Outlaw's Honor

The piece looked unusual enough, he told himself. The fact that it must have been a favorite of hers piqued his interest even more. He stuffed the bracelet back into his jacket pocket and, Stetson on his head, headed for the door.

* * *

THE ELDERLY JEWELER put the loupe to his eye and slowly studied the bracelet Darby had handed him. “You say you picked it up at a garage sale?”

He wished now that he’d come up with a better story. “In Billings.”

“Interesting.”

Darby waited as jeweler John T. Marshall went over every square inch of the bracelet. “It’s just costume jewelry, right, John?” No answer. The piece couldn’t be that interesting, he thought.

John finally put the bracelet down along with the loupe. He shook his head, seemingly unable to take his eyes off the piece. “It’s not costume jewelry. It’s fourteen-karat yellow gold.”

That explained why it was so heavy. With a start, Darby realized it could have more than just sentimental value to the woman. “So what can you tell me about it?”

“The gold alone in weight is worth several thousand dollars, but its real worth is that it is a rare piece of vintage Roma jewelry.”

“Roma jewelry?”

The jeweler nodded. “I’ve only read about it. This type of cuff was once made for the whole family including men and children, and was usually worn in pairs, one on each wrist. This bracelet is definitely rare.”

“You’re saying it’s old?”

“In this country, most surviving pieces date from 1900 to 1930.” He picked up the loupe again to look at the round black stone at the center. “The Roma almost always used synthetic stones because of the difficulties of verifying a gemstone’s authenticity, unlike real gold, which cannot be faked easily.”

“So the stone is what? Plastic?”

“In this rare case, a valuable gemstone—onyx. This is an amazing find. I’ve never seen any original Roma jewelry before. It’s quite remarkable.” He picked up the bracelet again and began to point out the designs on it.

“Look at this profiled face of a beautiful woman, possibly a Roma queen.”

“What exactly is Roma?” Darby asked.

“Often called Gypsy jewelry. The word Gypsy is a misnomer though. The Roma were called Gypsies because they were believed to have come from Egypt. But they were actually part of an ethnic group whose ancestors left India a thousand years ago. Many of them still called themselves gypsies, though many Roma consider it a derogatory term.”

Darby thought of the woman he’d seen at the festival. Was she Roma?

The jeweler was still inspecting the bracelet with a kind of awe. “Flowers and stars are common, along with a horseshoe for luck. It is always worn with the horseshoe up so the luck doesn’t spill out.” He traced a finger over one of the designs. “The filigree is so delicate.” He met Darby’s gaze. “I’d say this bracelet is worth from ten to twenty thousand dollars.”

Darby was taken aback. He’d almost thrown the piece away. Worse, he hadn’t picked it up at a garage sale. He’d torn if off a woman’s wrist—admittedly she was trying to pick his pocket at the time, but still...

“And you say you paid fifty cents for it? The person who sold it must not have known its real worth.” John shook his head. “If you’re interested in selling this piece—”

“No,” he said quickly. “If it’s that rare, I think I’d like to keep it. But I do want to get the clasp fixed.”

The jeweler nodded. “I don’t blame you. It will only take a minute.”

Darby stepped to the back of the shop to watch as John worked. He couldn’t believe this. He’d really thought the jeweler would tell him it was nothing but junk. He thought about the woman who’d been wearing it and found himself even more intrigued.

“It’s a shame how much of this jewelry has been lost,” the jeweler was saying as he worked. “Much of it was melted down in the Great Depression, even more recently with the price of gold up like it has been. For the wearer, the jewelry was like a portable bank account.”

So why hadn’t the woman sold it if her situation was dire enough that she had to steal? Or was it possible that, like him, she’d underestimated its value since maybe she’d stolen it herself?

“You are wise to keep this,” John was saying. “According to superstition, Roma jewelry is very good luck to have, but bad luck to sell. You wouldn’t want to sell off your good fortune, now, would you?”

CHAPTER TWO (#u28eb3891-9601-5919-b88d-41a19934752e)

AFTER A NIGHT of weird dreams, Darby had awakened, his heart racing as if the woman had been in the room with him. He’d half expected the bracelet to be gone—the whole episode at the Chokecherry Festival only a figment of his imagination.

But there sat the bracelet on his bedside table where he’d left it last night—proof that the woman had been real. The sun gleamed off the gold—and the round dark circle of onyx. It gave him a small thrill at the same time it sent a chill up his spine. He felt like a thief. He’d taken the woman’s very expensive bracelet. Worse, last night in his dream she’d confronted him, accusing him of stealing her luck—and, in her fury, had put a curse on him.

Shaking off the dream and the guilt, he reminded himself that she’d been the one trying to steal from him. That rationale didn’t help that much as he stepped into the shower. The warm water chased away the remnants of the dream, leaving him feeling a little better.

He knew why he couldn’t get her off his mind. The woman had been mysterious and exhilarating. He reminded himself that he was talking about a thief. But for too long he’d felt antsy, as if he needed a change, but he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving his sister alone to run this place.

He’d thought he needed a change of scenery, but maybe it had been something else entirely. This morning he felt amped up as if he’d been hit with a jolt of electricity that had awakened something deep inside him. He felt...different. And all because of a woman he’d seen in passing. A thief who could have been using one of his credit cards right now if he hadn’t grabbed her to talk to her. He let out a laugh. Talk about luck...

With a sudden chill, he glanced at the bracelet.

What if it was cursed?

That made him laugh at his own foolishness as he dressed and went downstairs. It was hours before the bar opened, but he felt even more restless than usual. Needing fresh air, he raised the windows and even propped open the front door. This was Montana—the only place to be this time of year since the temperature was as perfect as it could be.

He breathed in the mountain air scented with pines and rushing creek water and felt as if he’d been given a shot of vitamin B. Still, at the back of his mind he debated what to do with the bracelet as he busied himself washing bar glasses.

If only it was just costume jewelry. He would toss it in the trash and put the whole episode behind him. And yet, he didn’t want to put it behind him. He wanted to savor that excitement even as he felt it slipping away.

Engrossed in this work and his thoughts, he didn’t hear her. Nor did he pick up the scent of her perfume. Instead, he sensed her and looked up to find the woman standing in the open doorway of his bar like an apparition.

At the sight of her, the soap-slick glass slipped from his hand. Without looking, he caught it with his other hand before the glass shattered in the sink.

“Good hands,” the woman said from the doorway, sunlight spilling around her, making her appear ethereal. But there was nothing angelic about her from her obsidian black hair that was loosely braided over one shoulder to the mystery behind her dark eyes as she stepped in.

His tongue felt rooted to the roof of his mouth for a moment. “Thanks.” He had thought that he’d never see her again. But now he realized how foolish that had been. The bracelet was worth too much money for her to simply walk away from it. But the realization that she’d tracked him down sent a chill up his spine to raise the fine hairs at the back of his neck.

His gaze moved from her face to her wrist and the band of pale skin where the gold cuff had been. She wore jeans, biker boots and a black leather jacket. With a start, he recognized the T-shirt beneath the jacket. Stagecoach Saloon. One he’d thrown to the crowd yesterday?

Seeing his apparent interest in her T-shirt, she opened her jacket wider and smiled. “Nice place you have here,” she said as she sidled up to the bar.

That’s when he noticed the backpack slung over her shoulder. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find out there was a gun inside it. Or that she was about to pull it on him.

“Thanks.” He fought to rein in his pulse as he waited for her to get down to the business of her visit since they both knew what it was. She had come for her bracelet. He didn’t have to wonder too long how she’d found him. He’d hit her with one of the T-shirts promoting the place. Maybe the one she was wearing right now.

He waited for her to ask, though, curious how she was going to explain taking his wallet. “We don’t open until eleven,” he said, finding he had to fill the deathly quiet that had fallen over the bar.

Tantalizing whiffs of her citrusy perfume drifted to him as she set her backpack on a stool and slipped onto the one next to it. She was taller than he remembered, slimmer, but no less striking. As she looked at him, he caught a flash of something at her neck. A gold pendant lay against her glowing olive skin. In its middle was a dark circle of black onyx—just like the one on the bracelet.

As she crossed her long legs and reached into a side pocket of her backpack, he put down the glass in his hand, slowly dried his hands and waited, the baseball bat he kept behind the bar within reach.