Wyoming Lawman (2 page)

First, though, he had to catch her. He tightened his grip on Sarah. “Hold on, darlin'. We're playing horsey.”

She giggled and nestled against his neck. “Go fast, Daddy!”

Matt broke into a jog that brought him within three feet of Miss No Name. Just to hear Sarah's laugh, a treasure he'd almost lost, he made a neighing sound. As she squealed with delight, the woman turned her head and gaped at him. He hadn't seen a colder stare since Bettina left. Either she
didn't like horses or she didn't like men. Matt didn't care. He didn't like blondes, so they were even except for the dress.

He reached her side in three steps. “Sorry to startle you.”

“What do you want?” she said coldly.

“Like I said, I owe you for the dress, either a new one or a good cleaning.”

“That's not necessary.”

“I say it is.”

Matt didn't like owing favors. In this town, a man's debts came back to haunt him. He'd learned that lesson his first week on the job when he'd let Jasper Kling give him a deal on a pair of boots. Never again. The merchant had expected special treatment for a measly six-bits off the already-inflated price.

Her eyes darted over his shoulder and down the street. Earlier he'd attributed her unease to the crowd of rowdy men. Now he wondered if trouble had followed her to Cheyenne. Matt didn't give a hoot about a person's past. Everyone in Cheyenne had a story, including him. But he cared very much about the here and now. He'd have to keep an eye on this woman.

Still tense, she looked back at his face. “If you must, you can pay for the laundering.”

“Fine.”

He set Sarah on the boardwalk, dug in his pocket and extracted a handful of coins. Before he could sort through the silver, Sarah grabbed the woman's skirt and looked up. “Would you braid my hair?”

His daughter had caused enough trouble for one day. Matt gritted his teeth. “Sarah, don't pester—”

“Pleeese,” she whined to the woman. “My daddy can't do it.”

That was a fact. He could splice rope, shoot straight and smell trouble a mile away, but he couldn't braid his little girl's hair. The white strands slipped through his fingers just as Bettina had done a year ago. For Sarah's sake, he wished he'd held on tighter. Instead of chasing Indians and outlaws with Captain Cain, and then dealing with the corruption of the Texas State Police, he should have stayed home and raised cattle. Maybe his wife wouldn't have cheated on him, and they'd still be a family.

He didn't miss Bettina at all, but Sarah did. His daughter needed a mother, someone who could make proper braids and teach her about life. A better man would have married to meet that need, but Matt couldn't stand the thought of repeating the mistakes he'd made with Bettina. Neither did he think a sham of a marriage would benefit his daughter. They were doing just fine, and he intended to keep things as they were…except his daughter was clinging to this woman's skirt and she looked so hungry for female attention that it made his chest hurt.

Pushing back old regrets, he touched Sarah's shoulder. At the same instant, Miss No Name dropped to a crouch and clasped Sarah's arms. Face to face, they looked like mother and daughter, mirror images separated only by time. Matt thought of Sarah's book of fairy tales and wondered if a child's dreams really could come true.

The woman spoke in a voice just for Sarah. “I wish I could do it, but we don't have a brush.”

Sarah's lower lip trembled.

Matt didn't want to owe this woman another favor, but he'd swallow fire for his little girl. He also had a comb in his pocket, a tortoiseshell trinket shipped to Cheyenne from Boston. He'd learned to neaten up before doing business with busybodies like Jasper Kling. He took out the comb and held it in front of the woman's nose. “Here.”

Looking both pleased and mistrustful, she plucked it from his fingers, straightened and clasped Sarah's hand. “Let's go in the hotel,” she said to his daughter. “We can sit in the corner of the lobby.”

Where people won't see us.

She didn't say the words, but Matt heard them. He glanced down the street, saw nothing suspicious and stepped in front of the females to open the heavy door to the hotel. As the woman guided Sarah inside, she skirted the desk and went to a group of chairs behind a pedestal holding a vase of dried flowers. Matt couldn't stop his eyes from admiring the sway of her dress. The front of it was a mess, but the back looked brand-new. He didn't know beans about fashion, but the bow at the small of her back made him think of tying knots…and untying them. Being a gentleman, he blocked the thought by silently whistling “Dixie,” especially the part about looking away.

Miss No Name sat on a brocade chair, set the comb in her lap and removed her gloves. “Now,” she said to Sarah. “Stand right in front of me.”

Looking solemn, Sarah squared her shoulders.

Matt stayed by the pedestal, watching as the woman freed the disheveled braids from their ribbons and went to work with the comb. He couldn't stop himself from watching her hands. Maybe he'd learn something about braiding hair…at least that's the lie he told himself. In truth, he found Miss No Name attractive in a way he'd sworn to forget. He'd never marry again. Not even for his daughter's sake.

With a deft stroke, the woman parted Sarah's hair down the middle, wrapped one half around her hand and pulled it tight. Matt made a mental note of her firm touch. He worried so much about hurting Sarah that he didn't pull hard at all.

Miss No Name looked up and frowned. No one liked being watched, but she had an air of worry that went beyond natural reserve. She looked scared and angry. As a deputy, he had an obligation to find out why. As a man, he had instincts that went beyond duty. Unless he'd lost his ability to read people, this woman had a weight on her shoulders, one she couldn't put down.

To put her at ease, he sat in the chair across from her and set his hat on the table. He indicated the growing braid. “You're good at that.”

“I've had a lot of practice.”

Sarah tilted her face upward. “Do you have a little girl?”

“No,” the woman replied. “But I know about braids.”

As calm as she sounded, she'd blushed at the mention of having a child. Matt searched her hand for a wedding band, the cheap kind a woman bought for herself to hide an indiscretion. He saw nothing on her slender fingers, not even a hint of white where she might have worn a ring. The more he watched her with Sarah, the more curious he became. He wanted to ask her name, but he didn't want to make her uncomfortable. Sarah, though, had no such qualms. She was chattering about her doll, hair ribbons, last night's fairy tale and what they'd had for breakfast. Whatever crossed her mind came out of her mouth, including the question Matt had wanted to ask.

“What's your name?” the child asked.

The woman took a breath. “I'm a teacher. You can call me Miss Pearl.”

She sounded natural, but Matt figured she'd omitted her last name for a reason. Whatever secret she had, it concerned a lack of a husband. He draped a boot over one knee. “Is that your given name or your last?”

She paused to stare at him. “It's how I wish to be addressed.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Even by strangers?”

She shrugged as if she didn't care, but her cheeks turned even pinker. Looking back at Sarah's hair, she braided the last inch, wrapped the end with a ribbon and jerked it tight. Matt counted it as both a lesson in hair braiding and a glimpse of Miss Pearl's character. She could be tough or tender. He liked that in a woman.

Fool!

He'd never marry again, not after the misery he'd known with Bettina. In Matt's experience, there was no middle ground between companionship and craziness. Looking at Miss Pearl, he felt sure of it. When she smiled at Sarah, he felt soft inside. When she looked at him with her troubled eyes, he tensed with the instinct to protect her.

The woman handed the comb to Sarah. “You're all set.”

“Thank you, Miss Pearl.”

As the females hugged, Matt stood. He still owed her for the dress, so he reached in his pocket and held out the silver coins. “For the laundering.”

“Use it for Sarah.” She touched his daughter's silken head. “Buy her something pretty.”

In that instant, Matt forgot all about paying debts and surrendered to his curiosity. Who gave Pearl pretty things? Who made her smile when times got hard? He didn't know, but a thought stuck in his mind and wouldn't budge. He'd express his gratitude for saving Sarah's life, but not with a visit to the laundry. Instead of paying for the dress, he'd buy Pearl something pretty.

P
earl unlocked the door to the suite, shut it behind her and leaned against the wood. She'd never forget the way Matt Wiley had looked at her when he'd thanked her for saving Sarah. She'd felt honorable, whole. If she were honest, she'd felt something even more powerful. She refused to give voice to secret hopes, but she blushed with an undeniable truth. Matt Wiley made her feel pretty again.

“Pearl?”

“I'm here, Papa.”

Tobias came out of the back bedroom with Toby in his arms. At the sound of her voice, the hungry baby let out a wail, kicked and tried to get to his mama. Pearl reached for him. “He needs to nurse.”

Tobias handed her the squirming infant. “I gave him water, but he's not happy. Is everything all right with the little girl?”

“Just fine.” She jiggled Toby to calm him. “Her father's a deputy. He found us.”

“Good.”

“She misses her mother,” Pearl added. “Apparently I look like her.”

With Toby in her arms, she thought of Sarah's hopeful
eyes. Under different circumstances, she'd have given Matt Wiley her full name. She'd have offered to braid Sarah's hair again. If he'd asked her to supper, she'd have said yes and worn her prettiest dress. Toby kicked again, reminding her such dreams were foolish. What man would want her now? She was damaged goods and had a baby to prove it.

“I better feed him,” she said to her father.

Tobias motioned to the second bedroom. “Your trunk's in there.”

“Thank you, Papa.”

“We have plenty of time,” he added. “Carrie left a message at the desk. She's expecting us at six o'clock for supper.”

Pearl had mixed feelings about meeting her cousin. Four months ago, when the trouble in Denver had reached a peak, Tobias had written to Carrie and asked for information about Cheyenne. She'd written back and invited them to visit her. They'd accepted, and Carrie had generously made arrangements for Pearl to interview at Miss Marlowe's School for Girls.

Tonight Pearl would tell Carrie about Toby and the circumstances of his conception. She'd either keep her cousin's respect or she'd lose it. If she lost it, she wouldn't have a chance of being hired as a teacher and would have to find another way to earn a living. Tobias had a small pension from his years as a minister at Colfax Avenue Church, but it wasn't enough to support all three of them. Neither did Pearl want him looking for work. Twice in the last month he'd had bouts of chest pain.

Sighing, she glanced at the clock on the mantel. If she moved quickly, she'd have time to feed Toby, wash the train grit from her face and take a nap. Determined to be at her best, she closed the bedroom door and did all three.

An hour later, a rap on the door to the suite pulled her out
of a troubled slumber. In her dreams she'd seen the wagon bearing down on Sarah. The picture had shifted and she'd been braiding the child's hair. It had turned to shining gold, and Matt Wiley had been watching her hands.

The knock sounded again.

Had Carrie come to meet them? Pearl bolted upright and inspected herself in the mirror. She'd put on her oldest day dress and her hair looked a fright. The knocking turned hammer-like. Not Carrie, she decided as she turned from the mirror.

In the sitting room she saw her father, pale and stiff, coming out of the other bedroom. He motioned her aside, but she couldn't bear the sight of him trying to hurry. Ignoring his gesture, she opened the door and saw a delivery boy holding a small package wrapped in brown paper.

“Are you Miss Pearl?”

“Yes, I am.”

“This is for you.” He held out the package and Pearl took it. Perhaps Carrie had sent a welcome gift, though the gesture seemed too formal for cousins.

As the boy waited expectantly for a coin for his trouble, Pearl looked at her father. Tobias reached in his pocket, extracted a few pennies and handed them to the boy. As he shut the door, Pearl fingered the package in an attempt to guess its contents. It felt soft, like fabric of some kind. Perhaps a pretty handkerchief. That seemed like the kind of gift Carrie might send. Pearl lifted the card bearing her name and turned it over. Instead of her cousin's prim cursive, she saw bold strokes in a man's hand. As she read the message, her cheeks flushed pink.

“Who's it from?” Tobias asked.

“Deputy Wiley.”

Her father hummed a question. “What does it say?”

“‘To Miss Pearl with our deepest gratitude. You are
a woman of uncommon courage.'” She looked up at her father. “It's signed ‘From Deputy Matt and Sarah.'”

His gray eyes misted. “I like this man.”

“Papa, don't—”

“Don't what?” He scowled at her. “Don't hope for happiness for
my
little girl? Don't believe God for a second chance?”

Pearl wanted the same things, but she couldn't go down the same road, not one lined with mysterious gifts and the curious shine in Matt Wiley's green eyes. She set the card on the table, then looked at the package. The brown paper spoke of ordinary things, but someone had tied it shut with a lace ribbon instead of twine. Pearl didn't know how to cope with a man's interest, not anymore.

Her father nudged the package with his index finger. “Open it.”

She felt as if it held snakes, but she tugged on the ribbon. The bow came loose and the paper unfolded in her hand. Instead of snakes, she found hair ribbons in a dozen shades of blue. The colors matched the sky in all seasons, all times of day. Some of them matched the dress she'd ruined saving Sarah. Others were the pale blue of her eyes.

Pearl would have known what to do with a snake. She'd have cut off its head with a shovel and flung it away. The hair ribbons struck her as both treacherous and lovely…but mostly lovely. Startled by the thought, she caught her breath.

Her father touched her shoulder. “What's wrong?”

“I think you know.”

Tobias indicated the divan. “Sit with me, Pearl.”

“I should check Toby.”

He gave her a look she knew well. For ten years he'd pastored the biggest church in Denver. He'd learned when to bend and when to fight. Right now, he looked ready for
a fight. Pearl gave up and sat next to him. “There's nothing to say.”

“Yes, there is.”

Looking older than his fifty-eight years, he lifted a cobalt ribbon from the pile of silk and lace. “Look at it, Pearl. What do you see?”

She saw a pretty snake. It declared a man's interest and tempted her with hope. To hide her feelings, she shrugged. “I see a ribbon.”

Her father held the silk within her grasp. “Touch it.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Because hope would sink its fangs into her flesh. Her mind would spin tales of princes and husbands, and she'd see Matt Wiley in her dreams. What woman wouldn't be charmed by the deputy? He loved his daughter and did honorable work. His brown hair framed a lean face and his eyes were the color of new grass. They had a subtle sharpness, a sign of a fine mind, but they also looked steady and true.

Her father turned his wrist, causing the ribbon to shimmer and twist. Her fingers itched to touch it. Knowing Tobias wouldn't budge until she surrendered, she lifted the ribbon from his hand. As the silk slid across her palm, she thought of braiding Sarah's hair and telling the deputy to buy his daughter something pretty. Had he bought ribbons for Sarah, too? She hoped so.

Tobias gripped her hand. “We came to Cheyenne for a fresh start. If a man's interested in you—”

“Papa!”

“I'm serious, Pearl.” He pushed to his feet, crossed to a mirror etched with leaves and faced her. “If your mother were alive, she'd know what to say. I'm not much good at
woman talk, but I know one thing for certain.” He paused, daring her to ask and forcing her to listen.

“What's that?” she finally said.

“A man sends a gift to a woman for just one reason.”

“He
had
one.” She nudged the card with her finger. “He's saying thank-you.”

Her father harrumphed.

Pearl wanted to fire back a retort, but she couldn't look her father in the eye. Deep down, she wanted to believe him. How would it feel to be properly courted? Blinking, she flashed back to Denver. Two days ago she'd caught the bouquet at her best friend's wedding. She'd imagined—just for an instant—wearing a fancy dress and saying “I do” to a faceless man. That man wasn't faceless now. He had green eyes.

Pearl placed the cobalt ribbon on top of the others. “I'm a daydreaming fool.”

“No, you're not,” her father insisted.

Could he be right? Did she have a chance at love? Looking at the ribbons, she thought of all the things the gift could mean. Hair ribbons could be casual or personal, practical or romantic. She thought of the card and how he'd signed it. “Deputy Matt” echoed “Miss Pearl,” a sign that he'd understood her need for discretion and accepted it. She thought of the purpose in his eyes as he'd said goodbye. Were the ribbons more than a thank-you? Was he asking the first sweet question between a man and woman?

What if…

She didn't know, but she wanted to find out. Never mind the fear chilling her feet. Never mind the threat of humiliation. Matt Wiley had called her a woman of uncommon courage. Like her father said, she'd come to Cheyenne to start a new life for her son. Most important of all, she had faith in the God of second chances. She touched the card
with her fingertip, then looked up at her father. “I suppose I
should
send a thank-you note.”

“That would be very fitting.”

“It's just…” She shrugged.

“Just what?” her father said gently.

“It's hard to start over.”

He lowered his chin as if she were Sarah's age. “That's true, but we worship a God who loves his children. I can't explain what happened to you, Pearl. It was hurtful and ugly and I'll never forgive myself—”

“Don't say that.” She didn't blame her father for the violence she'd suffered. She blamed Franklin Dean for being evil.

He held up one hand. “Let me finish.”

She obeyed but only out of habit.

“God has a plan for your life,” he said. “It's good, but you need the courage to walk that path. You can do it, Pearl. You're brave and smart and as beautiful as your mother. Any man in Cheyenne would be blessed to have you for a wife.”

She wanted to believe him, but her father saw her through rose-colored lenses. When he kissed her good-night, he still called her “princess.” Even so, she smiled at him. “Thank you, Papa.”

“Now go write that note.”

Her stomach twisted. “I don't know—”

“I do.” Tobias aimed his thumb at the secretary in the corner. “Get busy. We'll ask the clerk to deliver it when we leave to see Carrie.”

“If you're sure…”

“I'm positive.” He gave her a look he'd often used in the pulpit. “It's about time you showed a little faith—both in God and in people.”

Pearl had no assurance Matt Wiley wouldn't laugh at
her note, but she had walked with the Lord as long as she could remember. “All right. I'll do it.”

“Good.” Tobias glanced at the wall clock. “I'm going to finish that nap.”

As he left the sitting room, Pearl went to the secretary, opened the drawer and removed stationery, an inkwell and an elegant pen. She positioned the paper on the blotter, filled the well and wrote the note. Both formal and friendly, the wording struck her as just right and she blew the ink dry. On a whim, she added a P.S., then sealed the note and checked on Toby. Satisfied he'd stay asleep, she took the note to the front desk before she could change her mind about asking a “what if” of her own.

 

The instant Matt set foot in the sheriff's office, his friend and partner, Dan Cobb, held up two envelopes and grinned. “Here you go, Romeo.”

Scowling, Matt snagged the letters. They were both written on ivory stationery and sealed with white wax. One displayed his name in a script he recognized as belonging to Sarah's teacher. Miss Carrie Hart taught the youngest girls at Miss Marlowe's School, and she frequently sent home glowing notes about his daughter. They often chatted when he met Sarah after school, and they'd become casual friends.

The other letter displayed pretty writing that said, “To Deputy Matt and Sarah.” Pearl must have gotten the hair ribbons.

Fighting a smile, he dropped down on his chair and started to open the letter from Pearl. As the seal popped, Dan's chair squeaked. Matt looked up, caught his friend staring and scowled. “What are
you
looking at?”

Dan grinned. “Looks to me like a couple of pretty ladies have their eyes on you.”

Matt had no interest in ladies, pretty or otherwise. He held up the first envelope. “This one's from Carrie Hart. She's Sarah's teacher.”

“I know Carrie.” Dan sounded wistful. “I see her at church.”

Matt saw a chance to take a friendly jab. “Judging by that hangdog look, you're sweet on her.”

“What if I am?”

Matt huffed. “Beware, my friend. Marriage isn't what it's cracked up to be.”

“That's your opinion.”

“It's the voice of experience.” He'd never forget quarreling with Bettina, how she'd cried when he'd left to go with the Rangers. He'd felt guilty for leaving and even worse the times he'd stayed.

Dan wagged his finger at the second envelope. “Who sent that one?”

“None of your business.”

“Sure it is,” Dan replied. “We're partners.”

Matt considered the deputy his best friend, but he didn't want an audience when he read the notes. He gave Dan a pointed stare. “Don't you have some outlaws to catch?”

“No, but I hear you had a run-in with Jasper.”