Once a Lawman

by Raine Cantrell

  The light breeze carried the odor of tanning leather. Conner waved to Carl Gladden as the man repositioned the hide he was nailing to the drying board. He noticed that Carl broke off in mid-wave to stare at Belinda who was crossing the rutted street and heading for the stage depot.

  Broom in hand, Rob Long stepped out of the door to his café. “Mornin’, Conner. That’s a fancy packaged bit of goods.”

  “If you’re thinking about unwrapping it, Rob, wear gloves. You’ll need thick ones to protect your hands from the thorns.”

  “Like that, is it?”

  Conner stifled his impatience and stopped. “Woman has a tongue sharper than one of Carl’s skinning knives.”

  “Thank goodness Deana ain’t like that. Couldn’t live with her. My sister made fried chicken and dumplings for lunch. Know you’re partial. I’ll tell Deana to save you some.”

  “Thanks, Rob, but I need to ride out to the ranch. Seely Morehouse could use a good meal. Don’t know if his missus is coming to fetch him today. And Rob, this time put it on my bill.”

  “You seem a mite edgy, Conner. That woman bring trouble your way?” Rob glanced across the street at the woman who stood beneath the stage depot’s sheltering overhang. He looked at Conner. “Only asking, ’cause she asked old Wally a heap of questions about the Kincaids before she went looking for you.”

  “Did she now?” Conner mused. Once more his gaze focused on Belinda.

  “Musta been a surprise when she found out who you were. Old Wally tried to tell her twice, but she’d fire another question at him till he gave up.”

  Conner noticed the rising cloud of dust at the opposite end of town. He picked out the new buggy that had caused a stir when the freight line delivered it two weeks ago.

  “Riverton,” Conner muttered under his breath. “So the great man himself has come to town to fetch her.”

  Four Circle R riders followed behind, and as the small carriage swept by, Conner’s harrowed gaze fixed on the profile of Charles Riverton beneath the buggy’s collapsible leather hood. He hated admitting to himself that the man handled the perfectly matched team of bay horses with an expert hand.

  “Fancy rig for a fancy lady,” Rob said.

  Conner ignored him. His attention remained on the man he hated. Bringing the prancing team to a stop with a flourish, Charles stepped down. He smoothed his frock coat before he swept his white panama hat from his head to greet Belinda. The faintest shiver of contempt pulled at the corner of Conner’s mouth. Belinda’s smile, as she allowed Riverton to raise her gloved hand to his lips, set his back teeth on edge.

  Seeing Conner was lost in thought, Rob once more murmured, “Like that, is it?” He began to sweep the walk in front of the café.

  The last thing that Conner wanted was a confrontation with either Belinda or Riverton. He saw that Wally was already loading her luggage into the buggy’s boot. Not one of Riverton’s men dismounted and offered to help. But then, Riverton hadn’t hired them for their manners, just their guns.

  He was wasting time standing and staring. As he moved to turn back, Conner caught Belinda’s gesture toward his office. So she was telling Riverton what had occurred between them. Immediately Conner amended his thought. She would no more tell Riverton about the kiss she had invited than he would.

  “Rob, keep an eye on things for me. I should be back before dark.”

  “Sure thing. Regards home, Conner.”

  Cutting down the alley next to Long’s Café, Conner headed toward the lean-to the town fathers had built in the back of the jail. Within minutes he had tossed a saddle on his gelding, Sour Mash. He mounted and rode for home, thinking about how he was going to break the news about Belinda Jarvis.

  Chapter Three

  Belinda had refused to acknowledge the sheriff’s stare, but the moment his burning gaze lifted, she had sighed with relief that he no longer watched her.

  “My dear, has something upset you?” Charles Riverton asked, replacing his white panama on his head. “You appear distracted. Did Kincaid do anything to—”

  “The sheriff? Why would you think that? If anyone did any upsetting, the blame is mine for the news I gave him. Please,” she said, momentarily resting her hand on his arm, “do not concern yourself.”

  Seeing that all her luggage was secure, she thanked Wally. Since Charles had not tipped him, she removed a dollar gold piece from her reticule and gave it to the old man.

  “That wasn’t necessary. Wally is paid to—”

  “Charles, I do understand that things are done differently out here. But please, allow me to make my own decisions about any service rendered to me.”

  There was a brief flash of anger in his dark eyes.

  “Of course. I had forgotten how independent you are. I won’t repeat the mistake, my dear. Come,” he offered, holding out his hand to help her onto the narrow buggy seat. Once she was settled, Charles stood a moment looking at her. “I swear you’re more lovely than memory served. And if Kincaid forgot he dealt with a lady, I promise you he’ll pay for it.”

  Hearing the underlying threat of violence in his voice, Belinda felt a pang of alarm. She looked at his muscular body, dressed as finely as any gentleman of fashion to be found in a Chicago drawing room. Remembering Kincaid’s reaction to the mention of Charles as her host, Belinda surmised that Charles felt the same way about him.

  “I assure you, Charles, there is no need to be disturbed. The sheriff was not so much unpleasant as he was blunt.” She had to stop. Charles wore a strange look. A disappointed one, she thought. But she was troubled at finding herself once more rushing to defend Kincaid. How could she? The man had tricked her. Truly this heat affected her mind.

  “I’m sure your Uncle Phillip told you that I’ll do everything in my power to aid you.” He seated himself next to her and untied the reins from the short brass rail that trimmed the foot box. “At the risk of sounding boastful, my power is considerable in the territory. But I admit that I’m puzzled, my dear. Phillip never mentioned exactly what it is that brings you here.”

  “At my request,” she answered. Belinda thought of his boast, and of her threats to Kincaid. She could end the matter now. All she had to do was tell Charles what she wanted.

  The unease that had begun the moment Charles lifted her hand to his lips and she had looked into his dark eyes grew at an alarming rate. Charles would exact a price for his help. Belinda did not believe she was being vain to think she would be a part of it.

  She rocked back on the seat as he urged the horses into a brisk trot. The four accompanying horsemen aligned themselves two on each side of the buggy. Their hardened appearance added to her unease, although she tried to excuse it. According to the newspaper stories she had read there were many threats to life in the West. A man of Charles’s wealth and power would be a target.

  Many gentlemen of her acquaintance had bodyguards. Why then did the uneasy feeling remain?

  The sheriff’s office passed in a blur. She saw that the door was still open. Separated by a few building lots, two saloons lined the street opposite each other. She turned and leaned out of the hood’s protective shade to see the name signs painted above each saloon. The Dugout and Potee’s were two more names she would add to the list she was making for Christian De Young, her man of business. Fond of reading dime novels, he had wanted to accompany her on this journey, but with the threat that her cousin Albert presented to the family business, Belinda had had to refuse his request.

  “My dear, I can’t help but ponder your reason for making this trip alone. Won’t you ease my mind and tell me?”

  Belinda glanced at the strong line of his profile. She could and did use feminine wiles when it suited her purpose. She could also infuse her voice with enough starch to wilt the most persistent men.

  “You will forgive me, Mr. Riverton, but—”

  “Charles, my dear, please. I assumed we moved beyond that formality when you used my first name at the depot. Calling me Mr. Riverton makes m
e sound as if I am your uncle’s age when in truth there is a considerable difference in our ages.”

  The slip of using his first name only reminded Belinda how upset her meeting with the sheriff had left her.

  But now she had a new worry. The old roué had not been subtle with his hint. Think of him as anything but her uncle’s contemporary? Never. Phillip had celebrated his fifty-eighth birthday a month early because of her leaving. Charles was ten years younger. She knew many women who had married older men, but twenty-some odd years older than herself was too old. If she had been thinking of getting married.

  Kincaid was not an old man.

  Belinda was startled by the thought. Where had that come from?

  “My dear, you didn’t answer me. May I call you Belinda?”

  “I am not sure that my uncle would approve.”

  “But Phillip is not here.”

  “No, he is not. Charles then, if it would make you more comfortable. As I had begun to say, I am fatigued by my journey. The explanation is long and tedious. I am sure you will be gracious and allow me the opportunity to rest before I answer your question.”

  Having been put in his place, Charles had no choice but to agree. “All right, but I sensed from Phillip’s telegram that the matter was one of some urgency.”

  “It is.” Her curt answer was rude. What was wrong with her? She might need this man’s help. Alienating him would not insure his cooperation. She could not leave the matter entirely in the sheriff’s hands, not when he was so close to it. Or could she? Kincaid had been insulted when she attempted to bribe him. Only an honest man would have reacted to that amount of money in such a way.

  Or was it all a trick? Rubbing her forehead, Belinda did not have an answer. Rarely had she wavered in her judgment of someone. But Kincaid…and the heat…and that kiss.

  Belinda wished to lapse into silence and simply study the swiftly changing landscape. But she would never find out more about the Kincaids if she did not engage Charles in conversation. Time to make amends for her curtness.

  “Charles, I apologize. These past few months have been trying ones.” Like most men, especially those who had wealth but craved power, Charles was not immune to her softened tone and implied flattery. Studying his profile, she caught the subtle move he made to straighten. She could easily imagine him preening under her avid gaze.

  She sorted about for a quick change in conversation. The barren land offered no clue, then an idea came to her.

  Belinda managed to turn a bit more on the seat. “May I ask you a personal question?”

  Charles glanced over and saw the admiration gleaming in her large brown eyes. Belinda had a mind of her own, as he had found out, but she was young and malleable and very rich.

  The thought of all that unclaimed wealth added warmth to his voice. “Ask away, Belinda.”

  “After we met last year, I admit I became curious about you.” She was thankful that the deep ruts forced his gaze from her to concentrate on guiding the horses around them.

  “Why has a man of taste and refinement chosen to live here? As far as I can see,” she said with a graceful sweep of her hand, “there is no civilization. I have never understood what drives people to leave the cities where everything one could desire is at hand. It is no secret there are all manner of hardships to be endured in this untamed land.”

  “That’s true enough, Belinda. We still have bands of renegade Apache plaguing our efforts to settle most of the territory. But the army has stepped up its effort to contain them on the reservations. The possibilities are endless for a man of vision to make his mark. I admit that I crave power to shape the government of this territory.”

  “Do I detect strong ambitions, Charles?”

  “Why not? There is gold and silver here to fuel more than my dreams, Belinda. The kind of money the likes of Gould and the Commodore have at their disposal.”

  “The robber barons,” she murmured, hiding her distaste.

  Charles flashed her a rewarding smile. “Exactly so.”

  “Uncle Phillip was right about you.” Belinda settled back against the padded seat, thinking of what her uncle had said. Charles had one god—power. Phillip had also informed her that Charles was unscrupulous about how he obtained it.

  “Since I admire your uncle, I will take that as a compliment.”

  She did not make an attempt to disabuse him of this notion. She was comfortable playing this type of game with men like Charles Riverton. So unlike her disconcerting meeting with Sheriff Kincaid.

  Belinda found herself reluctant to discard the image of Conner’s face as it sprang to mind. This only added to her confusion. A strange shiver of sensual awareness spread over her, one she could not seem to stop.

  “Tomorrow, if you feel up to it, I’ll take you for a ride over my land. There is a primitive beauty to it.”

  “I shall look forward to that. Do you have neighbors close by?”

  “The Kincaids are the closest. About an hour’s ride. Why do you ask?”

  “I was merely curious.” That close? She could ride over and…and what? Snatch her nephew? Risk confronting an outlaw? She had to proceed with caution until she knew what opposed her. Kincaid, for one.

  She did not understand this preoccupation with the man. Examining her feelings, Belinda knew she could not be attracted to him. Hard on the heels of this came a nagging voice demanding to know what had possessed her to kiss him. A stranger…an aggravating, arrogant…she could spend days making a list of things he was.

  She toyed with the top button on her collar. The kiss had been merely giving in to a momentary impulse. And the heat, she reminded herself for the third or eighth time. Mentally defending her action, she knew there had been a great deal of heat generated by the sheriff’s overwhelming masculinity. And those blatant innuendos about other women finding pleasure in his slow methods.

  There, she could feel anger coming back over his fooling her with his initial civil manner. He had deliberately misled her into talking about his brother. His brother!

  And she wasn’t about to forget his accusation that she did not care about her nephew’s welfare. Working herself into a fine state, she continued to review the situation in her mind. She had not informed the sheriff of the distance that her brother had forced upon their relationship. All her attempts to mend the breach had been rebuffed. She had never told anyone how much it hurt her to be denied seeing her nephew.

  Matters had not been helped by their grandmother leaving the bulk of her shares in the family’s holdings to Belinda. Robert broke away completely when he discovered their father’s will read the same.

  Robert had blamed Belinda for being left out of their wills, but she knew it was not true. The real cause had been Robert’s refusal to take any interest in business.

  Yes, the sheriff’s accusation had stung, but Belinda was proud that she had hidden her hurt from him.

  In the next breath, she admitted that Kincaid had given her something to think about.

  The old man, Wally, told her the Kincaid family was an old and proud one. Very close-knit. Tighter than ticks on an old hound’s skin, had been his exact words.

  What if the Kincaids refused to honor her brother’s request that she have his son? What if the boy refused to leave them?

  The land passed in a blur. She admonished herself for having these doubts. Kincaid had well and truly flustered her. Those people had no claim on the boy. And no child could be allowed to decide his future.

  It was this infernal heat that made her fortitude wilt and allowed these ridiculous thoughts to surface.

  She would get what she came for and no Kincaid, be he sheriff or not, was going to stop her.

  Chapter Four

  “The whole thing is ridiculous!” Logan fixed his attention on the linen wrap he was replacing on his mother’s favorite mare. “Can’t imagine where you came up with such a tall tale, Conner.” Crouched in the thick straw bedding, Logan shot his older brother a look.

/>   “Haven’t you got better things to do than sit in that office of yours and spin yarns? If you need work, there’s plenty to do here.”

  “I’m not spinning yarns for your amusement, Logan. I saw the letter, I met the lady. But let it go for the moment. Sounds like you’ve got your plate heaped with work.”

  The wealth of understanding in his brother’s gaze took the edge off Logan’s anger. “Yeah. My plate’s so full I haven’t slept in my own bed for more than two nights running. Jeez, Conner, how the hell did you manage it all?”

  “Just did.” Conner shrugged. “Work needed doing, wasn’t much choice.”

  Left unsaid between them was the fact that Conner had no one helping him. Their daddy’s boots had fit Conner like they had been made for him, in all ways. Or so Logan and their younger brother Ty had believed. It wasn’t until Conner relinquished most of the day-to-day overseeing to them that they’d understood that Conner never wanted to be the boss. Santo’s words came back in a rush to Logan: Conner had been a man before he’d ever had a chance to be a boy.

  “It’s not the work, Conner.” Satisfied that the swelling had gone down on the mare’s leg Logan nudged aside her curious nose and replaced the extra linen strips, tin of Three Horn Cure All, and bottle of Neatsfoot oil in his box.

  “Then what’s causing the problem?”

  “Guess me and Ty are having a hard time divvying up who makes the decisions for what. Half the time he’s gone up to hurry the carpenters to finish his house so he and Dixie can move in. Truth to tell, I guess I envy him. Jessie hasn’t said a word about living in the big house, but she’s a woman used to her own ways. Sofia rules the kitchen. You know that,” he added with a grin that his brother shared.

  “I just don’t know when there’ll be time to build our own place. And I can’t take those boys away from Ma now.”

  “Nope, you can’t. So most of the decisions fall on your shoulders because you’re here and Ty isn’t.”

  “Pack that truth in a bottle of snake oil and give the man a prize.”