Daisies In The Wind (4 page)

Ernest Duke’s distressed wail stopped both
Slim and Wolf Bodine in their tracks.

“H ... o ... ld on! Slim, you can’t go yet.
Surely there must be more passengers. Where in blazes is she?”
Ernest demanded, his black eyes nearly popping out of his head.

“Where’s who, mayor?”

“Miss Kellum—the new schoolteacher!” Myrtle
Lee snapped.

The driver snorted. “Oh, that one. Why, she
caused me more trouble’n a pack of coyotes. She turned tail and ran
after the holdup and shootin’ and all. Kicked up such a dust like
you never did see. Had hysterics till I agreed to take her straight
back to Helena. Reckon she’s headed back east where she come
from.”

“But ...” Myrtle sputtered. “That can’t be!
We have a contract. Don’t we, Ernest?”

The mayor scowled, thinking of the timid
little wren of a schoolmarm he had interviewed a month ago in
Philadelphia. She’d had such excellent credentials—too bad backbone
wasn’t one of them. “What good is a contract without the damned
teacher?” he grumbled in reply, and Waylon Pritchard threw his hat
on the ground in fury and stomped on it.

“Tarnation. Do you mean I wasted my entire
afternoon as part of a welcoming committee for a teacher who ain’t
comin’? If that don’t beat all!”

“Sheriff, what’re we going to do now?” Mayor
Duke demanded, as always turning to the one person he could count
on to think clearly in a crisis.

Bodine returned to the little group,
regarding Ernest, Myrtle, and Waylon thoughtfully. The dark-haired
young woman who’d shot Scoop Parmalee hung back, though she
appeared to be listening intently.

“It seems to me that if your Miss Kellum
didn’t have the gumption to stick it out until she reached Powder
Creek, she most likely wouldn’t have been much good for our
youngsters anyway. We need someone with a little starch to them, as
Caitlin always says.” A rueful smile touched Wolf’s lips. He shook
his head. “I reckon we’ll have to start all over again until we
find someone else. Maybe we could take out an advertisement in a
newspaper.”

“That’ll take time—meanwhiles we’ll have
another winter with no schoolin’ for our young ‘uns,” Myrtle Lee
snapped.

Wolf fixed his cool gaze on her flushed,
scowling face. “You could always teach ‘em yourself, Myrtle,” he
suggested, another flash of humor lighting his eyes.

“Me?” She shook a stubby finger in his face.
“That’ll be the day. I raised six children and I don’t mind telling
you I’ve had it up to here with every one of ‘em. No, thank you,
sir! Now, Sheriff, be serious. I’d think you’d want to find someone
educated proper, who could teach our kids what they’ll need to know
to improve themselves, someone with enough patience and spirit to
handle a rowdy bunch of young ‘uns too frisky for their own good
—you, with a boy of your own, should want a proper teacher as much
as anyone in this town!”

A boy of your own?

Stunned, Rebeccah felt her mouth drop open.
She quickly shut it. Her startled gaze flew to the sheriff’s
impassive face.
So you’re married now, Wolf Bodine. A husband
and a father
. She felt something wither inside of her and had
a horrible vision of a sweet golden-blond wife with rosy cheeks and
a perpetually adoring smile on her face. And babies in her arms. A
houseful of children, a perfect little home with pies baking and a
crackling fire.

She felt numb. A cherry-colored flush
blossomed up from her neck to suffuse her face. All of those stupid
daydreams about this man! Those giddy, romantic, heart-stopping
melodramas she’d played out in her head. Over and over she’d
imagined him coming for her at Miss Wright’s Academy, riding right
up to the door ... declaring that he couldn’t forget her even as
young as she’d been, that he’d had to find her, to see what kind of
a woman she’d grown into.

Miss Rawlings, I haven’t been able to
stop thinking about you for a single day since we met. You’ve
haunted my thoughts. Oh, yes, I know you were young, but you were
so lovely, so incredibly lovely. I think you bewitched me—which is
why I never heard Russ Gaglin sneak up and conk me on the head. No,
my sweet, don’t fret over that. It’s done. How could I ever be
angry with you? You were only helping to protect your father—a most
noble goal. Miss Rawlings, may I tell you this? I sensed from the
first something fine and delicate and noble in your soul. I know
this sounds strange, but I knew at once you would become a
beautiful woman. I waited for you. I’m glad I did. No other woman
could ever make me feel the way I do looking at you right this
minute. Miss Rawlings, may I have the infinite pleasure of kissing
you?

“Myrtle, I want a good schoolteacher to
settle in here every bit as much as you,” Wolf Bodine was saying
evenly to the cross-looking woman in the hideous green bonnet. “But
I can’t exactly force one to come all the way to Montana—or to stay
even if she does.”

“That’s right, Myrtle. There’s no call
getting mad at the sheriff,” Ernest chided.

Even Waylon, put out as he was by the entire
situation, felt compelled to agree. “If it weren’t for Sheriff
Bodine, we’d have no decent women who’d even think of comin’ to
this town, and you know it, Myrtle. Who cleared the Saunders gang
out of here, and the Bentley brothers? Wal, don’t forget it. If
Sheriff Bodine wasn’t around, these here streets’d be crawlin’ with
riffraff, that’s what my pa always says, and my ma agrees with
him.”

“Now, don’t start talking about your ma and
pa, Waylon,” Ernest intervened hastily, “or we’ll be jawing all
day. I, for one, am in need of sustenance after the events of this
afternoon. Anyone who cares to join me in the Gold Bar Saloon is
more than welcome.”

Rebeccah found herself keeping pace with the
long-legged Bodine once more as he headed toward his office and the
members of the welcoming committee went their separate ways.

Her thoughts clipped along as rapidly as her
kid-booted feet as she tried to sort through a myriad of feelings
and information. So the irritating Miss Kellum, who’d moaned
complaints all during the journey, had left a teaching position
wide open here in Powder Creek, she mused to herself, storing the
information away for further consideration. Not that Rebeccah
relished the prospect of resuming any teaching duties—two years of
snooty and frivolous students at Miss Wright’s Academy had been
more than enough. But if it turned out she needed to work until the
ranch was running at a profit, at least she knew there was a
position for which she was qualified.

She said nothing, however, preferring to wait
until she had thought the matter over and seen in what condition of
prosperity was her ranch.

The sheriff’s office was a one-story building
at the far end of the street. Wolf Bodine held the door for her,
and she glanced inside at a small, tidy room consisting of a
cluttered desk and some old leather chairs, green-painted shutters
at the windows, neat shelves filled to overflowing with books, and
stacks of papers.

And a six-foot-square cell, complete with
iron bars, a cot, bucket, and a dingy brown blanket. Apart from
that the cell was empty.

But the sight of it made a knot tighten
painfully in her stomach.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

He was staring at her, noting her obvious
hesitation to cross the threshold.

“Your feet are fidgeting.”

“What ...? Oh.” In dismay she realized that
he was right, she had been tapping her foot, shifting her weight,
tapping the other foot.

She clenched her teeth in chagrin and marched
into the office. Wolf shut the door behind her. “I’m tired,
Sheriff,” Rebeccah offered by way of explanation. She kept her eyes
averted from the cell. “I’d like to finish this business quickly
and be on my way.”

“Where’re you headed?”

“Not far from here.”

“Can you be a mite more specific?”

“Why?”

He came nonchalantly around his desk, eased
his long frame into the chair, sat back, and looked up into her
face. Seconds ticked by. Rebeccah diligently concentrated on
keeping her feet motionless.

“Because you strike me as a lady trying to
hide something,” he said softly.

And suddenly Rebeccah realized the futility
of trying to keep her identity from him—from anyone in Powder
Creek. If she was going to live on a ranch just outside of town,
everyone in Powder Creek would soon know exactly who she was—Bear
Rawlings’s daughter. She just hadn’t planned on having to deal with
it so soon.

But there was no avoiding it.

“I’m the new owner of the Rawlings property.”
She kept her voice even despite the rapid thrum of her heart.
“Perhaps you know it. It used to be the Peastone place.”

“The place Bear Rawlings won from old Amos
Peastone in a poker game?” His eyes flickered with something,
whether it was premonition, intuition, or just plain suspicion,
Rebeccah wasn’t sure. He leaned forward. “And your name is ...”

“Rebeccah Rawlings. How nice to see you
again, Mr. Bodine.”

He was out of the chair in a flash. He
reached her with a minimum of movement, his long legs gliding
around the desk, his arms snaking out to grasp her. “
Nice
isn’t exactly the word I would choose.”

Rebeccah flinched. Unthinking, she took a
step backward at the cold fury in his face. He must have thought
she was going to turn tail and run, because he grasped her even
more firmly by the arms and yanked her forward with sudden and
overpowering strength, much as he had done in the shack all those
years ago.

“You’re not going anywhere. I have a score to
settle with you, lady.”

She twisted wildly, unable to break free. “It
wasn’t my fault—”

“You set me up. Distracted me so that one of
your father’s gang could smash my head in.”

“No!” Rebeccah stopped struggling, meeting
his glittering gaze with consternation. His eyes were the color of
molten iron, and the anger in him was hot and potent, blazing
between them. “I never meant ... I didn’t know Russ was coming back
until he was in the door, signaling me to keep quiet. I never
wanted him to hurt you.”

“I’m supposed to believe Bear Rawlings’s
daughter?” He gave a short laugh. “That’ll be the day.”

Rebeccah went completely still. She turned
white with anger. Then, in a frenzy, she tried to push him away,
but he only tightened his grip on her, his hands manacling her arms
with ruthless ease. “Let me go! I’ve done nothing wrong. Committed
no crime. And you’ve no right to manhandle me.”

“Manhandle?” Wolf suddenly glanced down at
his own powerful fingers and realized what he was doing. He drew in
his breath and released his grip.
Easy, Bodine
, he told
himself.
Where’s that famous cool-headedness? Why are you
letting her get you so riled up?

Maybe because his instincts about her had
been right all those years ago. She’d grown into a stunner. The
same violet eyes, alluringly upturned at the outer corners, blazed
at him, only now they were the eyes of a gorgeous woman. She had
the same sooty lashes, the same fiery rebelliousness, but the face
and body now belonged to a dazzling angel of femininity, not a
filthy rough-and-tumble kid.

But there was another reason she was getting
under his skin, a voice inside of him admitted. She reminded him in
some strange way of Clarissa. Maybe it was the dark hair, the fair,
creamy skin—but the eyes and mouth were completely different.
Clarissa had long, catlike green eyes, the color of summer grass.
And a delicate bow mouth, small and perfect, while Rebeccah
Rawlings’s lips were richly full, downright sensuous.

No, that’s not it,
Wolf decided
hastily, shifting his gaze from those lush parted lips.
I’m
letting her get to me because I’ve carried a grudge all these years
against that seemingly innocent little kid in an Arizona hideout
shack who set me up to get pistol-whipped. I was careless and she
saw it—hell, she instigated it.

No matter what the reason, his blood was
boiling, and Wolf knew he had to cool it down.

He moved away from her and stalked over to
the bookcase, regarding her in silence from a distance of about
seven feet. It was hot in the office, breezeless and stuffy, and
Wolf at that moment badly wanted a drink.
Not until you’ve
dealt with her
, he told himself.
Calmly, dispassionately,
and decisively.

She looked like she could use a drink
too.

She isn’t that same dirty little kid
anymore
, he reminded himself.
She’s a woman. An exquisite
woman.

And therefore even more dangerous.

He moved toward her, under control now. She
was watching him, her piquant face set afire with anger, and
flushed in the rosy sunlight streaming through the window. Her
fingers unconsciously rubbed her wrist where he had grabbed her,
but her spine was straight and rigid, her mouth a firm line. She
fairly quivered with outrage.
She looks a hell of a lot more
furious than frightened,
Wolf thought coldly.
And that’s
not good.

He wanted to scare her, to send her
packing.

She was trouble.

“What makes you think Bear Rawlings’s
daughter is welcome in my town?” he asked softly, stopping right
before her and hooking his thumbs in his gunbelt. “Maybe, Miss
Rawlings, you should just get right back on that stagecoach and
keep going.”

Rebeccah swallowed back a lump of pain. How
vividly she remembered someone else confronting her with that same
tone, and almost those same words. The day she’d arrived at Miss
Wright’s Academy, Analee Caruthers had stalked into her room,
followed by four other girls, crossed her arms across her chest,
and suggested Rebeccah “get back on the train that had brought her
from wherever.” Analee’s hazel eyes had glowed with malice. “We
don’t want you here. You’re not our kind. Why don’t you simply go
somewhere else?”