“Too bad. We could have used someone like you. The South needs every man she can get.”
“Like I said—”
“Yeah, you’re just passing through.”
Jake gathered up the reins and nudged Moore aside. It was all he could do not to question the man about Samantha and Will. But he knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to reveal what Ab had told him. Nor did he think he’d get anything resembling the truth for an answer.
Settling into the saddle with a soft creak of leather, Jake urged his mount forward. After a few steps he pulled back on the reins. “You know, Moore,” Jake said, twisting around to face the man. “I was under the impression the war was over.”
“Not by a long shot, boy. Not by a long shot.”
~ ~ ~
“Is everything satisfactory?” Samantha folded her hands in her lap, squeezing her fingers till they were white. She didn’t like dealing with Peggy Keane, but there was no help for it. Still, she didn’t like the way the woman was examining the tiny stitches on the sleeve of the dress Samantha just brought her.
Peggy looked up, her brown eyes focusing on Samantha as if she’d forgotten her presence. “I suppose it will have to do,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. She stood, holding the gown up to her ample bosom, and twisted, letting the skirt float around her. “I had hoped for a more pronounced bustle.”
Samantha bit her tongue to keep from suggesting she had more than enough of her own. Peggy Keane’s waist was tiny, but unlike Samantha she was well endowed in other areas. Areas that Peggy had once assured Samantha appealed to men. That had been before the war, before Samantha’s father’s death. The girls had attended school together, and though they hadn’t actually been friends, they had known each other.
Peggy was two years older, eons more mature, and thanks to the war, much, much wealthier. As Samantha looked around the parlor now, it was difficult to believe that Peggy used to live in a soddy. But Peggy had married a man twenty years her senior. And Thadeus Keane had grown rich delivering corn and other grain to the soldiers during the war. Rumor had it he didn’t much care which side he sold to as long as they paid in gold.
Samantha sat forward on the horsehair sofa. It was a deep royal red that matched the heavy curtains hanging at the windows, blocking the meager air. The room was stifling, and Samantha tried not to show her impatience. She’d made enough dresses for Peggy to know that this was as much a part of the selling process as making the dress. But Peggy paid well, when she finally got around to handing over the money. And she and Will sorely needed the money.
But today Samantha wasn’t in the mood to watch Peggy preen about, moving gingerly between the heavy pieces of furniture. She’d brought the wagon wheel to town, strapped on the side of the mule, and she wanted to get it to the smithy in time for him to fix it today.
She’d considered stopping there first, but even though Samantha had carefully wrapped Peggy’s gown in sheets, she didn’t want to take any chances on soiling it.
“Well, what do you think?” Peggy obviously was tired of waiting for Samantha’s compliments. “Won’t this be the most beautiful gown at the town ball?”
“Yes.” Samantha swallowed her pride and smiled. What Peggy really meant was won’t I be the most beautiful woman at the ball. Not really a ball, Samantha reminded herself. The town of Hager’s Flats wasn’t the place for a ball. But they did have dances now and then, which Peggy seemed determined to call balls.
Samantha had to admit she probably would be the prettiest woman there. At least the men would think so. But then Samantha never went so she really didn’t know.
A sudden vision flashed into her mind. She was dressed in a gown of shimmering silk, soft as a whisper, with her hair piled high. She was dancing, her head thrown back in laughter, her eyes on only one man, her partner.
Jake.
A smiling Jake, like in the daguerreotype.
Samantha grimaced. She’d worked so hard to purge him from her mind, and there he was, tall and handsome, and... Samantha felt tears sting her eyes and glanced toward the clock ticking loudly on the mantle. She would forget about him. She would!
“I really need to be getting on my way. So if you’d—”
“You aren’t staying for tea?”
“I can’t.” Samantha lowered her lashes. Peggy was angry and would likely pay less for the gown because of her snit. Samantha rushed on to explain. “I need to take a wheel over to the blacksmith’s and have it fixed before I go home. Will’s there alone, and I don’t like leaving him too long.” She didn’t mention Landis Moore or Bundy Atwood. Samantha had spoken to Peggy about them once before and been chided for exaggerating.
“Oh, pooh. Will’s near grown.” Peggy flopped down in a plush chair, tossing aside the gown Samantha had spent so much time on. “I counted on you visiting for a while.”
“I’d like to, really,” Samantha said to convince Peggy. “But I can’t. Not this time.”
“When are you coming back to town?”
“I don’t know,” Samantha answered honestly. “We have to be harvesting soon, and...” That was something else she had to do today. See if Jim Farley would come out and help with the corn.
“All you ever do is work,” Peggy complained.
There was nothing to say to that, so Samantha only stared. She couldn’t help feeling a twinge of pity for Peggy, though Lord help her, she didn’t know why. The women of the town seemed to avoid her, even though she had the biggest and only brick house, and her clothes were the finest. And it couldn’t be much fun married to old Thadeus. But then Samantha had heard talk that Peggy didn’t let a little thing like marriage keep her from her flirtations.
Be that as it may, Samantha had things to do, and limited time to do them. She walked over to where Peggy sat pouting in the chair. “I really do have to go.”
“Oh, all right.” Peggy flounced up and yanked out a drawer in the dark oak secretary. “Here’s the money for the dress.” She plunked some coins into Samantha’s outstretched hand.
Samantha closed her fingers, too proud to count it. “Thank you. Let me know if I can make anything else for you.”
“I don’t know.” Peggy tossed her sable ringlets. “I’ve been thinking of sending to St. Louis for my clothes.”
Samantha only nodded as she saw herself to the door. She didn’t really think Peggy would go through with her threat. She enjoyed flaunting her wealth in front of Samantha too much. Still, it would be nice if Samantha could get some more steady customers for her sewing. The trouble was, most of the women sewed for themselves.
The sun bore down on Samantha as she descended the steps from the Keane home. Glancing over her shoulder, she decided it really was pretentious. Especially with the rest of the town so primitive by comparison. Samantha shook her head as she untied Prudence, the mule, from the fence post and led her down the dust-choked street.
She shouldn’t be so hard on Hager’s Flats. There was a hotel, two churches, and a school. Not to mention the bank and mercantile. Several saloons, quiet now in the middle of the day, opened onto the main street. Hager’s Flats had definitely grown since she’d come here as a child of twelve. Samantha caught sight of the sheriff leaning against the hotel porch post. He touched his hat in greeting, and Samantha nodded. Sheriff Hughes didn’t work at hiding his Southern sympathies. But most people didn’t realize how strong they really were. If it hadn’t been for her father’s death, Samantha wouldn’t either.
The blacksmith shop was empty, and Samantha searched out back to find Linc Jones the Smithy. After looking at the wheel, he assured Samantha he could fix it. And that it wouldn’t take very long.
Which gave her time to see about hiring Farley. Samantha knew he kept a room over the newspaper office, but after walking there and climbing the rickety stairs, no one answered her knock. Inquiring downstairs didn’t help either.
“We don’t see much of Jim here,” Walt Doolittle, the paper’s editor, informed her. “He’s
not much of a reader.” This comment set off a guffaw from Walt’s assistant, as Samantha expressed her thanks and headed back outside.
The saloons seemed the next logical place to look, but Samantha didn’t like the idea. Still she and Will needed the help. Taking a steadying breath, she pushed open the door of the one closest to the newspaper office.
The few patrons glanced up, but none of them was Jim Farley, so Samantha moved on. She tried two other establishments, each time with no success. Samantha wiped the back of her hand across her brow. She was hot and tired, and prickles of hair escaped the tight bun at her nape, making her feel more uncomfortable. A drink of water would taste wonderful, but Samantha wasn’t about to ask for one in a saloon, and she wasn’t in the mood to visit with any of the townspeople she knew, much less return to Peggy Keane’s house.
Instead she trudged up the street toward another saloon. She doubted Jim was there. It was considered by the townspeople as the best of the lot. The place was frequented by the town’s more respectable people. And Jim Farley wasn’t in that category. But who knew what he might do. Maybe he’d wandered into it by mistake.
Passing the hotel, Samantha noted that Sheriff Hughes no longer thought it necessary to hold up the building by leaning on it. She wasn’t interested enough to speculate on where he might be, but as she walked by his office, he surprised her by stepping out the door.
“Miss Lowery,” he called when she continued past him. “I need to speak with you a minute.”
“I’m looking for Jim Farley,” Samantha gave as an excuse for not engaging in any discussion with the sheriff. She never forgave him for his reaction when her father died.
“Haven’t seen him.” Ralph Hughes’s mouth quirked with irritation. “But I want you to come in here.”
“I really don’t see—” Samantha tried to jerk her arm away from the sheriff’s hold as he propelled her through the doorway.
“Do you know this man?”
“Sheriff, I—” Samantha’s protest died on her lips. Her eyes may not have adjusted to the dim light in the dingy office, but she’d recognize the form, the height, and the broad shoulders anywhere. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m charmed to see you again, too,” Jake said sarcastically. It had been a long day, and it wasn’t even close to over. And now he’d broken his own newly formed rule about minding his own business—and apparently for nothing.
“Can I take that as a yes?” Hughes rested his considerable girth against the paper-littered desk.
Samantha tore her eyes away from Jake. She wasn’t prepared for the consuming emotions that engulfed her. “Yes, I know him.”
“Well, he rode in here today, telling me some disturbing things about you, Miss Lowery.”
Her gaze flew back to meet Jake’s, but his expression was unreadable. There was only one disturbing thing he could have told the sheriff, and she should have expected it. The fact that she hadn’t—had almost forgotten the extent of their differences made his betrayal seem worse. “You bastard,” was all she could say before turning away. She missed the questioning lift of Jake’s brow.
“Now see here, missy. I won’t have talk like that in my office and certainly not from some snip of a—”
“I don’t know what he told you,” Samantha said, swirling around. “But I shot him in self-defense. At least I thought it was self-defense at the time.” The low chuckle to her side made Samantha toss a look over her shoulder. “Well, I did,” she insisted, scowling at Jake’s amused grin.
“Hold on. Did this woman shoot you?”
Samantha heard the question the sheriff addressed to Jake but didn’t understand what was going on, any more than she understood Jake’s shrugging answer. “If she says so.”
Both men were staring at her now, and Samantha felt color flood her already flushed cheeks. “Isn’t that what he told you,” she asked though she already knew the answer.
“I don’t know nothing about no shooting, but I’ll be asking Mr. Morgan here if he wants to press charges.” Hughes emphasized these words by crossing arms over his barrel chest. “This Morgan fellow came in here today telling me you was in danger and that I should go out and arrest Bundy Atwood.”
“Bundy Atwood.” Samantha didn’t know what to think. She looked from one man to the other, but neither of their expressions was telling her anything. Jake no longer appeared amused. A vertical line creased between his brows, and his sensual mouth was firm.
“Told him that was ridiculous, what with you and him being sweet on each other.” Hughes’s tone conveyed his wonderment at Bundy’s taste. “But then I guess the war does change things, especially being the way you are. But murder? I can’t buy that.”
The way she was? What did he mean by that? Samantha pursed her lips. What did she care? But murder? She knew Atwood might be capable of it, certainly, but would he murder her? “I don’t understand.”
“I ran into one of Atwood’s friends this morning,” Jake mentioned matter-of-factly.
“After you left the farm?” Oh, why did she bring that up? Jake’s eyes shone vivid green as they bore into hers. He knew she would be thinking about last night.
“Yes. After I left the farm.” Jake cleared his throat. “Anyway, he started talking and said that Atwood planned to kill you.”
“Just like that he told you this.” Maybe she was right about his association with Landis Moore’s men. Certainly no one went around bragging of murder to a stranger.
“He took me for a friend because of my uniform.”
“It was Ab Landis,” Hughes said in disgust. “Ab Landis.”
“But he’s...”
“An idiot,” Hughes spit the words out.
“Slow-witted,” Jake corrected. “Look.” Jake forced air out his mouth. “He told me what Atwood planned for you. I thought the sheriff should hear about it so I let him know.”
“And I’m just going to forget about it,” Hughes said, pushing away from the desk. “Now are you going to do something about this shooting thing or not?”
“No.” Jake headed for the door, yanking it open and disappearing into the sunlight.
All Samantha could do was watch him leave.
“Now listen here, young lady, I don’t want any more trouble from you.”
“From me?” Samantha’s expression was incredulous as she looked at the sheriff. “What about Atwood and Moore?”
“What about them. Don’t tell me you’re taking stock in something old Ab said.” Samantha didn’t answer and Hughes continued, “Even you should know he doesn’t have a brain in his head.”
“You know as well as I do that’s not what I’m talking about.” Samantha turned on him, hands on hips. “My farm was shot up a few weeks ago.”
“I heard and I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? That’s all you can say. You’re sorry?” Samantha sighed in disgust. “Moore did it.”
“Did you see him?”
“No. But—”
“Recognize anyone?”
“No! They wore scarves over their faces.”
“Then I’m afraid you’re just going around accusing people without call, like you always done. You better watch that, Samantha. You hear me, girl?”
But Samantha was already out the door, stomping down the boardwalk toward the smithy. She should have known better than to waste her breath on Hughes. She should have learned that lesson long ago.
No one was going to help her. She thought briefly of Jake Morgan going to the sheriff. After his insistence that he wasn’t going to get involved, it surprised her. Of course, it did no good. And he certainly left quickly enough when he realized it.
Well, she’d take care of Will, and the farm, and herself!
Samantha was so deep in thought that she didn’t notice the hand that shot out of the alley. It grabbed her arm and yanked her between the two buildings before she could utter more than a strangled cry.
Chapter Ten
“Ouch! Damnit. Watch your el
bow!”
Samantha gasped and stopped in mid-kick. She knew that voice. Twisting around, she watched wide-eyed as Jake rubbed the area around his wound.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Jake flexed his muscles, grimacing as pain shot through his chest.
Samantha took a step toward him, then backed off, smothering her instinct to tend to him. “I meant, why did you pull me in here? You scared me to death.”
“You should be scared.” At her confused expression, Jake sighed deeply. His hands rested on his hips. “I want to talk to you.”
“You want to...” Samantha threw up her hands in disbelief. “So you drag me off the street? Did you think I’d refuse to speak with you any other way?” Samantha tried pushing thoughts of last night, of what they’d done, from her mind. They resurfaced anyway. Knowing no other way to escape her disturbing emotions, she turned on her heel and headed back toward the street.
A strong arm crossing in front of her chest stopped her. With no semblance of dignity she was flattened against the side of Horace Matthew’s mercantile. “I want to talk to you without anyone else knowing.” Jake gritted the words between clenched teeth.
He had her undivided attention now. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and blue eyes seemed to take up half her face. Jake watched the tiny pulse in the hollow at the base of her neck. Slowly he lowered his arm, sucking in his own breath when his forearm brushed her breasts.
“Listen,” he said, his voice husky. Jake stepped away from her and cleared his throat. “What I said back at the sheriff’s office was true. Now, I know you put no stock in what Ab Landis has to say,” Jake hurried on when she seemed about to interrupt him. “But I was there, and I believe him. He may not have understood everything he was saying, but he was repeating what he heard. And that was that. Bundy Atwood plans to kill you.” Jake paused. He wasn’t certain how much he should tell her. Finally he continued, “And he doesn’t plan to do it in a very pleasant way.”
“I know.” Samantha leaned back against the building.
“You know?” Jake forced himself to keep his voice down.
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