Snowbound With the Sheriff (3 page)

Chapter Four

Violet, heart racing, sprang free from Chayston’s arms.
Fighting for every breath, she spun around.
Tramp. Jezebel.
Eleanor’s
screeches invaded her mind. It wasn’t true— she’d never encouraged Eleanor’s
husband in any way—but her stepsister had insisted she had. And Eleanor hadn’t
stopped there, she’d spread rumors throughout town, and men had come calling,
hoping to sample what Violet supposedly gave away freely.

Gaining control of her breathing, Violet lifted her chin, but a
lump had formed in her throat. The sensations Chayston ignited inside her were
the exact opposite of the ones she’d experienced when other men had touched her.
Such feelings should only come about with a husband.

“I’d like to take a bath now,” she said without turning to face
him. “Please leave.”

“I’ll get the tub for you,” he said. “Don’t bother trying to
dump it. Not with the wind blowing like it is.”

She moved to the sink, to pump water into a kettle, and when
the door to the office closed, a flock of butterflies let loose in her stomach
at the thought of his being just in the other room.

It wasn’t proper, taking a bath with a man so close. Staying
with one wasn’t, either, but what choice did she have?
Not
to think about him.
That was a choice she had. She would soon be marrying his father and John had
promised her the General was a gentleman. One that would treat her well, and
grow to love her. Her stepfather had loved her, just as she’d loved him. He’d
known, too, how hard she’d tried to please Eleanor, and he’d stood up for her,
against Eleanor’s lies and assaults, and the men who’d come calling. Not once in
all the years since she and her mother had gone to live with John had he let her
down, and Violet wouldn’t let him down, either.

Especially not this time.

By the time several kettles of water had been heated, she’d
regained control, and soon lowered herself into the warm bath to soothe away the
last of her frustration and soak sore muscles left from the many days of sitting
on coal dust—covered train benches and hard stagecoach seats. She washed her
hair, too, and when her head started bobbing, she regretted the fact she had to
climb out of the water. The idea of sleeping in a nightgown rather than the same
clothes she’d worn for the better part of a week had her toweling dry and
tugging on her nightdress in record time. Knowing a man was on the other side of
the door may also have had something to do with her swiftness.

Chayston was still on her mind. How his touch had turned her
feverish and left her yearning for more. Even if she’d had a mind to blame that
on Eleanor, she couldn’t. One isn’t called a Jezebel without knowing what it
means. She had friends, married ones, who explained things. Marriage didn’t
scare her, nor the act of love. She wanted it. To be special to one person. A
husband. Not one like Albert, though, Eleanor’s husband. He was the reason she’d
readily agreed to marry the General. She hadn’t felt safe around him, not even
in her own house, and she had known it would get worse after John died.

Heaving out a sigh, Violet crossed the room and knelt to open
her second trunk. She’d gathered her night things out of the first one before
her bath, but this was the one she’d packed her mother’s comb and mirror in.

She’d barely hoisted the lid when her gaze landed on the
contents of the trunk. Stunned, she didn’t react fast enough. The heavy lid
caught three of her fingers as it slammed shut. Screeching at the pain, she
tried to unhook the latch, but it wouldn’t release.

“Are you all right in there?”

“No,” she answered Chayston’s question through gritted teeth.
The intense pain of her fingers had her eyes watering. “Please help me. The
latch is stuck.”

Seconds later the lid lifted, freeing her fingers. Rocking back
on her heels, she clutched the throbbing fingers with her other hand.

“Let me see.”

“No, they’ll be fine in a minute,” she argued, completely
doubting her words. In truth, she was afraid to look. The ends could very well
be missing from three of her fingers.

“Let me see, Violet.”

His tone was firm but coaxing. She gave in, but looked the
other way as he peeled her hands apart and gently uncurled her throbbing
fingers. The warmth of his touch caught her off guard, too, when it sent some
sort of invisible fire up her arm.

“Ouch,” he said softly. “That had to hurt.”

The pain momentarily disappeared. “Ouch?”

He grinned.

She pulled her hand out of his. “Yes, it hurt. It still
does.”

“You still have all four fingers.” He stood and crossed the
room.

“Thank you for noticing,” she said, shaking her head at how he
made light of the situation. Her fingers were all intact, and though still
stinging, she moved them gingerly.

Chayston returned with a wet cloth and took her hand again.
“Here, this will help take away the sting.”

The cool dampness did help, and Violet held it on her fingers
with her other hand. “Thank you.”

“What happened?”

“I opened the trunk to get my comb, and—” She shook her head,
still not believing what she’d seen.

“And?”

Violet shifted slightly, to peer around him. He twisted and
lifted the trunk lid. Sure enough, there sat her boots. The sight made her gasp
again, just as it had the first time.

The gaze in his brown eyes became reminiscent of when they’d
first met. “I thought you said you didn’t have any shoes.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then whose are these?” he asked accusingly.

“Mine,” she answered.

He pushed the lid all the way open, where it couldn’t fall shut
again, and stood. “What kind of game are you playing here?”

“What kind of game?” she repeated, mainly for her own
clarification.

“Yes, game,” he said. “Did you want everyone to feel sorry for
you by pretending you’d been robbed?”

Indignation flared from the pit of her stomach. “I wasn’t
pretending. I had been robbed.”

“Are you even John’s stepdaughter?”

“Yes.” She leaped to her feet. “I don’t know how my boots got
in there, but they were taken from me on the train, along with my money.”

He shot her a nasty glare before picking up one of her boots.
Digging his hand in the top, he pulled out a roll of bills. “This money?”

Shock spiraled inside her so hard she nearly lost her balance.
“How’d that get there?”

“I’d guess by the same person who put the boots there.” The
bits of gold in his eyes glowed like flames. “You.”

“Me?”

“Who else?” He dropped the money in the boot and the boot into
the trunk. “You made me carry you all over this town—”

“I didn’t make you do anything.” Furious, she continued, “Do
you really think I wanted you to carry me?”

“Like I was going to make you walk through two feet of snow in
socks?”

“That would have been fine by me.”

“It would have been fine by me, too,” he said, storming toward
the door. “Except you had your arms locked around my neck.”

Flustered by an unusual fit of anger, Violet pulled the rag
from her hand and threw it at him. It hit the back of his head and hung there
for a moment before dropping to his shoulder and then the floor.

He turned slowly. “Why, you little—”

“Me?” she interrupted, stomping toward him. “You’re a brute.
The furthest thing I’ve ever seen from a gentleman.”

His eyes narrowed as her steps brought them closer. “I told you
I’m not a gentleman.”

“I believe that now.”

“Good.” He grabbed one of her shoulders and spun around,
propelling her toward the open doorway. “Enjoy your jail cell.”

Violet flattened her bare toes onto the floor. “I am
not
sleeping in a jail cell.”

“Oh, yes, you are.”

His swiftness startled her all over again. With little more
than a single fluid movement, he’d hoisted her into his arms again and started
marching toward the doorway. Violet stuck her legs out and leaned her head back,
stiffening her entire body, so no matter which way he turned, she wouldn’t fit
through the door frame.

“Damn you,” he growled, jostling her about.

Fearing she was about to hit the floor, she grabbed his neck
but kept her head back, her body stiff, which caused particular body parts to
leap to life as if she’d never imagined they could. The peak of her left breast
brushed the bottom of his chin, and the result sent a flash of fire shooting
through her.

He made a deep growling sound and withdrew the arm beneath her
knees, causing her legs to drop toward the floor. His other arm, still around
her waist, pulled her up against him. Her breasts flattened against his chest
and the thinness of her gown had every inch of her body feeling the intense heat
of his.

A brief bout of good sense told her to push away, but a feral
heat coiling in the pit of her very being was far stronger. His other hand
grasped her head, and when his lips landed on hers, hard and demanding, she met
them. Just as forceful, just as challenging.

The entire room started to spin, and she grabbed the sides of
his face, just to keep upright. It was as if she’d waited for this very moment
in time to come to life. Nothing inside her was quiet. Everything was flushed
and rushing, and excited.

Rather dazzled by it all, she offered no protest when the tip
of his tongue teased the seam of her lips. Instead, she parted them.

A sweet, riveting shiver raced all the way to her toes and back
up again as his tongue swept inside her mouth. She clutched him tighter, holding
on for all she was worth as her nipples tightened, stinging as they turned hard
and sensitive.

All sorts of wild, new and stirring vibrations swarmed her
body. Yearnings and desires that had her feverish all over again.

Chayston had never known such perfection. Her curves fit
against him like a glove and the taste of her was enough to make him lose his
mind. Which is exactly what must have happened. He’d lost his mind.

Grasping her chin, he tried to break away from the kiss, but
she stretched onto her toes.

Torn between all that was right and wrong, he growled and
pushed harder, tearing his lips off hers. Gasping, she looked up at him with
those sky-blue eyes that could make a man lose more than just his mind.

“If you weren’t my father’s soon-to-be bride,” he snapped, “I’d
show you just how much of a gentleman I’m not.” He headed for the door then,
before he did something he’d really regret.

Chapter Five

Cursing himself up one side and down the other hadn’t
done any good, and the blizzard still howling outside offered no immediate
relief to his present circumstance. Chayston’s entire being was rigid and parts
of him felt downright raw. He’d barely slept a wink last night, and the muffled
sounds coming from the other room said Violet hadn’t either.

How the hell had he let that kiss happen? Seeing her in nothing
but her thin nightgown had shot his desire to an entirely new level, but her
haughty little attitude—that had cut him to the quick. Those long golden curls,
wet and hanging down her back, her sky-blue eyes sparking like miniature flames,
and her breasts...The gown hadn’t hid them from view, not nearly enough, and
when that little nub touched his chin, a dozen rough riders wouldn’t have been
able to stop him from reacting to the hot jolt of desire that had overtaken
him.

He squeezed his temples. She was the General’s bride-to-be. His
father had always been adamant that women were to be revered, cherished and
protected. Chayston felt that way, too, which is why he never let on what had
happened with Becca.

This wasn’t about Becca though, it was about Violet, and that
was worse.

He hadn’t just kissed Violet. He’d wanted her. Still did. But
she wasn’t his to want. She was engaged. Engaged. To his father.

Chayston glanced around the office. It would be a month or more
before Roy returned, and he had some serious decisions to make before then.
Returning to the ranch was no longer an option, not with Violet as a
stepmother.

The sound of the door opening behind the desk he sat at had his
already-tight muscles straining, and once again he lifted his gaze to the outer
door, wishing for the millionth time the blizzard had blown itself out. As it
was, he couldn’t even step off the boardwalk. Winters were serious matters in
Montana, and everyone who’d lived through one held them in high regard. When
weather like this hit, no one moved. Many a life had been snuffed short by
foolish behavior during a snowstorm. Blizzards even took precedence at the
ranch. A rope would have been strung from the bunkhouse to the barn, to see to
those animals, but the herds would be on their own until the weather
cleared.

“There’s coffee done, if you’d like some, and I made gravy to
go with last night’s biscuits.”

Another wave of regret washed over him at how timid and
hesitant she sounded.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“All right,” she answered. “It’s on the stove if you change
your mind.”

Like that was an option. Chayston pushed away from the desk,
but only went as far as the corner, where he picked up a pile of wanted
posters.

* * *

A while later, after he’d read every sheet—but couldn’t
have named even one of the profiled outlaws if pressed—a presence had him
looking up.

Violet set down a cup and a plate. “It’s getting
cold.”

“Thank you,” he said, trying to sound as normal as
possible.

The relief in her eyes sent his heart tumbling into his
stomach. He ate, and afterward carried the empty dishes into the other room.

“Just leave them there, on the table,” she said. “I’ll wash
them when I’m finished.”

He’d heard her rustling about but had pretended not to. Just as
he’d pretended not to notice how fetching she looked in the purple dress she was
wearing. He should set the dishes down and leave but couldn’t bring himself to
do it. “What are you making now?” he asked, gesturing to the bowl she held in
one arm while stirring with the other hand.

“I thought I’d make you some Christmas cookies,” she said.

He spun around to face away from her. Last year made him hate
Christmas. This year it would be forced upon him...complete with Christmas
cookies.

Hours later, after shuffling the papers around his desk
numerous times, beating the dust out of the mattress, sweeping the jail cells
and doing anything else he could find to do, he walked into the living quarters.
The smell of baking permeated every room and he couldn’t ignore it any longer.
The table was covered with little gingerbread people, all decorated up with
raisins and icing. He loved gingerbread and raisins. Damn it.

“Help yourself,” she said, near the stove again.

A bowl of soup had been left on his desk while he’d been
beating out the mattresses earlier, but this smelled even better.

“I only used a little bit of the ham for the soup,” she said.
“I’m baking the rest of it with carrots and potatoes for supper.”

Was she purposely trying to drive him crazy? Cooking. Baking.
Looking downright adorable. He snatched up a cookie, and then took two more
before going back into the office.

He’d barely sat down when she appeared in the doorway. “I truly
don’t know how my boots got in my trunk.”

“I know,” he admitted. She was too genuine, too sincere to be
deceitful, leaving him to wonder what had actually happened.

“You do?”

He held up a cookie. “You don’t seem like the conniving type.
Baking cookies and all.”

There was a hint of disbelief in her eyes, as well as a touch
of mirth. “I hope you like them.”

He bit the head off one, chewed and swallowed. “They’ll do.”
They would have to be about the best cookies he’d ever eaten, wouldn’t they.

Biting her lip as if hiding a grin, she retreated to the
kitchen.

Finishing the cookie, he rose and followed her. He was the
sheriff and should investigate such things. “So,” he asked from the doorway,
“who do you think hid them? Your boots and money?”

Her face grew serious and sad. “I don’t know. If it wasn’t
impossible, I’d suspect Eleanor.”

“Your stepsister?” he asked, munching on another cookie.
“Why?”

“Because she’s spiteful.” Her expression turned distressing and
her cheeks flushed slightly. “She thought I was enamored of her husband.”

“And you weren’t?” he prodded.

“No.”

She was stacking the cookies on a plate, and glanced up at him,
somewhat wary. Chayston held his tongue, letting her come up with her own
conclusion if she should say more or not.

“He was the reason my stepfather wrote to your father,” she
said.

Chayston crossed the room and filled a cup with coffee. Her
hair, though a portion was pinned back, hung down her back in a cascade of
spirals almost to her waist. He could only imagine it had been the opposite—that
the brother-in-law was enamored of her. He couldn’t really blame the guy.

“Eleanor never liked my mother or me. John said he wanted to
know I’d be taken care of after he died, and asked if I’d do him a favor.”

“What was the favor?”

“Leave Ohio,” she said quietly.

Chayston pieced together several things in his mind. “And marry
the General?”

She nodded. “Why do you call him the General instead of
Father?”

“From growing up at the fort,” Chayston answered. “Everyone,
even my mother, called him the General. Both my sister and I called him that
more often than Father.”

Her eyes grew wide. “You have a sister?”

He shook his head. “Did... She and my mother died while we
still lived at the fort. Rheumatic fever.” That was part of what made not
returning to the ranch difficult. Though still young enough now to run the
place, someday his father wouldn’t be, and, as his son, it would be Chayston’s
duty—and right—to take over. “My father’s a good man. Fair and honest. He’ll
take good care of you.”

Her cheeks were once again crimson.

“I just hope you and I can come to an agreement on something,”
he finished while he still could. No matter how attracted he was to her, he
wouldn’t do what Seth had done to him.

“What’s that?”

“That what happened last night is forgotten, never
mentioned.”

Even her neck turned red, yet she nodded. “I think that would
be best.”

“Yes, it would,” he regretfully agreed, “for everyone’s
sake.”