by Deborah Camp
“I know.” He shrugged. “But I like you so much.” His voice gentled and his boyish, guileless smile tempered her flare of irritation. “Please don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not.” To prove to him that all was forgiven, she inched closer and brushed her lips against his stubbly cheek. What she meant to be a light touch of understanding changed when his arm circled her waist and he hauled her in for a true meeting of mouths. She pressed a fist against his shoulder and shoved, breaking the bond. “That is quite enough, Forrest Cole!” He was being a little devil tonight! She shook her finger at him. “I’m going back inside and I suggest that you go on about your business, as well.”
“Will you sup with me one evening this week?”
“I’ll consider it.” She gave him an arched stare and when he seemed rooted to the spot, she added, “Good night, Forrest.”
He grinned, pivoted, and left her. She pulled her lace handkerchief from her cuff and dabbed at her lips. Funny how his kisses had sparked nothing inside her. Not like when – .
“I’d be wiping my mouth if I’d kissed that grimy cowhand, too.”
She let out a little squawk as she spun around to see a tall, broad-shouldered figure emerge from the direction of the stables. “Dalton! What are you doing out here spying on me?”
“I didn’t need to spy. You were spooning with Cole out here where anyone could watch the show.”
“What are you doing here? Were you looking for me?”
“No.” He jabbed a thumb behind him. “I was visiting with Riley, your stable hand. We’ve been talking about one of our favorite subjects – horses. But I’m glad to finally run into you.” His dark gaze moved languidly over her snug-fitting dress. “Cole is lucky I didn’t loosen some of his teeth just now. I was on the verge of it.”
She flapped the hanky at him before tucking it under her cuff again. “That was nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing to me, Lacy.” He moved closer as he spoke and now he towered over her, near enough that his breath stirred the fine hair curling at her temple. “Have you been letting other men court you the past few days? Is that why I haven’t seen you?”
“No.” She slanted a sideways glance at him. He had his hands clutched behind his back, but he still was imposing. It was his eyes. Those dark, dangerously glinting eyes of his, as potent as a lover’s touch. “I’ve been working. From what I hear, you’ve been busy, too. When do you think you’ll go to Topeka for Sam Louder’s trial? Has a date been set?”
“Not yet, but it should be in a couple of weeks. Miss Hollister might testify.”
“She won’t, so don’t start relying on that. She’s scared of Sam, Dalton. She won’t go against him in court.”
“Her testimony will help find him guilty and he’ll be sent to prison. She won’t have to worry about him then.”
“True, but she’ll have others to worry about. Namely, the whole Pullman bunch.” She rested her hands on her hips, wondering if she’d ever get through his thick skull that Pullman had no more honor than a deserter. “Junior Pullman isn’t going to allow anyone – male or female – to stand against him. If Willa tells a judge about how Sam beat her, Junior will make sure she pays for it. Willa knows it. I know it.” She flung out her arms from her sides. “Everyone in this whole county knows it except for you!”
“Miss Hollister is a brave soul and I think she’s ready to stand up for herself. When I spoke to her earlier today, she all but said she is working up the courage to accompany me to Topeka for Louder’s trial.”
Lacy’s teeth clicked together as she closed her mouth, stunned into silence for a few moments. “Your powers of persuasion are impressive, but I believe that Willa will make things worse for herself if she goes to Topeka. If she does, she’d better stay there. She won’t be safe here again.”
“Maybe she trusts me more than you do.” His voice took on an edge.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Dalton. I know your intentions are noble.”
He unclasped his hand and reached for her, catching her by the waist and hauling her against him. Looking up, she saw a discoloration on his cheek, right under the half-moon scar, and another fading bruise at the left corner of his mouth. “Looks like it was quite a fight to arrest Sam Louder again.”
“He didn’t give himself up,” he agreed with a quick smile. “But it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.”
She rested her fingertips lightly on the bruise marring his cheek. “Does it hurt?”
“That’s not what is hurting me right now.”
His insinuation made her tremble. She gripped his upper arms and felt the warmth of his skin leech through the soft material. The muscles under her hands tightened. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re foolhardy and as stubborn as a mule?”
His teeth flashed and then he pulled her deeper into the shadows, away from the kitchen door. “Just about everybody. All the damn time. Did anyone ever tell you that you’re beautiful and irresistible?”
“Just about every ma—.”
He didn’t let her finish as he brought her up onto her tiptoes and crushed his mouth to hers. His tongue breached her lips and surged into her mouth, stroking hers in a lusty caress that sent her senses reeling. She slid her hands up to his neck as one of his hands curved at her hip and the other cupped the back of her head. He kissed her with ferocity and mastery that made her moan with wonder and longing. His hot, open-mouthed kisses plucked and nipped at her lips and then trailed fire behind her ear, down the column of her throat, and then back to her mouth.
“I can’t keep away from you,” he whispered between kisses. “I can’t get you out of my blood, Lacy. Out of my mind.”
“Why would you want to?” She flung back her head to allow him to drop more kisses onto her throat as a deep quivering shook her core and made her feel achy and damp. The sounds emanating from her were tortured and yearning. Oh, she had needs! Needed, what? More. Just more. More of him. More of his hands on her and his mouth and tongue and murmured words that bordered on carnal and not what a lady should be hearing. He pulled her hips against him and she felt the hard evidence of his arousal. She moaned into his mouth and arched her body into him.
“You feel what you do to me?” he asked, staring down into her face as he splayed his long fingers along one side of her face and used is thumb to tip up her chin so that her eyes, when she finally opened them, stared into his. “Do you enjoy bringing me to the brink? Making me die a little inside because I can’t have all of you? Every silken inch of you?”
She fell into the dark pools and let herself drown in them. “I want you,” she whispered.
A slow smile curved his lips. “I know you do, but will you let me have you? Hmmm? Will you allow me to claim you? To make you quake under me? To let me inside you?”
She blinked slowly, hearing the questions, feeling the answers tingle on her tongue, and desperate to give him permission.
“Hey, Appolonia! You seen the marshal?”
Otis Gentry’s high-pitched voice made them both stiffen and blink away the fumes of desire.
“He went out to the stables a while ago,” Appolonia answered him.
“Thanks.”
With an inclination of his head and an expression of regret mixed liberally with bitter amusement, Dalton removed his hands from her and took a big step back. Lacy ran a hand down the front of her dress, amazed that she was fully clothed when she felt so naked, so vulnerable. When her uncle pushed the door open wider, the light from the kitchen illuminated her.
“Lacy, you shouldn’t be out here by yourself.” Otis looked frazzled, then concerned, and then aggravated when he spotted Dalton. “What you doing out here with my niece?”
“Were you looking for me, Deputy?” Dalton asked, pointedly ignoring his accusing questions.
“Uh, yeah.” Otis glared at him. “I come to tell you that a couple of fellas just found Willa Hollister dead out behind the cobbler’s shop. Her throat was cut.”
Chapter 8
Willa Hollister was buried on Saturday, the day after she was found murdered. Lacy and a dozen or so others attended the solemn, speedy funeral service. Dutch paid for a coffin and to have Willa interred in a graveyard outside of town. On Sunday, everyone in church talked of nothing but the brutality of Willa’s death. The preacher had prayed that Willa’s soul rested and that Jesus had welcomed this new lamb into Heaven. The undercurrent was that Willa was a sinner, but folks hoped the Good Lord would overlook that.
Lacy had felt nauseated with the hypocrisy surrounding her. Everyone breathing was a sinner! What about the men who drank and coupled with Willa? Was anyone concerned about their souls finding their way to Heaven? Not likely.
Dalton had been at the funeral and she’d spoken a few words to him, but other than that, she hadn’t sought him out, nor had he come calling. She spotted him around town, questioning people about Willa’s death. She’d heard that he’d scoured the area behind the cobbler’s for any clues left by the murderer. Uncle Otis said that he was obsessed with discovering who had killed Willa.
Of course, everyone knew who had done it. Or they’d narrowed it down. The murderer was someone from the Pullman Ranch. Probably Whit. Maybe Trey. Possibly Junior. They were the only ones who had a reason to murder Willa. They wanted to be sure that she didn’t go to Topeka to testify against Sam Louder.
Bobbie Sue stopped in front of the registration desk where Lacy was woolgathering instead of tallying the month’s guest room rent. “We’re completely out of bar soap.”
“How can that be?” Lacy asked, coming back to the present. “I checked a few days ago and there were four or five bars in the supply closet.”
“I think guests are stuffing them in their satchels and making off with them. I told you that putting those fancy French ones in the rooms was foolish.”
“You said that because you thought our guests wouldn’t know the difference between them and regular soap,” Lacy said. “Obviously, they know quality when they see it.”
“And they know how to steal quality when they can get away with it, too,” Bobbie Sue added with a wry lift of her brows.
“Well.” Lacy put away the ledger and grabbed her reticule. “I’ll go to the general store and purchase a few bars to tide us over until I decide if we should continue stocking the expensive bars.”
“I say we go with something in between,” Bobbie Sue suggested. “Something that smells good, but not so good that you can’t live without it.”
Lacy patted her arm and laughed. “You’re probably right.” Plucking her wide-brimmed, blue hat from the wall peg, she said, “I shouldn’t be too long. It all depends on how chatty Amelia is today.” Amelia Tankersly ran the mercantile with her husband John.
“No hurry. I’ve finished my other chores for the day, so I can stay here at the desk.”
Lacy walked the two blocks to the mercantile. The day was overcast and she could smell rain in the air. Gusts of wind billowed her skirt and stung her eyes. She smiled a thank-you to two men who were standing outside the store and opened the door for her to enter. Inside, she brushed down her skirt and smoothed wisps of her hair from her cheeks and the corners of her eyes.
“Good afternoon, Lacy,” John Tankersly greeted her from behind a long counter. Several other men stood there, probably passing the time with town gossip. “How can I help you?”
“I’m here to buy soap,” she said, already moving to the area of the large room where such items were shelved. “We’re fresh out at the hotel. I’ll help myself.” She examined the choices of two kinds of soap. One had no scent and the other was rose scented. She selected six scented ones, finding them a good in-between and not nearly as expensive as the imported ones.
“Hey there, Marshal! What can I do for you today?”
John Tankersly’s greeting made Lacy freeze. Standing like a statue and barely breathing, she looked toward the front of the store, glimpsing Dalton in a space between the shelves. His back was to her and a frisson of something tantalizing zipped through her at the sight of him. He looked so tall and trim in his dark trousers, white shirt, and black vest. He held his hat and ran a hand through his curling hair. She remembered the soft texture of it. She loved burying her fingers in it when he kissed her. Yanking her mind away from those memories, she gave a little shake of her head to clear it.
“I’m making the rounds one more time to be sure that you don’t recall hearing or seeing anything out of the ordinary on the night Miss Hollister was murdered.”
“Like I said, we closed up and went straight home,” John told him. “I sure wish I could help you find the no-good piece of dung who killed that poor lady, but I can’t.”
“What about you men?” Dalton asked, addressing the three standing near him. They muttered denials and gave large shrugs. “Okay, then. Well, thank you. If you recall anything – anything at all – let me know.”
Feeling silly for hiding from him, Lacy walked to the front counter and laid her soap purchases on it. From the corner of her eye, she saw Dalton head for the door, see her, and then stop and turn back.
“I’ll take these,” she told John. “Could you put them on the hotel’s bill, please?”
“Sure will, Lacy.” John wrapped them in brown paper and handed them to her. “Always good to see you.”
“Tell Amelia hello for me, will you?”
“I surely will. She’s home doing laundry this morning. She’ll be sorry to have missed you.”
Lacy picked up the package and moved toward Dalton and the front door. “Hello, Marshal.”
He’d put his hat back on and touched the brim. “Miss Tyrell.” He fell into step with her. “Going back to the hotel?”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t seen you since . . . well, since the funeral.”
“You’ve located no eye witnesses to Willa’s murder, I take it.”
“No.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “Do you have any thoughts about who might have killed her, Lacy?”
She cut him a glare that bordered on rancor. The bruises on his face were barely noticeable now. “I imagine I have the same thoughts on that as everyone else. It was a man. It’s always a man doing such vile things. And he snuffed out her life so that she wouldn’t cause him any further problems. Obviously, your talk about how she might go to Topeka with you and testify against Sam Louder hit its mark and Willa Hollister died because of it.” She realized that he’d stopped and that she was several steps ahead of him. She looked back at him. He frowned at her and his black, slashing brows dipped low over his eyes. Taking two long strides, he closed the small distance between them.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d just accused me of being an accomplice to Miss Hollister’s murder.”
The horror of Willa’s demise and the probable reason behind it cracked through her like a bolt of white lightning. Bristling, she unloaded, releasing the torrent of emotion that had been building in her. “I’m angry at the loss of Willa’s life and that no one will answer for it,” she snapped. “I’m sick of you men roughriding over us women and getting away with it.”
“Hey, don’t lump me in with those men. I’m determined to bring someone to justice for this.”
“We’ll see how far your determination gets you, but forgive me if I won’t hold out much hope,” she said, keeping her voice low so as not to draw attention to them. “When it comes to men being held responsible for debasing women, I’ve run out of it.” She whirled and marched to the hotel entrance. As she stepped inside, she realized that Dalton was right behind her. He hooked his hand around her elbow and jerked her to a stop. She threw him a quizzical, if not challenging, glare, noting that his lips had thinned and a muscle pulsed in his jawline. Oh! He was furious. And she was instantly contrite.
“You listen to me. Miss Hollister was brave and I would have respected her decision on testifying or not, no matter what,” he almost growled at her between clenched teeth. “B
ut you need to make up your mind. Either you want justice or you don’t. Justice, like all worthy things, comes at a price, Lacy.”
She sucked in a breath, stunned that he’d berate her in public. Glancing around, she saw that Bobbie Sue and Agnes, along with a couple of restaurant guests, had paused to gape at them. Mortified and feeling her face flame like a lit match, she motioned for Dalton to follow her. She stalked through the lobby and the guest parlor to the tall, black lacquered, Chinese panels that separated the parlor from the door to her living quarters. She ducked around them for a modicum of privacy. Dalton joined her, obviously still fuming by the expression on his face.
“Don’t speak to me like that in front of others,” she hissed, then planted her hands on her hips in frustration when he rolled his eyes. “Your mother raised you better than that, Dalton Moon. I’m sorry I implied . . . Anyway, I’m upset about Willa. I’m not accusing you of anything like murder! But you know as well as I do that she was killed to shut her up.”
He inhaled deeply, expanding his chest so that the buttons on his shirt strained. “Do you understand why Pullman has this town in the palm of his hand, Lacy? It’s because the townspeople, including you, have allowed it.” He spoke slowly as if he were reining himself in. “I’m here to make Far Creek a nice place for people to live and maybe even a good spot for the railroad to place a depot or terminus. I can’t do that by saying ‘pretty please’ to Pullman.”
“I know that!” she argued, angling closer until she could see the black line circling his darker brown eyes. And she saw something else. Compassion. Her heart softened more toward him. “It pains me that someone like Willa has become a casualty, that’s all.”
“It pains me, too.” He spread his hand across his chest, over his heart. The gesture touched her. “That’s why I’m going to roust out the rabid dog who killed her. Mark my words. He. Will. Pay.”