Lips That Touch Mine (7 page)

Claire's stomach tightened, her mind
scrambling for a way to yank this bone from Desmona's teeth without
provoking the woman. "Grandma was a grand storyteller. She filled
my ears with stories about knights and princes and ordinary men who
would move heaven and earth for their lady love. Her journal is
filled with dozens of story ideas. I appreciate them because I grew
up with her tales, but I doubt you would find the journal all that
interesting."

"On the contrary. I was intrigued by her
diary from the very first sentence."

Heat rushed up Claire's neck. Desmona didn't
believe a word of her explanation. This old woman might look frail,
but she smelled scandal, and wouldn't stop digging until her
curiosity was satisfied.

"Do you think Mr. Harrison will stop selling
liquor in his hotel?" she asked, deciding that an abrupt change of
subject would effectively show Mrs. Edwards that she had no
business asking questions about the diary.

"I presume so," Desmona said, watching her
footing as she walked beside Claire. "If he's set on getting the
deputy sheriff's position, his conscience will force him to
stop."

"Does this mean that Sheriff Grayson will
take our pledge, too?"

Desmona shook her head, making the tiny beads
on her gray velour bonnet tremble. "He already holds the position
of sheriff with little fear of losing it."

"Why should the sheriff be an exception?"
Claire asked. "He should be one of the men setting an example for
this town."

"He does. The Grayson boys are highly
regarded by our menfolk. Each year those boys contribute a goodly
amount of lumber for our local charity projects. The oldest boy,
Radford, is a war hero. Kyle is a respected businessman who employs
several of our townsmen. Sheriff Grayson does a fine job of keeping
our town safe. He may visit the saloons on occasion, but he doesn't
cause trouble or sell liquor. "

"His younger brother does. In that rum hole
across the street from my home."

"A shame it is, too," Desmona said, huffing
as they crossed the Common toward the church. "That boy is wasting
his life in that saloon. "

Claire couldn't agree more.

"I suppose he comes by it naturally though,"
Desmona said. "His father was tall and handsome and full of charm.
Hal Grayson was a rascal, if an incredibly talented young man. My
Addison wanted to hire him to build furniture for our store. I'd
hoped the boy would take a shine to one of my girls, but Hal had
other plans. He started up a sawmill and set his sights on Nancy
Tremont. They had four boys who inherited his good looks and her
energy. Boyd got Hal's talent and wild nature." Desmona stopped at
the entrance to the church. "And that young man is as obstinate as
his father was, and he isn't going to close his saloon just because
we ask him to."

Claire's shoulders sagged. She'd sensed that
Boyd wasn't a man who could be told what to do. He wasn't the sort
of man who would bow to pressure from his neighbors. He seemed to
be everything Desmona called him: obstinate, talented, and wild—an
incredibly handsome man who was used to getting what he wanted. He
was from a respectable family and had the protection of the
sheriff.

How was she going to fight that?

Boyd ordered a
round of drinks for Duke and Kyle, who were sitting at the bar
smoking cigars to celebrate the birth of Kyle's first child.

"You look like hell," Boyd said.

Kyle passed him a cigar. "I
feel
like hell."

Boyd anchored the cheroot between his teeth,
struck a match, and drew on the cigar until an orange glow traveled
a quarter inch up the length. He braced his elbows on the bar and
exhaled a ring of smoke that circled their heads. "Did Marshall
Thomas give you and Amelia a rough time today?"

Kyle scraped his brown hair off his forehead.
"Doc said a fourteen-hour birth is a blessing. Amelia delivered
without a problem, but it sure wrung me out."

"Well, look on the bright side," Boyd said.
"In about six weeks you and Amelia will be able to use those
handcuffs you never gave back to Duke."

Duke's shout of laughter made Kyle grin.
"You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"

"Not a chance."

If Boyd lived to be a hundred years old, he
would never forget the night that Kyle, who'd been married for two
weeks and hadn't yet consummated his marriage, had demanded Duke's
handcuffs then bolted from the bar with a determined look on his
face. Boyd suspected that Kyle had wanted the cuffs for himself, to
ease Amelia's fear of him, but he'd never said and Boyd had never
asked.

Kyle pulled another cigar from his pocket for
Radford, who'd just entered the saloon. "I'll have to tell you
about it sometime."

It would be a cold day in hell before Kyle
would give Boyd that kind of ammunition, but Boyd laughed, amazed
at the change in his older brother. Just three years ago, Kyle had
been a humorless, miserable man. His fiancée, Evelyn Tucker, had
fallen in love with their oldest brother Radford, which had nearly
destroyed their family. Then, barely six months after Kyle's broken
engagement, Kyle was forced to marry Amelia Drake, their
competitor's daughter. It seemed a miracle to Boyd that they all
had ended up happy.

"What did I miss?" Radford asked as he
stomped snow from his boots and straddled a barstool beside
Kyle.

Boyd signaled Karlton to bring a mug for his
brother. "Kyle is going to make a confession about his love
life."

Kyle laughed. "My adventures consist of
fighting for a place in bed between two spoiled cats and my wife's
protruding belly. Your love life would be far more entertaining,
Boyd."

Duke shot a wry look at Boyd. "When has
love
ever had anything to do with your affairs?"

A small ache started in Boyd's chest. He
struggled not to show any outward sign of the emptiness that
overwhelmed him at times. He would never fall in love. He wasn't
worthy of it. He asked too much. And gave too little. He would
spend his life with his crazy, mixed-breed mutt. All Sailor needed
was regular meals and a good daily scratch behind his ears. Boyd
didn't want anything more emotionally challenging than that.

Radford picked up the mug of ale that Karlton
had just set in front of him. "Don't look so smug, little brother.
You'll take the fall someday, and when you do, Kyle and I are going
to enjoy every minute of it."

It would never happen, but Boyd didn't argue.
He glanced at Duke and changed the subject. "Heard you got a new
deputy today."

Duke nodded. "Levi Harrison signed the
ladies' temperance pledge, then accepted the position."

"He signed their pledge?" Boyd asked in
disbelief, exchanging a disgusted look with Karlton.

"Said he had to if he wanted to become a
lawman. The ladies pressured him to stop selling liquor in his
hotel and set an example for the rest of us men."

Boyd rolled his eyes. "Next thing you know
they'll be hounding you to sign their damned pledge."

"They already have."

"You won't do it, will you?" Karlton asked,
butting into their conversation.

"I don't see any need to. I don't have an
unquenchable thirst for alcohol, or a family I'm neglecting because
of it. And I don't sell liquor." Duke shrugged. "Can't see how my
stopping for an occasional mug hurts anyone or keeps me from doing
my job."

"Neither can I, and I wouldn't let their
nagging sway you," Boyd said. "Besides, the ladies will get tired
of marching in this cold weather and give up this nonsense before
long."

Kyle and Radford glanced at each other and
chuckled. Radford rested his mug on his bent knee. "For being a
blatant philanderer, Boyd, you don't know a thing about women. They
don't give up until they get what they're after."

"Hogwash," Boyd retorted. "Five dollars says
they last a week, maybe two at most."

Radford lifted his mug. "My money says they
won't stop until they close every saloon in town, including
yours."

"It will never happen." Boyd tapped his mug
to Radford's. "I'm confident enough to double the wager."

"Count me in," Kyle said. "I'm with Radford
though. Once a woman gets it in her head to do something or change
something, there's no reasoning with them. They won't give up.
They'll keep after you like a saw blade against a tree, scraping
and cutting until you fall."

"Not if they fall first," Karlton said. "I'll
triple the wager that the women quit before we give in."

Boyd looked at Duke. "What's your wager?"

"I'm staying out of this. I know how
hardheaded you are, but those women are serious about their cause.
They've gotten financial backing from a large group of men and they
have the support of every church in town. They aren't going to back
down any more than you are." Duke lowered his hands to his knees.
"The saloon owners are irritated by the ladies' visits. The ladies
are outraged by some of the owners' rude treatment of them. And
they're all complaining to me."

"Maybe you should tell the ladies to stop
marching," Karlton said, walking away.

"They have a right to march."

"Well, I have a license to sell liquor," Boyd
argued.

"That's my point, Boyd. Both sides are
entitled to do what they're doing." Duke lifted his mug and took a
long drink before setting it on the bar. "This isn't my fight. All
I can do is keep the peace and make sure nobody gets hurt."

"No one's asking you to choose sides." Boyd
signaled for another round of drinks, but Karlton wasn't behind the
bar. Assuming he was in the stockroom or relieving his bladder,
Boyd got up and poured the drinks himself. He felt better behind
the bar.

How ridiculous to think a band of women could
close down several profitable saloons. Duke was just feeling
pressured because of his job. Radford and Kyle were giving the
temperance women too much credit because of their own experiences
with their lovely but strong-willed wives.

The women could march and pray all they
wanted, but it wouldn't change a thing. They couldn't vote. They
couldn't revoke his license to sell liquor. They were wasting their
time with all this foolishness.

Radford pushed his mug forward, but instead
of ordering another, he stood up. "Good luck with your lady
friends," he said, buttoning his coat.

"Where are you going?" Boyd asked.

"Home. I promised Rebecca and William a story
before bed." Boyd had always enjoyed his freedom, but sometimes he
envied Radford. Three years ago Radford had come home from the war
with his four-year-old daughter Rebecca, both of them emotionally
wounded and hurting. Evelyn Tucker had loved and healed them and
gave Radford a son a year after they married. They had found a deep
happiness with each other, like Kyle had found with Amelia.

Like Duke would someday find with a woman of
his own.

Like Boyd would never have.

"I'll walk you out," Kyle said, getting to
his feet.

Boyd nodded to Karlton who was carrying in a
fresh keg of beer from the stockroom. "I'll be back in a few
minutes," he said, then followed Kyle and Radford outside. He bade
them goodnight, then stood on the porch and watched them walk down
Main Street. It wouldn't take them ten minutes to reach Radford's
home and livery on Liberty Street. Kyle would have to travel five
minutes farther to reach his home near their sawmill in Laona.

The night was cold, but Boyd breathed in the
frigid air, wondering what it would be like to have a wife and a
family. Marriage had changed his brothers. Radford wasn't so jumpy
and tense anymore. Kyle had found his sense of humor again. Both of
them seemed content and happy. But did the responsibility of having
a family ever weigh them down?

A noise across the street snapped his
attention to Claire's house. To his surprise, Claire stood on her
porch with the door open, angling a paper toward the light from her
foyer.

Recognizing a perfect opportunity to speak
with her, Boyd descended his steps with a jaunty gait. With any
luck she'd taunt him with the success of getting Harrison to sign
their pledge. That would be better than having her close her door
in his face. It would give him time to talk his way inside.

The snow muffled his footsteps as he crossed
the street to her house. She was so absorbed in whatever she was
reading that he climbed the steps to her porch without disturbing
her.

"That must be some interesting letter," he
said.

She cried out and clasped the letter to her
chest. Fear filled her eyes, and she panted as if she'd just run up
West Hill.

"Are you all right?" he asked, shocked by her
reaction.

"Go away." She inched her way inside.

"Wait a minute." He thrust out his hand to
stop the door from closing. "What's wrong?"

"Go away or I'll...I'll get my gun."

"What?" He shook his head. "What's going on
here?"

"You should know." She pushed on the door,
but he braced his foot to keep it from closing. Her jaw clenched,
and she glared at him. "Will you kindly remove yourself from my
property?"

"Not until you tell me what's going on. I
just scared the stuffing out of you, and for some reason you're
treating me like a criminal." "You sell liquor. You drink alcohol.
You carouse in that rum hole all hours of the night without a
thought or care for your neighbors' comfort. That, Mr. Grayson, is
criminal. Now leave or I'll get Sheriff—I'll...I'll get my
gun."

"Just because the sheriff is my brother
doesn't mean I get special privileges, Claire. If you ask him to
remove me from your property, he'll do it."

Her hands trembled, and she leaned her
forehead against the edge of the oak door. She lifted her lashes to
reveal dark, fear-filled eyes. "If you have a shred of decency,
you'll leave as I've requested."