Julie Garwood - Come the Spring

The man in charge had turned away from her, but she could see the

others clearly now. All of them stood behind the circle of captives.

While she watched, they removed their bandannas and tucked them into

their pockets. The leader took a step forward, then put his gun away

so he could carefully fold his bandanna and put it in his vest

pocket.

He stood close enough for her to see his long fingers and his carefully

manicured nails.

Why had they removed their masks? Didn't they realize that Franklin

and the others would give the authorities their descriptions . . . Oh,

God, no . . . no . . . no . . .

"Is the back door open, Mr. Johnson? " "Yes, sir, it is."

"Well, then I expect it's time to leave. Whose turn is it? " he

asked.

"Mr. Bell hasn't taken a turn since that little girl. Remember,

sir?

" "I remember. Are you up to it today, Mr. Bell? " "Yes, sir, I

believe I am."

"Then get on with it, " he ordered as he drew his gun and cocked it.

"What are you going to do? " the president asked in a near shout.

"Hush now. I told you no one would get hurt, didn't I? " His voice

was horrifically soothing. MacCorkle was nodding when the man named

Bell fired his shot. The front of the president's head exploded.

The leader killed the man in front of him, jumping back when the blood

from the wound he'd inflicted spewed out.

Franklin cried, "But you promised . . .

The leader whirled toward him and shot him in the back the head.

Franklin's neck snapped.

"I lied."

The ceremony was unique. The guest of honor, Cole

Clayborne, slept through it and the celebration that followed. An hour

after most of the guests had departed, the effect of the unnatural

sleep was wearing off.

In a stupor, he floated somewhere between fantasy and reality. He felt

someone tugging on him, but he couldn't summon enough strength to open

his eyes and find out who was tormenting him. The noise was making his

head ache fiercely, and when he finally began to wake up, the first

sounds he heard were the clinking of glasses and loud, rambunctious

laughter.

Someone was speaking to him, or about him. He heard his name, yet he

found it impossible to concentrate long enough to understand what was

being said. His head felt as though there were little men inside,

standing between his eyes, pounding his skull with sharp hammers.

Was he hung over? The question intruded into his hazy thoughts. No,

he never got drunk when he was away from Rosehill, and even when he was

home, he rarely had more than an occasional beer in the heat of the

afternoon. He didn't like the aftereffects. Liquor, he'd learned the

hard way, dulled the senses and the reflexes, and with half the

gunslingers in the territory wanting to build their reputations by

killing him in a shoot-out, he wasn't about to drink anything more

dulling than water.

Someone was having a mighty fine time. He heard laughter again and

tried to turn his head toward the sound. Pain shot up from the base of

his neck, causing bile to rush to his throat. Ah, Lord, he felt like

hell.

"Looks like he's coming around, Josey. You'd best get on back home

before he starts growling and spewing. You're liable to get your

feelings hurt." Sheriff Tom Norton stared through the bars of the cell

while he addressed his wife of thirty years.

Josey Norton scurried away before Cole could get his eyes focused. It

took him a minute to realize where he was. He gritted his teeth as he

sat up on the narrow cot and swung his legs to the floor. His hands

gripped the mattress and his head dropped to his chest.

He studied the sheriff through bloodshot eyes. Norton was an older man

with weather-beaten skin, a potbelly, and melancholy eyes. He looked

like a harmless hound dog.

"Why am I in jail? " The question was issued in a sharp whisper.

The sheriff leaned against the bars, crossed one ankle over the other,

and smiled. "You broke the law, son."

"How? " "Disturbing the peace."

"What? " "No need to shout. I can see it pained you.

You've got a nice bump on the back of your head, and I don't suppose

yelling is gonna make you feel better. Don't you remember what

happened? " Cole shook his head and immediately regretted it. Pain

exploded behind his eyes.

"I remember being sick."

"Yes, you had the influenza. You were sick with fever for four days,

and my Josey nursed you back to health.

Today was your second day out of bed."

"When did I disturb the peace?

" "When you crossed the street, " he said cheerfully. "It was real

disturbing to me, the way you walked away while I was trying so hard to

convince you to stay in Middleton until the appointment came through.

I gave my word to someone real important that I would keep you here,

son, but you wouldn't cooperate."

"So you hit me over the head."

"Yes, I did, " he admitted. "I didn't see any other way. It wasn't

much of a hit though, just a little thump with the butt of my pistol on

the back of your head. No permanent damage was done, or you wouldn't

be sitting there growling at me.

Besides, I did you a favor." The sheriff's chipper voice was grating

on Cole's nerves. He glared at him and asked, "How do you figure

that?

" "There were two gunslingers waiting for you to get into the street.

Both of them were determined to make you drawţone at a time, of

course.

You were just getting over your sick spell, and even though you won't

admit it, I'd wager a week's pay you weren't well enough to take either

one of them on. The influenza hit you hard, son, and you're only just

now getting your color back. Yes sirree, I did you a favor."

"It's all coming back to me."

"Put it behind you, " he suggested." Cause it's water under the sink

now. The appointment came through, and we had us a nice ceremony right

here in the jail. It seemed kind of odd to file into your cell for a

big do, but the judge didn't mind and it worked out all right. Yes, it

did.

Too bad you had to sleep through the celebration, since you were the

honoree and all. My wife, Josey, made her special yellow cake with

sugar icing. She cut you a nice big piece and left it on the table

over there, " he added with a nod toward the opposite side of the

cell.

"You'd best eat it before the mice get to it.

Cole was becoming more frustrated by the second. Most of what the

sheriff was telling him didn't make any sense. "Answer my questions, "

he demanded. "You said that someone important wanted to keep me

here.

Who was it? " "Marshal Daniel Ryan, that's who. He should be along

any minute now to let you out."

"Ryan's here? That no-good, low-down, thievingţ" "Hold on now. There

ain't no need to carry on.

The marshal told me you've been bearing a grudge against him. He said

it had something to do with a compass and gold case he's been keeping

safe for you." Cole's head was rapidly clearing. "My mother was

bringing me the compass, and Ryan stole it from her. He doesn't have

any intention of giving it back. I'm going to have to take it from

him."

"I think you might be wrong about that, " Norton said with a chuckle.

It was futile to argue with him. Cole decided to save his wrath for

the man who was responsible for locking him up . . . Daniel Ryan. He

couldn't wait to get his hands on him.

"Are you going to let me out of here and give me my guns back? " "I'd

surely like to."

"But? " "But I can't, " the sheriff said. "Ryan's got the keys. I've

got to take some papers across town to the judge, so why don't you sit

tight and eat some cake? I shouldn't be gone long." The sheriff

turned to leave. "One more thing, " he drawled out.

"Congratulations, son. I'm sure you'll do your family proud."

"Wait!

" Cole called out. "Why are you congratulating me? " Norton didn't

answer him. He sauntered into the outer office, and a minute later

Cole heard the front door open and close. He shook his head in

confusion. He didn't know what the old man had been rambling on

about.

Why would he congratulate him?

He glanced around the stark cellţgray walls, gray bars, and gray

floor.

On a three-legged stand in the corner was a grayspeckled basin and a

water jug next to the piece of cake the sheriff's wife had left for

him. The only other adornment was the black spider crawling up the

painted stones of the wall. There was another one hanging from its web

in the barred windowsill high up by the ceiling.

Cole was over six feet tall, but in order to look out, he would have to

stand on a chair. There weren't any inside the cell. He could see a

fragment of the sky, though, and like his temporary home, it too was

gray.

The color fit his mood. He was in a no-win situation. He couldn't