue, sitting down, her hands still folded in her lap. She had the look of an innocent child.

"Can you tell me what happened the morning your aunt died?"

"Well, I came down for breakfast and one of the hands came in, saying he found her shot to death in the barn."

"When was the last time you saw your aunt?"

"The night before, after dinner."

"One of the key pieces of evidence against you is a gold and ruby earring." Pausing, her sapphire eyes darted around the cell. Her distraction annoyed Jarrod.

"She never liked me very much," she said, fidgeting with the lace on her dress.

"The earring?"

"I must have lost it the day before."

"No one recalls you wearing them the day before."

"It must have been another time then."

"Bessie said you were wearing them that morning and when she mentioned you were wearing only one, you took it off." Irritated by his questions, she began to sulk and twist her hair.

"I don’t know."

"This is not my idea to defend you so you better be straight with me." Her eyes penetrated and seduced him, making him uneasy. Always irresistible, a mischievous child peered at Jarrod with an upturned nose and pouting lips, although she was clearly in her early thirties. "Virginia saw you loading a shot gun early that morning."

"She’s jealous is all."

"The shot gun?" She did not answer. "Elizabeth, this is no joke. Do you want to hang?"

"What do you want?"

"The truth."

"I didn’t kill her," she said. "Why would I?"

"The inheritance. Your sister is telling everyone you killed her."

"I didn’t know anything about the inheritance. My sister is a jackass." Jarrod thought Audra was frivolous and silly but this woman took the door prize. Still, he wondered if she was being naïve, stupid or clever. If this was an act, he wanted no responsibility. Or was she too scared to admit the truth.

"You leave me no alternative,"

"Where are you going?"

"You don’t want to tell me the truth, I can’t help you."

"No, wait," she said, grabbing his arm, holding it tight. She liked the feel of his strong arm, stroking it. "I was cleaning the gun that morning. And as for the earring, I did go out to the barn that morning to check on my horse, he had a cut on his leg and I wanted to see if it was healing."

"Did you see your aunt?"

"No."

"The gun had been fired."

"Not by me."

"Did you hear anything? See anyone?"

"I heard the gunshots."

"Why didn’t you get help...tell someone?"

"I don’t know...I didn’t think about it at the time. People are always shooting guns. Maybe I was afraid." Beginning to cry, she turned away, removing the handkerchief from her sleeve. After a brief silence, Jarrod sighed, rolling his eyes heavenward.

"All right, I’ll help you." Jarrod said. Dabbing her eyes, she looked back at him. Jarrod hated it when women cried.

"You know you’re very handsome." She looked away coquettishly. Jarrod tried ignoring the remark.

Talking with Elizabeth’s sister, Virginia Towers, was an equal challenge. A reserved fierce resister, Virginia sat stiffly, concentrating on her quilting. Jarrod was an unwelcome intruder in her home, talking about something as trivial as her sister. Jarrod bored, watched as Virginia punched the needle into the quilt.. He wondered, looking at her, how anyone attractive with black hair and elfin violet eyes, could be so stone-like and drab. His eyes traveled the severe brown silk dress with the rigid suffocating high collar. It left nothing to imagine. The only sign of femininity, a lace jabot and the only jewelry a watch pin that she checked with regularity. Virginia, efficient and precise as she stabbed the quilt. Her head bowed, she would peer over her wire rimmed spectacles to address him.

"I have nothing to say concerning my sister."

"I want you to know that I will be defending her." A piece of hair drooped into her eyes. She said nothing. Scooping the loose hair back, she tacked it into her severe bun with a tortoise shell comb. Satisfied, she resumed her quilting.

"Did she seduce you?" Virginia asked.

"I’ll overlook that remark." Again, not lifting her head, she peered over her spectacles.

"Why you? You hated my aunt."

"The ladies from the church asked me to take the case."

"I see."

"Your sister is entitled to legal counsel and technically is not responsible for what your aunt did to the people in this valley." Sitting ramrod straight, she glared at him. Emily Cavanaugh was a menace in the valley. Since her husband Ethen Cavanugh died, she went beyond her limits, taking all sorts of daring little liberties. Always calculating to deceive, her methods were frightening and dirty. Feuding, fowling her neighbor’s water, burning their crops, spooking their cattle, burning squatters off land that did not belong to her, even murder. Ruthless, she ignored the warnings, taking risks, remaining free of the law.

"Don’t preach your legal ethics to me. I heard enough in the court room about my aunt."

"More than once. There was nothing legal about your aunt and ethics were alien to her."

"That’s some epitaph. Are you finished?"

"For now, see you in court."

Nick, as usual, off on another one of his tirades, giving Jarrod a headache. Jarrod did not seem to have the energy to argue. He did it enough in court all day.

"Why do you have to defend that woman? You know everyone in the valley hated her aunt." Jarrod rubbing his temples could not block out Nick’s roaring voice or the familiar quarrel.

"Everyone in town is celebrating," Heath said, grinning.

"See what I mean," Nick said.

"Elizabeth is not responsible for what her aunt did."

"Oh, where have I heard that before." With his flair for drama, Nick banged his fist on the fireplace mantel. Jarrod left him, walking out onto the terrace for some air.

Hugging himself and closing his eyes, he listened to Dorothy playing the piano. He loved the way she played Chopin. The gentle music floated on the still night, lulling him into contentment. Miserable, contentment seemed foreign to him. He treasured this moment until the music stopped. He wished it to go on, transporting him to another place in his mind, forgetting his unhappiness. Touching his arm, Dorothy looked into his eyes.

"I won’t ask that worn out question all wives ask their husbands."

"What’s wrong?" They both laughed. Dorothy adored his laughter, seldom hearing it in the house lately.

"Then I’ll rephrase it, what’s nagging you?"

"It’s something that was bothering me during the Carl Logan case."

"What?" Dorothy having a knack for drawing Jarrod out, discovered her connection with him easier than it was with her first husband.

"I seem to be haunted by my past. Unsure of myself."

"What do you mean?"

"All the cases where I convicted innocent people or defended guilty ones. I don’t know," he said, shaking his head.

"Did you expect smooth sailing when you left law school?"

"Of course not."

"What are you afraid of?"

"I seem to pick the most controversial cases, alienating everyone around me."

"You’re talking about Elizabeth Marlowe." Jarrod remained cautious, trying to avoid leaping into the dark.

"Korby Kiles, Keno Nash, Jeff Bowden, the list goes on."

"John used to feel that way sometimes," Dorothy said looking off into the distance. "Maybe you just need some time."

"How do you feel about me defending Elizabeth Marlowe?"

"Do you mean am I comfortable with you defending the femme fatale?" Jarrod smiled. "Yes."

"Maybe it will be an opportunity for you to put the past behind you. Am I jealous? No, because a woman like that could never understand what I have with you," she said. With ease, she kissed him on the lips. Jarrod pulled the combs out of her hair. Dorothy’s luxurious auburn hair cascaded down around her shoulders as Jarrod fluffed it out. She leaned into him, breathing in his scent of sandalwood. "Perhaps we should go upstairs," she said, closing her eyes.

Unable to sleep, Jarrod decided to go downstairs to read when he heard weeping. Cracking the door and looking in, Constance was sitting up in her bed, shaking. Walking in, he sat beside her on the bed.

"Honey, what’s wrong?" he asked, pushing the blond bangs out of her eyes.

"There’s a monster." Jarrod smiled, trying to be serious.

"Where?"

"There," She said pointing to the ceiling. Looking up, he saw what she was seeing, the dark shadow branches in a menacing dance.

"It’s the trees in the wind and the moonlight. It won’t hurt you," he said, wiping the tears off her cheek. "Come on settle back down and try to sleep."

"I’m scared."

"I know."

"Have you ever been scared?" Jarrod thought what it was like to be six again. The same fears whirled in his head. Monsters under the bed, in the closet, anywhere his imagination would have them. He began to think about his fears now. Like magic, a child’s fears of demons and monsters fade over time, not so simple with the fears of an adult.

"Many times."

"Don’t go." Jarrod sidled up beside her, holding her close in his arms. She snuggled up to him, her eyes staring for a moment, then closing. Jarrod kissed the top of her head. Constance was three when her father died. She barely remembered him. Jarrod too, soon fell asleep.

It was difficult for Jarrod and prosecuting attorney, Jim Stanfield to select jurors who were unbiased. Jarrod had no choice but ask for a change of venue. Judge Parker granted the request, agreeing that there was no other alternative if Elizabeth Marlowe was to receive a fair trial.

With the jurors picked, the trial proceeded. Bessie Warner, the housekeeper, a robust woman in her fifties, took the witness stand first. Jim Stanfield, a seasoned lawyer of considerable ability, took the earring off the exhibit table. Holding up exhibit B, for Bessie to see, he asked, "Would you tell the court where you have seen this earring?"

"Miss Elizabeth had a pair just like it," she said in her thick Irish brogue.

"On the morning of the murder did you make a comment to Mrs. Marlowe, concerning the earring in question?"

"I did."

"What did she do?"

"She took it off, said she must have lost the other one."

"How did she look when you spoke to her?"

"What do you mean?"

"Was she nervous?"

"No, she didn’t seemed to care about the earrings."

"Then what happened?"

"Then our foreman, Jim Edwards ran into the house. All riled up like a fire alarm, he was."

"About what?"

"Mrs. Cavanaugh had been shot."

"What time was that?"

"About seven o’clock."

"Did you hear any gun shots prior to that time?"

"Well, I did hear what sounded like a gun shot maybe fifteen or twenty minutes before he came in."

"Thank you. No further questions."

"Your witness, Mr. Barkley."

"No questions, your honor." The judge dismissed Bessie.

"Call your next witness, Mr. Stanfield."

"I call Virginia Towers to the stand." Virginia, sworn in, then sat down, still dressed severely and rigid in conduct. This time she would not be peering over her spectacles at Jarrod, reminding him of Miss Perrywinkle, his old school teacher.

"Miss Towers, can you identify this shot-gun?" Stanfield asked.

"I can, it belonged to my aunt."

"Where was it kept?"

"In the library, in the gun case." A lawyer’s dream witness, all her answers were succinct and confident, nothing elusive, nothing enigmatic and nothing to probe.

"When did you last see this gun?"

"The morning my aunt was murdered," she said, glaring at Elizabeth. Elizabeth avoided the cold stare, looking hurt and bewildered.

"When?"

"I was passing the library on my way to the kitchen and saw my sister, Elizabeth, loading the gun."

"Do you recall what time that was?"

"Six thirty in the morning."

"How can you be so sure of the time?"

"I checked my watch before coming downstairs," she said, pointing to the gold filigree watch, pinned to her lapel. "I come down to breakfast the same time every morning." Jarrod did not doubt this.

"I see. No further questions, your honor."

"Your witness, Mr. Barkley." Jarrod thought for a moment before rising. Taking the gun off the exhibit table, again he showed it to Virginia.

"Miss Towers, your sister said she was cleaning a gun. Are you sure this is the one she was cleaning?"

"Yes, and she was loading it, not cleaning it. I know the difference between loading and cleaning a gun."

"Really, then you are familiar with these guns." Her eyes narrowed, looking at Jarrod.

"If you’re asking me if I’m as good a shot as my sister. The answer is yes. My aunt believed in making us self-sufficient."

"Then wouldn’t it be possible that this gun might have been loaded and used after your sister cleaned it?"

"She did it."

"I didn’t ask you that," he said. "Isn’t it possible that someone else could have killed your aunt?"

"No." Jarrod initiated a new strategy.

"Did you like your aunt?" he asked, laying down the shot gun.

"As a person, no, as a businesswoman I did respect her."

"Isn’t it true that as your aunt’s only heirs, both you and your sister stand to inherit everything. And that if Elizabeth should be convicted, you would inherit it all."

"Objection, Mr. Barkley is trying to pin this murder on Miss Towers."

"Your honor, I’m establishing the possibility that there were others with just as much motive to kill Emily Cavanaugh as my client."

"Sustained."

"No further questions, your honor."

"We’ll recess for lunch, returning at two thirty," the judge said, banging his gavel.

Jarrod grabbed Elizabeth’s arm, hauling her into a conference room at the court house."You’re hurting me."

"Why didn’t you tell me about Frank Hardy?"

"Who?"

"Frank Hardy, the hired hand. The district Attorney just told me, Frank says he saw you running out of the barn with a shotgun after hearing shots fired the morning your aunt was killed."

"He’s lying."

"Oh, stop it. Do you take me for a fool?"

"You have to believe me."

"I don’t have to believe anything."

"I’m telling you the truth. All the hands were on round up or doing other chores."

"You better hope that’s true," Jarrod said looking straight at her. Elizabeth came nearer, parting her lips as if to kiss him. Jarrod backed away, beguiled, he thawed under her spell. Something stronger, magnetic kept pulling him closer and closer to her. He sat down, turning away, wishing she would vanish. Closing in on him, he smelled lavender before realizing she was pressing her lips to his. Her lips still pressing, he tried to resist, then turning his head away, he gazed out the window.

Unable to ignore Elizabeth’s kiss, bewitched by her, he was confused. He did not want her to kiss him, yet he was willing. He was far from feeling positive about the case, dismissing the uncertainties lodged in his mind. Dorothy slid her arm around his shoulders as he played with his son Andrew, in his lap.

"It’s hard to believe he’s nine months now," Jarrod said.

"Good-looking like his Father. He’ll be a heartbreaker when he’s older." Instantly, Jarrod looked into the flashing green eyes. "Darling, what is it?" His eyes let her into the soul of his thoughts. Jarrod shook his head. "Is it that little vixen Elizabeth Marlowe?" Dorothy raised an eyebrow. Jarrod remained silent. "No malice intended. I’ve been watching her in the court room."

"I can’t discuss the case, you know that."

"I know," she said, leaning over and patting his hand.

"Why must you English be so civilized?"

"You were expecting more fireworks?...You have feelings for her?" He wanted to purge his mind of thoughts of Elizabeth. Dorothy nursing suspicion, hesitated before asking the next question. "Are you having an affair?"

"No,...no...nothing like that."

"I understand she has that effect on men," Dorothy said, winking at him while reaching for Andrew. "It’s off to bed with you. Constance would like you to read to her."

"Tell her I’ll be up in a minute." Dorothy did know. He was relieved, making him less afraid. Jarrod kissed his son, realizing nothing was more precious than what was here with him in this moment. Not even Elizabeth could spoil it.

When court resumed the next morning, Frank Hardy began his testimony. Frank, a young man in his twenties, lean and burly, sat hunched in the witness chair, trying to avoid what was coming.

"Mr. Hardy, would you tell the court, what you saw on the morning Emily Cavanaugh was murdered?" Jim Stanfield asked, slipping his thumbs into his vest pockets.

"Well," he said, while his sandy hair flopping into his eyes, made him look like a sheepdog. "I heard gunshots then saw Mrs. Marlowe running like wildfire out of the barn with a shotgun." Virginia had a faint smile on her face. Elizabeth began biting her nails while glancing over at the jury.

"I have no further questions."

"Your witness Mr. Barkley."

"Mr. Hardy, after witnessing Elizabeth Marlowe’s exit from the barn, did you go in to find out what had happened?"

"No," he said, gazing down, fiddling with his hat.

"Why not?" Elizabeth’s eyes shifted between Frank Hardy and the jury.

"I don’t know, I guess I got scared."

"Then why didn’t you get help?"

"I don’t know...I just ran, I was afraid." Jarrod risked the bluff. Shuffling through a pile of papers, he pulled two from the pile.

"In my hand, I have sworn statements from Jim Edwards and John McCall, stating that you were with John that morning fixing fences. You left at 6:00 and did not return until 9:30 that morning."

"Objection, your honor, if these witnesses are available to testify, they should be here in this court room."

"Your honor, Mr. Edwards had to work and Mr. McCall is helping his Mother on the farm because his Father has been ill. Besides, I thought it would save the court time."

"Since Mr. Barkley has sworn statements, I will allow it. Over ruled. Continue, Mr. Barkley."

"Is it true?" Frank continued playing with his hat, avoiding Jarrod’s questions. Elizabeth, worrying, was still biting her nails. "Your honor, would you instruct the witness to answer the question."

"Mr. Hardy, answer the question." Frank glanced up at the judge.

"Yes, I was out fixing fences." Elizabeth sighed and Jim Stanfield bowed his gray head. Virginia’s face flattened.

"Why did you lie? Do you know what the penalty for perjury is?" Elizabeth sat forward in her chair, gripping the table, her eyes fixed on Frank.

"I was mad at her. She’s a tease. Refuse to go out with me when I asked her. Those women all thought they were so much."

"And that’s the only reason?"

"Yeah."

"No further questions."

"Your honor, the prosecution rests at this time."

"Very well, is the defense ready?"

"Yes, your honor."

"Call your first witness then."

"I call Elizabeth Marlowe to the stand." After being sworn in, Jarrod approached to begin his cross examination. Elizabeth, watched the faces of the men on the jury, eyeing her with delightful sympathy. Dorothy watched from the back of the room as Virginia dabbed her forehead.

"Miss Marlowe, would you please tell the court what happened on the morning of September 14 of this year?"

"I was talking to Bessie Warner in the kitchen when our foreman, Jim Edwards ran in to tell us that aunt Emily had been shot."

"What did you and Bessie discuss prior to Jim Edwards entering the house?"

"Bessie mentioned I had one earring on, so I took the other one off."

"Where was the other earring?"

"I lost it in the barn."

"When?"

"That morning, when I went out to check my horse. He had a cut on his leg."

"What time was that?"

"6:30."

"Your sister said you were loading a gun at 6:30."

"I was cleaning a gun and went out afterwards."

"Why did you clean the gun?"

"I had used it for target practice the day before and forgot to clean it. My aunt was a stickler about her guns. I didn’t want to hear one of her lectures on gun cleaning."

"What did you do when you got to the barn?"

"Checked my horse and returned to the house for breakfast."

"Did you see your aunt?"

"No."

"Did you hear gunshots?"

"I did."

"When?"

"As I was entering the house."

"Did you see anyone?"

"No."

"Did you tell anyone?"

"I was about to tell Bessie when Jim came in."

"No further questions."

"Your witness, Mr. Stanfield." Jim stopped writing, taking one last look at his notes.

"Mrs. Marlowe, what happened to your husband, George Marlowe?" Jarrod was about to object but resisted, curious about Stanfield’s line of questioning.

"He was shot to death."

"By whom?"

"Objection, Mrs. Marlowe’s past has nothing to do with the facts in the present."

"Your honor, I’m trying to show that this isn’t the first time Mrs. Marlowe has been involved in a court case involving murder."

"Your honor, that was a coroner’s inquest and it was ruled self-defense," Jarrod said.

"Sustained."

"How long did it take you to go to the barn after your sister saw you loading the gun?"

"I wasn’t loading the gun, why won’t anyone listen."

"Answer the question."

"To go out to the barn, check on my horse, maybe ten minutes."

"Bessie said you came in just before Jim Edwards at about 7:00."

"What are you driving at?"

"You had plenty of time to run out the side entrance to the library, to the barn, kill your aunt and run back in the house, returning the gun to the gun case."

"Objection, speculation."

"Sustained."

"Didn’t you think it was strange hearing gunshots from the barn?"

"No, coyotes were always getting into the chicken coop and my aunt would go out and shoot them."

"Did you like your aunt?"

"Not particularly. She could be cruel at times."

"Isn’t it true that you had frequent arguments about money?"

"Yes, but ___"

"Didn’t she think you were a useless, spendthrift, and that would she would disinherit you?" Elizabeth’s chin began to quiver.

"Objection."

"She never said that,"

"Mr. Stanfield," the judge said.

"Did you kill her?" Her face turned scarlet.

"No, I didn’t," She began to weep, pulling out her handkerchief from inside her sleeve. "There were plenty of people with a motive to kill her. I wasn’t one of them." She rubbed her nose with the handkerchief, sniffling.

"No further questions."

"Call your next witness Mr. Barkley."

"The defense rests, your honor."

Both lawyers presented their summations to the jury, then waited for the verdict.

Jarrod sat with Elizabeth in another room. Elizabeth, twisted her handkerchief, shifted in her seat, got up, looked out the window, then sat down again. Now, she was fidgeting with his pencil, tap, tap, tap. She was wearing Jarrod down with her neurotic energy. It was the longest half hour he had ever sat through.

"Elizabeth, stop it." He said, grabbing the hand with the pencil in it. Plucking the pencil from her hand, he slammed it down on the table. She then turned to him, hugging him around the waist. Laying her head on his chest, she said, "Hold me, I’m so scared." Jarrod pushed her away, then took her hand.

"Listen to me, the longer the jury is out, the better it is for you," he said, squeezing her hand.

"Why don’t you like me?"

"You’re dangerous and I’m married. Lets just keep it that way."

"I’ve seen your wife, she’s lovely."

"I agree."

"How did you meet her?"

"I knew her a long time ago before she married a friend of mine I knew from law school. He died and she returned with her daughter to help her father run his farm after her mother died."

"English, isn’t she?"

"Yes."

"Why do you love her?" That was a strange question, he thought. Maybe something he needed to remind him. But before he could answer, the bailiff opened the door.

"The jury made a decision." This time, Jarrod smiled at her, still holding her hand.

The judge read the verdict, handing it back to the bailiff.

"What is your verdict?" Elizabeth was wedding dress white. Her muscles were tight as guitar strings, her breathing rapid waiting through the longest minute in her life.

"We find the defendant...not guilty." Elizabeth stood motionless and dazed. Virginia left the court room. Turning to Jarrod, she flung her arms around his neck, hugging him tight, then whispered in his ear, "You just freed a guilty woman." Pulling away looking astonished, he said nothing, just stared at her.

Dorothy knew something was bothering Jarrod. He had been downstairs most of the night, drinking by the fire. Drinking did nothing for his disposition but make him brood. If Jarrod was angry enough, the pendulum would swing, showing the Mr. Hyde side of his Dr. Jekyll personality. This was out of character for the polished attorney who concealed his emotions so well. She worried about him, missed him and wanted him close.

"Jarrod, why don’t you come up to bed. You have to be up early in the morning," she said, rubbing the back of his neck. She never saw him look so despondent. He did not react to her touch or look at her. He just kept staring into the fire. "What is it?"

"She’s guilty."

"How do you know?"

"She told me."

"You did what you thought was right at the time." She respected him for his deep interest in justice.

"That’s a poor excuse for all the unsavory clients I’ve had."

"There’s something else."

"Since the Carl Logan case, I have been questioning whether I should continue being a defense attorney."

"Carl Logan was innocent and you won that against impossible odds."

"I’ve been used more than once," he said. "Maybe I should just practice business and real estate law."

"Jarrod Barkley, that’s nonsense, you would be bored." She turned his head to her. "You’re one of the best attorneys in this state."

"How can I be sure...of myself?"

"Do what you do best. Go after Elizabeth Marlowe, prevent her from inheriting. Dig up her past, what was it about her first husband?"

"He was shot to death."

"Prove that it wasn’t self-defense, that she did do it."

"She didn’t do it, it was her lover."

"What happened?"

"George Marlowe in a jealous rage went after Elizabeth, then pulled a gun on Stewart Kitteridge. Stewart struggled for the gun and it went off killing George Marlowe. A coroner’s inquest cleared Stewart of all charges." Suddenly, Dorothy kissed Jarrod hard on the lips, then looked into his delicious gaze. "You tell me what needs to be done and we’ll do it." Jarrod could not tell Elizabeth why he loved Dorothy, but now he knew.

After an argument with Virginia, Elizabeth left in a huff. Taking a walk outside, she stopped inside the barn. It had the atmosphere of finality, the eerie silence of death. Her glazed eyes stared at the spot where Emily died. Evil to the core, from whose touch she would shrink. Once born innocent into a heritage of hate, her only existence was to waste away soft and easy days with sickening devotion to small interests. Elizabeth clenched her fists by her sides. If her aunt had not died, Elizabeth would have done it all again.

"You made me what I am," she whispered. Elizabeth startled from a noise behind her. Whirling around, she faced Frank Hardy. She walked over to him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him close, she kissed him. "Your testimony was perfect. Thank you darling," she said, tousling his hair.

Two days later, Frank Hardy was lying in an alley, dead, with his head bashed in after an argument in the saloon. No one cared, no clues, no suspects, no one wondering, dismissing it as another bar room brawl ending in tragedy, nothing more.

Jarrod picked at his dinner. Dorothy, sipping her wine, could no longer watch Jarrod play with his mashed potatoes, "Are you on a diet?" Hoping to get a smile but got nothing.

"Should I be?"

"You never looked better," she said leaning into him, nuzzling his neck. "Do you want to go home?"

"I guess." He dabbed his mouth with his napkin. Next, hearing jarring laughter, Jarrod saw Elizabeth with a man. Their eyes met and Elizabeth approached the couple.

"Good evening, counselor." Jarrod ignored her, checking his watch while Dorothy glared at her.

"What do you want?" asked Dorothy.

"Bert, be a good boy and fetch the carriage." Obedient, he went off after the carriage, while Elizabeth leaned over to Jarrod, who turned away. "I bet you’re dying to know how I did it?"

"Did what?" asked Dorothy, who was invisible to Elizabeth. Elizabeth concentrated on Jarrod.

"I had Frank Hardy lie, knowing you would be able to shred his testimony. Clever, huh?" Seething inside from her taunts, he wanted to reach out and strangle her. Jarrod finally turned his head, following her with his eyes. "There was no greater mistake than defending her," he thought. None of this was the invention of mischief-making spite, it was a mockery of the justice system, with him as the pawn. Once an unsuspecting victim, he crumbled from her assaults, plaguing him with doubts about himself as a lawyer and a husband. In the midst of her boasting, she gave away the one trick no longer left up her sleeve. Now, in a daring mood, Jarrod would keep a sharp lookout for more of her manipulation. There would not be a next time.

Feeding her little vanities, Elizabeth saw a hat in the milliner’s window she especially liked. Admiring it from all angles, the little pale green silk hat, perched on its stand, netting whipped up and studded with pink rosebuds, gave her a nameless, responsive thrill.

"Hello, Elizabeth." The voice was familiar. Turning, she saw Stewart Kittridge, a towering, well-dressed man with sharp dark eyes.

"What are you doing here?"

"Is that any way to greet an old friend. Particularly after what I did for you."

"I don’t want to talk about it." She stuck out her lower lip.

"Oh, did I come at a bad time?" She said nothing. "That was a very attractive lawyer you had defending you. Did you convince him like you convinced me?" Still she said nothing, while browsing the window. "I was on my way to San Francisco and thought I’d stop by and see you."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"What do you want?"

"Heard your aunt died. What a shame."

"You’re here for money. You don’t miss a trick. Well, you’re going to miss this one." She flounced off into the milliner’s shop. Next, Elizabeth watched Stewart from the milliner’s shop. Suspicion lurked in her mind. She chronically distrusted him unless she was in the saddle, guiding his moves. His return upset her. Her eyes widened as Stewart stopped in front of Jarrod Barkley’s law office. He looked up at the sign. A sudden alarm went off in her head. She had to keep those men apart. "Please don’t go in there," she said to herself, shutting her eyes. Opening them, she saw Stewart walking down the street. Relieved, she turned her thoughts back to the hat. She paused for a moment, looking back at Jarrod’s office. Next, she saw Virginia entering.

Elizabeth entered Virginia’s room without knocking, while Virginia packed with her stop-watch method, folding every inch and corner of her clothing, smoothing out the wrinkles. Everything Virginia did annoyed Elizabeth. She loathed her efficient, self-righteous sister.

"Where are you going?" Elizabeth asked, folding her arms, leaning against the door frame.

"To Canyon Springs to meet with a horse breeder," she said. "Then to San Francisco on business."

"What kind of business?"

"Seeing to it you don’t inherit."

"I was found not guilty, remember?"

"I remember, I even have nightmares about it."

"I didn’t think you were capable of emotion." Virginia pursed her lips, swiping a crease away with her hand. "What did you see lovely Jarrod Barkley about?"

"You never stop."

"What?"

"You did try to seduce him."

"Is that what he told you?" Elizabeth asked. "He couldn’t be seduced by anything, he’s true blue."

"Praise the Lord for that. He’s going to help me to stop you from inheriting."

"He can’t help you now."

"Don’t be too sure."

"What did he tell you?"

"He told me the truth and I’m going to sink your ship, sister dear," Virginia said, pushing Elizabeth out into the hall, shutting and locking the door.

Elizabeth, crimson, stomped down the stairs. Once in the library, she gazed at the gun case in the dim light.

"I wouldn’t if I were you."

"What are you doing here?"

"I’m here at your invitation. You left a message at the hotel, remember?"

"Yes, of course." Elizabeth shut the door. "I’ve been thinking,"

"Oh, that’s dangerous." She glowered at him.

"I have a plan."

"Is that right."

"Will you be serious. If everything works out the way I planned, you and I can have it all," she said, looking deep into his eyes. He softened as she approached him. "How familiar," he thought, while smelling the lavender in her hair.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Kill my sister."

"You don’t ask for much.....that’s not even in my bag of tricks."

"Find it." She closed her eyes, sweeping her lips against his cheek.

"What’s the plan?"

"She’s taking the stage to Canyon Springs tomorrow," she said, all purposeful.

"Be on that stage with her."

"Then what?"

"You’ll figure it out," she said. "But she must not get on the train to San Francisco."

"Got any ideas?"

"Accident, secluded area." She paused. "She’s going to see a horse breeder, maybe you can do it then?"

"All right and another thing before you get any more ideas, I left a letter with Jarrod Barkley, if anything strange should happen to me, he’s to read it upon my death. The letter states you killed your husband and framed me for the murder. But the pay-off looked better than prison. I know he can’t try you again for your aunt’s murder but he could for your husband’s. Something he would be salivating over." Before she had a tantrum, he was gone.

Jarrod noticed the door to his office unlocked. Jarrod opened it a crack, listening, but heard nothing. Stepping in, he was disgusted with the mess surrounding him. Numb, he stared at the jumble of books and papers littering Anne’s desk and the floor. His office was worse, with papers strewn all over the furniture and the floor. As he walked in, stepping on most of it, he heard a crunch under his foot and noticed broken glass beneath him. All his liquor glasses and other pieces were broken. He picked up one law book, realizing the futility, then seeing ink spilled across his desk.

"Damn." Someone in a frenzy tore up his office as if a tornado whipped through it. Next he heard a noise from the outer office. Bending down to pick up a statuette, he raised it above his head while entering the other room.

"Mr. Barkley!"

"Oh, Anne don’t do that, I thought you were the intruder."

"What happened?"

"I wish I knew."

"Who would do this?" Jarrod had his thoughts.

While grinding its wheels in the dirt and rock, the stage rattled with every bump, jostling its passengers. Virginia was thankful that bustles made good seat cushions on these unbearable rides. Being hotter than hell did not help her disposition, remaining aloof from her fellow passenger. The ride was rough enough with the conceited ramblings of the insufferable man. His attention seeking efforts were ignored by Virginia, who stared out the window, dabbing her forehead. "Doesn’t he ever stop talking," she thought. "He’s giving me a headache on top of everything else." She glared at him once as he smiled at her. She gritted her teeth, rolling her eyes, then checked her watch. Resuming her window gazing, she thought, "Good-looking but why can’t he be quiet?"

"Whoa!"

Next, the stage came to a halt. Virginia and Stewart were nearly pitched off their seat.

"Get out," a gruff voice said. Virginia was adjusting her hat when a man reached in grabbing her roughly by the arm. Pulling her out of the stage, Virginia then stumbled and fell onto the dry, rocky road. Stewart went to help her but she pushed him away.

"Let go of me," she said, brushing the dust off her clothes.

"I was only trying to help."

"Shut up," the man said. Both men were wearing masks while their hats were down low, shading their eyes. The stage driver, Sam Taylor and the shot gun rider, Hank Morell, sat with their hands up in the air.

"Give us the money," the other man said, pointing his gun at the two men. Hank obliged, handing the box over to Sam, who threw it at the man, then jumped him. The two men struggled as the other man shot Hank. Stewart came up from behind the man, but he spun around and fired, sending Stewart flying back on his heels, landing in the dusty road. Virginia screamed, turned and began to flee as he shot her in the back. She fell face forward, onto the grass. Sam and the other man were still fighting for the gun when it went off and Sam fell backwards. One of the men shot the lock off the cash box. As the gun smoke dissipated, the two flipped through the bundles of cash.

"Come on, let’s get out of here." Sam, hearing them ride off, carefully lifted his head, looking around him.

Jarrod ran into Fred outside the sheriff’s office.

"What is it Jarrod?" Fred was irritable and frantic.

"What’s wrong with you?"

"Sam Taylor is over at doc Merrar’s with a bullet in him. Doc doesn’t know if he’ll make it."

"What happened?"

"Sam managed to unhitch a horse, and ride back here to tell me the stage was held up. Both passengers and Hank Morell were killed," Fred said. "And here’s the kicker, those other two passengers were Virginia Towers and Stewart Kittridge."

"What was he doing back in town?"

"I don’t know," Fred said. "Now, what’s on your mind?"

"My office was ransacked."

"Got any ideas who did it?"

"I do."

"What were they looking for?"

"A letter," Jarrod said. "The letter Stewart Kittridge left with me yesterday to open upon his death." A coincidence, Jarrod wondered.

Jarrod returned to the ranch to read the letter he had kept in the family safe. Nick was sitting in the living room, grumbling.

"What in blazes happened to you?" Jarrod asked pointing with his hat to the elevated foot on the pillow.

"Broke it," Nick said. "Where’s that ice!" Jarrod cringed.

"Boy howdy, am I glad to see you," Heath said, walking in with an ice bag.

"I can imagine," said Jarrod. Heath dumped the ice bag on Nick’s foot.

"Hey, watch it," Nick warned Heath.

"Would someone tell me what is going on?" Jarrod asked.

"Horse stumbled in a rabbit hole and fell on Nick, breaking his foot." Jarrod began to laugh.

"It’s not funny," Nick said.

"I need your help." Heath said.

"My help, what for?"

"I have fences to mend."

"Even if I wanted to help, I don’t have the time. Someone ransacked my office and I’m just getting it organized. So, now I’m behind in my work." Nick looked concerned.

"Who ransacked your office?"

"I’m not sure."

"What were they looking for?" Asked Heath.

"I’m not sure of that either."

"Heath has to get that fence up before there’s more trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"Jim Edwards, from the Cavanaugh place tore the fence down, saying it was on their side. A couple of our steer got loose and they shot them." Nick said.

"We’re short-handed and everyone is out on round-up or branding," Heath said.

"Ooh, I have had it with that family," Jarrod said grinding his teeth.

"That’s what I like to see, what spirit," said Nick.

"If you think I’m going over there to knock a few heads together, think again."

"Oh, you’re no fun," Nick said.

"Is it Virginia doing all this?" asked Heath.

"Not likely, since she was killed in a stage robbery this morning."

"That means Elizabeth has to be running the ranch," Heath said.

"I’m afraid so,"

"Ah, she couldn’t get kids organized for recess," Nick said, waving a hand at Jarrod.

"That’s what you think," said Jarrod.

"Will you help me?" Heath asked.

"Let me change and I’ll come out and help you. I guess I’ll be working late tonight."

Jarrod and Heath split up to work on various sections of the fence. After securing the post in the ground, Jarrod removed his gloves. Hearing a crunching noise behind him, he whirled around, gun drawn. Expecting more trouble, Jarrod got it.

"Drop it," said the large, baggy man on the horse, his gun aimed at Jarrod. The other man carefully dismounted, whipping out his gun. Unwilling, but realizing he was outnumbered, Jarrod dropped his gun. The other man, intimidating, lumbered toward Jarrod. His dark, beady eyes fixed on Jarrod as he closed in on him. Jarrod started backing away. Jarrod looked at one then the other. Jarrod could smell the whiskey on the man approaching him. The man smiled, exposing his gray teeth and licking his lips.

"What do you want?"

"You, counselor," the man said, still smiling.

"I’m not going anywhere with you."

"That’s what you think, spitfire." The man on the horse spat out a wad of chewing tobacco. "Take him," he said. Before Jarrod could move, the man struck Jarrod on the side of his head. Jarrod, stunned, fell to the ground. The man on the horse threw out some rope to the other man. "Tie him and lets get out of here." Just as the other man knelt down, grabbing Jarrod’s wrists, Jarrod tried pulling away when the man slapped him. Jarrod then brought his knee up, jabbing the man in the stomach. Springing back, he then lunged for Jarrod, striking him on the jaw, knocking him unconscious.

Later, Heath searched for Jarrod, then gave up thinking he had returned to the ranch.

"Where’s Jarrod," Nick asked.

"I was going to ask you the same thing?"

"He’s not here."

"Now I am worried."

"Why? What’s happened?"

"Nick, I found his gun and gloves lying on the ground near the section of fence he was working on."

"What about his horse."

"Both gone."

"Don’t tell Dorothy."

"Don’t tell me what? What are you two covering up?" No one said anything. "Where’s Jarrod?"

"He’s missing," said Nick.

"Missing, how?"

"Heath can’t find him or the horse and his gun and gloves were left on the ground where he’d been working."

"Kidnapping?" Dorothy asked.

"Maybe," said Nick.

"Then lets get Fred on it and go looking for him," Dorothy said.

The large, baggy man with the bull neck and scrubby whiskers, spat another wad of tobacco into the fireplace.

"Ouch!" The other man drew back from Jarrod, who was sitting on a bunk, his hands tied behind him. "He bit me," he said, looking at his bloody finger. Jarrod glared at the man.

"What did you expect if you keep bothering him?" The other man said, taking out a knife and some wood to carve. Jarrod continued glaring at the man, daring him. As he stepped toward Jarrod again, the other man was about to spit out another wad of gnawed tobacco. Stopping, he looked up at them. Using his tongue, he tucked the wad of tobacco into the side of his mouth, then said, "I wouldn’t." He then spat the wad into the fireplace.

"You touch me again and I’ll kick your teeth in," said Jarrod, gritting his teeth, hissing at him. The other man suddenly burst into laughter.

"It looks like we got ourselves a wild-cat here." The man backed away from Jarrod, sitting down. He kept his eyes riveted on Jarrod, while taking a swig out of the jug on the table. Jarrod looked away, still aware of the man’s eyes on him. The man then picked up a thick, broad, sharp knife, jabbing it into the table. Jarrod did not flinch at this move. The man knew he could not frighten Jarrod and this made him more determined to terrorize him. Twisting the point of the knife in the wood, then plucking it out, he poked the table repeatedly. His pitted complexion and the long scar running along the side of his face looked grotesque in the firelight. His mouth twisted in all directions as he examined Jarrod. Jarrod glanced back at him as the man’s tongue flickered out like a lizard, sweeping his lips. Jarrod could no longer endure the silence.

"What are you planning on doing with me?"

"You’ll find out soon enough," the other man said.

"What do you want?" The other man continued his whittling, ignoring Jarrod, while chewing non-stop. "The tobacco in that man’s mouth is endless," Jarrod thought. The man with the knife rose, approaching Jarrod. Jarrod leaned back against the wall, trying to avoid the point of the blade. The man leaned over Jarrod. Jarrod hated his foul smell, the smell of a rotting wild animal. Jarrod listened to his arduous breathing as he closed in on him and his hot, decaying breath on his face. Turning away, he felt the point of the blade pressing on his neck.

"Hey!" The other man said. "Didn’t I tell you to let him be." The man jumped away from Jarrod, throwing the knife across the room, watching it stick upright in the table. Jarrod sighed as the knife stood quivering.

"Look Mooney, I’m bored. When do we blow this joint?"

"When the job is done." Curls of wood flew onto the floor.

"We got that other money from that stage_____"

"Shut up!" Jarrod interested, leaned forward to hear more. The man slammed his fists on the table.

"Damn, I’ll take my share and leave."

"We have a job to finish." The other man’s head slowly turned to Jarrod, one demonic eye planted on him.

"We could finish the job now," he grinned. Jarrod started feeling warm.

"No profit in it." Jarrod began fidgeting with his ropes, hoping to loosen the knots. Mooney, noticing Jarrod trying to wriggle his hands free said, "Forget it lawyer, you ain’t going nowhere." Jarrod sighed again, his limbs stiff from the same position.

"Could you at least untie my feet, so I could stretch?"

"Shut up or I’ll gag you." That option did not appeal to Jarrod. His shoulders slacked and Jarrod slumped against the wall. Jarrod knew even when they weren’t watching him, they were looking. But they had to sleep sometime. He hoped it would be soon.

Another hour passed but to Jarrod it seemed like forever. Jarrod’s eyes roamed the room. "What was it the man was saying about a stage...?" Jarrod thought. "Maybe that stage robbery wasn’t an accident...maybe Kittridge and Virginia Towers were supposed to die."

Next, the door opened as both men jumped to their feet. Mooney picked up his rifle and the other had his knife poised for throwing. Jarrod leaned forward. Elizabeth appeared, removing her gloves and hat.

"Put the weapons away, boys," she said. "And how is our handsome guest?" Her voice was different, less childish and more severe. "What an act," thought Jarrod, frowning at her. "Not much trouble, I hope."

"Enough," said Mooney.

"He has a lot of Barkley spirit," she said, sweeping her fingers along the side of his face. Jarrod drew away from her.

"What do you want now, Elizabeth?"

"I want the letter Stewart Kittridge gave you yesterday."

"I’ll bet you do. You wouldn’t happen to have something to do with that stage robbery this morning, would you?"

"That was an unfortunate accident."

"Convenient too."

"I’m losing patience, where’s the letter, Jarrod?"

"Where you can’t get it...at the ranch." Elizabeth knew setting foot on the Barkley ranch was suicide.

"All right," she thought for a moment. "Riley, you go and get that letter. Jarrod will tell you where to find it."

"I will? That’s news to me."

"I wouldn’t antagonize me or Riley," she said. "He enjoys killing and relishes new targets for his aggression."

"In other words, he’s nuts." Riley started for Jarrod as Elizabeth put her arm out, blocking him.

"I don’t think you’d like to see what he is capable of."

"What’s in that letter?"

"Wouldn’t you like to know," she said. "Now, where is it?" Jarrod looked at Riley, then Elizabeth.

"In the safe in the library."

"Give him the combination."

"Then what happens to me?"

"Soon as I have the letter, you are free." He knew she was lying. She knew he would stop at nothing to prevent her from inheriting her aunt’s estate. With Virginia dead, she could claim it all. Jarrod knew the truth and with the letter would have more ammunition against her. She could not risk leaving him alive.

Riley skulked around the library in the dark, cursing every time he bumped into something. Finally finding a lamp, he lit it with a match. Adjusting to the dim light, he browsed the room for the safe. Seeing it, he whipped out the slip of paper with the combination. He bent down, listening to the dial click. He heard a creak, whipping his head around, looking at the door. Hearing nothing, he continued to work on opening the safe. Forgetting where he was, he started over, twirling the dial in all directions. He was clammy and hot, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Next he felt cold iron against his ear and a click.

"Don’t move or I’ll blow your head off," the firm English voice said. Knowing it was a woman, he would try to jump her. She was too close, it would not work. Riley lost his nerve. "Get your hands above your head," she said. "Now, move." Riley thinking he would have his chance now, could take her on and still get the letter. He started to lower his arms." Get them up." He would not be ordered around by a woman. He spun around, backhanding Dorothy, throwing her off balance. She stumbled forward as he grabbed her. Still holding the rifle, she then thrust the rifle but into his ribs. Doubling over, he looked up at her, all fired up and ready for more. Like a wild animal, springing up, he lunged for her as she shot the gun. Falling backwards onto the floor, he clutched his arm. Dorothy stepping forward said, "I could have placed that bullet anywhere, but I want you alive to tell me where my husband is."

Elizabeth sat whistling while Mooney, continued to carve. Elizabeth eyed Jarrod as he shifted his weight.

"What is in that letter?"

"I mine as well tell you. You won’t be around to stop me from inheriting."

"Now, why doesn’t that surprise me." He started working on freeing his hands.

"I killed my husband and framed Stewart," she said. "That’s why he was blackmailing me." Jarrod kept pulling...and pulling...hoping the ropes would loosen. "We were lovers. The sap was in love with me." Jarrod knew her allure, but nothing more. With parasitic fatal charm, she sucked the life out of everyone around her. "I knocked Stewart out and when my husband came home, I shot him," she said as if she was ordering a cup of coffee. Nothing in her voice was penitent. "I told the sheriff Stewart did it but that it was self-defense. Stewart didn’t like the idea but warmed up to it when I guaranteed him I could keep him out of prison and give him a nice settlement for his trouble."

"What else is new." Jarrod thought for a moment, still manipulating the ropes that were grinding into his wrists. "What about Frank Hardy, was he one of your lovers too?"

"He would have done anything for me. I had Frank meet me in the alley that night. When he came in the alley looking for me, I...well, you know the rest." Jarrod, feeling the ropes chafing his skin, continued to try to reach one of the knots. "Where is Riley? He should have been back by now."

"You in there, this is sheriff Madden, send Jarrod Barkley out." Elizabeth sprang up from her chair, catching the rifle Mooney threw to her. Sprinting to the window, she knelt down, breaking the glass with the rifle butt. Jarrod moved forward on the cot. Mooney did the same at the other window with his gun. Elizabeth fired the first shot, setting off a volley of gunfire. A bullet went whizzing by Jarrod as he ducked. Elizabeth stopped shooting.

"Sheriff, you better stop, you might kill Jarrod."

"That wouldn’t bother you very much would it? Someone else to do your dirty work," said Jarrod. Elizabeth looked at him.

"Let him go." Unconcerned, Elizabeth aimed and fired. A couple of more shots were fired. Without warning, Elizabeth fell backwards onto the floor...dead. It was instant and quick. Her eyes, like a doll’s glass eyes, just stared into nothingness. Jarrod was unable to recall a moment that he had seen any feeling in them. She had been dead a long time before this. The dead never feel. A thin river of blood trickled from her forehead, down the side of her face, into a pool of maroon on the floor. Jarrod turned away. Seeing what happened, Mooney vaulted from the window, throwing his gun down on the table. He grabbed the knife off the table, pouncing on Jarrod, who tried leaning away from him. Cutting the ropes binding Jarrod’s feet, he tossed the knife, then grabbed his gun. Meanwhile, Jarrod leaped up as Mooney reached out and grabbed him around the neck in a chokehold.

"Oh, no you don’t, you’re my ticket out of here, lawyer," he said. "I’m not going to hang for that robbery or those murders."

"Did Elizabeth hire you to kill those people?"

"Yeah, now shut up." Mooney dragged Jarrod to the window. "I got the lawyer, anyone shoots and he’s dead." Jarrod was unable to breathe as he writhed under Mooney’s grip. Mooney hauled Jarrod out the door, pressing a gun to his head. He stopped, looking around. Jarrod felt the heavy iron of the gun jamming into his temple, while his heart hammered inside him.

"Let him go," Fred shouted. Jarrod could barely breathe.

"The deal is I go and he doesn’t get hurt." Dorothy lay the end of her rifle on a tree limb to steady it. There is no room for error. "Don’t move," she said to herself. She took a deep breath...holding it...she began pulling the trigger. Jarrod brought his foot up and with all the force he could gather, he slammed his foot down on Mooney’s foot. Mooney released his chokehold on Jarrod. As he tried to reach again for Jarrod, Dorothy pulled the trigger and Mooney fell to the ground.. Dorothy breathed again. Satisfied, Dorothy emerged from her hiding place. Jarrod, trying to catch his breath, was amazed by Dorothy’s skill. Mooney was motionless as Jarrod looked down at him. Heath, kneeling, checked for a pulse, shaking his head.

"How did you find me?"

"Dorothy cornered an intruder last night, looking for that letter. Where’s Elizabeth?" Heath said, returning his gun to his holster.

"Dead."

"Well, that ends that reign of terror," Dorothy said, untying Jarrod.

"Do you realize you could have killed me?" Jarrod said.

"I could have but I didn’t."

"That doesn’t matter."

"I saved your life." Dorothy said.

"But you took risks."

"Stop, you sound like a husband." Heath started laughing. Jarrod looked at Dorothy with furrowed brows and smiled as Dorothy kissed him.

The End