Free Lakota Renegade by Madeline Baker Page B

off her, either. He told himself repeatedly that she was way too young, that as soon as he got out of jail he would be moving on and he would never see her again. But, right or wrong, he simply didn’t have the willpower to resist the silent invitation in her eyes.
    She wanted a kiss hello, she wanted a kiss goodbye, and she wanted several more in between, and he was happy to give them to her.
    He discovered that she had a curvy little figure beneath the shapeless blue dress, and realized that was probably the reason her mother had insisted she wear it. Jassy might be small, she might have the face of a child, but the rest of her was all woman.
    And if he thought about hangmen and iron bars during the long tedious hours of the day, it was Jassy’s big brown eyes and provocative lips that filled his dreams. He was sinking in quicksand, he mused ruefully, fast getting in over his head, and he didn’t seem to care.
    He loved holding her in his arms, he loved the way she looked up at him, as if he were some kind of white knight. He loved the way her voice turned husky after he’d kissed her a few times, the way her eyes clouded with desire.
    Damn. He’d be safer with the hangman.
    He had been in jail eight days when Harrington informed him that the judge had arrived. His trial would commence the following morning at ten sharp.
    He couldn’t sleep that night. Hour after hour, he paced the narrow floor. Eight days he’d been locked up. Eight days.
    Thank God for Jassy. She had come every morning, bringing him cookies and apples and newspapers, her ready smile cheering him. But for her, he would surely have lost his mind. But it was almost over now. Tomorrow he would be a free man.
    It occurred to him that he had never asked her to come to the trial. He had been so wrapped up in his desire for her that he had never thought to talk about the trial at all. But of course she would be there. She knew how important it was, knew that she was the only witness to the shooting.
    Lord, how he hated being locked up!

 
    Chapter Eight
     
    “Maddigan, you’ve got a visitor.”
    Creed sat up. A visitor? It couldn’t be Jassy. She’d been there earlier.
    “This here’s your attorney,” Harrington said with a lopsided grin. He unlocked the cell door to admit a thin, wiry man carrying a black leather satchel.
    Brown, Creed thought. Unruly brown hair, listless brown eyes, limp brown suit, scuffed brown shoes.
    “Neville Durning,” the lawyer said.
    With obvious distaste, the attorney stepped into the cell and sat down on the wobbly chair in the corner.
    “Give me a holler when you’re through,” Harrington said. He locked the cell door with a flourish, then ambled out of the cellblock, whistling softly.
    Creed took one look at his lawyer and knew he’d have a far better chance in court if he was on his own. Durning didn’t like gunfighters. He didn’t like Indians. And he liked half-breeds even less.
    “The trial’s tomorrow,” Durning said, as if Creed wasn’t already painfully aware of the fact. “From what the sheriff tells me, it doesn’t sound like you have much of a case.”
    “You come here just to tell me that?”
    “I need to hear your side.”
    “Why? You’ve already decided I’m guilty.”
    A flush crept into Durning’s cheeks. “Be that as it may, you’re entitled to council.”
    “I’ve already got the whole town against me,” Creed muttered ruefully. “You’d think they could have found me a lawyer who’d side with me.”
    “It doesn’t matter what I think,” Durning said. He adjusted the narrow wire-rimmed glasses perched on the edge of his nose. “It’s what we can prove.”
    “The kid called me out and I shot him. It was self-defense.”
    “I see. Harrington says there were no witnesses.”
    “There’s one. Jassy McCloud. She saw the whole thing.”
    Durning frowned. “McCloud? The whore’s kid?”
    Creed stifled the urge to throttle the man. Instead, he nodded.
    “You don’t