“Enough of the questions.” He stood and put his plate in the sink next to the pump. “Let’s check on our patient.”
***
“Awake, are you?” Tom asked Grant, who struggled to sit up in bed. “Oh, no you don’t. Don't be a pain in the a...backside.” Tom darted a glance at Maggie, standing in the doorway.
Grant had things to do and he wasn’t going to waste time stuck in bed like a little old lady with bad humors. The sun was high in the sky and he had responsibilities. As sheriff of Cranston, he had people to protect. “Damn, Tom, since when did you turn into Ma?”
“Since you decided to get yourself shot.” Tom pushed on Grant’s shoulder. “Now lie back.”
Grant glanced at Maggie. She looked worried, but he didn’t keep his eyes fixed on her face for long. His gaze raked over her body. She wore Amy’s riding pants and shirt and he certainly didn’t remember their revealing qualities before. Her round hips were outlined snugly in soft cotton, tapering to long, shapely legs. He remembered the feel of her pressed intimately against him most of the night in the saddle. With the way his body was reacting to her, it appeared the gunshot hadn't affected all of him.
“Hello, Maggie.” Was that a squeak he heard in his voice?
Their gazes met. Held. Her eyes were dark, fringed with even darker lashes. His desire shot off like Fourth of July fireworks. He looked lower once again. It couldn’t be helped. Her shirt was so snug against her firm breasts, he was sure one deep breath would pop the buttons free. After last night, when he’d seen the perfectly round globes and their tight rosy tips, she practically asked for him to stare.
“I hope it’s all right I wear your sister’s things,” she said, her voice soft.
If he told her his thoughts were not the least bit brotherly, she would have bolted from the room like a skittish mare.
“Are...” She cleared her throat. “Are you feeling better? You had me so worried.” After finally entering the room, she sat down on the bed by his feet, her light weight barely making the bed creak.
This wasn’t what he had in mind when he vowed to get her back in bed. Not with a bum leg, Maggie wearing his sister’s clothing, hell, any clothing at all, and a chaperone.
Forcing a smile, he replied, “I’m fine.” He tried to reassure her, and himself. “If only Tom could see that and let me up,” he added crankily.
“I think Tom’s right. He pulled the bullet out this morning and your leg must be hurting you terribly.”
Thanks for the reminder. His leg ached as if a hot poker had been taken to it. Trying not to focus on his wound, he took Maggie’s hand. “Not too bad.”
“Your coloring is still a little off, big brother.”
Grant ground his teeth. “Fine, fine, I’ll stay in bed.” There was no chance he could move from his resting place anyway. His leg wouldn’t be able to support him and he’d look even more the fool. He looked at her. It couldn't hurt to get in her good graces, then maybe, sometime soon, under her skirts. “If that’s what you want.”
She smiled, big and brilliant, and nodded.
“All right, then.” Maybe she would stay and comfort him. He imagined her lush body lying on top of him, his hand caressing over her backside so perfectly outlined in the snug pants.
“Good,” Tom said. “I’m going to show Maggie around while it’s still light. You get some rest.”
“But...” This wasn't what he had in mind. He needed tending, coddling. By a beautiful woman with the perfect body.
She gave his hand one last squeeze before she stood. She followed Tom out of the room but turned in the doorway. “Bye.” She smiled again and was gone.
Damn, he was stuck in bed while Tom and Maggie went off gallivanting across the countryside. Leaving him alone. He might as well be dead with the attention they were giving him. Besides the pain in his leg, the new throb in his groin was a reminder that he most certainly was alive. And without a woman to make it all better
***
Over the next week, Grant’s mood only darkened. He’d see Tom and Maggie for snatches of time during the day, and when he did, they were like two peas in a pod. Their friendship was quick, and from what Grant could tell from his horizontal vantage point, quite close. Too close.
Mealtimes were the highlight of his day. Their company broke the boredom, the monotony of his recuperation. He’d counted the number of cracks in the ceiling seven times and was sure the room was actually getting smaller.
Worst of all, he could hear her laugh drift up the narrow steps from the kitchen. Tom brought her out of her shell and it seemed the two of them were having a grand old time while he was stuck in bed. Alone. It would be quite different if he'd had some company. Preferably naked and beneath him.
Sure, he’d tried several times to get up and join them. The first time he’d made it to the side of the bed, stood up, then fell promptly to the hard floor when his injured leg gave out underneath him. They'd come running, both clucking their tongues like mother hens as if he were five. Embarrassed and scolded soundly, it took another day to build up enough courage for the next attempt.
The second time, he’d made it all the way to the door before the room started to spin. The pain in his leg was so great that he thought he might pass out. White spots dotted his vision and sweat poured from his face. Fortunately, neither of his keepers had been nearby to hear him hobble across the floor and fall back into bed with a loud groan.
He’d given up after that. Resigned to his lonely fate, he was forced to listen to all the fun they were having. Without him. He was supposed to be the one making her laugh. He was supposed to be the one alone with her. She was his, not Tom’s. Damn his brother to hell.
An hour later, she came in with a tray. Dinner. He was more than ready to eat. Using his hands to push himself up, he grumbled, “It’s about time! I’m starved.” He knew his tone was ornery, but he couldn’t help it. Not seeing anything but these four walls for days on end was turning his brain to mush.
“Your manners are certainly in need of work,” she replied tartly.
He just grunted as he ate forkfuls of delicious pot roast as she kept him company. Finishing off the last of his meal, Tom came in to join them.
“It appears we’re going to be having a wedding.”
Lifting his glass to his lips, he swallowed a cool sip of water. “Oh? Billy finally asked Ellen Saxby? Good for him.”
“No, it’s not Billy.” Tom paused and looked to Maggie. “Maggie and I are going to marry.”
Grant’s fork clattered to the tray, all but forgetting to chew the last piece of pie he’d just put in his mouth. “What?” Swallowing, he tried to clear the dessert now lodged in his throat. Did he hear correctly? He knew he’d been recuperating for what felt like weeks, not days, but there was no way these two had fallen in love in that short time.
“Tom and I are to be married,” Maggie repeated.
Grant looked between the two. Both of them must have hit their heads. “I heard you the first time,” he grumbled, pushing the tray away from him. “Have you lost your minds? You’ve only known each other a few days.” They stood feet apart, Maggie’s eyes darted between Tom, Grant and the floor. She appeared nervous. Anxious. Tom, on the other hand, looked very relaxed. But definitely not in love. There was no way.
“Would you mind filling me in on what’s been going on around here? If you haven’t noticed, I’ve missed quite a bit with being shot in the leg and all.” Grant’s voice sounded cranky, even to his own ears. How dare Tom marry Maggie! She belonged to him.
“I’m engaged,” Maggie said.
Was he losing his mind all over again? “Yes, Tom just said that.”
“No, not to Tom. To a man named William Hunt.” She paused. “And a man named Abel Hornby.”
Yes, he was definitely losing his mind. She was serious. Somehow. Grant ran his fingers through his hair. “You’re engaged to two men? Do they know?”
“No.”
“So now,
with Tom, you’re engaged to three men. I think there must be some kind of law about this. When I get back to my office, I’ll have to look it up.”
She blushed and looked at the floor.
To his own ears, Grant sounded harsh, temperamental. She was engaged to three men, and not one of them was him. He was angry, and jealous.
“If you’ve got two willing men, why are you marrying Tom?”
“William wants my money, not me. His plan was to marry me, then kill me in some kind of freak accident, then remain married to my money. Abel Hornby wrote an advertisement for a mail-order bride, and I only responded as an escape from William and possible death.”
“What?” His head was starting to ache as much as his leg. “Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”
Tom sat down on the bed, the springs squeaking under his added weight. He looked directly at Maggie as he spoke, “Mind if I tell?” Maggie shook her head, so he continued. “Maggie ran away from home—”
“What do you mean ran away from home? You’re a little old for those antics, aren’t you?”
She blushed again, but lifted her chin and eyed him coldly. “Like I said before, William wants my money, not me.”
“Money? How much money could you have that someone would want to kill you for?”
“My father was John Atwater, founder of Atwater Ironworks. I’m assuming you’ve heard of it.” She practically looked down her nose at him. Spunk. The woman had spunk, and at the moment, had a stick rammed up her backside like fancy easterners.
Hell, hadn’t everyone heard of Atwater Ironworks? It was the largest manufacturer of iron in the United States. She was Maggie Atwater? “Holy hell,” he muttered. This woman attracted trouble like bees to honey.
“When my father passed away a few months ago, everything went to me,” she said, her voice rough with what he assumed was grief. “I’m now the sole owner of Atwater Ironworks.”
“All right, so I can now see why someone would be after you for your money,” he conceded.
“Yes, it appears William has wanted my money for years. With my father dead, he all but forced me into an engagement. He certainly didn’t ask me to marry him.” She shivered at the thought. “I had absolutely no choice in the matter since he's also my guardian.” She started to pace. “The wedding was to take place shortly after I found Mr. Hornby’s advertisement.”
“So you ran away to protect yourself from this Hunt character?” Grant moved the tray from his lap and placed it next to him on the bed.
“As best I could.” She nodded. “I had no choice. I wanted to marry for love.”
“And you figured you’d find love with this man, Hornby?”
She crossed her arms over her ample breasts, a contrary look on her beautiful face.
Button, please pop free, he thought.
“There was a chance I could love him after I became acquainted with him. With William, there was no hope.”
Her logic seemed reasonable, considering a man was planning on killing her off, but to tempt a different kind of danger by traveling across the country alone? Couldn't she have contacted the local police? He wanted to take her over his knee and paddle some sense into her backside. “Your actions were valid, under the circumstances,” he conceded. “But traveling alone? Woman, have you lost your mind?”
“I didn’t have any choice,” she whispered. Grant had to lean in to hear her.
No, she probably didn’t. What woman would want to be shackled to a loveless marriage for all eternity? Or dead within a week of the wedding vows? “But marrying Tom? Why?”
“I’m not that bad of a catch,” Tom interjected, one brow raised. “Hunt wants her money. Even as guardian, the only way he can get it is to marry her. Then he gets it all. Every penny. If she were to marry someone else, they would have full control. Hunt couldn’t touch it. Ever.”
Grant looked to Maggie, considering their plan. It wasn't a bad one under the circumstances. “And what about your friend, Mr. Hornby?”
“I’m going to send him a telegram and tell him I’ve changed my mind.”
Good. It seemed Grant’s competition were falling like flies beneath a switch.
Tom and Maggie had the situation all resolved, and that irked him. He’d protected her from Croft and Dalton. He’d gotten her out of the brothel unscathed. And he was the one who was supposed to protect her. It was his job to do so. Not Tom’s. This damn bullet wound was messing everything up.
***
The next day, Grant finally felt up to leaving the confines of his childhood bedroom. The walls had practically shrunk in on him, the bed small and uncomfortable for a man his size. After the long week he’d had, he doubted he’d ever step foot in the space again. His leg sore, he favored it as he carefully went down the steps to the kitchen.
There had been no change from either Maggie or Tom with their plans to wed and that irked him to no end. That news alone was impetus enough to heal as fast as possible. It was almost impossible to sit with the duo over breakfast. Like hell they were in love. They sat next to each other like brother and sister, not two lovebirds trying everything in their power to keep their hands to themselves. Hell, Grant doubted they'd even kissed. Grant met Tom as he washed the breakfast dishes.
“Where’s Maggie?”
“Out in the stable feeding the horses some apples.”
“She’ll spoil them rotten and they won’t like us anymore.”
Tom only laughed as he placed a plate on the drying board.
Tired of remaining idle for so long, he pushed Tom aside. “I’ll do these for you.” He took one of his mother’s china plates from Tom.
“You should change your bandage.”
Grant stopped and looked at his brother, his gaze nothing along the lines of brotherly. “The wound’s fine. Leave me be.” The dull ache in his leg continued to bother him, but he knew it wouldn’t become infected. The other dull throb, somewhere in the vicinity of his heart, was a different matter altogether. “The wedding’s still on?” Fragile china clattered against the sturdy sink.
“Yes. We were thinking next Sunday after church services.”
Grant dunked another plate into the soapy water and scrubbed at it with more muscle than needed.
“You’re going to rub the pattern right off if you keep it up,” Tom replied, laughter in his voice.
Grant glared at his brother. What was he so cheerful about? Right, Maggie. His Maggie and wedding bells. He picked up a dishtowel and threw it at him. They worked together in silence finishing up in the kitchen, washing and drying the remaining dishes. When they were done, they moved to the porch. Conversation turned to Maggie and how Grant had rescued her from Croft.
“I had no idea Croft would stoop this low, using an innocent woman like Maggie.” Grant looked into the distance as he spoke. There was flat waving grass as far as he could see, cows idly grazing.
“Weren’t you going to use her too, if she hadn’t held your gun to your head?”
Tom’s words stung. He’d been more than ready to have his way with Maggie. Hell, he still was. It was the use of a gun, his gun, which prevented it.
“You know me well enough to know I wouldn’t have taken her upstairs at Croft’s if I’d known the truth from the start.”
“I know, I know. Calm down,” Tom placated, crossing one booted foot over the other. “Who do you think the men were who held up the stage?”
Grant was relieved to change topics. He considered the question for several minutes, and shook his head. “Croft only gave the name Roy. I think he knows more and I have a feeling Dalton’s involved somehow. Just a gut feeling. There’s no proof, yet. I just have to put all the pieces together. And Maggie’s the only one who can help me.”
“Yes, you’re right, she is. In the meantime, I think she’ll be safest here.”
“That was my thought, too.” Grant brushed unseen dirt off his jeans with a nonchalance he didn’t feel. “But I need her in town with me to
help catch these men. I owe it to Arden to find his killers. She should go to town with me.” Grant heard the finality in his tone.
“And you think you’re the best man to protect her?” Tom crossed his arms over his chest.
Grant leaned against the porch railing, holding on to the wooden trim. “Damn right, I am. I’m the sheriff here!”
“Hmmm.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Grant started to pace the expanse of the porch, limping slightly. He saw a smile hint at the corners of Tom’s lips.
“As her future husband, that role falls to me.”
Grant stopped in his tracks. He was outraged at the idea of another man protecting her, having thoughts about her like he did. Even from his brother. He didn’t say a word. His jealousy held him silent.
“She’s a beautiful woman, if you haven’t noticed,” Tom continued.
Grant gave Tom a look able to cut weaker men down.
Tom grinned.
The discussion was over as far as Grant was concerned. He stepped carefully off the porch and headed toward the stable.
“Grant!” Tom yelled.
He turned around and walked back to look up at his brother, still standing on the porch.
“You have one week. Then she’s mine.”
“Like hell she is,” Grant muttered to himself as he strode to the stable in search of Maggie.
CHAPTER SIX
Their departure was unexpected and swift. One minute Margaret was feeding the horses lumps of sugar, the next she was riding away from the ranch. Grant had saddled a horse for her and they rode side-by-side. Her head was still spinning from the speed with which he moved once he made a decision. He'd given her little time to grab a hat she borrowed from his sister, along with the skirt and blouse she wore, and share a quick farewell to Tom.
Tom had been surprised by the swiftness of their actions as well, but not the fact that his fiancé was leaving him behind. Grant must have told him of their departure before he'd sought her out. Tom had gently run a hand up and down her arm, smiling at her as they said their good-byes, promising to see her in town the following day.
The Lady and the Lawman Page 9