Once a Lawman

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Once a Lawman Page 8

by Raine Cantrell


  Searching over the top, he found the cool glass bottom of the lamp. A moment later he threw the glass globe off. It, too, hit the floor with a splintering crash.

  Match case in hand, he tore the top off with his teeth. The first match broke when he tried to strike it. Pounding filled the room. But he heard the rattle…

  The sound came from behind him.

  The rifle fell with a clatter. His handgun fit his palm like the grip of an old and familiar friend. He abandoned his attempt to light the lamp. With the pounding came the shout of his name.

  Conner spun around. The door crashed open and blessed light flooded the room from the lamps held by the men crowding in one behind the other.

  Conner had eyes for none but the coiled ring of death ready to strike him. He fired. Other bullets thudded into the floor, into the body of the rattler.

  Rob Long, first inside, first to fire, reached Conner before anyone else. “What in blazes is going on, Conner?”

  Conner sagged back against the chest. Weakly he waved his gun toward the back. “In there.”

  Doug Shelden kicked the dead snake aside. “Damn near seven feet long. How the hell did it get in here?”

  “For Almighty’s sake!” Tom Sweet yelled. “There’s four more back here.”

  Rob had the presence of mind to take Conner outside. Mark Dryer, the editor of the newspaper, brought Conner a cup of cold coffee.

  “It’s all I could find. But I’d bet he could use a drink.”

  “No.” Conner’s hoarse whisper had Mark exchange a look with Rob. Conner wrapped both hands around the cup, sipping the liquid, bitter and cold though it was. He didn’t think the dry-as-cotton feeling was ever going to go away.

  Still hitching up his suspenders, Carl Gladden came up the street at a run. “Where the hell’s the sheriff?”

  “Over here, Carl,” Rob answered.

  “What was all the shootin’ about? I ran over to the shed. Your prisoners are tucked all safe and sound inside. But—”

  “Someone dumped a sack full of rattlers into the jail cell.”

  They all turned as Doug Shelden approached. “My boys are cleaning up the mess. Conner blasted them to hell and gone. Splattered those—”

  “Conner?” Mark waved his hand in front of Conner’s eyes. “Did you get bit? Lord, man, don’t keep us waiting.”

  “Nothing bit me.”

  Another shot came from inside the jail. They all jumped.

  “Steven!” Doug yelled to his eldest son, “What’d ya find?”

  With his union suit front flapping over his pants, the young man revealed himself in the doorway. “Found one under the bunk, hiding in the corner. Did ya see the size of ’em? Two are almost seven feet long. Whoever threw ’em in there didn’t want to take any chances. No one would’ve lived.”

  “Damn fine job, Conner.” Walt Waterman slapped his meaty hand across Conner’s shoulder. “Took a brave man to stay there and shoot a nest of rattlers. Don’t know many that could do it. No sirree, ain’t ashamed to admit I wouldn’t stand there like a tethered hog in that cell. Lord have mercy, man, but—”

  “Walter, shut up.” Rob glared at the man. “Conner don’t need you runnin’ off at the mouth about how brave he is. We wouldn’t elect a coward sheriff.” He spotted his sister Deana at the edge of the crowd of women and children that had come from their homes. He stood close to Conner and felt the chill of his body.

  “Deana, bring a blanket for the sheriff and some hot coffee.”

  “Who you got locked up, Conner?” Walt demanded to know.

  “Hanchett and Askins from the Circle R,” Carl answered before Conner even lifted his head. “Caught them rustling. Right on Kincaid land. Someone didn’t want them to talk. And it don’t take a prairie-dog-size brain to figure out who’s behind this. Them men wouldn’t have had a chance in hell to survive—”

  “It’s over. Conner ain’t bit. His prisoners are safe and I’ll stand coffee for everyone in the café.” Rob grabbed the blanket his sister handed him. He tossed it over Conner’s shoulders. Without making a big deal of it, he helped him to stand. Mark stood on the other side of Conner. Once more they exchanged looks. Without speaking, the two men closed ranks and, with Conner between them, the blanket hiding the supporting arms they kept around his back, they walked to the café.

  “Shock,” Mark whispered. “Seen plenty of it during the war. Let’s get him upstairs, Rob. Tell those fools he’s cleaning up or something.”

  Leaving Mark to support Conner, Rob blocked the stairway when Walt showed signs of following them. “Let him be. Mark’s gonna see if he’s been bit. You keep folks calm, Walt.”

  “He’s a brave man, Rob. Damn brave.”

  At the top of the stairs Conner heard him. He didn’t feel brave at all. Mark’s whispered assurance that he’d have privacy to puke, collapse or whatever, sounded good. Conner wasn’t sure himself what he wanted to do first.

  He roused himself when Mark threw open the door. It was pitch black inside the room. “Light the lamp.” He braced himself against the door frame until light flooded the room.

  “Mark, make sure two men guard the shed. Arm them. Whoever did this could be watching. I didn’t go through hell to lose those two to a bullet.”

  “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “Do it!”

  Conner threw off the blanket. He went to the front window and stood off to the side of it. With one finger he pulled back the edge of the starched lace curtain.

  He could see a few men milling about in the street. The lanterns they held made them targets. The light shed didn’t reach into the shadows of building fronts and alleys.

  But Conner felt someone watching. Waiting.

  Riverton couldn’t stand failure. By tonight, he’d know that his killer almost got rid of Conner.

  His mind shut down the memory of what he’d just lived through. He couldn’t allow it to surface.

  A slight sound had him spin around, his gun in hand.

  “Oh, my word! Conner! It’s me, Deana. I…you didn’t hear me knock. I brought you hot water.” She couldn’t get the pitcher set down fast enough before she backed to the door. “I’ll send Rob up.”

  “Deana, wait, I—”

  Too late. She’d closed the door, leaving him alone. And when it came right down to it, that’s the way he’d always been. Alone.

  He stood there, a solitary man, watching the night sky give way to dawn.

  Chapter Nine

  Belinda came into town late the next afternoon.

  Conner watched her ride in, seated sidesaddle on a high-stepping chestnut mare every bit as prideful as her rider. He admired Belinda’s seat on the horse, her back straight as a fence post, head high, eyes straight ahead, gloved hands resting lightly on the horse’s neck, holding the reins. She didn’t carry a quirt. A sign of a woman fully in control of herself and the animal she rode.

  She wore blue today. A fluttery light blue veil wrapped the flat-topped crown of her curled-brim hat. Not a feather or flower in sight. Her riding habit was a darker blue, like the sky at dusk, and not one ruffle, not a bit of lace relieved the tightly fitted basque or long riding skirt, yet she presented as feminine a picture as she had yesterday.

  Still very much the lady. Still very much on his mind.

  She kept the mare to the center of the street. Conner watched her, but he also recognized the young Circle R rider who kept pace with her about twenty feet back. Rich Dillion was a smart-mouthed, wet-behind-the-ears kid who reminded him of his brother Ty.

  Although people had worked through the night to clear his office, Conner couldn’t go inside. Slouched in his chair, hands resting on the flat plane of his belly, he stretched out his long legs in front of him. His hat canted forward, shielding and shadowing his face.

  Belinda drew rein opposite to where he sat but made no move to dismount.

  Conner noticed that Dillion slid from his horse in front of the mercantile, hitched his reins aroun
d the post and took up a watchful, leaning stance against the hitching rail.

  A business call, Conner surmised.

  “Good morning, Sheriff.”

  “Mornin’, ma’am.”

  His greeting held all the welcome of a group of men interrupted by a woman while enjoying their after-dinner cigars and brandy. Belinda knew. She had done it.

  “I enjoyed meeting your mother this morning.”

  As an attention grabber, this one hit with the force of being tossed on his rear by a sun-fishing bronc. But until he knew where and how she had met his mother, Conner did no more than cross one booted foot over the other.

  “That a fact?”

  “She joined Charles and me for breakfast.”

  “Must have been real cozy. You, Riverton and my mother.”

  “She is a lovely woman, and very young looking.” Belinda leaned slightly forward to pat her mare’s neck.

  “Far too young to have a bastard like me for a son.”

  “You said that. I did not.”

  “Snippy, are we?” Conner tilted his head back to peer at her from beneath his brim. “Honey, you got a poor, short memory. Sure as I’m sitting here, you called me a bastard yesterday. Twice, if my memory serves.” Was it only yesterday? Feels like a lifetime ago after last night.

  “Are you interested in hearing what we discussed?”

  “Figure you’ll get around to doing that in your own sweet time, honey.”

  “I asked you not to call me that, Mr. Kincaid.”

  “So you did.”

  It wasn’t the apology she wanted, but Belinda wisely understood it was all she would get from him. Her gaze lingered on the faded black twill pants hugging his long, muscular legs and lean hips. Afraid he would catch her staring, she glanced away.

  “I suppose you told my mother why you’re here.”

  “Charles did.”

  “Ah, yes, Charles.”

  The name spilled from his lips with a sneer, bringing her gaze back to him. Now that she had a moment to think about it, all his words were slurred.

  “Have you been drinking, Sheriff?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “A simple no would do. I asked because you appear to be in a surly mood. You have not asked me to join you. After meeting your mother, I know she taught you better manners.”

  “Brine, you strike me as an independent-thinking woman who’ll get down off her high horse when she’s good and ready.”

  “I cannot get down, you limp-witted fool, without help.”

  “That so?”

  “Yes, that is so.” She fumed as the moments passed and he made no move to get up.

  Twisting and turning to look, Belinda saw no mounting block in sight. Not unless she rode back to the livery. He was more than likely to disappear if she did. Her gaze touched upon the young man whom Charles had insisted she needed for an escort. Escort? He had been ordered to watch her. She did not want him near her. She certainly did not want him to know and then report to Charles the real reason she had ridden into town.

  Talking to the sheriff would not alarm anyone. But her patience was in short supply this afternoon.

  “Conner.”

  The soft way she caressingly called him heated up the afternoon without a bit of help from the still-blazing sun.

  “You tacking a please on that?”

  “You are pushing your luck, Sheriff.”

  “Not me, ma’am. I’m just sitting here, minding my business. You’re the one who’s come calling.”

  The deep, lazy drawl slid inside her as sweetly and as potently as eating brandied cherries. Conner Kincaid irritated her. He challenged her. He gave her new and exciting feelings that constantly reminded her she was a woman. One too eager to repeat the experience of their first meeting.

  As much as Belinda would enjoy having the verbal bantering continue, she was conscious of the time that passed and the man who watched her. Lingering overlong would raise Charles’s suspicions that she had not come to plead her case once more, or deliver a message. She could not leave without accomplishing the real reason she had come to town.

  “Please, Sheriff,” she said in an effort to appease him, “help me dismount.”

  Conner thumbed his hat back. Her gasp was no more than he had expected. He’d gotten the same reaction from Deana when she served his morning coffee in the café.

  He looked like the devil had worked him over. Conner made no apology for it. His eyes were as red rimmed as Seely Morehouse on a week-long drinking binge. They felt the same. Conner craved sleep, craved being rid of the gritty, burning sensation that hurt his eyes, but he didn’t dare close them for fear of reliving those nightmarish minutes when he’d thought death had called up his number.

  Belinda’s gaze wasn’t steady. It seemed to flit from each of his features. He rubbed the stubble on his chin with his thumb. He had started to shave only to abandon his straight-edged razor when the pallor of his skin showed beneath the two-day-old beard.

  Far from being offended by his disreputable appearance, as she was sure he had intended, Belinda viewed Conner with deep concern.

  Under the guise of patting her horse’s neck again, she leaned forward.

  “What happened to you?” Her voice had softened with an unconsciously made womanly plea to know what had hurt someone she cared about. Belinda heard it, but it was too late to recall the words, or the tone.

  Conner appeared wolfish, as if something terrible had ravaged the night hours to deny him sleep. He claimed that he had not been drinking and she believed him. But what, then, had caused the haunted dark gleam in his eyes?

  “Conner?”

  “Don’t you know?” Hard edged and blunt, he snapped the question at her. Coming out of the chair in a smooth, controlled rush, he stepped to the end of the planked walk and took hold of the bridle to watch her reaction.

  “No, Conner. How could I know? Since I left town yesterday, I have been at Charles’s ranch.”

  Without taking his eyes from hers, he stroked one long finger down the white blaze marking the chestnut’s face. “I figured Charles had entertained you with the story. Over breakfast, or perhaps late last night.”

  “You are not asking me, but making an insulting guess. I asked you a civil question. It seems too much to expect you to do the same with an answer. For your information, Sheriff, the only time I discussed you was with your mother.”

  She attempted to jerk the reins, but Conner had a firm grip on the bridle. “Hold on. I had to know.”

  “Then ask me, Conner.”

  “I already did.” His grin was cocky. “Do you always have such a snippety mouth?”

  Belinda smiled in return, but it never reached her eyes. “No. Around you, it seems to come naturally.”

  “What else comes naturally, Belinda—” he paused, his gaze targeting her mouth “—around me, that is.”

  Throat and lips dry, Belinda slid the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. She watched him come to her side and looked down into heated gray eyes that made no apology for the bold way he studied her.

  She dropped the reins. She closed her eyes for a moment when his hands settled around her waist. The layers of cloth that prevented skin from touching skin were no barrier to the heat penetrating the tightly fitted basque, corset cover, corset or lawn chemise that she wore.

  “Belinda?”

  “What?” Her eyes flew open and her startled gaze met his.

  “If you don’t put your hands on my shoulders, honey, you could slip and fall when I lift you out of that saddle.”

  How did he do this to her? Conner made the world narrow down to the two of them. All she could think about was the warm, gentle ply of lips against hers. And when had she given him permission to use her first name?

  “Stop this, Kincaid.”

  “Kincaid, is it?” Conner removed his hands from her narrow waist.

  “What do you think you are doing? I thought you were going to help me down?”


  “You said to stop. I stopped.”

  “That was not what I meant and you know it. Please, I do not have much time.”

  Conner lifted her from the saddle. Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders. He thought about sliding her down his body in a long, heated caress, for he realized since the moment she had arrived he hadn’t thought of last night. He swung her to the side and set her down, quickly stepping back.

  “I didn’t think you were here for a social call. So tell me what it is that you want.”

  “Can we go inside your office?”

  “No.”

  “No?” she repeated. From the way he set his jaw, she understood he was not offering an explanation for his refusal. Belinda glanced at the man across the street. He had not moved from his leaning stance against the hitching rail.

  “Why did my mother visit Riverton this morning?”

  Belinda did not immediately answer him. She busied herself gathering up the trailing end of her riding skirt and looping it over her arm. Then she looked at him.

  “I will be more than happy to answer your question, if you answer one for me.”

  Conner’s deep, knowing smile made lines crinkle at the corners of his eyes. He surveyed her from head to foot. “Still trying to bribe me?”

  “No. A simple exchange is all I had in mind.”

  He leaned toward her, one arm extended. For a moment Belinda stared into his compelling, half-laughing, very watchful eyes.

  “Don’t be so distrustful. I’ll escort you into the café. And we’ll have a simple exchange of questions and answers, Belinda.”

  Again Belinda chose to ignore his deliberate use of her first name. She rested her gloved hand on the lean strength of his arm and stepped up to the planked walk.

  They had gone a few steps when she stopped and looked down. “You’re not wearing your spurs today.”

  “I took them off. Walking quiet keeps a man alive,” he said cryptically, urging her forward.

  “Your mother is upset over the shooting incident yesterday. That is why she came to see Charles this morning. I admire her forthright manner. She wasted no time asking him if he knew that his men had placed her family in danger.”

  This time Conner stopped before the open doors to the café. “That must be some question you want me to answer since you’re volunteering information.”

 

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