Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Lone Sheriff\The Gentleman Rogue\Never Trust a Rebel (5 page)

Maddie drifted to the fortune-teller's tent, a red-and-gold India print with a hand-lettered sign pinned to one flap: Madame Sofia, Gypsy Fortune-Teller.

Maddie was already seated at the scarf-draped table across from the wrinkled old woman and was stretching out her palm.

He tried his darnedest not to listen, but one word sliced into his brain like a shard of glass.
Chicago.

Maddie rose from the table, an odd look on her face. “Your turn, Jericho. Let Madame Sofia tell your fortune.”

“What for? I can pretty much see my life from here on out.” He'd be a good sheriff and he'd never get involved with a woman. At least, not until he was too old to care.

Maddie sped across the grass to his side. “I dare you.”

She tugged on his good arm.

Damn, she was more persuasive than he'd bargained for. Finally, shamed into it, he seated himself before the gypsy woman, slid his right arm out of the sling, and opened his hand, palm up. The old woman bent over it, stroking the lines with her gnarled forefinger. After a moment she looked up into his face.

“You have known great sorrow,” she said in her gravelly voice. Then she reached out and touched his face. “What comes will not be easy.”

“What won't?” he said without thinking.

The gypsy smiled. “This.” She cut her gaze to where Maddie waited.

His face set, Jericho paid the gypsy and propelled Maddie away from the tent. Twenty yards further, he stopped with a jerk and gazed upward.

“What the hell is that?” He squinted to read the signboard. “Turkish Up-and-Down Wheel.”

Directly in back of the sign stood the strangest contraption he had ever seen, a grid of steel bars with a bucket-type seat at each end. A man in baggy pants and a pointed red hat cranked on a gearlike arrangement; as the bars turned, the seats rose up and then came slowly down.

“Oh, look! Could we...?”

“Could we what? Ride that thing? Probably break both our necks.”

“Oh, please? Just this once?” She sent him a pleading look.

Damn, she was sure hard to refuse. Jericho shrugged and moved into the ticket line. A few minutes later they were side by side in the cushioned tublike seats, and the wheel began to rotate with squeaks and groans. Their seat swung high above the carnival grounds.

Maddie caught her breath. She could see for miles, across the entire city with its streetlamps, the tall, lighted buildings, the bridges arching over the smooth-flowing river spread out below her.

“Isn't that just beautiful,” she sighed.

He laughed and she was amazed. She had never heard him laugh before.

“More beautiful than your horse, Sundae?”

“More beautiful than anything. It feels as if I can see the whole world and all the little lives down below. It makes me feel...hungry. And...” She hesitated. “Sad, in a way.”

Jericho stared at her. It was getting harder and harder to see her as a Pinkerton agent from Chicago. Maddie O'Donnell was looking more and more like a young, pretty woman who was warm and alive and just plain human.

On the other hand, she knew some fancy Japanese judo moves and she could shoot a pistol accurately enough to flip a man's weapon out of his hand. She wasn't like any young, pretty woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

The chairs creaked and dipped and rose again. “You are a puzzle, Maddie.”

She twisted her head toward him. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” He looked away, focusing on the tiny carnival lights far below.

“Am I not measuring up?”

Hell, she measured up, all right. Worse than that, he was beginning to like her. God, that was the last thing he wanted to do.

“It's not that,” he said slowly. “You're plenty brave. And you're damn smart. You could probably shoot the sulfur tip off a matchstick with that shiny pistol of yours, but...”

“But what? You must admit I
have
helped. Just a few hours ago I kept you from taking a bullet in your back.

“Okay, Mrs. Detective, it's like this. I don't want to be grateful to you. I don't want to be obligated to you for anything. I don't want to need you along with me and I sure don't want to enjoy your company.”

Which he did, he admitted. More than he wanted to.

“Well, then, what
do
you want?”

Good question. “Damned if I know.”

“What does that mean, exactly? Have you changed your mind about me? About having me along?”

“Hell, no.”

“Well, what, then? I deserve an answer, Jericho. An honest one.”

“Okay, here's an honest answer. I want to... I want to keep you safe. I don't want to feel responsible for you.”

She turned away, her eyes shiny, and suddenly he regretted every word he'd said. Maybe he'd hurt her pride.

It shouldn't matter, he told himself.

But it did.

Chapter Six

T
he climb up the hotel stairs seemed interminable with Maddie swaying enticingly ahead of him. If he quickened his pace he could reach out his hand and—

“Will the horses still be there tomorrow morning?”

Jericho checked his step. “Dunno. You want another ride on Sundae?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “I most certainly do. I was never allowed to ride astride in Chicago. My mother said it was unladylike.” Her voice sounded so wistful he felt his heart pinch.

She reached the door to their hotel room and patiently stood aside while he turned the brass key in the lock. When the door opened, she pushed inside and waited while he lit the oil lamp on the bureau. Their shadows jumped on the wall.

In the soft light Maddie studied the two quilt-covered beds, then sat down on the one nearest the window. “I'll take this one.”

“Good,” he grunted. “I want the one closest to the door.”

She lifted her head. “Why?”

He closed the door and clicked the bolt closed. “An old habit, I guess. From the orphanage.”

“Oh? Tell me what happened at the orphanage.”

Hell's bells, this woman was full of questions he didn't want to answer. “It has to do with my friend at the orphanage, the one I told you about.”

“Yes? What about your friend?”

Jericho swallowed hard. “My friend slept next to the window. I always took the cot next to the door. To get to her they had to deal with me first.”

“Why would anyone want...?” Her voice trailed off.

Jericho moved slowly through the room, bounced his good hand on the bed and plopped down. “Little Bear was always getting into trouble.”

“Little Bear, that was your friend's name?”

“She was the only friend I had at that damn place, and I wanted to protect her.”

“But you were only ten years old.” A thoughtful look came over her face. “What happened to Little Bear?”

Jericho's jaw clenched. “I'd rather not talk about it.”

“Tell me,” she urged. “Tell me, please.”

He opened his mouth twice and each time decided he couldn't do it. He'd never told a living soul about Little Bear; maybe it was time he did.

“Little Bear was an Indian kid. Shawnee. About nine years old, I guess. Came to the orphanage about the same time I did, but the nuns didn't much like Indians. They didn't much like me, either, so Little Bear and I got to be friends. Good friends.”

He stopped and shut his eyes.

“And?”

“One day I stole an apple pie from the kitchen, and we were eating it out behind the garden when they caught us. They blamed her because she was an Indian. Took her out in the yard and whipped her.” He swallowed again. “She never made a sound.”

Maddie's hand went to her throat. “My goodness,” she breathed. “What happened then?”

Jericho took a double breath. “She died the next morning.”

He turned away from the horrified look in her eyes and bent to shuck his boots. He had to do something, anything, to get that memory out of his mind.

“Oh, Jericho, that must have been awful.”

“Yeah, well, I lived through it. She didn't. I've never been able to forget it.”

Maddie closed her eyes. What could she say to ease a scar like that?
Nothing
.

He stood up. “Heard enough?”

She nodded once, lifted off her hat and began to pluck tortoiseshell hairpins from the bun at her neck. Her hair came down in a tumble of dark waves; it looked so shiny and silky-soft all at once he wanted to run his fingers through it.

He had to turn away. “I'll, uh, use the facilities at the end of the hallway.” He escaped out the door and into the passageway. He strode back and forth in front of the door to slow his pounding heartbeat and clear his head, then eventually stepped back inside the room.

Without asking, he walked to the nightstand and blew out the lamp. In the blackness, softened by the glow of light from the hotel across the street, he gulped the last of his pain medicine and tossed the empty bottle into the wastebasket. Then he started to unbuckle his gun belt, but his hand stilled. He hadn't thought about how to get his clothes off with her in the room. He'd bet she hadn't considered that, either.

Tough luck. She wanted to play at being his partner? Maybe this was a way he could scare her back to Chicago. He dropped the gun belt to the floor with a thud then unsnapped the metal buttons of his jeans. Damn hard with only one hand.

He heard her shoelaces sigh through the metal eyelets, then a thump—another thump—and the rustle of petticoats. “I cannot believe I am doing this,” she said suddenly. “Undressing in a hotel room...with a man.”

“Me, neither.” Too late he wished he'd suggested they sleep in their clothes.

“Jericho, were you ever married?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“None of your business,” he said drily.

He slipped off the sling and shrugged out of his vest and shirt, but he left his drawers on. Didn't feel right getting completely naked with her in the room.

The room was airless and hot. “Maddie, open the window, will you?”

When he heard the sash slide up, he folded the quilt back all the way to the bottom of the bed and stretched out on the cool top sheet. She'd be about down to her pantalets and camisole now. He closed his eyes.

She made an odd sound and he realized she was struggling out of her corset. Laced up the back, didn't they? He hadn't spent much time with calico girls, but he thought he remembered, even though on those occasions he hadn't been exactly sober.

He stared up at the ceiling, trying not to listen.

At last the muffled sighs and swishes stopped and there was silence except for the sound of breathing—hers quick and light, his deeper and slower. Much slower. He couldn't help wondering what she looked like peeled down to her nothings.

It was going to be a long night.

“Jericho? Are you awake?”

His breath hitched in. “No.”

“When did you leave the orphanage?”

“I lit out when I turned twelve.”

“That must have been difficult.”

Yeah, it sure as hell had been, but he didn't feel like elaborating. He had to change the subject. “What were
you
doin' when you were twelve?”

“Playing tea party with my dolls and learning French.”

“Real tough childhood, huh?” He was sure glad she couldn't see his face in the dark. He had an idea what it looked like; when he scowled, kids gave him a wide berth.

“If women had the vote, young ladies could have more useful lives.”

He thought that one over. “If women had the vote, maybe their
men
would lead more useful lives.”

“That does not follow,” she said. Jericho gritted his teeth. He couldn't think up good answers to her nosy questions this late at night.

“Maddie?”

“Yes?”

He rolled his tense body toward the door, putting his back to her. “Shut up and go to sleep.”

She laughed softly. “The same to you, Sheriff.”

* * *

At the first faint blush of pink light outside the window, Maddie popped her lids open. “I am going back to the corral at the carnival to say goodbye to Sundae,” she announced.

Jericho opened one eye. “No, you're not. You'll miss the train back to Smoke River.”

“I thought you didn't want me along?”

“I don't. But I don't want you stranded in Portland with no protection, either.”

“I don't need your protection.”

“Yes, you do, Mrs. O'Donnell.”

“And,” she said triumphantly, “with your injured arm, you need mine.”

He groaned and closed his eyes. “Go back to sleep, Maddie.”

An hour later, a shaft of sunlight fell across his face and he sat bolt upright. Must have drifted back to sleep after his before-dawn conversation with Maddie.

He glanced at the lump in the next bed and let out a sigh of relief. For once, she'd taken his advice.

“Time for breakfast,” he announced.

No answer.

“Remember, the train leaves at eight.”

No answer.

“Maddie, wake up!”

Silence.

Oh, damn. He shot over to her bed and flipped off the covers. Instead of Maddie he found a pillow patted into a sausage shape. Mrs. Detective was gone.

Hurriedly he splashed water over his face, ignored his two-day growth of beard and threw on his clothes. Never dressed so fast in his life.

She had to be downstairs in the dining room. Had to be.

But she wasn't. He had an uneasy feeling he knew where she was; he'd bet a month's wages she'd sneaked off to see that horse. Dammit, he'd warned her about catching the train!

He seethed inside, but he wasn't about to go after her. Damn headstrong, maddening, single-minded woman. She could starve for all he cared.

“Coffee,” he barked at the waiter. “You see a young woman in a yellow dress earlier this morning?”

“'Fraid not, mister. You're our first customer today.”

Jericho pulled out his pocket watch and glared at the numerals. Quarter to eight. Jumpin' jellybeans, the train.

“Skip the coffee. Let me have a dozen biscuits.” Damn her hide. After a few minutes the flustered waiter handed him a brown paper parcel and Jericho headed for the train station.

The train sat on the eastbound track, engine puffing clouds of black smoke. He climbed onto the iron boarding step, hung on with his good arm and craned his neck, watching the platform for a ridiculous daisy-covered yellow hat.

Nothing. Passengers brushed past him, some carrying suitcases and picnic hampers, some with children trailing after them. Two undertakers in shiny black suits squeezed past him and one frail old woman with a limp approached. He stepped down and reached out his good hand to help her up onto the landing.

“Thanks, sonny,” she rasped. She disappeared into the passenger car and Jericho again turned his gaze to the station platform.

Still nothing. Two minutes until eight. He narrowed his eyes against the morning sunshine and scanned the platform again. And again. By God, he'd strangle her.

All at once the train lurched hard and began to roll slowly forward. He hooked his good arm around the steel handhold and leaned his body out as far as he dared to give one last look.

There she was! Just stepping onto the platform. The engine gave a shrill toot and he caught a glimpse of her surprised face.

“Maddie,” he yelled. “Hurry up!”

She caught up her skirt in one hand and with her oversize reticule clutched in the other she began to race alongside the moving railcar, her petticoat frothing around her ankles.

The engine started to speed up. Jericho slipped the sling off his right arm and stuffed it into his pants pocket. Anchoring his left elbow around the curved metal handhold, he leaned out and reached toward her with his right hand.

Damn, that hurt.

Her face white and frightened, she strained to catch up, stretching one arm toward him. Jericho leaned out another precarious inch and touched her fingertips.

One more inch...just one more inch. He lunged for her wrist and wrapped his fingers tight around it. With his right arm he pulled with all his strength and suddenly she tumbled against him. He grabbed her around the waist.

“Gotcha.”

Her face was pressed into his neck and he felt her warm breath puff in irregular gusts against his neck. She tried to say something but she was so out of breath she could only pant.

He dragged her with him up one step and back onto the jolting platform between the railcars, yanked open the passenger-car door with his left hand, and shoved her inside.

His right wrist felt as if someone was chopping at it with an ax.

Maddie collapsed into the first empty seat and sat bent over her knees, gasping for breath. Jericho brushed the biscuit parcel to the floor and sat down hard beside her. She clung to her heavy reticule so hard her knuckles were white. He pried her fingers from the chain and lifted the bag out of her grasp.

Still unable to talk, she shook her head and grabbed it back.

The relentless pain in his right wrist and hand hammered at him. He scrabbled in his vest pocket for the painkiller, then remembered he'd finished it off last night. Still panting hard, Maddie snapped open her bag, drew out a greenish bottle of something, and thrust it at him.

“What's that?” Whiskey, he hoped.

She shook her head, still unable to get a word out, and pointed to his aching wrist.

“Painkiller?”

She nodded.

“You almost missed the train for this? Of all the dumb, irresponsible, feather-headed things to do—”

“Not...that,” she gasped out. “Said...goodbye to...Sundae...first.”

His first impulse was to laugh, but somehow he couldn't. She'd risked missing the train back to Smoke River to bring him some more painkiller? Something inside his chest tightened into a knot.

“Damn woman,” he muttered. “Almost had an apoplexy when you didn't show up.”

She nodded again and held out the green bottle. He didn't feel up to arguing about it so he uncorked the stopper and took a long pull. It was mint flavored and felt real hot going down.

“Thanks, Maddie. I mean it. My wrist hurts like holy hell.” He pulled the sling from his trouser pocket and carefully arranged it over his shoulder to support his throbbing wrist and hand.

Maddie laid her head back against the seat cushion and tried to breathe normally, watching the look on the sheriff's face change from furious to surprised to grateful. She wanted to remember the grateful part.

“I have never run that fast in all my life,” she said in a breathy voice. “Terribly undignified.”

Jericho exhaled a snort of laughter.

But he said not one word for the next half hour. The train swayed around a curve and all at once he fished under the seat for something.