Deborah Camp Read Free

said I want him,” Zanna stated firmly, then turned to the prisoner. “But I’m not going to fight. Let
him
choose between us.”
    “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” the convict demanded as he struggled to stand again.
    “You simmer down,” the sheriff warned, then tucked his thumbs in his gun belt as he launched into an explanation. “There’s an ordinance in this county that a woman of means can claim a man sentenced to the gallows as long as the man didn’t commit murder or the like. ’Course you’ve gotta go along with the marriage and there’s certain rules like no drinking, gambling, womanizing, or wife beating. It’s like probation and you gotta mind the woman or she can have you throwed back in jail and hanged.”
    “No gambling?” the younger man croaked.
    “No gambling,” the sheriff confirmed with a lopsided smirk. “Them’s the rules, boy.”
    “How come nobody told me about this before now?” the prisoner asked, narrowing his eyes to slits of suspicion.
    “Wasn’t any point unless a woman came around to claim you.”
    “Are you going to let him choose?” Miss Agatha piped up.
    “He hasn’t said he’s for the idea,” the sheriff pointed out.
    The prisoner swallowed hard and was none too steady on his feet. He ran a hand across his dry lips, then held on to the bars to keep himself upright. “I’m for it. Living is better than dying, no matter what the rules.”
    “Okay, then.” Sheriff Warwick stepped back and extended a hand toward the two women. “Which one will save your filthy neck, boy?”
    The disheveled man blinked several times to clear his vision. Fatigue and hunger made him see double and triple. The blond was cute, but overly plump. Her voice was high and grated on his nerves. The other woman’s face was obscured by the black veil, but her voice was melodious.
    “Mind lifting that veil so I can have a peek at you?” he asked.
    For a moment he thought she meant to refuse him because she made no move to honor his request, then she shifted her beaded purse and lacy parasol to one hand so that she could lift her veil with the other. There was a full measure of drama in her actions that filled Grandy with a delicious sense of anticipation, so much so that he felt his mouth water. As the concealing curtain lifted, Grandy saw a short chin, a full-lipped mouth that bordered on an attractive pout, a retroussé nose, and large shamrock-green eyes. Her face was heart-shaped, wide at the temples and narrow at the chin. Her hair was dark red and her skin was the milky white of Irish ancestry. He wondered if she had inherited an Irish temper as well. She stared at him unflinchingly and he liked that about her. Women who could look strange men in the eye without blushing and giggling were usually bold and brassy—just the way he liked them.
    The veil fell abruptly, ending the strange confrontation.
    “How old are you?” he asked of her.
    “Twenty-six,” she answered without hesitation.
    “And you?” he asked, looking to the blond.
    “Twenty-three. I’ve never been married, but I can cook and clean and mend. I want lots of children, too.” Miss Agatha smiled sweetly and her eyes slid sideways to Zanna. “
She’s
been married. I’m not one to carry tales, but I’ve heard that she can’t boil water without ruining it.”
    “Miss Agatha, there’s no call for bad manners,” the sheriff cautioned and Miss Agatha turned bright pink.
    “She’s right,” Zanna said, glancing contemptuously at the tattletale beside her. “I’m a sorry cook, but nobody under my roof goes hungry. There’s plenty of food in my larder.”
    “Mine, too,” Miss Agatha chimed in.
    He studied the two women carefully as one part of hismind told him he was dreaming and that he’d awaken soon and find himself facing a hangman’s noose.
    “Well, what’ll it be, Adams?” the sheriff asked impatiently.
    He looked at the woman in black and could see the sparkle of green