Teague gestured to the chair beside Roy’s desk in the middle of the room but was still leery. There may not have been a gun on Jeff, but there could still be a knife somewhere—like tucked into his boot. He looked down at the man’s feet and relief rushed through him. Jeff didn’t wear boots. No chance of a knife being hidden in his shoes, but what about up his sleeve? “Roll up your sleeves first.”
Once again, Jeff did as he was told, his movements slow and steady. There were no knives strapped to his arms, no derringer secured beneath his sleeves like some gamblers had. Satisfied, Teague once more gestured to the chair, but he himself remained on his feet.
“Thank you.” Logan let out a long breath, then rolled his sleeves to his wrists, buttoning the cuffs. “I’ll take that coffee now, if you don’t mind.” He laughed quietly, a sad sort of chuckle. “Walking into your office was harder than I thought it would be.”
“Sure.” Teague backed into the other room, his gaze steady on the young man who watched him with a calmness that seemed otherworldly . . . and suspicious as hell. He returned and handed the man his coffee, then leaned up against his desk, doing everything he could to steady the thunderous pounding of his heart. It was strange, like a nightmare one couldn’t shake. “You said you wanted to thank me.”
Logan took a sip of the coffee and grimaced, swallowing hard against the acrid taste, then gave a slight nod. “Getting arrested and going to prison turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me, Sheriff MacDermott.” He took another sip, his mouth pursing as the bitter brew met his tongue, then placed the cup on the desk. When he looked up again, there was sorrow in his light brown eyes. Whether that sadness was genuine or not, Teague didn’t know.
“I knew the outlaw life was wrong. Stealing and killing just isn’t in my heart, but at the time, I had no choice. If I hadn’t gone along with my brothers and cousins, they would have made my life a living hell, worse than it was already. Eventually, I’m sure, they would have killed me.”
“You were afraid of them.”
The young man nodded and let his breath whistle between his lips. “Terrified, actually. Zeb and Tell were as gentle as lambs compared to Cable. He was the oldest and as mean and ornery as they come. Nasty down to the bone. My cousins were no better.” He turned slightly, then crossed his legs, plucking at the sharp crease in his trousers. “As the youngest, I had to do as I was told . . . or face their fists.” He shrugged as he reached for the coffee once more. He didn’t drink it but rather cradled the mug in his hands, as if he needed something to do. “Or their boots. Or whatever they may have had in their hands at the time.”
He shuddered, probably from the memory of the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of his brothers and cousins if what he said was true. “They didn’t like me much. I was my mother’s favorite. She protected me as much as she could, but it was never enough. And when she died, it got worse.”
“So you wanted me to catch you?” Teague folded his arms across his chest, his mind working furiously, wondering how much of this man’s story to believe. He seemed earnest and truthful, but he could be just a very good liar.
“Yes. It was the only way I could get away from them.” He sighed, then wiped his eyes, removing the moisture that shimmered on his lashes. “I had hoped they’d just let me go, glad that I wasn’t with them anymore, but I knew, deep in my heart, even though they hated me, they’d do anything they could to get me out of jail. I tried to warn you.” The tears he tried to keep at bay came anyway, and he knuckled his eyes again.
“I’m so sorry about what happened, Sheriff. I never wanted anyone to get hurt. All those people died . . . because of me. I can’t bring them back. I wish I could. I pray every day for their souls like the good Reverend Caruthers taught me.”
Teague swallowed the lump in his throat. As much as he didn’t want to believe him, he did. The remorse was real as were the tears. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to him.
Jeff pressed the square of cotton to his eyes. He took a deep breath, calming himself enough to speak. “Reverend Caruthers—he came to Canon City every day to pray with the prisoners—saw how scared I was when I arrived. As a Christian man, he realized right away I wasn’t everything I was pretending to be, and he took me under his wing. He taught me to read and write. We started studying the Bible and I . . . I found my true calling, Sheriff.” He crumpled the handkerchief in his hand, then unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and lifted a gold chain from beneath the material. Hanging from the chain was a gold crucifix. “I was never meant to be an outlaw. I was meant to be a man of God.”
If he had been stunned before, Teague was even more so now. Out of everything, that was the last thing he expected. A man of God? Stranger things had happened, he supposed, but still, he needed to be certain. Just because a man was truly sorry didn’t necessarily mean he couldn’t or wouldn’t keep his vows. “And the promise of a bullet in my back?”
“Don’t you see?” Jeff asked as he slipped the crucifix back beneath his shirt. “I had to say that for my own protection. I swear, I never meant it. It was an idle threat just in case my brothers were listening and that’s all. I’m a man of peace now.”
Teague drew in his breath, his gaze holding the young man’s steady. A shadow at the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he glanced out the window as a young blond woman passed for the third time, her heels making a distinct clicking noise. “Someone you know?”
The man swiveled in his chair, and an expression came over his face that couldn’t be denied.
Teague knew that look. It was love. Pure and simple. He’d seen that expression on his parents’ faces and the faces of his brothers when he had been introduced to their wives. He’d seen it more recently on Ryleigh’s and even his own when he glanced in the mirror . . . before she betrayed him. “Yes. My wife. Johanna.”
“Ask her to come in.”
Jeff rose from his seat and walked the few steps toward the door. He opened it and gestured to the young woman. She came closer and grasped his hands. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t wait at our campsite any longer. You’ve been gone an awfully long time, and I’ve been a bundle of nerves waiting for you to return.”
“It’s all right, Johanna. Please come inside.”
She swept through the door, closing it behind her, and extended her hand toward Teague, her smile, like Ryleigh’s, a ray of sunshine. “Hello. I’m Johanna Caruthers.” A blush colored her cheeks. “Excuse me, Johanna Logan now.” She beamed at her husband. “We’ve only been married three days. It’s still so new to me.”
“No need to apologize, Mrs. Logan,” he said as he shook her hand. Caruthers? Had Logan married the Reverend’s daughter? “I’m Sheriff MacDermott.”
“Oh, I know who you are.” She carefully extracted her hand and stood next to her husband. “I’d know you anywhere just by the way Jefferson talked about you.”
Not to be left out, Shotgun rose to his feet and trotted to her side, poking his nose at her cream-colored skirt. She reached down and rubbed her fingers through his silky hair.
She was charming and as bright as a newly minted penny. Goodness radiated from within her—from her brilliant smile to her soft amber brown eyes. A gentle soul if ever he saw one. And if she was the reason for the change he saw in Jeff, he’d have to thank her.
Jeff took his wife’s hand. “She is the reason I’m here, Sheriff. She convinced me that you had to know the truth about me and how I feel.” A smile lifted the corners of his mouth beneath his scraggly beard. “I’m begging your forgiveness and asking you to accept my apology for the part I played in what happened.”
“I can assure you, Sheriff, Jefferson is no threat to you, now or in the future. He’s a good man with a good heart.” Johanna glanced at her husband and grinned. “I couldn’t love him if he wasn’t.”
Teague nodded, still stunned . . . by so many things. He wasn’t dead . . . and wouldn’t be for a very long time, if what both Jeff a
nd Johanna said was true. And if he still had doubts about Jeff, he certainly didn’t have any about Johanna. She exuded honesty and decency.
“I’ll be leaving now, Sheriff. Through my father-in-law’s connections, I have a small congregation in Arizona waiting for me.” He held out his hand.
Teague started to respond in kind when the door burst open. Ryleigh came to wobbly halt on the threshold, her face pale except for her cheeks, which were bright red. She gasped for breath. Perspiration made her skin glow, but he wasn’t interested in her glistening face. His attention was drawn to the revolver in her hand. It was an old Peacemaker that he knew Wesley Bronson kept in a desk drawer at the newspaper . . . and she brandished it like it was toy. Given her propensity for clumsiness, Ryleigh and revolver just didn’t belong together. “Ryleigh!”
She barged into the office, obviously panicked, her eyes only on him . . . and immediately tripped over the dog. Shotgun yelped and tried to scramble out of her way, but it was too late. Johanna screamed as Ryleigh fell, so quickly, Teague couldn’t catch her . . . or the gun in her hand. The revolver went off—the report deafening in the small confines of the room. The bullet whistled past Teague’s head so close, he felt its heat before it lodged harmlessly in the wall.
• • •
Ryleigh sprawled on the floor, her ears ringing, her face dangerously close to a pair of well-worn boots she recognized. Smoke whispered from the bore of the pistol in her hand, the acrid smell reaching her nose, making her stomach clench with nausea. Tears pricked her eyes. She hadn’t meant to shoot. She tried to drop the gun, but her fingers wouldn’t obey.
Fear rambled through her head, making her tremble uncontrollably. Oh my God! I could have shot Teague!
A moment later, she was pulled up to her feet, coming face to face with the very stern visage of Teague MacDermott. His mouth formed a thin line and his eyes were . . . not nearly as icy as she would have expected.
“Oh my God, Teague! Are you all right?” She shouted over the ringing in ears and swept her gaze over him, looking for blood or bullet holes. She found neither, and relief rushed through her with such speed, her knees threatened to buckle.
Teague opened his mouth, obviously in response to her question, but his voice seemed to be coming through wet cotton. The ringing in her ears was dissipating, but not as quickly as she needed. She shook her head, hoping to get rid of the resonance faster as she studied his face.
“I’m all right.” She finally heard him, and again, her relief was so profound, tears stung her eyes.
“Oh, Teague! I am so sorry! I didn’t―”
“Give me the gun.” He held out his hand.
She started to hand it to him but changed her mind, remembering why she had burst into the office in the first place. She turned to face Logan and the woman beside him. The young blonde was crying but trying hard to stop. Logan’s eyes widened as he moved in front of the woman to protect her. His gaze didn’t stray from her, though his face was white and even from here, Ryleigh could see him trembling.
“I’m not letting go until he’s dead!” She tried to raise the gun, but Teague had a firm grip on her hand, his fingers gripping hers with iron-like determination.
“Ryleigh! Logan isn’t here for the reason you think. He’s not a threat.”
His voice penetrated her brain, and she pulled her gaze away from Logan to rest once more on Teague. “What?”
“He isn’t here to kill me.” Teague stared into her eyes, and a slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth.
She saw the truth of his statement in his demeanor and finally released the gun into his hand. “He’s not?”
“No, ma’am.” Logan stepped forward, though hesitantly. “I came to―”
The murmuring of the crowd forming on the sidewalk outside intruded into her head and drew her attention. Her shoulders slumped, and her heart beat a rapid tattoo in her chest as she turned to face them. Like her, the townspeople were there to save the sheriff from harm. Several carried pistols, concern and anger written clearly on their faces. She’d made a fool of herself again, but that was all right. She’d had to protect Teague, but still, she wanted to disappear. Or hide.
Wesley elbowed his way through the crowd and stood in the doorway. “You all right, Sheriff? Heard a shot.” His gaze drifted from Ryleigh’s red face to the pistol in Teague’s hand. “Wasn’t sure who got hit. Given Ryleigh’s predisposition for calamity, it could have been anyone.”
“We’re fine. Fortunately, it was just the wall that was wounded. No need to worry.” He extended the pistol toward the newspaperman. “Yours, I believe?”
The man had the good graces to blush as he reached for the revolver. “I’m afraid so. Actually, this whole incident is my fault. I just happened to look out the window and saw this young man―” he pointed toward Jeff, “―come into your office and remarked that he looked like a Logan.” He nodded toward her. If possible, her face heated even more, so now even her ears burned. “Next thing I know, she’s got my gun from the drawer where I keep it, and she’s running across the street.” Wesley slid the pistol into the waistband of his trousers. “I’ll just take this back to my office.”
“Put it in the safe, Wes.”
“Yes, sir.” He waved as he exited the office. “All right, folks. Nothing more to see here. Teague has it all under control,” he hollered, dispersing the crowd. Ryleigh watched them all walk away and let out her breath, steeling herself for the tirade to come.
“Ryleigh.”
She couldn’t look at him, afraid of what she’d see.
“Ryleigh,” he repeated, his voice a little stronger. She turned and raised her gaze to his face. Surprise and relief filled her. There was no anger in his strong features. Instead, she saw forgiveness in his serene, utterly calm countenance as he took her hand and physically turned her so she looked directly at Jeff.
“As if you didn’t know, this is Jeff Logan and his wife, Johanna.” He leaned closer, his voice soft, but strong. “We’ve made our peace.” There was relief in his tone as well. She glanced at him and saw the same on his face.
Stunned, more so by his admission than by the events preceding it, Ryleigh stuck out her hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“No harm, Miss Ryleigh.” Jeff shook her hand, then smiled at her and for a moment, the anguish she felt alleviated. “I believe I understand.” He nodded toward Teague. “We’ll be going now, Sheriff.” He took his wife’s hand and led her toward the door, then stopped and looked back, his gaze intent yet serene. “God be with you both.”
Ryleigh watched them leave, the door closing softly behind them. If she could have followed them outside, she would have, but she couldn’t seem to move.
“Ryleigh.” Teague called her name, his tone unreadable. She turned to face him, her breath seized in her lungs, her muscles taut, ready for the blistering lecture she was certain he’d give her, but he didn’t yell or berate her for any number of things he could have. He simply held out a chair. “Sit.”
Ryleigh sank to the chair at the side of Roy’s desk, thankful for the sturdy piece of furniture, because she wasn’t certain her legs would hold her up anymore. Her knees were shaking so badly, the trembling encompassed her entire body.
Teague leaned against his desk and folded his arms across his chest. He opened his mouth and closed it several times before he asked, “Would you like to tell me what that was all about?”
Ryleigh sniffed and brushed away the tears that instantly flooded her eyes. He was being kind. Much too kind, considering what she’d almost done. “I was . . . I was trying to save you.”
The dumbfounded expression that came over his features was almost comical. At any other time, she may have laughed, but not right now. “Save me?” he asked, his voice filled with a combination of disbelief and astonishment. “From?”
“Jeff Logan shooting you.”
“I see. And you thought by running in here with a loaded pistol and almost shooting me yourself was
the best way to do it?” He shook his head, but there was amusement dancing in his eyes. “Why?”
“Why, what?”
“Why did you want to save me?”
As if he didn’t know. Perhaps, he just needed to hear it again, considering how enraged he’d been when he found the pages of her book. “Because I love you. Because I think you’re worth saving. Because I couldn’t bear to be without you, even if you’re still upset with me for the pages you found in my room.”
“Ah, yes, the pages. I’ve thought about those―”
She rushed to her own defense, hoping to plead her case. “They weren’t for a newspaper article, Teague. I swear. They’re for a book I thought I’d write . . . about your life and what happened. So everyone can know what a hero you are, just like I do.” She drew in her breath and continued in a rush, “I was going to tell you. I just never had the chance, and then you found them and you were so . . . mad . . . and I thought―”
“A book?” He interrupted her, his arms still crossed over his chest, but now a crooked smile appeared on his lips.
She nodded, afraid to trust her voice.
“It’s very good, Ryleigh. I think you should finish it.”
Ryleigh stiffened, not sure she heard what she thought she did. She studied him, uncertain and still afraid, but his smile, the one that made her heart flutter, was still in place. “What?”
“You should finish it.”
Worry lifted from her heart with such intensity, she thought she’d faint. Not only had he forgiven her once again, but he wanted her to finish the story. His story. She jumped from her seat on legs that were still shaky and threw herself into his arms. “I love you, Teague MacDermott! Will you marry me?”
Teague grinned as he pulled her closer. His gaze held hers, his eyes, the MacDermott gray, turning ever so slightly darker. “You really are bold and impertinent and—”
She shut him up with a kiss.
Epilogue
Two years later
A Kiss in the Sunlight Page 27