LITMIR.BIZ

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with a quick glance at the child’s father, he continued. “Maybe I can help you find her.”

      Better that this encounter take place within his jurisdiction, he decided, than on the road to Wichita Falls. If Sarah Murphy confronted this man on her own, she might not come out the winner. In fact, her chances of such a thing happening were next to nothing.

      “We don’t need any help,” the stranger said. “The boy doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

      “But, Pa—” An upraised hand formed a fist and the boy was silent.

      “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Brace said flatly.

      “He’s my kid. I’ll do as I please.” The force of his anger reddened the man’s complexion, and his eyes shot darts of flaring rage in Brace’s direction.

      “Not in my town, you won’t,” Brace told him, rising, one hand resting on the butt of his gun. He knew he presented an intimidating picture, dressed in black as was his usual custom, standing even taller and broader than the man who faced him.

      “I’m leaving, Sheriff,” the stranger said, reaching for his horse’s reins as the mount was led toward him.

      “That’ll be fifty cents,” Amos Montgomery said, his gaze moving quickly from one to the other of the men before him. And then he caught Brace’s eye. “Problems, Sheriff?”

      Amos Montgomery was stalwart, muscular and had a body that reflected his line of work. Being a black smith seemed to go right along with running the livery stable, and Amos did both with strength and purpose. Now he allied himself with Brace in a manner that could not be mistaken.

      “No, I don’t think so,” Brace said easily. “This young’un and I are going to pay a visit to the hotel and find us something to eat.”

      “He’s my son,” Lester Clark said harshly. “You have no right to haul him away like this.”

      “I have every right. This is my town,” Brace said, aware that he was infringing on parental rights, and found that he was uncaring as to Lester Clark’s rights, as a parent or a citizen. The man rubbed him the wrong way. Abuse of a child was about as low as a man could go. And unless Brace missed his guess, the man’s motives were not as pure as they might be. He certainly wasn’t showing any degree of love for the little boy right now, anyway.

      The child’s small hand crept into Brace’s palm and nestled there, his fingers trembling as if they sought refuge. Looking upward, the lad bit his lip and then glanced with a sideways look at his father. Donning his lawman’s scowl, Brace looked at Lester Clark, daring the man to defy his edict.

      “It may be your town,” the man said, “but as a citizen I have rights. Mainly as it pertains to my boy.”

      “Well,” Brace said, his words slowing into a drawl, “let’s just let the doc take a look at your boy, Mr. Clark, and see if he finds any traces of abuse.”

      “I can treat him any way I want to,” Lester blustered. “He belongs to me.”

      “Last time I heard, it was against the law to own another human being,” Brace said in that same soft, low voice. “You can own a horse or a dog, but there’s no way you can put your brand on a child.”

      “Where’s the judge in this godforsaken town?” Lester asked harshly.

      Brace smiled, a feral grin that he’d been told turned him from a nice, decent gentleman into a wolfish creature who could scare the britches off the devil himself. He stood taller, his hand once more touching the butt of his gun. From beneath the brim of his black hat he cast a scornful glance at the man before him.

      “The judge comes into town every two months or so,” Brace said. “He should be here in a couple of weeks. Would you like to wait for him in one of my cells?”

      That the second cell was currently holding a young woman was information Lester Clark needn’t know, Brace thought. Especially since she’d just as soon shoot the man as look at him. And for a moment he wondered which of the two was the more dangerous.

      “You’re not locking me up, mister,” Lester snarled. “I haven’t done anything illegal.”

      “Well, don’t ruin your record now,” Brace told him. “I’m takin’ this boy to see the doc, and from there we’ll find something to eat at the hotel.”

      “I’m real hungry,” the boy said softly, as if he feared his father might overhear his words. He was about as close to Brace’s leg as he could get without climbing it. The urge to snatch the child up and into his arms was almost irresistible, but Brace settled for bending to the boy, brushing a big hand over the lad’s dark hair and squeezing gently at his narrow shoulder.

      “Come along, son,” he said, holding tight to the small hand that was now fisted around his index finger. With a glance over his shoulder at Amos, he sent a silent message, and the blacksmith apparently had no difficulty in deciphering it.

      “I’ll keep an eye on things,” he said curtly.

      Lester Clark stood in the middle of the road and watched Brace’s departure, and the venom of the glare he cast upon the man and child was almost palpable, Brace noted. The boy trotted along without complaint, and Brace looked down at him as they neared the jailhouse.

      “I got somebody inside you might like to see,” he said. “Want to make a quick stop?” And without waiting for a reply, he crossed the threshold of his office. Jamie sat at the desk, his boots propped on its surface, his hat sliding down over his eyes as he dozed.

      “You want to bring Miss Murphy out here?” Brace asked quietly, and then had a hard time restraining his smile as his deputy jerked to attention. His boots hit the floor and he was upright in seconds.

      “Yes, sir, I can do that,” he said, glancing down at the boy who held Brace’s hand as if it were a lifeline. Snatching up the keys from the desk drawer, he hastened through the door, and in moments Brace heard the rattle of the lock, and then the squeak of the cell door opening.

      “What’s going on?” Sarah Murphy’s voice held a puzzled note, and then she was there in the doorway, and the child beside him shivered and uttered his aunt’s name with a pleading sound.

      “Aunt Sarah?” Poised beside Brace, the boy tugged his hand free and launched himself at his aunt with a cry of anguish. “Aunt Sarah,” he repeated, and as she bent to receive him, he reached her and clung to her. His legs circled her waist and his arms wrapped around her neck, his small face buried against her throat.

      “Let me take him,” Brace offered quickly. “He’s too heavy for you.”

      Sarah shot him a look that might have made a lesser man tremble. “Don’t touch him. It’s me he needs.”

      Brace pushed his chair toward her instead, waving a hand at the wooden seat. Sarah settled there, rocking the child and crooning words of comfort against his dark head. For a long moment the two men were silent, then Jamie turned away, as though his emotions were caught up in the drama before him.

      “Stephen. Oh, Stephen, I’ve been looking for you,” Sarah said quietly, pulling back from the boy’s grip to look into his eyes. “Are you all right?” She held him away from her, scanning his small form, her gaze snagged by a bruise on his forearm. “What happened here?” she asked.

      “Nothin’,” Stephen said, as if the purple abrasion were of little account. And it probably was hardly noticeable to the lad, Brace decided, now that his aunt held him close. “Everything’s all right now, Aunt Sarah. I knew you’d find me.”

      She looked up at Brace, her eyes filming with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I owe you.” And then she looked toward the doorway and beyond it to the road. “Where’s his father?”

      “Over at the livery stable, trying to figure out what his options are,” Brace said. “I offered him a bed here, but he wasn’t of a

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