Her mouth went dry. “You have me worried, Marshal Cain.”
And that was saying something.
The door burst open in a flurry of cold air and a young girl scooted inside. Realizing she had a brief reprieve before Mr. McCoy arrived, Tessa forced the tension from her shoulders. The newcomer flipped back her coat hood and stomped the snow from her boots on the rag rug.
The young beauty was in her midteens, showing the first blush of womanhood with her bright blue eyes and curly corn silk hair. “Shane is on his way,” the girl said. “He’s talking with Mama now.”
The marshal assisted her with her coat. “This is my daughter, Cora. Cora, this is Miss Spencer.”
The girl held out her hand. “Hello. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Tessa tucked an escaped tendril of hair behind one ear. “Surely not. I only met your father this morning.”
“I didn’t hear about you from Papa.”
Heat crept up Tessa’s neck. Shane must have spoken of her—but why? She doubted she’d made much of an impression. Touching her cheeks, she hoped they weren’t flaming as hotly as they felt.
The marshal ushered his daughter through a second door at the rear of the office. Tessa caught sight of a jail cell and a flight of stairs through the opening.
“Enough, Cora,” the marshal ordered. “You’re making our guest uncomfortable. I’m guessing your mother will be along soon. Why don’t you run along upstairs and put on some coffee? You know where to find everything.”
Yep. Tessa’s cheeks were definitely flaming.
A gust of winter bluster indicated another arrival. Her heartbeat thundered and the freshly stoked fire suddenly turned the room blistering hot. Shane stepped inside and turned toward the coat hooks, presenting her with his profile. The corners of his mouth drooped at the edges and his eyes were tired and bloodshot, as though he hadn’t slept in a month of Sundays.
He hung his hat on the peg near the door and ducked his head. “Miss Spencer.”
“Mr. McCoy,” she replied, matching his formal tone.
He didn’t appear at all happy to see her. Not that she’d expected cartwheels and a jig, but a friendly smile might have been nice. He’d asked for her help before and she was only here at his request, yet he was treating her as though she’d somehow offended him. Crossing her arms, she looked away.
He didn’t even have the courtesy to bring the children. Certainly he knew how much she missed them.
The marshal resumed his seat behind the desk. “Thanks for coming out, Shane. I figured the two of you should hear this at the same time. I just got word from Wichita. Dead Eye Dan Fulton has busted out of jail.”
Tessa gasped and bolted upright. “When?”
“Last night.”
Panic rose like bile in her throat. “Who broke him out?”
As though she had to ask.
“His brothers,” the marshal replied grimly.
She didn’t believe in luck, but she was starting to believe in bad luck. Here she’d been lulled into a false sense of safety, thinking she might actually claim the reward money and sleep a full night through for once.
Tessa turned her fear on Mr. McCoy. “I knew this would happen.”
“I was trying to help,” he wearily replied.
She splayed her fingers over her eyes. Terror definitely had a way of making her forget herself. While she had perfectly valid reasons for being angry with Shane, the outlaw’s escape wasn’t one of them. If she’d told him the truth about her connection to Dead Eye in the first place, then they wouldn’t be in this mess. She had no one to blame but herself for this particular disaster.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Of course you meant well. I was surprised, that’s all.”
“What about the reward?” Shane demanded.
“Rescinded.” The marshal held up his hands in supplication. “Didn’t say I agreed with the decision.”
“We caught him.” Shane’s voice vibrated with suppressed anger. “It’s not our fault they couldn’t hold him.”
Tessa unconsciously touched his hand, instantly realized her mistake and snatched it back. “The money is the least of our worries. What if he follows us here?”
Ten minutes ago all she’d cared about was the reward money. This news had her caring more about saving her own hide. She’d given the Fultons two reasons for tracking her down: she’d serve as bait for Emmett, and they’d have their revenge as well.
Her hands trembled and she balled her fingers into tight fists. She had no desire to experience Fulton revenge.
The marshal kicked back in his seat. “Without the reward, there’s no way the Fultons can trace the money back here. You’re sheltered in that regard.”
“I suppose that’s something,” Tessa muttered. The men gaped at her. “That’s good for us. For both of us,” she amended.
Talk about a tangled web. If only her father had been a cook or blacksmith or a farmer. Something simple and ordinary. At least Mr. McCoy and the children were safe. Dead Eye was much more likely to connect the dots between her disappearance and his capture than a handsome widower and his children passing through Wichita.
“I have some contacts,” the marshal said. “People I trust. I’ll put out the word, see if we can track them.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Shane replied.
Her slim hope of ever living openly as Tessa Spencer evaporated like the mist. Here she’d been twiddling her thumbs while searching for Emmett, thinking he’d fix his problem and solve hers as well. No more. She had to disappear. Really disappear. Not this skulking about, hoping for the best. She’d go so deep into hiding, not even Emmett could find her. She’d become an entirely new person, with a new name and a new identity, someone no one would suspect.
She’d worry about honesty and good deeds later. Staying alive was a key factor in accomplishing those tasks anyway.
She tipped back her head. “Why are You doing this to me? I’m trying. I’m really, really trying.”
You’d think there’d be a little more grace and a little less punishment for those folks who put in the effort. Why did it always seem the dreadful people of the world like Dead Eye always landed on their feet like spry cats, whereas she’d only tried to right a wrong and tumbled right off the ledge and into the abyss? Even Emmett had a talent for squeezing out of difficult situations, and he wasn’t exactly a saintly figure.
The marshal frowned. “Who are you talking to?”
“God,” Tessa replied with an apologetic wave toward the ceiling.
Railing against God probably wasn’t the best solution. Clearly she had more work to do on her spiritual training.
Shane followed her gaze upward. “Does He answer?”
“Yes.” Tessa grimaced. “Only His answers are very perplexing.”
The lawman didn’t appear shocked by her outburst, which was something at least. In his profession, he’d probably seen far more unusual things than a woman talking to the ceiling.
“Do you mind sticking around for a moment?” The marshal straightened. “Shane and I have another matter to clear up as long as he’s here.”
“Don’t