"Now, look here, Elliott. You're an important man in Western Australia but
you know perfectly well that you can't shoot a man without repercussions."
Melvin Collins pushed his wire-rimmed glasses down his nose and eyed his
client soberly. "And defending you on a charge of murder is a lot
different than drawing up leases and bills of sale."
"It was self-defence. He drew first." Elliott Marston waved his cigar in the air, ash cascading to the carpet. "Everyone saw it." He sounded bored with the subject.
Night breezes lifted the curtains and cooled the hotel room. The candlelight flickered on the remains of a private dinner. Three people sat around the table: one nervous, the second calm, the third a lawyer and therefore impervious to human emotion.
The nervous one was Sam Flanagan. She pleated her napkin on her lap, pulled it smooth again, and then repeated the process. Occasionally she lifted her eyes to glance at the man sitting beside her.
Elliott Marston, the man she loved. Fiance. Wealthy rancher. Astute businessman.
She suddenly pulled the napkin taut.
Cold-blooded killer.
"Melvin, it can't be that difficult. There were plenty of witnesses." Marston tossed the cigar butt into the fireplace. "No one else did anything to stop him when he grabbed the boy."
She had to cling to that thought. Elliott had saved Liam. No one else had. Certainly she hadn't. Her brother might be dead now if it weren't for Elliott.
The man she was going to marry. The man she thought she knew.
The napkin ripped.
"Are you alright, my dear?" Marston reached over and picked up her hand.
"I'm fine." She was proud of the smile she gave him.
He accepted it, squeezing her fingers tenderly. Collins coughed to regain his attention.
"You'll have to come to the constable's office tomorrow morning." The lawyer began to scribble notes in his tablet. "Of course there's no possibility that you'll have to go to jail but it wouldn't hurt to be helpful to the authorities."
"Out of the question." Marston pulled Sam's hand to the tabletop. "We're getting married tomorrow morning. It will have to be after the luncheon."
Tomorrow morning. In twelve hours time she would be married. A lifelong commitment.
She stood up so quickly the two men had no time to rise. "I'm just going to check on Dad and the boys. It's been an exciting day for them." She was through the door before they could respond.
In the hallway she stopped and rested against the wall. The velvet wallpaper was smooth under her hand. This was ridiculous. Her own father was a former gunman. But somehow it was different. She knew her father regretted those early years, when life was a casual thing and death a constant presence.
A man sat in a chair by the door at the end of the hall, his chair tilted back and a look of boredom on his face. He jerked his head around at the sound of her approach.
"Evening, Miss Flanagan." He touched his hat respectfully. "He ate his dinner a couple of hours ago and Nurse said he was in a good mood."
"Thank you. I just want to look in before I go to bed." She smiled and reached for the door handle.
The room was swathed in gloom, the only illumination the embers in the hearth. The thick carpet muffled her footsteps. Even so, the man in the bed opened his eyes.
"Well, Dad, no use creeping up on you." She smiled tenderly, reaching out to stroke the covers.
"No use.at all." He examined her carefully. The silence stretched between them. "And no use.hiding things from me. What's.wrong?"
"Oh, just wedding jitters, I guess." She sat down on the side of the bed. "Don't all brides get them?"
"Not.sure. Always.on the other.side of the issue.myself." His mouth twisted into a lopsided grin. "Your mother.wasn't."
"No?"
"No. She was.pretty calm. Said it was.a new start for.both of us." He was looking at her but seeing the past. His eyes clouded. "I wish.we'd had.more time. But I was stupid back then." He returned to the present and regarded her solemnly. "She always.believed in me. I loved her for it."
"Dad -" Her voice faltered. A memory of her mother came to her, sewing the arm on her doll, humming a song under her breath. What were his memories?
"This business today.has you scared. I can.see it." He licked his lips and puffed for breath. "Marston's.not like me. I killed.God forgive me.sometimes for.nothing better.than sport. Your man.killed for.something better." His head fell back and his eyes closed.
"Yes, dad. I know." She got up and smoothed down the sheet. "Sleep now. Tomorrow you have to give away the bride."
He didn't answer. His chest rose and fell with his even breath.
Sam walked to the fireplace and looked at the embers. New starts could be frightening things but she'd faced frightening things before. And she'd survived.
"It was self-defence. He drew first." Elliott Marston waved his cigar in the air, ash cascading to the carpet. "Everyone saw it." He sounded bored with the subject.
Night breezes lifted the curtains and cooled the hotel room. The candlelight flickered on the remains of a private dinner. Three people sat around the table: one nervous, the second calm, the third a lawyer and therefore impervious to human emotion.
The nervous one was Sam Flanagan. She pleated her napkin on her lap, pulled it smooth again, and then repeated the process. Occasionally she lifted her eyes to glance at the man sitting beside her.
Elliott Marston, the man she loved. Fiance. Wealthy rancher. Astute businessman.
She suddenly pulled the napkin taut.
Cold-blooded killer.
"Melvin, it can't be that difficult. There were plenty of witnesses." Marston tossed the cigar butt into the fireplace. "No one else did anything to stop him when he grabbed the boy."
She had to cling to that thought. Elliott had saved Liam. No one else had. Certainly she hadn't. Her brother might be dead now if it weren't for Elliott.
The man she was going to marry. The man she thought she knew.
The napkin ripped.
"Are you alright, my dear?" Marston reached over and picked up her hand.
"I'm fine." She was proud of the smile she gave him.
He accepted it, squeezing her fingers tenderly. Collins coughed to regain his attention.
"You'll have to come to the constable's office tomorrow morning." The lawyer began to scribble notes in his tablet. "Of course there's no possibility that you'll have to go to jail but it wouldn't hurt to be helpful to the authorities."
"Out of the question." Marston pulled Sam's hand to the tabletop. "We're getting married tomorrow morning. It will have to be after the luncheon."
Tomorrow morning. In twelve hours time she would be married. A lifelong commitment.
She stood up so quickly the two men had no time to rise. "I'm just going to check on Dad and the boys. It's been an exciting day for them." She was through the door before they could respond.
In the hallway she stopped and rested against the wall. The velvet wallpaper was smooth under her hand. This was ridiculous. Her own father was a former gunman. But somehow it was different. She knew her father regretted those early years, when life was a casual thing and death a constant presence.
A man sat in a chair by the door at the end of the hall, his chair tilted back and a look of boredom on his face. He jerked his head around at the sound of her approach.
"Evening, Miss Flanagan." He touched his hat respectfully. "He ate his dinner a couple of hours ago and Nurse said he was in a good mood."
"Thank you. I just want to look in before I go to bed." She smiled and reached for the door handle.
The room was swathed in gloom, the only illumination the embers in the hearth. The thick carpet muffled her footsteps. Even so, the man in the bed opened his eyes.
"Well, Dad, no use creeping up on you." She smiled tenderly, reaching out to stroke the covers.
"No use.at all." He examined her carefully. The silence stretched between them. "And no use.hiding things from me. What's.wrong?"
"Oh, just wedding jitters, I guess." She sat down on the side of the bed. "Don't all brides get them?"
"Not.sure. Always.on the other.side of the issue.myself." His mouth twisted into a lopsided grin. "Your mother.wasn't."
"No?"
"No. She was.pretty calm. Said it was.a new start for.both of us." He was looking at her but seeing the past. His eyes clouded. "I wish.we'd had.more time. But I was stupid back then." He returned to the present and regarded her solemnly. "She always.believed in me. I loved her for it."
"Dad -" Her voice faltered. A memory of her mother came to her, sewing the arm on her doll, humming a song under her breath. What were his memories?
"This business today.has you scared. I can.see it." He licked his lips and puffed for breath. "Marston's.not like me. I killed.God forgive me.sometimes for.nothing better.than sport. Your man.killed for.something better." His head fell back and his eyes closed.
"Yes, dad. I know." She got up and smoothed down the sheet. "Sleep now. Tomorrow you have to give away the bride."
He didn't answer. His chest rose and fell with his even breath.
Sam walked to the fireplace and looked at the embers. New starts could be frightening things but she'd faced frightening things before. And she'd survived.