Deed to Damnation

Smoking Guns

"I haven't spoken to him since the wedding!" Ireland yelled, pulling her jeweled pins from her hair.
Remarkably, Henry had continued on with the evening of gambling although he glowered through most of it. Why Tim Drake had shown up on that particular night, Ireland would never know. But he was the reason why she was facing off with her husband at this very moment and she wanted to kill him herself, never mind Henry.
"Now more than ever I want you out of here." He growled. "I don't know if I even want to wait until the ranch is finished. I'd rather shoot every last man that leers in your direction then have Tim Drake sniffing around my wife."
"Henry, no!" She protested. "Didn't you see everything that I've improved on? This is what you wanted, isn't it? For me to make you money?"
He was standing at the window looking towards the town jail. Drake's house was connected to the building, a lone oil light shining in the front window. He wanted nothing more than to burn it.
"It's just like you said." She continued. "He's bluffing. After all this time there couldn't be any evidence, could there?"
He turned from the window and watched her as she fussed with the clasps on her bodice. She felt his eyes on her and looked up.
"What do you think, Ireland?" He asked. "You think I killed your dead daddy?"
She stared stupidly for just a moment and then went back to her clasps nervously.
"What does it matter what I think now?" She asked, slipping out of the bodice. "It's in the past. I don't know what happened but I admit it's not something that's a far reach for you, is it?"
She saw the flash in his eyes as she slipped the billowing skirt down her legs, laying it over the footboard of the bed.
"That's not what I asked." He retorted. "Do you think I put a bullet in your father's head?"
Tears were welling in her eyes when she finally looked up at him.
"Everybody does!" She suddenly wailed loudly. "But you have never lied to me as far as I know and you never outright said you didn't. Did you?"
He crossed the room in two steps and grabbed her by the bare shoulders, forcing her to face him.
"No, Ireland. I didn't kill him but you are right when you say I could have." He said gruffly. "As a matter of fact, he was just a few card games away from owing more than what this building was worth. If he couldn't pay me, I probably would have. I may have even felt bad about it once I found out you were included in the price tag. You definitely bumped up the value."
"And yet, you don't deny it to the constable." She said. "Why?"
He was searching her eyes. They were wet and shined like green glass as she looked back. He would know if she believed him.
"Let Tim Drake play his games and chase his ghosts." He answered. "I'm not about to give him the satisfaction. I can guarantee you if he has anything, it won't lead back to me."
He slipped his arms around her and began tugging at the corset strings until it released and dropped to the floor between them. His eyes traveled over her and he licked his lips absently. There was no way he wasn't going to have her before he left tomorrow, whether they were arguing or not. He kissed her deeply before continuing.
"Big Eddy and Brendan will be keeping the constable away from you, Ire." He explained. "I know you like your independence but I don't want him around you putting nonsense in that pretty little head of yours. He's going to try and feed you bullshit."
He cupped her breasts gently and brought his mouth to an already tightening nipple. She sighed softly as he pushed her back until she was splayed on the plush duvet, spreading her legs wantonly. He didn't even shed his clothing when he immersed himself into her softness, simply pulling out his arousal and pinning her with it. He groaned at the feel of the warm, tight space that was his alone and she writhed beneath him, seeking out that secret place deep inside that would shatter her into a million pieces.

Since Henry departed that blustery Sunday morning, rousing her with a soft, probing goodbye kiss, Brendan and Big Eddy were her near constant companions. It was quite irritating at times. They didn't follow her around like puppy dogs but they would always appear, sometimes startling her. Of course they apologized and let her know where they would be if she needed them, which was usually in the next room.
Despite feeling like she was living in a glass box, she tolerated it. It was a far cry from what she had expected. She was sure Henry was going to whisk her back to the ranch, taking her away from the business she had finally gotten a piece of. But he hadn't. And it was also true that not so long ago, she would have thought his decision to leave her here was an excuse to have other women brought to him. Things were indeed different between them now, so pushing back on having extra protection didn't seem worth the strife. Still, she did wonder about the evidence Tim had told her about but she hadn't seen him for two weeks and as far as she knew he hadn't attempted to see her either.
The second week in February brought a wicked winter storm. It brought business to almost a halt, dumping so much snow that wagon traffic was made impossible. But just like every year when blizzards moved through, the folks of Solstice took care of each other.
There was a little extra help this time as once the whipping snow subsided, three men from the ranch showed up with fresh venison and rabbit to fortify supplies for Ireland and the girls. It was more than enough so the decision to share it with the struggling families in town had been an easy one for Ireland.
"I'll make rabbit stew." Joss offered. "There's plenty of vegetables in the root cellar."
Not only had she done that, she had divided up the over supply of deer meat to be delivered along with the stew. And when Ireland suggested bread, she happily made enough loaves to add to the care packages. The only push back she got was when she told Brendan and Big Eddy that they were the ones who needed to deliver it.
"One of us should stay here, Miss." Brendan said cautiously when she informed them.
"Don't be ridiculous." She answered sharply. "Do you expect me to send the girls out there? Unfortunately, you two are the only men I can count on and so far you've been so wonderful. I promise I won't tell Henry."
She flashed them her most charming smile and they agreed hesitantly. Solstice was not that big and she assured them that it would take no longer than two hours between the two of them even if they traveled to the farthest homesteads. Honestly, it would be nice to have a few moments without supervision, she thought as she packed the saddle bags.
"And besides, business is almost nonexistent and I'm closing the saloon tonight. You both will have warm baths drawn and a hot meal in your belly when you get back."
Missy made sure they were bundled warmly with two pairs of wool socks and layers of winter clothes to keep them protected from the biting cold and Ireland watched them as they rode off on their blanketed horses with the care packages.
"Finally!" She sighed, leaning against the parlor doors. "Missy, lock up and tell the girls they have the night off. I think you all deserve at least one night to yourselves."
"Oh! I will!" Missy exclaimed. "I'll tell Joss first since she's still in the kitchen."
"Very good. I'll be in the tearoom balancing the books. Dinner is at six as usual."
Except Missy did not lock up. She was too excited to spread the word about a relaxed evening. And when Ireland closed off the hallway from the tearoom to take care of the money, the person that opened those doors after she sat down was not Joss bringing her tea. It was Tim Drake. She stood abruptly and backed away from him as if he were carrying the plague.
"Don't scream, Ireland." He warned. "I just want to talk to you."
"They'll kill you if they find you here." She said.
Her heart was thumping wildly.
"They're gone, Ireland. I saw them leave." He told her, taking off his hat and shaking off the snow.
"You're spying on me?" She asked incredulously.
"You could say that. I knew it was only a matter of time before you got sick of your babysitters." He replied. "The Ireland Devereaux I used to know liked doing
things her own way. Whatever happened to her?"
He was staring at her with a curious gleam in his eye. A small smile formed under his neatly trimmed black beard. For an instant, Ireland saw him for who he used to be, a younger man that had tried so desperately to court her and win her hand. She had to blink her eyes to come back to the present.
"I'm still the same." She said defiantly.
"No, Ireland. You're not. May I sit down and get warm?"
Tim didn't wait for her to answer and sat at the small table nearest the potbelly stove. Reaching in his pocket he pulled out something small and cylindrical and placed it on the blue tablecloth.
"What's that?" She asked with annoyance.
Tim picked it up between his thumb and index finger and held it out to her. It was a bullet.
"This is what Delarue shot through your daddy's brain." He informed her coldly. "At least I highly suspect he did."
Ireland suddenly felt nauseous and all the color drained from her face. She felt her knees start to buckle and suddenly Tim was there, catching her before she hit the floor. He cradled her and tapped her face to bring her to.
"I'm sorry." He was saying.
It wasn't until she was secure in a chair that she was able to shake off whatever had struck her and she stared at the single slug on the table.
"When the doctor did the examination of his body, it was clear he died of a gunshot, a rifle shot to be exact. Except there was an exit wound." He explained gently.
"Just go, Tim!" She snapped.
"I went back to the well where it happened, Ireland." He continued without acknowledging her demand. "I found it embedded in a tree. It was the only clue."
"So what? Everyone has a rifle!" She barked.
"I know." He answered gently. "And Solstice is a very small town but it took me all these past months to pay a visit to every single homestead and business to inspect those rifles. Did you know the good doctor has six?"
"Inspect them for what?" She asked.
She was trying to sound irritated but her voice was shaky. He reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling it across the table towards him. She flinched as he turned her hand over and uncurled her fingers from her clenched fist. He traced his fingers down hers, stopping at the tips and lingered there.
"Every rifle or revolver is as unique as your fingerprints, Ireland." He told her. "I can trace the gun by firing it and matching the bullets. I've fired every rifle in Solstice except for one. Can you guess whose?"
She let out a sarcastic laugh and pulled her hand from his grasp.
"Oh! I'm sure the killer just handed it over!" She retorted.
"That's the thing, Ireland. They did." He told her sternly. "No one had a problem cooperating even though I did find out what a disingenuous prick your father could be."
His words elicited a gasp from her and she stood abruptly.
"Get out!" She hissed. "And take your suspicions with you!"
Tim jumped from his chair and came at her so quickly she didn't have any time to react. In an instant he had her pushed against the wall by her shoulders. When she tried to claw at him, he grabbed both her wrists and held them between their bodies.
"Get me that rifle, Ireland." He growled. "End this craziness now."
"I can't! I won't!" She insisted. "He said he didn't do it! He told me! He promised me!"
Tim's eyes widened in momentary astonishment before he roughly pulled her forward and shoved her against the wall again as if that would shake the sense back into her.
"What happened to you, Ireland? He's a fucking killer!"
He was yelling now, not caring that he was doing it in her face.
"You know what he did to my wife's sister! Why she ran from the territory just to never run across him again? He defiled her and left her in shame! And he did the same to you except you stayed and became worse than that. Look at you! Running a fucking whorehouse, turning your back on your beliefs.."
This time she shook herself out of his grip but he put his arms on either side of her to keep her there, forcing her to face him and answer for her decisions.
"How dare you judge me!" She spat. "My life was stolen from me and I'm doing what I have to do to get what little I have back! Besides, I didn't see any of the townsfolk coming to my rescue, not even you, constable! Some lawman you turned out to be. You're just as afraid of my husband as everyone else.."
A look of remorse touched his face before it hardened again. Words escaped him.
"Besides, I married him and by law everything he has is half mine!" She yelled. "And even though he took my maidenhood, we are wed. I'm clean in the eyes of the Lord. That sin is erased!"
The increasingly loud argument was not wasted on the empty tearoom. While all of the girls had gone to enjoy the quiet comfort of their bedrooms, free of corsets, gowns and lip rouge, Jordan had come down to pilfer a bottle of wine to enjoy with her bath. The raised voices piqued her curiosity so instead of going to the bar, she crept quietly down the hall towards the cracked door of the tearoom. She pressed her ear to it and listened first.
"What did you just say?" Tim asked. "Did you just say half yours?"
Jordan knew that voice. It was the sheriff! Quietly, she peeked through the small slit in the door and spied on him and her wretched mistress. Her eyes widened as she saw he had her pinned against the wall.
"Yes!" Ireland answered. "His intentions were to keep me anyway. At least it would give me a future, a piece of what was rightfully mine! I was given to him but I got my life back! It's just a bit different!"
"Oh, Ireland." He said, dropping his arms and stepping back. "Who told you that?"
The expression on his face made Ireland freeze and it made her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. It was the same look he had when he had shown up that late July day and told her that her father was dead. It was a mix of pity and solemn concern.
"Valentina." She answered confidently.
"The Mexican girl who was working last night whose husband owns that little ranch near Decker's farm?" He asked.
"That's her." She responded.
Suddenly he had her by the shoulders again, gently this time. And the look in his eyes made her want to cry even though she had no idea what he was going to say.
"What Valentina told you was only half correct." He informed her. "It may be like that way down in the likes of New Mexico for women of Mexican or Spanish origin but not here. Not yet. The law is called Feme Covert. It means you get no rights to the land after you marry."
Coverture, Ireland. It's a common law doctrine in these parts. I tried to tell you the day of your wedding but you wouldn't hear me out."
All she could do was stand there in stunned silence. That's what he was trying to tell her that day? It's not true! It can't be true, she thought in disbelief.
"Would Henry have known this?"
The question came out in a hoarse whisper.
"I'm sure a man like Henry Delarue knows all the sordid details of taking advantage of someone to make him richer." Tim accused. "And if he lied to you about that he would no doubt lie to you about killing your father."
No sooner had those words left his mouth that she began to sob. She fell to her knees and hid her face in her hands. All those times when she had said this place was half hers, Henry never denied it nor admitted it. He just simply played along with her delusion as if it were true. He had placated her like a naive child and she had fallen right into it, acting as if she had beat him at his own game. She was so humiliated!
Tim got down on one knee and spoke gently. He knew he couldn't comfort her now but he was offering her a way out.
"I'm sorry, Ireland. Get me that rifle and you'll have your proof." He said.
She looked up at him, tears streaming down her face.
"How am I supposed to do that?" She cried.
"Until you bring it to me, you'll never know the truth." He told her. "And you'll be married to the man who murdered your father forever. You'll never have your property back either. He stole everything from you."
"Why did you come here?" She asked, wiping her eyes. "Why try to help me now?"
Tim Drake sighed and pushed away a tear that had fallen to her chin.
"I don't know." He admitted. "I guess I never stopped caring for you, Ireland."
And before she could respond to his shocking words, he pressed his lips to hers and kissed her softly, lingering just enough to make it achingly nostalgic. It held the essence of what might have been but will never be.
Jordan, who by now couldn't tear herself away from the scene unfolding, almost gasped aloud. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. So much for her mistress's devotion to Henry, she thought. And the constable was married himself! Perhaps she had just witnessed the beginning of an affair, she thought with venomous glee. Wouldn't Henry be interested to know how his so-called wife behaved in his absence?
"What are you doing?"
The harsh whisper that came from behind her almost made Jordan jump out of her skin. Missy stood there, her blonde ringlets pulled up in a messy bun. Her freshly washed face was stern and demanding.
"Why are you spying on Miss Ireland?" She asked.
"I..I was going to ask if I could have a bottle of wine." Jordan lied. "But I heard her crying and.."
"We'll just see about that!" Missy barked loudly.
Grabbing Jordan by the arm, she pushed the door open and shoved her inside, completely expecting to see Ireland counting money and balancing books. But Jordan hadn't been lying. Ireland had been crying and the room was cold despite the glowing embers in the stove.
"Miss Ireland! What's wrong?" Missy exclaimed, forgetting all about Jordan.
As Missy ran to comfort their mistress, Jordan could see that the constable had made a hasty retreat just in the nick of time. He had left through the tearoom's main door, leaving a wintery chill. It was fortunate really. Now no one knew what she had seen so there would be no explanations. She was pretty sure that Ireland would keep his little visit a secret or risk a severe punishment from her husband which was perfect until she figured out what to do with this unexpected information.