Chapter 1

The stench of smoldering flesh hung thick in the air. The charred remains of a bunkhouse lie sprawled  in ruin. Its blackened skeleton tried valiantly to remain upright, but it leaned heavily to the right. Pulled from the ash and soot were the bodies of two men who would never again see another beautiful desert sunset. An unnatural silence roared through Buck’s ears. He didn’t want to be there, and he still had no idea why he had allowed Teaspoon to talk him into it. This place was bad medicine. Seriously bad medicine. A shiver worked its way up his spine. It was as if the spirits of the two lost men clung to him in a desperate attempt to regain what they had lost. His heart felt heavy with the burden of these men he did not even know. 

A gentle nudge in the side brought him from his spooky reverie. Ike, nose crinkled in distaste, looked at him with eyes equally disturbed.

"How did this happen?" he signed. Buck simply shook his head, incredulity lacing his dark features.

"How could two men burn to death just feet from the door? There is something very wrong with that." Ike nodded at his own words, knowing the truth in them without doubt.

"We best get this done. I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to be. As soon as we finish  helping them out with some chores, I’ll consider my promise to Teaspoon met." Ike simply nodded, and nudged his horse toward the main house.

Ike’s resounding knock on the door brought a young woman of about eighteen. She stood about five feet and two inches, and had a figure built to enslave men with their own lust forever. Her breasts heaved over the top of her corset, and bubbled up to the neck of her blouse. The two men stood
transfixed, gaping at her.

"May I help you gentlemen?" came the thick drawl of a lifetime southerner. She fixed a pair of cool blue eyes on Buck. A suggestive grin shone bright on her pretty face. She ignored Ike completely as she absently fingered one of her long black curls.

"Well, ma’am…" Buck searched for words, cursing his eyes for not leaving the source of his befuddlement.

"Well darlin’, I don’t see any ma’am here. I’m Savannah, Savannah Gibb, but you can call me Vannah. Mr. John Gibb is my daddy. He owns this place. Are you lookin’ for work?"

"Well, Miss Gibb." Buck addressed her formally. "Actually, we’re here to help you. We ride for the pony express, and Teaspoon Hunter sent us out to help your men around the ranch today. He figured you’d be short handed with the fire and all."

"Well, that was mighty nice of Mr. Hunter, now wasn’t it?" Buck had no idea how to respond to her statement, so he just shrugged. She seemed awfully chipper for someone whose workers had just died in a horrible fire. Buck eyed Ike, and through the communication only the closest friends could brag  of, they nodded together in agreement. This girl was trouble.

                                    --------

As he spread a liberal amount of hay throughout the Gibbs’ stalls, he wondered how Ike fared. He’d been asked to help clean up the mess the fire had made with the surviving hands. Buck had been sent alone, to the stalls. The ranch hands were very vocal in their refusal to work side by side with a
half-breed. It didn’t bother him too much though. He didn’t want anywhere near that bunkhouse, even though the bodies of the dead had been removed some time in the night, shortly after the fire. He untucked the tails of his shirt, wiping at the perspiration on his face. He was wishing hard for a glass of water when the scratch of footsteps on hay grabbed his attention. 

"Well hi there, handsome. You aren’t workin’ too hard I hope," she purred.

"I’m fine, Miss Gibb," he answered noncommittally. 

"Oh yes, I’d say you are." She slinked forward, leaning on a stall rail, and allowing her ample cleavage to squeeze up through the top three opened buttons on her blouse, she pinned him with a heated look. "Well now, don’t that hay look nice an’ cozy?" She kept a steady gaze on him. "I wouldn’t mind checkin’, just to be sure, would you?" 

Strong and steely shock reverberated through his system. What was he supposed to do? She was about as obvious as a barmaid, flouncing her bosoms in his face. He knew he needed to be gracious, but he had little experience in this sort of thing. Polite society girls did not offer their bodies to half-breeds, or anyone else, on a routine basis. There had been Kathleen, but she’s never even hinted at going so far which was beside the fact that she was just paying him attention to irritate her father. 

"I’ve got a whole lot of work to do today. I really need to keep at it."

"I’d say." She squirmed just a little more flesh out of its confinement. "I just got back from target practice. I’m an excellent shot. My daddy taught me. Anyhow, I’m just tellin’ you ‘cause I know how hot it is, bein’ that I’ve been outside and all. I know, you must be dyin’ for a break." 

Buck was grappling for something to reply. Anything that would turn her down without insulting her would be favorable. He knew, without a sliver of doubt that he’d regret it if he let her seduce him.  That was beside the fact that, even though she was pretty, he didn’t want anything to do with a woman who would give herself so cheaply. Most of the other riders thought him insane, but he was of the mindset that physical love should be only between those who had deep emotional bonds. He would  hate to come to the bed of the woman he loved with such baggage.

"I’m sorry, Miss Gibb, but I really need to get back to work." Something hard flared in her eyes.

"Don’t you want me?"

"You’re a very pretty girl, I just don’t understand what you’re doing."

"Oh, but I think you do." She placed her hand lightly on his shoulder, tracing the white stripes on his blue shirt leisurely down his arm.

"What I mean is…well…do you even know my name?"

"What does that have to do with it?"

"Its part of the reason why I just don’t understand what you’re doing here."

"Darlin’ if you’ll just put away that rake, I’ll be more than happy to show you what I’m doing here." She made a move to go around the rail. Buck took a step back. He was treading a precariously thin line, and he knew it.

"Miss Gibb, there are people everywhere. It’s a busy ranch."

"Don’t worry ‘bout that none, they’re all at the bunkhouse workin’. I checked."

"We can’t do this." Frantic, Buck racked his brain for an inoffensive way to dig himself out of this mess.

"And why is that, handsome?"

"It’s wrong." Buck knew the condemnation in his voice was not lost on her.

"Are you calling me a whore?"

"Of course not."

"I think you’re callin’ me a whore, you half-breed bastard!" She was screaming loud enough to draw everyone at the ranch as well as half of Sweetwater. 

"All I’m saying is that…" He was cut off as she slapped him across the face. It wasn’t his face that stung; it was the assault on his mind. When would any woman see him as anything but a pawn in some game he didn’t know the rules to? She stormed out of the barn, screeching like some wild wounded animal. All Buck wanted now, was to find Ike, and leave. He’d never set eyes on Savannah Gibb in town before, and he hoped he never would. He rushed through his work, and set out to find Ike. At least Ike was likely able to find a way to make him laugh at the day’s events.

                                    --------

Jimmy snorted. His laughter took him in wracking guffaws. He hung a long john clad led over the edge of his bunk.

"You gotta be crazy! I’ve seen that woman, Buck. She was made for sin. What exactly were you thinkin’, turnin’ her down like that?"

"I was thinking I should let her wait for you. I guess she’ll let anything into her bed."

"‘Anything’ would be her askin’ Cody," Jimmy retorted.

Rounds of laughter filled the bunkhouse. Cody, who was out on a run, was unable to defend himself.

"Seriously, it was just…strange. I mean people that worked for her father, people she probably knew, died last night, and all she wants to do is be taken by a stranger in the hay."

"You know," Kid intoned. "She prob’ly did know those men. She sure is dealing with it funny."

"She probably knew them in a biblical sense, if her reaction to Buck is anything to go by." Lou chimed in. The probable reality in her statement was an effective silencer. The room was absolutely still. 

Banging sounded from Ike’s bunk. "She’s got terrible taste, she never even spoke to me!" Again, the bunkhouse was alive with merriment, and the usual taunts made for camaraderie instead of to inflict pain abounded that night. Every occupant in the bunkhouse that night went to sleep with a smile clinging to his or her lips. It was to be the last bout of merry-making for a while.
 

Chapter 2

"Wake up, son!" 

Buck did his best to ignore the insistent jabbing at his shoulder. It was his first day off in more than a week, and he intended to sleep it away. He fought his slow rise from unconsciousness, but the ever-grating voice was the victor.

"Buck, it’s important. Wake up!"

"What? Day off," he muttered into his pillow. "Sleep. Sleep now."

"No son, you got to get up. We got serious problems here."

"Mmmm-kay. Gimme minute." He yawned lazily, as he fought his blanket to get out of bed. The fuzziness of sleep was receding quickly due to the morning chill. Buck turned to Teaspoon to ask what he was needed for, hoping that it wasn’t to go back to the ranch, when the utter colorlessness of the older man’s face stopped him dead.

"Teaspoon, are you okay?" He strode to him, as if his nearness would cure all that ailed the aging man.

"Son, we have a very big problem."

"What is it?"

"Can you tell me anything out of the ordinary that happened yesterday?"

"Jimmy didn’t clean his guns?"

"This is not a joke, son." The iron in Teaspoon’s words made Buck involuntarily take a step back. Fear seeped into his heart.

"What’s going on, Teaspoon?" Buck asked as he slid into his pants.

"Sam’s here to arrest you son."

"What? What for?" Teaspoon took a huge breath, let it wheeze slowly out of his lungs, and finally met Buck’s gaze.

"The Gibb girl has accused you of rape."

Buck paused halfway into his shirt.

"If this is a joke, Teaspoon, it isn’t funny."

"No joke, son. Can you tell me what happened?"

"Nothing!"

"I need a few more details than that, son."

"I-I was working, and she came in the barn…" Buck paused, his face colored. 

"She invited me to join her in the hay."

"She seduced you?"

"She tried." Buck slowly continued donning his clothes. "I told her I had work to do, and she left the barn screaming like a banshee."

Teaspoon digested Buck’s words. He’d known as soon as Sam told him about the charges that they were false. They all knew how Buck felt about men who mistreated women. Sam admitted he’d figured as much, but with the girl and her father on his back, as Marshal he had to do something. Teaspoon felt for him, but was even more concerned about Buck. The people of Sweetwater were decent folk for the most part, but as soon as something got them riled there was no telling what they would do. Some pretty young girl hollering rape at an Indian would not go over well. He worried that the town’s men would go vigilante, and try to avoid the hassle of a trial by hanging Buck for the fun of it. He watched the young man with weary eyes. Buck moved with the strained jerky movements of someone in shock. It had been only a matter of months since Kathleen Devlin had played havoc with his life, now some other woman was out to hurt him for reasons unknown. Gritting his teeth, Teaspoon picked up Buck’s boots and handed them to him. 

"I’m goin’ to find you a good lawyer son, and I’m gonna find a way to charge it to Russell, Majors, &Waddell. Me and the boys’ll be here for you. We know you didn’t have no part in this."

Teaspoon’s heart broke for the boy. His big brown eyes were full of too much sorrow for a young man his age. All his boys had been through so much, and they all just kept sticking together. They were good boys, the lot of them.

                                    --------

It took all of Buck’s concentration to mute out the ruckus outside. When he and Sam had arrived at the jail, there was at least fifty men there waiting, with shotguns and makeshift nooses in tow. They shouted obscenities, threw rotten eggs, and spat, but nothing hurt him more that the lie that Savannah Gibb had originated. He should have known that something like this would happen. Nobody cared if he was innocent or not. By the blood running through his veins, he was guilty.

                                    --------

Buck stared hard at his lawyer. 

"You want me to what?" Having only met Martin P. Mallory less than half an hour ago, Buck was quickly growing a strong dislike for him. He was supposed to be the best lawyer in the territory, but he made it clear that he didn’t care about Buck’s case at all. The thing that most infuriated Buck was the fact the pompous jack-a-dandy had not even bothered to ask if he were guilty or not. Now he wanted Buck to plead guilty, and throw himself on the mercy of the court. There would be no mercy for him. He’d be lucky if he weren’t hanging at the end of a rope come morning. He wanted to be grantedsome supernatural power, where he could touch people, and have them know without a doubt that he was innocent. He was finding it difficult to stay rooted in the real world when everything he’d worked so hard for was being ripped apart, and shoved into the livid hole Savanah Gibb had pulled out of his gut. He felt defeated. All of his friends, true though they were, could not get him out of this mess. He hurt for Ike, who couldn’t even meet his eyes without crying. Even Ike knew that there wasn’t a chance that he would be leaving this mess alive.

"You heard me, Mister Cross." The words were civilized, and proper, but Buck heard so clearly the overlying acid in them. 

"I’m not pleading guilty." 

"Don’t be stupid. I know your people are known for their stubbornness, but-"

"My people are known for their horsemanship," Buck interrupted flatly.

"If you beg the mercy of the court," he continued on, as if Buck hadn’t even spoken. "Then there is the possibility that you’ll just be put in prison. Your kind are used to hard labor anyway, living as they do." Malloy said this all the while studying the fingers of his satin skinned ivory hand. He spoke with unveiled disdain. He spoke as if Buck was insane to think that he deserved anything more than hard time in a prison, for a crime he did not commit. 

"Quite frankly, Mister Cross, I’m the best lawyer around. I’m telling you that there is no one…no one-" He emphasized as if talking to a belligerent child. "Who could win this case. It’s not possible. It’s rather stupid to pop into a world where you do not belong, and expect special treatment."

"I don’t expect special treatment, Mister Mallory." Buck bit out the words. "What I do expect is justice."

"Justice, boy? Justice? Is that what you’re after? Justice would have been served if they had hung you before Hunter had managed to ruin my perfectly promising lunch date." With that, he shot off of his stool, and left the jail.

                                    --------

Emma watched Sam approach the house. He looked to be set to the pace of a dirge. The intense heat of the afternoon, coupled with Sam’s obvious distress, left Emma feeling miserably lethargic. Waiting at the door, she let him in before he was able to knock. When he entered, he didn’t joke, he didn’t flirt, and he didn’t mince words.

"He won’t eat, Emma."

"Sam, I’m bringin’ his favorites. I don’t know what else to do."

"Did you hear what that lawyer did?"

"No, I don’t think I did." Emma squared her shoulders, and balanced her hands on her hips. Sam decided that she looked like she was getting ready for a fight. He briefly wondered if she thought she could swat the bleak situation away like an overanxious and irritating suitor.

Emma struggled through the details of Buck’s conversation with is lawyer, as Sam remembered them. She was equally sad and glad that he had eavesdropped that day. Every motherly instinct in her said that she should run down that lawyer, and give him hell. All the trouble Teaspoon had gone to with Russell, Majors, and Waddell to get them to help him strong arm Malloy into helping Buck, didn’t helpone bit. She was beyond fury. She was beyond any coherent thought. Rage strong and unadulterated ran through her veins. She was like a mother panther on the scent of a predator who’d been stalking her young. Thrusting through the hazy red veil of anger, a thought occurred to Emma. With her jaw set, and her head held high, she stalked out of the house with a purpose, leaving a bewildered Sam in her wake.

                                    --------

Vicki Wellington gnawed at her lip as she read the article a fourth time. The Mrs. Shannon in the article seemed dead certain that the man was innocent. There were also a number of other people quoted in the article that were of the same opinion. She scanned the page for the name again. Buck Cross. She tucked an errant strand of bland brown hair behind her ear, and asked the air around her. "Is that the name of an innocent man?" 

"Pardon?"

"Oh, I’m sorry Damion. I was just talking to myself."

"Better watch out Sis, if practicing law is all ready making you crazy you best go fetch a husband!"

His words were purely in jest, but they cut her deeply none the less. She had been forced to fight that attitude so constantly in the past few years that it literally made her sick to hear it from her beloved Damion. Vicki and her brother Damion were twins. They had done everything at the same time
throughout their lives. They spoke their first words together, they walked their first steps together, they started school together, they even went to their first dance together with their partners. When they both decided to attend law school, her father had been thrilled. Gabriel Wellington was likely the most sought after attorney in Chicago, and that was on top of the fact that Chicago was a city teeming with lawyers. He was overjoyed that both of his children wanted to walk in his footsteps. It never seemed to occur to him that she couldn’t manage a career in law. A fact that was particularly odd considering that her mother, Laticia was livid at her daughter’s refusal to take on familiar societal roles. Vicki Wellington was the first woman to ever be accepted into Union College of Law, an accomplishment of which she was exceedingly proud. She and Damion had graduated in the top two spots of their class. They even took the Bar exam on the same day. The problem now was that she and Damion were no longer moving at the same pace. She and Damion, upon graduation, went to work for their father’s firm. Damion was loaded down with clients, but she couldn’t keep a one. As soon as they saw her, they assumed she was some kind of joke. In one horrible instance, one of her possible clients assumed that she was a prostitute brought into the situation to help him relieve the stress of his law troubles. She didn’t blame that one for not hiring her; she did give him quite a blow with her favorite law reference. 

Staring at her brother’s face, she could bare him no ill will. He worked very hard for all of his clients, and deserved his success. At the very moment, in fact, they were seated at the Harport Club, a club whose clientele included almost ninety- percent lawyers, and her brother was hard at work on a case.
She wondered at the coincidence of a newspaper from so far away ending up right next to the couch she and Damion were seated at. Sweetwater, that was some way off. She read the article yet again, and could not find one single reason not to take a risk for the sake of her career. If she could prove this man, Buck Cross innocent, then perhaps she could make a name for herself in Sweetwater, far from the influence of her family’s name.
 

Chapter 3

The biting stink of alcoholic vomit clung ferociously to the air. The searing heat of the mid-day sun only served to make the foul odor more unbearable. Buck was doing everything he could not to smell it. The drunk in the next cell was snoring among his last few meals, blissful and ignorant of his reek. This had been his life for the past month. He oscillated between daydreaming about a life he knew he could never have, and praying to the sunrise and even the white God to send someone to help him. The circuit judge was unlikely to be able to make it for at least another month, but what did he care. He had no lawyer to prepare a case for him anyhow. Malloy had never bothered to set foot in the jail again. He’d been informed that when Teaspoon went to have a chat with the useless lawyer, no one would see him.

Sam had done everything possible to make things easier, but the problem wasn’t fixed with large helpings of Emma’s cooking, or visits from his friends. The situation was what was killing him. He wasn’t even able to take short walks outside because Sam feared some outraged citizen would attack him.

He stared sightlessly at the ceiling. He was a boy again. Running wild, tearing across wide beautiful fields on horseback, without a care in the world, he could take the pain this way, locked in his own mind. He still woke up every morning expecting to be in the bunkhouse after nothing more than a
terrible nightmare. He closed his eyes hoping that he could sleep away some of the afternoon. After all, he had nothing else to occupy his time with. He’d all ready read all of the books that had been brought to him at least four times. Breathing through his mouth, Buck lost himself to the prairies, to the wind in his hair, to the joyous days and nights that he spent with his brother Red Bear. This was the only way he could live now, in dreams.

Vicki looked at the jail dubiously. This was nothing like the jail back home in Chicago. This was a rough wooden structure that looked as if a number of logs simply fell together. It was nothing like the brick and mortar spectacle at home that boasted invulnerable bars. Firmly reminding herself that she was in the untamed west, she squared her shoulders, and walked with all the confidence she didn’t feel into the jail.

The unfamiliar odor of decay and human waste hit her with the force of a sledgehammer. Once her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she spied a youngish man with sandy hair, seated at a desk. He wore a badge, so she assumed he would be the one to talk to.

"Pardon me, sir."

"Yes ma’am. What can I do for you?" Sam Cane eyed the woman with unease. She looked like a city girl. He hoped she wasn’t here to complain about the environment being far too rough for a woman of her stature. He hated being forced to sit through another Yankee’s harsh judgment of his fair town.

"My name is Vicki Wellington, and I’m a lawyer from Chicago." She was about to explain her presence in Sweetwater when Cane’s shocked, "A lawyer? You’re a lawyer?"

"Yes, sir. As I was saying-"

"If that don’t beat all, a lady lawyer! What are you doing in these parts?"

"Well, I read this article," she said, digging in her reticule for the worn and faded copy of newspaper. "I was thinking I might like to speak to this man myself. If I’m satisfied with his innocence, I might consider representing him in court." She took a deep breath through her mouth, wondering how anyone could stand the nauseous stink of the place.

After perusing the article, Sam recognized it as the one Emma had hounded the paper to print. The editor had initially refused, but Emma had a way of getting what she wanted, Sam mused. She was a woman with an indomitable spirit.

Well, I don’t know if he’ll talk to you. He hasn’t taken this all very well. You can imagine, I mean…it’sawful. Anyhow, he’s asleep over there."

"Asleep? It’s mid-day."

"Look, Miss Wellington-"

"Vicki, please."

"Vicki, can you imagine being in here for a month, and staying awake."

"You’re quite right, Mr. Cane."

"Sam."

"Thank you, Sam. May I try to have a word with him? I did come a very long way."

"Well, sure. He’s right over there. The one in the blue shirt."

"Thank you. Oh, and Marshall…you think he’s innocent?"

"I know it." There was finality to his statement that tolerated no questions.

Silently, she edged over to the small row of cells. She went to the indicated cage, and looked at the sleeping figure in it. He was curled up into a ball, like infants do when they are just moments out of the womb. His face was drawn and weary, even in sleep. He was almost to the point of emaciation. He looked sick, vulnerable. The man, Buck Cross, looked like anything, but a predator. Cognizant that it was now or never, she cleared her throat.

"Pardon, Mr. Cross?" He made no reply.

"Sir. May I have a word with you?" Still, he didn’t budge. With a swish of her skirts, she sent an imploring look at Sam. With a slight smirk, he nodded.

Bellowing, "Hey, Buck, visitor!" He flopped his feet heavily onto his desk, dislodging a fair amount ofdirt onto the most recent wanted posers.

Vicki stared hard at her possible client. At the sound of the Marshall’s call, his body reacted. He jerked, and shoved his head further into his pillow.

"Sir," She hated the pleading note that crept into her voice. "I’ve come a very long way to speak with you." She waited, uncertain, and growing wearier by the moment, for a reaction. Any reaction would do. Even if he threw one of the books piled on the floor at her, as least she would know he had heard her. Seconds weighed like years, as she watched for a sign of acknowledgment. Freeing her breath in a sigh of defeat, she finally saw a dark brown eye peer over the edge of the pillow. His head shot up, andhe sat there for a moment, staring at her quizzically. Suppressing a grin, she noted that on half of his hair adhered stubbornly to his head, and the other half stuck out in an unruly tumble down his face.

"Mr. Cross, I’m sorry to disturb your sleep, but I’ve come all the way from Chicago to speak with you."

"About what?" came his guarded reply.

"I’m a lawyer, you see." She waited for the usual questions and statements of disbelief. All she got wasa single eyebrow raise. "I-I read an article about your situation, and I’m considering representing you." She watched him closely. He licked his lips, and tucked the wild half of his hair behind his ear. Finally, his face wrinkled in confusion.

"Why?"

"Why what, Mr. Cross?"

"Why would you represent me?"

"Well, as I was saying, this article says you’re innocent, and if you are, then I’d like to help you."

"What if I’m not."

"Then I’m going back home."

"How will you know the difference?"

"I have an excellent sense of people. I know how to read body language, and other such things. So, the question begs…are you innocent?"

"Yes." Earnest and soulful eyes penetrated her. Simultaneously, she felt embraced, and impaled by his warm brown gaze. He was telling the truth. She’d stake her life on it.

"Very well, then. You have attained a lawyer, Mr. Cross." Instead of the relief she had hoped to see on his face, she only saw remorse. "Is there a problem?"

"Well, I don’t…I mean I can’t afford…"

"Oh, well, let me get to that." Turning to Sam, she called, "Sam, would it be possible for me to confer with my client privately?"

Sam’s interest was piqued. This strange woman, who claims to be a lawyer just shows up out of the blue and just, takes on what even Sam knew to be an impossible case. As far as he knew there wasn’t such a thing a lady lawyer. He hoped that this was a good thing for Buck, and not just another woman to foul up the poor boy’s life. Obligingly, he picked up a chair, strode to Buck’s cell, opened the door, and gestured her in with the chair.

"I’m sorry," he drawled. "But you’ll have to have your conference in here." Sam tipped his hat at her as he exited the cell.

"Why is it that we can’t speak in private?" The Marshall’s actions were making her antsy. If he was so certain of Buck’s integrity, then why not let them have a private chat? Was he actually uncertain? Was that the reason he didn’t want them alone?

"‘Cause I don’t have another place for you. I can’t let Buck out either. Some of the town’s folk are out for blood."

"I see." Hesitating momentarily, she stepped into the tiny cage, and sat primly on the chair. She jumped at the clang of the bars being closed behind her.

"Well," she sighed heavily. "I guess we’ll have to go with this." She squirmed in her seat, distinctly uncomfortable with the situation. She gawked as her new client held his pillow out to her. She stared at it, then at him with utter confusion written over her smooth milky features.

"For the chair. You look uncomfortable."

"Oh," she registered with surprise, that he was offering her what comfort he could. She knew the pillow would be of no help to her emotional discord, but took the pillow anyway. With a polite "Thank you," she tucked it into the chair, and settled on top of it.

"Now, let’s get down to business." He gave his silent assent in the form of a quick nod. "I do not intend to charge you for my services." As she watched his face, trying to quickly learn the nuances of expression that told a lawyer things that a client was unwilling to voice, she noted the collapse of his features into another confused grimace. That reed thin black brow shot up again as he asked, "Why?"

"Well, you see I’m having difficulty getting clients because of my sex. Men don’t trust a woman to be the only barrier between them and jail or a rope, what ever the situation may be. I need to prove myself. If I can prove your innocence, then perhaps I can begin a practice here, where people have
heard about a win that goes against all odds."

"So, what you’re saying is that if you win, and you get a name for yourself that’s your pay?"

"Exactly."

"I can deal with that."

"Fabulous! Now, I need to know all of the particulars of this case. Tell me everything. And I mean everything, even the most trivial little facts. Things that you might find unremarkable could be the case winner we need."

Doing his very best to remember every little tid-bit of that day, Buck launched into his story about Savannah Gibb. For the first time in a month, a tiny seed of hope began to push its way tentatively through the thick wall Buck had erected in his mind to ward off the utter desolation of his predicament.

Vicki jabbed at her pillow with a tiny white fist. The hotel mattress left much to be desired, but she knew that it was not the mattress that kept her awake. She flopped gracelessly onto her back, huffing at the ceiling. She felt as if she were being weighed down, by some intangible, yet inexorable weight, and she was slowly drowning in a sea of her own self doubt. Her foremost worry was that she would be unable to free an innocent man. That possibility slammed into her chest with the force of a speeding mustang every time her mind conjured it up like some hateful and vindictive reminder of her inexperience. Another nagging fear was not that she would fail, but that she would succeed, and that Buck, as she now knew him, would turn out to be guilty. Tucking her icy feet into a wrinkle in her blankets, she decided that any man so in tuned to a woman’s discomfiture that he’d offer his pillow to
try to alleviate it, couldn’t harm a woman in such a horrible way, could he? Shoving her covers aside, she went to her as yet unpacked bag, and took out a pad. She sat cross-legged on the bed, making a list of those she needed to speak to. First on her list was the victim.

Buck glared at Barnett. Why the deputy insisted that floor sweeping and off key singing had to come hand-in-hand, Buck would never understand. It had to be around three in the morning. Being that chipper, that late, in a jail of all places, was just not natural. He was all ready unsettled. The day’s events had knocked him out of his self-pitying existence. He had a lawyer! She’d asked him so many questions, and she had actually listened to the answers. When she started grilling Sam as well, he didn’t know what to think. She seemed very capable, but she openly admitted that this was her first real trial. He was hopeful for the first time in a month! All he could think of was telling Ike about her tomorrow. Ike had been hit as hard as he had with this mess. He just hoped that his old friend would find a measure of peace with the good news. Trying to block out the torture that was Barnett’s version of Amazing Grace, Buck stuffed his head underneath his pillow.

Abruptly, he was caught by an unfamiliar scent. Lilacs. He smelled lilacs on his pillow. Buck buried his face in the soft cotton cloth. Vicki’s scent was by far, the best he’d come around in the jail. The light aroma that he breathed conjured up visions of his new attorney. He hated to admit it, but she was pretty, real pretty. It was bad enough that if he saw her under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t care that he existed. It was a sheer embarrassment that she was defending him against rape charges. He could never hurt a woman in such a way. Especially after he had seen first hand what it could do to a woman’s spirit to be used like that. He knew he’d been beet red when he recounted his barn adventures, or lack there of, with Savannah. The thought of her literally made him sick. He sagged over the side of the bed, waiting for the heaves to come, but Vicki appeared in his mind’s eye. Her gentle heart shaped face, haloed in soft brown hair swarmed his vision. He was entranced by her enigmatic gray eyes. His stomach abruptly settled. Taking up his pillow for more sniffing, he moved back into a better position on his cot. For the first time in a long while, he slept peacefully, without the aid of the few sweet memories of his past.