by Beth Ciotta
Fedderman snorted. “Heard you kept the double-doors swingin’ last night. Might’ve joined you myself, but as you can see,” he gestured to the piles of ill-sorted papers littering the desktop, “I had my hands full trying to get this place in order. How did you expect me to find anything in this mess?”
“We’ve argued this since the day we met, Hank. You’ve got your filing system, and I’ve got mine. Don’t tell me you summoned me back because you can’t find a blasted pencil.”
“Now that you mention it you’re just about as short on supplies as you are on organizational skills. But never mind about that. I’ve got another problem. She stands about knee-high to a bumble bee and has the temper of an aggravated hornet.”
Josh helped himself to a chair. Somehow he sensed he’d be better off sitting for this one. Settling back, he massaged his pulsing temples. “This hornet of yours got a name?”
“Paulette.”
“You mean, Pauline.”
“I thought she said Paulette.”
“Long black hair? Big brown eyes?” Cute as the dickens, he wanted to add, but didn’t.
“That’s her.”
Josh dropped his hands to his thighs. “Paris Pauline Getty.”
Fedderman rose from his chair and took a seat on the only clutter-free corner of the desk. “Helluva fancy name.” He crossed his arms over his chest and grinned. “So Fingers is right. You’re acquainted with the girl.”
“We’ve met.”
He indicated the darkening bruise on Josh’s face. “So I’ve heard. What do you know about her?”
Josh stroked his tender jaw. Outside of the fact that she threw one hell of a right, he knew exactly two things about the wildcat. One, her future awaited in Florence. Two, her kisses jolted his brain more than an entire quart bottle of whiskey. At least that’s how he remembered it, which wasn’t saying much seeing that he’d been booze blind. “I know she’s got a nose for trouble. What did she do now?”
Fedderman jerked a thumb toward the back room. “I’ve got her locked up for trespassing.”
“Trespassing?”
“She broke into the saloon late last night. And get this.” He leaned slightly forward. “She claims she meant no wrong. Says she just wanted to—”
“—play the piano.”
“How’d you know?”
“Lucky guess.”
“It would seem you know that little gal more than you let on.”
Josh shrugged then stood. “Send her on her way, Hank. She’s rowing with one oar in the water, but she’sharmless enough, near as I can tell. You’ve got bigger fish to fry.” The Rileys came to mind.
“Yeah, well, it ain’t that easy.” Fedderman cleared his throat. “Fingers didn’t take kindly to the intrusion. If he had his way, he’d be throwin’ her a necktie party. Seems a bit severe to me. Still and all, it wouldn’t surprise me if he up and shot her next time he sees her.” He lowered his voice. “She called him a non-musical, all-thumbed oaf.”
Josh cracked a smile. Fingers considered himself the finest pianist this side of the Colorado. God help the soul who challenged his self-appointed title.
Fedderman nodded. “To make matters worse, Fingers hustled over to Jimmy Hell’s, roused him, and gave him an earful. You know how easily he’s riled. Jimmy stalked in here just before dawn, claiming she not only broke into his saloon but started the brawl that destroyed his front pane. He’s spitting mad and demanding compensation.”
“You looking for me to settle her debt?”
The other man scratched his unshaven chin. “Not exactly.”
“What exactly?”
“I thought you could have a talk with her. Set her straight. Get her to get going to where she’s headed. Today. She’s made more enemies in one night than most folks do in a year. The sooner she clears town, the better for her.”
“Why me?”
Fedderman grinned. “You’ve got a way with women.”
“Not that kind of woman.” He thought back on their dust-devil encounter. He’d aimed on escorting the troublesome minx to a respectable hotel directly after retrieving her carpetbag. Sometimes good intentions aren’t worth spit. Especially when that minx is downright cuter than a kitten. Spurred on by raw lust and rotgut, he’d thrown caution to the wind. He’d kissed her. In the middle of the street. Without regard to her reputation. He’d been set to apologize when she’d shocked him by initiating a second kiss, a deeper kiss, a kiss that gave him a hard-on that you could break a branding iron on.
Then, without so much as a “see ya’ later,” she’d hauled butt away from him faster than a lone scout from an Apache tribe. He didn’t know what to make of her, but he liked her spirit, not to mention the way she’d felt in his arms. That worried him.
“So you’ll talk to her?” Fedderman asked, jolting him from his thoughts.
“How about if I just kick in for the damages?”
“Not what I had in mind. Here’s the deal.”
Josh palmed up the brim of his Stetson. “I knew there was more to this.”
“This girl, this Paulette—”
“Pauline. Paris Pauline. Try Paris. It’s easier.”
Fedderman frowned. “What kind of parent names his child after a foreign city?” He shook his head. “Never mind. Miss Paris. She’s on her way to Florence.”
“So?”
“And you’re on your way to Chance.”
Josh narrowed his bloodshot eyes. “So?”
“So, Florence is on the way to Chance.”
“Forget it, Hank.”
“She’s a magnet for mayhem. She’s traveling alone. Imagine what could happen to her between here and Florence.”
“No.”
“Where’s your sense of valor?”
He pointed to his bruised jaw. “This is what she thinks of valor.”
Fedderman slid off of the desk and fished a key from his vest pocket. “I’d consider it a personal favor. She kind of reminds me of Molly.”
His runaway daughter. “Hell, Hank.” Josh swiped his hat from his head and rammed his fingers through his freshly-washed hair. “Every dark-haired female under the age of twenty-five reminds you of Molly.”
“It’s more than the physical resemblance. It’s the way she avoided answerin’ my questions. Sidestepped ‘em like a horse from a snake. I think she’s runnin’ from something.” He paused dramatically. “Or someone. All I ask is that you see her safely to Florence. Once there, you can ask Sheriff Wright to keep an eye on her and be on your way. Please.”
Josh hadn’t planned on stopping in Florence, although the thought of seeing Seth twice in two weeks did his heart good. Seth Wright was the brother he never had. Their time together with the Special Force of Rangers had cinched their friendship tighter than a fine lady’s corset. Seth had wired Josh regarding Mason’s death when his uncle had bit the dust on a routine supply run from Florence to the Superstition Mountains. Near as Seth could tell, something had spooked Mason’s team causing the horses to bolt. The wagon had bounced over boulders and brush ultimately throwing the retired U.S. Marshal to his death. His fearless uncle had survived rustlers, bandits, and murderers only to be felled by skittish horses. Life was a damned mystery.
Fedderman coughed into his hand, reclaiming Josh’s attention. “About Paris.”
Hell. He couldn’t argue with this man’s paternal instincts. Out of respect, he wouldn’t try. He stuck out his hand and accepted the key.
The marshal smiled. “You won’t be sorry.”
“I already am.”
A queer sense of doom nagged Josh as he neared the cell. His out-of-sorts life was spinning toward the point of no return. Of course, he wasn’t in the best frame of mind. Mason’s death still dogged him. Mason’s will still irked him. And Paris had turned out to be more of a diversion than he’d bargained.
He unlocked the door and eased it open. Stepping inside, he pushed his Stetson further onto the back of his head, stroking a day’s growth
of whiskers while he took in the unsettling sight.
Paris looked like a little girl, curled up, sound asleep on the jail-house cot. Seeing her like this, all vulnerable like, no wonder Fedderman compared her to his shy and proper daughter. Thing was, judging from her behavior thus far, Paris was anything but shy and proper. Still and all, the old man was right. It wasn’t safe for a woman to travel unescorted across the desert. Especially when that woman had more sass than sense.
Kissing his peace and quiet goodbye, he crouched down and lightly touched her shoulder. “Paris.” She didn’t stir, so he gave her a little shake, frowning when she didn’t respond. Concerned she might be ill, he pressed his hand to her cheek. No fever. The intensity of his relief annoyed him.
He started to pull back, but she nuzzled her face deeper into his cupped palm. Dark strands of sawdust-sprinkled hair tickled her left cheek. Her lips curved into a bedeviling smile. Damn, she looked ornery even when she slept. She murmured, “Josh,” and that queer lump welled up again in his throat. He swallowed hard, wondering if he was catching cold. Then he focused on the fact that he’d invaded this girl’s dreams. He wasn’t sure whether to feel smug or worried. Unable to help himself, he smoothed her tangled hair from her pretty face. “Morning, kid.”
She shot up like a startled bobcat, smacking her head against the wall and knocking Josh on his backside.
Swearing under his breath, he righted himself then reached out to her to inspect the damage. “You all right?”
“Yes. No.” She nudged away his hands, massaged the base of her skull. “That smarted.”
“I’ll bet.” He stood and stared down at her, deciding she was not only loony but accident prone.
She blinked up at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you that question.” He pointed to her bare feet. “Where in the devil are your shoes?”
“I forgot to put them on.”
He plucked his hat from his head and jammed his fingers through his hair for the second time this aggravating morning. “How does a body get dressed to go out and forget to put on her shoes?” It boggled his mind, adding to the pain stabbing at his temples. “Never mind.” Repositioning his hat, he got a whiff of stale beer. He leaned closer and sniffed. “Friendly tip, kid. Lay off the booze. You’re short on sense as is.”
She rose slowly, tilting her head up to meet his admonishing gaze. “I’m not drunk, and I’m not stupid. I knocked into a table of half-filled glasses.”
“Which wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t in the saloon in the first place. You’re lucky Fingers didn’t shoot first and ask questions later.”
“That hot-headed, unprofessional oaf! All I wanted was to play—”
“—the piano. I know.” Had she no regard for her safety? “One of these days your reckless behavior is going to get you into serious trouble.”
She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “You sound just like my … ”
“Your what?”
“Never mind.”
“Your husband? Fiancé?”
She wiggled the bare fingers of her left hand. “I don’t have a husband or a fiancé.”
He didn’t want to consider why that made him so all-fired glad. “Your pa?”
She shifted her gaze toward the barred window. “Papa’s dead.”
Josh winced at the hitch in her voice. Once upon a time he had worshiped his own father. But that was before the man had drunk himself to death. Shoving the ancient hurt aside, he cupped her chin demanding her attention. “Your brothers then?”
“You know my brothers?”
“I know they consider you an expert. Or so you told Fingers last night.” She’d floored them all with that racy tidbit though he’d quickly surmised she’d meant her abilities as a pianist.
“Oh. Right.” Looking almighty relieved, she knocked away his hand, and eyed the open door. “Can I go now?”
Maybe Fedderman was onto something. “Listen, kid, whatever you’re running from—”
“I’m not running—”
“Whatever they did—”
“Who?”
“Your brothers.”
She huffed an exasperated breath. “Am I free to go?”
“Did they mistreat you in some way?”
“No. Well … yes. Sort of.”
For the love of … “Stop beating around the bush, Paris. I want to know who or what you’re running from. You can trust me to—”
She snorted.
Josh dug deep, clutching the last of his patience. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Why would I trust you? You lied to me.”
The muscles in his neck bunched. Fury burned its way up from his toes to the tips of his ears. She may as well have accused him of murder. He closed the distance between them, backing her flush against the cell wall. Bracing his hands against the stones on either side of her head, he caged her between his arms and glared. “Come again?”
“Well, not outright,” she explained, her voice climbing an octave. “More like by way of omission.”
“Spit it out.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re a sheriff?”
“I’m not. Not anymore.” The fact still rankled. “I turned in my badge two days ago.”
She grinned ear to ear. “Really?”
“Why does this make you happy?”
“It doesn’t.” Her smile slipped. “I mean, why would it? I was just curious as to why you’d failed to mention it. Your occupation, that is. Not that it matters.”
He wanted to shake the living daylights out of her. “Are you among the willows?”
“What?”
“On the lam. Running from the law.”
“Of all the ridiculous … I am not a criminal.”
“Glad to hear it.” He leaned closer. “I’d hate to have to escort you to Florence in handcuffs.”
Her eyes widened like a trapped animal’s. “What are you talking about? I don’t need an escort.”
“There are those who believe otherwise.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Like hell.” To prove it he kissed her. He slanted his mouth over hers again and again. Hot, hungry, calculated kisses. He wanted to send her running. Because she aggravated him. Because she’d attacked his integrity. Because she was naïve and fearless. But mostly, because she made him burn. He’d never experienced such a fast and fierce attraction. It scared the hell out of him. He needed a wife, and she was not wife material. She was a pain in his neck. Literally.
Unfortunately, his plan backfired. She countered his assault by kissing him with a clumsy enthusiasm that stirred his blood, hiking his desire to a dangerous, irrational level. If he didn’t stop now, he’d end up taking her against the jail-house wall. Next step, the altar.
Stunned, he held her at arm’s length like a stick of dynamite. Surely she was just as dangerous once you lit her fuse. Never in his life had he taken liberties with a stranger. A young woman on the run, for Christ’s sake. He’d kissed this one twice. And this time he was sober. What’s worse, she encouraged his disgraceful behavior. “Stop doing that,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Doing what?”
“Kissing me.”
Her glazed eyes cleared and sparked. “You kissed me first!”
“That doesn’t mean you have to like it.” The thought of her kissing another man with the same sweet abandon knotted his gut. Not that he was jealous. Hell, no. Just concerned another man might take advantage of her virginal curiosity, exhibiting even less restraint than himself.
“Of all the … ” She swung out and slapped his face with a force that rocked his head.
“That’s more like it,” he grumbled.
Red-faced, she swept past him and out of the cell. “I wouldn’t keep company with you if you were the last man on earth, Sheriff Grant!”
“I’m not the law anymore.” Ticked that he was still aroused, he ambled after her, cracking his knuckles.
She marched straight to Fedderman’s desk. “I don’t see why I have to put up with being harassed by that,” she jerked a thumb over her shoulder, “man. Furthermore, I can’t believe you seriously consider me a threat to society. I humbly beg your and Fingers’s pardon and ask for my release. I’m leaving town now, soon, as soon as possible on the next stage out. You’ll never hear from me again, except for when I send money to pay for the damage I’ve caused, which I promise to do as soon as I have it, which shouldn’t be too long from now if all goes according to plan. May I please leave now? Thank you.” She spun on her bare heel and stormed out of the jail-house without Fedderman’s permission and without a second look at Josh.
The two men crossed to the threshold. Together they marveled at her defiant barefooted march toward the Grand Hotel. Respectable citizens parted, granting the tangle-haired curmudgeon a wide berth. She appeared unaffected by the behind-the-hand whispers her tousled, boy-like appearance drew from the shopping townsfolk.
“Well, now,” Fedderman said, “that was one hell of a dramatic exit.”
“She’s a dramatic kind of gal.”
“You got her to leave town, all right.” His gaze on the retreating fireball, Fedderman gave him a good-natured nudge. “Harassed her, huh? Can’t say that I’ve ever known you to harass a woman. Especially a slip of a girl like that.”
Josh rubbed the cheek she’d slapped. “She can take care of herself.” He refused to believe otherwise. He had an agenda and she’d blow it sky high. As to her problem, whatever it was, plainly she didn’t want his help.
“Well, well.” Fedderman clucked his tongue and then chuckled softly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d guess you two were sweet on each other.”
“Guess again. We don’t even like each other.”
“Uh huh.” The marshal winked. “Oughta make for an interesting trek across the desert.”
“No trek.” He repositioned his Stetson and set to leave. “Not together anyhow.”