Finally, Rusty laughed, but it lacked its usual heartiness. “Girl likes to fish, doesn't she? Catches more than the menfolk, that's for sure. And I ain't never seen anyone who could find a mess of wigglers like her."
Lacy started to remind him the dinner table wasn't exactly a place to talk about worms, but refrained. She didn't really want to talk at all. She'd made up the story about the stew being stuck in her throat, but she felt like something was.
Rusty pushed back his chair with a sigh. “Leave the dishes. Takola and Ben can do ‘em when we get back. Got about two hours of good light left and I want to make the most of it."
"You go ahead, Grandpa. I'll just get an early start on my ironing.” She was looking forward to the solitude.
He stopped at her chair and squeezed her shoulder affectionately. “You work too hard, girl. It ain't right that you don't get out more, do something fun once in a while.” When she didn't respond, he grunted and went to find Takola and Ben.
Lacy let out a shuddering breath after he'd gone. Unshed tears still clogged her throat, but she refused to give way to them, even if she was alone. Imagine, crying over something so ridiculous. Grandpa was right, she did work too hard and sometimes forgot to relax.
She could take a leisurely bath in the spacious tub she used for rinsing clothes. The wash room was fairly isolated, and they wouldn't be back for hours. Maybe soaking would help the soreness in her muscles.
Having made the decision, Lacy put water on to heat and went upstairs to her room to search for a few extra pins for her hair. While she was there, she retrieved a small bar of jasmine scented soap, a bottle of bath oil, and a clean shift. She paused to look in the mirror, trying to remember the last time she had bothered to look at her reflection.
She couldn't remember.
What she saw made her blanch. There was a streak of flour across her forehead; bluish shadows beneath her eyes; and her mouth looked pinched, as if she had eaten a green persimmon. Her hair was a mess and in need of a good brushing. She had washed it yesterday, braided it, and forgotten about it.
She looked older than her twenty-four years. Was it any wonder Adam avoided her? And her hands, why, they looked like they belonged to someone else. They were red, and roughened from the harsh soap. She should have been soaking them in cream after she finished the wash on Thursdays.
Determined to take better care of herself from now on, Lacy marched downstairs to finish preparing her bath. Later, after the ironing was done, she would soak her hands and do something with her nails. Before she went to bed, she would brush her hair a hundred times.
And she would do this for herself. It had absolutely nothing to do with Adam Logan and what he might think of her, nothing at all. Grandpa was crazy for having such notions. He should know better, too. She liked her life just the way it was, and had no desire to complicate it with thoughts of the new sheriff.
She'd leave that to Carrianna, Susan, and the other young, single women who thought their lives incomplete without a husband.
They would discover marriage wasn't so wonderful, as she had.
Lacy stopped before the hall mirror, staring at her reflection again, remembering another time when she had stood before a mirror, wondering how she would explain the purple, swelling bruise on her face. Eventually, as David's rages had become more frequent, it had been a struggle to think of believable lies.
She'd been too ashamed to tell anyone, even Carrianna. She'd been even more ashamed over the relief she'd felt when she got the news of David's death.
With a resolute squaring of her shoulders, Lacy forced herself to move on. She shoved her dark memories where they belonged: in the past. She was free now, and as long as she remained free, she would never again have to worry about how to explain the bruises.
* * * *
Adam found the painting at the bottom of the tiny closet, hidden beneath a pile of dirty laundry. Carefully, he picked it up and backed out of the closet to view it in the light. It was a remarkable depiction of the town, right down to the painted star on the outside office door of the jailhouse. Of course, the town was bigger now, and many businesses had been added to the town that weren't in the painting.
He smiled as he noticed the saloon had been moved since the artist had painted the picture. Apparently, it had once been right across the street from the church on Main Street. Obviously, the townspeople had not approved.
Tucking the painting beneath his arm, he found the hammer and nails and hung it on the office wall. Standing back, he studied it, wondering why Rusty had taken the painting down in the first place. Had it belonged to his grandfather? He'd ask Rusty, and if it had, he'd take it with him when he left. The painting would make a good memento of his time in Shadow City.
That done, Adam knew he could no longer put off taking his laundry to Lacy. He knew why he hesitated. Ben and Rusty mentioned her often, and Adam dreamed about her every night. He didn't need to see her to imagine her face: her long, glorious hair; and those firm breasts. Those thoughts alone had the power to heat his blood.
He couldn't get her out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried.
Many other beautiful young ladies had presented themselves to him in the week since he'd last seen Lacy, plying him with food, clothing, and even a set of flowery curtains for the jailhouse window—all in the guise of being neighborly. But his initial instincts had been right; he felt nothing for them, other than mild amusement at their not-so-subtle flirting and a healthy appreciation for the variety of dishes they brought him.
Lacy was a different story. Despite the sorry trick she'd pulled with the blackberry pie, he couldn't stop thinking about her. Every shadow that passed by the window caused him to glance up with eager eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. He looked for her while making his rounds about town, and she was his last thought every night.
Damn, she'd tasted good. She had, by far, the sweetest pair of lips he'd ever settled his own upon. That brief contact had told him what he'd already suspected, that Lacy wasn't someone he could dally with and just forget about when he went on his way. No, the widow Ross would get under his skin if he let her.
Who was he fooling? Hell, she already had.
He was smart enough to know it wouldn't work. Lacy loved this town—and he didn't blame her—but he liked the wide open space and had every intention of buying that land in Wyoming when he was finished here.
And besides, Lacy didn't appear to like him.
Adam stuffed his laundry in a burlap sack and slung it over his shoulder, cursing beneath his breath. He'd dump the laundry on her and skedaddle.
Or maybe he'd talk to her about Ben. That should be a safe enough topic. Besides, Rusty would be there to keep him in line. He shouldn't have a problem keeping his hands to himself because he wouldn't want to do anything to offend Rusty. If that wasn't enough, then all he had to do was remind himself how vicious Takola could be.
Adam laughed, shaking his head in wonderment that he could do so. Hefting the burlap sack, he set off in the direction of Lacy's house.
As he strode up the walkway leading to the front porch that ran the length of the house, he was reminded of the last time he walked up to this door. Lacy had met him with an old shotgun. He grinned, wondering if he would get the same kind of greeting today. Was she still mad at him? Adam shrugged, thinking it might be better if she was. It would be hard to get close to a porcupine, and he needed all the help he could get.
He set the sack down and knocked. After a few minutes, he knocked again, this time louder. Still no answer, and he couldn't hear any sounds coming from within. It didn't make sense, since he knew Rusty was expecting him.
Frowning, Adam tried to recall the conversation he'd had with Rusty and Ben before they left the jailhouse to head home. He couldn't remember Rusty saying anything about going anywhere this evening. What he did remember was Ben talking about a wash house out back where Lacy did the laundry. Maybe that's where they were. If not, he would leave the laundry there. Rusty wou
ld explain where it came from, and he wouldn't have to see Lacy at all.
Adam squashed the disappointment he felt at this simple solution and grabbed the laundry bag. As he rounded the corner of the house, he heard the clear, sweet sound of a woman singing. It came from a small building several yards from the back door. He stopped in his tracks, his heart suddenly galloping.
Lacy. It was Lacy singing, and the sound of her voice raced through his veins like a swig of potent moonshine.
Slowly, Adam approached the building, stopping at the closed door. He lowered the sack to the ground, then reached out and pushed gently on the crudely fashioned door until it swung open a couple of inches.
His heart reversed directions, slowing until the pounding grew loud in his ears.
Lacy reclined in the tub, one leg propped on the side as she made leisurely sweeps with a sponge from toe to thigh. Back and forth, back and forth. Adam followed the movement, his mouth going dry at the delicious sight. His gaze remained riveted as she switched legs and gave the other one the same treatment. When that was accomplished, she sat up and twisted her arm behind her, soaping her back.
The movement thrust her small, firm breasts outward. Adam swallowed, staring at the rosy crests, at the way they tipped upward as if beckoning him to touch them, nibble and taste.
A blast of raw desire robbed him of breath. He had to do something, before he said to hell with it. Before he stripped naked and joined her and damn the consequences.
He needed to put distance between them, so he did it the only way he knew how; he pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped across the threshold.
She didn't scream as Adam expected. She just sat there, frozen, her eyes wide in shock. Damp tendrils of hair framed her face, softening her rigid expression. A thick strand had fallen from the pins and lay against her white skin, the water turning it dark gold.
Adam wanted to touch it, to pull it from the water and wrap the wet strand around his finger. He lowered his lids to hide his lusty expression and drawled, “I have to say I prefer this greeting to the last one."
The sound of his voice released Lacy from her paralysis. “Get out,” she hissed, sinking beneath the fading bubbles and trying to cover what she could. “Get out!” How dare he barge in while she was taking a bath! And dear God, how long had he been watching her? A flush pinkened her pale skin at the thought. Why her? Why did he treat everyone else with respect, and insult her at every opportunity?
Adam ignored her command, looking around for a chair. He spotted one and grabbed it, plopping it down in front of the tub before straddling it. He smiled when she scooted to the far side, her hands slipping in the process. For a heart-stopping moment, a rosy nipple peeped from between her fingers.
Lacy tried to control her panicked breathing as her darting gaze collided with his heated one. Her nipples hardened against her palms and she thanked God he couldn't see her body's betrayal. She didn't understand what was going on, but she knew it wasn't something she wanted to happen. She'd never reacted this way when David looked at her!
Panic overrode pride. She pleaded, not bothering to hide her desperation. “Please leave, Sheriff Logan. Please."
"Adam. I think due to the ... ah, intimacy of the situation, you should call me Adam.” He draped his arms over the top of the chair and settled his chin there, getting comfortable. He inhaled the scent of jasmine, knowing that from this moment on, he would associate the smell with this slim, beautiful woman with the loveliest soft brown eyes he'd ever seen.
"Why are you doing this?” Lacy breathed, growing angrier by the moment. She felt helpless, and she hated feeling helpless more than anything.
"I'm as entitled to my revenge as you are to yours. I'd say this just about makes us even."
"Even?” Lacy repeated, completely lost. “What in the hell are you talking about?"
Adam waved an admonishing finger at her. “Watch your mouth. You wouldn't want me to have to go searching for that soap, would you?"
Lacy gulped. No, she would not. The soap was in the water, somewhere ... Oh, God. He wouldn't dare ... would he? She wasn't about to find out. “You talk as if—as if we've been playing some kind of game. I assure you I haven't. I don't even know what you're talking about."
"Does blackberry pie ring a bell? Are you gonna deny you were behind that little nasty trick?” Adam kept his eyes steadfastly on hers. He had to, or something was bound to bust.
Lacy shook her head in genuine confusion. Unless he was referring to the long wait while she raced back home and baked the second blackberry pie, she had no idea what he was talking about! “I'm sorry you had to wait so long, but you see, I dropped the first one."
Adam clicked his tongue. “My, you must have been running mighty low on salt. Two pies, you say?"
"Salt?” Lacy frowned. “I don't use much salt, just a pinch or two."
"Oh, I think you used more than a pinch or two in the one you made especially for me. It was full of salt, Lacy, so quit pretending you don't know. You got your revenge on me stealing that little kiss, and now I have mine.” He bared his teeth in a wicked grin. “Though I have to admit, my revenge tastes a lot sweeter than yours."
Lacy wasn't listening. She thought back to the day she'd dropped the pie. They had returned to the house, and with her instructions, Takola had put the ingredients together for the pie filling while she prepared the crust.
Takola. Oh, God. Takola had used salt instead of sugar. Accidentally, or purposely? Lacy closed her eyes and groaned. She couldn't tell Adam, which meant he would continue to believe she had done it for revenge.
Adam listened to the throaty, provocative sound and gripped the chair with his hands to keep from hauling her up and against his hard body. God, did the woman know what she was doing to him? Her voice jarred him from his naughty thoughts.
"You'll have to take me at my word, Sheriff. It was an accident."
"Hmmm. Well, it was an accident that I walked in on your bath, too."
"Now that we've got that settled, you can leave.” It galled Lacy to agree with him because she knew he lied, but she wasn't in any position to argue at the moment.
"I don't think so,” Adam said. “There are a few things I've been curious about."
"The water's gettin’ cold,” Lacy gritted out between clenched teeth. It was true, and it wasn't helping her condition any. If only he would stop looking at her as if ... as if she was a tasty morsel and he a starving man. That hungry look frightened her, made her feel things she had no business feeling.
Adam reached into the tub and flicked his fingers, testing the temperature. She jumped, smothering a squeal of surprise. “Stop it!"
"It is gettin’ cold. Guess I'll have to hurry up with the questions, and you'll have to hurry up with the answers."
She glared at him. He grinned.
"Then hurry up and ask them.” She felt around with her toes and located the soap. If he tried to come closer again, she was going to hit him in the face with it.
"I want to know how Ben came to be with you,” Adam said. “Where are his folks?"
Lacy put her foot on the soap, gathering her thoughts. She didn't know what she had been expecting, but it hadn't been questions about Ben. Slanting him a look filled with suspicion, she said, “His folks are dead. He was about six when Grandpa found him wandering around in the woods in the dead of winter.” She noticed Adam had stopped smiling. Reluctantly, she went on. “We didn't find his folks ‘till spring, when the pond thawed out. Ben said they'd gone fishing and never came back. Evidently they fell through the ice and drowned.
"When Grandpa found Ben ... he was carrying his father's rifle, trying to shoot a rabbit. He was half starved to death, and nearly frozen. He couldn't remember how many days it had been since he'd eaten."
"God. So that's why he steals food."
Lacy flashed her eyes at him. “What did you think? That he did it out of meanness? Ben's a good boy—"
"I know. And I didn't kn
ow what to think because I didn't know about his past. Has he always had trouble learning?"
Surprised, Lacy forgot for the moment that she was sitting naked in a tub full of cold water. “You know about that?"
"He told me. I think that's another reason he steals, because it's something he's good at."
Lacy considered his theory and reluctantly conceded that he might be right. She remembered his question. “He gets his letters mixed up, and often writes them backwards. But he tries, and we found signs at the cabin that his mother was trying to teach him.” She tilted her head. “Why are you so interested in Ben?"
Adam shrugged. “He reminds me of someone I once knew."
A tense silence grew between them, and when it appeared Adam was through with his questions, she asked, “Can I get out now?"
Adam spread his arms wide, the jaunty grin back in place. “Be my guest.” He didn't move.
Narrowing her eyes at him, Lacy quickly snatched the soap and brought her hand up in a threatening gesture. She slid her free arm across to cover both breasts. “Get out or I'll throw this at you!"
Laughing, Adam stood and moved the chair back to its original place. “I'm leaving, I'm leaving. My laundry's sitting beside the door.” He walked to the door and turned for one last look, knowing she'd haunt his dreams more than ever.
Lacy shuddered beneath that consuming look. He hadn't touched her physically, but she tingled all over as if he had.
"I'll be back for my clothes tomorrow evening."
Lacy sputtered. “I can't get them done tomorrow. I've got the pies to bake and deliveries to make—"
Adam lowered his hot gaze to her lips, wishing he could kiss her long and hard. “If you don't, then you'll get to know my body as well as I know yours, because I'll be walking around naked.” He left her mulling over that ominous promise, closing the door politely behind him.
There was a loud thump as the soap hit the wood, followed by a string of names, some of which he'd never heard. With a wicked smile, Adam began to whistle as he headed back to the jailhouse.
He'd be sorry later.
Secrets In The Shadows Page 9