“Tresia Morgan suggested I talk to you.”
Mr. Applebaum nodded, his pale green eyes lighting up. “Nice woman, that Tresia. Smart, too. She’s probably right.” Obviously, he knew Tresia and liked her, but then, to his knowledge, Devlin hadn’t met anyone who didn’t.
“I need some advice.” He rubbed his suddenly damp palms on his trousers. “In fact, I think I need to hire you as my counsel.”
“Do you need counsel, Marshal? Is this related to the killing of Ned Delany?”
“Yes, I think I do, but not for that. As you may know, it was a righteous kill. No, this is for something different and for my own protection.” He drew in his breath. This was harder than he thought it would be. “I don’t know what you know about me, but I have a daughter.”
The man smiled, which transformed his face and made him seem younger. “Yes, I’m aware. And she’s as cute as a bug’s ear. I’ve seen her around town with Tresia.”
“I also have a mother-in-law. She’s a woman of great influence and power. She’s wants Avery.”
“I see.” The smile disappeared as quickly as it came. “And who is this woman?”
“Frances Emerson Comstock.”
“Rancho Gran Cielo’s Frances Comstock?” He let out a low whistle. He’d obviously heard of her and by the expression on his face, what he’d heard about her wasn’t good. He turned his chair toward a bookshelf behind him and selected a leatherbound journal. Flipping it open to a blank page, he placed in on the desk, pulled a fountain pen from its holder, and asked, “Why does she want your daughter?”
Anxiety made him clench his teeth and he forced himself to relax, though it didn’t help much. He wasn’t certain, at this moment, that he should have come here and tell a complete stranger his worst fears, but Tresia was right. He needed help with the possibility that Frances could take Avery. He couldn’t let that happen. In fact, he was willing to do anything to keep that from happening. “She holds me responsible for the passing of my late wife and son.”
A muscle twitched in Mr. Applebaum’s jaw before he took a deep breath and asked, “Are you?”
“No, I am not. Hannah died in childbirth. Frances can’t—or won’t—accept that. Like I said, she blames me.”
He jotted some notes in the journal then looked up. “Can she say you’re not a good father?”
“She can say it but it wouldn’t be true. I love my daughter, Mr. Applebaum. I would do anything for her.”
“Yes, I can see that you do. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.” Kindness crept into the man’s eyes. “Can you get statements from people who know you and know your daughter? Know how you are with her?”
He didn’t have to think about it. “Yes. There are a number of people who would be more than willing to write letters of recommendation for me.”
Mr. Applebaum dropped the fountain pen on top of the journal then leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his round face. “What about your job as marshal? It’s dangerous. She could use that against you.”
He’d thought about that. Actually, Frances had used that argument when she kept Avery so he could chase down Big Bill Cassidy. She could certainly use it against him in a court of law, but if it meant losing Avery, he’d willingly give it up the profession he loved. “I’ll quit.”
“You’d do that?”
“Yes, I would.”
Mr. Applebaum shook his head. “Before you do something so drastic, let me talk to a few people—some judges I know—and read up on the law regarding this matter.” He rose from his seat then came around the desk to pat him on the shoulder. “In the meantime, try not to worry. I won’t let anyone take your daughter from you.”
Relieved, but not completely—Mr. Applebaum didn’t know the depths to which Frances would go to get what she wanted—Devlin rose to his feet as well and held out his hand. “Thank you. I appreciate anything you can do for me.”
CHAPTER 18
Tresia removed a pecan pie from the oven, slid a knife into the center to make sure it was done, then set it on the windowsill to cool. Her gaze settled on Avery on the swing, her little legs pumping hard, Cecily, the doll, on her lap. Her giggles drifted in through the window, causing Tresia to smile. Oh, how she loved this little girl! Loved her father, too, though that had come as quite a surprise.
And she was going to marry him. It would be a small wedding, just Devlin and her in front of the Justice of the Peace. Lucy and Merrill would witness their vows. Avery, too.
She took a step away from the window, then set about washing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen. Her hands were deep in the hot water when a knock sounded on the front door.
“Coming!” she called out, dried her hands, and then hurried through the parlor. She didn’t open the door, not with the reporters about. Instead, she looked through the etched glass at the woman standing on the front porch. Porcelain skinned and dark haired, dressed in the latest fashion, she was beautiful…in a hard, cold kind of way. In that one instance, Tresia knew this woman was used to giving orders and expecting them tobe carried out without question. A woman of authority, whether real or perceived.
Beyond the woman was a carriage in front of the gate—a big, fancy carriage, not something she’d normally see in Serenity. Even the richest man in town did not drive a carriage like that. A man sat in the driver’s seat, his arms folded across his chest, his head moving back and forth as if afraid he might miss something.
She let out her breath, unaware she’d been holding it. She knew, without a doubt, who stood on the front porch. Frances Emerson Comstock.
