Another quick, hard jolt of awareness hit him low and dangerous as he watched her. She looked up then, as if sensing his presence, meeting his gaze with hers. A brief frown flickered across her features and was gone again in the next instant. Ridge laughed shortly under his breath. Apparently, she wasn’t any happier to see him than he was her.
“Hello, Ridge,” the reverend said, “have you met the widow Ryan?”
Widow? Ridge’s gaze flicked back to her with renewed interest.
Movement caught the corner of his eye and he looked to her daughter, kneeling on a chair and gazing at him. A wide, brilliant smile lit up her small face and her eyes went round as saucers as she patted the chair back beside her. “Sit by me, Daddy,” she said.
His breath caught in his throat
Like a stray bullet, her words stopped everything in the room.
So much for routine, he thought even as he managed to expel that breath and take another. What in the hell was going on here? he wondered. But before he could get the question asked, everyone else piped up with their two cents’ worth.
“Daddy?” Henry repeated gleefully.
“What’s this?” the reverend said.
“Oh, my,” Hester whispered, ducking her head until Ridge thought she might plop her forehead into her soup.
Slowly, thoughtfully, he shifted his gaze to the redhead. A flush of color rode high on her cheeks as she said quickly, “Jenna, honey, that’s not your daddy.”
The little girl nodded so hard, her soft hair flew about her face. Pushing it back out of her eyes with both tiny hands, she pouted and told her mother, “Yes he is, too.” The imp gave him a heartbreaker’s smile and something inside Ridge tightened when she added, “I know it.”
“Whooee, this just keeps getting better,” Henry chortled, rubbing his hands together and settling in for what looked to be an entertaining evening.
“Just hold on a minute here, Henry,” Ridge said tightly, narrowing his gaze at the little salesman until he swallowed hard. “The child’s made a mistake, is all.”
“Has she?” the Reverend Kendrick asked quietly, his watchful gaze darting back and forth between the redhead and Ridge.
“Jesus, Elias,” Ridge nearly shouted, then remembered who he was talking to and lowered his voice. “Of course she has.”
“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” Hester muttered, her head still drooped over the soup bowl. “This is all so distressing.”
“Damn right it is,” Ridge snapped, wondering what in tarnation she had to be so upset about. It wasn’t her being called “daddy.” Then he glanced at the little girl who’d started all this. He winced to see her big green eyes fill with a sheen of tears. Good job, he told himself, shifting uncomfortably. Made a child cry.
Before he could try to make it right, though, the redhead stood up and looked at all of them in turn before saying, “This is all an unfortunate misunderstanding.”
A misunderstanding or some sort of half-assed blackmail scheme, he thought, and determined that he’d find out which. Damn fast.
“Scandalous,” Hester whispered.
“Now, now,” Elias said absently, obviously aware that he should be the one to comfort the poor woman, but plainly more interested in what was going on around him.
Hattie chose just that moment to stride into the dining room, carrying a platter of steaks that sizzled and popped and gave off a scent that normally would have had Ridge’s mouth watering.
Seeing all of them up and shouting, she stopped dead, and her seven-year-old son Travis, only a step or two behind her, ran right into her wide backside. He carried a heavy, still steaming bowl of mashed potatoes that slammed into Hattie’s behind, and she yelped, tossing the platter high. Well-done steaks took flight, spinning and tumbling in mid-air before slamming down onto the table and the people watching it all happen in stunned silence.
“What in the name of all that’s holy, and them that’s not, is going on around here?” Hattie shouted as the last of the steaks hit the floor.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Ridge told her, his gaze locked with a redhead who’d been nothing but trouble since she stepped off that damn train. Maybe the kid had made a simple mistake. And maybe it was something else entirely.
Just a few hours ago, Sophie had thought this cozy front parlor a warm, welcoming room. Now it felt like a courtroom crowded with four curious judges.
Four because the children had been hustled off to bed and that poor simpering fool of a woman, Hester, had also gone off, swearing that she simply couldn’t bear to discuss such “intimate” things.
Intimate, indeed, Sophie fumed and paced the length of the room one more time. She might have expected a bit of solidarity from a fellow spinster. But then, she reminded herself, as far as Hester knew, Sophie was a man-hunting widow on the prowl for her next husband and using her child as bait.
Oh, good heavens, she thought and reached up to rub the pounding throb that had nestled between her eyebrows. She’d been worried about keeping Jenna’s visions quiet. And here she was about to be done in by nothing more than a little girl’s wistful imaginings. At least she hoped it was her imagination. Although why Jenna had chosen Ridge Hawkins as her fantasy papa, Sophie had no idea. All she’d been able to get out of the girl was one simple statement, over and over again. “He is my daddy.”
That little voice seemed to be echoing inside Sophie’s head and only increased the throbbing there. Ridge Hawkins. She’d known the moment she’d run into him at the train station that he was going to be trouble.
But he’d certainly been aptly named, she thought with a covert glance at his chiseled-in-rock features. His expression was as stony as his name. Hattie, on the other hand, fairly vibrated with excitement, while the reverend, bless him, might be suspicious, but was withholding judgment. The little man with the twitchy nose and inquisitive eyes looked as though he were hoping for more ribald confessions.
Sophie wanted to smack him.
“Well?” Ridge blurted. “Just what is it you’re trying to pull here, lady?”
She stopped, half turned and glared at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Now, Sheriff,” the reverend started. “You’ve said yourself the child made a mistake.”
Ridge shook his head and took a step closer to her. “No, Reverend, I’ve been thinkin’ about that and I believe I’ve been a lawman long enough to know a con when I see one.”
Henry chuckled, shaking his head when the others glared at him.
“A con?” Sophie repeated, outraged at his tone and the look on his face. But just to be sure she’d been insulted, she asked, “What exactly is a con?”
“A confidence game, Red,” he said, moving closer again. “And if you’re thinking to blackmail me by having that little girl claim me as her daddy, you’ve got another think coming.” He paused, reached up and dusted the palm of one hand across the star on his shirtfront. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m the sheriff here. And in this town, I lock up whoever breaks the law. And that includes pretty women.”
“True, true,” Henry muttered. “Ridge here’d lock up his own mama if she stepped over the line.”
What a lovely trait in a person.
Sophie looked at the sheriff for a long moment, telling herself all the while that it was important to remain calm. Important to ease into her life in Tanglewood. But even as she thought it, her brain refused to listen. After all, hadn’t her dignified entrance into town life pretty much ended when she and this... sheriff had chased her petticoat down the length of a train station? Besides, she told herself, surrendering to the bubbling anger within, there were times when it was simply impossible to be rational. And this was one of them. Lord knew, she’d dealt with officious men before this. Perhaps it was just as well that Sheriff Ridge Hawkins learn right from the start that she was not a woman to be trifled with
.
She couldn’t afford to have him think she was afraid of him, could she?
“You’ve been thinking?” she said, her tone making it clear that she found the concept astonishing.
“Now, don’t you get all het up,” he started, shaking his head.
“’Het up’?” she repeated. “What an excellent description. ‘Het up’ is just what I am.”
“Here we go,” Henry muttered from the sidelines.
“So,” Sophie went on, closing the short distance between them. Hands at her hips, she tilted her head back and glared at him as she said, “All of your thinking has led you to the conclusion that a four-year-old girl has criminal intentions toward you.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Oh!” She threw both hands high. “Of course not,” she corrected, giving him a smile that had nothing to do with good humor. “You must have meant that I am the mastermind behind this ingenious plot.”
“Stranger things have happened, Red.”
“In your world, probably,” she interrupted him again, and ignored the muffled laughter coming from their audience. “But not in mine.”
He inhaled sharply.
“What you’re saying is,” she went on, as if trying to understand just what he’d been thinking, “that I and my daughter traveled by stage and by train for more than two weeks to reach this tiny spot in Nevada for the sole purpose of blackmailing you.”
“Now, just wait a minute,” he said, and rubbed one hand across his face.
“You must be quite well off,” Sophie went on, warming to her theme. “Are you a secret millionaire, simply working as a small-town sheriff to avoid the boredom of everyday life?”
His eyes narrowed dangerously. Henry Tuttle laughed outright and even the reverend snorted a chuckle.
“It’s no wonder, then, that word about you has spread as far as Albany, New York,” she continued, hardly pausing for breath. “Why, Tanglewood must be ankle-deep in women vying for your attentions!” Planting her hands on her hips again, she walked a slow circle around him. “After all, there’s more than your millions to consider. There’s your gentlemanly behavior. Your warm smile. Your trusting nature.”
The sarcasm hit him hard and he said, “All right, I think you’ve had your say now.”
“Thinking again?” Sophie asked, eyes wide in mock innocence. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
“She sure enough got you, boy,” Henry said, wiping his streaming eyes.
Ridge ignored him and muttered, “Now, you just hold on a minute here, Red. If you’ll remember, it was your daughter calling me ‘daddy’ that started all this.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake,” Sophie countered with a huff, “lock the child up! What are you waiting for, Sheriff, there’s a dangerous criminal on the loose! Of course, you’d better post a guard on her. She’s small enough to slip through the bars of your cell.”
Hattie snorted and Ridge narrowed his gaze.
“All right, that’s enough of that,” he said tightly.
“Oh, I agree,” she snapped. “It’s quite enough!”
“She’s a regular firecracker, ain’t she?” Henry muttered, then shrank back nervously when she sent him a scathing look.
Ridge had been in gun battles and come out feeling less used up. That woman could tear the flesh off a man’s bones in less time than it took to draw a breath. She’d made him feel foolish, and even while he resented it, a part of him admired her for it. Gumption, he thought. She had it in spades. Not afraid to stand up for herself or her child, she’d faced him down and forced him to back up.
His gaze swept over her again. She might look like some soft city female, but underneath those nice clothes and fine airs, there was a damn desert bobcat waiting to pounce. And he had the claw marks to prove it
“You made your case, Red,” he told her quietly.
“My name,” she said, “is Sophie Ryan, not Red.”
He smiled and shrugged. If calling her “Red” bothered her, then that was just what he’d do. Lord knew, it wasn’t much, but it looked like it was the only hit he’d score in their little battle. Then her name struck him as familiar and he gaped at her. “You’re the new teacher?”
She sniffed. “That’s right. Why?”
Well, this sure as hell explained why he hadn’t been able to find the damned teacher at the train station. He’d been looking for someone pinch-faced and scrawny. He never would have pegged this woman for a schoolmarm.
However, there was a glint in her eyes at the moment that brought back vivid memories of razor strops and rulers. His gaze swept her up and down before settling back at her eyes again. “You don’t look like any teacher I ever had,” he said honestly.
One red eyebrow lifted. “Is that an actual compliment?”
He thought so, but before he could answer, Hattie clapped her hands together suddenly and both of them looked at her.
Shaking her head, the woman pushed herself up from the settee and crossed the room to glare up at Ridge.
Now he liked Hattie as much as anyone else, but he wasn’t blind to her faults either. Somewhere in her forties, she was nosy, hardheaded, and bossy. She was just as likely to mother a man as she was to give him a swift kick in the backside if she thought he needed it. The woman had already outlived three perfectly good husbands and, as everybody knew, was on the prowl for number four. Every single man in town between the ages of forty and sixty kept a wary eye on her at all times.
“Ridge Hawkins,” she said and stepped up to within an inch of him. “You leave off bothering her right this minute.”
“Bothering her?” he repeated, stunned. Hadn’t she just been sitting there chuckling along with the rest of his “friends” while this female chewed on his hide? “Hattie, I didn’t start this, remember?”
“Sent all the way to New York to get us a decent teacher and I don’t aim to start that hunt again”—she paused to wag one fat finger in his face—”just because you couldn’t keep quiet when you ought.”
Inhaling sharply, Ridge opened his mouth to fight that little speech, but Hattie didn’t give him time.
“Now, I grant you,” she said, with a nodding smile to the rest of the room, “what the child said was a bit of a surprise...”
“Yeah,” Ridge agreed wryly, “just a bit.”
Sophie glared at him.
“But the plain truth is,” Hattie went sailing on, “we all know children are as like as not to make up stories. Now, as much as I’d love to sink my teeth into a juicy bit of gos—” She caught herself, smiled apologetically to Sophie and changed her choice of words. “News, the fact is, this ain’t it.”
She jerked a nod at every man in the room before looking at Sophie again. “Now, don’t you worry, hon. Not a word of this leaves this house or some folks’ll be mighty damn sorry.”
Ridge gritted his teeth. He wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot. He had lots more questions he figured he wouldn’t be getting any answers to. Especially so since Hattie was guarding the woman like an old hen with her last chick. But Tanglewood was a small town and the new schoolmarm wasn’t going anywhere. He’d have his answers. Eventually.
“Thank you, Hattie,” Sophie said and fixed her gaze on Ridge. “And as for you,” she said stiffly, “I’ll accept your apology whenever it’s ready.”
He choked on a snort of laughter. Whoever she was, he told himself with another brief stab of admiration, she had sand. Somehow, she’d turned this whole thing around until she’d made it seem he was at fault. “My apology? That’ll be the day.”
She stared at him with what he figured she considered to be a withering gaze. Well, he’d looked down into the black barrels of too many guns to be bothered by a redhead’s icy glare. No matter how pretty she was or how she affected him.
“Somehow,” she said tightly, “that does
n’t surprise me.”
His back teeth ground together. There was only so much of this he was willing to take in one night. Bending his head toward her, he lowered his voice and said, “Lady, you’ve already said I’m no gentleman. So don’t you push me.”
Her green eyes narrowed dangerously and he watched the full rush of temper color her cheeks again. Her jaw worked and he could see that she dearly wanted to let loose with a screech. But to give her her due, she held her tongue, satisfying herself instead with giving him another scorching look. Then she nodded politely at Hattie and the rest of them before turning and deliberately stomping her pretty little heel down onto the toe of his boot.
Ridge winced at the sharp stab of pain and watched her walk out of the room with all the aplomb of a queen. When she was gone, conversation buzzed around him while the others in the room talked about what had just happened.
He paid them no mind and instead walked to the foot of the staircase and stared up after her into the shadows. His toes throbbed and his mind raced.
Sophie Ryan, he thought, had managed to do what few people ever had. Set him on his ear. And damned if he hadn’t almost enjoyed it. As he remembered the fire in her eyes, he found himself wondering if that fire burned just as hot with passion as it did with anger.
And he knew he was in serious trouble.
CHAPTER Four
Images, visions, flashed across the surface of her mind, chasing each other through wisps of uncertainty, shrouding the pictures in a mist, making it all so strange, so out of focus. The sheriff’s face appeared, stern, eyes accusing, then skittering into a smile as he reached for her.
Before he touched her, though, the scene shifted, swirling wild colors and shapes until she saw Jenna, crying, hiding in the desert, racing across the hot sand until she was swallowed by the fog, leaving only the shattering echo of her cries behind.
Sophie twisted in her sleep, moaning, trying to escape the images she was able to block during the day. It was only here, at night, that her “gift” sometimes asserted itself, refusing to be put aside, refusing to be ignored.
Just West of Heaven Page 4