Never Love a Lawman

by Jo Goodman

  Watching him, Rachel simply shook her head. She doubted that a carefully penned proposal was what he was looking for.

  Wyatt finally produced a folded piece of paper and tipped his chair forward so he could put it in Rachel’s hands. “Telegram. Artie found me at the hotel after you left.”

  “And you’re just recalling it now?”

  He gave her a frank look, his cool blue eyes dipping significantly to the white curves of her breasts. “I can’t imagine what distracted me.”

  “If you keep looking at me like that, say, for the next fifty years or so, I might just get annoyed.” Ignoring Wyatt’s unrepentant grin, Rachel unfolded the telegram. “Well,” she said after reading it through once. “Jay Mac Worth has finalized the purchase of the C & C. I’m sure it isn’t right to say so, but it feels as if he’s given us a wedding present.”

  Wyatt had to agree. He accepted the telegram back and looked it over. “It’s done, then.” There was a certain amount of satisfaction in finally being able to say the words. Foster Maddox had proved to be almost as difficult in death as he had been in life. He died intestate, thus leaving the door open for his mother to continue his claim that the Calico Spur was legitimately his. Cordelia Maddox made a fight of it simply because she was sufficiently rich in both resources and resentment. She made the journey to Reidsville to bring back her son’s body and stayed to watch Randolph Dover hang for his death.

  The accountant’s trial was a subdued affair, unlike the ones where cattle thieves and land grabbers were the defendants before the court. The gallery was filled every day and remained largely quiet as the facts were put before the jury. Adele Brownlee was the exception to the peace and dignity of the proceedings. She had convinced herself that she was in some way responsible for Mr. Dover’s actions and cried so loudly and copiously on the first day of the trial that Judge Wentworth ordered her removed. He told Wyatt later that he would have liked to remove Cordelia Maddox as well, but other than her coldly penetrating stare she gave him no cause.

  The accountant posed no problems during his brief stay in jail. Although he had nothing to say in his defense, he was willing, even eager to talk at length about the fragile solvency of the empire that Clinton Maddox had built. Certain decisions made by Foster in the eight months before Clinton’s death had placed the California and Colorado in a vulnerable financial position. It was Dover that suggested contacting John MacKenzie Worth of the powerful Northeast Rail and hinting that the C & C could be acquired at a very reasonable thirty-nine cents on the dollar.

  Wyatt glanced at the telegram one more time before he set it aside. Jay Mac’s negotiations for the C & C included the contested spur and property around Reidsville, but now that the purchase was complete, both would be returned to the rightful owners. The contract that Wyatt and Jay Mac’s attorneys had drawn up assured it.

  It was satisfying to see justice applied in such a fashion, and the timing could not have been better.

  “The town’s going to have a good deal more to celebrate than our wedding,” he said. “This news will ensure that the dancing and drinking goes on all night.”

  “Debauchery, too, I suspect.”

  Wyatt gave Rachel a frankly carnal look. “Lord, but I’m counting on that.”

  Her laughter was short-lived as she aspirated some water and began to cough. Wyatt seized on the opportunity and left his chair so that he could hunker beside the tub. He slipped a hand under Rachel’s arm, pulled her up, and gave her a solid thwack between her shoulder blades. The sound of it was out of all proportion to the actual force he used and very nearly echoed in the small kitchen. Afraid that he had really hurt her, Wyatt reared back and threw up his hands.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. He angled his head, trying to catch her eye. He couldn’t tell if the trail of water on her cheeks was the result of splashing or tears. “I swear I didn’t mean to—” The sopping wet sponge she pushed in his face served to effectively cut him off and answer his question at the same time.

  Wyatt wrested the sponge from her hand and wrung it out over her head. She protested more for form’s sake than out of any sincere outrage. It was only when he stood and removed his jacket, then began to unbutton his vest that her objections took on a more genuine tone.

  “There’s no room in here, Wyatt.”

  “Sure there is.”

  “There’ll be water all over the floor.”

  He tossed his vest over the back of a chair and started on his shirt. “I’ll mop it up.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  One corner of his mouth edged upward. “How well you know me.”

  She snorted lightly. “I know every man at least that well.”

  Wyatt lifted his left eyebrow and gave her an arch look.

  She decided to take another tack. “I put lavender in the water.”

  He already had his shirt half off, and now he paused to regard her suspiciously. Bending at the waist, he waved one hand over the ribbons of steam rising from the tub and sniffed. The fragrance was definitely floral. He considered the consequences to his manhood and announced, “I’m partial to lavender.”

  Rachel looked pointedly at the bulge in his trousers, then even more pointedly at him. “You’d be partial to skunk if I’d put it in the water with me.”

  He held up his thumb and forefinger separated by a hairsbreadth. “You could be flattering yourself just this much.”

  Rather than risk choking on her laughter again, Rachel pressed the sponge against her mouth to suppress it. His single-mindedness was both maddening and disarming. “Did I know you were incorrigible when I agreed to marry you?”

  Wyatt sat down again to remove his boots and socks. “You’re a fair judge of character. I’d have to say you had your suspicions.”

  “Hmm. I wonder what made me put them aside?” The knowing, slightly wicked smile he turned on her warmed Rachel from the inside out. “No, that wasn’t it.” His deep chuckle, though, made her shiver. “It might have been that.”

  Wyatt stood up, shucked his trousers and drawers, and tested the water with his fingertips before he committed.

  Amused, Rachel asked, “Isn’t it a bit late to decide that my bath is too hot to suit you?”

  “Not at all.” He put one foot in. “I can always lift you out.” He stepped in fully and began to gingerly lower himself into the tub. Water started to spill over the sides before he got his thighs wet.

  Rachel made as much room for him as she could, but when the waterfall began she levered herself to her feet like a jack-in-the-box. She was out of the tub before Wyatt understood her intention. “Stay where you are,” she told him as he started to rise. “I’ll scrub your back.” She pointed to the water when he hesitated. “You won’t be sorry.”

  Wyatt watched her put on her robe. He was already sorry, and the fact that robe clung appealing to her damp skin only improved his mood marginally. Still, he eased himself into the tub. The promise of a back scrub was a powerful inducement, and in truth, they both knew she’d merely won a temporary stay.

  Rachel wrung out her wet hair and loosely plaited it while Wyatt attended to his bath. She stood over him with a pitcher of warm water when it was time to rinse the soap out of his hair, and he sighed with sybaritic pleasure as she tipped the pitcher and trickled water over his head and shoulders.

  Rachel set the half-empty pitcher on the table and knelt beside the tub. “There’s not a dry spot left on this floor,” she told him. She folded a towel and put it under her knees, then gave him a gentle push to lean forward. “How do you manage that?”

  “Couldn’t say.” He handed her the soap and sponge and presented his back. “Take your time.”

  She gave him a little jab with the sponge. “You aren’t that patient.” Lathering his back, she felt his chuckle more than heard it. “I’ve been thinking about what I want to tell my mother and sister about the mine,” she said. “I’m not certain they need to know everything.”

  With Rac
hel’s hand moving hypnotically across his back, Wyatt had some trouble following the abrupt turn in her conversation. He knew she’d been struggling with keeping the town’s secret from her family, but since her mother and sister had no intention of settling in Reidsville, she had gone back and forth with not only what was fair to reveal, but what she could live with. He crafted a careful reply. “Tell me more.”

  “Well, it didn’t seem possible that the true wealth of the town’s mine could stand so much scrutiny and not be revealed. Attorneys. Accountants. Engineers. Cordelia Maddox was as certain as Foster that there was something worth finding.”

  “She wasn’t wrong.”

  “I know,” she said quietly. Rachel had often wondered if Cordelia suspected Mr. Dover of keeping his own secrets. The accountant had not only lied to Foster Maddox about his grandfather’s private records; he’d also created a separate set of ledgers to keep the originals from being examined by anyone else. Randolph Dover had known all along there were millions of dollars associated with the mine production, not thousands. “It certainly helped that Daniel Seward and his men never located the underground vault. They had nothing at all to report to Cordelia. I still find it odd, don’t you?”

  “Sid and Ned blew the charges in the shaft and buried it,” he reminded her. “There wasn’t anything to find. Now that Jay Mac has the C & C, we’ll be at least six months digging out the bullion.”

  “That’s my point. So much effort has been expended to keep the secret that it seems wrong, even a betrayal of the town’s trust, to explain all of it to my family. I only want to see them comfortably set, Wyatt. I can manage that without telling them everything.” She hesitated, resting the damp sponge at the curve of his shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about what I’d like to do with my profits, and I know now that I want to invest in the land.”

  “You mean the mine?”

  “No, I mean the land. I want to see if it can be returned to something like it was. I keep thinking of the images in your photographs, the beauty that you captured. As the mines play out, it should be like that again. I don’t know what’s possible exactly, but I’d like to try.”

  It moved him powerfully that she would want to. He reached for his shoulder and laid his hand over hers, rubbing it gently. “So what will you tell them? Your family, I mean.”

  “That I married into money.” Slipping her hand free, she ran the sponge along his back again. “It’s the most reasonable truth.”

  Wyatt lifted his head to look around the modest, functional kitchen. He was still waiting for the thaw that would allow him to put in running water, and they didn’t have room to spare for even one of her family or his. “Not an obvious one.”

  Rachel’s tone was dry. “My family’s met yours, Wyatt. It’s obvious to them now.” Leaning forward, she kissed him at the nape of his neck. “My mother asked me this afternoon if you were the black sheep.”

  “Wonderful.”

  She kissed him again, this time on the shoulder. “It’s all right. I explained you were a wolf in black sheep’s clothing.”

  He shot her a wry glance. “That must have eased her mind.”

  “Oddly, it did. She thought I was being humorous.”

  Wyatt wasn’t certain how he was supposed to interpret that, but with Rachel’s mouth hovering near his ear and her tongue poised to lick his wounds, he chose not to take issue. When her teeth caught his earlobe and tugged, he thought he would come out of his skin.

  What he did was come out of the water. Shaking droplets and lather left and right, he rose from the tub like the titan Oceanus rising from the sea and made a grab for Rachel. She danced out of his reach and showered him with what remained of the rinse water. For good measure, she tossed the pitcher at him as well. He caught it easily and made a threatening gesture to fill it up and toss it back. That was enough to make Rachel bolt from the kitchen and charge toward the bedroom.

  Wyatt followed her damp footprints. They ended about four feet from the bed, proof that she’d covered the last bit of ground in one impulsive leap for the safety of the covers. Now she was cocooned in them. He caught the outer edges of the blankets in two places and yanked hard. Laughing, Rachel obliged him by rolling out of them until she reached the far side of the bed. She loosened the belt of her robe and teased him with a glimpse of her breast and the smooth, creamy flat of her abdomen.

  The bed shook as he flung himself across it. He captured her easily, pinning her wrists back and drawing himself up on his elbows so he didn’t crush her. “Did I know you were incorrigible when I agreed to marry you?”

  She smiled up at him, unapologetic, and gave him back the response he’d given her. “I’d have to say you had your suspicions.”

  Wyatt touched his forehead to hers. “You’re right. I did. It’s what made me fall in love with you.” He lifted his head, touched his mouth to hers, then drew back slightly. “You will marry me, won’t you?”

  “Are you proposing, Sheriff?”

  “I love you, Rachel Bailey Cooper. Will you marry me?”

  “Nicely done.” She made him wait while she pretended to think about it. “I believe I will, thank you.”

  Growling softly at the back of his throat, Wyatt gave her wrists a little shake and then proceeded to kiss her so thoroughly that a sigh was all that occurred to her when he was done.

  Much later, when she had returned every favor, it was all that occurred to him as well.

  Standing at the chancel rail, Wyatt turned toward the doors of the church as they opened. The swell of guests followed his example, every head straining to see the view that captivated him.

  Rachel seemed to hover on the threshold, ethereal in her white satin gown, sunlight glancing off the long, draping train. Perfectly poised, she glided toward him without escort, her head held high, her slender throat exposed by the scalloped neckline of the dress she’d been crafting in secret for weeks. As always, there was no hint of hesitation in her step, and she looked neither left nor right, but straight ahead, at him, her eyes clear and bright and full of promise.

  Wyatt tapped the rail at his side with his fingertips, counting her carefully measured steps down the aisle, just as he used to when he observed her progress through town. Here she was passing Morrison’s, then Easter’s Bakery from across the way where Abe and Ned were once again engaged in a game of checkers. Johnny Winslow and Henry Longabach tipped their hats as they loitered outside the restaurant. Jacob Reston swiveled in his chair to watch her from the bank window, and the tellers crowded in the doorway. That no-account Beatty boy showed his deep, crescent-shaped dimples when he smiled at her. Ed Kennedy flexed his arms as he straightened over his anvil to bid her a good day. Rudy Martin leaned on his broom in front of the Miner Key when she sailed by, and Artie Showalter waited outside the telegraph office just to greet her.

  Wyatt saw that she seemed unaware of the attention she aroused, except for the attention she aroused in him. If he’d been on the sidewalk in front of his office, he’d never have let her pass, and she wouldn’t have wanted him to. She met his eyes, held them, and took another step closer, exactly on the downbeat of his gently tapping finger. He couldn’t look away.

  Smiling, he counted it out. Four steps to reach him. Then three. Now two.

  As always, watching her was a pleasure.

  A pure pleasure.

  About the Author

  Jo Goodman lives with her family in Colliers, West Virginia. She is currently working on her newest Zebra historical romance. Jo loves hearing from readers, and you may write to her c/o Zebra Books. Please include a self-addressed stamped envelope if you would like a response. Or you can visit her Web site at www.jogoodman.com.

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  Copyright © 2009 by Joanne Dobrzanski

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  ISBN: 1-4201-1260-0