Accidental Hero

by Lauren Nichols

  Pushing her thoughts aside, Maggie crisscrossed the east pasture, centering her efforts on clumps of trees and hillocks as she scanned the area for curly-faced, red-coated Herefords. The sky overhead was a clear, cloudless blue, crows complained noisily, and faint wisps of fog still hung in the deeper depressions of the pasture. The air she inhaled was sweet with the smells of sage and wildflowers.

  Suddenly Maggie pulled up as a low mooing drew her attention to a coppice of trees ahead. Then a brief snatch of blue fabric flashed through the leafy cottonwoods. Putting her heels to the chestnut’s flanks, Maggie nudged the gelding into a lope. She was sure Scott was still back at the barn. There shouldn’t be anyone...

  Shock, then anger, ripped through her, and Maggie kicked her horse into a full gallop.

  At the sound of pounding hooves, Ross glanced around to see a slender woman with silky black hair thundering across the pasture toward him. He started to smile as he pulled his mount up short, preventing the light-buckskin-colored horse from pushing the last of three steers over the downed barbwire to Brokenstraw property.

  Ross’s blood began to warm. What was she doing out here? Not that he minded. He hadn’t been able to get his pretty jailer out of his mind all week.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she shouted, yanking back on the reins. The powerful chestnut reared, then danced to a blowing, head-tossing stop as Maggie brought him under control.

  Ross’s delighted gaze took in her fiery brown eyes, high color, and that sexy tumble of hair falling around her face and shoulders. Then it slipped to her open collar and the pale-yellow cotton shirt and jeans she wore with her boots. “My, my,” he breathed softly.

  “You shag those cattle right back where they belong, or I’m running you in.”

  The loathing in her voice withered the smile on his face. A split second later, understanding dawned, and Ross dredged up a bit of loathing himself. “You think I’m stealing these steers?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Well, I must be, if a fine, upstanding member of the sheriff’s department says I am.” He ran his eyes over her body again, lingering rudely on her breasts, hips and long, athletic legs. “Are you tailing me?” Without waiting for a reply, he smirked, and added, “I guess the sheriff decided you’d be better at ‘undercover work’ than dispatching, Miss Maggie. Might be the first thing Farrell and I have ever agreed on.”

  “Get those animals back here where they belong.”

  “I intend to,” Ross said, steel lacing his words. “But before you shake out the handcuffs and read me my rights, you might want to check the brand on these steers.”

  Ross watched Maggie’s furious gaze slide to the side and look. When she saw the Brokenstraw brand, new color rose in her cheeks. “I’m...I’m sorry. They’re your cattle.”

  “Yes, they are. And as soon as I’m through here, I’m riding into town and filing a harassment charge. I think I might like being on the other side of a complaint.”

  “No one’s harassing you, Mr. Dalton,” Maggie snapped. “I’m out here working, just like you are.” She stepped down and ground-tethered her horse, then strode over to examine the rotted post and downed fence line that had allowed Ross’s strays onto Lazy J property. “Are you going to fix this fence?”

  He sent her a cold look. “Well, now, I’m not sure. I’ve been trying to decide which would be a better idea—repair it now, or ride two miles out of my way every damn day to shag my strays back home again.”

  “You’re not cute, Mr. Dalton.”

  “Really? A lot of women think I am.”

  “So I’ve heard.” Maggie returned to her horse and unbuckled her saddlebag. She withdrew a pair of thick gloves.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to help you.”

  “Why?”

  “Obviously, to make sure it’s done right. I don’t want any more Brokenstraw cattle eating Jackson grass.”

  Ross swore a blue streak under his breath and climbed down from the buckskin. “And why would you care?”

  “Because I’m Moe Jackson’s niece.”

  Ross scowled as he digested that fact and everything it implied. He imagined Moe had filled her head with a lot of unflattering—but unfortunately true—information. Since the rustling, Moe didn’t have a very high opinion of him. “I guess that explains why you hate my guts,” he said. “And the way you ride. I take it you grew up around horses.”

  Her anger actually intensified. “I grew up around here. Right here. I’m Maggie Bristol.”

  “You say your name as though I should recognize it. From where? Did we go to school together?”

  Maggie yanked on her gloves. For the first time, Ross noticed that a black cowboy hat dangled against her back. “Possibly. I don’t recall. Now are we going to mend that fence, or waste time talking all day?”

  Ross gritted his teeth. Bristol. Bristol. He grabbed the bag of tools and the wrapped, lasso-size roll of wire tied to his own saddle, then carried them over to the fence. He was surprised when Maggie took the initiative and dragged the rotted post aside, then suggested coolly that they use a nearby tree for a temporary connecting post.

  “Fine.” With a bit of grudging respect, Ross joined a length of new wire to old, then motioned for Maggie to hold the barbwire against the trunk while he hammered in staples. He had a stray thought that she was precisely the right height for a woman; if he were to pull her close, her head would slip snugly under his chin. Ross shook off the musing and hammered in another staple.

  After a while, he said, “How did you get roped into the dispatching job? Seems like you’d make a fair cowhand.”

  Her voice still dripped with attitude. “I applied. When my uncle was hurt, I sent out a resume. I was a deputy in Colorado for two years, but this was always home.”

  “You were a deputy, but you applied for a dispatching job?”

  “No, I applied for a deputyship, and Farrell promised me Mike Halston’s job when he leaves for law school at the end of summer. Then he mentioned that he was going to be losing his dispatcher, and that if I wanted, I could start sooner at that position.”

  Ross clipped and stretched the last row of wire, then hammered in more staples. “A female deputy under Cy Farrell? I hate to rain on your parade, but our esteemed sheriff probably forgot that promise two seconds after he made it.”

  Maggie’s tone didn’t change. “I don’t think so. While memory loss seems to be a veritable plague on some of the men in this town, I believe he’ll follow through. Are we finished?”

  Ross plucked the wire with a gloved hand, checking its tautness. “I guess. It’s not great, but it’ll do until I can come out and sink another post.”

  “Good.” Pulling off her gloves, Maggie walked briskly to her mount and stuffed the gloves into her saddlebag. Then she gathered the chestnut’s reins and levered herself into the saddle. For a moment, she stared down at him, the muscular gelding skittering impatiently beneath her, while something that he thought looked like...hurt?...churned through her expression. Then, without a word, she gave the horse his head and rode off, leaving the image of fire-dark eyes, cascading hair and a perfect mouth burning in Ross’s mind.

  He was halfway back to the homestead when it finally hit him that Maggie Bristol was Reverend Tom Bristol’s daughter.

  Which still didn’t explain why she was so hostile toward him—even taking into account his trouble with Moe. The Bristols had moved away quite a few years ago when the reverend was reassigned to another parish. Ross hadn’t gone to church regularly since his mother and dad had passed away, so it was unlikely that he would have known Maggie from there. But now that he thought about it...there was something vaguely familiar about—

  Like a sudden storm, the memory returned in a rush of splashing water, party music and shrieking laughter. Vince Harper was chuckling to him beside the bonfire. “Nice move, Ross, that was the preacher’s daughter you were foolin’ with. Man, you’re goin’ to hell
, for sure.”

  Ross winced as the scene replayed in his mind. Sweet lips...soft voice...warm, responsive body. At least it had been until he’d gotten a little carried away, and she’d scurried for home like a frightened church mouse. No wonder she was in such a snit. No woman—or girl, for that matter—wanted to be so insignificant in a man’s mind that she was completely forgettable. And he had forgotten her. The minute she and her timid little friend escaped back to their car, he’d connected with an older girl who knew exactly what he wanted—and Maggie Bristol had become a hazy memory.

  Ross kept half of his attention on the fence line as he walked his mount through knee-high sweet grass and blue columbine. Eventually, his thoughts took an enjoyable little shift, and he smiled to himself: the preacher’s little girl had grown up very nicely.

  The woman who’d come galloping across that pasture on horseback bore almost no resemblance to the quiet girl with the prim, pageboy hairstyle and buttoned-to-the-throat white blouse. She was now a raven-haired knockout with a body that was born to the saddle, and a feisty attitude that heated his blood.

  Suddenly the excitement of challenge rose in his veins. With a light heel to its ribs, Ross nudged the buckskin along a little faster. That long-ago night at the hot spring, she’d stiffened at first when he’d slid his tongue into her mouth—but if he were still a betting man, he’d lay odds Maggie Bristol knew how to kiss like a woman now. He just had to find a way to make it happen.

  Not a very lofty goal, a small inner voice put in.

  “Too bad,” he muttered, feeling the old bitterness return. This was as lofty as he got these days. After the trial, he’d done everything in his power to make amends for his past indiscretions. But no matter how hard he tried, Comfort, Montana, had labeled him an irresponsible hell-raiser, and any kindness or decency on his part had been held suspect. Now he showed them the face they were comfortable with. No point confusing the natives.

  On Monday afternoon, Ross pulled his truck into a parking space in front of the sheriffs office, glanced in the rearview mirror to check his shave, then headed for the door. Not bad, if he did say so himself. Clean shirt, decent jeans and polished boots. Maggie was at her desk, talking on the phone, when he walked in. Her posture stiffened the instant she noticed him.

  Scribbling something on a notepad, she rose and said, “I’ll see that he gets the message,” then hung up.

  Ignoring him, Maggie carried the slip of paper into the sheriff’s office and put it on his desk. When she came back out, she gave Ross her grudging attention.

  “Something I can do for you, Mr. Dalton?”

  “Yep. I’ve come to turn myself in. A gum wrapper blew out of my truck window a few minutes ago, and I figured I’d save Cy the trouble of hunting me down and bringing me in for questioning.” He sent her his most charming grin. “You want to cuff me or anything?”

  She wasn’t amused or charmed. “I’m busy, Mr. Dalton, and unless you have a good reason for being here—”

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” he interrupted amiably. “I just thought I’d try to lighten the mood a bit before we got down to business.”

  Maggie shuffled through some papers on her desk, then turned her back on him and went to the file cabinet. “What business could we possibly have that would require lightening the mood?”

  “I’m here to press charges against you for harassing me.”

  Maggie whirled, almost lost the sheaf of papers she was filing, and stared at him, dumbstruck. “You’re joking.”

  “No, ma’am, I’m not. Now, how do I go about this? It’s rare for me to be on this side of a legal problem.”

  Ross watched that blistering anger rise in her eyes and had a hard time holding back another smile. The fact that she obviously hated him made getting her into his bed all the more tempting.

  Maggie finished her filing, walked stiffly back to the desk and sat, then sent him a steady look. “I can’t take your statement. That’s up to the sheriff or one of the deputies, and they’re all out on calls right now. But just for the fun of it, perhaps you’d like to tell me what charges you’re planning to bring. Harassment isn’t going to work because the definition of harassment isn’t met under our circumstances.”

  Ross adjusted his tan Stetson and pursed his lips thoughtfully, thoroughly enjoying himself. “All right... libel, then. You did falsely accuse me of stealing my own steers.”

  “That won’t work, either. Libel is damaging a person’s reputation in print.”

  “Slander?”

  She sighed impatiently. “Really, Mr. Dalton, for as many times as you’ve been dragged in here in the past ten years, I would have guessed you’d have some knowledge of the law. Even if I had pointedly accused you, there were no witnesses, therefore, your sterling character wasn’t defamed, and there was no slander. Now, can’t you find someone else to bother today? I’m busy.”

  Ross glanced at her desk. Aside from a pen, a notepad and an inactive computer, there wasn’t a thing on it. “Yes, I can see how busy you are.” He made no move to leave—just stood there watching her dig around in a drawer until her irritation erupted again.

  “Why are you still here?”

  He grinned. “You like me.”

  Her pretty jaw sagged, and she sent him a bewildered look. “Why on earth would you think that?”

  “Because you’ve obviously been checking up on me to make a statement like you did.”

  “What statement?”

  “The one about my fondness for being here. Did you go through my file?” He waved the question aside. “Well, you might have, but to know I’ve been dragged in here every time Farrell’s ego needed a boost, you would’ve had to talk to someone. Let’s see...a deputy, maybe? Mike Halston? He likes to talk.”

  Maggie felt her cheeks turn to fire. She had spoken to Mike about Ross. But she’d only done it out of professional concern for the grudge Cy Farrell held toward the Dalton family. Mike had told her that in the past few years, bullying Ross for sport had replaced Cy’s preoccupation with discrediting Ross’s brother, Jess. Now Maggie doubted that was the reason at all. Farrell was probably just sick to death of Ross’s insolence and was determined to take him down a peg or two.

  Maggie picked up her pen, studied it, then rolled it slowly between her hands. Her gaze returned to Ross. “Speaking of egos that need boosting, why are you really here? Am I supposed to go for this ridiculous hayseed act you seem to conjure up whenever you’re looking for some action? Do you think all women are that naive?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Maggie threw the pen down and stood, coming almost nose to nose with him across the desk. “Stop calling me ‘ma’am.’ I’ve had it with your fake drawl and your lopsided grins. In fact, you were a lot more appealing when you were swearing up a storm and swinging a hammer.”

  Grinning again, Ross bumped his nose to hers. Gasping, Maggie jerked back in shock. “Now we’re making progress. You do like me a little. Let’s take a ride and talk about it.”

  “Look,” she snapped in frustration, “I’m trying to build a career here, and being seen in public with the sheriff’s favorite felon isn’t conducive to accomplishing that.”

  Maggie watched his blue eyes harden, and instantly regretted her words. Until now, none of her comments had seemed to strike home. But that... That was low, considering the fact that he’d paid dearly for his past behavior. Mike Halston had told her that since the rustling, some people still refused to speak to Ross, unable to forget the gambling addiction that had nearly destroyed his life. “Ross, I’m sorry.”

  But he’d already pushed his reaction behind another cocky grin. “Come on, Maggie,” he drawled. “You’ve been biting at me ever since you came back to town. You still mad because I didn’t try harder that night back at the hot spring? Or is it because I never gave you another chance to say yes?”

  Maggie’s face flamed as she watched him amble out, get into his truck and drive away. He’d finally remembered he
r.

  Now she wished to heaven that he hadn’t.

  Swallowing, she went to the file cabinet and pulled Ross’s folder again, then carried it back to her desk. She reread the information that she’d scanned last week. Because of his gambling, he’d nearly lost his half of Brokenstraw by defaulting on a loan; he’d been dragged into a rustling ring; and he’d been shot trying to save the woman who’d eventually become his sister-in-law from being taken hostage when the rustlers fled town. After that, there had been a court-ordered gambling rehab program and two years of community service.

  Maggie closed the file and released a ragged breath, suddenly weary. “You’ve been a busy man, Mr. Dalton,” she said quietly. “But I can’t afford to feel any sympathy for you. I just can’t.”

  She also couldn’t afford to think about the disturbing things he did to her nervous system when he was around. Oh, yes, she’d thought him appealing when they’d met at that fence line. So appealing that it had been an enormous effort to keep her mind and eyes on the task at hand. His chiseled looks and long, lean body made her warm and jittery; the low timbre of his voice made her pulse race. But nothing could come of it. The next man she let into her life would be stable and dependable. Not an overgrown child with a disarming smile.

  When four o’clock finally came, Maggie gratefully left the office in part-time deputy Joe Talbot’s hands, and climbed behind the wheel of her car. She opened the collar of her uniform shirt and rolled back the sleeves. The day hadn’t been all that busy, but she had needed some time to think, and the constant ringing of the phone had prevented that.

  Pressing the gas pedal, Maggie sailed along, passing the town limits, then turning onto the unpaved country road that led to the Lazy J. A plume of light brown dust rose behind her. She was still feeling bothered and embarrassed about her run-in with Ross that afternoon. As her mind played and replayed their meeting, lush green meadows and miles of barbwire zipped by her side window.

  Impatience had made her too short with him, and she really did regret it. But she’d needed to make it clear that nothing was going to happen between them, hadn’t she? Especially since anything that did happen would be a momentary fling for him. Then he’d turn his attention elsewhere, just as he’d done that night thirteen years ago. She’d heard later from Mary Ellen—who’d heard it from her older sister—that another girl had taken her place the moment they’d driven off. How utterly humiliating. Maggie had finally found her way into his arms and naive lamb that she was—she hadn’t been able to go where he’d wanted to take her...