The Lady and the Lawman (31 page)

Bending,
he picked up his clothes from the pile on the floor.

“
Do
they know who it is?” she asked, watching as he shoved his arms and
legs through their appropriate holes, muttering to himself. Not all
of his words were clear, but it sounded like he swore almost every
other word.

Shaking
his head, he replied, “No. The body was found behind the saloon, so
it could be anyone.”

He
fastened his gun belt low around his waist, picked up his weapon from
the dresser, checked the cylinder to make sure it was fully loaded,
then shoved it into its holster. Sighing, his gaze shifted to her
watched as she tenuously held the sheet over her breasts. He groaned
and ran his fingers through his hair then down his face.

“
Maggie,
I’m so damn sorry about this. This couldn’t have happened at a
worse time. I swear the man who did this is going to get what’s
coming to him.”

“
It’s
all right. I understand. It’s your job.” She
gripped the sheet a bi
t
tighter to her.

“
I
know, but my job is also to be your husband.” He leaned in,
fingertips on her thigh for balance, and kissed her mouth. His tongue
darted with hers and she ran her fingers through his hair, pulling
him closer.

He
groaned and pulled back. “Don’t move from that spot.” The look
he gave her matched the seriousness of his tone. “I’ll be back as
soon as I can—and this time, nothing is going to interrupt us.”

With
that, he was gone. She felt her blush recede. She settled into the
warm bed as she heard the front door lock. Now she had the solitude
she had initially desired, but realized it wasn’t what she wanted
anymore. She felt lonely, and something else. A craving, a yearning
she knew only he could take away. She pulled the covers up around her
and tried to fall asleep, but thoughts of his hard body pressing her
into the mattress kept it at bay.

***

“
I’ve
never seen him before, either.”

Grant
gazed down at the dead man lying in the dirt, trying to forget about
Maggie all rumpled and soft in his warm bed. Parks, the man who’d
found the body, stood next to him holding a lantern.

“
Go
get Doc Baker.” As the man’s footsteps retreated, Grant squatted
down in front of the body, bringing the light in close. The man
appeared to have been in his late twenties, with dark hair. He looked
like any ranch hand in the area. Dirty, worn about the edges. The
tangy aroma of alcohol permeated the air. No doubt the man had spent
quite a bit of coin at Croft’s before his demise.

Lying
on his belly with his head turned to the side, unseeing eyes stared
past Grant into nothingness. Blood coated his shirt and pooled about
his upper body from a gunshot wound in the back. He was definitely
murdered, just like Parks had said.

No
one accidentally shot themselves in the back.

Minutes
later, Parks returned with Doc Baker. Tipping his hat to the older
man, Grant said, “This is just a formality, John. Sorry about
getting you up.”

Doc
Baker shook his head. “Mrs. Merritt went into labor so her husband
came for me a few hours ago. He’s been driving me crazy. Can’t
form a coherent sentence.” He walked around the body. “I’ve got
just a few minutes before I have to get back. I think Mrs. Merritt
will kill me if I leave her alone with her husband a minute longer
than necessary.” Squatting down, he took in the large wound to the
back. “Yup, I’d say he’s dead.”

Grant
chuckled. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll put him in the jail until morning,
then we’ll get him buried.” Doc Baker walked off, leaving Grant
with the body.

“
I
can bring my wagon around if you’d like, Sheriff.” Parks seemed
an eager assistant, even though it was far past the hour most people
kept.

“
That’s
mighty nice, thank you.”

Grabbing
the man’s shoulder, he rolled him onto his back. Looking through
the dead man’s clothing, Grant hoped he could find some
identification, a watch or some other personal item.

What
he didn’t expect to pull from the dead man’s shirt pocket was a
ladies reticule. It was a small bag, but expensive. Too impractical
for the ladies of Cranston to carry. The material was too fine, the
style too modern. A bag someone from a big city would carry.

He
sighed. He’d hoped to keep Maggie out of the messes of his job, but
he needed her help in bringing down Dalton. Feeling the cool, smooth
fabric of the little bag, he knew the only person who could identify
the dead man was his new wife.

It
took them what felt like hours to load the body into the wagon and
move him to the jail. All he wanted to do was get back to Maggie.
Wrapping the corpse in a sheet to keep the remaining blood from
staining the wood floor, they locked it in an empty cell, ready for
the undertaker in the morning.

By
the time he walked the short distance from the jail to home, he’d
dreamt up several different fantasies involving Maggie, and he hoped
to fulfill them all before dawn. Since that was coming on soon, he
quickened his pace.

His
weariness faded away as desire took over. He unlocked the door
quietly and walked to his bedroom—their bedroom. In the darkness,
Maggie’s lithe shape was barely visible. Removing his gun belt, he
gently placed it on the dresser, gun next to it.

Her
sleeping form was sprawled diagonally across the bed, offering little
room for him to fit. She was on her stomach, with the sheet covering
most of her body. One smooth shoulder and arm sprawled above her
cover, and Grant could see a hint of a breast pressed into the
mattress.

Stripping
off his clothes, he slid in next to her, made room for himself. At
the same time, he pulled her into him, her back fit his front like
spoons. Her round bottom fit perfectly—dangerously—with his
groin.

She
did not stir. He did.

It
was almost impossible to not want more. One hand draped over her
rounded waist to rest on a firm breast. Grant wanted to make her
first time with him something to remember, to treasure, not a quick
tumble between the sheets to satisfy his lust. He just held her in
his arms, his palm tingling from desire to caress the breast it so
carefully held.

Dawn
came quickly. He'd barely slept, reveling in the feel of her in his
arms. He breathed in her scent, soft flowers, woman. She stirred,
shifting in his arms, finding comfort. Her breath was once again even
with sleep.

Unable
to resist any longer, his hand moved softly, slowly over her warmed
skin. Her body arched unconsciously toward his caress, and she purred
like a cat at his stroking. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open at his
touch. He raised up on his elbow so his eyes met hers, his hand
continuing its ministrations.

“
Morning,
sweetheart.”

She
smiled shyly. “Hello.”

He
moved his hand over her warm skin,
reveling
in it.

“
Oh!”
She sat bolt upright in bed, putting distance between them. “Tell
me about the murder.”

He
didn’t stop,
but
only found a new area of her body to caress. “Now?” No way was he
going to let a dead man get between them now.

“
Yes,
of course now. Tell me about him.” Her eyes followed the motions of
his hand over her skin. She swatted it away as if he were a pesky
fly. “Grant!” Her tone meant no nonsense.

“
I
liked the way you said that last night better.”

Maggie
blushed, she too remembering how close his hands, his mouth, came
to.... “I must know. Now.”

Resigned,
he climbed from bed, not caring about his nakedness. He went to the
dresser and threw the reticule onto the bed. He returned as she
grabbed the bag, a stunned look on her face. Her eyes met his.

“
How...?”

“
So
it is yours.”

She
nodded.

“
I
thought so.”

“
Where
did you find it?”

“
On
the dead man.”

She
paled. “But they're both dead. How did he get it?”

He
took her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. “I don't know.
Two men held up the stage, and now I've got three dead bodies. I’ll
need you to see if you recognize him.” Damn, he hated to have her
look at a dead man. What he hated almost worse was they needed to do
it soon. The body wasn’t getting any fresher in the hot July
weather.

So
much for spending a leisurely morning in bed getting to know his
wife.

***

“
No,
I don't recognize him.”

Maggie
clutched Grant’s hand tightly. She was very pale and her hand was
clammy as she looked at the body. A few quick seconds for
identification was enough. No way was he letting her become involved
in the darker side of his job. He led her out of the cell and nodded
to the undertaker. After pulling her in for a hug, he kissed her ear.
“I’m sorry you had to do this. I needed to be sure.”

Clinging
to him, she replied, “It’s all right. I understand.” She f
reed
her fingers from the tight grip on his shirt. She stepped away and
sat down in his
desk chair as she watched the undertaker carry the body through the
jail and out into the bright sunshine. Her back was straight as a
sunflower in August and her hands were primly placed in her lap.

“
Who
took your bag then?”

“
The
leader of the two,” she offered. “He was the one who kept his
friend from mauling me. Thankfully, he kept me from being raped.”

He
wanted to kill the man all over again. She was speaking as if this
man had done her a good deed when he’d kidnapped her and sold her
to a bastard like Croft. He crossed his arms over his chest and tried
to remain calm as she continued.

“
He
took the money from my bag,” she lifted it from her lap. “They
were looking for, what was it they called it? Oh yes, loot. They even
took the watch from Mr. Cawley’s wrist. Then he thought Croft might
buy me for extra money. It seemed there was less on the stage than
what they expected and thought I would make up the difference.”

He
was surprised at how calm she was as she spoke of what happened to
her. Most women wouldn’t have held up under similar circumstances.

“
He
was the one from the other day? You're sure?” He tried to keep his
voice calm, but he could hear the hatred in his words. He couldn’t
help it. The thought of the bastard stealing from a dead man—a
friend of his no less—made him glad he was a lawman and he could
shoot to kill without question.

“
The
one I killed?”

He
shook his head at her words. “Maggie, you didn’t kill him.” He
knelt down in front of her. “It was self defense. He not only took
you from the stage and sold you to Croft, but he kidnapped you all
over again, beat and strangled you.”

The
words left a bad taste in his mouth. Thank God she came away
unscathed. He’d always relished his freedom, to come and go as he
pleased, but now, with Maggie in his life, he realized how lonely and
empty his old life had been. She had been so close to death, the
thought petrified him.

“
Yes,
of course you’re right.” She smiled weakly. “But what about the
murder last night? Who killed him and how did he come to have my
reticule?”

That
was a good question. Grant believed he knew who was behind the
criminal activity.

Dalton.

The
man wa
s
slowly eliminating all the people who could tie him to the stage
robbery, or any other evildoing he had cooked up. Even though she'd
helped the robber with his demise, he wasn’t sure how Dalton fit
in. It wasn’t hard to see he’d sent the man to follow Maggie, to
keep an eye on her. Maybe the bastard didn’t follow orders.