Читать книгу Heart Of A Lawman - Patricia Rosemoor - Страница 12

Josie fought the panic attack that threatened to engulf her. Shaking…lack of breath…heart threatening to pound right out of her chest.

She hadn’t fallen far, she told herself as rationally as she could—only to the rotting floor—but her boot had gone through the boards, ankle-deep. She tried to free herself. But no matter how she turned or twisted her foot, she couldn’t seem to manage it.

She was stuck!

Gasping for air, ribs and chest hurting where the seat belt had constrained her, she told herself to calm down. She was all right. She could get through this.

Unless…

Ghost memories of hands on her, touching her, pushing her, jumped back at her in a flash.

But had it really even happened?

She couldn’t say for certain. She only knew that same sensation of personal violation had invaded the deep unconscious from which she’d thought she would never awaken while in the hospital. That same sense of physical unease had pressed down on her then, too.

The same paranoia.

Josie willed herself to focus on any lurking danger, but she could no more see a threat in the dark than she could her own fingernails, which were digging painful little ditches in her palms.

Through fear-stiff lips she whispered, “Is someone there?”

Every muscle in her body tightened into knots as she waited for a response.

“Meow.”

She jumped. The cat! She’d almost forgotten….

“Yes, kitty, I’m still here.”

But was she the only one?

No noise alerted her to another presence. No sudden intake of breath. No stirring of foot against rubble. And the cat’s call had once more sounded pitiful rather than angry.

If any threat had been present a moment ago, surely now it was gone.

Not wanting to think too deeply on it, she muttered, “Give me a minute, kitty, and I’ll get us both out of here.” And willed her hands to unclench.

Panic receding, Josie carefully slid her bottom forward over creaking boards and hunched up as close to her foot as her aching middle would allow. Blindly, she felt for the problem. Ragged wood had gashed and caught the worn leather of her boot and held it fast in several places.

Concentrating on working herself free, Josie almost missed the import of several quiet footfalls coming at her.

Then her hands stiffened again and sweat popped down her spine. A wave of intense heat poured through her as she literally ripped at the wooden slivers trapping her boot. Carefully, she wiggled her foot and pulled…even as a bright light suddenly blinded her more effectively than had the dark.

“What are you up to?” came an arrogant male demand.

Freed at last, avoiding looking directly into the beam, Josie put out a hand to shade her eyes. All she could fathom was a dark silhouette against the bright light. Her impression was of a tall man, one broader than most. She cautiously rose, careful not to step back into trouble.

“Maybe you should be the one answering that,” she said more bravely than she was feeling.

“I’m not the one sneaking around here in the dark.”

“I wasn’t sneaking! I heard the cat—”

“What cat?” The disembodied voice sounded rife with suspicion.

Helpfully, the animal she’d been trying to rescue chose that moment to agree in the tiniest of voices—one Josie hadn’t before heard—almost as if the feline were satisfied that her rescue was imminent.

The bright beam moved away from her toward the sound. She followed its course and finally was able to see the object she’d been fumbling over—a cat carrier with a glowing-eyed occupant peering out hopefully at them.

“Meow.”

Josie reconnoitered, decided to get going and fast. But she wasn’t about to leave the animal she’d determined to rescue. Thinking she could use the carrier as a weapon if she needed to—only if forced, of course, lest she further scared the poor creature inside—Josie swooped down on the cage. Ignoring the pain that twinged through her middle, she grabbed hold of the handle and proceeded to bluff her way out of the place, a distant gray haze identifying the general area that would lead to the street.

“Wait a minute!”

She quickened her step toward the film of light ahead, muttering, “Forget it. I’m outta here!”

The beam turned and swept before her. “Have some light before you really hurt yourself.”

Josie didn’t so much as falter. She kept right on going, straight out the door. Just in case she needed some, she looked around for help. The street was deserted—no chatty women, no sleepy cowpoke. But the black SUV had been abandoned at the curb opposite.

Had the driver been looking for her, after all?

Knowing she was alone but for her furry companion, Josie flipped around and bravely faced him.

He was tall. He was broad. And he was definitely unhappy. A scowl marred an otherwise attractive face—rather, as much as she could see of it beneath his broad-brimmed black hat. His hard gaze met hers, trapping her as effectively as had the broken boards.

Any thanks for the rescue she might have uttered died on her lips.

“So what was this cat doing inside what should be a boarded-up building?”

His demand for an explanation immediately made her bristle. “Like I should know?”

“You obviously knew the cat was there.”

He moved closer to her, and his aura of power threatened to smother her. Normally she didn’t put credence to that sort of thing, but when her pulse lurched, Josie took a step back. Then she winced when the cat carrier smacked into a sore spot. A sudden acid taste in her mouth soured her mood further. If anyone had meant her harm in there, this man couldn’t have been the one, she assured herself, or he wouldn’t be asking so many questions.

Realizing that she probably had been alone, that she had spooked herself, and that her imagination had conjured some other “presence,” that, sensing her fear, the cat had appropriately responded to, Josie couldn’t figure out why this stranger had such a suffocating effect on her.

What in the world was wrong with her?

“I told you I heard the cat,” she finally said to break his invisible grip.

“And so you just went inside…”

“Right.”

“…and wandered around a decaying building blindly.”

“Why should I explain myself to you, anyhow?”

She tried pushing by him, but he caught her upper arm and held her fast. And though he didn’t hurt her, his fingers seemed to burn into her flesh right through the denim jacket. Her heart at first fluttered, then began to pound.

“We’re not done here.”

She went still and cold inside, and with difficulty, choked out, “What are you? A cop or something?”

The thought made her fight panic once more, if for a very different reason. What if there was a warrant for her arrest? What if he really had been searching for her?

His “Not exactly” didn’t exactly relieve her building anxiety.

“Then you won’t mind if I get going.” Pointedly, she stared at his hand on her arm until he let go. Her tense stomach relaxed and she trembled with relief.

“Where to?”

“Home.”

“You live in Silver Springs?”

Of course he would know everyone who lived in a town this small. “Well, I do for the moment…over at the Springs Bed-and-Breakfast.”

He seemed to digest that before musing, “The bed-and-breakfast, huh? Then what about the cat?”

Josie stared at him stupidly for a moment before it dawned on her. “Oh, right.”

She couldn’t just surprise the woman who’d been good enough to give her shelter with another mouth to feed…possibly an unappreciated mouth. Besides, the cat probably had an owner somewhere looking for her.

She raised the carrier and stared at the little white face edged by soft gray ears and a gray chin. Almond-shaped blue eyes stared back at her trustingly.

Josie asked, “You don’t happen to recognize her, do you?”

“Her?”

“The cat. Just a guess about the ‘her’ part,” she added hurriedly.

“Afraid not.”

“Maybe she knows how to get herself home.”

Not knowing what else to do, Josie set down the carrier and opened the door, all the while praying the owner would be glad to see the animal. Heaven forbid some irresponsible person had been trying to get rid of a pet…exactly what she feared, considering the circumstances.

But when the cat stepped out of her cage, she didn’t run off as Josie had expected. Instead, the animal pranced, showing off her beautiful white-and-gray coat, then arched her back and rubbed herself against Josie’s legs.

“She likes you.”

Caught by the man’s obvious amusement, Josie whipped up her head and frowned. “She just likes being out of the dark.” And she liked it better when he was being hostile.

“More than that,” he murmured, as the cat suddenly made a demanding sound and leaped straight up.

Instinctively, Josie caught the cat, who immediately settled in her arms, purring as though she was where she belonged.

“Oh, great, what do I do now?” she murmured.

When she glanced up, the man was watching her intently, his expression strange. For a moment, she was caught. Mesmerized by a pair of the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. High cheekbones and a well-defined jawline gave his face an edge that only the slight cleft in his chin softened. Mouth dry, she stared back, vaguely aware that she was holding her breath.

“Meow!” the attention-deprived cat protested, jolting Josie into sucking in some much-needed air.

“So what are you going to do?” the man asked. “With the cat?”

“It doesn’t look like I have a choice at the moment, does it? I’ll have to take her with me.” Josie scratched the creature’s head and ran her fingers over the silky ears. “Don’t worry, Miss Kitty, we’ll figure out something until I can find your owner.”

And figure out how to feed the poor creature. “How are you at catching mice?”

The cat purred in answer.

“Doesn’t look like any mouser to me,” the man said, again seeming amused. Then he echoed, “Miss Kitty?”

“As good a name as any.”

“You wouldn’t have one, would you? A name, that is?”

“Josie Wales,” she said, this time without hesitation.

No harm in giving him a name that wasn’t even hers. The initials were right. She’d grabbed at the first thing that came to her mind. Still, she looked away from him and busied herself shushing Miss Kitty back into her carrier.

“Josie Wales?” He seemed about ready to challenge her, then said, “I’m Bart Quarrels over from the Curly-Q.”

Figuring the Curly-Q must be a local ranch, she nodded, lifted the occupied carrier once more and said, “I’d better be on my way, then.”

“Guess you’d better. I could give you a ride.”

“Not necessary. I like walking.” But a niggling at her conscience kept her from starting right off. “Hey, uh, Bart…Miss Kitty and I thank you for the rescue even if we didn’t need one.”

“I live to serve,” Bart said dryly.

Grinning despite herself, Josie set off, wondering how she was going to explain the cat to Alcina—not to mention the lack of those groceries she’d set out for.

BART WATCHED JOSIE WALES rush down the street, cat carrier in hand. Something odd about the woman. He couldn’t quite pin it down, but something was definitely off.

Had she been afraid of him simply because he’d given her a scare? Instinct and more than a dozen years in law enforcement told him there was more.

Having filled his gas tank and bought half a dozen rolls of film for Lainey, he’d merely been taking a good look around before going back to the Curly-Q when he’d spotted Josie walking down the street.

She’d seemed…furtive. He couldn’t describe her demeanor any other way.

Cop instincts kicking in, he’d watched her. And when she’d disappeared into the abandoned building, he’d naturally followed to see exactly what she’d been up to. Not that it was any of his business in the first place, he reminded himself as he climbed into the four-by-four.

He had to shake away her vulnerable yet spunky image. He had no business prying into her life any more than she had business in his. He’d turned in his deputy’s badge—at least figuratively—to work the Curly-Q. And he’d better get back to the ranch and his kids—as far as Bart was concerned, his only responsibilities in the foreseeable future.

EMMETT QUARRELS grinned to himself as he listened to the house come alive around him. Thunking footsteps…raised voices…blasting music, if a body could call it that. Sweet, sweet sounds.

For too many years, it had been just him rattling around these rooms until he was nigh sick unto death of his own miserable company. If not for Felice,he would long ago have gone stark, raving mad. But Felice, as fond as he was of her, wasn’t family.

And if he hadn’t done something drastic, he might never have seen his grandkids again, now that their mother was gone. Sara, Bart’s late wife, had always done right by him—he’d say that for her.

His three boys had all abandoned him and the Curly-Q years ago like each of their mothers had before them, but he’d finally fixed that.

Not that he’d had a choice in the matter.

Now they would all come home like their mothers never had.

A soft knock at the door startled him out of his reclining chair, where he’d been reading his latest Modern Rancher Magazine.

“That you, Felice?”

“No, Pa, it’s me, Bart.”

Heart lurching, Emmett quickly dropped the magazine and slid onto the made four-poster bed, pulling the afghan Felice had crocheted for him last Christmas up to his waist.

“C’mon in, son.”

The door swung open and in stepped his oldest. With his thick dark hair, deep blue eyes, and a six-foot-plus, muscular physique that only hinted at his real strength, Barton was the spitting image of Emmett himself when he’d been young. And, though his oldest would never admit it, they were a lot more alike than mere looks conveyed.

“Pa.”

Those blue eyes were searching him far more closely than made Emmett comfortable. He pulled the afghan a little higher and mumbled, “You’re looking fit, son.”

“And you’re looking better’n I expected.”

“I have my good days as well as bad.” Emmett coughed, the sound more of a wheeze than anything of substance. “Doc says I’m almost ready to get back to work…uh, nothing strenuous, of course.”

As Barton stepped closer to the bed, his foot connected with the dropped magazine. It went scooting across the floor with a noisy flutter of pages. He bent over to retrieve it, and when he straightened, gaze connecting with the cover, his expression changed slightly.

He rolled the magazine and tapped it against his free hand as he moved even closer so he could stare directly down at his father. “I thought you were dying.”

“Thought…or wished?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sounds like,” Emmett grumbled. He couldn’t remember the last time soft words had passed between them.

“Your legal eagle Howard Stiles said your health was preventing you from running the ranch,” his son persisted. “And that you had a limited time left.”

Maybe Barton did want him dead, Emmett thought with growing sadness. Then he and his brothers could have the ranch like he had promised…without the old man who’d made it what it once was…and who had obviously made them so miserable they refused to be around him unless there was something financial in it for them.

Had he been such a terrible parent?

Not wanting to think too hard on it, he muttered, “Seventy is a step closer to God than you are.”

“You can’t ever know about that for certain.”

From the quick flash of pain crossing Barton’s features, Emmett figured his son was thinking about the way his wife had been taken…and her barely half his own advanced age. Sometimes, life just wasn’t fair.

“I’m sorry about Sara, son,” Emmett said with a stiff sincerity he didn’t often share. “I would’ve been at the funeral if I could’ve.”

“You were sick that far back?” His son’s gaze narrowed on him. “And you didn’t say anything?”

Big troubles on the Curly-Q had kept Emmett from the funeral in Albuquerque, but again he hedged. “What? You think a heart gives out…” He snapped his fingers. “…just like that?” He’d kept the problems from his boys—figured they wouldn’t willingly walk into a viper’s pit—but they’d get the picture soon enough.

“No, of course not.” But Barton’s expression didn’t grow any less suspicious.

“A man starts realizing he can’t do what he used to, that he doesn’t have the physical stamina he once had, and he figures the years are catching up to him, is all. But one day, he realizes that’s just the tip of the iceberg,” Emmett said ruefully. “That he’s in serious trouble…trouble that he can’t fix by himself…”

“Pa, exactly how long have you been failing?”

“Long enough I don’t want to talk about it…if you don’t mind.”

Though Emmett could tell the boy did mind, he had the grace to back off. At least for now. Emmett figured it was a temporary reprieve, that Barton was merely holding his questions for later.

BART UNROLLED Pa’s Modern Rancher Magazine and stared at the cover. Sick the old man might be, but he hadn’t lost his interest in the thing he loved best—his spread. Not wanting that to be an insurmountable problem between them, he figured he’d better nip any problems in the bud right away.

“Listen, Pa, before I get the kids all settled in here for good, we gotta get something straight between us.”

“What would that be?”

Locking his gaze with his father’s in a no-nonsense way, he said, “That, from now on, I’m in charge.”

In a too-obvious attempt to sidestep the issue, Emmett said, “Reed and Chance always looked up to you. They won’t give you any trouble.”

“It’s not them I’m worried about.”

Shifting under his son’s stare, Emmett coughed again, this time with more intensity. Bart tried not to let his father’s illness get to him. He had to be tough as nails or this wasn’t going to work. He couldn’t let Pa call the shots here. And it was in his nature to be suspicious of anything that seemed too good to be true.

Emmett said, “The fate of both the Curly-Q and Silver Springs rests on your shoulders, son.”

“Silver Springs? Whoa! Stiles didn’t say anything about that, Pa.” Barton threw the magazine onto the nightstand that his father had built with his own two hands. “It’s not part of the deal.”

“The deal is to get the Curly-Q back on its feet and keep it that way. A healthy Silver Springs will be good for the ranch and vice-versa, especially since half of the property there is tied up in the family corporation papers. A town needs law and order, and you’re the only one with any experience in that area.”

“We’re talking about a ghost town, Pa!”

“One that never should’ve gone the way it did,” Emmett muttered. “It was a stagecoach stop on the Santa Fe Trail, for pity’s sake! We can’t abandon a piece of living history! If not for poor planning—”

“Try a changed economy!” Bart cut in. “A mine that closed down when it played out! A railroad that stopped running through the damn place!”

“But Tucker and me were men of vision,” Emmett insisted, “even if Noah couldn’t hack it,” he said of a third partner who Bart had never met. “We should’ve found a way through the setbacks. Tucker might’ve given up and moved over to Taos, but not me. I’ve just been waiting for my chance…uh, a chance for us all, that is. I say it’s not too late if the Quarrels men all pull together.”

Bart realized he’d been right. Even serious illness hadn’t dampened his father’s will. Pa was making plans like there was no tomorrow.

“Pa, you’re stuck in some damn dream. When I was a kid, it was already too late! We’ll be lucky if we can hang onto the Curly-Q and a way of life that’s mostly gone now.”

But his father had never been able to accept defeat when he took a notion. “More’n one way to skin a cat,” Emmett grumbled. “It seems tourists like visiting Silver Springs. Tourists have money burning holes in their pockets. And some people actually have been moving in, trying to make a go of it. Population in the town proper is more’n seventy now…give or take a body.”

“Seventy? And you think I should—what?”

“You’re a lawman! Do what a lawman is supposed to do. Protect its citizens. Turn Silver Springs into a shiny town that’ll attract new families. Grow it back to what it once was, for God’s sake!”

Good Lord, the old man was deluded!

“I turned in my badge, Pa. I gave up work I loved to run this ranch, remember?”

Emmett slid his eyes away. “Yeah, yeah, I remember. But part of you will always be a lawman, badge or no badge. Can’t take that out of a man. Besides, I figure you’re gonna have lots of help around here, so you can whip Silver Springs back into shape in your spare time.”

As much as the idea appealed to him, Bart recognized a pipe dream when he heard one.

“This ranch will take every drop of sweat I’ve got. Reed’ll put his back into the place, but he’s not a leader. As for Chance, he’s not much of a worker, as I recall.” Suspicions rising once more, Bart narrowed his gaze and glared at his father. “Unless you mean something else.”

Emmett said, “All I meant is if you three boys all pull together, you can do anything.” He put his hand to his chest and sighed. “Arguing knocks the stuffing outta me these days. I need my rest now.”

Exasperated, Bart backed off. “All right. We can finish this later.”

“Since you have time on your hands,” Emmett suggested, “why don’t you check on Silver Springs this afternoon personally and see what you think.”

“Already did that. Wasn’t impressed.”

“Then look up Alcina Dale and hear what she has to say. Might change your mind.”

“Alcina?” Barton appeared surprised. “Haven’t seen her in nearly twenty years.”

“That girl restored the old family home on her own,” Emmett said, “turned that spook place into one of them fancy bed-and-breakfasts that tourists like so much.”

“Bed-and-breakfast?” Bart echoed. He’d seen the place, all prettied up, on his way through town. “Not the Springs Bed-and-Breakfast?”

“How many do you think a town like Silver Springs could handle? Of course that’s the one!”

Mulling over that information, Bart said, “Hmm, maybe she does know something I don’t. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt anything to talk to her.”

“Good. You could do worse than a beautiful, smart, ambitious woman—even if Alcina is that reprobate Tucker’s daughter.”

“Pa, whoa.”

Was Pa now trying to manage his love life? Bart wondered, not exactly ready for one, even though Sara had been dead long enough that he missed a woman’s company. But his family took up all the emotion he had in him.

His family…that included his father.

“Pa,” Bart said, a knot of worry making him ask, “you are okay, aren’t you?”

Emmett stared at a crack in the adobe wall that needed fixing. “As well as can be expected.”

Bart swallowed hard. “Can I tell the kids they’ll get to see you at the supper table?”

“If I’m up to it. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a family dinner in this house.”

“I’ll let you get your rest, then,” Bart said, opening the door. “And, Pa…”

“Yeah, son?”

Bart shifted his piercing gaze from his father’s face to the foot of the bed. “You might be more comfortable resting…without your boots.”