I would appreciate constructive criticism - I am seeking to improve my writing. Nonetheless, I do not delete any reviews. I am well versed in the Peter-Paul-Peter principle and cannot take personally any reviews aimed at me, rather than at my story or my writing. You have not met, and therefore, do not know me so any such comments, of necessity, must be addressed at your image of me and thus tell me only about you, and nothing about me. May you enjoy my offering.

Truth . . . never comes into the world but like a bastard,
to the ignominy of him that brought her forth.

– John Milton The Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce

Prologue

He reined his horse to a halt. From the small hill, he could look down on the scene before him. The house, barn, bunkhouse, stables, and corrals, all unchanged … and all never again to be the same … for him. He'd thought this could become the home for which he'd longed. A deep, inner, well-protected piece of himself, believed it had become that—exactly that.

And now it was gone. Taken away … destroyed … by one man.

He'd not had the power to stop him—and thus far, he'd not had the power to make him pay. But he would. No matter how long it took, no matter what he had to do, no matter anything … that man would pay. He would see to it.

Knowing now was not the time, right now there was nothing to be done, he did all he could. He took one last look—one last, longing, look—turned his horse, and rode way. As he rode he re-affirmed the promise to himself … he would see justice done—however, and by whomever, possible. Justice would be done. He would see to it.

The truth would be revealed … even if someone had to die.

Chapter 1 San Francisco, two months later:

Jarrod Barkley looked up, distractedly, as the door opened to admit his arguably-attractive secretary.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but there's a man out here who's insisting he has to see you. I explained that you have no appointments available today, and you're scheduled in court shortly. I offered him your next available time, but he is most insistent that he see you now. I have been unable to dissuade him."

The pleading look surprised him, and then garnered his attention. He was unaccustomed to Maureen being other than persuasive.

"Do I know this man? Is he a former client?"

The barely perceptible sigh slightly delayed her clipped reply. "No, sir. I've never seen him in this office. Didn't indicate he'd ever seen you. Says his name is Frank Sawyer."

Jarrod blinked … hard.

"Marshal Frank Sawyer?"

Momentarily surprised, and fleetingly concerned that she'd been derelict in her duty, she hesitated before answering. "I'm … not sure. He didn't say…. Shall I ask him?"

He sighed.

Either way I'll likely have to see him. Doesn't sound like he's easily discouraged, and if she can't convince him, it's not likely I'll succeed.

He sighed again, while his fingers travelled over the back of his head in a futile attempt to draw out the tiredness and tension.

Sooner I get him in, the sooner I get him out—and myself as well.

"Better just show him in and I'll see if I can move him on as quickly as possible."

A moment later he exchanged a solid hand shake with the insistent Frank, and discovered that he was indeed the marshal of whom he'd heard.

The man obviously was astute enough to pick up on the general reluctance to give him an audience—at least at this moment.

"I appreciate you seeing me, and I'll try to be quick Mr. Barkley. I'm not often in the area and wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to see you. It's important."

"Well, I am pleased to meet you, Marshal Sawyer. I've heard a great deal about you … all of it good I might add. I'll admit to being curious as to how my services possibly could be of interest to you."

"Please, call me Frank." His eyes did a quick appraisal of the room, noting the tasteful, but not lavish, decor, and the meticulous order … even of the items on the desk.

Ignoring Jarrod's compliments, he opted to avoid expending precious time on the usual pleasantries. "I know you're active in many areas of law, Mr. Barkley, but do you handle civil suits?"

"Please, call me Jarrod." The astute attorney took a harder look at the man in front of him, wondering if all he'd heard, necessarily, was accurate. He noted the simple string tie—imperfectly done—the freshly-polished, well-used boots, and the involuntary shifting of the shoulders that said the suit jacket was not an accustomed item of clothing, and quickly rejected his momentary suspicions. This man was the genuine article.

"Civil suits are not something I've been called upon to do very frequently, but yes I do handle such cases. Am I to understand that you desire to sue someone?"

Sawyer took a deep breath, recognizing there was no turning back.

"Well, not me … exactly … a friend of mine. And he's not really looking to sue anyone, so much as he's looking for justice … by the only means that seems available."

One of the attorney's eyebrows rose, as his brow wrinkled. He tipped his head in an invitation to continue.

"Expect you'll need more detail eventually, but, for now, the short version is this. A young man … used to be a deputy of mine—probably one of the best I've ever worked with—believes his employer … former employer … was murdered.

"Charges were brought. Accused was tried, not convicted. He's a rich and influential man, at least in the area where he resides. We figure the only justice available now is to destroy his empire and his reputation. Hoped a well executed civil suit might do that."

"Is there some reason your friend isn't with you, or that he didn't come himself?"

"Other than the fact he'd have my hide if he knew I was here?" A twinkle was readily visible in the steady, grey eyes.

"He's not the sort to ask for favors—certainly won't take charity. In fact, he struggles to ask for help at all. I might be one of the few people he's ever done that with. He's expressed his opinion to me—very clearly, I might add—that this idea has no hope of succeeding without one of the best attorneys in the State. And, the money for that, as he's said, isn't even within his sight, let alone his reach."

He paused, letting that sink in, before continuing. "I realize that's a problem. However—and I assure you he would never ask for this—I'm wondering if there might be a way …?"

He trailed off, shoulders shrugging, as he realized he wasn't quite sure of what he was asking. Furthermore, he had no idea if his hopes were possible—if even remotely. His eyes locked on the bright blues of the esteemed attorney.

Jarrod held his gaze, choosing, for the moment, to ignore the lawman's implied request for special dispensation, as he addressed what he considered a more important issue.

"I'm sure you've been in this business long enough to know that, regrettably, the guilty sometimes go free … and the innocent sometimes don't. I would guess you've learned to accept that, or you never would have lasted this long. I find myself wondering on your need to go to these lengths for justice … or more precisely, for the hope of justice? I have to ask what it is that constitutes your interest."

"Fair question." He paused a moment, giving himself time to formulate an answer that might best explain his involvement, and resonate with the man in front of him. He was not unaware of the circumstances surrounding the demise of Jarrod Barkley's own father. Satisfied, he continued. "Let's say your father … or the closest you have to one, has been murdered. How far would you go for justice? And if you believed that justice was going to be denied, how far within the law … or outside of it … would you be willing to go?

"I'll wager his regard for the law is no less than your own—but his regard for his own life is far, far less. He's hurting right now. Seeing justice done isn't going to end that hurt … but it'll make it tolerable … maybe.

"I'm afraid, Mr. Barkley. Afraid, if that doesn't happen, he'll seek his own justice. And, if he does, I stand to lose someone who is like a son to me. So, the simple answer is, I want to protect him … like a father might … from himself. This is the only way I can see to do that."

Jarrod's lips pursed and his eyebrows rose, while he studied Sawyer, and then he nodded … slowly … again … then once more.

The marshal moved forward, calmly and assuredly laying a packet of papers on the nearly-cleared desk. "These are the transcripts and other documents from the trial—and all my notes on the case. No need to take more of your time right now. Just need you to think on it, and let me know if you'd be interested … if there's a way we could handle the matter of your fee.

"I'll leave the necessary information, with your secretary, so you can contact me either way. All I ask is you give it honest consideration." He held the sapphire eyes for several moments, turned and headed for the door, before being stopped by the counselor's question.

"Does this alleged murderer have a name? For that matter, does your young friend?"

"Name's Merton Greenley. Friend's name is Heath Thomson."

Jarrod looked at the stack of papers and then at the famous marshal, before asking the question that remained. "Why me?"

Frank chuckled, "Your reputation is well known. But, not just your reputation as one of the best. For me, it was your reputation as a staunch champion for justice. Justice wasn't done with the criminal system. This is our only hope."

"How can you be so sure the man's guilty?"

"Heath says he did it. In this case, that's all I need."

Jarrod was about to object, but something in the man's tone, something in the look in his eyes, something said his objection would be futile. Everything he'd heard about Frank Sawyer told him the man was no fool. He wouldn't be here on a whim or a hope. He had to have been convinced.

I may have to meet this Heath Thomson.

"Alright, Mr. Sawyer … Frank … I can't say I'm convinced, but I can see that you are. I'll give it due consideration and get back to you. Might be a week or two, maybe more, until you hear from me … either way."

He stood to see the man out, before asking one last question.

"I presume Greenley has his own attorney—someone more than capable, if he got him off in the face of what, I'm assuming, you believed solid enough evidence to convict? I would guess he would be using the same person to defend this civil suit … if there is a civil suit?"

"He does. I presume likewise. I'm sure you're well acquainted with his legal counsel … a Mr. Nathan Springer."

Jarrod's hand froze for a moment, before slowly completing the turn of the door handle. He suspected Frank saw the hesitation, and the fleeting look of surprise. He'd have to disclose just how well he did know Nat Springer, but that could wait. He hadn't yet decided if he wanted to take the case. It wasn't like he needed the work….