Newt was in considerable pain after the beating Tavish and his men had given him. But he'd been through worse. He didn't think any ribs were broken. He eased down gingerly onto the bunk in the cell, wincing as he made contact.
He tried not to think about what was happening to the town while he and Luther were behind bars. Instead his mind went back to the night before. The mental anguish he'd suffered was worse than the physical pain he felt now.
Newt was still in shock. Hannah, who he loved and trusted with all his heart, had willingly given herself to another man. Newt's pale blue eyes were open wide, staring.
Newt had never known jealousy. He didn't have any experience with it. He only knew that when Hannah had told him about the kiss, a silent anger had filled him. His one thought had been to find Mosby and settle the score. He had physically attacked Mosby, and Mosby hadn't fought back. That in itself was proof enough of his guilt. But what of Hannah's guilt?
He could believe that Hannah had thought that he was dead, what with them burying the other body and all. What hurt most was that she hadn't wasted any time before she'd let another man touch her, hold her. He couldn't bear to think of Mosby's hands on Hannah, his mouth on hers.
The scene played over and over in his mind, Mosby approaching Hannah, taking her into his arms, kissing her, and Hannah kissing him back. It tore at him. Newt had never been attracted to another woman after he'd met Hannah. It hadn't occurred to him that she could be attracted to another man.
He stretched out on the bunk, remembering last night's conversation.
"Mr. Mosby has it in his head that he's in love with me."
"And what about you?"
"Do you really have to ask Newt? You're my husband."
Yes, he did have to ask.
They were both young, he knew. They hadn't been together for very long. But he was so sure, so absolutely sure that Hannah was the only one for him. What if she didn't feel the same way? Maybe they should have waited to marry. If she had it to do over again, would she marry him now, he wondered? He hoped he hadn't rushed her into anything.
Newt couldn't bear to think of his life without Hannah. He was so in love with her and so proud to call her his wife. All he wanted was to spend the rest of his life with herto take care of her and be there when she needed him. He felt guilty that he'd walked out
and left her crying, but he had to have some time alone to sort out his feelings. He'd spent a miserable night in Ida's office thinking about Hannah. But he couldn't bring himself to go to her.
With the events of the morning, there hadn't been a chance for them to talk. He'd only seen her for a few moments after the shooting, before they dragged him out. And later when she had come to the cell window, there hadn't been time for anything personal. He'd sent her to try to find help. The town had to stand up to Tavish. And with Sheriff Kearney out of the picture, that wasn't going to be easy.
He had to get out of this place. He couldn't wait to be with Hannah, to hold her and tell her how he felt about her. He hoped she wanted that too. Where did they go from here?
He had to know where he stood.
Newt got painfully to his feet and began pacing back and forth in the cramped cell. There was nothing to do but wait. The hours passed slowly.
That evening when Hannah came with their supper, she managed to distract the guard and Mosby attacked him from behind. Together they freed Newt. He hated being beholding to Mosby for anything, but he was fresh out of choices. He asked Josiah to stay with Hannah. Then he took his rifle and started for the door. When he reached his wife, he stopped and turned to face her.
"Be careful," he said.
Hannah took his hand in hers. "I love you, Newt Call," she replied with all that she felt for him shining in her dark eyes. And all of his doubts were swept away.
"I know," he said, and went out to face Tavish and his men.
The End
4/2002
