Only You

by Wendy Lindstrom

  Adam’s sister turned toward them with the watering can clutched in her hand, and every thought in Duke’s mind dissolved into silence. She was as exotic as the plants she tended.

  Her arched dark eyebrows drew together as she spotted him and Adam. She set the watering can on a flat of green plants then moved her slender, lithe body gently but hurriedly in their direction, pushing aside plant vines and leaves that congested the narrow row between the wooden flats.

  “What’s happened?” she asked, stopping before him with fear in her almond shaped eyes.

  Duke could only stare in mute appreciation. From the age of eight, he’d made it a policy not to exaggerate or lie, not even to himself. And he could honestly say he’d never seen a more beautiful woman than the one standing in front of him. Her oval face was slightly squared at the jaw and softly rounded at the chin. She was tall with whiskey brown eyes and thick waves of dark brown hair.

  “Sheriff? Has something happened?” she asked, tiny worry lines marring her forehead, drawing his attention to the bronze tint of her skin.

  “I had some trouble in town,” Adam blurted.

  “What sort of trouble?”

  Adam’s chin dropped to his chest. “I stole something from Brown & Shepherd’s store.” He peered up at her, his own almond-shaped eyes full of remorse. “I wanted to give you a birthday present to make you feel better.”

  She brought slender fingers to her chest. “Oh, Adam, I don’t need a present.”

  “You deserve to have your own brush,” Adam said with a touch of defiance that surprised Duke. “You shouldn’t have to borrow from Aunt Tansy”

  Color flooded the crests of her cheekbones, but she swept her brother into her arms. “Your character and reputation are far more important than me having my own hair brush.”

  Adam’s face grew crimson, and he pulled away as if embarrassed to be hugged in front of Duke. Or maybe it was shame that made his face turn red, Duke couldn’t tell. He was struggling with his own embarrassment for gawking at Faith like a schoolboy.

  “I wanted to return the brush,” Adam said, “but the sheriff said I had to bring it to you.”

  Duke expected to see condemnation in Faith’s eyes, but he saw surprise and confusion. “I felt he would learn more from his family than any punishment I could give him,” he said. He handed the fancy brush to her. “This is yours.”

  “I... I’ll pay for this,” she said, but Duke could tell she didn’t want the brush. She turned to Adam. “Go to the house and get our money jar.” As soon as Adam sprinted from the greenhouse, she faced Duke again. “I’d rather return this and save my money for more necessary items.”

  It struck him then that Faith and her family were not only grieving but also having money troubles.

  “Maybe we can work out a better solution.”

  Wariness stole the warmth from her eyes. “I’ll pay for it.”

  Adam hurried back into the greenhouse with an old quart jar that held a few paltry coins in the bottom. Faith upended the jar and spilled the coins into her palm. She held them out to Duke, her cool look saying she wasn’t open to other solutions.

  “I hope this is enough,” she said.

  It stung to have his integrity questioned, but she was new to town and didn’t know that he would eat dirt before doing anything dishonest or indecent. He’d pay for the brush himself, but it wouldn’t serve Adam if someone else paid for his bad decision. Adam needed to learn a lesson about taking responsibility, a lesson that would serve him well as he became a man.

  And Faith needed to learn that Duke was worthy of her trust.

  “Adam meant for the brush to be a gift,” he said. “Why not let him work off his debt in the store? I’m sure Mrs. Brown will welcome his help, and that way Adam can give you the gift with a clear conscience.”

  “I’ll do it.” Adam lifted his skinny chest like a soldier bravely facing battle. “I’ll apologize to Mrs. Brown and work extra hard to make up for stealing from her.”

  “Mrs. Brown isn’t likely to allow you in her store, Adam.” Faith shook her head. “You can make your apology when you take this money to her.”

  Duke suspected those were her last coins, and he couldn’t let her use them for Adam’s mistake. “This is Adam’s debt. Let him pay it,” he insisted. The boy wanted and needed to make restitution.

  Before Faith could answer, a small brown-haired girl whooped and darted between them. She threw her arms around Faith’s skirt and hugged her legs.

  “Mama, Aunt Iris said she’s gonna plant me with the onions if I pester her anymore!”

  Duke’s heartbeat faltered. During his covert admiration of the woman, he hadn’t considered Faith’s personal life, that she might have a child, that she might be married, that his own growing anticipation of making a personal call on her was out of line.

  “This is my daughter, Cora,” she said, brushing the girl’s curls out of her lively green eyes.

  Cora pointed to the badge on his chest. “What’s that?” Before he could answer, she gawked at his revolver. “Is that a gun? Do you shoot people?” She was a slip of a girl with skinny arms and legs, and a cute little mouth that spewed questions faster than Duke could answer them. Her curiosity made her bold, and she tried to touch the gleaming metal cuffs hanging from Duke’s gun belt.

  He stepped back, removing the gun from her reach. “Careful, missy,” he said. “Guns are dangerous. Never touch one. Not for any reason. Not ever.”

  “Cora Rose, mind your manners,” Faith said, laying her hand on Cora’s head and gently chastising the girl.

  “What are those?” she asked, undaunted.

  “Handcuffs.”

  “What are they for?”

  Duke glanced at Faith, who gave him an apologetic look. “She’s four,” she said, as if that would explain Cora’s curiosity. For Duke, who had six nephews and two nieces, it explained everything. A four-year-old’s questions could wear a person down faster than an interrogation by the United States military.

  He reached to unhook the cuffs, but the move shot a fierce spike of pain into his shoulder socket. He bit his lip to stop an agonized curse from slipping out then forced himself to pull the cuffs from the clasp on his leather belt. His shoulder throbbed as he squatted and showed her how to work the cuffs. “If you go quietly, you might be able to cuff your Aunt Iris to a fat plant,” he suggested, hoping the child would scamper out of earshot. He didn’t want her to hear his conversation with Faith and Adam.

  Cora giggled and charged toward the back of the greenhouse.

  “Consider your handcuffs lost,” Faith said. “She’ll bury them someplace, and we’ll never find them again.”

  As he stood, he eased out a breath, letting the pain ebb from his shoulder and the hope of courting Faith ebb from his mind. Faith was married. Nothing to do but accept it, take care of the business with Adam then leave. Adam seemed to be a considerate boy, but he needed a man’s guiding hand. Much as Duke didn’t want to meet Faith’s husband, he felt it his duty to inform him of Adam’s mistake and hope the man could provide the guidance and influence the boy needed.

  But he stole one final moment to admire Faith—a woman he wanted to know more about.

  With a resigned sigh, he nodded toward the open door of the greenhouse. “Is your husband at home today?”

  Her lashes lowered. “I’m a widow, Sheriff Grayson.”

  Surprise, relief, and a deep sympathy rushed through him. She couldn’t be more than twenty-five or so. To be widowed in old age was a sad thing, but to lose a spouse at such a young age was tragic. She had lost not only her husband but her mother as well. No wonder her voice was laced with pain.

  Duke understood grief. He’d lost his father over a decade ago, but the pain would never go away.

  The realization that she was hurting and having hard times, too, shifted Duke’s direction like a compass needle seeking North. He’d never been able to turn away someone in need— especially a woman in need—an
d he sure wouldn’t turn away the pretty widow with the sad voice and those beautiful whiskey eyes.

  Chapter Two

  Faith didn’t want her not-so-innocent little brother party to her lies, so she touched Adam’s shoulder and nodded for him to leave. “Go see that Cora doesn’t lose the sheriff’s handcuffs,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Adam headed toward the back of the greenhouse, leaving Faith with Sheriff Grayson—a man she did not want to be alone with.

  His powerful body was overwhelming, but it was the close inspection the ruggedly handsome sheriff was giving her that completely unnerved her. If she wasn’t careful with this man, he would see through her thin veil of pretense to the hard, ugly truth no one could know.

  “I’m sorry about your loss, Mrs....?”

  “Dearbo—oh... oh dear, how rude of me not to have introduced myself.” She stuck out her trembling hand. “I’m Faith Wilkins.” A necessary lie. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sheriff Grayson.”

  “Likewise.” He closed his long, warm fingers around her hand, startling her. “I’m sorry about your tragic loss.”

  She pulled free of his firm grip and curled her fingers into her palms, hiding her green fingernails. “Are you in pain, Sheriff?” she asked, noticing that he’d been rubbing his shoulder.

  He lowered his hand as if she’d caught him revealing an unpardonable weakness. “Just a sore muscle,” he said, but she suspected it would take far more than muscle pain to bother an obviously strong man like the sheriff.

  He surveyed the greenhouse then returned his scrutiny to her. “What exactly do you do here, Mrs. Wilkins?”

  “I grow herbs, vegetables, and flowers.”

  “Adam tells me you’re a healer.”

  “Adam is a boy who overstates the importance of things. I make healing balms and teas from my plants. Simple as that, Sheriff. If you’d care to sample them firsthand, I have a balm that might ease the pain in your shoulder.” The sooner she could appease his curiosity the sooner he would leave. And the sooner her heart would stop hammering in her chest.

  She headed to a small counter in the north corner of the greenhouse. He followed then watched while she opened a large glass jar and scooped out a spoonful of yellowish balm.

  “Gads, is that chicken fat?” he asked, his voice laced with disgust.

  She laughed. “It’s a mix of resins and oils.” She lifted the gluey-looking balm to her nose, and inhaled. “I add herbs, and salicin, which is harvested from the buds of poplar trees—part of the willow family.”

  “I know trees,” he stated bluntly, as if she’d insulted his intelligence. “I own a sawmill with my brothers.”

  Her cheeks burned. “Forgive me. I’m used to teaching Adam and Cora this way”

  “I’m not offended. I’m curious to see what you do here.” He gestured toward the balm. “You made this, I presume?”

  She nodded. “The salicin and herbs reduce pain, fever, congestion, and inflammation. The balm even smells good.” She put the spoon beneath his nose. “It’s not bay rum, but it smells better than an onion pack.”

  His mouth quirked up on one side. The slight lifting of his lips surprised her and made him seem less formidable. Their gazes met over the spoon. He openly inspected her, but unlike most of the men who’d crossed her path, there was nothing lecherous in the sheriff’s eyes; he seemed to appreciate her boldness, as if there weren’t many people who would dare to shove something beneath his nose. Her nerves had made her careless. She hadn’t meant to challenge him. But apparently she had, and apparently he’d liked it.

  She plopped the small glob of ointment into a jar and handed it to him. “Two or three applications should ease your muscle pain. After you rub it into your shoulder, you’ll feel a soothing warmth in that area.”

  “What if it doesn’t work?” He braced his large, long-fingered hand on the counter. “Will I get my money back?”

  “You haven’t paid me anything.”

  “I intend to.”

  “I’ll refuse it. This is the only way I can thank you for being so kind to Adam today.”

  “I wasn’t being kind.”

  “The way you treated him was more than fair. In my book, that’s being kind.”

  “I would have done the same for any boy.”

  “But you did it for my brother, and that’s what matters to me. Please, take the balm.”

  “What other treatments do you offer?”

  He seemed sincere, but she sensed he was digging for something. The pleasantly warm day suddenly felt close and hot with this giant of a man leaning on her counter asking too many questions.

  “It would depend on the severity of your problem. But I would first suggest that you see a doctor.” She closed the jar of balm and placed it back on the self.

  “I’ve seen the doctor. He says there’s nothing to be done for my shoulder but to rest it.”

  “Then it is more than a sore muscle?”

  His lip quirked up again. “You have a knack for recalling details. I could use your help when questioning suspects.”

  She’d hoped to put him off with her nosy question, but instead of urging him out the door, she’d invited his closer observation. “Forgive me for taking up your time.” She stepped around the counter and called toward the back of the greenhouse, “Adam! Come up here, and bring Cora and the handcuffs with you.”

  Adam swept Cora into his arms, pushed through a maze of plants, and deposited the girl a few feet from the sheriff.

  “Cora, give the sheriff his handcuffs,” Faith said.

  As Cora crossed the floor she walked as if her ankles were roped together.

  Faith frowned. “Why are you walking so oddly?”

  Cora leaned back on her heels, pressed her brown gingham dress to her knees, and lifted the toes of her tiny brown shoes. “I hooked ‘em on my own self.”

  The metal handcuffs were locked around Cora’s skinny ankles.

  A quiet chuckle rumbled in the sheriff’s chest, his thick-lashed eyes crinkling at the outside edges as he looked down at her.

  Cora squatted, grabbed the chain between her ankles, and grinned up at him. With her hands between her ankles, and her knobby knees jutting upward, Cora looked like a little brown frog. Her stockings were twisted around her ankles, her hair in wild disarray, but Faith could not have adored her more.

  Nor could the sheriff, if the tender look in his eyes meant anything.

  “She reminds me of my niece Rebecca at that age,” he said. “Too smart, too curious, and a smile so bright she could melt a heart of ice.” He sighed and shook his head. “They grow up too fast. Rebecca turned thirteen last week.”

  With Cora’s rosy face beaming up at them, Faith understood the sheriff’s melancholy. She wanted Cora to stay an innocent, if precocious, little girl forever.

  Faith spied her Aunt Iris just as the woman lunged from behind a cluster of lemongrass to tickle Cora’s ribs.

  “There you are, you little imp!”

  Cora screeched with laughter and threw herself against the sheriff’s legs.

  Iris, who had crouched to grab Cora’s ribs, took her time looking up the long length of the sheriff. By the time her frank, appraising eyes lifted to his face, Faith’s own cheeks were burning with embarrassment.

  “Mercy...” Iris said, rising to her feet with a fluid grace Faith envied. Iris carried her mother’s Japanese blood in her veins. Faith knew little about Iris or how she had come to be in America. She was seven months older than Faith, but Iris had seen too much to pretend an innocence she’d shed long ago.

  “Is there a woman waiting at home for you, Sheriff?” Iris asked, extending her hand to him.

  Faith’s jaw dropped, but the sheriff simply smiled. “I’m afraid so, ma’am. My mother is expecting me home for supper.”

  His gaze took in her silky black hair and the pretty Oriental tilt of Iris’s eyes. It was obvious that Iris was as novel to the sheriff as she had been to Faith. When Ir
is first arrived at the brothel eleven years ago she’d told Faith’s mother, who owned the brother, that she was born in America. She said a small colony of Japanese people had come to America in 1869, but Faith still hadn’t seen another man or woman like her. Apparently, the sheriff hadn’t either.

  Iris laughed the way she talked, without reservation. Her exotic eyes sparkled like black diamonds as she assessed the sheriff. “Not only handsome but charming.” She winked a thick- lashed eye at Faith. “Marry this man.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Aunt Iris!” Novel or not, Faith wanted to shoo the woman out the door. They couldn’t afford to have their reputations questioned. Drawing a breath to calm herself, Faith gave the sheriff a wobbly smile. “This is my aunt, Iris... um...” Gracious, she hadn’t given thought to a last name for her aunts. They had never used last names at the brothel, and they had flown from that life in such a rush of terror they had never discussed taking last names.

  “Wilde with an ‘e’,” Iris said, mischief twinkling in her eyes. “Miss Iris Wilde, not to be confused with a wild Iris.”

  The sheriff laughed.

  “Are you getting married, Mama?” Cora asked, looking up at Faith with hopeful eyes.

  Faith wanted to turn green and disappear among the plants. “See what you’ve started?” she said to Iris.

  Iris gave the sheriff a friendly wink. “It’s true, Sheriff. My niece is looking for a husband.”

  Faith choked on her outrage.

  Iris ignored her warning look and pouted her lips at the sheriff. “Might we beg your assistance for a few minutes? Adam is our man about the place, but he doesn’t know about gas lines yet.”

  Faith tried again to convey a message with her eyes, silently warning Iris to clamp her red lips shut. “As soon as the sheriff removes these cuffs from Cora’s legs, he and Adam have business in town. I’ll hire a man to take care of the gas line.” She lifted Cora into her arms and forced herself to face the sheriff. “I apologize for wasting so much of your time.”