The Legacy of Boone Wilson by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

Author:Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: World Castle Publishing, LLC
Published: 2024-02-22T03:16:26+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Boone sat on the edge of the hard cot in Laredo’s only jail cell, an iron cage that he suspected the late blacksmith might have made. It sat in the corner of the small adobe one-roomed building that housed the sheriff’s office and provided no privacy. The bars stretched from the floor almost to the ceiling, probably seven feet tall, but within, there was room for the single cot on the right side. There were no other furnishings but a bucket intended to serve as a slop jar. He would have laid down, but he suspected that the bedding, consisting of a single blanket and a dirty sheet, was infested with lice.

Since being locked into the space that morning, Boone had said little. Liam Rafferty had been present, and his support was the sole thing that kept Boone from going crazy. He ached to smash his fists against the bars, to beat his head against them, and to see if he could spread them wide enough to bolt. It wasn’t possible, and he knew it, but that didn’t change what he wanted.

His left eye hurt where Johnson had punched him, and he knew it had to be black. Boone’s head ached, too, and his belly cramped hard. He hadn’t eaten since Rachel’s breakfast that morning. Johnson had served him a tin cup of coffee, but when he had it in his hands, he caught the rank smell of piss and poured it into the bucket. Either the sheriff or his deputy had ruined it, and he wasn’t going to drink it. After Johnson left for the night, the deputy, Deuce, handed him a piece of stale bread so old it had greenish mold at the bottom. Boone tossed it, too.

When the sheriff accused him and marched him to jail, he’d hoped it would be straightened out by noon, then by evening. Boone had thought he would spend the night at home with his bride, but it didn’t happen. He couldn’t even imagine how Rachel must feel and wasn’t sure he wanted to know. But he thought of her constantly. Her image, the memories, was all that kept him from a black despair.

“Boone, I’m heading out for the night.”

He glanced over to see Liam standing at the door to the cage.

Boone nodded, his throat dry and uncertain of what words to say.

“Do you need anything before I go? A smoke or some coffee? Something to eat.”

“Naw, I’m good.” His voice rasped as he spoke. The things he wanted – Rachel’s loving hands, her tasty food, and freedom were beyond Liam’s ability to provide. “I reckon I’ll be here come morning unless…”

“Don’t you say it, Boone.” Liam’s voice held a warning note. “That won’t happen.”

He managed a dry laugh that had no mirth but reminded him of rattling bones.

“I hope not,” he said. “Liam? If you see Rachel…”

“I will.”

“Tell her I love her.”

“She knows.”

“Still, tell her.”

Liam promised that he would.

Boone sat upright until his back began to ache, and he longed to lay down, so he did.

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