A Sheriff's Passion

by Michelle Beattie

  She leaned against the doorjamb, which pushed her breasts higher. “Good morning, Sheriff.”

  “Bridget,” he answered. Like the rest of the folks in his town, he knew the names of all the whores. “Have you seen Charlotte yet this morning?”

  “I’m sure she’s still asleep, she was up late last night.”

  “You hear anything unusual?”

  Bridget shrugged. Her robe slipped off a shoulder. She made no move to cover herself.

  “Not especially. She may have screamed once or twice.”

  Shane stiffened. “You don’t consider screaming unusual?”

  Bridget trailed her pale fingers down her neck over the globe of one breast. “Honey, not every man can make a woman scream but when one does...” She licked her lips. “It’s a glorious thing.”

  Choosing to ignore that, and his body’s natural reaction to an unabashed sexual invitation, Shane turned and knocked again. Behind him Bridget sighed. He heard the click of her door closing. Shane blew out a breath, wiped the moisture from his brow. He cleared his throat for good measure.

  “Charlotte? It’s Sheriff McCall. I’m sorry to wake you, but I just need to ask you a few questions.” Then thinking she may think along the lines Ephraim did, he hastened to add, “You aren’t in any trouble.”

  He knew some people slept deep and it took a lot to wake them up. His pa had been like that, though usually only after a long night of drinking. Still the longer it took Charlotte to respond the more dread settled in Shane’s gut. Something was wrong. He tried the door, cursed when he found it locked.

  Shane was contemplating whether he should bother asking Ephraim for a key or just kick the door down himself when he heard the turn of a key. All right, he breathed, maybe he’d overreacted. Maybe she’d really only been deeply asleep.

  But when she cracked open the door and peered at him around the edge of it, when he caught a glimpse of her face he knew his instincts had been dead right. He had to tamp down the fury, the need to barge in and demand what happened. Instead he gently eased open the door, enough so he could walk in. Then he closed it behind him and got his first full look at Charlotte.

  “Oh, Jesus,” he muttered, feeling a little sick. “Who the hell did this to you?

  Chapter Seven

  Quinton Sloane kicked the boots of the man who lay sprawled on the ground, snoring.

  “Get up, Albert!” He barked.

  He’d sent Albert into Marietta last night and much as Quinton had tried to stay up and await the man’s return, the whiskey he’d drunk had combined with the late hour and he’d slept through Albert’s return. Now awake and surly, Quinton wanted to know the man had done what he’d sent him to do.

  Albert groaned, turned onto his side. The snoring resumed immediately.

  “Albert!” Quinton snarled, kicking him again. If the man didn’t move soon the next kick wasn’t going to be to his boots. “Get your lazy ass up.”

  Albert must have sensed Quinton wasn’t fooling around. With a muttered curse, Albert rolled to his back, squinted up into Quinton’s face.

  “What?” he grumbled.

  “What do you think?” Quinton demanded.

  Far too slowly for Quinton’s limited patience, Albert rolled to his feet. “Can I take a piss first?”

  “No,” Quinton answered. Behind him Dirk and JP snickered.

  Albert scowled. “It’s a small town, has pretty much what you’d expect. Boardinghouse, restaurant, stable, blacksmith, and mercantile. Two saloons.” Then his scowl gave way to a grin. “And, just like you figured, it’s got a small bank.”

  That made Quinton feel somewhat better. “What took you so long to get back?”

  He knew before the guilt crept through Albert’s eyes that the man had done something he wasn’t supposed to do.

  “What?” Quinton demanded again.

  Albert licked his lips. “One of the saloons had some whores outside. I didn’t see the harm.”

  Quinton clenched his teeth. He knew all about Albert’s penchant for whores. He looked down at the man’s hands, saw the scrapes and blood Albert hadn’t been smart enough to wash away. Fury hammered through Quinton’s veins, pulsed in his eyes.

  “You dumb shit. Not only did you go inside a saloon where folks can recognize you but you beat a whore as well?” He wanted to wrap his hands around Albert’s scrawny neck and snap it. “Why do you think we’re hiding in the hills? Why do you think I had you go at night when most people would be off the streets and those that weren’t wouldn’t be able to see you clearly?

  “Goddamn!” Quinton roared, turned away.

  Dirk and JP didn’t look any happier. Especially Dirk. For a moment Quinton stared at him. The man’s hands were solid as granite. Quinton had a mind to sic Dirk on Albert, see how Albert liked being on the receiving end of Dirk’s fists.

  “Look, it ain’t so bad,” Albert reasoned. “It’s just a whore. It’s not like I went after some virgin. Besides, I told her if she said anything about me I’d come back for her.”

  Quinton couldn’t believe anyone could be that stupid. “You told her you’d come back?” His voice dropped to a low growl. “Why didn’t you just tell her where we were? She’ll know now we aren’t far. If she tells the law—”

  “She won’t,” Albert reassured looking far more confident than Quinton felt. “Trust me, she’s scared shitless. She won’t tell anyone.”

  “Ah, well, I feel better now,” Quinton muttered.

  “It’ll be fine, Quinton. You’ll see.” Then Albert grabbed his crotch. “Can I go take a piss now?”

  Quinton waved him away. But as Albert trotted off toward the trees as though he hadn’t nearly ruined everything, Quinton drew his gun from the holster. Nobody went against Quinton Sloane. Before Albert could take that piss, Quinton shot him square in the back. He turned away before Albert had even hit the ground.

  “You two deal with him. I don’t want him anywhere near here. And take his horse. Might as well sell the thing and get some money for it.”

  Still holding the gun, he looked from Dirk to JP. “I don’t imagine I have to tell you what’ll happen if you don’t do exactly as I ask?”

  Quinton waited for their answer before he holstered his revolver.

  Shane slapped open the swinging doors of Grey’s saloon and marched down Main Street. Jaw clenched, he aimed for the boardinghouse. Those who dared greet him despite the scowl on his face were answered with a curt nod or a terse word. He wove around those walking too slow for his rising temper and when he came upon two couples stopped to jaw in the middle of the damn boardwalk he stepped onto the road.

  “Hey!”

  Shane spun, sidestepped just in time and kept from being run into by a horse and rider. The stir of wind from his near miss brushed across his face and neck.

  The rider reined in his horse, cursing about fools not looking where they were going. When he saw it was Shane, he bit back whatever else he was about to say. “Dammit, Sheriff, I could have plowed you over.”

  “Sorry,” Shane answered, with a wave of his hand as he kept on walking, his pace increasing until he reached the boardinghouse.

  Knowing it was between meals and Mitch wouldn’t be in the dining room, Shane aimed for the stairs, taking them two at a time. He didn’t know which room was Mitch’s and he didn’t give a damn which it was. As there were only eight rooms all together, four on each side of the hall, he pounded on each one.

  “Mitch. I need to talk to you. Now.”

  One older gentleman opened his door a crack to peer out. Shane nodded at him, then thumped on the other seven doors again.

  “Mitch!”

  “What in heaven’s name is going on up here?” Mrs. Hollingsworth demanded. She was at the top of the stairs, cheeks red, large bosom heaving, and hands fisted on her wide hips. “Sheriff, you’d better have a good reason for marching in here the way you have and disturbing my boarders.”

  “I do.” But he didn’t bother telli
ng her what it was. “Which room is my brother’s?” he asked instead.

  Mrs. Hollingsworth always had a pinched look to her mouth, as though she’d sucked on an especially tart lemon but it was particularly tight now. She raised her chin, as though she wasn’t going to answer. While part of him was tempted to grab her by the shoulders and demand she tell him, Shane took a calming breath instead. No matter how appalled and horrified he was, lashing out wasn’t the way to help Charlotte. Finding out who’d hurt her, was.

  “I have something to talk to Mitch about and it can’t wait. I’d appreciate it if you would tell me which room is his.”

  If she were to thrust her chin any higher it would scrape the ceiling. He raised his brow, silently asking again.

  “It’s the last one on the left.” She huffed. “But he’s not here. He left over an hour ago.”

  “Why the devil didn’t you say that to begin with?” He growled.

  Then, leaving her to gripe about his rude conduct and how she expected better from a man of the law, Shane took the stairs down as fast as he’d taken them up. Not wanting to waste any more time, he headed for the stable next. There was no point looking for Mitch about town if he was off somewhere.

  But his brother’s horse was in the stall, gnawing on the already well-worn rail. With the saloons closed, with it being between meals, Shane had no bloody idea where Mitch could be. Stomping back into the sunlight after the dimness of the stable, Shane headed for the barber’s. Since his brother seemed to like the finer things in life, it was possible he’d gone for a haircut and shave.

  “Haven’t seen him,” Horace said as he draped a hot wet towel over his customer’s face.

  With his frustration mounting, with his gut in knots over Charlotte, Shane made his way up Main Street, scouring every business along the way. Each miss was like more coal being tossed on a fire. His heart beat a little faster, his frustration climbed. When he got a hold of his brother...

  And suddenly, there he was, striding out of the mercantile.

  With one hand dipping into his pocket for his keys, Shane grabbed Mitch’s forearm with the other. “You’re coming with me,” he ordered, not giving Mitch a choice.

  “What’s gotten into you?”

  Shane made short work of the lock, threw open the door and pushed Mitch inside.

  “Tell me you weren’t a part of that.”

  “A part of what?” Mitch scowled as he straightened his shirt. “What are you accusing me of now?”

  “One of Grey’s whores was beaten last night.”

  Mitch looked struck. “And you think I did it?”

  “No, I know it wasn’t you, I’m pretty sure I know who did it.”

  “Then why the hell are you treating me like some kind of criminal?”

  “Because,” Shane answered, “I’ve never had trouble like this in Marietta before.”

  “And so, of course, it must be my fault,” Mitch said. “I wasn’t anywhere near Grey’s last night.”

  Shane didn’t back down. He couldn’t, not with the image of Charlotte’s bruised face in his mind. “That doesn’t mean some unsavory sorts couldn’t have followed you here.”

  Mitch’s eyes turned stormy. “I’m a gambler, Shane. I’m not a thief, not a murderer, and I’m sure as hell not a goddamn woman beater.” He shook his head, as though none of this made sense to him. “And why would anyone follow me?”

  Shane crossed his arms. “A number of reasons come to mind. I imagine you’ve made your share of enemies over the years. Maybe you did a little cheating and someone got fed up? Maybe a husband found out what his wife was up to during the day? Or maybe you owe the wrong person some money?”

  All of which their father had been guilty of.

  Mitch’s lips flattened. “Before you try and convict me for this series of crimes you’ve concocted you might want to remember one thing.”

  “What’s that?” Shane demanded.

  “I’m not our father.” Then, turning on his heel Mitch marched out the door.

  Shane paced his small living room, his boots wearing a path in the wood. Just as well there was nothing below him but his jail. If he were living in the boardinghouse Mrs. Hollingsworth would be complaining of the constant tramping. But he couldn’t sit still. His conscience wouldn’t leave him alone.

  He’d had no right to tear into Mitch the way he had. Truth was, he had no idea the kind of man his brother was. He only knew the young man Mitch had been when he’d strolled out of Marietta. And while he’d left without so much as a backward glance, same as their father had done time and again, it didn’t mean Mitch was anything like Trevor McCall.

  And Shane had been wrong to assume he was.

  Certainly Shane had never smelled stale whiskey on Mitch since his brother’s arrival. Nor had Shane heard any complaints. Even uptight Angela Hollingsworth had nothing bad to say about Mitch other than he was a gambler. While Mitch had charmed Silver, he hadn’t, as of yet anyway, taken advantage of her, or anyone else in town. Maybe the timing of his arrival just happened to coincide with what happened to Charlotte.

  Hell, Shane felt those bandits who’d robbed Katie’s coach might not be as far away as he’d like them to be. Maybe it was one of them who hurt Charlotte. That made a hell of lot more sense than what he’d accused Mitch of.

  His sigh filled the room.

  Now that he’d had all afternoon and early evening to consider how he’d acted, he could admit not only had he been too hasty in his judgment, he’d been extremely unfair. Sick over Charlotte and still distrustful of Mitch’s sudden appearance, he’d been quick to lay the blame at his brother’s feet.

  He stopped at the window, braced his hands on the frame. Thick clouds had rolled in late in the afternoon and with dusk descending upon Marietta, the sky was a mottled mix of dark and pale blues and just over the mountain’s white tips, a splash of burned orange.

  Down the street, light glowed from within Grey’s. There were four horses at the rail. They were the same four horses that had been there half an hour ago when he’d gone into the saloon. He’d been going in damn near every half hour all day until Ephraim had demanded he leave. He claimed Shane was scaring off his patrons. Still Shane didn’t leave until Ephraim grudgingly agreed to send someone for him should the same man from last night return.

  Then because he knew Silver would want to know, as they all felt a connection to Charlotte because of Scott, he’d gone over and told her. Silver had not only insisted he take Charlotte some of the soup she’d just made, she made him wait while she prepared a basket of sandwiches, cookies, and cheese. Why she had so much food handy when Silver’s didn’t serve meals and she lived alone he had no idea, but he was grateful for it and knew Charlotte would be as well.

  Even though Silver didn’t run a brothel, he’d told her to be careful, keep an eye out and not to hesitate to send for him if she suspected anything.

  That old prospector had seen four men in the hills heading for Marietta and suddenly a stranger comes to town and abuses a whore. If that one was part of the four, Shane hated to think what the other three were capable of. He’d talk to Owen first thing in the morning. His deputy was going to be working more in the next week. He could only think of one reason outlaws would be coming for Marietta. The bank. He’d talk to Henry Bramble as well. As manager, he should be warned to keep vigilant.

  Pushing away from the window, Shane noticed two riders coming in on the other end of Main Street. Though his heart gave a solid kick, Shane’s breath came in shallow. His hand settled on the butt of his six-shooter and his every nerve went on alert. But when the horses stopped below his window, when he recognized the men dismounting and tying their horses to the hitching post, he closed his eyes briefly. It wasn’t outlaws; it was Scott and Wade returning his call.

  Although Charlotte had pleaded with him not to tell Scott, Shane had ridden out for the Triple P not long after Mitch had stormed out. A few weeks ago Scott had told him and Wade the story of how
Charlotte had saved his life when he’d been abused as a boy living with his mother in a brothel. Without her help, her giving him the little money she’d saved to help him escape, Scott would have died.

  Not only did Shane believe Charlotte deserved someone who cared about her at a time like this, but if he didn’t tell Scott right away, and his friend found out later that Shane had hid this from him, he’d lose the trust of a man he’d come to consider a brother. Unfortunately, both Wade and Scott had been up in the high country when he’d gone to deliver the news and he’d had to leave a message with Jillian. He didn’t tell her what had happened to Charlotte, only that he needed to talk to Scott as soon as possible. He’d have loved to talk to Katie, but she’d ridden along with Wade and Scott.

  He’d go see her tomorrow. While he remembered that the bandits who’d robbed her stagecoach had worn bandanas to cover their faces, and he’d gotten a rough description of them from her weeks ago, now that he suspected he might have seen one of them for himself he wanted to talk to her again, see if the little bit he’d seen of the man sounded familiar to her. But that was for tomorrow. Tonight he had a more unpleasant task to deal with.

  Shane opened the door before his friends could knock.

  Scott walked in first. In the years they’d known each other not once had Shane ridden out and left the kind of message he had today. It wasn’t surprising Scott looked tense.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Sit down and I’ll explain.”

  His living space didn’t amount to much. A small kitchen, a bedroom, a tiny closet and the living room which consisted of a sofa, chair, and small table on which sat an oil lamp. He had two windows, the large one in the living room faced south onto Main Street while the smaller one in his bedroom faced west towards Silver’s.