by P. Creeden
“Of course, dear. But don’t overdo things. If you’re not used to this kind of work, your body will have something to say about it.”
The truth was that Colette’s body was already beginning to protest. Her arms and shoulders ached from being hunched over for the work, and her thighs burned from squatting down over and over again. Still, she was never one to complain, and she’d never want to do less and leave Missy with all of the work while Colette sat at leisure. Her hands rested on her abdomen as she looked up at the few clouds that hung just above the horizon. It had been less than half a day, but she was already beginning to feel at home here in Colorado. The air felt cleaner and the wind was less salty than it had been in Atlantic City. When she thought about how far she was from the ocean—how far she was from her difficulties—a sense of peace settled around her. Colorado seemed like a much better place to raise her child. But how would Maxwell take it when she told him about the child? Would he flatly reject her? She needed to tell him soon, so he didn’t feel that she was lying to him. She just needed to find the right time. Letting out a slow breath, she met eyes with Missy who had an eyebrow raised.
Missy nodded toward her and pulled her leather gloves from her hands. “Let’s go get washed up and start preparing a stew for dinner but I want to let it cool a bit before we eat. I’m sure Thomas and Maxwell will be famished when they get home. Boys always are.”
With a smile, Colette nodded. It was wonderful that Missy treated Maxwell like a child, even though he was a grown man... and sheriff of the town apparently. Acting sheriff, she corrected herself. He’d made that part clear at lunch earlier as well. Although Missy had a touch of gray at her temples, she had a youthful spark in her eyes. She didn’t seem old enough to be Maxwell’s mother, but Colette just shrugged. Perhaps it was a family trait that the women continued to look youthful.
When Thomas arrived that evening, Missy promptly sent him back out to fetch Maxwell. But Colette stopped him before he made it out the door. “Wait! Would you mind if I came? I would like to see a bit of the town.”
Missy blinked but nodded. “I’m sorry that I’ve kept you cooped up in the house all day. Of course you can go with Thomas.”
A shine filled Thomas’s eyes while he grinned and stuck out an elbow. “I’d be happy to escort you about town, Milady.”
Shaking her head, Colette tied on a bonnet and then took hold of Thomas’s arm. “Don’t let me slow you down too much. I’ll do my best to keep pace with you.”
He smiled down at her. “Now that wouldn’t be very gentlemanly, would it? You set the pace. I’ll keep up.”
His words brought a smile to her lips. Missy was doing an excellent job of raising her two sons to be gentlemen. They both had a way about them that told Colette that they would make strong partners as husbands, but a gentleness to them that made her feel that they wouldn’t take advantage of a woman in distress the way Jason had. Her stomach soured as they walked. She took a deep breath of fresh air to help stave off the nausea that struck her. No, she didn’t want to think about Jason at a time like this. Even though Jason had dark hair and eyes, like his brother, John, that gentleness that was there with her husband was missing from Jason’s hard gazes. The softness was easily seen in both of the Clayton brothers, even though Maxwell had dark hair and eyes, and Thomas was much fairer, like his mother.
The two of them reached town arm-in-arm and stopped for a stagecoach as it passed. There wasn’t much to the town of Romeo, Colette had noticed that morning as well. It was just one main street with a couple of side streets. It was amazing that such a small town had a train stop at it. Colette had worried that she was going to have to find a stagecoach from Denver. And in her delicate condition, she wasn’t sure she would have handled a coach well. Thomas led her directly to the office of the sheriff which sat across the street from the train station. She’d been so close to going into the sheriff’s office that morning when she wasn’t sure how to find the person who’d sent out the advertisement, but luckily the man from the telegraph office was more helpful than not.
Just as they stepped up to the doorway of the office, Deputy Miller caught up with them. “Miss Tolliver, lovely to see you again.”
Colette smiled back at him, but she didn’t like the way his wolfish eyes glided over her form before returning to meet hers. She decided not to correct the man’s use of Miss and thought it better to just get directly to the point. “Deputy Miller. Is the sheriff around? Thomas and I are here to see him.”
Perhaps being too friendly and nice to men like Deputy Miller... to men like Jason... is what had gotten her into trouble before. Jason had mentioned that he had thought that she’d had feelings for him when she’d never expressed such a thing. It seemed that certain men could misinterpret her kindness or gentleness toward them for affection. If she had her way, she’d never make that mistake again.
“Sure,” Deputy Miller said just as gunfire sounded a short distance away making Colette jump a bit. Deputy Miller huffed a laugh and then pointed down a small alleyway between the sheriff’s office and the general store. “If you go that way, you’ll head around the back of the office. Sheriff Clayton is practicing his aim.”
Thomas smiled wide and quickened his step, starting for the alley when Deputy Miller grabbed him by the arm. “Actually, Thomas, I need you for something. Can you handle seeing to the sheriff yourself, Miss Tolliver?”
Colette released Thomas’s arm while Thomas gave her a surprised but reassuring nod. Swallowing hard, Colette started down the narrow alley on her own amidst the sound of another gunshot.
Chapter 10
The late afternoon sunlight didn’t make its way much into the alley. Shadows stretched across the area, making Colette walk slowly around a couple of crates that were stacked against the general store’s side wall. Another gunshot rang out. Though the sound of the gun’s report made her stomach twist and her heart race, she continued forward, reassuring herself that it was just practice. No one was getting shot. When she finally reached the other side of the alley, she found Maxwell, alone, striding out toward the other side of the clearing and putting several obstacles back on a fence that had obviously fallen when he’d hit them. His pistol was back in the holster on his side, and the birds were singing once more around them. There was a small hitching post that seemed a bit out of place in the area, but she stood next to it as she waited for Maxwell to turn around. The sun shone down on the look of concentration on his face while he was setting up the targets, giving his skin a glow. Watching him focus on his work made Colette’s heart flutter for a different reason.
Then he turned back toward her, walking again before even looking up. When his gaze met hers, his step faltered for a moment and his eyes went wide before he regained his composure and continued striding her direction. He came around the side of the hitching post and leaned against it. A half smile ticked up the side of his lip as he tipped his hat toward her. “Afternoon, Ms. Tolliver. What brings you here?”
His shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing the strong muscles and virile veins on his arms. She caught herself staring at them a bit as Maxwell reloaded his weapon. She swallowed hard and pulled her gaze away. “Um... We came to fetch you for dinner.”
As he loaded the last cartridge, he snapped the revolver shut and then looked about them, confused. “We? I only see you here.”
Nervous laughter bubbled up. Then Colette shyly put her hands together behind her back while she peered down toward his gun. “Thomas brought me but was called away by Deputy Miller. That’s what I meant by we.”
“I see,” Maxwell said as he leaned back a moment his eyebrow raised as her gaze returned to his. “Do you know how to shoot?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never learned how. I was raised by my grandmother, and then John had a pistol, but he kept it far away from me. I don’t think I’ve ever even held a gun in my hands.”
A small smile spread across Maxwell’s lips. “With all you’ve been throu
gh, it might behoove you to learn. But that’s entirely up to you.”
Her heart rate picked up again. She wondered if she’d flinch when she held the weapon that made such a loud sound in her very hands. She swallowed hard and then nodded. “You’re right. It might behoove me to learn.”
He turned the gun in his and so that the handle faced her. “There are two rules that are most important to handling a gun. Never point it at anyone unless you plan on using it. Accidents happen. So be sure that the barrel is pointed toward the ground or down range at all times.”
Frowning, Colette nodded as she took the weapon and kept it pointed toward the ground in her limp grip. “And the second rule?”
“Don’t put your finger on the trigger right away. Always have it on the outside, resting on the trigger guard until you’re ready to shoot. Got it?” Maxwell stepped forward when she nodded and put his alpha down on her’s and physically tightened the grip with his own fingers. He stepped behind her, keeping his hands on her forearms as he lifted them and pointed them down the range. “That’s it. Now, just practice holding the gun with two hands like this and pointing it in the direction of the target. Breathe normally. Line up both the sights on the middle of the target. See, we’re pointing at the biggest one so that you have the best chance of hitting it at this distance.”
Twenty feet away, on the fence railing, part of a large square box sat. It had been shot a few times so that the sides and a corner was stripped away, but the side facing them was mostly in tact. The heat from Maxwell’s body warmed her back, even though he wasn’t touching her there. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of how close they were. She turned and peered up into his face, but he was focused on the target across the way. It seemed that he’d done this a hundred times, teaching someone to shoot, and though the moment felt intimate to her, it was just business for him.
When he saw her peering at him, he gave her a soft smile and stepped back a bit. “Now you can cock the gun and aim it again. Try for the center of the box. The gun’s going to make a lot of noise, and it has a bit of kick when it fires, but don’t overcompensate by getting stiff in your arm. Just hold your hands steady and think about being a strong extension of the gun. Think about how tree branches sway in the breeze but don’t change their shape. Your elbows shouldn’t bend, but you also don’t want to get so stiff in the arm that you fire the gun low. If you’re too stiff, all your bullets will fire below the target. If you’re too limp, they will fire above it. You have to be pliable, but strong. Understand?”
She nodded, even though she wasn’t quite sure of herself, and did as he said, pulling back the hammer on the revolver and keeping her finger on the guard while she aimed once more at the target.
“Good,” he said as he stepped to the side. “Once you have everything set up, take a deep breath and let it out slowly. While you’re exhaling, move your finger from the guard to the trigger and pull it. Remember—strong but pliable.”
She nodded again and then took that deep breath, moving her finger just as he’d told her, then as she let the breath out, she pulled the trigger. The loud bang took her by surprise, even though she’d been expecting it. Regardless, she was proud of herself for not flinching, not closing her eyes, and not dropping the gun when it fired. The kick that he’d told her about had caused her arms to go upward a bit, but like a tree branch, she stayed strong and kept it from going too high, she hoped. With a smile, she peered at the target, hoping that she’d hit it. A fresh bullet hole appeared in the top right corner of the box even though she’d aimed at the center, like he’d told her. Disappointment filled her.
But then a warm hand landed on her shoulder, and Maxwell’s bright smile shone upon her. “That was a great shot,” he said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “If that was shot at a man’s torso, you’d hit him in a vital area, and that’s all that really matters. You want to make sure that if you have to shoot someone, you hit them and do not miss. It’s why we aim for the middle of their chest and not for anything else.”
His eyes became like two halfmoons as his smile reached them. The look of pride on his face made her disappointment flee and a bit of happiness bloomed in her chest and washed over her at the way he looked at her, making goose flesh rise on her arms. She could get used to that smile. It made her tingle all the way down to her toes. His hand still rested on her shoulder as she asked, “Can I try again?”
His smile grew broad as he nodded. “Of course.”
Maxwell stood behind Colette as she fired the gun four more times, hitting the target and getting closer to center each time, growing used to the feel of it in her hands. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much. She was a better shot than some of his deputies when they were first learning to shoot. Upon firing the sixth and final shot, Colette finally turned toward him, her brow furrowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to empty your gun. It must have been a waste of bullets.”
He shook his head, still not able to wipe the grin from his face even as she frowned up at him. He took the warmed pistol from her hands. “Not at all. Anything lost in education and learning isn’t a true loss. It’ll return to you several-fold. That’s what my father used to say, and I believe in it. Did you learn something?”
She nodded. “I think I like shooting. I never thought I would.”
The pain in his cheeks intensified. “Then it was more than worth the few pennies of bullets.”
The light of the evening had begun to fade, throwing streaks of orange across the sky and casting everything in a muted, golden hue. Maxwell swallowed hard as Colette smiled up at him. How could she even be more beautiful in this light? His heart pounded against his rib cage as he cleared his throat and concentrated on his hands as he reloaded his weapon.
“Oh, goodness!” Colette said. “It’s gotten late. Missy will wonder where we’ve run off to if we don’t get back for supper soon.”
He looked up and winked at her. “We could start a scandal.”
Her eyes went wide for a half a moment and then she gave him a demure shake of the head. “Why, Mr. Clayton, do you offer all the girls a chance like that?”
He finished putting the last cartridge in his revolver and replaced it in his holster. Then he offered her an elbow. “Only the ones who have the sense of adventure enough to embark across the country just to see about becoming a lawman’s bride.”
She raised a brow as she took his offered arm. “There are probably at least two or three ladies like that in all of Colorado right now.”
He patted her hand and shook his head. “But only one of them sits upon my arm.”
Even in the faded light, he could see the bit of pink that rose to her cheeks as they started toward the alleyway. The sight of it made heat rise to his own face. The feel of the warmth of her hand upon his arm made him flush further. She wasn’t just pretty on the outside. She was clever and kind. He could get used to being around her and having banter like this each day. Some men avoid their wives while others can’t seem to wait to get home to be with her. He’d always hoped for a wife that would instill the feeling of the latter. It seemed that Colette might be just that kind of bride for him. As they met up with Thomas and made their way home, he hoped he’d be right.
Chapter 11
Five days passed, and usually on Friday nights Maxwell rarely made it home for dinner. But this Friday, he put Deputy Miller in charge until he could get back and then rushed home before Missy even sent Thomas or Colette after him. The last thing that Maxwell wanted was for Colette to come into town at the same time as the miners would arrive to do their carousing. One of them might get an ungentlemanly idea about Colette and act untoward. And then Maxwell would be tempted to shoot them... or at least knock out some of their teeth with his fist. In all of his life he’d never had a lady evoke such a protective response in him, but for some reason, Colette affected him more than other women.
That night, he intended to ask her to marry him. It was time. They’d gotten to know each other well enou
gh, he hoped, to know that they were companionable. He was ready to start a family with her, even though something inside told him that she was hiding a secret from him. Their week had been one of developing from strangers to friends, but he was ready to become something more. Whatever she was holding back, he hoped she would feel comfortable enough to share with him that night, if possible, so they could start their engagement on the right foot.
All day long, he’d been so busy chasing around small duties that he’d hardly had more than a moment to spare thinking about his new bride or his family. But as he started toward home and passed the livery and corral where Scout stood, he suddenly realized that he’d not seen Thomas all that day. It was unusual for Thomas to spend a whole day without getting under Maxwell’s feet at some point. An uneasiness settled over Maxwell as he had the fleeting thought that something might be wrong. Then he shook himself of it. It could be any reason. Perhaps Thomas was feeling under the weather. Perhaps a friend of his had need of him. Or maybe Missy did and had Thomas executing some obscure chore. No matter what excuses Maxwell came up with, the tightness that he felt in his chest and shoulders wouldn’t quite go away.
When the homestead came into view, the sun hadn’t quite dipped over the horizon yet, and the whitewashed boards of the house shined in the sun. Everything looked quiet. Maxwell frowned. A little too quiet. By now, he’d have expected to see a nice amount of smoke coming from the stack with dinner well on its way to being prepared, but nothing came out of the smokestack from the wood stove in the kitchen. Although a cold snap had hit them so as to remind them that it was truly autumn, Maxwell still would have expected to find his younger brother on the porch, whittling or on the rare occasion, reading a newspaper. However, his brother was nowhere to be seen, either.
Frowning, Maxwell continued forward with caution. It was likely that he was getting his back up for no reason whatsoever, but when he drew closer to the house, he found his hand already reaching for the handle of his pistol. He was only a few feet away when he heard a deep, distinctly male voice that did not belong to fifteen-year-old Thomas.