Lips That Touch Mine (47 page)

“What’s your name?” Duke asked, keeping his
hand on the boy’s shoulder and guiding him down Water Street.

“Adam Dearborn.” The boy’s body jerked as if
he’d been stuck with a needle. “I mean, it’s Adam . . . urn . . .
dang it all.” He hung his head.

“Something wrong, Adam?”

“No, sir.”

“All right, let’s meet this sister of yours
and figure out what to do about your crime.”

“I’m not a criminal.”

“You took something from a store without
paying for it. That’s theft, and theft is a crime punishable by
law.”

Adam dragged his feet, his shame so acute
Duke pitied him. He knew from his own experience how miserable Adam
felt right now, but the boy needed to learn the same harsh life
les-son Duke had learned at the age of eight from his own father.
The burning shame he’d felt that evening nearly twenty-three years
ago had been seared into his conscience, and he’d never forgotten
his father’s admonishment that honorable men never lie, cheat, or
steal. Ever.

Adam would learn that lesson today.

“How old are you, Adam?”

“Just turned thirteen.”

“You’re old enough to work then.”

The boy nodded. “I’ve been working in our
greenhouse since I was four.”

They turned down Mill Street, a tiny lane
connecting Water and Eagle Streets.

“Tell me more about this greenhouse of your
sister’s.”

“Faith grows herbs and stuff for
healing.”

“But what does she heal?”

The boy shrugged. “Everything, I guess, or
people wouldn’t buy our tonics and balms.”

Suspicion tightened Duke’s gut. He did not
need some crazy woman selling snake oil and promising miracle cures
to his unsuspecting friends and neighbors.

Adam stopped in front of Colburn’s former
mill, a three-story gambrel-roofed building with a towering brick
smokestack, and a one-story stone addition attached at the rear. To
the left of the huge grist building stood a plank structure that
once housed the bales of hay and straw that Colburn had sold. And
beyond that was the horse barn, right where it had always been. But
Duke’s gut insisted something was different. And his gut was never
wrong.

He’d been inside the cavernous building often
enough to know that the interior light was too negligible to
successfully contain a greenhouse. The water was plentiful, though.
The Canadaway Creek was a ready source of power for the many
businesses built along its banks as the gristmill was.

“Sheriff Grayson?” Adam bit his lip. “I’d
rather go to jail.”

“I’m not offering that choice. Is your sister
here?” At Adam’s resolute nod, Duke ushered him inside.

The first thing to strike Duke was the
sunlight streaming through new, large windows that lined three of
the four walls. That’s what had looked different about the building
when he’d eyed the exterior. The lower floor of the building was
filled with windows and flooded in sunlight.

The smell of fresh soil mingled with the
astringent scent of herbs and an indefinable floral fragrance. The
thriving profusion of plants and flowers told him that Adam’s
sister knew what she was doing. Maybe the woman was just concocting
a few harmless homemade remedies that would save other women the
tedious task. Maybe he was overreacting because of his own worries
about the upcoming election.

This was his eighth year as sheriff, and he
had every confidence that he would keep his position—as long as he
could get his damn shoulder healed. Just one rumor that he couldn’t
do his job could change the outcome of the election and end his
hard-won tenure as sheriff.

From the back of the greenhouse a child
laughed and women’s voices tittered. A softer female voice drew his
attention to the front of the building. The woman had her back to
him, but her quiet singing was laced with such sadness, Duke felt
he was trespassing on a private moment.

Adam stayed by the door and hung his head.
“That’s my sister.”

Faith, Duke remembered. She was watering
plants, gently touching the green leaves and inspecting the
buds.

“Please don’t be mean to her, Sheriff. Faith
taught me not to steal. She would never steal anything. Not even if
she was starving.”

Shocked by the boy’s plea, Duke eyed Adam.
“Why would I mistreat your sister for something you did?”

“Because she’s responsible for me.”

“No, son, you are responsible for you. And
you’re responsible for your actions.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why did you take this?” Duke asked, lifting
the fancy brush.

The boy ducked his head and his ears turned
red. “Faith misses our mother real bad. I thought a new brush might
make her happy again.”

That simple declaration sliced through Duke.
He’d heard the sadness in Faith’s voice as she sang, and could
understand why the boy wanted to make her happy. It was hard for an
adult to acknowledge that depth of grief, but far more difficult
for a child to witness it in someone he loved and needed. No wonder
the boy seemed lost and afraid.

Adam’s sister turned toward them with the
watering can clutched in her hand, and every thought in Duke’s mind
dissolved into silence. She was as exotic as the plants she
tended.

Her arched dark eyebrows drew together as she
spotted him and Adam. She set the watering can on a flat of green
plants, then moved her slender, lithe body gently but hurriedly in
their direction, pushing aside plant vines and leaves that
congested the narrow row between the wooden flats. With every lift
of her arm, the worn blue fabric of her shirtwaist tightened across
her full breasts and tiny waist.

“What’s happened?” she asked, stopping before
him with fear in her almond shaped eyes.

Duke could only stare in mute appreciation.
From the age of eight, he’d made it a policy not to exaggerate or
lie, not even to himself. And he could honestly say he’d never seen
a more beautiful woman than the one standing in front of him. Her
oval face was slightly squared at the jaw and softly rounded at the
chin. Her parted lips were lush and made for kissing, her eyes a
deep whiskey brown that made him thirst for a drink. She was tall,
and he would only have to dip his chin to kiss her forehead or to
bury his face in those thick waves of dark, chocolate brown
hair.

“Sheriff? Has something happened?” she asked,
tiny worry lines marring her forehead, drawing his attention to the
bronze tint of her skin. Her voice was smoky, or perhaps slightly
hoarse from a cold or singing, but it sounded sultry as hell to
him.

“I had some trouble in town,” Adam
blurted.

“What sort of trouble?”

Adam’s chin dropped to his chest. “I stole
something from Brown & Shepherd’s store.” He peered up at her,
his own almond-shaped eyes full of remorse. “I wanted to give you a
birthday present to make you feel better.”

She brought slender fingers to her chest,
drawing Duke’s gaze to her nicely rounded breasts. “Oh, Adam, I
don’t need a present.”

“You deserve to have your own brush,” Adam
said with a touch of defiance that surprised Duke. “You shouldn’t
have to borrow from Aunt Tansy”

Color flooded the crests of her cheekbones,
but she swept her brother into her arms. “Your character and
reputation are far more important than me having my own hair
brush.”

Adam’s face grew crimson, and he pulled away
as if embarrassed to be hugged in front of Duke. Or maybe it was
shame that made his face turn red, Duke couldn’t tell. He was
struggling with his own embarrassment for gawking at Faith like a
schoolboy.

“I wanted to return the brush,” Adam said,
“but the sheriff said I had to bring it to you.”

Duke expected to see condemnation in Faith’s
eyes, but he saw surprise and confusion. “I felt he would learn
more from his family than any punishment I could give him,” he
said. He handed the fancy brush to her. “This is yours.”

“I . . . I’ll pay for this,” she said, but
Duke could tell she didn’t want the brush. She turned to Adam. “Go
to the house and get our money jar.” As soon as Adam sprinted from
the green-house, she faced Duke again. “I’d rather return this and
save my money for more necessary items.”

It struck him then that Faith and her family
were not only grieving but also having money troubles.

“Maybe we can work out a better
solution.”

Wariness stole the warmth from her eyes.
“I’ll pay for it.”

Adam hurried back into the greenhouse with an
old quart jar that held a few paltry coins in the bottom. Faith
upended the jar and spilled the coins into her palm. She held them
out to Duke, her cool look saying she wasn’t open to other
solutions.

“I hope this is enough,” she said.

It stung to have his integrity questioned,
but she was new to town and didn’t know that he would eat dirt
before doing anything dishonest or indecent. Hell, he’d pay for the
brush himself, but it wouldn’t serve Adam for anyone else to pay
for his bad decision. Adam needed to learn a lesson about taking
responsibility, a lesson that would serve him well as he became a
man.

And Faith needed to learn that Duke was
worthy of her trust.

“Adam meant for the brush to be a gift,” he
said. “Why not let him work off his debt in the store? I’m sure
Mrs. Brown will welcome his help, and that way Adam can give you
the gift with a clear conscience.”

“I’ll do it.” Adam lifted his skinny chest
like a soldier bravely facing battle. “I’ll apologize to Mrs. Brown
and work extra hard to make up for stealing from her.”

“Mrs. Brown isn’t likely to allow you in her
store, Adam.” Faith shook her head. “You can make your apology when
you take this money to her.”

Duke suspected those were her last coins, and
he couldn’t let her use them for Adam’s mistake. “This is Adam’s
debt. Let him pay it,” he insisted. The boy wanted and needed to
make restitution.

Before Faith could answer, a small
brown-haired girl whooped and darted between them. She threw her
arms around Faith’s skirt and hugged her legs.

“Mama, Aunt Iris said she’s gonna plant me
with the onions if I pester her any more!”

Duke’s heartbeat faltered. During his covert
admiration of the woman, he hadn’t considered Faith’s personal
life, that she might have a child, that she might be married, that
his own growing anticipation of making a personal call on her was
out of line.

“This is my daughter, Cora,” she said,
brushing the girl’s curls out of her lively green eyes.

Cora pointed to the badge on his chest.
“What’s that?” Before he could answer, she gawked at his revolver.
“Is that a gun? Do you shoot people?” She was a slip of a girl with
skinny arms and legs, and a cute little mouth that spewed questions
faster than Duke could answer them. Her curiosity made her bold,
and she tried to touch the gleaming metal cuffs hanging from Duke’s
gun belt.

He stepped back, removing the gun from her
reach. “Careful, missy,” he said. “Guns are dangerous. Never touch
one. Not for any reason. Not ever.”

“Cora Rose, mind your manners,” Faith said,
laying her hand on Cora’s head and gently chastising the girl.

“What are those?” she asked, undaunted.

“Handcuffs.”

“What are they for?”

Duke glanced at Faith, who gave him an
apologetic look. “She’s four,” she said, as if that would explain
Cora’s curiosity. For Duke, who had six nephews and two nieces, it
explained everything. A four-year-old’s questions could wear a
person down faster than an interrogation by the United States
military.

He reached to unhook the cuffs, but the move
shot a fierce spike of pain into his shoulder socket. He bit his
lip to stop an agonized curse from slipping out, then forced
himself to pull the cuffs from the clasp on his leather belt. His
shoulder throbbed as he squatted and showed her how to work the
cuffs. “If you go quietly, you might be able to cuff your Aunt Iris
to a fat plant,” he suggested, hoping the child would scamper out
of earshot. He didn’t want her to hear his conversation with Faith
and Adam.

Cora giggled and charged toward the back of
the greenhouse.

“Consider your handcuffs lost,” Faith said.
“She’ll bury them someplace, and we’ll never find them again.”

As he stood, he eased out a breath, letting
the pain ebb from his shoulder and the hope of courting Faith ebb
from his mind. Faith was married. Nothing to do but accept it, take
care of the business with Adam, then leave. Adam seemed to be a
considerate boy, but he needed a man’s guiding hand. Much as Duke
didn’t want to meet Faith’s husband, he felt it his duty to inform
him of Adam’s mistake and hope the man could provide the guidance
and influence the boy needed.

But he stole one final moment to admire
Faith’s slender body and kissable lips—lips he wanted to know
intimately.

With a resigned sigh, he nodded toward the
open door of the greenhouse. “Is your husband at home today?”

Her lashes lowered. “I’m a widow, Sheriff
Grayson.”

Surprise, relief, and a deep sympathy rushed
through him. She couldn’t be more than twenty-five or so. To be
widowed in old age was a sad thing, but to lose a spouse at such a
young age was tragic. She had lost not only her husband but her
mother as well. No wonder her sultry voice was laced with pain.

Duke understood grief. He’d lost his father
over a decade ago, but the pain would never go away.

The realization that she was hurting and
having hard times, too, shifted Duke’s direction like a compass
needle seeking North. He’d never been able to turn away someone in
need— especially a woman in need—and he sure as hell wouldn’t turn
away from this gorgeous widow with the sultry voice and those
beautiful whiskey eyes.

Faith didn’t want her not-so-innocent little brother party to her
lies, so she touched Adam’s shoulder and nodded for him to leave.
“Go see that Cora doesn’t lose the sheriff’s handcuffs,” she
said.