Justin's Bride (8 page)

Although the bounty of the store was similar to what he remembered it had in the past, Megan had changed the organization. Instead of a hodgepodge of goods piled around, she had rows of neatly stacked items for sale. Bolts of fabric were at the front of the store, along with tables of pattern books and magazines. Behind them were the household goods. Dishes, steel knives, pans, pails, brooms. There was even an adult-size coffin tucked under a table. Display cases down the center of the store held jewelry and pistols. On the left of the room was the food. Barrels and bags, jars, tins, boxes. A dozen or so customers filled the aisles.

“Good afternoon, Justin. Have you come to see me?”

He turned toward the voice and was surprised to see Widow Dobson sitting behind a desk by the front window. Her black dress, different from the one she'd worn yesterday, but no less severe, clung to her generous form. The buttons over her mammoth bosom seemed to test the strength of the fabric.

“Not specifically,” he said. “But I do have a few questions.” He motioned to the store. “If you're done with your shopping.”

She cackled gleefully. “I'm not shopping, I'm working.” She spread out several letters in front of her. “Should I be looking for mail for you?”

Of course. She ran the small Landing post office. He shook his head. “No. I'm not expecting any letters.”

Her bright green eyes danced. “We can always hope. From a young lady, perhaps?”

Just what he needed. A matchmaking, meddling old woman spreading gossip about his correspondence. A sharp retort sprang to his lips, but he held it back. He reminded himself again that Mrs. Dobson had been kind to his mother. He owed her for that.

“How is my kitten?” she asked, leaning forward and resting her bosom on the table. It smothered some of the letters and pushed others aside. He wondered if Mr. Dobson had ever felt inadequate at the sight of such largesse.

Kitten? He stiffened. The one he'd given to Megan last night. “She's fine.”

“It's puzzling,” she said. “Megan came in this morning with a kitten. Just like the one I gave you. I didn't know you and Megan were acquainted.”

The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he scented danger. The older woman could make trouble for Megan. He didn't trust her with the truth, so all that was left was a bluff. Slowly, he reached up and removed his hat. He slapped it against his thigh, then met the woman's gaze. “I'm sure I don't know anything about that.”

Her green eyes narrowed as she studied him. He waited to see if she would call him on the lie. Instead, Mrs. Dobson leaned back and straightened the pile of letters. “I see. You said you had some questions for me. What are they?”

“I'm investigating a murder that occurred here last month. One of the saloon girls was beaten and left on the edge of town. Do you know anything about that?”

Mrs. Dobson stood and glared at him. “Because I know you didn't mean to insult me with that question, I will pretend I never heard it. I'll ask you to go on about your business.”

“I'm not implying that you had anything to do with her death, ma'am. I'm just trying to find out information.”

The woman continued to stare at a point just left of his shoulder.

“Did you ever speak to her?”

Her gaze didn't waver.

“All right, Mrs. Dobson. Good afternoon.”

He walked toward a young man behind the counter. Widow Dobson's reaction had been the same as most women's in town. They wouldn't discuss the girl's murder with him. It was frustrating and he didn't know what to do about it.

A young man in his late teens looked up when Justin approached. The stitched name on his apron said Andrew.

“May I help you, sir?”

Justin needed a minute to let his temper cool off before he spoke to Megan. Starting a fight with her the moment he saw her wouldn't help his investigation.

He glanced at the counter in front of him and pointed. “A penny's worth of candy.” He pulled the coin out of his vest pocket.

Andrew measured out the hard sweets, then dropped them into a piece of brown paper and twisted the ends together. “Anything else?”

Justin took the offered package. “I'm the new sheriff in town. About a month ago, a woman was killed and I'm looking into her murder. Her name was Laurie Smith. She worked in one of the saloons. Did you know her?”

Andrew's still-pimply face blushed bright red. He ducked his head toward his chest. “N-no,” he muttered, his voice cracking on the single syllable. He cleared his throat. “I don't go to saloons much. My ma doesn't approve.”

“You never paid for her company?”

Andrew looked up, his gaze stricken, then looked away. From the deepening of the flush on his cheeks, it looked as if the boy had never had the pleasure of bedding a woman. Justin shook his head. He felt old. Very old.

“Your time will come, son,” he said.

Andrew's answer was unintelligible.

Justin glanced around the crowded store. Several women were having a lively discussion over a fashion book. A couple of farmers had spread out packages of seeds. He glanced back at the clerk. “Where's Miss Bartlett?”

“In the back.”

Justin started in that direction.

“Sir, you can't go there. It's private.”

He shot Andrew his coldest look. “Official business, young man.”

That froze the boy in place. Justin weaved through the shoppers and ducked behind a curtain.

* * *

Megan bent over her task, trying to tally the number of bolts of calico she was ordering. They would arrive in plenty of time for the fall Harvest Dance. With spring and summer crops bringing in extra coin, lots of people liked to buy an extra garment or two. She wanted to be prepared.

But as she moved her pencil down the neat row of figures, the tiny calico kitten batted it away.

“You're not helping,” Megan said, trying to sound stern.

The kitten looked up at her. Her pretty face was as multicolored as the rest of her, as if God had changed his mind about her several times, but hadn't bothered to erase what he'd already started. Her belly, paws and half of her face were white. There were blotches of orange, black and an intriguing sprinkling of tabby on the rest of her body. Her tail was ringed all the way up to the solid black tip.

“You should be as ugly as a groundhog,” she said, picking up the kitten and holding her close. The little cat nestled against her chest and purred contentedly. Megan leaned back in her chair and stroked the little animal's soft coat.

“I see you're working hard.”

The male voice shocked her. She straightened immediately, causing the kitten to meow in protest. Megan looked up and saw Justin leaning against the doorway of her office. The room was small enough without him taking up all the space. She scooted the chair back to put more distance between them, but the file drawers behind her didn't give her anywhere to go.

He was too tall, too broad, altogether too masculine. Her father had been gone long enough for her to have removed all traces of him from the office. This was her domain now; she was in charge. But just seeing Justin standing there made her feel helpless and fluttery. With his hat pushed back on his head, she could see his eyes, but she didn't want to look there. She didn't want to see his expression and perhaps know what he was thinking.

His scent came to her—the cool freshness of the sunny afternoon, the faint smell of her store and something else, something wholly male and wholly Justin. She recognized the fragrance. It had clung to her clothing last night for a brief time, reminding her of his kisses.

She set the kitten on the desk, then stood and smoothed her skirt. “Good afternoon, Justin,” she said, hoping her voice sounded calmer than the thundering of her heart. “This is a surprise.”

“I came to make a purchase.” He held up the small paper package, then nodded at the kitten. “And to check up on her. She seems quite happy. Have you given her a name?”

“Alice.”

He raised one dark eyebrow.

She tilted up her chin slightly. “She's my cat. I can name her what I like.”

“Alice?”

“I've never liked those silly names like Boots or Snowball. I wanted to give her a real name. Something she could be proud of.”

He took a step closer. In the tiny office, that action left less than two feet between them. She tried to slow her breathing.

“She's just a cat,” he said.

“I know, but...” Her words died in her throat when he reached toward her. Her body began to hum in anticipation. Her palms got sweaty and her blood heated. He was going to touch her, right here in her office where anyone could come in and—

He stretched his arm past her and picked up the kitten. “Good afternoon, Alice,” he said softly and stroked the animal under the chin. The kitten looked up at him, then started to purr. Her rumble seemed far too loud for a cat her size.

Megan abruptly sat in her chair. She understood exactly how Alice felt. If Justin had touched her, she would have purred as loudly. She'd told herself she could survive anything for a year. This was the second day of his stay and already she was in trouble. She had a bad feeling it was going to be a very long twelve months.

“I want to talk about the murder,” he said. His voice was still low and pleasant, but when she looked at his face she saw the tightness in his expression. “About a month ago a saloon girl was killed. What do you know about that?”

“Nothing. Why would I?”

He set the kitten on the desk. “Because someone who lived here for many years was brutally murdered. She didn't die in her sleep or have an accident. Someone found her and beat her to death.”

Megan folded her arms in front of her and clutched at her waist. Justin's anger was a tangible force in the room. It filled the small space and used up all the air until she felt as if she couldn't breathe.

“I'd heard—”

“Nothing. I know. Damn.” He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his dark hair. Brown eyes bored into hers. “What is wrong with all you people? Why doesn't anyone care about her? Why didn't you want to know what happened?”

“I didn't know her. Of course, I'm sorry she met with such an unfortunate fate, but there is no reason for me to know a saloon girl.”

“That makes her death all right with you.”

“No.” She grabbed the arms of her chair and glared at him. “Not at all. I wouldn't want anyone to die like that.”

“Weren't you concerned for yourself? Your safety?”

She drew her eyebrows together. “Why should I be? Someone who wanted her dead wouldn't be interested in a respectable woman.”

Justin bent over her and placed his hands on the arms of her chair, trapping her fingers under his. His coat fell open, blocking her view of the rest of the room. His face was inches from hers. “How do you know?”

She wanted to get away, but squirming would be undignified. She refused to let him know how he was upsetting her. “The sheriff said her killer was just a drifter. There were several in town around that time. He said it was an argument over...services.” She could feel the heat on her cheeks.

“And no one cared.”

“You have no right to ask me these questions or to make me say these things.”

“Explain that to Laurie.”

“Who?”

“The dead girl. She had a name, you know.” His dark, angry eyes refused to release her. She tried to look away, but she couldn't. “She was just your age, Megan. Not much taller than you. Not nearly as pretty, though. But because she worked in a saloon and took money for what you offered me for free, it's all right that she's dead?”

“No!” She jerked her hands free and pushed at his chest. “I never offered you anything.” She banished the memory of their times by the stream. Nothing had happened.

But she'd wanted it to.

Justin straightened. Only then did she realize the door was open and that anyone could have overheard their conversation. She sent up a quick prayer, then rose and moved around him to close it.

“Keep your voice down,” she said quietly.

“Ah, yes. Your precious reputation.” He mocked her, then took her chair without asking. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, trapping her by the door.

She glanced at the desk. Alice had curled up on the order forms and had gone to sleep. The sight of the sweet kitten reminded her that Justin had brought her the cat as an apology for the harsh words he'd said yesterday. Here they were, arguing again.

She tugged at the waist of her dress, then looked at him. “You didn't really expect me to know her, Justin. I'm sorry she's dead. I'm sorry I don't know anything, but you can't blame me for her life or her death.”

He placed his hat on his lap. “I suppose not.” He thought for a minute. “Did anyone demand a more thorough investigation?”

“Not that I remember. Sheriff Roberts told everyone it was one of the drifters who had killed her.”

“That's it?”

She nodded. “Justin, I'm sorry. He was the sheriff. Why wouldn't he tell the truth?”

He leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. He dangled his hat from his hands. “I'm not saying he lied on purpose. I just wonder why he didn't bother looking into the case further.”

“You think there was another killer?”

“I don't know.”

He looked desolate. Megan had to hold herself back to keep from going to him. She wanted to touch him and tell him that everything was going to be all right. Except she didn't know that to be true. And even if she did, Justin wouldn't want comfort from her.

“Her name was Laurie,” he said.

“You told me.”

“Laurie Smith.”

Megan grabbed on to the door handle for support. She stared at his bent head, then watched as he looked up at her. She tried to school her features, but couldn't. Heaven knew what he saw on her face. His dark eyes gave nothing away.