"Don't mind a'tall,” Rusty said. “I was the deputy to Sheriff Murddock a'fore he died. Folks just naturally assumed I'd take over, so I did.” He cast wavering eyes in the direction of the cell, frowning. “Colt, he used to sleep in there, but after he died, I built the room on back."
Adam sympathized with him, thinking he wouldn't much like sleeping in there, either. He was damned glad for the extra room. As for Rusty succeeding Colt, well, that made sense too. How shocked the town must have been over their hero dying—and the nature of his death.
Or at least what they thought was the nature of his death.
Colt Murddock, a man Adam remembered well. His grandfather wasn't a man easily forgotten. “You were friends?” he asked quietly.
"Hell, yes. Best friends.” Rusty started to shake his head, then seemed to think better of it. “Knew him well enough to know he didn't kill hisself.” He gave Adam a hard look, as if daring him to disagree. “Colt woulda gave his own life for just about anybody, but he wouldn't have taken his own. Hell, he was talkin’ about retiring to that ranch of his up in Wyoming. Don't rightly sound like a man who weren't plannin’ on livin’ to me."
Adam surged forward, propping his elbows on the desk. His eyes bore into Rusty's wavering ones, silently commanding his attention. “Who found Sheriff Murddock?"
Rusty squinted, swaying in the chair. “Tarnation,” he mumbled before rolling out of the chair onto the floor.
Adam stood up and peered over the desk at the sprawled, unconscious figure of Rusty Palmer. “Damn."
* * * *
Lacy pulled the front door shut behind her and faced the road, grateful for the oil lamps placed strategically along the road. Otherwise she would not have been able to see her hand in front of her face, for it was pitch dark out, with no moon in sight.
And her destination, the saloon, was situated at the far end of town, next to the train station that allowed cotton growers to send their crops by rail to St. Louis or Kansas City.
"Thunder!” Lacy muttered as she pulled her shawl more securely around her and set off at a brisk pace. Rusty knew she worried about him when he stayed out this late. The citizens of Shadow City were a peaceful lot, but it wasn't the town folk that worried her. Situated as it was between the larger cities of St. Louis and Kansas City, they got their share of ‘hoppers', people stopping in for a week or two before setting out on the last leg of their journey. And sometimes there was trouble. Brief trouble, for Shadow City tolerated little in the way of mischief-making, as the hoppers found out soon enough.
Lately, Lacy had noticed more and more strangers in the town of four hundred or so people as homesteaders scouted the area and lumber companies came in search of new timber. But the mayor owned the largest lumber mill in the county, conveniently situated next to the railroad station and across from the saloon, and so far had managed to dissuade the competition from settling.
Shadow City was definitely growing, Lacy mused, and she wasn't certain she liked the idea. She passed the jailhouse on the opposite side of the road, keeping her eyes firmly ahead. But from the corner of her eye, she noticed a light glowing and wondered if the new sheriff had bothered with the plate of food she'd painstakingly prepared for him.
She sniffed and increased her pace, chiding herself for worrying about that good-for-nothing, job-stealing bully. She didn't care if he starved to death.
As she crossed the halfway mark at the corner of Main and Oakleaf, she paused, looking down Main for signs of late-night revelers. All was quiet except for the faint sound of music coming from the Whisky Wine Saloon. She took a deep, angry breath and hurried on, rehearsing what she would say to her grandfather when she found him. He should be ashamed, forcing her to go out this late and leave Ben and Takola alone in the house. What if Takola had one of her nightmares? What if Ben awoke and found her gone? Would he panic?
By the time Lacy reached the open doors of the saloon, she was mad enough to spit nails. The fact that she rarely lost her temper, but had done so twice today only served to make her madder.
Both times could be traced to Adam Logan.
She shoved the swinging doors apart and marched in as if she'd been there many times, when in fact she'd never stepped foot in the establishment before tonight.
The music stopped with a crash of piano keys. The only occupants of the room other than the player were a couple of lumber mill workers who looked vaguely familiar, and a fancy-dressed woman leaning against the bar smoking a cigarette. Lacy saw at a glance that neither Rusty nor any of his buddies were present.
Her worry increased. It wasn't like Rusty to be this late coming home, and now it seemed he wasn't where she thought he would be, either.
"If you're lookin’ for Rusty, he left about an hour ago. Said something about stopping in to talk to the new sheriff."
The deep, husky voice belonged to the Whisky Wine Saloon's owner, June Smith. She and Lacy were only casually acquainted, but Lacy recognized her instantly from a few months back when a local farmer's house had burned to the ground during a particularly bitter cold spell. June had been one of the first to arrive with second-hand clothes for the children, bedding and food. Obviously, the woman recognized her, too.
Lacy forced a friendly smile past the lump in her throat. Her heart tripped at the saloon owner's words. “Did he ... did my grandfather mention what he wanted with the sheriff?” She was afraid she knew. God, please let her be wrong.
June crushed her cigarette out, her expression sympathetic. “Yep, honey, I'm afraid he did. Said something about ‘tellin’ him a thing or two'. He's mighty upset about the mayor hiring that young, handsome sheriff."
Lacy thanked her and hurried off to the jailhouse, praying she wasn't too late. She had known Grandpa was working himself into a rage. She should have done something, talked to him about it. But dang it, she'd been too busy trying to get them out of hot water with the sheriff.
She picked up her skirts so she could run faster, secure in the knowledge there wasn't anyone out to see her indecent exposure of legs. A disturbing image of Adam Logan's face rose in her mind, adding to her rising concern. No relenting when Ben had taken the pie, no relenting when she'd tried to apologize.
Adam Logan wasn't a forgiving man, that was plain to see. After what they had already put him through, he wouldn't take kindly to Rusty throwing a conniption fit. Her grandpa could get pretty ornery, especially with a brick in his hat and Lacy didn't doubt for a minute that was the shape she'd find him in.
By the time Lacy reached the jailhouse, she was out of breath. She didn't bother to knock, just pushed the door open and rushed in, bracing herself for the worst. When she saw Adam leaning over the still form of her grandfather, she didn't stop to think. She raced across the room and thumped Adam on the head with her fist.
"Get away from him, you—you bully! He's just an old man. What have you done?” Without waiting for an answer, she pushed a surprised Adam away and knelt down by her grandfather. “Grandpa? Grandpa, are you all right?” He looked so still ... so asleep? Lacy's eyes widened as she stared at her grandfather's open mouth. A snort, followed by a lull and then a steady stream of snores erupted from his throat.
Suddenly, she was grabbed by both arms and hauled roughly to her feet. She found herself standing nose to nose with an extremely angry sheriff. “I—I thought ... you had.... “She closed her eyes, praying when she opened them, she'd be in her own bed fast asleep. The nightmare of her marriage returned, bringing a dreaded terror with it. She prayed harder.
It was no use.
That deceptively soft voice of his intruded into her wishes.
"I'm gettin’ mighty damned tired of being abused, Mrs. Ross. Mighty damned tired."
What would she do if he hit her? Never mind that she had just thumped him on the head.... Lacy peered at him, saw the blazing eyes, and quickly lowered her own again. Her stomach took a slow dive to her feet. He looked mighty tired. Good grief, she had hit him in the head of all places!
She licked her dry lips. “I—I'm sorry—"
"Sorry?” he ground out, still softly. “Sorry don't get it, lady.” He rattled her teeth with a hard shake—as if she didn't already know he was hoppin’ mad. “You came flying in here, jumping to conclusions. Sound familiar? Twice in one day, Mrs. Ross. Twice."
Lacy felt anger returning, shoving terror aside, yet she wasn't ready to look into those cold blue eyes. “You don't have to keep repeating yourself, Sheriff Logan. I'm not deaf."
His smile reminded her before he spoke the words. “Neither am I, and as I recall, you accused me of the same thing earlier."
Swallowing, she lifted her eyes for a brief moment, then focused on his chin. The dark shadow of his beard made him look more dangerous, if that was possible. “If you won't accept my apology.... “She let the words hang, sincerely not knowing what else to say.
"Hmmm. That's an interesting proposition.” He relaxed his grip, but didn't release her. “If I won't accept your apology, what else do you have to offer?"
His meaning sank in by slow degrees. She should have known he would twist them around. Stiffening, she lifted her outraged gaze to Adam's. His eyes no longer blazed with anger; they glittered with serious intent. Worse than anger. Her stomach dropped another notch. Anger she understood, expected; this was unfamiliar territory.
The skin beneath his hands had grown warm and she felt a frightening urge to know what it would feel like for those strong arms to go around her, pull her close. Shocked at her thoughts, Lacy dropped her gaze before he read what was on her mind. Wasn't she in enough trouble?
With as much dignity as she could muster, she said, “I have nothing else to offer, Mr. Logan. Sheriff Logan.” Maybe reminding him of his position would remind him that he had a reputation to uphold, she thought desperately.
Adam laughed softly, seeing through her ploy. “It didn't work.” When it appeared she wasn't going to answer, he relented and let her go. He prodded the sleeping man at their feet with his boot. “I take it you know Mr. Palmer here?"
Lacy inched away from him and let out a slow, shaky breath. Later she would have to do some mighty hard thinking, along with a stern mental lecture about what happened to women who succumbed to their desires with men like Adam Logan. And that blasted fear of hers....
"Of course I know him. He's my grandfather,” she announced coolly, proud to hear the strength back in her voice. It gave her the courage to continue, once again attempting to explain. “He—he was a bit upset about losing his job and when he saw you, I guess it just brought it all to a head. Then he started drinkin'.” Which wasn't the entire truth, because she knew he had been drinking before he found out about the new sheriff. Still, it was close enough to the truth. She gazed down at her grandfather, her eyes softening as she studied his familiar, beloved features.
Her voice matched her expression. “He's been sheriff for fifteen years, and he's too set in his ways to realize he's getting old. Shadow City's growing by the day and the responsibilities of sheriff are growing with it.” She hesitated, glancing at Adam. “If the mayor had let him be your deputy for a while ... it would have made things easier for him."
To her surprise, Adam nodded. “It might have at that. Now, what are we going to do with him? It's getting late."
Lacy flushed, realizing she and her family had caused Adam Logan enough trouble for one day. Enough to last him a while, she added to herself. “I'll see if I can wake him.” She knelt again and shook her grandfather several times, to no avail. There wasn't even a break in his snoring.
"Just leave him. He can sleep here.” Watching her closely, Adam added, “I'll just put him on one of those cots in the jail cell, leave the door unlocked."
Lacy came swiftly to her feet, facing him squarely. “You can't do that, he'll be mad as a hornet in the morning if you do."
"Believe me, I don't think he knows anything right now, and I'll deal with his anger in the morning. I'm not locking him up, Mrs. Ross. Just giving him a place to sleep tonight."
She bit her lip, wanting to explain about Sheriff Murddock and how her grandfather would feel waking up in the jail cell where his best friend had died. Yet it didn't seem right, telling such things to a stranger. “I guess it will be all right. Just as long as you explain it to him in the morning."
Adam folded his arms and nodded.
Lacy brushed at her dress, not looking at him. “Well, goodnight then."
"Goodnight."
With one last glance at her grandfather, Lacy headed for home. She blamed the prickly sensation of her skin to the balmy night air, scoffing at the ridiculous possibility that Adam Logan could cause such a reaction.
* * * *
When she'd gone, Adam grabbed Rusty by the arms and pulled him into the room behind the office, hoisting him onto the bed that should have been his own. He left the old man there to sleep it off, and with a weary sigh, settled himself in the chair and tried to get comfortable. It was going to be a long night, he thought disgustedly.
So much for following the doctor's orders. Of course, he could always crawl into one of the two cots in the jail cell.
Adam cursed beneath his breath and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He shouldn't have lied about putting Rusty in the cell. But somehow, he couldn't resist ruffling her feathers at every turn. Payback, he told himself. That's all it was.
He smiled, realizing he hadn't enjoyed himself so much in a long while, despite his aching head. She'd flown at him like a furious mother hen defending her chicks; big, beautiful eyes all afire; her bosom heaving.
He wondered if she made love with such passion.
She'd seemed mighty shocked over the stolen kiss earlier. And then, tonight, over the way he had deliberately misconstrued her words.
Made him wonder if her dead husband had bothered arousing her passion at all.
Adam stirred himself long enough to turn down the lamp, reminding himself he didn't have time to dally with the fiery widow Ross. There was serious work to do if he was going to solve the puzzle of his grandfather before the end of summer.
Best he avoided her as much as possible, which he'd certainly been unable to do so far. Tomorrow would be different, though. After tonight, he wouldn't have any reason to visit Lacy, nor she him.
Chapter Four
Lacy stuffed several small chunks of wood into the flaming cavity of the stove beneath the hot plate, then slammed the small door, feeling mean and miserable. Behind her at the kitchen table, Rusty groaned and covered his ears. Lacy felt no sympathy for her grandfather when she heard the agonized sound. She hadn't slept a wink all night, worrying about him sleeping in that jail cell. And all for nothing, according to Rusty, who had awakened her before dawn by banging on the front door.
"Why would he do a spiteful thing like that?” she demanded, not for the first time. Maybe if she said it enough, a reasonable answer would come to her. “If he was going to put you in his bed instead of the cell in the first place, then he just told me that for pure old spite!"
"I told you I don't know. Now, would you please stop makin’ all that racket? My head is killin’ me."
"Good. Serves you right for putting me through that.” She emphasized her point by scraping the coffee pot across the grate, creating a screeching noise that she hoped increased his misery tenfold. “And why was he asking you those questions about Sheriff Murddock? Doesn't make sense, him interested in a man who's been dead for fifteen years."
Swinging around, she aimed the pot at his cup, sloshing coffee over the sides in her agitation. She swiped at it with her apron and glared at her grandfather. “And how could you just leave Ben with him? There's no tellin’ what he's doing to him.” Rusty had informed her that Ben was already at the jailhouse waiting to ‘serve his time’ for Adam Logan. In fact, Ben was the one who woke him and sent him home.
Rusty lifted his gaze without lifting his head. “You were the one who agreed to send Ben to him.” When she didn't hit him with the pot, Rusty stepped
across the line. “Besides, he ain't so bad. He could have thrown me in jail, the way I acted last night. Hell, I wouldn't have blamed him. If it'd been the other way ‘round, I would have."
Lacy ground her teeth. “Don't cuss, you know Grandma didn't allow it. I guess you think he should have put Takola and Ben in jail too? And what about me? I hit him on the head because I thought he had hurt you.” Groaning in remembrance, she squeezed her eyes closed. “He probably thinks we're the craziest bunch of folks he's ever run across."
Rusty nodded in agreement. “Yep. Probably does. Can't blame him for that, either."
She felt the strangest urge to stomp her foot at his traitorous words. “Grandpa! How can you say that? He's the one who—who scared Ben half to death, and threw my apology back in my face. Then he had the livin’ gall to pump you when he knew you were pickled. Next thing you'll tell me is that you don't blame him for stealing your job."
Prudently, Rusty waited until she returned to the stove to set the kettle down before he spoke. “Lacy, he told me he didn't know he was takin’ anyone's job. He ain't even met the mayor."
She snorted in disbelief. “What? Did he think a town this size didn't have a sheriff?” Recklessly, she dusted the table with flour before slapping a small mound of pie crust into the middle of it.
Rusty wisely covered his coffee cup and scooted back in his chair to escape the white cloud that arose from her furious movements. “Wasn't you the one what told me I should let it go? Let bygones be bygones, you said."
Lacy rolled the dough vigorously back and forth with the heavy oak rolling pin and mentally cursed her grandfather's excellent memory. Rascal, for reminding her. “I might have,” she admitted with great reluctance. “But that was before he—” She stopped abruptly, clamped her mouth shut, and continued rolling the pie crust. She didn't have to look at her grandfather to know he had gone still. Thunder!
Secrets In The Shadows Page 5