Salvation in the Sheriff's Kiss(18)
“What do you think you’re do—”
Hunter held on to her arm to keep her in place, then raised his voice to drown her out. “Who are you? Jenkins!”
“Out here choppin’ some wood, Sheriff,” Jenkins called out, his voice filtering from around the back of the jailhouse, through the window he kept open a crack to keep the air from getting stale. “There’s a man here to see Bill but I told him he should talk to you first!”
Hunter shook his head. What his deputy had in brawn he lacked in judgment. It did not bode well for the future of the town once Hunter stepped down. He gave the stranger a hard stare. “What’s your business here?”
Beneath the stranger’s thin moustache, a painted-on smile plastered itself across his bland face. As it did so, Hunter noticed Yucton sitting on the edge of the bed partially hidden by shadow. The outlaw made a small, swift motion with his hand and, much to Hunter’s surprise, Meredith stopped struggling.
“Good day. You must be Sheriff Donovan.” The man stepped forward, his hand extended. Hunter didn’t bother taking it. No point makin’ friendly until he knew what the man was about. Though whatever that was, he was already forming the opinion he didn’t like him. Trussed up in a fancy suit, he reminded Hunter of someone you’d see peddling an elixir on the thoroughfare claiming it would cure all your ills. Men like that usually wanted something, and after his setdown from Meredith, he wasn’t in a giving mood.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
The stranger’s hand dropped and his smile grew more forced. “Of course, how ill-mannered of me. My name is Wallace Platt.”
Hunter noted the Southern lilt to the man’s speech. An outsider. “Not familiar. What are you doing in my jail?”
Yucton’s lazy drawl drifted out from the middle cell. “Says he’s my lawyer.”
“That’s what he says, huh?” Yucton had been taking up space in the middle jail cell for over two weeks now and not once during that time had he made any kind of move to employ legal counsel. Nor had he bothered curing Hunter’s curiosity as to why that was. It was as if the man was biding his time—but for what? “Didn’t know you’d hired one.”
“I didn’t.”
Hunter turned his attention back to Platt. “Care to shed some light?”
The smile on Platt’s face became pinched and a red stain tinted his pale skin. It didn’t look like the man spent much time out of doors. City type, no doubt. Hunter didn’t necessarily have a stringent dislike for city folk, he just didn’t trust them was all. Especially not the namby-pamby type standing in front of him now.
“I’m not in the habit of explaining myself, Sheriff.”
“You could always leave,” Hunter suggested, nodding toward the open door.
“I’m afraid I can’t. I need to speak to my client.”
“Your client doesn’t appear to return those feelings. You want to speak to this man, Yucton?”
“Can’t say that I do, Sheriff.”
Hunter shrugged. “See.”
“Think I might represent myself.”
Platt spun on his well-shod heel to face the cell again. “Mr. Yucton, it is a commonly held belief that a man who represents himself—”
“Ain’t interested in your beliefs,” Yucton said, cutting him off.
Frustration colored Platt’s tone. “I didn’t say it was my belief, Mr. Yucton. I said it was—”
“Then you won’t mind if I ignore it.”
Hunter’s estimation of his prisoner raised a notch.
“I get the sense Yucton here isn’t the one who hired you. Which leads me to the question—who did?” Hunter didn’t like this. Yucton was allegedly one of the rustlers who had stolen his father’s cattle all those years ago. Why would anyone care enough about it, or Yucton, to pay for some fancy lawyer from who knows where to represent him? It didn’t sit right. There was a lot of things not sitting right lately. If this kept up, he’d find himself running out of chairs real soon.
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to comment on that. You see, my benefactor—and yours, Mr. Yucton—wishes to remain anonymous. Suffice to say, he is interested in ensuring Mr. Yucton receives a vigorous and skillful defense against the pending charges.”
Yucton snorted. “And they sent you?”
Hunter pursed his lips together to keep his smirk in check. Behind him, however, Meredith’s muffled laugh rippled up to tease him. He wished he could turn around and see it. He hadn’t heard her laugh in longer than he could remember, but he hadn’t forgotten the way her eyes danced when she did.