The Stranger's Secrets (13 page)

“He is, although he’s been known to see the four-legged kind too. Out here in Kentucky we make do with what we have.” Miller turned his razor-sharp gaze at Sarah. “And we don’t take it for granted or throw it out with the pig slop.”

She had no idea what level of hell they’d stumbled into, but it obviously involved a hard-ass sheriff and a mad horse doctor. There was only one thing she could do.

Faint.

Whit watched Sarah’s eyes roll back in her head and wondered if she was pretending to swoon or if she really was fainting. It didn’t matter, of course, because her intent was to stall for time, and it worked.

“She’s fainted, Sam.” Ben’s face drained of color. “She’s still breathing, though.”

“I’m sure her husband is pleased to hear that.” Miller stepped into the room. “Now any other person I’d think she was putting on a show, but seeing as how she’s a good, upstanding Southerner, I’m going to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

Whit stepped up next to Sarah and took her hand. “You’re too kind.”

Miller pointed at Whit. “That kind of shit is going to land your ass in jail.”

“Sam! You shouldn’t cuss in front of a lady.” Ben was a bevy of surprises. Whit wouldn’t have suspected the man of being a gentleman.

“She’s unconscious or faking being unconscious, so it don’t matter either way.” Strangely enough, the sheriff’s logic made sense. “Now as for you, Mr. Kendrick, I don’t take murder lightly. If you or your wife was involved in the death of that poor lady, I will find out. That I can promise you.”

The sheriff stomped toward the door. “Don’t let them leave the building, Ben. I’ll be back.”

Ben sputtered at Miller’s retreating back, then eyeballed Whit. “I don’t know what he thinks I could do to stop you if you did want to leave.”

Although the young doctor could definitely be described as odd, Whit decided he liked him. “I don’t plan on leaving Sarah here alone. And we didn’t murder Miss Ledbetter.”

Ben pushed up his glasses. “I’m glad to hear that. I had to examine the body and it wasn’t something I care to repeat anytime soon.” He visibly shuddered.

Ah, that was good news. The first opportunity for solid information from someone other than the judgmental sheriff.

“Can you tell me what you found when you examined her?” Whit pulled up a stool next to Sarah and sat down, hoping she was listening in her not really unconscious state.

The young doctor hung the stethoscope around his neck and looked up as if he was searching for information in his brain. “She’d been dead a while. My estimate was about nine hours.”

“Where was the body found?” Whit wished he had pen and paper to write all of this down. Perhaps he was lucky enough that Sarah had a good memory to fill in the places he might forget.

“Behind the hotel, near the kitchen entrance. Alexander—that’s the hotel manager—keeps the slop buckets back there, empty crates and the like. Miss Ledbetter was lying between two crates on her stomach.” Ben shook his head. “Darn shame what folks will do to one another.”

“Isn’t that the truth.” Whit knew firsthand just how low a human being would sink to take advantage of another. It was just one of the many reasons he left New York.

“Yes, it surely is.” He glanced at Sarah. “Do you want a cold compress for her forehead?”

Whit put his hand on her damp skin. “No, she’ll be okay. She’ll come around in a little while.” Of course, she’d pick the exact moment to wake up soon so as not to overhear any of their conversation. Damn clever woman.

“So how was Miss Ledbetter killed? The sheriff didn’t tell us exactly what happened.”

“Well, as I told you she was found behind the hotel in the alley. There was a great deal of blood.” Ben swallowed and shook his head. “More than I’ve seen in one place before. Quite messy.” He paused and looked at a spot in the distance, his blue eyes magnified by the thick glasses.

“Doctor?” Whit wanted to give him a shake but refrained. He didn’t need to make any more enemies in town.

“What? Oh yes, Miss Ledbetter. She had been beaten severely about the head until she was nearly unrecognizable. I can’t imagine who would be angry enough to do such a thing.” Ben’s expression told Whit he truly had never seen the evil men could do against each other.

Lucky boy.

“Could you determine what was used to beat her?” Whit knew Sarah was listening very carefully.

“I believe it was an inch-wide stick, perhaps a cane or a spindle, but I can’t be certain.” Ben glanced at Sarah. “She should be regaining consciousness soon.”

Whitman almost snorted. Little did the naïve young doctor know exactly what Sarah had been doing the last fifteen minutes.

“Yes, she will be just fine. I think the idea that Miss Ledbetter had been killed along with the notion that she was a suspect was just too much for her.” Whit could choke on his own theatrics, but Ben appeared to believe every word he said.

Definitely naïve.

“Could you get a glass of water? She’ll be thirsty from the coughing.”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.” Ben skittered out of the room on his thin legs and disappeared down the hallway.

“He’s a nice boy,” Sarah whispered.

“You are a terrible person.” Whit crossed his arms and stared down at her.

Her silver eyes popped open and he felt the impact of her gaze. They had become inextricably linked, like it or not.

“At least I’m a better actor than you. What was that all about? Ben must truly be a complete fool to believe you.” She smiled. “I did an amazing job. Even had Miller believing me.”

Damnit, it was true, but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of agreeing with her.

“Forget all that. What about Mavis? Tell me you didn’t kill her.”

For just a fleeting second, he saw pain in her gaze. “You can’t possibly have just asked me that question. Why the hell would I have killed her?”

“I had to ask, Sarah. I’m guilty by association here, and I wanted to be sure.” He felt bad for broaching the subject, but he had to. Survival drove people to distrust everyone, even when their minds told them different.

“Nicely done, Kendrick. I might be a loudmouthed bitch with a sharp tongue, but I do not murder old ladies in alleys,” she snapped.

It brought him back to their first day on the train, when she discovered he was from the North. She’d been unfriendly and uncommunicative while Miss Ledbetter had talked and talked until Whit thought he’d have to gag her.

Then she’d focused on the old man with the bow tie.

“Abernathy!”

“Excuse me?” Sarah sat up and straightened her blouse.

“The old man Mavis had latched on to that first day. His name was Abernathy.” The more Whit thought about it, the more convinced he was that he was on to something.

“Shuffling old man with the bowler hat and the awful bow tie, right? I do remember him.” Sarah grabbed his arm. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we have a suspect.”

S
heriff Miller frowned hard enough to make his eyebrows form a brown V. “Who in the world is Abernathy?”

“He’s a man Miss Ledbetter met on the first day of the train trip. I’ve told you that already.” Sarah tried to remember she was supposed to be recovering from a fit of the vapors. Yet all she wanted to do was throw the chicken dinner at the stubborn cuss.

“And he’s an older man in a bow tie? I don’t remember any passenger who looked like that.” He took a bite of his ham sandwich and maintained his hard-ass stare.

“He boarded the train in Virginia and had a compartment ticket. At least I think he did. Mavis pulled him into ours and I didn’t even think to check.” She glanced at Whitman. “Did you see his ticket?”

Whit set his chicken leg down and wiped his mouth on a napkin. “I don’t think I saw it, but I remember the conductor taking it. You know, the chubby one who was determined to blame us for every crime committed in town.”

“Now watch your tongue, Kendrick. Alfred Bannon has been an employee of the railroad for at least ten years.” Miller waved his sandwich as he admonished them.

Sarah gripped her cane and counted to five. “I’m happy for him. Now can we get back to the subject?”

“What subject would that be? Wild accusations?” The sheriff quirked one eyebrow at her. “You surely are an attractive woman when you’re angry, Mrs. Kendrick.”

She still had trouble getting used to being called Mrs. anything, much less Kendrick. Whit was a Yankee, for pity’s sake, and a hardheaded, big-mouthed bully. Never mind she was half in love with him and one hundred percent in lust with him.

The big oaf had the audacity to wink at her. “She’s not too shabby. I think I’ll keep her.”

Miller chuckled. “Lucky for you then. I expect more than one fella in this town would find a way to court her. Tall women make good breeders.”

This time Sarah couldn’t stop the cane. It came out from under the table and smacked the son of a bitch in the shin. He yelped and dropped the sandwich, ham flying every which way. Whit started choking or laughing, she wasn’t sure which.

“Jesus, woman, what the hell are you doing?”

“Oh, Sheriff, I’m so sorry. I was just shifting positions and there must’ve been some grease on the floor. It slipped out of my hand. Are you all right?” She fluttered her lashes and leaned forward, giving him a bird’s-eye view of her still-unbuttoned blouse. Those four buttons had bought her a lot of leverage in her lifetime.

“I’m glad it was an accident. I’d hate to have to arrest you for assault too.” He spoke directly to her tits.

“Do you need a cool cloth? I’m sure Whitman would be happy to get one for you.” She smiled at her “husband” and he smirked. It was amazing that two people who had known each other less than a week could communicate with only their eyes.

It sent a shiver of pure fear through her.

Sarah was all for self-preservation. She couldn’t stop her instincts. They had saved her more than once. Her long-unused heart was battling with her oft-used senses.

No doubt it would be a bloody battle.

“I don’t think I need one.” Miller rubbed his shin. “That cane of yours surely is a weapon.”

This time Whitman’s gaze was as sharp as a knife. “Sarah didn’t kill Mavis.”

“Were you with her all night, Mr. Kendrick? Can you swear to her whereabouts?” Miller wiped his mouth on his sleeve, earning a frown from Sarah.

She couldn’t abide people without table manners. Even if they were eating weevily hardtack, she always expected a sense of decorum at the table.

“Be careful how you answer that question, because I have a few folks who can place you at the Purple Posy.” Miller stuck one finger in his mouth to pick at food stuck in his teeth.

Sarah wanted to smack him again.

“Obviously I can’t swear to her whereabouts. You already know where I was for part of the evening.” Whit met Sarah’s gaze. “But I know she didn’t kill Mavis.”

Sarah could hardly believe what she was hearing. All her life she’d struggled to find someone whom she could put her trust in, who would have faith in her. And he turned out to be a stranger on a train.

“Thank you, Whit.” Her voice was husky with unused emotion. “I think you mean that.”

“I do.”

“Touching, but none of that means a rat’s piss in a court of law.” Miller touched the brim of his hat in Sarah’s direction. “Pardon my language, Mrs. Kendrick.”

Sarah could see in his gaze he wasn’t really apologizing. The sheriff seemed to think Sarah wasn’t who she said she was. A dangerous thing, to be certain.

“Of course. I understand how men feel the need to cuss sometimes.”

Dammit.

“Tell me if there is anyone who can verify where you were last night.” Miller speared her with a piercing gaze.

Sarah, however, wasn’t easily intimidated.

“I was alone in my room after I finished supper. I’m sure many folks saw me make my way down the hallway, including the desk clerk. After that, I read and went to bed.” She didn’t blink or back down from the lawman’s stare.

He had no hard evidence to connect her to Mavis’s death. Since he’d already kept the train in town an extra day, throwing off the entire schedule, he’d have to let them go in the morning.

Sarah was sure the railroad company was giving him a bit of leeway due to the murder, but there was no way it was going to give him two days. He couldn’t keep dozens of people in custody for more than a day.

“I’d like to believe you, Mrs. Kendrick, but the evidence leads me to you.” Miller stood up and looked between them, hands on his hips. “You are not cleared of this crime. The deputy from Belleville will be here by morning. If he says you two aren’t the couple who beat him, then you can be on your way. If he says you are, then you’d best get used to my little town, because you’re going to be looking at it for a good long time.”

The sheriff tipped his hat as he left. Sarah wondered if the train trip was testing her brain, body, and heart. Because it was certainly doing a damn good job of it.

She met Whitman’s gaze. “We’ve got less than eighteen hours to prove we’re innocent.”

“No, we’ve got less than eighteen hours to find a killer.” He stood, grimacing. “Let’s go hunting.”

Whitman led Sarah to their room after asking for paper and pen from the desk clerk. They needed to sit down and record all they knew about Mavis and her death, particularly what they remembered about Abernathy.

“What are we going to do about the deputy from Belleville?” She touched the healing bruise on her cheek. “That bastard deserved what he did, but he’s going to sink us like a lead weight. I don’t plan on going to jail for a murder I didn’t commit.”

Whit snorted. “Let’s concentrate on what we can do instead of what we have no control over.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“I didn’t say it was supposed to be. Now shut up and let’s get busy.” Whit opened the door and gestured for her to go in.

“It’s a good thing I don’t hate you,” Sarah grumped as she walked in.

“Good for whom? I’m on the receiving end of that sharp tongue, you know.”

Sunshine streamed in through the window, reflecting off the crystals dangling from the light on the dresser. Sarah turned to give Whit another cut from her sharp tongue, but the words deserted her.

He looked so tired, so worried, it made her want to comfort him.

What the hell was that all about?

Sarah didn’t know what to do with the softer emotions, so she turned to what she did know. A physical release.

Whitman simply watched her as she hobbled over to him. Sarah was tall enough to reach his lips without standing on her toes, a good thing for a crippled woman.

His lips were unresponsive and a bit cool. She didn’t let that stop her, though. They both needed to relax, to find a sense of peace, at least for a few minutes.

“Whit, let me in,” she whispered against his neck.

“We can’t do this, Sarah.” He sounded pained and just a bit breathless.

“Why not? We’re married, right?” She chuckled. “For all they know we’re taking a nap.”

He might be saying no, but his body was saying yes. She cupped his balls, noting the hard cock pressed against the buttons on his trousers. Whit couldn’t deny there was something between them in the bedroom, or hotel room, as the case may be.

“It’s not right.” Whitman’s voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper.

“It’s perfect.”

Any worries or concerns he might have had before they walked into the room flew away like dandelion fluff on a summer breeze. Now was her time with Whitman and she intended to capitalize on it.

After divesting him of his shirt, she unbuttoned her own and removed it in one swift movement. The cool air of the room contrasted with the heat of her skin, sending shivers down her body. His green eyes were nearly completely black as they dilated, drinking in the sight of her bare breasts.

“God, Sarah,” he whispered as he reached out to cup them. As his calloused thumbs swept back and forth across her nipples, her knees grew weak and her drawers grew wetter.

“Whit, I…”

When his mouth closed over one nipple, Sarah lost all ability to even think. She just let herself feel. The roughness of his tongue, the scrape of his whiskers, and the jolt of his teeth on her sensitive skin heightened her senses. With fascination, she watched him lave and suckle her. His tongue was hot and wet and felt incredible. She wanted more.

Yes, this is what she needed.

His strong arms swept her up and he kissed her deeply as he walked toward the bed in the center of the room. He set her on the edge, his gaze hungry. She couldn’t stop looking at his chest. It was covered with the same raven hair that spilled down his shoulders, wide with bronzed skin stretched over muscle and sinew. Scars dotted here and there on that beautiful skin. She reached out and traced them with her finger.

When she glanced into his eyes, she saw the acceptance in their depths.

She pulled off her skirt and drawers and lay down on the bed, her heart thumping like a drum in her chest. Let it never be said that Sarah was afraid to take what she wanted. Whitman shucked his pants faster than she could follow, and finally, finally, he was naked against her. Chest to chest, leg to leg, lips to lips.

His hands traveled up and down her body, touching and teasing, driving her to distraction. His cock was hard against her hip, teasing her with its hardness. His hand landed between her legs and began to caress her nubbin of pleasure until she was even wetter than before.

“Whitman.”

She hadn’t realized she’d said the name out loud until his mouth, mere centimeters from hers, tilted into a small smile before he kissed her. Slow, sweet kisses that nearly drowned her in their sensuality. Her nipples peaked against his chest, while a pulse thrummed through her. She wanted, needed, to touch him.

His tongue swept across her lips, hot and wet, wanting. She accepted the invitation and soon their mouths fused as one. And oh, holy shit, he was
hard
—granite hard—against her. Not just his chest and his arms, but his cock too. He slowly rotated against her belly, pushing his erection against her softness, just enough to heighten her arousal to near desperation.

“Now, Whit.” She was surprised to hear her voice actually working, but damn it all, she needed him. Whit slowly climbed onto her and parted her legs. His body was warm, not hot. She felt every hair and callus on his body rub against her and she arched into him.

Inch by inch, he entered. They fit together like a key in a lock.
Snick
.

Stroke by stroke, he drove her insane, making her pant and beg for more. By the time he was settled deep inside, Sarah knew nothing would ever feel this perfect.

She rose to her peak too quickly, her body pulsing with the heat of a thousand suns. As the waves of ecstasy washed over her, she scratched at his back, holding in the word that threatened to escape in a shout.

The word would be Whitman.

Whitman pulled on his clothes and wondered how the hell he kept falling into bed with Sarah. She was beautiful, but he was engaged. Yet there he was again, his body weak, his dick wrung dry, and his conscience beating on him.

The afternoon sun had dropped, bathing the room in heat. He walked over to the basin, in need of a quick lukewarm wash.

Sarah lay on the bed watching him. Her silver gaze was almost as sharp as her tongue.

“Why are you watching me?” He poured the water in the pitcher and picked up the washrag.

“You’re a fine specimen of a man, Kendrick. I’m admiring the view.” Her playful tone annoyed him.

“We’re not in a situation where we can be lounging around in bed fucking.” The words rushed out of his mouth so fast he couldn’t snatch them back.

“Ouch.” She shifted to a sitting position, the sheets covering her bare breasts. He could still see the whisker burn on her neck.

Did he have no self-respect?

“You’re throwing some daggers there, Yankee.” She ran a hand through her hair. “There were two of us in this bed.”

“I realize that.” He lowered his voice, recognizing a loss of control yet again. “Let’s try to focus on finding Mavis’s killer instead of on how many different ways we can break my marriage vows before I speak them.”

“So that’s what this is about? Little Melissa?” She scoffed. “Her letters are so boring, anything you bring to your marriage bed will be like fireworks to the poor girl.”

“That’s it!” He swung around, rage spilling through his veins. “This isn’t funny, Sarah. We could go to jail and you’re taking potshots at my fiancée. I’m so tired of the sarcastic shit that spills from your mouth. Maybe I ought to just ride out of town and leave you to face what you’ve done.”

She stood, the sheet falling from her shoulders. Her body shook with what he could only assume was rage. “I was right about you.”

He picked up his shirt and punched his arms through the sleeves. “I don’t even care to hear what you were right about.”

She limped toward him, looking like a warrior queen on the rampage. For just a moment, Whit remembered why he respected her and liked her. Then it was gone, swallowed by his self-pity and anger.