by Jillian Hart
“That won’t be a problem, ma’am—Miss Sims,” he corrected with a wry crook of the left side of his mouth. “I worry you’ll regret inviting a man like me along.”
“Little chance of that,” she assured him with all the sincerity she had. It startled her, though, as she took up Eli’s arm again, that the man still looked every bit as dangerous as a seasoned outlaw. The kindness she sensed in him didn’t soften him one iota. “I never judge a book by its cover for that has happened far too much to me.”
He gave her a brief nod, his right eyebrow arching in what might have been faint surprise. He’d probably reckoned that he, a man with guns holstered at his hips, would never have one thing in common with a sensible, brown bird of a spinster.
“This way,” Eli said, leading them down the boardwalk, through the snow and into the warm shelter of the town’s finest hotel.
Cora couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so many people gaping at her. Not even when she’d taken in the boys and rumors had speculated that they were not her nephews but her out-of-wedlock children. She’d had quite a lot of notoriety at the time.
“This is lovely,” she told Emmett, who rose from the far end of the table. “You shouldn’t have gone to such trouble!”
“It’s no trouble for you.” Emmett didn’t smile. Anyone could see he was sizing up the intruder.
“This is Mr. Jones.” She could see how her nephew might get the wrong impression. At first glance Mr. Jones could be mistaken for an outlaw. “I invited him to dine with us. And no—” she’d caught the telling look in Eli’s gaze as he opened his mouth to explain “—we shall not speak of what happened. All is well that ends well, thanks to our guest of honor.”
Emmett raised a questioning eyebrow but said no more. Eli nodded, blew out a sigh and went for Cora’s chair.
“Allow me,” Mr. Jones’s low voice rumbled kindly, and it was an attractive combination of steeliness, man and goodness. He towered over her so closely, she could see the texture of the day’s growth on his jaw. His eyes, which had looked as black as a starless midnight sky, were dark gray.
“Th-thank you.” Her words caught in her throat. She was aware of his masculinity, his sheer, towering size and strength. He made her feel small and delicate for the first time in her life. Her face felt hot. Was she blushing? She settled onto the chair and he lingered. She felt the rove of his gaze across her face like a gentle caress.
My, but he was not like any other man she’d met. Rough and intimidating on the outside, but pure gentleman beneath. Her pulse thudded so loudly she hardly realized the background conversations in the room had dropped to whispers as Mr. Jones helped her to scoot her chair in closer to the table.
Her senses sharpened, making her aware of every detail. The scrape of the chair against the wood floor. The splotches of melting snow on his black jacket. The faint scent of winter and high-country air that clung to him. The broad, scarred hands that gripped her chair. The sheen of light on the polished handles of his revolvers. The whisper of his movements as he straightened.
The hushed conversations grew fainter until silence echoed around the well-appointed room. She felt the prickle of many eyes on her. The attention wasn’t exactly what she was used to.
Apparently Mr. Jones had something of a reputation.
“Excuse me, sir.” Frederick Bauer, the hotel owner, filled the space between her chair and Rafe’s. “You should have checked your guns at the door. Hotel policy.”
“I didn’t know.” His voice deepened, radiating power.
What was it about this man? She could not tear her interest away from him, noticing his deliberate, controlled movements. There was no show of anger or annoyance as he loosened the holster’s buckle. The left corner of his mouth eased upward a tiny notch, so briefly she wondered if she’d imagined it.
She felt comfortable with him and there was no earthly explanation why. It was as if she had known Mr. Jones all her life. As he handed over his gun belt, she happened to notice he wore no wedding ring.
Mr. Bauer spoke, but his words came as if from a great distance. “I’m sorry to have troubled your guest, Miss Sims. Good evening to you.”
“Yes,” she said vaguely, hardly aware of the hotel owner’s footsteps in the stifling silence. Mr. Jones settled into the chair at her side. All his attention—every last drop of it—seemed intensely on her.
“Sorry about that.” Rafe Jones didn’t look apologetic. “I forgot I had them on.”
“You must be a lawman,” Emmett said from across the table.
“A bounty hunter.” Mr. Jones went completely still, fastening her with his gaze. “Miss Sims, now that you know, do you want me to leave?”
That was something a bad man would not ask. She felt the impact of his charcoal-gray gaze all the way down to her heart. “No, of course not. It is an honor to have you.”
His eyes searched hers, as if measuring her sincerity. His countenance softened, as if he had made his conclusion. “Then I’m glad to be here. How long have you lived in this town?”
“Ten years. It’s hard to believe. It seems like yesterday. I came here to Angel Falls to make a new start.”
“A new start?”
“Yes, I—” She never finished. Three women had wound their way through the dining room. Joanna McKaslin led the way, with her sister-in-law, Noelle, holding her arm. They were two of Cora’s good friends. A younger woman, Matilda, had trailed after them. All carried festively wrapped gifts.
“Happy birthday,” they said almost in unison. Noelle, who was blind, turned toward Cora with perfect precision to add with a sweet grin, “Happy thirtieth birthday.”
“Oh, you did have to mention that.” Cora’s face flamed, but at least it brought back her senses. It wasn’t as if she ought to be noticing Mr. Jones’s left hand, wedding ring or not. It would be best to concentrate on her guests. Young Matilda, close to Emmett’s age, was lovely and shy, and she hesitated over which seat to take. Perhaps she could encourage the young couple’s affections. “Emmett, please help Matilda with her chair.”
Her nephew was the perfect gentleman as he stood, attentive but reserved, and held out the nearest chair for Matilda. “Miss Worthington, let me help you.”
“Why, thank you.” A quiet smile faintly shaped the young woman’s lips as she slipped into her seat and blushed prettily.
Perfect, Cora thought. There was a chance for the two of them yet. Hope left her beaming, but it was the man at her side who captured her curiosity. He offered faint nods of welcome to the women Eli introduced to him. She couldn’t help observing Mr. Jones, while his attention was elsewhere.
He sat straight and strong in his chair, looking as unmovable as a mountain and giving no sign of emotion. Did he regret coming here? She couldn’t hazard a guess. He was older than her by several years, she decided, for time had marked his face with pleasant crinkles in the corners of his eyes. He had a maturity that could only come with years of experience.
Not that she was admiring him, goodness no, but perhaps her lonely heart ached with the smallest wish. Impossible, she knew, but there all the same.
“Are you married?” Noelle asked innocently, and it was easy to see her motive.
Cora’s face flamed even hotter. She adored her friend, but was Noelle hoping to play matchmaker?
“Never found a woman who would have me.” He shifted in his chair, no longer a remote mountain of a man.
“Does that mean you would marry if you found a woman who would lower her standards?” Joanna’s gentle kidding was not well veiled, either. The women were trying to marry her off.
“That’s not likely to happen. I’m difficult on purpose.” He was about as comfortable sitting here now as he would have been walking barefoot through a snake den. He glanced over his shoulder.
“Mr. Jones, are you planning your escape already?” Cora seemed gently amused.
“Nah. Just old habit. I never feel safe with my back to the door.”
“Not much troubles me, Miss Sims.” Aside from being vulnerable. He wasn’t one for fuss and fancy; he stuck out like a sore thumb. He was here because it was a golden chance. The more he learned about Cora now, the less surveillance he’d have to do later. No way would he hand Holly over to a stranger without answers to some tough questions. He’d best get down to business before the hotel owner returned and asked him to leave. He was making plenty of the other customers nervous.
“What about you?” he asked. A waiter began circling their table unloading glasses of icy water from a fancy silver tray. “It’s only fair that I ask why you aren’t married.”
“Me?” She blinked. Surprise turned to mirth. Her eyes sparkled like jewels, changing her prettiness to a deeper loveliness. “I thought it would be obvious.”
“Not to me.” She was nice-looking and kind. What kind of man wouldn’t want her for his wife?
“There are plenty of reasons.” She dismissed the seriousness of his question with a wave of her slender hand. The waiter stepped between them and set down those water glasses. “I suppose you and I have something else in common. I’ve never met a man who will have me.”
The waiter moved on and Rafe caught a flash of sadness in Cora’s light blue eyes. The poor lady. He felt as if he’d been gut-punched. A child out of wedlock, even given away, would mark a goodly woman. It would be a sound reason for many men not to take her as a bride. Or for a shy, proper lady not to accept any man’s courtship.
“It was because of us,” the younger nephew answered. “Aunt Cora denies it, but—”
“Of course I do, because it is utter nonsense. You two are not to blame. Why, you both mean the world to me. Think how lonely I would have been without the two of you coming into my life. Raising you both has been a privilege. One I am truly grateful for.”
Rafe didn’t doubt that one bit. Even a rough like him could see the gentle sincerity shining within her like the finest of pearls. He’d never seen such sincerity. Honest love rang in the soft notes of her voice. It transformed her into the greatest beauty he’d ever seen.
“We are the ones who are grateful.” The oldest nephew spoke up, quick to defend his aunt, or to cover up her sad secret. “We were a handful. No man would want to take us on.”
“We were terrors,” Eli agreed. “Good thing Aunt Cora set us straight, but we did scare off every eligible suitor.”
“You both saved me from a world of loneliness. There is nothing more important than family and nothing more important than love. Now, enough of this talk of me. Matilda, how is your new sewing project coming along?”
Rafe could sense her sadness. He could breathe it in like a foggy morning. There was no man on a string, no possible husband around the corner, no lurid past she might want to stay in denial about. She was too loving a lady to have left her own helpless out-of-wedlock newborn at an orphanage.
The waiter approached to take their orders. Too late. Rafe had lost all appetite. He had no doubt that gentle, loving Cora Sims with her pretty dress shop, her caring friends and her well-raised nephews was hiding a great tragedy in her past. One too painful to face? He could not know without asking more.
He hunted outlaws for a living. He’d seen it all. Every kind of conscienceless murderer and rapist and thief. He hated that something so horrid had touched this fine woman. Suddenly this job took a bad turn. What was the right thing to do? Was it right to bring up a terrible memory for this kind woman? He clenched his jaw until his back teeth ached. What if he was about to destroy this woman’s happiness?
Worse, what about Holly? What if she didn’t get the mother she was hoping for? He grabbed up his menu and stared at it. Maybe the girl had constructed that story of her ma leaving her, needing to believe it. He knew how that was, too. One endless day followed by another in an orphanage without love and gentleness of any kind could destroy a child. You had to believe in something to hold on.
Look at him. He was all tied up and hurting something fierce. This was what giving in to feelings got a man. He took a long swallow of cold water and glanced around the fancy dining room, feeling out of place and out of luck, and not only for himself.
Chapter Three
Snow drifted lazily through the nighttime air as Cora ambled down the hotel steps. “Thank you all. I can’t remember ever having a more enjoyable time.”
“It was our pleasure,” Joanna assured her with a warm hug. “We’ve stayed much later than we expected. There’s my husband, standing watch for us. He’s come to see us home.”
Cora waved at the quiet, stoic man standing next to his team of horses at the hitching post. It was too far away to call out. The town was quite crowded tonight. There was a spelling bee over at the schoolhouse, and the overflow of horses and vehicles were lined up along the street. After waving off Noelle, Matilda and Joanna, Cora turned to her nephews. Goodness, but it was difficult saying goodbye to those two.
“I’ll stop by the store tomorrow,” Emmett promised. “To see if you need me to do any deliveries for you.”
“You are far too busy to run errands for me.” She was proud of him; he was a fine young man for thinking of her. “Eli, I expect to see you in church on Sunday?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Eli had a habit of sleeping in on Sunday mornings. She pinched his cheek affectionately, hating that the boys glanced at each other with a look she recognized well. They were deciding which would have the burden of seeing her home. Not that they saw her as a burden, but they were young men with far better things to do than fuss over her.
“I’ll do the honors.” Mr. Jones stepped out of the shadows, looking every bit as dark and shadowed as the criminals he tracked. “Miss Sims?”
The interest he showed her, the offer he made and the buttery richness of his tone made her heart wedge painfully between her ribs. Was it possible that he had decided to court her? No man, aside from family, had ever escorted her home.
“Why, thank you. That would be nice.” She fell into step with him. He felt substantial, like a man who could do anything. He felt like honor and goodness. Her knees wobbled a trifle as she walked at his side. The last image of her nephews was of their wide, smiling faces. They were already leaping to conclusions.
Certainly Mr. Jones was not interested in her. He was merely being a gentleman. She concentrated on making her feet connect properly with the boardwalk. Although she was officially off the shelf, she didn’t feel thirty years old. She felt eighteen again, with her life before her and full of wonderful possibilities.
“I hope I’m heading in the right direction.”
“Yes. I live a street over from the library at the end of the boardwalk.” It was ahead of them, past shop windows closed for the night. The falling snow fell like a veil, disguising the route ahead. It felt private walking at his side. “You said you were passing through. Do you often come here for supplies?”
“I hail from the Dakotas, mostly.”
“Mostly? Surely you have a home somewhere.”
“I’ve spent most of my life living out of my saddlebags.”
“Your job must require that.”
“Not necessarily as much as I do.” He kept his pace slow to accommodate her. “It’s a way of life I’ve gotten used to.”
“Do you like it?”
“Not much. Always thought I might like to be a gunsmith. Buy myself a building and settle in one place. Never have done it, though.”
“You and I have the exact opposite lives.” She dodged an ice patch, her skirts swishing with her movements. “I have stayed in exactly the same place all day long, all year long for the better part of a decade.”
“You ever want to hop aboard the train and take off for parts unknown?”
“More than you can imagine, but that is not the proper thing for a lady to do.”
“No, it’s a dangerous world.” She was a surprise.
He never would have figured her for an adventurer, even if only in daydreams. “You said you moved here for a new start.”
“Isn’t that the reason everyone moves West? A chance to start over and leave the mistakes of the past behind?”
“And the sorrows.”
“Yes, those, too.”
He thought of his own sadness best left forgotten. He hated doing it, but he had to pry. Asking her was the most respectful way to do it. He could go back to Miles City and dig up her sorrowful past without her consent or knowledge. He steeled his spine, determined to do his job. “What sorrow could a pretty lady like you have?”
“I buried my mother, followed by my younger sister.” She turned somber, as quiet as the night. “Scarlet fever. Before that, my father was lost in the war.”
“You must have been very young.”
“I was eleven when my father died, seventeen when my mother died, a year older when my sister passed.”
“I’m sorry.” He made himself as cold as the snow falling on the boards at his feet and did his best not to think of this nice lady burying the last of her family. He cleared every trace of emotion from his voice. “Were you alone? Did you have someone to look out for you? To protect you?”
“No one.” Sadness sifted over her like the snow on her bonnet. Emotions played across her face, and even in the shadows it was easy to see she did not give in to sorrow. “I sold our house and the last plot of land and boarded the stagecoach. When we stopped here in Angel Falls to take on passengers, I liked the friendly look of the town, and the countryside seemed pleasant. I didn’t bother to travel any farther. I knew in my heart I had found the new start I had been praying for.”
“You were young to move to a strange town on your own. Weren’t you lonely?”
“I joined the church and made friends.”
“But you left everything you had ever known. Why, exactly?”
“Everywhere I looked there were memories of the people I loved, who were gone. I felt terribly alone.”