Christine Dorsey (20 page)

The blacksmith shop was empty, and Samantha searched out back to find Linc Jones the Smithy. After looking at the wheel, he assured Samantha he could fix it. And that it wouldn’t take very long.

Which gave her time to see about hiring Farley. Samantha knew he kept a room over the newspaper office, but after walking there and climbing the rickety stairs, no one answered her knock. Inquiring downstairs didn’t help either.

“We don’t see much of Jim here,” Walt Doolittle, the paper’s editor, informed her. “He’s not much of a reader.” This comment set off a guffaw from Walt’s assistant, as Samantha expressed her thanks and headed back outside.

The saloons seemed the next logical place to look, but Samantha didn’t like the idea. Still she and Will needed the help. Taking a steadying breath, she pushed open the door of the one closest to the newspaper office.

The few patrons glanced up, but none of them was Jim Farley, so Samantha moved on. She tried two other establishments, each time with no success. Samantha wiped the back of her hand across her brow. She was hot and tired, and prickles of hair escaped the tight bun at her nape, making her feel more uncomfortable. A drink of water would taste wonderful, but Samantha wasn’t about to ask for one in a saloon, and she wasn’t in the mood to visit with any of the townspeople she knew, much less return to Peggy Keane’s house.

Instead she trudged up the street toward another saloon. She doubted Jim was there. It was considered by the townspeople as the best of the lot. The place was frequented by the town’s more respectable people. And Jim Farley wasn’t in that category. But who knew what he might do. Maybe he’d wandered into it by mistake.

Passing the hotel, Samantha noted that Sheriff Hughes no longer thought it necessary to hold up the building by leaning on it. She wasn’t interested enough to speculate on where he might be, but as she walked by his office, he surprised her by stepping out the door.

“Miss Lowery,” he called when she continued past him. “I need to speak with you a minute.”

“I’m looking for Jim Farley,” Samantha gave as an excuse for not engaging in any discussion with the sheriff. She never forgave him for his reaction when her father died.

“Haven’t seen him.” Ralph Hughes’s mouth quirked with irritation. “But I want you to come in here.”

“I really don’t see—” Samantha tried to jerk her arm away from the sheriff’s hold as he propelled her through the doorway.

“Do you know this man?”

“Sheriff, I—” Samantha’s protest died on her lips. Her eyes may not have adjusted to the dim light in the dingy office, but she’d recognize the form, the height, and the broad shoulders anywhere. “What are
you
doing here?”

“I’m charmed to see you again, too,” Jake said sarcastically. It had been a long day, and it wasn’t even close to over. And now he’d broken his own newly formed rule about minding his own business—and apparently for nothing.

“Can I take that as a yes?” Hughes rested his considerable girth against the paper-littered desk.

Samantha tore her eyes away from Jake. She wasn’t prepared for the consuming emotions that engulfed her. “Yes, I know him.”

“Well, he rode in here today, telling me some disturbing things about you, Miss Lowery.”

Her gaze flew back to meet Jake’s, but his expression was unreadable. There was only one disturbing thing he could have told the sheriff, and she should have expected it. The fact that she hadn’t—had almost forgotten the extent of their differences made his betrayal seem worse. “You bastard,” was all she could say before turning away. She missed the questioning lift of Jake’s brow.

“Now see here, missy. I won’t have talk like that in my office and certainly not from some snip of a—”

“I don’t know what he told you,” Samantha said, swirling around. “But I shot him in self-defense. At least I thought it was self-defense at the time.” The low chuckle to her side made Samantha toss a look over her shoulder. “Well, I did,” she insisted, scowling at Jake’s amused grin.

“Hold on. Did this woman shoot you?”

Samantha heard the question the sheriff addressed to Jake but didn’t understand what was going on, any more than she understood Jake’s shrugging answer. “If she says so.”

Both men were staring at her now, and Samantha felt color flood her already flushed cheeks. “Isn’t that what he told you,” she asked though she already knew the answer.

“I don’t know nothing about no shooting, but I’ll be asking Mr. Morgan here if he wants to press charges.” Hughes emphasized these words by crossing arms over his barrel chest. “This Morgan fellow came in here today telling me you was in danger and that I should go out and arrest Bundy Atwood.”

“Bundy Atwood.” Samantha didn’t know what to think. She looked from one man to the other, but neither of their expressions was telling her anything. Jake no longer appeared amused. A vertical line creased between his brows, and his sensual mouth was firm.

“Told him that was ridiculous, what with you and him being sweet on each other.” Hughes’s tone conveyed his wonderment at Bundy’s taste. “But then I guess the war does change things, especially being the way you are. But murder? I can’t buy that.”

The way she was? What did he mean by that? Samantha pursed her lips. What did she care? But murder? She knew Atwood might be capable of it, certainly, but would he murder her? “I don’t understand.”

“I ran into one of Atwood’s friends this morning,” Jake mentioned matter-of-factly.

“After you left the farm?” Oh, why did she bring that up? Jake’s eyes shone vivid green as they bore into hers. He knew she would be thinking about last night.

“Yes. After I left the farm.” Jake cleared his throat. “Anyway, he started talking and said that Atwood planned to kill you.”

“Just like that he told you this.” Maybe she was right about his association with Landis Moore’s men. Certainly no one went around bragging of murder to a stranger.

“He took me for a friend because of my uniform.”

“It was Ab Landis,” Hughes said in disgust. “Ab Landis.”

“But he’s...”

“An idiot,” Hughes spit the words out.

“Slow-witted,” Jake corrected. “Look.” Jake forced air out his mouth. “He told me what Atwood planned for you. I thought the sheriff should hear about it so I let him know.”

“And I’m just going to forget about it,” Hughes said, pushing away from the desk. “Now are you going to do something about this shooting thing or not?”

“No.” Jake headed for the door, yanking it open and disappearing into the sunlight.

All Samantha could do was watch him leave.

“Now listen here, young lady, I don’t want any more trouble from you.”

“From
me
?” Samantha’s expression was incredulous as she looked at the sheriff. “What about Atwood and Moore?”

“What about them. Don’t tell me you’re taking stock in something old Ab said.” Samantha didn’t answer and Hughes continued, “Even you should know he doesn’t have a brain in his head.”

“You know as well as I do that’s not what I’m talking about.” Samantha turned on him, hands on hips. “My farm was shot up a few weeks ago.”

“I heard and I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? That’s all you can say. You’re sorry?” Samantha sighed in disgust. “Moore did it.”

“Did you see him?”

“No. But—”

“Recognize anyone?”

“No! They wore scarves over their faces.”

“Then I’m afraid you’re just going around accusing people without call, like you always done. You better watch that, Samantha. You hear me, girl?”

But Samantha was already out the door, stomping down the boardwalk toward the smithy. She should have known better than to waste her breath on Hughes. She should have learned that lesson long ago.

No one was going to help her. She thought briefly of Jake Morgan going to the sheriff. After his insistence that he wasn’t going to get involved, it surprised her. Of course, it did no good. And he certainly left quickly enough when he realized it.

Well, she’d take care of Will, and the farm, and herself!

Samantha was so deep in thought that she didn’t notice the hand that shot out of the alley. It grabbed her arm and yanked her between the two buildings before she could utter more than a strangled cry.

“O
uch! Damnit. Watch your elbow!”

Samantha gasped and stopped in mid-kick. She knew that voice. Twisting around, she watched wide-eyed as Jake rubbed the area around his wound.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” Jake flexed his muscles, grimacing as pain shot through his chest.

Samantha took a step toward him, then backed off, smothering her instinct to tend to him. “I meant, why did you pull me in here? You scared me to death.”

“You should be scared.” At her confused expression, Jake sighed deeply. His hands rested on his hips. “I want to talk to you.”

“You want to...” Samantha threw up her hands in disbelief. “So you drag me off the street? Did you think I’d refuse to speak with you any other way?” Samantha tried pushing thoughts of last night, of what they’d done, from her mind. They resurfaced anyway. Knowing no other way to escape her disturbing emotions, she turned on her heel and headed back toward the street.

A strong arm crossing in front of her chest stopped her. With no semblance of dignity she was flattened against the side of Horace Matthew’s mercantile. “I want to talk to you without anyone else knowing.” Jake gritted the words between clenched teeth.

He had her undivided attention now. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and blue eyes seemed to take up half her face. Jake watched the tiny pulse in the hollow at the base of her neck. Slowly he lowered his arm, sucking in his own breath when his forearm brushed her breasts.

“Listen,” he said, his voice husky. Jake stepped away from her and cleared his throat. “What I said back at the sheriff’s office was true. Now, I know you put no stock in what Ab Landis has to say,” Jake hurried on when she seemed about to interrupt him. “But I was there, and I believe him. He may not have understood everything he was saying, but he was repeating what he heard. And that was that. Bundy Atwood plans to kill you.” Jake paused. He wasn’t certain how much he should tell her. Finally he continued, “And he doesn’t plan to do it in a very pleasant way.”

“I know.” Samantha leaned back against the building.

“You know?” Jake forced himself to keep his voice down.

“Well, I don’t actually
know
what he plans, but I’ve been around him, and I’ve seen what Landis Moore is capable of, so—”

“So what are you going to do?”

Samantha sighed. “The only thing I can do. I’m going to go get my wheel, and go home and harvest my corn, and—”

“Are you crazy? No, don’t answer that. I already know the answer.” Jake shoved back his hat in disgust.

“I’m leaving now.” Samantha straightened her skirt.

“At least go back to the sheriff and—”

“He didn’t believe you, and he’s even less likely to believe me. The sheriff and I...” Samantha hesitated, deciding how much to tell Jake. She finally decided he didn’t really want to know any of it. “Let’s just say Sheriff Hughes and I have tangled before. And it does no good.” Samantha started toward the street then stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Thank you for the warning.”

Samantha hurried toward the smithy. Her wheel was fixed, and she paid for it and watched as Linc tied it to Pru.

“That should do you, Samantha,” Linc said, giving the mule a friendly pat on the rump.

“Thank you.” Linc Jones had been in Kansas almost as long as Samantha’s family. He wasn’t an abolitionist, and hadn’t come to help the territory enter the Union as a free state. To be honest, he’d abhorred some of the methods used by the free-soilers. But neither had he ever been a proponent of slavery. He’d pretty much remained neutral during the bloody years of ’56 and ’57, and through the long years of war.

But he knew everyone, and most everyone in town or the surrounding farms needed his services at one time or another.

Samantha gathered up Pru’s reins. “I heard the Colts sold out and moved back East.”

“Yea, Zeb Colt had me do some work on his wagon before he left.”

“It’s kind of surprising, isn’t it?”

“In what way?” Line started back toward the open door of the smithy.

“Well, they’ve been here so long.” Samantha shrugged. “And endured so much. You’d think they’d stay.”

“I don’t know.” Linc leaned against the door. “Zeb said Suzanne had had all of Kansas she could take. You know she’d had a bad experience with some ruffians.”

“Border ruffians?” Samantha stepped forward.

“Aw, I don’t think there’s any of them still around. Nah, these were just some rough men.” Linc pushed away from the door. “Guess that had something to do with their decision.” He shook his head. “You be careful out there at your farm, Samantha.”

Careful, indeed.

Samantha could think of little else as she made her way home. It was slow going. Pru wasn’t inclined to move quickly—Samantha guessed she took exception to the wheel bouncing against her side.

But the thing that made the trip seem so long was the fear Samantha experienced. She’d been afraid before—lately it seemed more times than not. But this was far worse. Several times she had a prickling feeling that she was being followed. But when she looked around, no one was there.