Author's Muse (Sweet Town Clean Historical Western Romance Book 12)

by Sarah Christian

  He stepped off the boardwalk with the intent of heading back to the hotel but a sound from above made him pause.

  “Goodnight darling.”

  It was Belle. She had to be talking to Ross.

  “I’m just going to step out back for a moment but I will return immediately.”

  She must be heading to the outhouse. He quickly dodged between the store building and the post office next door. They were fairly close but there was enough space for him to run toward the back. He arrived at the corner just as the back door of the store opened. Out came Belle, carrying a lantern and a bag. Here it was, his best chance to find out if Ross was hiding out with her. As soon as she moved beyond the doorway, the circle of lantern light heading toward the small building on the edge of the property, he slipped into the back door and ran toward the stairs.

  The apartment was just two rooms and it was clear there was no one there but Belle’s son. He was in the bedroom, in the only bed, curled on his side snoring slightly. Theo didn’t even see any masculine hat or clothes, nor even a pair of boots.

  Becoming more convinced than ever that Belle had killed his friend, he moved toward the exit just as he heard steps on the stairs. Quickly positioning himself on the backside of the door, hoping as it swung out it would conceal him, praying that she would immediately go into the bedroom, he held his breath.

  Belle came in and pushed the door shut behind her. She walked toward the bedroom carrying the lantern but paused halfway across the room. Theo was getting light headed from holding his breath and tried to release air without making any noise. She looked toward a small kitchen area, seemingly satisfied that all was as it should be and went into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

  With hands shaking with urgency, Theo grasped the knob and turned but it didn’t budge. For God’s sake, he screamed in his mind, surely she didn’t lock the door. Suddenly it turned and opened, having just been briefly stuck. He slipped out and silently shut the door behind him.

  Standing in the dark stairwell he caught his breath and started descending. About halfway down the stairs squeaked loudly. The next step was even worse. He was trying to decide if he should make a dash for it when the door above opened.

  “Lucy?” Belle held up her lantern high, illuminating the stairwell. “You! What are you doing here?” she demanded when she saw him. She had changed into a nightgown, over which a robe was draped.

  Thinking fast he imagined she couldn’t tell that he was actually leaving and not just arriving. “I’ve come to speak with you actually,” he said.

  “How did you get inside? I locked the door.” She pulled her light wrapper closer around her body but instead of being modest it conformed to her lush shape.

  “It must not have latched.”

  “I have nothing to say to you,” she shrieked. “Help, someone, help!”

  What in the world? He was dumbfounded. You would think she thought he was the one who’d murdered someone.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Be quiet,” Theo hissed through his teeth. “Do you want your son to be witness to this?”

  “Witness to what? You murdering me just like you did my husband?” Belle looked around wildly for some sort of weapon to defend herself and Erik, but all she had was the lantern in her hand. Well, all right then. She brandished it threateningly at him. Smacking him with it might not do a lot of good, but she bet if any of the burning oil hit him he’d think better about preying on innocent widows!

  “Is that what you’re playing at here? Look, maybe you can fool those nice ladies in town, but the law is going to be a lot harsher than that. What did you do with Ross?”

  The question was so unexpected she actually lowered the lantern to squint at him. Leaving in the middle of the night wasn’t an option, unfortunately, with how far into the frontier they were. While there were some tough and hardy women in the Dakota Territory, she was not one of them, but at least she knew that. Her thought had been to hide bags outside behind the outhouse, to be picked up first thing in the morning when the mail coach came through. She and Erik could have been on it before most of the town was up and certainly before Theo came sniffing around again. It had been a good plan, she thought, but she’d never expected him to actually break into the general store that very night!

  “What do you mean? Jamison is just fine.”

  “Really? Then there is he?” Theo demanded hotly. “I saw no men’s clothing in there, no hint of him staying here at all.”

  “How dare you!” Her husband had certainly made some disgusting accusations against her before she’d run from him, but she had expected better of Theo, who had always seemed like such a kind and understanding man in his letters. Yet clearly the naivete she’d thought was crushed long ago remained, because she’d entirely misjudged him. “No man lives here. It’s just my son and myself.”

  “Obviously so, now. So what did you do with Ross? Did you drop him in one of those mines out there?”

  Her palm itched to slap that look of smug self-righteousness off of his face, but she knew better than to do such a thing and only gripped the lantern tighter. Once she had made the mistake of striking back at her husband after he’d hit her. It had only been once.

  “Forget about Jamison, who is perfectly safe—” Or at least would be once Theo Tulloch had left. “—what about my husband?”

  He leaned back from her, hooking his thumbs in his suspenders, triumph naked in his eyes. “Are you ready to confess then?”

  “Confess to what, you fool? I’ve been in Sweet Town for weeks and I’m quite certain Paul couldn’t have possibly been killed before that manuscript was mailed out, meaning whoever murdered him did so after you had the book in your hot little hands, yes?”

  She could see the hesitation on Theo’s face, his gaze going a bit distant, focusing on somewhere off the side, likely adding up dates that hadn’t seemed important until now. “I hadn’t said when he died. What makes you so sure he didn’t die until after we received the manuscript?”

  “Because obviously someone from your office killed him. No one else could have known! You’d said it yourself earlier, which doesn’t surprise me at all. Criminals often like to drop little hints and brag about what they’ve done, to show off how clever they are.” She sniffed delicately. “Though they are most often caught by their own hubris.”

  “Wait, what?” He took off his hat and dragged a hand through his thick brown hair. He no longer looked so threatening, but she knew better than to believe appearances. She should have known better than to ever trust his seeming congeniality in his letters. “You think I killed your husband?”

  “You had the book, didn’t you? And you’ve hunted me down yourself, like some sort of... sort of... predator stalking his prey!”

  “I’ve done no such thing,” he insisted. “I believed Ross innocent and when my letters went unanswered, I came to find him and get answers for myself. I didn’t even know you existed until today, ma’am.”

  “Madam,” she corrected.

  “Pardon?”

  “The word is madam, descended through the French ma dame and ultimately from the Latin mea domina, meaning ‘my lady,’ If you take out the D, you’re just calling a woman an ‘am’.”

  He stared at her for a moment and then, without ever blinking or breaking eye contact, he put his hat back on his head so that he could tip it. “My am,” he drawled. “As I was saying, I came for Jamison Ross, not you. Whoever killed your husband knew about your affair with Ross, clearly.”

  “Mommy?”

  A little hand tugged at the side of her robe and she looked down to her son with a wince, hoping this ruffian wouldn’t take advantage of the distraction the little boy’s presence had created. “Everything’s all right, darling. Go back to bed.”

  “Your mother’s right,” Theo said, crouching a little to be on eye level with the boy at the top of the stairs. “Get some sleep, buckaroo.”

  “That’s not even a real word,” she h
uffed “That’s just a mispronunciation of Spanish. How did you ever get a job as an editor?”

  Theo chuckled, shaking his head. “See, I can tell you’re close acquaintances with Ross, because he demanded to know that every time I sent my editing notes back to him.”

  It was true, she had asked it of him. While he had a gift for tightening up a story and adding dramatic flair, he was far more comfortable with colloquial language than she thought seemly. Their arguments about what was proper English - he felt anything that was understood was good enough - had gone across dozens of letters. Yet all the time he’d thought it was a male peer he was engaging in debate. She wondered how differently he’d view things if he knew the truth. Whenever she’d brought up a matter of etymology or grammatical rules to her husband, he’d only dismissed her as a shrew instead of viewing it as an interesting bit of conversation.

  “What the blazes is going on in here?” a stern voice barked from the dark.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Had Theo been wrong and Jamison Ross was here after all? He turned back from the little boy to peer into the darkness. At the foot of the stairs he could see the lean figure of a man, his fists on his hips, feet braced far apart. Even only seen in silhouette, he gave off an impression of strength and authority. No, he was too at odds with the temperament of the author. While Ross might certainly argue a point and consider himself the last word on a great number of things, he’d never come across as so gruff.

  “Who are you?” Theo demanded to the shadowed figure.

  The man came closer, squinting against the light of the lantern. Brown hair and clean-shaven, the man was relatively nondescript except for the glitter of a star on his chest. “Sheriff Price. My wife and I own this store and rent to Mrs. Lincoln.”

  “It’s Lindholm,” Belle corrected quietly.

  Apparently the sheriff hadn’t heard about her secrecy regarding her name. He regarded her for a moment, then turned his attention back to Theo. “And I suppose it’s a good thing I was working late putting some papers in order. What are you doing accosting Mrs. Lindholm at night while she’s dressed for bed?”

  Theo could instantly see where the sheriff’s mind was going and raised his hands, showing both his lack of weapons and his willingness to cooperate. “There was no accosting involved, sheriff. I believe this woman may be involved in a murder and the disappearance of a friend of mine.”

  “He broke in here with wild accusations,” Belle interjected, “and I’m nearly certain he murdered my husband. I want this man arrested.”

  In exasperation, he spun on her. “Why would I murder your husband? What possible motive could I have for that? You’re the one who ran off under an assumed name to live in sin.”

  “What sin? What possible sin is here? I live alone with my son and we’re at church services every Sunday. The fact that you’re imagining infidelities says more about you than it does me.”

  “Now look, you’re the only thing connecting Ross and your husband. I’d like to think he has the good sense not to carry on with a married woman, but considering you’ve lied about your identity at least once—”

  “I told you I was hiding from my husband!” As soon as she’d said it, Belle drew herself up short, brown eyes growing impossibly wide and flying to the sheriff’s face.

  Theo couldn’t help but smirk, crossing his arms over his chest. There, she’d gone and admitted exactly what she was up to. Oh, she’d spouted that story about her husband being a cruel man earlier, but it seemed as though every time a woman was trying to leave her husband she’d give the same story. Surely that many men couldn’t be so terrible, could they? More likely it was a simple justification on her part, trying to gain sympathy for herself.

  “There, you see, sheriff?” He gave a nod down to Erik, who was clutching at her robe. “Though I’d suggest before you cart her off to J-A-I-L you might want to get this little buckaroo tucked in somewhere. Save him the trauma of witnessing it.”

  Sheriff Price scratched at his chin, frowning. “If I understand correctly, you’re both accusing the other of murder?”

  “He’s the only one who could have done it,” Belle said.

  Theo shook his head. “She’s the only one who could gain from the man’s death.”

  The sheriff’s eyes darted back and forth between them. “And I assume your tireless battle for justice won’t end until the real killer is brought to justice?”

  “Obviously so.”

  “I won’t be safe until this man is in a jail cell.”

  “Mrs. Lindholm, why don’t you go dress yourself properly and then the four of us are going to have a stroll down to my office.” Price held a hand out to Erik and gestured for the little boy to come down the stairs to him. “Have you ever seen the inside of a sheriff’s office?”

  Ten minutes later, Theo marched out of the mercantile. Belle had yet to give the slightest hint as to what had happened to Ross, which was infuriating, but at least he felt vindicated that the sheriff was taking action now. The office was small, likely not needing much space with such a small town. Two cells stood side by side, each barely big enough for the cot within. Price opened up a cell and gestured for Belle to enter.

  “Now I hate to do this, but I can promise you’ll be safe in here until we can sort this out,” he said. “Your little boy can spend the night with me and my wife.”

  She looked on the verge of tears as she stepped inside, her arms wrapped tight around herself despite the warm summer evening. “I’m not a murderer.”

  Theo breathed a sigh of relief at the click of the lock sliding into place, even as it left him feeling strangely uncomfortable. She couldn’t cause any more harm this way and now the sheriff would get to the bottom of what had happened to Ross, so he should have been satisfied. Yet the sight of her shaking hands clutching at her wrap and teardrops glittering from her lashes like jewels was painful.

  “What was your name again?” the sheriff asked while fussing with the second cell.

  “Theodore Tulloch. I’d written to you before, looking for Jamison Ross.”

  “Right, of course. Well, Mr. Tulloch, if you will?” Price pulled the door open and nodded pointedly within.

  “What? No! I haven’t done anything wrong,” Theo insisted.

  “Other than breaking into the mercantile under cover of darkness,” Price corrected. “Now it’s late, I’m tired, and I have a beautiful wife waiting at home for me. I’m the law here, so get in there before I decide I like you even less.”

  Theo’s legs felt like water as he sank down onto the tiny cot in the narrow cell. He watched the door clang shut and then the sheriff scooped Erik up into his arms.

  “No fair,” Erik complained, sticking his bottom lip out. “I wanna stay in the sheriff’s office.”

  “Want to.” Belle sounded exhausted, but the correction seemed to come automatic from her.

  “You’ll be back here first thing in the morning. Until then,” Price unpinned the star from his chest to attach it to the front of Erik’s pajamas, “you can be my deputy sheriff.”

  The little boy’s chest swelled out so far with pride Theo half-expected the buttons on the pajamas to burst open.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Belle did her best to smile while Erik walked out of the office in Kit Price’s arms. Her face actually hurt, eyes stinging with unshed tears so much she could hardly keep them open, but she maintained the smile until she was sure her son could no longer see her face. Only then did she allow herself to collapse onto the cot and sob. All this time she had lived in fear of Paul taking her son from her and in the end he had, but only in the most unexpected of ways.

  “Mrs. Lindholm.” Theo’s voice sounded soft with concern. She looked up to see him holding a handkerchief through the bars of the cells, stretching his arm as far as he could toward her.

  She reached out and took it, then gently dabbed at her tears. “Thank you.” Her voice sounded hoarse and throaty from crying.

  “You d
on’t act much like a killer or a harlot or any of the other things this situation paints you as. Why don’t you just tell the truth about what happened to Jamison Ross?”

  She turned over on the cot, hiding her face against the crook of her arm. It seemed a childish thing to do at just that moment and yet she couldn’t muster an ounce of adulthood in herself. “You won’t believe me.”

  “I suppose I haven’t given you much reason to believe in my charitable nature, but please. Try me.”

  Theo had slid down to sit on the floor of his cell, his back pressed against the door, face turned toward hers. His arms rested casually on top of his knees, as though he were a laborer taking a break from his toil without another care in the world. She sighed and pulled herself up into a sitting position, sniffling once.

  “I can assure you that the writer is safe and sound because Ross is right here with you. I’m Jamison Ross.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly, one corner of his mouth drawing up. “No, come on. Be straight with me.”

  “I am being straight with you, Mr. Tulloch. I’m Jamison Ross. If I had something to write on, I could show you my handwriting and you’d recognize it.”

  “There are people who specialize in forgery.”

  “I can tell you anything that happened in any of my books.”

  “You could have read them, same as anyone.”

  “What will convince you, then?”

  He rolled that coin of his across his knuckles, face thoughtful now. “Tell me how you get your money. We wire it to a bank account and I doubt the bank recognizes you as a Jamison.”

  “He goes by Jimmy, actually. It’s my cousin’s name and he sends the money on to me after receiving it. My father had pushed me to marry Paul and my cousin felt guilty for not intervening until it was too late. This is his way of helping me. Next question.”

  Theo tossed the coin up into the air and caught it again. “All right. In the second manuscript Ross sent me, there was a legal error that I caught during editing. What was it?”