Big Sky Lawman

by Marilyn Pappano

  After the way she’d responded to his kisses last week, how could he not be?

  The bell over the door dinged as she walked into the café. She immediately stepped aside to allow three big cowboys to leave, then scanned the room until Raeanne’s wild wave caught her attention. “I hope I’m not late,” she said, shrugging out of her jacket before sliding into the booth. “I had to park a few blocks away.”

  “You’re fine. I just got here a minute ago myself. The specials are always good, the burgers are nice and greasy, and the salads are decent for winter.” Raeanne gave her only a moment to scan the menu before jumping right into the conversation. “So…how long has this been going on between you and Sloan?”

  Crystal gave her a wary look that made her laugh.

  “I’m sorry. Rafe says I became a lawyer so I’d have a more or less legitimate reason to stick my nose into other people’s business. But we love Sloan to death, and he’s going to make some lucky woman the best husband, and I just want to see it done. So pardon my nosiness.”

  “No problem.”

  “So…how long has it been?”

  She seemed so good-natured about it that Crystal couldn’t help but laugh. “Friday was our first official date.”

  “But you’ve spent time with him.”

  “A little.”

  “Are you going to marry him?”

  Crystal wasn’t sure marriage would ever happen for her. If her life had worked out according to her parents’ plan, she would be five months into marriage to James now. She would never dare leave her house looking less than her absolute best, and she would spend her time going to luncheons and to fundraisers, listening to boring speeches and pretending that she gave a damn whether he was the next governor. Instead of her parents running her life, his advisors would, and every move she made would be to his political benefit. Even having children, James had warned her, wouldn’t happen until the time was right, meaning politically advantageous.

  Sloan was right. James had done her a hell of a favor in dumping her.

  What would marriage to Sloan be like? Incredible, she thought dreamily. Building their house in the meadow by the river. Watching sunrises and sunsets. Making fantastic love on the spur of the moment. Loving, admiring, respecting, supporting. Having babies with no regard for polls or voter opinion. Saving their time for each other, for family and friends, instead of strategists and proponents. Having a real life, with real problems, real solutions and real happiness, and not some phony, socially correct, public-eye existence.

  It sounded almost too good to be true, she thought wistfully. And the possibility that she could have it, all her wildest dreams, with Sloan Ravencrest… It hurt somewhere around her heart to even think about it. What she’d lost in losing James was nothing compared to all she could lose if she had Sloan, then lost him.

  “Earth to Crystal,” Raeanne softly called. “I lost you somewhere, didn’t I? In all those thoughts of how wonderful being married to Sloan could be?”

  Crystal focused her gaze on the other woman. “Not long before I came here, my fiancé and I went through a very public and very contentious breakup. I need more time…” She finished with a shrug.

  “I’m sorry. But, you know, time isn’t always the healer. Sometimes it’s love. What better way to get over a man who hurt you than to take up with a man who thinks you hung the stars?”

  Before Crystal could respond, a young waitress came to take their orders. After she walked away, Raeanne sighed. “I could probably repeat that same speech to her. That’s Emma Stover. She showed up in town not too long ago—no family, no friends. Most folks think she’s run away from a broken heart, too. It’s too bad. She’s a sweet kid.”

  Crystal gazed after the pretty, auburn-haired woman for a moment, then was turning back to Raeanne when a group seated at the far end of the counter caught her attention. There were five men, all wearing the gray-and-black uniforms of the sheriff’s department, seated on bar stools. Right in their middle was Sloan, and standing beside him, with his hand clasped firmly in both of hers, was a drop-dead gorgeous black-haired woman. She was smiling up at him in a teasing, wheedling sort of way, and he was smiling back, that lethal smile that could make any woman weak.

  That lethal smile that she’d somehow foolishly thought might be reserved for her.

  Stunned, Crystal forced her gaze away. She had no claim on him. So he’d kissed her a few times, taken her to dinner, spent a little time with her. He’d never hinted she was the only woman he was seeing. She didn’t have the right to expect to be the only woman, not after only one date and a few kisses.

  Not even after a few incredible, curl-her-toes, make-her-weak kisses.

  She certainly had no right to feel betrayed.

  Raeanne gave her a concerned look, then twisted around to see what had caused her to freeze up. When she turned back, she was smiling sympathetically. “Man, you have it bad, don’t you? Let me tell you right up front that that woman hanging on Sloan is Shelley Walksalong. She’s his cousin. He comes from a very large family, and they’re all very close, and you’re bound to see him with some of them from time to time. Let me also tell you that, with the exception of my husband, Sloan is the least likely man in the state of Montana to two-time you. When he commits to a woman, he’s committed until it ends.”

  Crystal stared at her hands on the tabletop. On the one hand, her relief at finding out the woman was a relative was embarrassingly intense. On the other, the power he already had to hurt her was immense, and that scared her. If he was already so important to her, how could she possibly protect herself? How would she survive if he let her down the way everyone else had?

  Hoping to salvage some small bit of her pride, she forced a smile for Raeanne. “He’s not committed to me.”

  “Oh, yes, he is. Maybe you don’t see it that way, but, trust me, Sloan does. As long as he’s seeing you, I promise, he won’t be seeing anyone else.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I know him.” Raeanne said it simply, confidently. There was no doubt in her mind that she could possibly be wrong.

  Crystal envied her confidence. She’d lost hers, along with her faith, her trust and her belief in the common decency of people.

  She didn’t get a chance to regain her equilibrium. Sloan’s cousin returned to her own table, and the deputies were headed her way on their way to the door. She wished she could slide under the table, or huddle down in the corner of the booth, until they were gone, but she couldn’t, and even if she could, Raeanne had no intention of letting her go unnoticed.

  “Well, well, if it’s not Blue River County’s finest,” she said when the first two deputies came even with their table.

  They greeted her with the respect accorded the sheriff’s wife. Sloan was the last to say hello to her, though his gaze was locked on Crystal. She could feel it, even though she hadn’t found the nerve yet to look up.

  “You guys go on,” he said to the waiting deputies. “I’ll catch up with you later.” His long, dark fingers working the brim of his black Stetson, he waited until they were gone to speak again. “Crystal. Mind if I join you for a minute?”

  When she didn’t answer, Raeanne did. “By all means, have a seat.”

  The bench shifted as he slid in beside her. “You can look at me, you know,” he said softly. “The uniform’s not that bad.”

  The uniform wasn’t bad at all. The gray pants with a black stripe down the outer seam fitted snugly, and the gray shirt was equally snug. The telltale outline of his bulletproof vest was visible underneath the crisply pressed cotton.

  “If you don’t like the uniform, you can imagine him naked,” Raeanne teased. “I hear it’s quite a sight.”

  Sloan actually blushed, Crystal saw from the corner of her eye. She found something endearing about a wickedly handsome, sexy man who could blush like an adolescent boy.

  “Oh, hey, there’s someone I know over there,” Raeanne went on. “I need to go
say hi. Keep her company while I’m gone, Sloan.”

  When she was gone, he turned in the narrow space to face Crystal. “She was kidding.”

  She would have said the last thing she wanted to do at that moment was smile, but when she looked up at him, it just happened naturally. “How do you know? Women talk about this kind of thing, you know. And I imagine it is quite a sight.”

  “All you have to do is say the word, and you can see for yourself.”

  “The word,” she knew, was actually three words. I trust you. Three small words that sometimes felt impossible. That rivaled those other three small words—I love you—in importance. That could make or break them.

  “I saw you with that woman.” The instant the words were out, she wished she could call them back. She didn’t even know where they’d come from. Some deep need to hear Raeanne’s reassurances from him?

  For a moment he remained silent, then he casually said, “Shelley’s my aunt Betty’s oldest girl. That makes her my cousin. Unlike you Southerners, we don’t go in much for kissin’ cousins up here.”

  “I never kissed a cousin,” she denied with a laugh.

  “I imagine kissing James must have been about like that. Because if you kissed him the way you kiss me, he never would have let you go.” He leaned a bit closer and lowered his voice. “I don’t intend to let you go, Crystal.”

  Warmth welled inside her, spreading out to her fingers and toes, giving her an all-over comfortable feeling. “I was jealous,” she admitted. “And afraid.”

  “Afraid because you were jealous? Because you’re starting to care about me? That shouldn’t be scary. It should be sweet. Exciting. Fun.”

  Her smile trembled. “Hey, that’s me—never could do anything right. It comes from being different, you know.”

  For an instant the gentleness disappeared and his voice turned stern. “Don’t say that, Crystal. Different isn’t better or worse. It’s just different—and we all are, you know, in one way or another.”

  He said the words as if he believed them. Of course, she reminded herself, he’d experienced his own share of prejudice over something that he had no more control over than she did her psychic abilities. At least she was able to keep her differences secret. His was right there, in his dark skin, black hair, dark eyes and strong features, for all the world to see. People had to get to know her to find out about hers. All they had to do was look at him. They could judge him without ever speaking a word to him.

  “Aunt Winona says the French have the right attitude. Vive la difference.”

  The smile he gave her was meant for her and her alone. “That’s not the only good idea they’ve had. There’s the French fry. The French door. The French kiss…”

  Heat curled in her belly as his gaze dropped to her mouth. She’d never imagined that a simple look in a crowded café could be so potent, but she suddenly found herself in need of a blast of cold air, or maybe just a few minutes’ privacy with Sloan.

  The radio attached to his belt crackled, and he reached to adjust the volume. “I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll call you.” He touched her discreetly, then slid to his feet.

  Taking a long draft of ice water, Crystal tracked his progress to the door by the farewells the other diners offered with genuine affection in their voices. Clearly, he was well thought of, at least by the lunch crowd. That counted for something, didn’t it?

  Raeanne returned to her seat as Emma served their meals, hot-off-the-grill burgers. “I swear, steam was rising off you and Sloan like that,” Raeanne teased. “I could hear the sizzle all the way across the room.”

  Now it was Crystal’s turn to blush. Deliberately she changed the subject. “Tell me how a public defender wound up married to a sheriff. That must lead to some interesting moments in the Rawlings household.”

  “Actually, it doesn’t, except that we aren’t often able to discuss work. We never know when I might be assigned to defend someone his department has arrested. But that’s okay. We have other, more important things in our lives to talk about.” She hesitated a moment. “Does it bother you that Sloan’s a deputy?”

  Did it bother her? She would never again make the mistake of thinking that the simple act of putting on a uniform or clipping a badge to a belt automatically made a person honest or trustworthy. But would she change Sloan’s profession if she could? Would she be any more at ease with him if he was a cowboy, an accountant or an insurance agent? Was she any less likely to fall for him simply because he was a deputy?

  Maybe. At least a cowboy, an accountant or an insurance agent wouldn’t be in a position to benefit from her visions—or to betray her because of them.

  “It’s not a dangerous job,” Raeanne said, assuming that was the source of Crystal’s bias. “Well, it can be. But Sloan’s careful. He always wears his vest, he’s an expert shot and he knows when to wait for backup. He never rushes into anything without being well aware of the risks. All the deputies are like that. They’re cautious, and they look out for each other.”

  Great. Crystal hadn’t considered the danger inherent to the job. Now she would have more to worry about than whether he was going to break her heart.

  Once again needing a change of subject, she smiled at Raeanne and asked a question that was virtually guaranteed to redirect the woman’s thoughts. “How’s the shopping around here?”

  “Oh, honey, have you come to the right woman. Let me tell you…”

  As customers began returning to work, business at the Hip Hop slowly tapered off, finally giving Emma Stover a break from her waitressing. It hadn’t been an unusually busy lunch, but she was glad it was over. Her feet hurt, her back hurt, and she had the beginnings of a bad headache. She just wanted to go home, soak in a tub of hot, fragrant bubbles and let her aches seep away down the drain.

  But she wasn’t sure there were enough hot, fragrant bubbles in the world to ease all her aches.

  After pouring herself a cup of coffee to go with a slice of the cook’s best pie, she went to an empty booth. She methodically prepared herself—sugar and cream in the coffee, a bite of pie—then pulled the official white envelope from her pocket. The return address was the Montana Women’s Prison in Billings. She’d found it stuffed in the mailbox on her way to work, but she’d been running late, so she hadn’t opened it yet.

  Running late…or running scared?

  Using the knife rolled with her napkin, she slit the envelope flap and removed the contents. “Dear Ms. Stover,” it began innocently enough. “With regard to your request for information concerning making arrangements to visit an inmate at our facility…” It went on, listing visiting days and hours, personal items visitors could bring for the inmate as well as items that were prohibited. If she wanted to provide the inmate with money to use in the facility’s commissary, she was welcome to make arrangements while there to deposit such funds in the inmate’s account. Lastly, it included directions to the prison.

  The prison. The very thought of getting into her car and driving off eighty miles to a prison for an afternoon visit was enough to send shivers down her spine. She’d never been in trouble in her life, had never even seen the inside of a jail, and here she was debating whether she wanted to see her birth mother badly enough to do it in a prison setting. High fences, thick concrete walls, armed guards, maximum security…. It was hardly the reunion she’d envisioned when she’d started her search.

  She’d considered a lot of possibilities when she’d started. That she would never find her mother, no matter how she looked. That she would find her and the woman would want nothing to do with her. And, of course, her favorite, that she would find her and her mother would be elated and welcome her into her happy, loving family. But she had never considered the possibility that her mother—the woman who had brought her into this world—was a murderer who had destroyed other lives.

  One dream down. Not many left to go.

  Folding the letter, she returned it to its envelope, then stuck it back in her po
cket. She picked up the fork and cut a sliver of pie, but left it uneaten on the plate. Instead, she cupped her coffee in her hands and gazed out the window. Whitehorn was a nice town, not too terribly different from Clear Brook, the small South Dakota town where, after bouncing from one foster home to the next, she’d finished growing up. Her search for her birth mother had brought her here.

  Now fear was keeping her here. Fear of returning home to South Dakota with her search unfinished. Fear of driving those eighty miles to the prison for the worst reunion she could have imagined. Fear of not having the courage to face her disappointment, and of shattering her dreams forever.

  Luckily, she didn’t have to decide today, she thought as the bell over the door signaled the arrival of customers. She’d waited twenty-three years to meet her birth mother.

  She would wait a while longer.

  Sloan reported to the sheriff’s office a half hour before shift change and joined most of the department, as well as most of the Whitehorn Police Department, in the conference room. He claimed a space against the wall as the doors at the opposite end opened. The police chief came in first, with Mayor Ellis Montgomery, Christina’s father, and her brother Max. Rafe brought up the rear.

  They’d been having these conferences ever since Christina had been reported missing, though with less frequency lately. Other than making it easier to disseminate information through the ranks, there wasn’t much reason for the meetings. They had no clues, no new theories, no breaks. They re-covered familiar ground, revealed their own frustration, and fostered frustration in everyone else. They were pointless.

  But the sheriff had mandated his presence, and so he was there.