Free Brodie's Gamble by Shirleen Davies Page A

the night to keep watch on the prisoners, allowing Brodie to get some much needed sleep. At first he’d declined, saying he needed Jack in the morning so he could ride to the cabin. In the end, Jack’s persuasive protests and Brodie’s exhaustion won out, allowing him a few hours of rest before waking at dawn.
    “The U.S. Marshal could come anytime to escort Meeks to San Francisco. With Bob gone, all you’ll need to do is watch after Miss King. Nothing’s changed, except you’ll need to accompany her outside when needed. I should be back by noon.”
    “Don’t worry, Sheriff. I’ll take care of everything while you’re gone.” Jack’s head bobbed up and down as he spoke, the grin from last night still plastered on his face. With a nod, Brodie had left, not sparing a glance at the cells.
    He needed the long ride to clear his head, figure out how he’d lost control. The cold air slicing through his clothes was a welcome distraction, keeping him focused on the journey instead of Maggie. Maggie, he thought, a flash of pain gripping his chest.
    The confusion on her face when he’d let her go and stepped away kept him awake a good portion of the night. Ignoring the dazed expression and pain sparking in her eyes, he’d taken hold of her elbow, guiding her into the jail and back to her cell, then locked the door before she had a chance to say a word. Although it bothered him more than he wanted to admit, he’d kept his distance. He refused to make the same mistake again, no matter how perfect she felt in his arms.
    Rounding the last corner, he spotted the cabin ahead. It looked the same as a few days before when he’d come with Colin and Maggie. Unless there was other family, which Maggie hadn’t mentioned, he wouldn’t expect anyone else to make the journey to such a remote spot.
    Reining Hunter to a stop, he swung to the ground, loosening his coat as the sun’s rays pierced the clouds. He scanned the area around the cabin. Nothing moved and he noticed no new tracks since the last visit. Throwing open the front door, he stepped inside, his gaze landing on the spot where Maggie said she’d hit Arnie. Sunlight washed over the area, making it easy to search for any traces of evidence they may have missed.
    Brodie knelt down next to the spot he’d first seen blood. It had dried and seeped into the rough wood floor. The size of the stain seemed normal for a gash on the back of his head, but too small for the damage done to Arnie’s face. If he’d been killed in the cabin, there would’ve been much more blood and a definite trail leading outside.
    The doctor told Brodie it would’ve been unlikely Arnie died from the injury to his head. Extreme pain for days, wooziness for several hours, but not death. His face was another matter. The amount of blood loss would’ve been critical. The doctor believed the crack in his skull, across the middle of his forehead, killed him.
    Brodie thought the beating had to have taken place outside. Stepping out the door, he walked the path to where they found the shallow grave. Maggie would’ve had to carry him out or drag him through the front door, around to the back of the cabin, and behind the stable.
    He guessed Maggie weighed no more than a hundred twenty pounds. The doctor said Arnie weighed over two hundred. That ruled out her carrying him. The only way for her to move the body would’ve been to drag it, yet he couldn’t find any markings to support that conclusion—no trail of blood and no evidence a trail had been obscured by brushing it away.
    Brodie also reminded himself she’d run for hours to reach Conviction and report what happened. Maggie had been so frantic when she rushed into the jail, he wondered if she even realized what she’d said—admitting she may have killed Arnie. Fear, exhaustion, her first taste of freedom in almost two years—all of that could have contributed to her blurting out a confession.
    His instincts, combined with what he’d figured