Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Lone Sheriff\The Gentleman Rogue\Never Trust a Rebel (12 page)

She tramped unevenly to his bedside, planted her hands on her hips and glared down at him with a look that could kindle a campfire. He started to laugh but a white-hot rod of pain jabbed into his back and he caught his breath. It took a full minute before he could speak.

“Maddie, sit down.”

She dropped onto the bed beside him and the rod drove into him again.

“Now, then, Mrs. Detective. Why are you upset?”

She leaned down. Her usually clear eyes looked wet. Tears? Tears from his starched and proper lady detective?

“Because,” she began. “Because...oh, I don't know.”

Something fluttered beneath his breastbone. He reached up, grasped her shoulders and tugged her down until they were nose to nose. Her warm breath fanned his mouth.

What was he doing
?

He wanted to touch her. Taste her.

He lifted his head slightly and grazed her lips with his. She went absolutely still, but once he'd started, he didn't want to stop. An overpowering hunger washed over him and he pulled her forward, deepened the kiss, then deepened it again. A rush of dizzying sensation made him acutely aware of every tight, sizzling nerve in his body.

When he released her, she straightened and held his gaze with a question in her eyes. “Why did you do that?”

“To be honest, I don't really know.” He cleared his throat. “But I'm glad I did.” More than glad, he was burning up with wanting her.

Someone rapped sharply on the closed door. “Miz O'Donnell?” a young voice called. “Deputy's here to walk you home, ma'am. You 'bout ready?”

Maddie rose and cracked open the door. “Thank you, Mark. Tell him I will come down directly.”

“How's the sheriff doin'? Ever'body in town wants to know.”

Maddie pondered the boy's words. The people here really cared about Sheriff Silver. Was it because in a town this small everyone knew everyone and all about their troubles, as well? She sensed it was more than that. Jericho Silver was valued, even revered, because of the man he was.

“The sheriff is...” She glanced over her shoulder at the motionless form on the bed. His eyes were closed, his breathing irregular. He looked like he was asleep, but she could tell something troubled him; his lips were thinned with pain.

“The sheriff is growing stronger by the hour, Mark. He is sleeping now. You will tell the others, won't you?”

“Sure will, ma'am. Thanks.”

Maddie watched the boy clatter down the stairs and then heard the murmur of voices below. A woman laughed. “That's our Johnny.” Mrs. Rose's voice.

Maddie stepped to the bedside. One of Jericho's arms stretched along his side, palm up. Gently she touched his fingers. His hand closed around hers, then relaxed in sleep.

Suddenly she felt like crying.

* * *

On the short walk from the boardinghouse to the hotel, Sandy proved more talkative than she thought she could stand. The warm night air smelled of honeysuckle, and the quiet shutting-up-shop sounds along the main street sent a sudden melancholy through her. As a girl she had always hated it when activity stopped, when children were called in to supper from games of jump rope and Red Rover, when the stores and the candy shop and the bakery shut their doors and the proprietors went home to their families.

Now, everything was quiet, as if the town had gone to sleep and everything was at peace. Well, not everything.

Jericho's strained mouth had told her that the sheriff was not at peace. She caught her breath. Was it because he had kissed her and had not liked it? Or perhaps, she wondered with an odd ache in her chest, perhaps he
had
liked it but he did not
want
to like it?

After a long minute, she became aware of Sandy's continuing one-sided conversation. “Can't say how long the sheriff's been in Smoke River, ma'am. He's been sheriff ever since I was a kid in knee pants. All I ever wanted to do when I grew up was be exactly like him.”

The deputy coughed and studied the toes of his boots. “Guess that's why I'm glad he's not tracking the Tucker boys on his own.”

“Do you want to help him?”

“I sure do, but he won't let me. When he's out huntin' down a fellow, he won't hardly let me out of the jail, so to speak.”

Maddie mm-hmmed and asked, “Why not?”

“Sheriff's funny that way,” the deputy said slowly. “He needs a deputy, but he gets real upset if I get hurt.”

Maddie nodded. She understood. It was because of that Indian girl at the orphanage.

“When I was growin' up, talk was that when Jericho was about twelve years old, Tom Roper found him hidin' in the livery stable one night when it was rainin' hard. He was scared and hungry, and Tom fed him and gave him a job muckin' out the stable.”

“A job?” Of course, she reflected. Something to hold on to. Something useful to do with one's life.

“Tom said he was as scrawny as a scarecrow, but he worked hard and was real smart. Didn't have any family. Learned himself readin' and writin' and started helpin' out around town. You know, keepin' things peaceful. Taught himself to shoot pretty good and he was always real fair-minded, but he sure was tough. Even when he was outnumbered, he never backed down. He just kinda adopted the town, you might say.”

“Go on,” Maddie breathed. “Tell me more.”

“Got elected sheriff when he was about my age, around twenty. Guess he's about thirty, now.”

She stuffed down a laugh. Jericho Silver was thirty going on seventy-five. A cool, calculating loner, with a heart packed in ice.

But he had kissed her
.

And now? What about Mr. Loner, now?

They reached the hotel lobby, and Sandy conducted her up the staircase to her door. All at once the young man looked stricken.

“You won't tell the sheriff I told you all these things, will ya?”

“Most certainly not. You have my word. And you will not tell him I asked all these questions, will you?”

“Oh, no, ma'am. Lotsa women ask me about Sheriff Silver, but you're the only one I ever told anything to.”

Maddie turned the key in the lock. “Why me, Sandy?”

The young deputy blinked. “Uh, well, I guess it's, um...because I think he likes you.”

Maddie narrowed her eyes. “Why on earth would you think that? Sheriff Silver has been condescending and short-tempered and bossy since the first minute of our acquaintance.”

Sandy opened his mouth, then shut it. Tipping his wide-brimmed felt hat he sidled past her and headed down the stairs.

“Dunno, Miz O'Donnell,” he called over his shoulder. “Just horse sense, I guess.”

Horse sense! What did that mean?

Why had she had let Sandy ramble on and on about the sheriff? She longed to put the man out of her mind completely, finish this assignment and go back to Chicago where she belonged.

Didn't she?

She pushed open her hotel room door and marched inside.

He likes me, indeed.
The last thing in the world she wanted was an attachment to a man. Attachments led to marrying and that led to the kind of prison she had sworn to avoid for the rest of her life.

Tomorrow, she resolved, she and the sheriff were going to reestablish their original relationship. Being Jericho's adversary was much safer than being his...what? His friend?

But he had kissed her!

She spun away from the door, sat down hard on the bed, and dropped her head into her hands.

Jericho is more than a friend, Maddie-girl. And you know it.

Chapter Thirteen

M
addie stepped up onto the veranda of Sarah Rose's boardinghouse to find Doc Graham rocking in the porch swing.

“Come to see Johnny, have you? Well, you can save yourself a climb up those stairs, Miz O'Donnell. Johnny's not here.”

“Not here? What do you mean, he's not here?”

“What I mean is the minute he could manage to get himself dressed and navigate down the stairs, there was no holding him,” Doc Graham grumbled.

“But he had a fever!”

“Yep. Probably still does. He's maybe over at the jail, makin' Sandy's life miserable.”

But at the jail, the deputy shook his head. “Sorry, ma'am,” he said with a shrug. “Sheriff's out back. Practicing, I reckon.”

“Practicing! Practicing what?”

Sandy ushered her out the back door of the jail and pointed across a stubbly brown field. “Look over yonder, ma'am.”

Maddie fixed her gaze on the tall, lean figure across the expanse of dry bunchgrass. He had his back to her, facing what looked like a broomstick planted in the ground with a shiny tin can nailed to the tip, at which he was leveling a revolver. Three shots cracked into the still morning air and thudded into the hillock behind the can.

“Dammit!” Jericho rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand. She noted he was using his right hand to hold the revolver, but the weapon was wavering unsteadily.

Maddie planted her high-buttoned leather shoes on the field, marched through the tufts of scarlet fireweed, and crunched to where the sheriff stood.

“Jericho?”

He made a half turn toward her and lowered the weapon to his side. “What are you doing out here, Maddie?”

“I came to find you. What are
you
doing out here? What about your bullet wound?”

“Hurts,” he snapped.

“And what about your injured hand?”

“Hurts,” he repeated.

“Then why—”

“Because I'm the sheriff here. You ever hear of a sheriff worth his salt who can only shoot with one hand?”

“But when we—” She stopped abruptly. “You fired your rifle when we surrounded the Tucker gang. That must have hurt, too.”

“Not too much. With a rifle you can use two hands. A revolver's different. I've been working my hand to strengthen it, but I need to do some target practice.” He turned back to the broomstick.

“Jericho, we need to talk.”

“Yeah, we do.” He would not look at her.

“When?”

“Give me another hour out here, then I'll meet you at the boardinghouse.”

* * *

By the time Jericho quit banging away at the tin can, his hip wound throbbed, his arm ached like a horse had kicked it and a buzzing was starting in his head. It evaporated when he saw Maddie sitting in the swing on Mrs. Rose's porch, her legs curled up under her yellow skirt. His breath hitched.

Lacy petticoats peeked out from under the flounces. Jericho swallowed hard, tramped up the steps, and stood looking at her while she rocked back and forth in the swing.

“Why are you staring at me like that, Sheriff?”

He dropped his gaze to the painted plank floor. “Didn't realize I was, I guess.” He winced at the lie. From the instant he opened Mrs. Rose's front gate, he'd done nothing but drink in the vision she made in that ruffly yellow dress. Damn, she looked good enough to eat.

Or kiss.

He couldn't remember clearly how it had happened, but last night when his mouth met hers something inside him stretched tight and began to fray.

“Jericho, I think we need to talk.”

Oh, hell, here it came. She was going to make a fuss about that kiss. Carefully he leaned his shoulder against the porch post and braced himself.

“Yeah? What about?”

“About the Tucker gang. About our plan.”

So she wasn't going to crawl all over him about kissing her. He expelled a breath of relief and then frowned. Then he grew puzzled. And after that he got downright annoyed.

Didn't she remember he had kissed her? Didn't it matter to her? It sure as hell mattered to him.

“What plan?”

She stopped the motion of the swing. “I thought about it last night,” she announced.

Jericho froze against the post. “Thought about what?”

The swing lurched into action again. “About what we should do next.”

He fought a stab of apprehension, but she rattled on. “I have an idea. A brilliant idea.”

For a full minute he studied the woman moving back and forth in front of him. And then something in his brain fell into place.

“I've got a plan, too.”

She looked up at him with widening green eyes. “Oh? Tell me.”

“I'm going after the gang again. I know how to get close enough to get the drop on them.

The swing stopped with a clunk. “But the Tucker gang knows you on sight!”

“And they know you, too, Maddie. They've seen you on the train looking like a lady, and they've seen you in their camp, looking like a boy.”

“Only a fool would try to capture five rough, unprincipled men alone.”

“Yeah, well I've done it before. That's how I work, alone. How I've always worked.”

“But why? You're respected in this town. You could have help.”

“I know there's men in town who'd ride with me, form a posse. But...well, they've got wives and kids. I'd never want a kid to grow up without a father, like I did.”

Her lips thinned, then opened. “I came out here to help you, Jericho Silver, and that is exactly what I am going to do.”

“Yeah,” he conceded. “But remember you told me your jobs before were to gather information, not back somebody up.”

Maddie stared at him. “I have proved I can ride a horse, and you know I can shoot. I am coming with you.”

“No, you're not. First off, I hate to say this, but you don't ride well enough to keep up. Second, it's dangerous.”

“More dangerous than pretending you're ten armed men instead of only one?”

He just looked at her.

She kicked the swing into motion again. “Jericho, I am not afraid of danger. You know that.”

“Yeah, I do know that. I'm sorry to say you've got more intelligence and more grit and more plain damn foolish courage than any woman I've ever known.”

“So, why won't you let me—”

“Because I'm the sheriff here, and a sheriff can't afford to be plain damn foolish, that's why.”

“It is not foolish. It is simply a matter of practicality. I can shoot. You cannot. At least not with your right hand.”

He shoved off the porch post and stepped in close. “Maddie, shut up and listen to me. You've scoured out some vital information about those gold shipments, maybe even identified one of the gang, that young kid at the mercantile with the red bandanna. And—”

“And I backed you up,” she interjected. “Twice.”

Jericho sucked in a gulp of air. “Yeah, you did. I owe you some thanks. But there's a limit—”

“A limit?” Her voice rose. “What limit? I have been valuable to you.”

He nodded, thinking hard about what he wanted to say and how to say it. “You're still valuable to me. That's why I don't want you along.”

Her face paled. “Just exactly what does that mean, Sheriff? I am fired? Is that it?”

“In a way, yeah.”

“Why?” she demanded. “You owe me the truth, Jericho Silver.”

Oh, hell, here it came. The truth was that he didn't want Maddie in danger. He hadn't wanted it all along, but after last night, wanting to keep on kissing her after he'd tasted her mouth, it was even more important.

“I don't want you to get hurt.”

She gazed at him with the oddest expression, half outrage, half disbelief. “Why?” she asked again. “Why do you think of this now, after all we have been through together?”

Hell's popcorn balls, he wasn't exactly sure. But she deserved as much honesty as he could muster. “Because we've come damn close to getting killed. Getting killed may be part of a sheriff's job, but it's not part of a lady detective's.”

She opened her mouth, probably to scream at him, and he raised his hand to shut her up.

“Don't argue, Maddie. It gives me a headache.”

“Very well, I will not argue.” She clipped her words so short they rattled out of her mouth like buckshot. “Instead, I will make you a proposition.”

She didn't notice the sudden twitch in his spine at the word.

“If you are unsuccessful, if you return from your foolish, brave, stupid venture with no prisoners, and if you are not wounded, as you are now, then you must promise to follow
my
plan. Or at least listen to it. Is it a deal?”

She waited for his answer with sparks flashing in her eyes. Well, why not? He'd done this before. He knew his ruse could be successful, given a bit of luck. He'd bring in the Tucker boys sure as daisies bloomed in the spring.

He let out a long sigh. “Okay, it's a deal.”

Maddie stood up slowly and moved three steps to where he stood propped against the white-painted porch post.

“Sheriff...” She extended her hand. “If you shake hands on it, I know you will not break your word.”

Jericho hesitated. Oh, what the hell. Chances were he'd bring in the Tucker gang and never have to hear about Maddie's new plan.

He took her small, warm hand in his. The touch of her soft skin against his palm prodded his heartbeat into double time. He was glad, very glad, that Maddie would be staying in Smoke River, where she'd be safe.

At the same time, his heart began to pound violently. He had to admit he hadn't got the sand to ask himself the question he knew he should ask:
Why
was
he glad?

He just knew he was. Right now he figured that's all that mattered.

“Help yourself to Sandy's jailhouse coffee while I'm gone. That boy's dyin' to keep his eye on you.”