by Debra Cowan
Holt had changed his schedule, but now that she had this view of the jail, she wasn’t concerned. She could usually tell how long he would stay somewhere depending on where he went. He was wont to linger at the Pearl Restaurant and Ef Gerard’s blacksmithy.
On Saturday afternoon, she stood at the window’s edge, drumming her sewing-sore fingers on the wall of her hotel room as she waited for the sheriff to leave the jail. She had worked from dawn until dark every day to finish the hotel’s curtains and they now hung one story below in the front windows. The length for one tablecloth had been cut, but her mind wasn’t on the task.
There! She saw the sheriff leave the jail and go into the restaurant. She hurried downstairs, wondering where he lived. He didn’t sleep every night at the jail, and on those nights his deputy stayed there. Once outside, she ducked around to the back of the hotel and made her way behind the telegraph and post office, then the Pearl. Rounding the corner of the restaurant, she sidled up the west wall and peered out at the street.
A few people milled about, but Josie didn’t see the sheriff.
She stepped into the open and tried to be casual as she walked to the hitching post in front of the jail where the deputy had left his horse. He had arrived a few minutes before Sheriff Holt left.
The air was pleasantly warm today, but that wasn’t the cause of the dampness forming between her breasts. Pausing as if to admire the bay mare who stood placidly, Josie slid her fingers into the looped reins and loosened the leather before she moved away. She passed two older women then ducked into the alley between the jail and the blacksmithy.
Making sure there was no one nearby, Josie threw a stone and hit the horse square on the hock of its left rear leg. The mare nickered and shied away, pulling the reins loose from the hitching post. Dancing into the street, she trotted off.
A second later, Josie heard the jail door open and bang against the wall. Boots thudded down the wooden steps.
“Dad burn it!”
The young, broad-shouldered deputy whom she’d seen with Whirlwind’s sheriff thundered past her, putting two fingers in his mouth and letting out a shrill whistle. The mare kept going; the man followed.
Josie checked the opposite direction then hurried up the steps and slipped inside the jail. Sheriff Holt’s office smelled faintly of soap and pine. Wood shavings littered the floor around the leg of a wide oak desk.
Her gaze paused on a creased Wanted poster boasting Ian McDougal’s face. The paper was tacked onto an otherwise-blank space of wall behind the desk. Three shotguns lined up behind the glass door of a tall gun cabinet. A door in the opposite corner led into a back room. The cells had to be back there.
Her heart hammering in her chest, she reached into her bodice for the scalpel. Knowing McDougal was only feet away had her throat closing up. Doubt slashed through her. Could she really do this?
She closed her eyes and conjured up the last images she had of her parents and William. Their sightless eyes had been trained on the ceiling of her home. Blood spattered the floor and the door. They had died horribly. Her family deserved justice. Yes, she could do this.
Taking a deep breath and sliding her sweaty palm down to a more comfortable position on the thin, ridged handle, she started toward the raspy whistling coming from the back room. It was McDougal. She knew it.
The murdering bastard was finally going to pay for killing everyone she had loved.
She gripped the scalpel so hard the steel gouged into her palm. All she had to do was get close to him.
She reached the door, her steps faltering at the thought of facing the worthless, no-account cur. She reminded herself of the nearly two years she had spent in the Galveston County sheriff’s office checking every day to see if McDougal had been captured.
Her heartbeat hammering in her ears, she gripped the doorknob.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
The now-familiar voice coming from behind her lashed her already-raw nerves and she nearly dropped the scalpel. No! She quickly slipped the blade into the hidden pocket of her bodice and turned with a bright smile on her face, praying Holt couldn’t see her heart banging against her ribs. “Hello, Sheriff. I was looking for you.”
“Is that so?” He pushed his hat back and planted his hands on lean hips. His eyes narrowed as he glanced about the empty room. “Where’s my deputy?”
“No one was here when I came in.” That wasn’t a lie, but still her pulse raced.
“There was a commotion outside so I went to check on it.” He closed the front door and moved toward her, his boots ominously soft on the pine floor. Worn denim sleeked down his long legs. The chambray shirt he wore looked brand-spanking new. “You must have heard it, too.”
“Yes. It sounded like someone was leaving town in a hurry.”
“Weren’t you just the tiniest bit curious about what was going on?”
Oh, dear. He looked fit to be tied. His eyes had turned a dark stormy blue, suspicious and hard. She refused to panic. She’d dealt with this man—this big man—before. And she was prepared this time. “Like I said, I was looking for you.”
“There’s a prisoner back there, Miz Webster.” He inclined his head toward the door behind her. “It’s not a good idea for you to be in here alone.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “I guess not.”
Despite the day’s heat, she wished she hadn’t forgotten her gloves. Her hands were clammy and shaking awfully.
“You said you were looking for me?” Holt stepped around her to check the door, once more between her and McDougal.
“Oh, yes.” She cleared her throat. “I wonder if you might know someone who can teach me to shoot?”
“To shoot?”
“Yes. You know, a gun.”
Irritation crossed his features as he moved to stand in front of her again. “I didn’t think you meant a slingshot.”
“Well?” She hoped he would believe she had come to the jail only for this reason.
He crossed his arms and studied her. “I just can’t figure you, Miz Webster.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think your being in my jail has something to do with Ian McDougal.”
“Sheriff!” the prisoner yelled. “What’s going on out there?”
Josie stiffened. She did not want the outlaw to see her. Or know she was here until she chose.
“Just talkin’ to a visitor.” Sheriff Holt edged closer, causing her to step away. “What do you say, Miz Webster?”
“About what?” She could barely get the words out through her tight throat.
“You seem fascinated with my prisoner,” he said softly. “Why is that?”
“I’m not.” She clenched one fist in the folds of her skirt and tried to look curious rather than nervous. “Are you saying your prisoner is one of the McDougal gang? You didn’t tell me that the other day.”
“Don’t recall you askin’, but I think you already know he is.” Holt advanced again, forcing her against the wall. “Are you his sweetheart?”
“No!” The thought made her stomach seize up. She scooted down the wall in front of him, but he shifted his large body, trapping her against the door.
“A relative? His sister maybe?”
“Absolutely not.” How could he think her related to that murdering criminal? “I’ve heard about the things he and his brothers have done. I don’t appreciate being referred to as part of their family.”
“Well, I don’t appreciate being lied to and I think that’s what you’re doing.”
“I never!”
“What were you hiding when I walked in?”
“Hiding? Nothing. I—”
He leaned in and she pressed her shoulder blades flat against the wood at her back. Holt planted a hand on either side of her. “Something up your sleeve? A derringer maybe? A file? Some kind of weapon?”
She struggled to keep her composure though the hard warmth of his body proved very distracting. “Do the ladies you
know carry weapons, Sheriff?”
“We’re fixin’ to find out.”
His silky voice did things to her insides that she couldn’t recall having ever experienced with William. “Derringer? I don’t have a gun. I told you I want to learn how to shoot.”
His gaze slid down her body then back up to meet her eyes. “Do you want me to search you?”
She gasped. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“I will if you don’t show me what you’ve got hidden.”
“What kind of man are you that you would put your hands on me?”
“The kind who wants an answer,” he said hotly. “Now either show me or I’ll get it myself.”
The thrill that shot through her veins told Josie she did not want this man touching her. She instinctively knew she wouldn’t forget it.
A clanging sounded from the other room. “Sheriff, I’m thirsty.”
“Shut up.” Though Holt spoke to the prisoner, he never took his eyes off Josie.
She realized the noise of metal on metal was the sound of McDougal banging a tin cup or plate against the bars.
The sheriff dipped his head a fraction, his breath soft against her temple. She smelled leather and soap and man. “What’s it gonna be?”
Showing him her scalpel proved nothing, Josie told herself. She angled her chin, hoping he couldn’t see how she trembled all over. “Very well. I do have a weapon. I’ll get it.”
She dipped a hand inside her square-necked gingham bodice.
The sheriff drew back, eyes widening. “What are you doin’?”
“Getting my weapon.” If she weren’t so rattled, she might have laughed at the expression on his face—half anticipation, half stone-cold fear that she might expose herself.
She pulled the blade from between her breasts and saw his eyes darken. Not with curiosity or surprise, but with raw, hot desire. Her stomach did a slow drop to her feet.
“What—” he cleared his throat “—the heck is that?”
The fire in his gaze sent a tingle to her toes and she swallowed hard. “It’s a scalpel.”
“A doctor’s instrument?”
She nodded.
“I thought you said you were a dressmaker.”
“I am.”
He frowned at the weapon’s short silver blade. “You beat all, lady. What are you planning to do with that?”
“Defend myself.” She pressed harder against the door, trying to escape the feel of his lean thighs, the warmth from his body. “My father was a doctor and he taught my mother and me how to use this.”
“Then why do you need to learn how to shoot?”
“With the scalpel, I have to be really close to someone. Like I am to you.”
He eased back slightly, frowning.
She tried not to smile. “But I have no defense if someone were to shoot at me.”
“Just what can you do with that thing?”
“Stab it in someone’s windpipe or eye. If I go deep enough, I can slice into this big vein here.” She touched the side of her neck.
The sheriff eyed the scalpel warily. “You already seem plenty dangerous to me. I’m not sure that you having a gun is a good idea.”
If she had known how to use a gun two years ago, her family might still be alive. “Are you saying you won’t help me find a teacher?”
“Are you saying you’ve decided to make a home in Whirlwind?”
“Uh, yes.” From the excruciatingly slow way her plan was progressing, she would have to. At this rate, she’d be a year older before she ever got to McDougal. “But Whirlwind seems less…civilized than Galveston. I would just feel safer if I knew how to use a gun.”
“And you’re going to open a dressmaker shop?”
She laughed lightly. “That’s the only skill I have.”
Holt stared at her for a long minute, his eyes hooded beneath his hat. “I’ll teach you to shoot.”
“You? But I thought—”
“Change your mind?”
“No.” But maybe she should.
“Then I’ll teach you. I’m good with guns and I can show you the proper way to handle them.”
“Could you give me a lesson every day?” She needed to check on McDougal as often as possible.
“Sure, I can do that.”
“Oh, good. Thank you, Sheriff Holt.” Why was he so willing to help her? Her smile felt overly bright as she realized exactly what their deal meant.
He finally stepped back a few inches. “If we’re going to see each other every day, you should call me Davis Lee.”
“All right.” She wouldn’t. “I’ll see you in the morning then, bright and early.”
“Tomorrow is Sunday. I’ll be in church. Won’t you?”
She hesitated. She and her parents had regularly attended church in Galveston. It was the one place she had been able to find a small amount of peace after the murders. But she had come here to kill a man. “Church?”
“It’s at the end of Main Street. You can’t miss it.”
“Oh, yes.” She recalled the white frame building with the steeple, and a part of her wanted to be there tomorrow.
“I’ll see you here on Monday then. Make it about six-thirty or seven in the evening. I’ll have to get my other deputy, Jake, to guard the prisoner.”
“All right. Monday.” Tarnation!
She would be spending far more time with the sheriff than she wanted. Despite the opportunity she now had to wheedle information about McDougal out of the lawman, she had the uneasy sense that Holt had agreed to teach her to shoot for the very same reason she had asked—so he could keep an eye on her. She didn’t like that at all.
Chapter Three
Why in the Sam Hill had Josie Webster been in his jail? Davis Lee was still chewing on that question the next morning during church. He knew exactly how she had managed to wind up in his office the minute he left it. And it was mighty suspicious that Jake’s horse just happened to spook at the same time.
Davis Lee didn’t know what to make of the woman. When she had pulled that scalpel out of her bodice, he’d nearly swallowed his teeth. The last thing he needed was to replay the image of her hand slipping between her breasts. He couldn’t seem to stop it though he tried hard to focus instead on the doubts she raised in him.
Maybe he was suspicious because the first time he had seen Josie, desire had hit him hard and fast. He didn’t trust such raw instant want. It had gotten him in a passel of trouble before and he wasn’t giving in to it again. Still, he spent more time thinking about the intriguing brunette than Reverend Scoggins’s sermon.
Catching her in his jail reinforced Davis Lee’s certainty that she was up to something. Which was why he had gone straight to Ef and gotten a big padlock for McDougal’s cell. One reason—the only reason—he had agreed to teach her to shoot was to see if she was comfortable with guns and knew how to handle them. The woman knew how to use a scalpel, for crying out loud. It was possible she knew how to use a gun, as well.
He had no proof, but he couldn’t shake the feeling she had some connection to McDougal. Her request for shooting lessons had seemed too ready. Prepared almost.
After church he turned around and saw her rising from the back pew. The burn of desire he felt didn’t surprise him, but the relief that she was here and not slipping inside his jail again did.
She stepped outside and started down the stairs, but the reverend stopped her. Keeping an eye on her, Davis Lee moved into the aisle as his brother, Riley, and his wife, Susannah, gathered up their baby. He greeted Cora Wilkes and her brother, Loren Barnes, who had come to Whirlwind about two months ago to help his widowed sister.
From the corner of his eye, Davis Lee saw Josie move down the steps then stop to speak to Pearl Anderson. This time he walked out on the landing and she glanced up. When their gazes locked, he nodded and met her at the bottom.
He greeted Pearl as she walked past him to speak to someone else, but his attention stayed on Josie.
“Sh
eriff,” she said.
“Davis Lee.” He smiled. The peach dress she wore accentuated her breasts and small waist. The color became her, warming her golden skin and deepening the green of her eyes. He couldn’t help wondering if the deep-cut bodice filled with white pleating hid her scalpel. “Nice to see you, Miz Webster. Did you enjoy the service?”
“Yes, I did. Did you?”
She was about the same height as Susannah, and she was small. A small brown hat circled by a ribbon matching her dress sat jauntily on her head, crowning the mass of hair she’d worn up today. A tiny mole on her collarbone peeked out at him. “Reverend Scoggins always has something good to say.”
A smile curved her lips. “That’s the least committed answer I’ve ever heard, Sheriff.”
He grinned, moving his gaze to her face. “I have to say I’m glad to see you here and not in my jail. Did you come to repent?”
She tilted her head, looking more serious than he’d seen before. “You’re teasing me.”
“Maybe. Are you still interested in your shooting lessons?”
“Oh, yes. I think it’s something I should do.”
“All right, then.”
“You’ll still teach me?”
“Yes.” Having been hornswoggled before, Davis Lee knew he should keep a distance from her, but he needed to find out whatever he could about this woman.
Judging from his experience with her so far, he wouldn’t get far by asking her questions, but he could learn plenty by observing her up close.
“Davis Lee, we’re expecting you for lunch.”
He turned at the sound of his sister-in-law’s voice. “I’m looking forward to it, Susannah. We’re not having biscuits, are we?”
Riley laughed as he walked up with his blond-haired daughter resting happily on his shoulder. Lorelai wasn’t Riley’s blood, but no one could tell him that. Davis Lee had never seen his brother love anyone as much as he loved that little girl and her mother.
“If you two don’t behave, I will cook biscuits,” Susannah said. “And I’ll purposely make them hard as rocks.”