Ben dived behind the sofa before the door could open, but that didn't last long. Before the moment was up, his curiosity got the better of him and he crawled to the end of the sofa until he could see both the door and Lacy. He whimpered once, then clamped his lips shut with a blackberry-stained hand.
The door swung open, slamming against the wall and sending a coat rack crashing to the floor. Lacy steadied herself, lowering the gun a fraction in order to see the man who had frightened Ben out of his mind. She refused to acknowledge that he frightened her. He was just a bully, nothing more, she assured herself. But a gun-totin’ bully, a cautious voice whispered.
The man's expression registered only a flicker of surprise at the sight of Lacy holding an old shotgun that didn't look as if it had spit a shell in twenty years. But the surprise lasted only a second—then the hard planes of his face resumed the look of a very angry, determined man.
Lacy got the uneasy feeling it wasn't the first time he'd faced a gun. Quickly, she sized him up, taking in the neatly ironed white cotton shirt tucked into tight, black corded pants, and the holstered gun at his hip. A six-shooter, like Ben said, with a beautiful ivory inlaid handle. Be hard to forget a gun like that.
Her gaze traveled back to his face. Tiny lines fanned from his eyes, the creases white against the deep tan of his skin. But the eyes, now the eyes—she'd been right about the snake. Ice blue, cold and angry, just like a snake's eyes got when they shed their skin. Her gaze dropped briefly to the silver buckle in the shape of a coiled snake, widened on the jade eyes glittering in the buckle, then jumped back to his face. There was something vaguely familiar about those snake eyes on the buckle. She shivered inwardly. No wonder Ben was frightened of this man, and where in tarnation was Grandpa when she needed him?
"Where's the boy?"
His voice rumbled through her, increasing the tremble in her hands. It was a quietly voiced question, unexpected after the violence with the door. Lacy didn't trust that calm voice any more than she trusted his eyes. She lifted the gun higher onto her shoulder. “None of your business, mister. Now you just turn around and head back out. Bullies aren't welcome in my house."
He didn't move, other than to balance himself on the heels of his boots and tuck his fingers in his belt. “I want to talk to the boy,” he stated as if she hadn't spoken.
Lacy's fingers tightened on the gun. He was a stubborn one, but so was she, as he'd soon find out. “Like I said, mister, I don't like bullies. So get out."
"Or what? You'll shoot me?” His eyes narrowed. “I said I just wanted to talk to him. That ain't enough reason to point a gun at me, now is it? Why don't you just put the gun down and we'll talk—"
"Like you ‘talked’ to Ben?” Lacy asked coldly. “If that's the kind of talkin’ you do, mister, then we don't want to hear nothing you have to say."
"Surely you don't approve of his stealin'?"
Lacy flushed over that one, but held her ground and kept the gun on her shoulder. Every instinct screamed at her not to trust him, but she supposed she owed him an explanation. If he was new in town and planning to stay, he'd need to know about Ben. “Ben's got his problems, but we're working on them. I'll pay you for whatever he—"
"Blackberry pie,” the man inserted, surprising her into silence. “He took a blackberry pie I bought at the eatin’ place in town. Cost me fifty cents."
Lacy's shoulder began to ache. She glanced at Ben from the corner of her eye and noted the guilty flush on his face. As if the blackberry stains on his hands and mouth weren't enough proof. “I said I'd pay you. There wasn't any call to pull a gun on him.” She lifted her chin a notch.
"I don't want your money."
Lacy frowned. “Then what—"
"I want him to work it off. Payin's too easy. He won't learn his lesson if you help him out of every scrape he gets into."
She bristled at his not-so-subtle criticism. “And you know all about child-rearing, do you?” As soon as the sarcastic question left her mouth, she flushed. The question was too personal. It was none of her business if he had a passel of kids. But then, it wasn't any of his business how she raised Ben. Still ... nothing else had worked—
Lacy drew a horrified breath at her thoughts. How could she even consider turning Ben over to this—this snake-eyed stranger? She knew nothing about him! She must have gotten too much sun today scrubbing clothes in the backyard.
Lifting her chin a notch, she said, “Ben's not going anywhere with you, mister. You might as well take the fifty cents and leave. If there's any punishing going on, I'll be the one to do it. Besides, he promised not to do it again."
The man laughed at that. Well, it was more like a snort of disbelief, Lacy thought. Who was he, that he thought he could just walk into their town and commence telling people how to raise their children?
He shifted, bending one knee and leaning slightly on it. “How many times has he made that promise? I could tell by the slick way he snatched that pie that he's been doing it for a while. And exactly what kind of punishment are you talkin’ about? Slap his hand, maybe?” He laughed again, and this time there was no mistaking the scorn. “I bet that really turns him around."
"I don't beat on defenseless little children, mister—"
"Logan. Adam Logan."
Lacy took a deep breath and willed her temper down. “Mr. Logan. Look, you're new to Shadow City, right?"
"Right."
"Well, there are things about our town you should know, if you're planning to stay."
"I am,” came his short answer.
"We're a peaceful town, and we try to teach our children to lead peaceful lives. If we show them violence, they'll just grow up to be violent. Understand?"
Logan lifted a thick, dark brow and stared at the shotgun braced on her shoulder. “You showin’ him now? By pointing a gun at me?"
Lacy's face got hot. “No—I'm showing you what it feels like to be scared half to death!” But she knew that was a lie, because he didn't look frightened in the least.
And blast it, he was right. She wasn't showing Ben a good example.
Looking smug, he said, “Discipline can be meted out without physical violence. I won't hurt the boy."
"Benjamin. We call him Ben."
"Right now, I call him a thief. I've got a few chores he can do to pay for the pie."
Lacy's mouth tightened. “I told you he's not leaving this house with you. Are you hard of hearing, Mr. Logan?” Her voice rose deliberately. “And if it's the pie you can't forget, I've got one in the kitchen still warm from the oven."
"Blackberry?"
"No. I've got apple and pecan, but I sold the last blackberry to—” She stopped abruptly, for she had been about to say ‘Ellen', and he'd put two and two together and realize they were discussing the pie she had baked in the first place. He probably wouldn't find that amusing.
"I had my heart set on blackberry, and we're not going to side-step the issue here—"
Lacy wasn't listening. Her gaze had focused beyond him to the shadow slipping up with deadly intent, arms lifted high in the air.
Her expression must have mirrored her alarm, for Adam Logan tensed and spun around, his hand going to the shiny six-shooter.
He was too late. With a mighty sweep of her arms, the Indian girl slammed the thick chunk of hickory wood into the side of his head. It connected with a sickening thud.
Adam swayed for a moment. A look of pure surprise flared in his eyes before they rolled upward, then slowly closed as he sank to the floor.
The girl stood over him, daring him to move. Black eyes glittered with satisfaction.
"I wish you hadn't done that, Takola,” Lacy groaned. She dropped the shotgun onto the sofa and knelt to check the damage. A small lump the size of a bird's egg peeped out between thick strands of dark hair. Lacy gently brushed it aside to get a better look, ignoring the tingling in her fingers as she encountered the satiny texture of his hair. She had expected rough—to go with the man. Not soft, n
ot satiny. Shaking her head at her fanciful thoughts, she examined the wound.
The skin wasn't broken, thank God. But Lacy knew Takola's strength, a strength that defied her small frame. A blow like that could crack a skull, despite the absence of blood.
Without turning around, she said, “Ben, go fetch Dr. Martin—I think he's in his office today. If he's not there, ask around until you find him.” After he scurried from the room, she looked up at Takola, who stared back at her without a flicker of regret for what she'd done. Lacy forced her anger aside, remembering the gruesome drawings, the awful screams in the night. Screams that made her blood run cold and her heart go out to this defensive little Indian girl.
"Bring me a cold rag and then find Rusty. This late in the day, he's probably already at the saloon.” When Takola lowered the stick to obey, Lacy added, “And please don't bite, scratch, or hit anyone along the way, no matter what they say to you."
Takola stared solemnly at Lacy, then nodded her head once to indicate she understood. It was the only thing Lacy was certain of. Takola understood English well.
While Takola went to fetch the rag, Lacy carefully lifted Adam's head onto her lap. She smoothed the hair away from his brow and mentally rehearsed what she would say when he regained consciousness. Ben wasn't the only one with a problem, as he would soon find out. But there had been no time to warn him, no reason to explain about Takola.
What would he do? As she recalled, he hadn't appeared to be softening towards Ben when Takola decided to take matters into her own little violent hands.
Takola reappeared and handed the folded cloth to Lacy before leaving to find Rusty. The soft click of the door closing brought Lacy back to awareness. She was alone with Adam Logan, a man who threatened little boys and hankered for blackberry pie.
He looked downright peaceful now, she thought, smoothing the cool rag over his brow and onto the bump at his temple. And he needed a haircut. She studied the thick, dark lashes, the wide mouth, relaxed now from its former rigid lines. Hesitantly, she laid the rag aside and traced the slight bumps on his nose with her fingertip. There were two of them, and she speculated they were where he'd gotten his nose broken in a fight. Rather than mar his looks, she thought the imperfection gave him character.
Lacy jerked her hand away when she realized her fingers were wandering down to his mouth. She'd been about to trace the contours of his lips! What would Adam Logan think if he awoke to find her touching his lips? Heat flooded her face at the thought.
The door behind her opened and she jumped guiltily, twisting to greet her grandfather. Relief limbered her spine at the reassuring sound of his voice, despite the fact that he sounded decidedly grumpy.
"What in tarnation has that girl done now?” Rusty demanded, trying to focus—apparently without much success—on the man on the floor.
Lacy mumbled a thankful prayer that her grandfather appeared not to have noticed her flustered state. She took a deep breath. “This man—he was threatening Ben and Takola didn't take too kindly to it. I suspect he spooked her with that fancy gun there, too.” Lacy nodded at Adam's holster, then fastened her worried gaze on Rusty as she added, “I don't think any of those reasons will wash so much as a hanky with this man."
Takola slipped past Rusty and scurried up the stairs—presumably to her room. Rusty scowled at her cowardly retreat, then at Lacy. “What in tarnation are we going to tell him when he comes to? He ain't dead, is he? And what was he threatening Ben about?” He rubbed at his eyes. “Who the hell is he, anyhow?"
Lacy mentally went down the list of questions. “I don't know what I'm going to say. No, he's not dead. Ben stole his blackberry pie, and his name is Adam Logan."
"I'll tell you who he is,” Dr. Martin said from the doorway. Behind him, Ben hovered, his expression wary, even though Adam had not twitched so much as an eyelid. The boy started to creep around the doctor, obviously intending to make his escape. Before he'd gone two steps, Rusty reached out and grabbed his shirt collar, effectively holding him in place.
"Hold on there, Ben,” Rusty growled. “You just wait a dadburned minute. I got me a feelin’ you're in the middle of all this."
Lacy let out a frustrated breath. “Who is he, Dr. Martin?"
"He's the new sheriff, that's who."
"What?” Rusty shouted at the doctor, glaring at him as if he'd lost his ever-loving mind. “You say that's—” he pointed a shaking finger at the prone figure—"The new sheriff?"
Dr. Martin nodded.
Lacy's thoughts were pretty gloomy. The foremost being what Adam Logan's reaction would be when he came to. Ben had eaten his pie, she had greeted him with a shotgun, and Takola had bashed him in the head with a stick of wood. How was she going to explain all that?
Why, she wouldn't be surprised if he threw them all in jail!
Adam groaned and twisted his head. Lacy froze, staring down at her lap as if she'd suddenly discovered she held a live rattler, instead of a man she'd been admiring only moments ago. Ben jerked free of Rusty's hold and ran in the direction of the stairs and safety. The frantic pounding of his boots echoed through the big house.
Rusty grunted and shifted closer, squinting. His mouth curved into a mutinous line Lacy knew well. “Well, he ain't gettin’ my badge, no siree. I've had that star goin’ on fifteen years. He can damn well get his own!"
Which explained why Adam Logan wasn't wearing a badge, Lacy thought. “Hush, Grandpa, I think he's coming around."
"Don't matter none to me, he still ain't gettin’ it. And I don't care what that sneaky bas—rat of a mayor says ‘bout it, neither.” With that final declaration, Rusty turned for the door, mumbling beneath his breath about how excitement made a man mighty thirsty.
Dr. Martin watched the older man hitch his pants and head in the direction of the Whisky Wine Saloon. “Stubborn old fool."
Lacy jumped to her grandfather's defense, a habit about as hard to break as grandpa's increasing fondness for whiskey. “He's just hurt about losing his job, Doc. The mayor wasn't real clear on the reason, and it's eatin’ at Rusty."
Dr. Martin flushed at her defensive tone. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Ross, you misunderstood me. I was referring to his drinking. He's not a young man, you know, and all that drinking ... I've warned him."
Lacy sighed, absently stroking Adam's brow. “I know. I've tried talking to him about it, but he just won't listen.” She carefully lowered Adam's head to the floor, moving aside as Dr. Martin knelt to examine the patient. Her lap felt warm where Adam's head had lain, and she pressed a hand there, absorbing the heat into her palm. A curious rush of pleasure shot through her. She snatched her hand back, deliberately bringing an image of David's face to mind.
It worked. Thinking of her dead husband wiped the dangerous warmth from her body, replacing it with an icy reminder.
After a quick look, Dr. Martin got to his feet, then reached out a hand to help Lacy do the same. “I'm going to bring the buggy around so we can move him to my office. He'll need looking after for a few hours."
"Do you think—is it bad?” Lacy bit her lip, thinking of Takola and what Adam might do. She couldn't forget how furious he'd been over the pie. What would he think of this?
Dr. Martin gave her a reassuring smile and patted her hand. “Don't worry, Mrs. Ross. I'm sure he'll be fine after he comes around. Once I explain everything, he'll understand."
"I wouldn't bet on it,” Lacy mumbled morosely.
Chapter Two
Adam clutched his head against the agonizing pain. Camphor, strong and pungent, invaded his nostrils and filled his lungs. He frowned, then jerked his eyes open as full consciousness returned. A man loomed over him, his bushy blonde brows drawn together to form a solid line above his eyes. Thick sideburns covered each side of his face down to the line of his pointed chin. He looked worried about something.
"What the hell happened? Who are you?"
Adam tried to rise, but the man pushed him back onto the cot. He looked around, careful not
to make any sudden moves. Nothing looked familiar, so he knew he wasn't at the jailhouse. Damn, his head hurt!
"You just lie still, Sheriff,” the man ordered. “I'm Dr. Martin. You've got yourself a nasty bump on the head. Might be a concussion.” He probed the bump, and Adam growled a protest, which was ignored. “Don't look or feel too bad, but I wasn't expecting you to be out that long. Was gettin’ kinda worried about you."
"How long?” Adam asked, trying to remember. His mind drew a blank.
Dr. Martin pulled his pocket watch out and frowned at it. “Better than half an hour. That girl's got a mighty swing."
"Girl?” Adam croaked, thinking maybe the doctor should be on the bed in his place.
Dr. Martin nodded. “Yep. Girl. Indian girl—belongs to the widow Ross. She hit you with a good-sized chuck of hickory right up side the head."
At the doctor's words, Adam remembered catching a glimpse of his attacker before pain exploded in his head and everything went black.
An Indian. He remembered seeing buckskin clothes and black braids and wondering what the hell an Indian was doing in Shadow City. Everything else the doctor said remained a total puzzle.
"You ... you said the girl belonged to Mrs. Ross. Are you saying Mrs. Ross was married to an Indian?"
Dr. Martin laughed as if Adam had just made the joke of the century. “Hell, no! Lacy—Mrs. Ross was never married to no Indian. Takola—that's the girl's name—just appeared one day out of the blue. Folks thought she should have been sent to a reservation, but Mrs. Ross said she'd keep her.” Dr. Martin shook his head as if he didn't quite understand her reasoning. “Kicked up a mighty big fuss about it, too, did our Mrs. Ross, when some folks didn't like the idea of her staying."
"I'll just bet she did,” Adam mumbled dryly, leveling a measured gaze at the doctor, who didn't appear much older than himself. “So she's a widow?” Adam watched the doctor's face flush at the question, his shrewd mind storing away the information. So, the doc was sweet on the widow Ross. But was the widow Ross sweet on the doc? Adam wondered, then wondered why the hell he was wondering. He wouldn't be staying in Shadow City long enough to attend a wedding.
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