Читать книгу Justin's Bride - Сьюзен Мэллери, Susan Mallery - Страница 8

It was late afternoon when Justin left the livery stable and stood alone on the boardwalk. The blue Kansas sky stretched on forever. It was warmer than it had been the day before. He buttoned up his lined coat and adjusted his hat.

Two women carrying overloaded baskets walked along the boardwalk. He stepped back out of their way and touched his hat brim. The younger of the two smiled and nodded until her companion leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. Then both of them glanced at him and hurried away.

He’d had that kind of trouble all the day. Most of the old-timers remembered him and weren’t pleased to have him as their sheriff. And, as Megan had told him, the newer settlers didn’t much care about him or his past, as long as he kept the peace. Neither group had any information about the dead saloon girl. They’d answered his questions patiently, but he’d seen the questions in their eyes. Why did he care about the likes of her?

One or two people had tried to be helpful, but most couldn’t bother. He hated that some lives were valued more than others. As long as he was in charge of justice in this town, that wasn’t going to happen. Unfortunately, he was too late for Laurie Smith.

“Will there be anything else, Sheriff?”

Justin turned back toward the stable. “No. If you think of anything, I’d be obliged if you’d come tell me about it. Or one of the deputies.”

“I’ll sure do that.”

Rumors about his presence in town and what he was asking everyone about had spread so quickly that by the time Justin got to the livery stable, Zeke had simply come out shaking his head. Said he’d never met the girl, hadn’t known she was dead. Zeke man was so frail that Justin doubted the old man could have raised his hand against a good-size dog, let alone a woman. But as far as he was concerned, everyone else was suspect.

“Afternoon, Zeke.”

“Afternoon, Sheriff.”

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and surveyed the town. He’d sent Wyatt to speak with the other saloon girls, and Thomas to find out what he could from nearby farmers. Justin had asked questions at every business in town. Except one.

He started down the boardwalk, then jogged across the street between two wagons. He wished he knew if he’d been putting off talking to her, or saving her for last. Better for both of them if he hadn’t had to think about it at all. Best if she hadn’t still been in Landing, or if he hadn’t have given a damn about seeing her.

It was too late to change what had already happened between them, he reminded himself. Too late to take back the kisses that had kept him up half the night. If only she’d gotten old, fat or bald. Even a husband would have been enough to keep him at bay. Now there was nothing between him and Megan Bartlett except his good intentions. They would provide as much protection as cotton sheet in a blizzard.

His boots clunked on the boardwalk outside the general store. He wished he didn’t have to go inside. He didn’t want to look at her and know that she was still bent on protecting her reputation more than anything in the world. He didn’t want to know that just seeing her was enough to make him act like a fool. Megan had been nothing but trouble for him. From the moment he’d first laid eyes on her, he knew he had to have her or die. In the end, she’d almost destroyed him.

But right now, he didn’t have a choice. There was a dead girl buried by the church and no one to bring her killer to justice but him. That was more important than any woman, or any feelings either he or Megan might have.

He opened the door and stepped inside the store. As the door slammed shut behind him, he heard the faint tinkling of a bell. Despite the big windows in front and spaced on the sides, it was dimmer inside than out and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

Before he could see all the merchandise in her store, he could smell it. Leathers and perfumes, burning wood, tobacco, coffee, salt brine from the barrels along the wall, and underlying it all, exotic spices. He inhaled deeply, remembering how, as a child, he’d loved visiting the general store. Old man Bartlett had chased him out quick enough, fearing the young Kincaid boy was as likely to steal as a cow is to eat hay. So his trips had been furtive, planned out in detail as he tried to enter hidden by the full skirt of some respected matron. He took great pride in the fact that he had never stolen anything, despite his reputation. All these years later, when he had every right to be in the store, he couldn’t quite shake the urge to look over his shoulder.

Although the bounty of the store was similar to what he remembered it had in the past, Megan had changed the organization. Instead of a hodgepodge of goods piled around, she had rows of neatly stacked items for sale. Bolts of fabric were at the front of the store, along with tables of pattern books and magazines. Behind them were the household goods. Dishes, steel knives, pans, pails, brooms. There was even an adult-size coffin tucked under a table. Display cases down the center of the store held jewelry and pistols. On the left of the room was the food. Barrels and bags, jars, tins, boxes. A dozen or so customers filled the aisles.

“Good afternoon, Justin. Have you come to see me?”

He turned toward the voice and was surprised to see Widow Dobson sitting behind a desk by the front window. Her black dress, different from the one she’d worn yesterday, but no less severe, clung to her generous form. The buttons over her mammoth bosom seemed to test the strength of the fabric.

“Not specifically,” he said. “But I do have a few questions.” He motioned to the store. “If you’re done with your shopping.”

She cackled gleefully. “I’m not shopping, I’m working.” She spread out several letters in front of her. “Should I be looking for mail for you?”

Of course. She ran the small Landing post office. He shook his head. “No. I’m not expecting any letters.”

Her bright green eyes danced. “We can always hope. From a young lady, perhaps?”

Just what he needed. A matchmaking, meddling old woman spreading gossip about his correspondence. A sharp retort sprang to his lips, but he held it back. He reminded himself again that Mrs. Dobson had been kind to his mother. He owed her for that.

“How is my kitten?” she asked, leaning forward and resting her bosom on the table. It smothered some of the letters and pushed others aside. He wondered if Mr. Dobson had ever felt inadequate at the sight of such largesse.

Kitten? He stiffened. The one he’d given to Megan last night. “She’s fine.”

“It’s puzzling,” she said. “Megan came in this morning with a kitten. Just like the one I gave you. I didn’t know you and Megan were acquainted.”

The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he scented danger. The older woman could make trouble for Megan. He didn’t trust her with the truth, so all that was left was a bluff. Slowly, he reached up and removed his hat. He slapped it against his thigh, then met the woman’s gaze. “I’m sure I don’t know anything about that.”

Her green eyes narrowed as she studied him. He waited to see if she would call him on the lie. Instead, Mrs. Dobson leaned back and straightened the pile of letters. “I see. You said you had some questions for me. What are they?”

“I’m investigating a murder that occurred here last month. One of the saloon girls was beaten and left on the edge of town. Do you know anything about that?”

Mrs. Dobson stood and glared at him. “Because I know you didn’t mean to insult me with that question, I will pretend I never heard it. I’ll ask you to go on about your business.”

“I’m not implying that you had anything to do with her death, ma’am. I’m just trying to find out information.”

The woman continued to stare at a point just left of his shoulder.

“Did you ever speak to her?”

Her gaze didn’t waver.

“All right, Mrs. Dobson. Good afternoon.”

He walked toward a young man behind the counter. Widow Dobson’s reaction had been the same as most women’s in town. They wouldn’t discuss the girl’s murder with him. It was frustrating and he didn’t know what to do about it.

A young man in his late teens looked up when Justin approached. The stitched name on his apron said Andrew.

“May I help you, sir?”

Justin needed a minute to let his temper cool off before he spoke to Megan. Starting a fight with her the moment he saw her wouldn’t help his investigation.

He glanced at the counter in front of him and pointed. “A penny’s worth of candy.” He pulled the coin out of his vest pocket.

Andrew measured out the hard sweets, then dropped them into a piece of brown paper and twisted the ends together. “Anything else?”

Justin took the offered package. “I’m the new sheriff in town. About a month ago, a woman was killed and I’m looking into her murder. Her name was Laurie Smith. She worked in one of the saloons. Did you know her?”

Andrew’s still-pimply face blushed bright red. He ducked his head toward his chest. “N-no,” he muttered, his voice cracking on the single syllable. He cleared his throat. “I don’t go to saloons much. My ma doesn’t approve.”

“You never paid for her company?”

Andrew looked up, his gaze stricken, then looked away. From the deepening of the flush on his cheeks, it looked as if the boy had never had the pleasure of bedding a woman. Justin shook his head. He felt old. Very old.

“Your time will come, son,” he said.

Andrew’s answer was unintelligible.

Justin glanced around the crowded store. Several women were having a lively discussion over a fashion book. A couple of farmers had spread out packages of seeds. He glanced back at the clerk. “Where’s Miss Bartlett?”

“In the back.”

Justin started in that direction.

“Sir, you can’t go there. It’s private.”

He shot Andrew his coldest look. “Official business, young man.”

That froze the boy in place. Justin weaved through the shoppers and ducked behind a curtain.

* * *

Megan bent over her task, trying to tally the number of bolts of calico she was ordering. They would arrive in plenty of time for the fall Harvest Dance. With spring and summer crops bringing in extra coin, lots of people liked to buy an extra garment or two. She wanted to be prepared.

But as she moved her pencil down the neat row of figures, the tiny calico kitten batted it away.

“You’re not helping,” Megan said, trying to sound stern.

The kitten looked up at her. Her pretty face was as multicolored as the rest of her, as if God had changed his mind about her several times, but hadn’t bothered to erase what he’d already started. Her belly, paws and half of her face were white. There were blotches of orange, black and an intriguing sprinkling of tabby on the rest of her body. Her tail was ringed all the way up to the solid black tip.

“You should be as ugly as a groundhog,” she said, picking up the kitten and holding her close. The little cat nestled against her chest and purred contentedly. Megan leaned back in her chair and stroked the little animal’s soft coat.

“I see you’re working hard.”

The male voice shocked her. She straightened immediately, causing the kitten to meow in protest. Megan looked up and saw Justin leaning against the doorway of her office. The room was small enough without him taking up all the space. She scooted the chair back to put more distance between them, but the file drawers behind her didn’t give her anywhere to go.

He was too tall, too broad, altogether too masculine. Her father had been gone long enough for her to have removed all traces of him from the office. This was her domain now; she was in charge. But just seeing Justin standing there made her feel helpless and fluttery. With his hat pushed back on his head, she could see his eyes, but she didn’t want to look there. She didn’t want to see his expression and perhaps know what he was thinking.

His scent came to her—the cool freshness of the sunny afternoon, the faint smell of her store and something else, something wholly male and wholly Justin. She recognized the fragrance. It had clung to her clothing last night for a brief time, reminding her of his kisses.

She set the kitten on the desk, then stood and smoothed her skirt. “Good afternoon, Justin,” she said, hoping her voice sounded calmer than the thundering of her heart. “This is a surprise.”

“I came to make a purchase.” He held up the small paper package, then nodded at the kitten. “And to check up on her. She seems quite happy. Have you given her a name?”

“Alice.”

He raised one dark eyebrow.

She tilted up her chin slightly. “She’s my cat. I can name her what I like.”

“Alice?”

“I’ve never liked those silly names like Boots or Snowball. I wanted to give her a real name. Something she could be proud of.”

He took a step closer. In the tiny office, that action left less than two feet between them. She tried to slow her breathing.

“She’s just a cat,” he said.

“I know, but...” Her words died in her throat when he reached toward her. Her body began to hum in anticipation. Her palms got sweaty and her blood heated. He was going to touch her, right here in her office where anyone could come in and—

He stretched his arm past her and picked up the kitten. “Good afternoon, Alice,” he said softly and stroked the animal under the chin. The kitten looked up at him, then started to purr. Her rumble seemed far too loud for a cat her size.

Megan abruptly sat in her chair. She understood exactly how Alice felt. If Justin had touched her, she would have purred as loudly. She’d told herself she could survive anything for a year. This was the second day of his stay and already she was in trouble. She had a bad feeling it was going to be a very long twelve months.

“I want to talk about the murder,” he said. His voice was still low and pleasant, but when she looked at his face she saw the tightness in his expression. “About a month ago a saloon girl was killed. What do you know about that?”

“Nothing. Why would I?”

He set the kitten on the desk. “Because someone who lived here for many years was brutally murdered. She didn’t die in her sleep or have an accident. Someone found her and beat her to death.”

Megan folded her arms in front of her and clutched at her waist. Justin’s anger was a tangible force in the room. It filled the small space and used up all the air until she felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

“I’d heard—”

“Nothing. I know. Damn.” He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his dark hair. Brown eyes bored into hers. “What is wrong with all you people? Why doesn’t anyone care about her? Why didn’t you want to know what happened?”

“I didn’t know her. Of course, I’m sorry she met with such an unfortunate fate, but there is no reason for me to know a saloon girl.”

“That makes her death all right with you.”

“No.” She grabbed the arms of her chair and glared at him. “Not at all. I wouldn’t want anyone to die like that.”

“Weren’t you concerned for yourself? Your safety?”

She drew her eyebrows together. “Why should I be? Someone who wanted her dead wouldn’t be interested in a respectable woman.”

Justin bent over her and placed his hands on the arms of her chair, trapping her fingers under his. His coat fell open, blocking her view of the rest of the room. His face was inches from hers. “How do you know?”

She wanted to get away, but squirming would be undignified. She refused to let him know how he was upsetting her. “The sheriff said her killer was just a drifter. There were several in town around that time. He said it was an argument over...services.” She could feel the heat on her cheeks.

“And no one cared.”

“You have no right to ask me these questions or to make me say these things.”

“Explain that to Laurie.”

“Who?”

“The dead girl. She had a name, you know.” His dark, angry eyes refused to release her. She tried to look away, but she couldn’t. “She was just your age, Megan. Not much taller than you. Not nearly as pretty, though. But because she worked in a saloon and took money for what you offered me for free, it’s all right that she’s dead?”

“No!” She jerked her hands free and pushed at his chest. “I never offered you anything.” She banished the memory of their times by the stream. Nothing had happened.

But she’d wanted it to.

Justin straightened. Only then did she realize the door was open and that anyone could have overheard their conversation. She sent up a quick prayer, then rose and moved around him to close it.

“Keep your voice down,” she said quietly.

“Ah, yes. Your precious reputation.” He mocked her, then took her chair without asking. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, trapping her by the door.

She glanced at the desk. Alice had curled up on the order forms and had gone to sleep. The sight of the sweet kitten reminded her that Justin had brought her the cat as an apology for the harsh words he’d said yesterday. Here they were, arguing again.

She tugged at the waist of her dress, then looked at him. “You didn’t really expect me to know her, Justin. I’m sorry she’s dead. I’m sorry I don’t know anything, but you can’t blame me for her life or her death.”

He placed his hat on his lap. “I suppose not.” He thought for a minute. “Did anyone demand a more thorough investigation?”

“Not that I remember. Sheriff Roberts told everyone it was one of the drifters who had killed her.”

“That’s it?”

She nodded. “Justin, I’m sorry. He was the sheriff. Why wouldn’t he tell the truth?”

He leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. He dangled his hat from his hands. “I’m not saying he lied on purpose. I just wonder why he didn’t bother looking into the case further.”

“You think there was another killer?”

“I don’t know.”

He looked desolate. Megan had to hold herself back to keep from going to him. She wanted to touch him and tell him that everything was going to be all right. Except she didn’t know that to be true. And even if she did, Justin wouldn’t want comfort from her.

“Her name was Laurie,” he said.

“You told me.”

“Laurie Smith.”

Megan grabbed on to the door handle for support. She stared at his bent head, then watched as he looked up at her. She tried to school her features, but couldn’t. Heaven knew what he saw on her face. His dark eyes gave nothing away.

“So you remember.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “She was the one—” She swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

“The woman I was accused of beating seven years ago. Interesting, don’t you think?”

“She cleared your name.”

“So I heard.”

“But you don’t know how.”

“What do you mean?”

Megan was sorry she’d said anything. She didn’t want to have this conversation with Justin. There was no way for her to talk about it without him guessing how much she’d been hurt. No one had known the truth, she reminded herself. That was the only thought that had kept her alive during those awful days. When she’d heard the story, she’d known she’d made the right decision about staying in Landing. What would have happened if she’d left with him and then found out? She would have been destroyed.

“Megan, tell me what you’re talking about.” He rose from the chair and approached her. With the closed door behind her, there was nowhere to go. He tossed his hat on the chair and gently held her upper arms. “Tell me.”

“I...” She looked up into his face, then away. “When she said it wasn’t you, the sheriff wanted to know how she was sure. He told her it had been dark. She said—” Her voice caught. She swallowed again, then closed her eyes. It was easier to speak of it without looking at him. “She said she would have known you anywhere. That you’d been with her several times, some of them in the dark.” She blinked back the tears, but could do nothing about the pain. “You spent those summer evenings kissing me and tempting me on the bank of the stream, but you spent your nights with her. You went from me to a w-whore.”

His fingers gripped her tighter. “Sonofabitch.”

She flinched at the harsh word.

He released her then, and turned away. “So even if you knew anything about her death you, wouldn’t tell me,” he said.

“That’s not true. If you think that, you don’t know me at all.”

“You’re right, I don’t know you.” He picked up his hat. “It’s been seven years, Megan. Despite the past we shared, we’re strangers.”

Then why does my heart beat faster around you? She didn’t ask. He would have no answer, at least none that she wanted to hear.

“I’d better go,” he said, turning toward her.

She feared what she would see in his eyes, but for once his lack of expression was a blessing. “I really don’t know anything,” she said.

He nodded and moved past her toward the door. She wanted to say something, anything to make it right between them. There were no words left. He was right; they were strangers.

He opened the door.

“Justin?”

He paused.

She raised her hand toward him, wanting to touch him, then let her arm drop to her side. “I don’t know if this helps or not, but there was another saloon girl killed about four years ago. She was beaten to death, as well.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.” She held her palm out. “I was caring for my father while he was ill, so don’t yell at me for not being concerned about her death. I don’t know any of the details, but they sound the same as those surrounding Laurie Smith’s death. Maybe it will help.”

“Thanks for telling me. No one else bothered to.” He grimaced. “I don’t suppose you would consider asking around about Laurie? Maybe people would tell you something they won’t tell me?”

She wouldn’t have been more shocked if he’d asked her to take off her dress and parade around in her petticoats. “I can’t. What would people—”

“Think,” he finished grimly. “Stupid of me to ask.”

“That’s not fair. No one I know would be familiar with a saloon girl.”

He stepped into the hallway. “Tell me, Megan, does it get cold and lonely being perfect?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, he simply walked away. She stared after him, biting her lower lip and fighting the tears. He wasn’t being reasonable. He wanted too much. And he was right. Her world was much colder and emptier than he could ever imagine.

* * *

Justin stormed along the boardwalk, then stomped through the mud on his way back to his office. Damn Megan for her heartlessness. He pulled his mouth into a straight line and barely had the good manners to nod as one of the new settlers in the area greeted him.

She couldn’t risk her precious reputation to ask a few questions about a dead girl. Laurie Smith had never hurt anyone; she’d been the one hurt.

His steps slowed as he remembered the look on Megan’s face as she’d tonelessly spoken the words that had proven his innocence. That Laurie knew Justin’s form in the dark because he’d bedded her. More than once.

He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He’d been so young, then. So infatuated with Megan, so determined to do the right thing. But night after night of kissing her and nothing more had left him as randy as a stallion teased by a mare in heat. He’d taken his release with Laurie because she was young and smelled sweet and because if he closed his eyes, he could pretend her curves were Megan’s. He would have cut out his heart rather than let Megan know what he’d done.

He shook his head but that didn’t banish her look of hurt and shattered pride. She was too innocent to understand the needs of a man, especially a foolish young man. She wouldn’t know that time and experience would temper those needs and that spending his coin on Laurie didn’t mean he had loved Megan less. Things would be different now. He could handle the temptation without giving in. He had developed self-control. Not that it mattered. There was nothing between him and Megan and there never would be. When his year was up, he was leaving and never looking back.

He stalked around the pile of manure by the sheriff’s office, then jerked open the door. He was so intent on forgetting Megan and trying to concentrate on her news of another murder four years ago that at first he didn’t notice Thomas cowering in front of a tall, large-boned woman.

“Sheriff,” Thomas said as Justin stepped into the office. “I’m real glad you’re back. This lady here—” he motioned to the poorly dressed older woman “—needs to speak with you.”

The woman turned her cold stare on him. There was something meanspirited about her and Justin understood why his deputy was squirming.

“Are you the last person I got to explain this to, or should I just hold my tongue a spell? I ain’t fond of chewin’ my food twice.”

“I’m the sheriff here,” he said and motioned for her to take a seat. He took off his hat and coat and hung them on the hooks by the door, then offered her his most charming smile.

The woman glared at him and sat. Her gray-streaked hair was pulled back into a bun. The afternoon sunlight caught the strands, highlighting the oily film. Her coat and dress were old and dirty, her face none too clean. Only practice kept him from recoiling when her odor drifted to him.

“How can I help you?” he asked.

Her gaze narrowed. “I’ve been to that church there. The pea-eyed lady done told me she don’t care for the likes of my trouble. Not that I blame her. I don’t care for it none, neither.”

Justin perched on the edge of his desk and looked at Thomas. The deputy shrugged. “I’m not sure, sir. We had just started our discussion when you walked in.”

“I’m gettin’ to it,” the woman said impatiently. “Girl, get over here.”

Justin saw something move away from the corner. He looked closer. With all the commotion, he hadn’t noticed the child standing so quietly. At the woman’s command, the girl stepped forward slowly, but kept her gaze firmly fixed on her shoes.

If anything, her clothing was worse than the woman’s. Her dress and coat were too short. Patches of lining showed through on the sleeves and what he saw wasn’t too thick. Her legs were thin, bare and scratched around the knees. Her littlest toe on her left foot poked through her shoe. The soles were probably missing altogether.

Anger welled up inside of him. He understood families being poor. God knows he and his mother had had their share of tough times. “Are you saying the lady at the church wasn’t willing to provide you with food and clothing for your daughter?” How like Colleen, he thought grimly. She would save all her Christian charity for the well-placed citizens of towns, the ones who needed it the least.

“She ain’t mine,” the woman said. When the girl was close enough, she grabbed the child’s arm and pulled her in front of the chair. “Say how-do.”

“Hello,” the small child whispered. Her voice was shaking. She couldn’t be more than five or six and was obviously terrified.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Justin said.

The woman scowled. “It’s real simple. That whore, Laurie Smith, paid me to take care of her bastard girl here.” The woman poked at the girl. “She’s dead, and the money’s run out. I don’t run no orphanage. I got babes of my own to feed and there ain’t no extra.”

Justin curled his fingers into his palm, just in case his temper got the better of him.

“Madam, I would thank you not to speak like that in front of the child.”

The woman stood up and shrugged. “Say all the fancy talk you want. Like I said, the church lady didn’t want nothin’ to do with the girl. I ain’t gonna keep her. As I sees it, she’s your problem.” The woman moved to the door, opened it and walked away.