Teague laughed, and the sound touched her deeply, sending warmth to the tips of her fingers and toes and everywhere in between. That perpetual flush she’d attained since meeting him, heated her skin, though the day was quite pleasant.
She really did need to see a doctor.
“Who did you interview?”
“Grandpa George, my father’s father. He lived with us for a time.” Her throat constricted, which it did every time she thought of the man who’d given her such confidence and unconditional love. She swallowed hard to dislodge the lump. “He was a newspaper man, too, and admitted to me more than once how my Grandmother Millicent helped him. I never knew her, but I have a feeling she would approve of me pursuing my passion. Grandpa George always encouraged me to follow my dreams, too, which annoyed my father to no end. We were very close up until the day he passed. I still miss him terribly.”
“It’s difficult to lose those we love and admire. I’m sorry for your loss. Your grandfather sounds like a great man.”
“He was.”
They descended more stairs and strode across a dusty side street, then stepped up onto the sidewalk again, her hand still resting in the crook of his elbow. Several people greeted the sheriff as they strolled by and cast curious glances in her direction. Perhaps it was unusual for him to be seen with a woman, although Krissa at the hotel had mentioned a Michaela.
He stopped in front of the sheriff’s office. “Thank you for a lovely walk, Miss―Ryleigh, but I’m afraid this is where we part company.” He took her hand, then kissed her fingertips, and before she could say a word, disappeared inside with the dog.
Ryleigh stood outside the sheriff’s office, alone and a little flummoxed. He was smarter than she’d given him credit for, another mistake on her part. Disarmed by his humor and contagious smile, she had told him more than she’d ever told anyone else, and only learned what he was willing to reveal.
Two can play that game, Sheriff MacDermott.
She walked back to the hotel to jot down some notes and plan her next move.
• • •
“Well, now, was that the very attractive Miss Steele I saw you walkin’ with?” Roy asked as he came out of the back room, his hands on his hips.
The aroma of Roy’s famously bad coffee hit Teague immediately like a sucker punch to the gut. His eyes began to water, and he forced himself not to cringe. How did the man manage to make such a delicious brew so bad? And so eye-stingingly pungent?
He left the door open and breathed through his mouth in an attempt to get the smell out of his nose before replying. “She is rather attractive, isn’t she?” He took off his hat and worried the brim between his fingers. “But entirely too nosy.” He shook his head, amazed and a little confused. “I’m not sure how it happened, but I found myself telling her much more than I intended.”
“Hmmm, same thing happened to me yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
The deputy pulled out his chair and took a seat, then opened the logbook the night shift deputies had left on his desk. “She joined me for dinner at the Prentice.”
“She did?”
The man nodded and grinned. “We had a good conversation. In fact, I haven’t talked that much in years.”
“About what?”
“You, mostly.”
Immediately, Teague stiffened. His stomach lurched, and not from the bitter odor of burnt coffee. “Did you tell her about―?”
Roy shook his head. “No, I didn’t talk about that.” He glanced at the ledger on his desk then back up, his eyes on Teague. “Ain’t my story to tell. Won’t say a word about it unless you say it’s all right, but if you want to know the truth, I’m not sure I want to talk about it, either. I still have nightmares sometimes.”
Teague nodded. He knew all about the nightmares. He had them, too. A lot. And when he did, the only thing that seemed to calm him was to sit beside Desi Lyn’s bed and watch her sleep. His niece had saved him. And not only from the nightmares.
From the moment he found her, crying and screaming beneath his brother, Brock, who had obviously shielded her from Logan’s gunfire at Kieran’s ranch, she had given him a reason to keep going, though at times, he hadn’t wanted to. Through the burial of Kieran, Mary, and Matthew, and the long recuperation of Brock and Eamon from the gunshot wounds they had suffered at the hands of Tell and Zeb Logan, the love and responsibility he felt toward her forced him to do what was right. Each time she put her arms around his neck and hugged him, he knew he had made the right choice to raise her. She needed him . . . and he needed her.
He’d told Ryleigh the truth. He was all Desi Lyn had. Brock or Eamon could just as easily raise her now that they were both settled, but the thought made his heart hurt.
He let out his breath then jammed his hat back on his head. “I’m riding out.” He gestured to the logbooks open on the desk. “Anything I should know before I go?”
Roy shook his head then grinned. “Nothing ever happens―” He cut himself off, and the grin faded from his face, white rings forming around the sudden tightening of his mouth.
Teague nodded, guessing what the man was about to say and recognizing it for the lie it was. “I’ll be back. Shotgun, you stay here.”
He let himself out of the office, then strode up the street to Jake’s Livery where he stabled his horse, Valor. He stood in the doorway for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light inside the building. Jake Olsen removed a glowing yellow-orange piece of iron from the forge and laid it over an anvil. Teague waited, not wanting to interrupt the blacksmith at this critical stage of the process.
After a few hard strikes of the hammer, the color of the iron faded to red. Jake stopped pounding, picked it up with a pair of tongs, and dropped it in a bucket of water. The iron hissed, and steam rose from the wooden pail. The blacksmith wiped his brow with the back of his wrist and looked up, his mouth spreading into a grin. “Mornin’, Sheriff. Been waiting long?”
“Not long, Jake. Is Valor ready?”
“Yes, sir. Saddled him up when I saw you walking toward the end of town. Figured you’d be by pretty quick after that.” His grin widened, stretching the thick blond mustache on his upper lip. “Saw that pretty little filly you were walkin’ with, too.”
Teague didn’t respond to the comment, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he had. There were quite a few people who had seen him walking with Ryleigh this morning, and if he knew the gossips as well as he thought he did, before the clock in the town hall struck twelve, the entire town would know. The inevitable questions would begin. Who is she? Why is she here? Had the sheriff found himself a mail-order bride, like Joe Greenwald out at Crooked Creek ranch had done?
There were some, he knew, who would be happy with the last, deciding that he’d been alone too long after Michaela left.
“My horse?”
“Oh, sure, sure.” The blacksmith wiped his hands on his apron and headed toward the back of the building, away from the forge, where it was cooler and a bit darker. A moment later, he led the big bay gelding out of the shadows.
Teague met him halfway and took the reins as he greeted his horse, then stuck his foot into the stirrup and hoisted himself into the saddle. “Have a good day, Jake.” He nudged Valor lightly. The horse responded immediately and trotted out of the livery.
He passed the school, his gaze searching for Desi Lyn. He saw her after a moment. She sat on the steps leading up to the school, her classmates around her, as their teacher read to them from the book open in her lap.
Seeing that all was well, he turned Valor in the street and headed in the opposite direction, leaving town to ride toward several ranches and farms, some of which were hidden behind thick stands of ponderosa pine and towering white fir. Whispering Pines was a little farther north. Perhaps, he’d stop today and check in with Shep and Malva Parsons, who took care of the ranch for him.
He made his rounds, as he did every day, stopping to talk with everyone on his route, ma
king sure that all was quiet. No cattle rustling, no complaints about shenanigans perpetrated by adolescents looking for adventure, no one needing Doc Finch’s medical expertise. And that was just the way he liked it.
He continued riding north, then stopped on the hill overlooking Whispering Pines, the reins held loosely in his hands. He sat there for a long time, studying the ranch, debating with himself if he should check in with the Parsonses.
The lowing of cows and the neighing of horses in the pastures beyond the house met his ears. It was all so peaceful.
Now.
He closed his eyes, only for a moment, but that was all it took. In an instant, memories better left alone assaulted him.
Not all of the Logan Gang had ridden into Paradise Falls proper that day so long ago to break Jeff out of jail. Two of the outlaws, Zeb and Tell, had come here instead, to Kieran’s ranch, as it was where Jeff had been captured trying to steal horses. Sending Brock and Eamon out to Whispering Pines to get Kieran and his family to a safe place had been a good idea, except he should have done it sooner. And he would have, if they had been in town, but both were coming from somewhere else and were too late.
After the shooting in town, he’d raced out to Whispering Pines with Dal and Lucky.
The sight that met him when they’d arrived at the ranch and stopped on this very same hill that fateful day was enough to make him tremble, even now. From here, he’d seen a figure sprawled on the front porch. As he drew closer, his heart pounding in his chest, cold sweat breaking out on his face and back, he’d known it was Eamon. And he hadn’t been moving.
Teague had jumped from the saddle before Valor even came to a stop and pounded up the porch steps, fear racing through him as he knelt beside his younger brother. Blood―Eamon’s blood―stained the knee of his trouser as he lowered his head and listened. Breath wheezed between Eamon’s lips, labored and shallow.
Panic had struck him, combining with his fear to make his heart pound like thunder in his chest. “Dal, go get Doc Finch! Now!” The deputy rode off as Teague removed a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against the wound in Eamon’s chest, just above his heart. The handkerchief soaked through immediately.
The panic worsened when he heard an angry cry―a child’s cry―coming from inside the house.
Teague shuddered and shook his head, forcing those horrible memories away. His breath hitched in his chest, though he was back in the here and now, the devastation of what he’d seen dissipating but never forgotten.
Below him, Malva came out of the house and rang the bell nailed to the doorframe. A moment later, Shep left the stable and strode toward her in response to the lunch bell, followed by half a dozen ranch hands. He’d be invited to join them for lunch if he showed up in the kitchen doorway, but he couldn’t seem to make himself nudge Valor to ride down the hill.
Not today.
If he were truthful, coming out to the ranch always hurt his heart, but he had to do it. Whispering Pines was Desi Lyn’s legacy, and someday, she might live here or decide to sell it when the time came. It would be her choice.
Until that day, the Parsonses did a fine job of running it, and he stopped here more often than not, sometimes just to make sure things were good, but other times to go over the meticulous books Shep kept or to bring Desi Lyn to visit. He never used the front door nor stepped into the parlor. He just couldn’t face the memories. The Parsonses didn’t have a problem living here, but then, they hadn’t seen what he had.
And right now, more than before, those recollections invaded his head, brought on, no doubt, by the presence of Ryleigh Steele and her announcement that she wanted to do a story on him and the most horrendous moment of his life―the shoot-out in his quiet town. He’d lost so much that day. Friends and neighbors, people he’d been fond of, but they weren’t the only people who died because of the Logans. He’d lost Kieran, Mary, and Matthew, too, though not in town, and he’d come dangerously close to losing both Brock and Eamon.
Fortunately, he’d managed to keep most of that information out of the newspapers and no one, except for a select few, really knew what happened at the ranch.
“Damn!” he cussed aloud, then kicked Valor’s sides, urging the horse to head back to town, hoping to outrun his memories on the back of the big bay.
It didn’t work.
Valor’s hooves pounded over hard-packed road, but his thoughts couldn’t be chased away. “Damn them,” he whispered as he rode east. It was all her fault. And Jeff Logan’s, too. Jeff’s for his imminent release from prison, and Ryleigh’s for making him remember things he’d rather forget. For the most part, he could. Well, maybe not forget but at least, live with the memory, pushing it back to the far corners of his mind. It took effort to keep his humor and be the good man the townspeople believed him to be.
It was a little easier now, four years later, but still . . .
He turned off the road and followed a familiar path, entering a thick forest populated with blue spruce, ponderosa pine, and Rocky Mountain juniper, which lent their clean scent to the air. Pine needles cushioned the earth, and sunlight dappled the ground between the trees. In a clearing, the waterfall for which the town was named cascaded downward, thundering over rocks to fall unimpeded into the pool of crystal clear water at the base. The sound filled him, easing his mind as it always did.
Mist rose upward to sparkle in the sunlight, creating a rainbow against the cloudless azure sky. He guided Valor across the river where it was shallow to the pool and dismounted, then perched himself on a boulder and stared at the water rushing over the rocks until he was able to completely push the images in his head away.
Calm once more and in complete control, Teague climbed into the saddle again and headed into town from the north, taking the leisurely path through the trees.
An odd sound disrupted the tranquility. Clack, clack, clack, clickety-clack in a fast rhythm. A moment later, a bell dinged. He looked up to the second floor of the Prentice Hotel and spied Ryleigh through the trees. She sat on the veranda outside of what he assumed was her room, her fingers flying across the keys of a typewriter. She sat perfectly still, except for her hands, which were in constant motion. Her hat, the one she’d worn earlier, was stuck on the spindle of her chair, the ribbons fluttering in the breeze.
He pulled on Valor’s reins gently and stopped, his gaze drawn to her. The breeze that made the ribbons of her hat ripple picked up and tousled the curls flowing down her back. She looked lovely sitting there, her face in profile, her gaze intent on the typewriter.
Was she writing his story? Had she talked to anyone else besides himself and Roy? Perhaps Krissa? He loved the woman like a sister, but she’d never been known to keep an opinion to herself . . . or a secret. Her husband, Oscar, wasn’t much better. He could just imagine what they’d told her already, not only about the gunfight, but what he’d found at Whispering Pines afterward. His friends knew of the devastation. They’d gathered around him, offering their sympathy and support, helping to nurse Brock and Eamon back to health . . . when Mrs. Calvin permitted it.
He frowned, and a sour taste rose to the back of his throat as his stomach twisted. They’d probably told her about Michaela, too, and how she’d broken his heart when she handed him back his engagement ring.
There wasn’t anything he could do about it unless he told her everything himself, which he didn’t want to do. Let her draw her own conclusions from what she heard.
The noise stopped, and he focused once more to find Ryleigh staring at him. For a moment, he imagined she could read his thoughts, her gaze was so intent. Then she smiled and gave him a small nod. He shook himself, touched his fingers to the brim of his hat, and nudged Valor forward.
Chapter Four
Teague emptied his pipe in the little glass dish on the table and tucked it into his pocket as Nathan Finch―Nate to his friends, Doctor to most others―eased himself into a rocking chair on the back porch of his home overlooking the garden. Noises from in
side the house drifted from the open kitchen window as did the aroma of Celia Finch’s famous roasted chicken and potatoes.
“People have been talking to her,” Nate admitted as he set his chair in motion. “I’ve found myself spilling a secret or two. I’m sure others have as well.”
Teague shrugged even though his stomach tightened, then took a swallow of the lemonade Celia had brought out to the porch a few minutes ago. He glanced over at Shotgun, who sprawled near the back door in his customary place. “Can’t stop her from asking questions or talking to people. It’s up to those people as to how they respond.”
“Well, that’s just it, Teague.” The fingers of Nate’s left hand drummed the arm of the rocking chair, and his focus was trained on the myriad of flowers blooming in the garden. “She’s so darned easy to talk to. She’s got that kind of face that makes you want to tell her everything.”
Nate didn’t lie. She did have that kind of face, and the good doctor wasn’t the first one to fall for it, either. Roy had. Krissa and Oscar had, he was certain, though they hadn’t said as much.
Teague smirked. He, too, had told her more than he intended, but there were some things he just couldn’t or wouldn’t talk about. He gave his attention back to his friend.
“I actually surprised myself. She sat down beside me on one of the benches in the town square―I was taking a break between patients―and introduced herself. Within two minutes, I was telling her how I met Celia, and before I knew it, I was talking about you.”
The floorboards beneath the runners of the rocking chair squeaked as Teague started rocking. Paradise Falls was quiet, the heat of the day dissipating with the setting sun. He smiled as he listened to Desi Lyn in Celia’s kitchen, helping to prepare their customary dinner and set the table in the dining room. Mrs. Calvin, bless her heart, had the night off, which she was spending with her son and daughter-in-law.
A Kiss in the Sunlight Page 5