Justin's Bride (7 page)

Without trying to he could recall the sound of her weary footsteps on the stairs as she'd climbed up to their room. Year after year she'd worked washing glasses, serving customers, cleaning up after everyone had gone home. Time and time again she'd been offered money to warm a man's bed. With a growing boy to provide for, she must have been tempted to take the easy way out. But she hadn't. She'd kept their tiny room spotless, him in food and shoes. Every year he'd watched her grow weaker. He'd quit school to work, but the extra money hadn't helped improve her cough, or changed the gray tinge to her skin.

He swallowed hard, fighting the memories. His mother had been a decent hardworking woman. But no one in Landing had cared. She'd worked in a saloon and hadn't married his father. That was all anyone had needed to know.

He turned away from the building and the past. As he had several times already that day, he wondered if he'd made a mistake by coming back. The idea of returning to Landing and making his peace with the town had sounded so easy. Now he wanted to forget he'd ever heard of the place. And Megan Bartlett.

Without trying, he could feel her body pressed against his and taste the sweetness of her mouth. Damn. He'd never been able to resist her. He wouldn't have come back if he'd known she was here. Why hadn't she married and moved away? Now he was going to have to deal with the fact that he'd once offered his heart to her, exposed his most secret self and she'd thrown all of it back in his face. She'd reminded him he was just that bastard Justin Kincaid and that he'd been a fool to think she might have cared about him.

The anger might be old, but it still lived inside of him. He wished it would burn hot enough to allow him to make her pay for what she'd said and done, but that wasn't possible. He could never hurt Megan. Which is why he had to stay out of her way.

As he crossed the dark, empty street, he noticed light shining out of the sheriff's office. He hadn't lit any lanterns before he'd left, so he must have visitors.

As he approached the building, he saw two men standing in front of his desk. One of them turned toward the window. The muscles in Justin's stomach clenched tight. He recognized the light brown hair and mustache. It had taken Wyatt the better part of five months for it to grow in that thick. He'd been so proud of his mustache that Justin wasn't surprised to see he still wore it, after all these years. He didn't know the younger man standing next to Wyatt, but he knew who they were. The gleaming silver badges on their chests told him. His deputies.

He walked softly toward the door, then paused before entering. Wyatt had been one of the boys who had taken pleasure in beating Justin up. When Justin had grown big enough to hurt back, Wyatt had given up his game. Justin wondered if his old enemy knew who the new sheriff was.

He opened the door and stepped inside. The two men turned toward him. The stranger gave him a half smile, but Wyatt stared as if he'd seen a ghost.

“Evening, gentlemen,” Justin said. He walked closer to the men. “I'm Justin Kincaid, the new sheriff of Landing.”

The smaller, dark-haired man held out his hand. “Daniel Thomas, Sheriff. It's a pleasure to meet you.” They shook hands. Justin studied the younger man, taking in the firm set of his jaw and the straightforward appraisal of his eyes.

“Thomas,” he said. “How long have you been in town?”

“About three weeks, sir. I worked as a deputy up North for a while. I'm sure excited about this job.”

“Good.” Justin turned his attention to the other man. “Evening, Wyatt.”

“Justin.” Wyatt's blue eyes met his. Justin read the confusion there, the shock and anger. Then all the emotions were banished, and the other man smiled. “Welcome home.”

Justin walked over to his desk and picked up a piece of paper. “I've got a contract that says I'll be here for a year. I won't accept less than complete loyalty and obedience. You can either work with me, or move on. Which is it to be?”

Wyatt shifted his weight and brought his right hand up to rest on his waist, right above the butt of his pistol. Justin didn't blink. He wasn't armed, but that wasn't something he cared about right now. Wyatt wasn't going to draw, the man was just testing him. He didn't mind the testing, what he cared about was Wyatt's decision. He would rather be a man short than work with someone he couldn't trust.

Thomas glanced from him to Wyatt, obviously confused. Wyatt stared at Justin. “I heard the name but didn't believe it. If someone had told me we were going to meet in a sheriff's office, I would have guessed you'd be on the other side of the bars.”

Justin smiled. Wyatt was right. After all the trouble he'd caused in town and the reason he'd been run off, it made sense to assume that. “I almost was,” he said. “But I've learned from my mistakes. I've been a deputy over five years. I've studied law, even been offered a turn at being a judge. My qualifications were enough for this town. I don't give a damn about whether or not they're good enough for you. I just want to know where you stand. I won't watch my back. Either you're with me, or you find yourself another job.”

Wyatt relaxed and dropped his hand to his side. “Take a good look at this man, Thomas. He broke my nose when we were both twelve. Did it again when I was fifteen. All right, Justin. I've learned my lesson, too. I'll work with you.”

Justin's gaze narrowed. That was too easy. He didn't trust Wyatt.

Wyatt shrugged. “I know what you're thinking. It's not only your besting me in a fight. We all know you didn't beat up that woman. If you'd stuck around long enough, you would have found out for yourself that you were cleared of the accusation.”

Justin settled on a corner of his desk. “No one else was willing to wait around to find out I was innocent,” he said. “They were all anxious to attend a hanging. Leaving seemed best.”

Wyatt nodded. He walked two steps closer, then held out his hand. “My sister admitted to me that she was sweet on you. Told me she'd cornered you after a barn dance. Said she kissed you, and, ah, made it clear she wouldn't say no. She told me you sent her back to her mama and warned her if she was foolish enough to make that offer to another man, she would find herself in more trouble than she could handle. I'm obliged to you for that.”

Justin took the man's hand and they shook slowly, measuring each other. He still didn't trust Wyatt, but he was willing to give him a chance.

Thomas still stared at the two of them, bewildered. “Sir, I don't understand.”

“You will.” Justin slapped him on the shoulder. “I used to live here. I was a hell-raiser and troublemaker. My mother worked in a saloon, but she wasn't a whore. I never knew my father and my parents didn't marry. That makes me a bastard. Some would be happy to tell you that's not the only thing, either. I work hard and I expect the same from my men. I hold on to my temper.” Except around Megan, he thought suddenly and had to fight back a grin. “I don't allow drinking on duty, or gambling ever. Aside from that, what you do with your own time is your business. Any questions?”

Wyatt shook his head. Thomas gaped at him, apparently overwhelmed by the information and instructions.

“Thomas? You have a problem with any of that?”

“No, sir.”

“Good.” Justin took his seat, then lowered the box containing his belongings to the floor. “Anything been going on in town that I should know about, Wyatt?”

Wyatt walked over to his desk and picked up a couple of papers. “I was writing up a report for you. Everything has been quiet around here.” He handed Justin the sheets. “Except for the murder last month.”

“Murder?”

Wyatt shrugged. “Some saloon girl was found beaten to death on the edge of town.”

Justin stared at the other man. The coldness in his stomach quickly spread to the rest of his body. He was careful to keep his face expressionless as he studied the details of the case. There weren't many. According to the report, Roberts, the previous sheriff, had investigated for a couple of days and had concluded that one of the many drifters who had been in town at that time had been responsible for the crime.

The hairs on the back of Justin's neck stood up. Something wasn't right. “What kind of sheriff was Roberts?” he asked without looking up.

“Decent. He kept the town clean.”

Not clean enough, Justin thought, fighting the ghosts that threatened to suffocate him. For a second, he entertained the notion that Roberts had ended the investigation because he'd been bought off. No way to prove that. But he didn't like any of it—not the murder, the brief nature of the investigation or the fact that the victim was a saloon girl.

“According to this, he didn't interview anyone but the saloon owner. There's no proof she was murdered by a drifter.”

“If it wasn't a drifter, then it had to have been someone in town,” Wyatt said. “That doesn't make sense. Who would want to kill her?”

Justin had no answer for that. He glanced over the paper once more, then focused on her name.

Laurie Smith. The cold knot in his stomach tightened. She was the same woman who had been beaten up seven years before. She was the reason he'd been run out of town. He'd been accused of the crime. He hadn't done it and as soon as she'd regained consciousness, she'd cleared his name. But it had been too late. He'd already left Landing, swearing he would never come back.

Well, he was back now. And a saloon girl had been murdered. In keeping with this town's attitude about someone they thought was less respectable than themselves, no one gave a damn. But he did. It was possible the two crimes had been committed by the same person. And he damn well wanted to find out who.

“I want to reopen the investigation.”

He glanced up at Wyatt. The deputy shrugged. “You're the boss.”

Justin set down the paper. He had something to prove to the town and himself. He would solve this. He had no choice. The case hit far too close to home.

I
t was late afternoon when Justin left the livery stable and stood alone on the boardwalk. The blue Kansas sky stretched on forever. It was warmer than it had been the day before. He buttoned up his lined coat and adjusted his hat.

Two women carrying overloaded baskets walked along the boardwalk. He stepped back out of their way and touched his hat brim. The younger of the two smiled and nodded until her companion leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. Then both of them glanced at him and hurried away.

He'd had that kind of trouble all the day. Most of the old-timers remembered him and weren't pleased to have him as their sheriff. And, as Megan had told him, the newer settlers didn't much care about him or his past, as long as he kept the peace. Neither group had any information about the dead saloon girl. They'd answered his questions patiently, but he'd seen the questions in their eyes. Why did he care about the likes of her?

One or two people had tried to be helpful, but most couldn't bother. He hated that some lives were valued more than others. As long as he was in charge of justice in this town, that wasn't going to happen. Unfortunately, he was too late for Laurie Smith.

“Will there be anything else, Sheriff?”

Justin turned back toward the stable. “No. If you think of anything, I'd be obliged if you'd come tell me about it. Or one of the deputies.”

“I'll sure do that.”

Rumors about his presence in town and what he was asking everyone about had spread so quickly that by the time Justin got to the livery stable, Zeke had simply come out shaking his head. Said he'd never met the girl, hadn't known she was dead. Zeke man was so frail that Justin doubted the old man could have raised his hand against a good-size dog, let alone a woman. But as far as he was concerned, everyone else was suspect.

“Afternoon, Zeke.”

“Afternoon, Sheriff.”

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and surveyed the town. He'd sent Wyatt to speak with the other saloon girls, and Thomas to find out what he could from nearby farmers. Justin had asked questions at every business in town. Except one.

He started down the boardwalk, then jogged across the street between two wagons. He wished he knew if he'd been putting off talking to her, or saving her for last. Better for both of them if he hadn't had to think about it at all. Best if she hadn't still been in Landing, or if he hadn't have given a damn about seeing her.

It was too late to change what had already happened between them, he reminded himself. Too late to take back the kisses that had kept him up half the night. If only she'd gotten old, fat or bald. Even a husband would have been enough to keep him at bay. Now there was nothing between him and Megan Bartlett except his good intentions. They would provide as much protection as cotton sheet in a blizzard.

His boots clunked on the boardwalk outside the general store. He wished he didn't have to go inside. He didn't want to look at her and know that she was still bent on protecting her reputation more than anything in the world. He didn't want to know that just seeing her was enough to make him act like a fool. Megan had been nothing but trouble for him. From the moment he'd first laid eyes on her, he knew he had to have her or die. In the end, she'd almost destroyed him.

But right now, he didn't have a choice. There was a dead girl buried by the church and no one to bring her killer to justice but him. That was more important than any woman, or any feelings either he or Megan might have.

He opened the door and stepped inside the store. As the door slammed shut behind him, he heard the faint tinkling of a bell. Despite the big windows in front and spaced on the sides, it was dimmer inside than out and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

Before he could see all the merchandise in her store, he could smell it. Leathers and perfumes, burning wood, tobacco, coffee, salt brine from the barrels along the wall, and underlying it all, exotic spices. He inhaled deeply, remembering how, as a child, he'd loved visiting the general store. Old man Bartlett had chased him out quick enough, fearing the young Kincaid boy was as likely to steal as a cow is to eat hay. So his trips had been furtive, planned out in detail as he tried to enter hidden by the full skirt of some respected matron. He took great pride in the fact that he had never stolen anything, despite his reputation. All these years later, when he had every right to be in the store, he couldn't quite shake the urge to look over his shoulder.