Justin's Bride (4 page)

She started toward the door, but he moved quicker and slammed his hand against the wood, preventing her from leaving. “Tell them your dirty little secret. No one knows, do they? No one knows about our times by the stream.”

“Stop it.”

She reached for the door handle and pulled, but the door didn't budge. He leaned against it and folded his arms over his chest.

“Tell them about how you liked my kisses, Megan. How you liked me touching you.”

“Justin, no.”

She raised her head to him. Tears glistened in her eyes. But the visual proof of her pain didn't ease his anger. If anything, it made him want to her hurt her more.

“I was good enough to sneak around with, but not good enough to bring home to your father.”

“You don't understand. You never understood.” She raised her hands in front of her, palms up. “There are things you don't know. I couldn't tell you. I couldn't tell anyone.”

“That's you, Megan. You've always kept your dirty little secrets. Does anyone know you promised to marry me?”

She choked on a sob. “Let me g-go.” She pulled frantically at the door handle. “I didn't mean it. I'm sorry.”

“Sorry you agreed to marry me, or sorry you threw it back in my face? Are you sorry you couldn't marry the town bastard?”

He stepped back and she jerked the door open. She gave him one last glance. He saw the tears on her cheeks and the hurt in her eyes. Suddenly, his anger died, snuffed out by a wave of shame.

“I'm sorry you're back,” she said and escaped onto the boardwalk. “That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it? You wanted me to be sorry. I am. I truly am.” With that, she slammed the door shut behind her.

He thought about going after her, then shook his head. It was too late. He made a fist and hit the wall beside the door. The sharp pain wasn't enough to distract him. Megan was right. He wasn't nice anymore. He sure as hell hadn't been nice to her.

“I'm sorry,” he said, staring out the window at her retreating back. She walked quickly, not greeting the people on the street. He saw her hand rise toward her face and wondered if she was wiping away the tears.

“Come back to Landing and set the past right,” he muttered. “You just made a hell of a start.”

He owed her an apology. Whatever had gone on between them seven years ago had nothing to do with the fact that he was the new sheriff. He had no right to treat one of his citizens so rudely. Williams would be damned disappointed.

Of course, it was Williams's fault he was here in the first place. “Meddling old goat,” he said affectionately. His friend and former employer had been the one to come up with the idea that Justin needed to make peace with the past. He'd been the one to find the notice soliciting applications for a sheriff in Landing. Then he'd bullied Justin into applying. And here he was.

He turned away from the window and stared at his small office. Maybe this had been a mistake. It would have been better to take another job. After all, small-town sheriffs weren't that easy to come by. Especially in Kansas. He could have gone further west, or maybe south to Texas. But no. He had to come back to Landing and prove them all wrong. It was a great plan with only one flaw.

What if they hadn't been wrong? What if
he
was the one who was wrong? Maybe he wasn't better than a born troublemaker. He picked up the signed contract and stared at it. He had a whole year to find out the truth.

* * *

An hour later, he grabbed his coat and hat from a hook on the wall and left. Suddenly, the office had seemed too confining. He crossed the street, jogging to avoid an oncoming wagon pulled by six horses.

It was late afternoon. The sun was already sinking behind the buildings, leaving half the street in shade. A stiff breeze tugged at his open jacket and hat. If it rained, there could be snow, but the skies were clear in all directions.

He stopped and stared at the livery stable. Someone had told him it had burned down three years ago. The new building was larger. He'd worked there from the time he was thirteen, until he'd left Landing at twenty. He liked being a deputy and he was fairly sure he was going to enjoy being sheriff, but he missed working with horses. Maybe when he left here, he would find a bit of land and raise them. He shrugged, then kept walking. Any plans for the future were a waste of time. He still had to get through his year here.

Next to the livery stable stood a small brick building. The bottom floor belonged to the town doctor, the top to a lawyer. As he walked by, the front door opened and an older woman stepped out, wrestling with an oversize basket. Her mud-caked shoes slipped on the stone steps. She spun to regain her balance and cried out.

Justin ran up the steps, and grabbed the basket with one hand and the woman with the other. He held on to her arm until she was steady. She clutched at him, her small black straw-and-feather hat shaking in the late-afternoon breeze.

“Thank you, sir. I just about tumbled down those stairs. At my age, that would be enough to send me to meet my maker.” She straightened and looked up at him. Small green eyes focused on his face. She let out her breath with an audible whoosh. “Well, well. If it isn't Justin Kincaid.”

Justin stared down at Widow Dobson and groaned silently. Of all the people to run into. He gave her a forced smile. “Afternoon, ma'am. If you're steady on your feet, I'd best be—”

“You just stand there and let me look you over, young man.” Her tone said she wasn't willing to be argued with. “I'd heard it was you, but I couldn't believe you'd come back to town.”

Mrs. Dobson had never had any trouble speaking her mind. Looks as if that hadn't changed. She'd also been the only person in town who had cared when his mother had taken sick. She'd brought soup and home remedies to their small, dark room, and sat up with his mother until she died. Justin wanted to hand her back her basket and walk away. He couldn't. The widow had never wanted to hear a word of thanks, nor had she accepted the money he'd tried to give her. Listening to her berate him was a small price to pay for such a large debt.

She looked exactly as he remembered. Small and plump, with a generous bosom, and dressed entirely in black. The thick wool cape that fell from her shoulders gaped slightly, exposing a dark dress underneath. He didn't recall her caring about Mr. Dobson as much in life as she seemed to in death.

“I'm back here, ma'am,” he said politely. “For the next year. I'm the new sheriff.”

“I'd heard that.” She pointed at him. “Take off your hat. Let me get a look at your face.” He let go of her and did as she requested. She shook her head. “The women always said you're handsome as sin. You know what I say?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Sin makes its own kind of trouble. Are you here to cause trouble?”

“I'm here to keep trouble from happening. I enforce the law, Mrs. Dobson.”

“I hope you're right. It's my recollection that trouble seems to find you whether you want it to or not.” She gave a little cackle. “Tongues are wagging over you. Guess you've set everyone on their ear. Now, help me down these stairs and be quick about it.” She softened her words with a smile.

He'd always thought of the old lady as one of the judgmental old guard. But after she'd tended his dying mother, he'd realized her gruff words hid a tender heart.

He held out his hand. She placed hers on top and he backed down the stairs, making sure she stayed balanced.

When they reached the planked boardwalk, she shook her head again. The black feather on her hat danced with the movement. “There's folks who aren't going to be happy to see you back here.”

“I kind of figured that. I aim to win them over to my side of things.”

“Is that why you came back?”

He handed her back her basket. “You be careful, ma'am. I wouldn't want you to take a tumble. I might not be there next time.”

As she grabbed the basket, it shifted suddenly. A soft sound drifted out.

“Now, you girls hush,” Mrs. Dobson said. “We'll be home soon. I've got some cream for you.” She looked up at him. “Kittens. Doc Ramsey told me their mother is a good mouser.”

She drew back the red-and-white-checkered cloth that covered the basket. He bent down. Three kittens were curled up together, feet and tails overlapping. Two were black-and-white with bits of marmalade color on their faces, the third was a small calico with big green eyes.

“I only wanted the two, but old Doc Ramsey snuck the third one inside with the others.” She glanced down and patted the kittens. “Silly thing is too small to be much good. But he said if I didn't take it, he'd drown it.” She pulled the cover over the basket. “I've never had cats before. My dog always took care of the mice, but he didn't make it through the winter. And with my fence in need of mending, another dog seemed like too much trouble.” She shifted her burden to her other hand. “So now I've got three cats. We'll see if we like one another.”

“I'm sure you'll do fine.”

She glanced around as if suddenly realizing how long they'd been talking. “Mercy, I've got to get on home. It wouldn't do for me to be seen talking to a handsome young man. What would people say?” She gave him a quick smile, then turned away. “Thank you for helping me.”

“You're welcome.” He watched her walk by the public water pump. Her basket bounced wildly as if the kittens had decided to start playing. They sure were cute, especially the little calico one.

He got the thought about the same time his feet started moving. It was a silly idea. Then he grinned. Why not?

“Mrs. Dobson,” he called as he hurried after her.

She stopped, turned and looked at him.

“If you don't want the little cat, could I have her?”

She couldn't have looked more shocked if he'd tried to steal a kiss. “You want a kitten? They're not going to let you keep it in your room at the hotel.”

He didn't bother asking how she knew where he was staying. The widow had always known everything about everybody. The only secret he'd ever kept in this town was the one about him and Megan. No one had known they'd been spending time together. No one had known that he'd asked her to marry him and she'd said yes. No one knew what she'd said to him that last day when he'd asked her to come away with him.

He pushed away those memories, knowing he would have to face them sometime but not wanting it to be today. “It's a gift for someone.”

“A girl you're bringing in from wherever you used to live?”

“There's no girl coming, and no, I didn't go and get married, either.”

Mrs. Dobson didn't even have the grace to flush. She tilted her head. “You trust this person to take care of the cat?”

“Yes.”

“All right.” She reached in the basket and pulled out the little calico. “Here. She's probably hungry, so don't dawdle.”

He hadn't been accused of dawdling since he'd been about eight, but there was no point in correcting her. He thanked her, tipped his hat and hurried toward the Bartlett General Store.

The kitten curled against his chest, then shivered. The wind was picking up in force and the temperature had dropped. He pulled open his coat and set the kitten into an inner pocket. After making sure the animal was comfortable, he carefully held the edges of his coat together tight enough to keep out the chill, but not so tight that she couldn't breathe. He could feel the tiny vibration of her purring.

When he crossed the street in front of the general store, he stepped carefully so as not to jar the kitten, then shook his head in disgust. The little creature had probably received plenty of jostling in Mrs. Dobson's basket. Still, he moved with care.

He was so intent on his passenger, he didn't realize he was close to the store until he stopped in front of it. The big windows, ordered special from the East, gleamed. The painted name looked freshly touched up. Lace curtains hung over the glass in the door, and between the glass and lace was a sign saying Closed.

He swore under his breath. He should have remembered that the town kept winter hours until well after the spring thaw. Blizzards could crop up without warning, trapping the unwary for the night. Everything closed up early so that the shopkeepers had time to get home in the light. He shouldn't have taken so long with Mrs. Dobson. No, he shouldn't have taunted Megan in the beginning. Then he wouldn't have to waste his time apologizing.

He was about to turn back toward his office, when he heard a door close. He looked around the side of the building and saw Megan walking briskly away from the back of the store. She was heading home. Justin started after her. If her sister had gone and married the town minister and Megan's father had passed away, Megan most likely still lived in the Bartlett place on the edge of town. With her long dress and ladylike shoes, she would have to keep to the path. If he hurried, he could cut through the grove of trees behind the land office and beat her there.

“Hold on,” he told the kitten and circled around the front of the general store. He nearly bumped into a large man wearing a bloodied apron under his coat. “Evening, Mr. Greeley.”

“Evening. Justin Kincaid? Is that you?”

Justin didn't bother to stop and chat. He tipped his hat and hurried along the boardwalk. Once past the land office, he headed directly into the trees. Without green leaves to hide the path, the way was easy to spot. He cupped one hand under the kitten and jogged through the grove.

When he came out the other side, he could see the Bartlett house sitting at the top of a small rise. It stood three stories tall, looking like a graceful old lady. Bare oak trees reached past the peaked roof. The setting sun reflected off the front windows. A wide porch circled the house, but all the outdoor furniture had been pushed to one side and covered with oilcloth. Bare patches of dirt showed where the garden would be, come spring.