Lawless Love (Lawmen and Outlaws) (2 page)

“Horse threw ya, huh?”

“Yeah. Crossing the river.” He flipped another poster over and focused on the next one.

“Funny your shirt didn’t get wet.”

“Didn’t go in that deep.” He turned another page with intense studiousness. “Look, whoever it was, I was on his trail until about five miles back from the river, then the tracks went cold. All I have to go on is he was young, fair and—”

“You said all that, Marshal. And I can tell you, there ain’t no one fittin’ that description round here, nor no one in those posters neither. And those posters go a coupla years back to ’82 and ’83. Someone young and fair-haired don’t make a whole lot of evidence in my book. Horse coulda been running wild, and he lassoed it in.”

“Coulda been. But then why wouldn’t he stop and ask to see whose it might be?”

“No idea. But I can tell ya, ain’t no one ’round here like that. Not any man I couldn’t account for, anyway. Some young ’uns, perhaps, but none of them are horse thieves. Or killers.”

“How do you know?”

“’Cause I know. I know every dang family hereabouts, and I know who’s good and who’s not so good. We got some real fine families here and no horse thieves.” Brady sat back and yawned. “You got a place to stay tonight? Barbershop’s down the street, and you can get yourself a hot bath before you settle.”

Dylan shuffled the Wanted posters and sat back. The sheriff’s suppertime was probably near, and the man wouldn’t want him, smelling like he did, at his table. “Hot bath sounds good, but I better get me a place for the night. Anywhere in town you can recommend?”

“Saloon does rooms—”

“Too noisy. No hotel?”

“There’s the Everhart’s boarding house a short spit out of town. They may have a room.”

A picture of some old, gray-haired spinster ran through Dylan’s mind. Clean rooms, quiet like the grave, a home-cooked meal. Decent comfort. “Sounds good to me.”

****

“You!”

“You!”

Lacey retreated behind the door. Her gun belt hung on a hook nearby, and at the sight of the marshal, her hand automatically felt for it. But shooting a U.S. Marshal wasn’t a good idea, not at least, until she discovered what he wanted. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“What exactly is it you want now? And how did you find me?”

“What I want is a room for the night—”

“You must be joshin’—”

“And a meal. Sheriff said this is a boarding house. Sign outside says ‘room available.’ Guess I’ve come to the right place.” Dylan’s jaw clenched, and he tapped his foot a moment.

“There’s no room.” Lacey tried staring him down, but it didn’t work. Every time she looked into the marshal’s eyes, she had the most uncomfortable feeling that she’d forgotten to dress. And she had other uncomfortable feelings, too. She took a step back. Unfortunately, Dylan saw it as an invitation to step forward. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

“To see my room, where else?”

“I just said—”

“I know what you said. And I know what the sign says.” He locked eyes with her and took in a deep breath. “And I need a hot bath.”

“I’ll say. I think you might recall where the river is.” A smell like rotting weed wafted off him.

“What’s the matter? Your husband can’t protect you from me?”

“My hus…? I haven’t got a blamed husband, and… What exactly is it you want, Marshal?”

“Like I said—a room and a bath and a meal. It’s been a long day.” Dylan placed a hand up on the wall, locking Lacey between him and a convenient hat rack behind her. He turned his head and eyed the gun belt, then turned back to her. “I guess you’re used to protecting yourself?”

“Myself. And my brother.” She made a point of saying
brother.
Silence fell between them for a moment as they ogled each other. “You’re not going to leave, are you?” Lacey sighed.

“No, ma’am.” His body shifted slightly, and she could feel his breath on her cheek, the Chinook come in to melt winter’s ice.

Lacey shook her head slightly, disappointed with her susceptibility to the dang man. “Room’s at the top of the steps on the right. You can put your horse to graze in the pasture, and there’s feed in the barn. I’ll put some water to heat for your bath. There’s a washhouse out back.” She turned to go, then looked back at him. “And maybe I’ll just sit and watch you bathe and see how you like it!”

And get another look at them muscles I caught sight of back at the river
.

But she didn’t watch him. Lacey busied herself in the kitchen listening to the male sounds—the squeak of the bed as he tried it out, the clink as he dropped his spurs on the floor, and the heavy footsteps that made their way down the stairs and out the back before the humming started.

Her brother never hummed any more. The last few weeks Luke had been sullen and taciturn, moving round the house like a shadow. He had come to dislike Morgan—she hadn’t liked Frank Morgan calling round herself, but that was over, and they needed to get on with their lives. She peeked at the roast in the oven and wondered what Luke would make of the marshal. She needed to warn Luke, but there was no way now. Just thirteen, he would be home in a day or so after his work at one of the ranches over by Twin Pines. Home…and with the marshal.

Lacey slammed the oven door shut and straightened to her full height, aware of the marshal’s long frame filling the doorway, his hand up on the door, clean clothes and not a straggly whisker in sight. His light brown hair was still long, but washed, and pushed back off his face to reveal a strong chin and rugged good looks that made a gal feel safe and cared for.

He visibly took in a deep breath, aromas of rosemary and baking potatoes and gravy filling the air. “Smells good.” His voice was low, the contrary and truculent notes gone now.

Lacey sighed. “Seems like you’re having your wish. We’re eating dinner together after all.”

Dylan stepped into the room. “No other boarders?”

“I’ve only got two spare rooms. I don’t rent my brother’s.”

“He’s not coming home?”

“Not tonight.” Lacey gazed at the floor and bit her lip. Townspeople considered it indecent for her to be running the boarding house on her own, but it was the only way to keep her head above water. Ha! That’s a good one, all things considered. “How long you plannin’ on stayin’, Marshal?”

“Dylan. Name’s Dylan Kane. No idea, depends on whether I can find the man I’m hunting.”

Lacey turned back to start podding peas. “What’d he do?”

“Killed a man.” Lacey’s head shot up as her glance met Dylan’s.

His eyes narrowed fo
r a moment. “Shot him between the eyes close range. Stole his horse. A real killer on the loose.”

Lacey retrieved a cast iron pot and pumped water into it before throwing in the peas. She brushed against him as she carried the pot to place on the range.

“You need help?”

“No, thank you.”

“You haven’t told me your name yet. I know your last name is Everhart.”

“Lacey.”

Dylan looked at the angelic face, the long blond locks pulled back into a bun, and the eyes like moss after spring rain. Her dress showed off the curves he had seen and the neat, little waist to go with them. He gulped a breath. “Well, Lacey Everhart. Pleased to meet you.”

But was she pleased to meet him? After all that had happened at the river, he thought not.

They ate the meal with quiet conversation, and Dylan asked for seconds. “I like you better in a dress,” he said suddenly. “I’ve never seen a woman wear pants before.”

“I wear them when I have to ride over to the ranch where my brother works. It’s just easier. I’m used to them now. When we came west, I wore pants to disguise myself so men wouldn’t be after me. Luke was too young to protect me, so that way, we looked like brothers.”

“When was that? Where did you come from?”

“Tennessee.” She played with her food a moment, then popped in a mouthful. “Mother died of a fever shortly after Luke was born. Then my father up and died.” She laid her fork down and looked across at him. His brow creased as he waited for her to continue. Lacey’s mood changed. “You want the whole sorry tale, or can I stop?”

Dylan’s fork hung in mid-air as he watched her features change. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” The food went in his mouth and was met with slow chewing as quiet again filled the room.

Lacey liked the way he had a man’s appetite—no doubt for more than food—and there was a certain comfort in his presence she couldn’t explain. She knew he was waiting for her to continue. She pushed back from the table then thought better of it. “There’s not that much more to tell. I was seventeen, and my brother was six. Mama’d lost sev’ral babies twixt Luke and me. She said I was tough enough to survive most anywheres—as was Luke. Anyway, with the folks gone, I found work in a hotel kitchen for a room and food, but when the hotel manager got some strange ideas about visiting our room, we moved on. Like I said, I disguised myself as a boy for a while, when we hitched a train west. The nesters showed us kindness when we got here, gave us odd jobs, a place in the barn, and food at their table. When I turned twenty-one, I could file for a homestead, but we couldn’t make a go of it. I signed the land over with its water rights to a wealthy rancher and had enough to take on this place. Not paid for yet, of course, but we’ve a roof over our heads for now.” She waited for Dylan to comment, but he just continued with his meal. “You up from Cheyenne?”

He nodded. “I got a wire from the sheriff over in Lewiston. ’Course, by the time I got up here and started tracking, trail’s gone cold. And no one seems to have liked the man who died.”

Lacey hesitated. “Who was he?”

“Rancher. Owned a big spread. Only thing we know is someone found him dead, reported it, and no horse to be seen. Someone said they saw a young kid riding with it.”

Lacey put her knife and fork on her plate and started to clear the dishes. “Well, how do you know the horse didn’t just run off and this kid found it, was bringing it in?”

“Could be, but I doubt it. The boy was riding through town, not stopping. Lewiston sheriff said when he went to investigate there were signs of a struggle, bit of cloth caught on a bush, things scattered about.”

“Well, that don’t prove the person who got the horse was the same one as shot him.”

“No, but it’s the only lead I got. Got to at least question this boy. If I can find him.” He stood to help her clear, walking behind her to the pump. “You know a man named Morgan?” he said to her back.

Lacey’s hand shook as she put the dishes in the wash pan and slowly turned to face him. “Everyone here knows Morgan. He holds the mortgage on this house.”

“Well. Not anymore he doesn’t. Not anymore.” His hand went gently to her shoulder before he lifted her chin so she looked at him. “You all right?”

“I…I’m just wondering who will own it now, who his heirs will be. Who I’ll have to pay.” She moved toward the larder, but he clasped her shoulder. “I’ve made pie…”

Dylan leaned his head toward the girl, his lips brushing Lacey’s before they settled like a butterfly on a quavering leaf.

She didn’t push him away, but she didn’t respond either.

“Sorry.” He lifted his head suddenly, his eyes narrowing as he took in a sharp breath. “Sorry.”

Lacey hesitated before moving to get the pie. In silence, she removed it from the larder, brought it to her worktop, and uncovered it, aware his gaze followed her every move.

Dylan returned to the dining table and pulled out his chair. The perfume of the apples wafted in the air, and Lacey got a tray with cream and sugar and brought it to him.

“Sorry,” he repeated once more. “There’s a right way to behave and a wrong way, black and white. I’ve always believed that. It’s the law by which I live.”

Under his watchful gaze, she guided the knife into the pie and slid out a piece.

“It won’t happen again,” he assured her.

****

As night whispered about him and he watched the curtains billow before they were sucked out into the silver light of the moon, Dylan lay imagining what it would be like to hold Lacey in that nocturnal quiet. But women, he knew, weren’t keen on being courted by lawmen, and he hadn’t had much success in that quarter. The bright-eyed and lively schoolmarm back home had made her views known before he’d even gotten a toe in her door. And the shopkeeper at the mercantile had denied Dylan’s request to walk out with his daughter, spouting the words, “I won’t have my girl a
widder
with a babe.” Dylan sighed. He had a job to do, a job he knew he did well. But sometimes he just hankered for a home life as well.

Somewhere an owl hooted, and a horse responded with a sleepy nicker, but that wasn’t keeping him awake. He recalled his happy home-life as a child, two parents who’d loved him, brothers and sisters to play with, a feeling of safety and comfort. He’d learned from the start to follow the straight and narrow, that there were good men and bad, and a clear line existed between the two. His parents weren’t particularly religious; they just made sure he understood right from wrong, and that nothing was to be gained from wrongdoing. And that was how he lived. What could it have been like for Lacey and her brother when her parents died? Who had been there to guide the young pair?