The Lady and the Lawman (14 page)

“
So
a future husband is going to be wondering where you are.” He acted
as if he had breakfast with women who were mail-order brides all the
time.

She
felt guilty about the man who’d written the advertisement. “He
sounded honest, decent enough. When the stage passes through
Sacramento in about a week, you’re right, he’s going to be one
disappointed gold digger. I sent a letter back to him, but it’s
possible the note didn’t reach him. Maybe in all this time, he's
found someone else even.”

“
It’s
certainly possible,” he repeated. “You seem somewhat of a
reluctant bride. You’re pretty and seem very nice. I’d bet men
were pestering your father day in and day out for your hand in
marriage instead of traveling across the country to marry a complete
stranger.”

She
pursed her lips. If the man only knew. “Quite the opposite, in
fact. My parents are both dead.”

“
I’m
mighty sorry to hear that.”

She
smiled at his kind words, although without any feeling. She’d never
really known her mother, since she died when she was two. Her father,
however, had been a tyrant and ruled over her every breath, her every
move up until the day he died. Sad to say, she didn’t miss the old
man at all. “Thank you.”

“
Enough
of the questions.” He stood and put his plate in the sink next to
the pump. “Let’s check on our patient.”

***

“
Awake,
are you?” Tom asked Grant, who struggled to sit up in bed. “Oh,
no you don’t. Don't be a pain in the a...backside.” Tom darted a
glance at Maggie, standing in the doorway.

Grant
had things to do and he wasn’t going to waste time stuck in bed
like a little old lady with bad humors. The sun was high in the sky
and he had responsibilities. As sheriff of Cranston, he had people to
protect. “Damn, Tom, since when did you turn into Ma?”

“
Since
you decided to get yourself shot.” Tom pushed on Grant’s
shoulder. “Now lie back.”

Grant
glanced at Maggie. She looked worried, but he didn’t keep his eyes
fixed on her face for long. His gaze raked over her body. She wore
Amy’s riding pants and shirt and he certainly didn’t remember
their revealing qualities before. Her round hips were outlined snugly
in soft cotton, tapering to long, shapely legs. He remembered the
feel of her pressed intimately against him most of the night in the
saddle. With the way his body was reacting to her, it appeared the
gunshot hadn't affected all of him.

“
Hello,
Maggie.” Was that a squeak he heard in his voice?

Their
gazes met. Held. Her eyes were dark, fringed with even darker lashes.
His desire shot off like Fourth of July fireworks. He looked lower
once again. It couldn’t be helped. Her shirt was so snug against
her firm breasts, he was sure one deep breath would pop the buttons
free. After last night, when he’d seen the perfectly round globes
and their tight rosy tips, she practically asked for him to stare.

“
I
hope it’s all right I wear your sister’s things,” she said, her
voice soft.

If
he told her his thoughts were not the least bit brotherly, she would
have bolted from the room like a skittish mare.

“
Are...”
She cleared her throat. “Are you feeling better? You had me so
worried.” After finally entering the room, she sat down on the bed
by his feet, her light weight barely making the bed creak.

This
wasn’t what he had in mind when he vowed to get her back in bed.
Not with a bum leg, Maggie wearing his sister’s clothing, hell, any
clothing at all, and a chaperone.

Forcing
a smile, he replied, “I’m fi
ne.”
He
tried to reassure her, and himself. “If only Tom could see that and
let me up,” he added crankily.

“
I
think Tom’s right. He pulled the bullet out this morning and your
leg must be hurting you terribly.”

Thanks
for the reminder.
His leg ached as if a hot poker had been taken to it. Trying not to
focus on his wound, he took Maggie’s hand. “Not too bad.”

“
Your
coloring is still a little off, big brother.”

Grant
ground his teeth. “Fine, fine, I’ll stay in bed.” There was no
chance he could move from his resting place anyway. His leg wouldn’t
be able to support him and he’d look even more the fool. He looked
at her. It couldn't hurt to get in her good graces, then maybe,
sometime soon, under her skirts. “If that’s what you want.”

She
smiled, big and brilliant, and nodded.

“
All
right, then.” Maybe she would stay and comfort him. He imagined her
lush body lying on top of him, his hand caressing over her backside
so perfectly outlined in the snug pants.

“
Good,”
Tom said. “I’m going to show Maggie around while it’s still
light. You get some rest.”

“
But...”
This wasn't what he had in mind. He needed tending, coddling. By a
beautiful woman with the perfect body.

She
gave his hand one last squeeze before she stood. She followed Tom out
of the room but turned in the doorway. “Bye.” She smiled again
and was gone.

Damn,
he was stuck in bed while Tom and Maggie went off gallivanting across
the countryside. Leaving him alone. He might as well be dead with the
attention they were giving him. Besides the pain in his leg, the new
throb in his groin was a reminder that he most certainly was alive.
And without a woman to make it all better

***

Over
the next week, Grant’s mood only darkened. He’d see Tom and
Maggie for snatches of time during the day, and when he did, they
were like two peas in a pod. Their friendship was quick, and from
what Grant could tell from his horizontal vantage point, quite close.
Too close.

Mealtimes
were the highlight of his day. Their company broke the boredom, the
monotony of his recuperation. He’d counted the number of cracks in
the ceiling seven times and was sure the room was actually getting
smaller.

Worst
of all, he could hear her laugh drift up the narrow steps from the
kitchen. Tom brought her out of her shell and it seemed the two of
them were having a grand old time while he was stuck in bed. Alone.
It would be quite different if he'd had some company. Preferably
naked and beneath him.

Sure,
he’d tried several times to get up and join them. The first time
he’d made it to the side of the bed, stood up, then fell promptly
to the hard floor when his injured leg gave out underneath him.
They'd come running, both clucking their tongues like mother hens as
if he were five. Embarrassed and scolded soundly, it took another day
to build up enough courage for the next attempt.

The
second time, he’d made it all the way to the door before the room
started to spin. The pain in his leg was so great that he thought he
might pass out. White spots dotted his vision and sweat poured from
his face. Fortunately, neither of his keepers had been nearby to hear
him hobble across the floor and fall back into bed with a loud groan.

He’d
given up after that. Resigned to his lonely fate, he was forced to
listen to all the fun they were having. Without him. He was supposed
to be the one making her laugh. He was supposed to be the one alone
with her. She was his, not Tom’s. Damn his brother to hell.

An
hour later, she came in with a tray. Dinner. He was more than ready
to eat. Using his hands to push himself up, he grumbled, “It’s
about time! I’m starved.” He knew his tone was ornery, but he
couldn’t help it. Not seeing anything but these four walls for days
on end was turning his brain to mush.

“
Your
manners are certainly in need of work,” she replied tartly.

He
just grunted as he ate forkfuls of delicious pot roast as she kept
him company. Finishing off the last of his meal, Tom came in to join
them.

“
It
appears we’re going to be having a wedding.”

Lifting
his glass to his lips, he swallowed a cool sip of water. “Oh? Billy
finally asked Ellen Saxby? Good for him.”

“
No,
it’s not Billy.” Tom paused and looked to Maggie. “Maggie and I
are going to marry.”

Grant’s
fork clattered to the tray, all but forgetting to chew the last piece
of pie he’d just put in his mouth. “What?” Swallowing, he tried
to clear the dessert now lodged in his throat. Did he hear correctly?
He knew he’d been recuperating for what felt like weeks, not days,
but there was no way these two had fallen in love in that short time.

“
Tom
and I are to be married,” Maggie repeated.

Grant
looked between the two. Both of them must have hit their heads. “I
heard you the first time,” he grumbled, pushing the tray away from
him. “Have you lost your minds? You’ve only known each other a
few days.” They stood feet apart, Maggie’s eyes darted between
Tom, Grant and the floor. She appeared nervous. Anxious. Tom, on the
other hand, looked very relaxed. But definitely not in love. There
was no way.

“
Would
you mind filling me in on what’s been going on around here? If you
haven’t noticed, I’ve missed quite a bit with being shot in the
leg and all.” Grant’s voice sounded cranky, even to his own ears.
How dare Tom marry Maggie! She belonged to him.

“
I’m
engaged,” Maggie said.

Was
he losing his mind all over again? “Yes, Tom just said that.”

“
No,
not to Tom. To a man named William Hunt.” She paused. “And a man
named Abel Hornby.”

Yes,
he was definitely losing his mind. She was serious. Somehow. Grant
ran his fingers through his hair. “You’re engaged to two men? Do
they know?”

“
No.”

“
So
now, with Tom, you’re engaged to three men. I think there must be
some kind of law about this. When I get back to my office, I’ll
have to look it up.”

She
blushed and looked at the floor.

To
his own ears, Grant sounded harsh, temperamental. She was engaged to
three men, and not one of them was him. He was angry, and jealous.

“
If
you’ve got two willing men, why are you marrying Tom?”

“
William
wants my money, not me. His plan was to marry me, then kill me in
some kind of freak accident, then remain married to my money. Abel
Hornby wrote an advertisement for a mail-order bride, and I only
responded as an escape from William and possible death.”

“
What?”
His head was starting to ache as much as his leg. “Would someone
please tell me what the hell is going on?”

Tom
sat down on the bed, the springs squeaking under his added weight. He
looked directly at Maggie as he spoke, “Mind if I tell?” Maggie
shook her head, so he continued. “Maggie ran away from home—”

“
What
do you mean ran away from home? You’re a little old for those
antics, aren’t you?”

She
blushed again, but lifted her chin and eyed him coldly. “Like I
said before, William wants my money, not me.”

“
Money?
How much money could you have that someone would want to kill you
for?”

“
My
father was John Atwater, founder of Atwater Ironworks. I’m assuming
you’ve heard of it.” She practically looked down her nose at him.
Spunk. The woman had spunk, and at the moment, had a stick rammed up
her backside like fancy easterners.

Hell,
hadn’t everyone heard of Atwater Ironworks? It was the largest
manufacturer of iron in the United States. She was Maggie Atwater?
“Holy hell,” he muttered. This woman attracted trouble like bees
to honey.

“
When
my father passed away a few months ago, everything went to me,” she
said, her voice rough with what he assumed was grief. “I’m now
the sole owner of Atwater Ironworks.”