Salvation in the Sheriff's Kiss(65)

Judge Laidlow was a member of the Syndicate.





Chapter Seventeen

“Such a delightful surprise, Miss Connolly.” The slow Southern drawl dragged over each word and a sickening smile split his jowly face.

Meredith had always envisioned him as the devil incarnate. Though not a big man by any stretch of the imagination, save for the round belly pressing against his black waistcoat his presence was imposing and filled the air with a fetid stench.

She took a step back, bumping into Mr. Kincaid who stood behind her. He put out a steadying hand.

“I thought I heard you had tucked tail and headed to parts unknown?” the judge mocked.

Her throat closed up, suffocating any response she hoped to make.

“As I thought.” His gaze raked over her. “It appears your circumstances have changed since last we met.”

Mr. Kincaid pushed in front of her. “Can’t imagine the lady’s circumstances are any of your business, so how about you move out of our way?” The bounty hunter’s rigid posture reminded her of a coiled rattler ready to strike. Despite his ornery disposition, she was suddenly glad to have him there.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, Mr....?” The judge spoke with genteel politeness, but the steely edge of a dark threat ran beneath it.

If Mr. Kincaid noticed or cared, it was not apparent. He didn’t bother providing his name or attempting civility. “Believe I suggested you move out of our way. Don’t think I’ll be asking again.” His hand lingered at the gun holster on his hip. The hard look in his eye told her he’d use it if need be. She almost wished he would.

The judge’s thick lips pulled into a grin that made her stomach turn. He came down the steps, each footfall cutting through her with a stab of fear. He stopped when he reached her and Mr. Kincaid reached with his arm to push her farther behind him.

“I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to get reacquainted, my dear. I understand you’ll be putting forth a proposal to start your own business, this evening. May I extend to you the best of luck? I believe you’ll need it.”

Meredith scrounged up what little nerve she could find. “I don’t require your luck, thank you. My ability will speak for itself.”

“Feisty as always, I see. Although—” he chuckled and waved a hand in the air as he walked away from her “—I don’t recall that doing you much good at your father’s trial, do you?”

Anger surged through her at his parting words and she took a step toward his retreating back but Mr. Kincaid caught her arm. “Don’t. He’s trying to goad you.”

“Well it worked,” she bit out, angry with herself for allowing her fear to get the better of her. She’d stood there practically cowering! Impotent rage burned inside of her and made her shake.

“Save all that for the meeting.”

She turned and glared at Mr. Kincaid. “Didn’t you hear him? The decision has already been made. No doubt he and Vernon Donovan have ensured everyone will vote against me save for Caleb and Bertram. They did the same thing to my father when he tried. I’m wasting my time!”

“Did your pa back down when the deck was stacked against him?”

She wanted to hit Mr. Kincaid, flail her rage against his chest, but it wasn’t his fault. And he was right.

“No.”

“Then what are you gonna do?”

The question echoed in her mind. Mr. Kincaid was right. Pa hadn’t backed down and neither would she. She straightened her shoulders and took several deep breaths, willing her heartbeat to slow. It grudgingly complied. The shaking of her hands, however, she could do little about.



Hunter stared down at the telegram he’d received from his contacts in San Francisco. They had never heard of a lawyer by the name of Wallace Platt, nor were they familiar with a prominent family by the name of Bancroft, or any business dealings by an Anson Bancroft.

“What do you think this means?” He looked up from the wire in his hand and glanced at Yucton who stood, arms crossed, at the bars of his cell.

“Means I don’t got me a free lawyer.”

Hunter twisted his mouth at the outlaw’s devil-may-care attitude. “Like it would matter with Arthur Laidlow presiding over your trial.”

Yucton shrugged. “Are you surprised?”

He wished he could say he was, but the way things were going, it seemed appropriate that the man who had made a farce out of Abbott Connolly’s trial had arrived to preside over Yucton’s. Only this time, Hunter would bet money there’d be no last-minute reprieve. Yucton would hang as certain as he was standing here. They both knew it.