Never Love a Lawman (2 page)

Reidsville, Colorado, September 1882

Watching her was a pleasure. A mostly secret pleasure. Wyatt Cooper braced his hands on the wooden balustrade and leaned forward just enough to make certain her progress down the street remained unobstructed. His second-story perch lent him a particularly fine view of her gliding toward him.

Give or take a few minutes, she was right on schedule. He didn’t have to look away from her to confirm that he wasn’t alone in his appreciation. He could safely predict there were upwards of a dozen men loitering on the wooden sidewalk between Morrison’s Emporium and Mr. Redmond’s Livery. Abe Dishman and Ned Beaumont were almost certainly glancing up from the checkers game they played every afternoon in front of Easter’s Bakery. Johnny Winslow would have set himself to sweeping out the entrance of Longabach’s Restaurant just about now, whether or not Mrs. Longabach needed him scrubbing pots or hauling water. Mr. Longabach, too, generally found some reason to wander outside the restaurant, even if it was only to remind Johnny not to dawdle.

Jacob Reston managed the bank and employed two tellers, both of whom had surely moved quietly from behind their cages to crowd the doorway. Jacob had the best view, a consequence of the position of his desk, the window, and the convenience of a chair that swiveled. Ed Kennedy had likely stopped pounding out a shoe in his blacksmithing establishment long enough to watch her take her daily constitutional, and because Ed liked to impress the ladies, he’d be standing almost at attention, making the best of what God and hard work had given him: broad shoulders, upper arms like anvils, and hands as big as dinner plates.

Wyatt’s fingers tapped out the steady cadence of her walk as she passed Caldwell’s Apothecary and the sheriff’s office. She slipped out of his sight when her path took her under the sheltering porch roof in front of the Miner Key Saloon, but Wyatt kept tapping, and she reappeared at the precise moment he predicted she would, just as his index finger hit the downbeat.

She was within moments of reaching her destination when he was joined at the rail. He didn’t pretend he was doing anything but what he was, and the fact that he didn’t try to hide it brought a throaty chuckle from his companion.

“I don’t suppose you have a jealous bone in your body, Rose,” Wyatt said.

“And I reckon I don’t have any reason to be jealous. Purely wasteful emotion.” She matched Wyatt’s pose at the rail. The ruffled hem of her petticoats fluttered as a light breeze was funneled down the street. Small eddies of dust rose and fell between the bordering sidewalks, but they were no kind of nuisance compared to the muddy puddles that appeared after a rainstorm. “Are you fixin’ to court her?”

“No.”

“Why not? You watch her the same as every other man in town.”

“Maybe I think she’s setting up to rob the bank.”

“She’s not setting up to do any such thing, and you know it.”

“Do I?”

“Course you do. Folks that rob banks come and go. Fast. She’s been here a year now.”

“Fifteen months.”

“There you go.” Rose belted the loose ties of her bloodred silk robe, then turned and leaned back against the rail. She glanced sideways at Wyatt. “She does all right for herself without robbin’ the bank. She made this robe for me.”

“It’s a fine piece of work.”

Rose snorted. “Like you would know. You hardly looked at it.”

“Like you better out of it.”

“Ain’t that just like a man?”

“I hope so.”

Rose allowed her glance to slide over Wyatt. He was taller than many men of her acquaintance, and it was a plain fact that she was acquainted with many men. In profile, he was all smoothly sculpted angles and edgy watchfulness, more than a little aloof but not so cold that you could see his breath when he spoke. He was surely the most contained man she knew, not exactly comfortable in his own skin, but making the best of the fit. From where she stood, she had no complaints about the fit. He’d dressed carelessly: loose fitting trousers, half-tucked shirt, and bare feet. Only one suspender strap was hitched over his shoulders. The other dangled in a loop at his side. The clothes, though, did not make this man. He was narrow-hipped and tautly muscled across the chest and abdomen. The stiff brace of his arms made them as hard as iron rails. He had long legs, tight buttocks, and, damn him to hell, prettier feet than she’d seen on most women, including her own.

He never exactly issued an invitation when you came at him straight on. He’d tip his hat, nod politely, always say hello, yet you got the sense it was all form and no feeling. At least she got that sense, and the improbably named Roseanne LaRosa counted herself as a fair judge of such things. Her profession demanded it. Her life could very well depend on it.

Impulsively, Rose reached out and brushed back a few strands of hair that had fallen across Wyatt’s brow. Her fingers lingered a moment, separating threads of sunshine gold from his thick thatch of light brown hair. He cocked his head to look at her, one eyebrow slightly raised, and she whipped her hand away as if she had reason to feel guilty—or in danger.

“You ought not look at a body like that,” she said sharply.

“Oh?” His eyebrow kicked a notch higher, and he made a point of looking at her body exactly like that.

Rose’s mouth twitched. “That isn’t what I meant, though I suppose you think you’re flattering me. As if you could with eyes like a wolf’s.”

“A wolf’s? Because of the color?”

“Because when they’re not all still and watchful, they’re squinty.”

“Squinty.”

“Yes. Don’t say it like you don’t know. There you go again. Squinty-eyed and accusing. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

“You don’t have to. I’m telling you, it’s there in your eyes.”

Wyatt turned his attention back to the telegraph office near the end of the street. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

Wyatt shrugged. “What do you suppose she’s doing in there today?”

Rose glanced over her shoulder at the now empty sidewalk. “I expect she’s takin’ delivery of some packages. Artie Showalter picks up her things at the depot and brings them to his office. She’s been expecting three yards of Belgian lace and a bolt of peacock-blue sateen. She says she gets it faster if she places the order herself instead of asking for it at Morrison’s.”

“Really?”

“You couldn’t be at all interested, so why bother asking?”

“Just making talk, I expect.”

“Are you sure you’re not fixin’ to court her? Seems like every other single man’s fixed his eye on that prize. Now that I recollect, a couple of married men spun that notion around in what sadly passes for their minds—until their wives spun it back.”

“I say again, I’m not fixing to court anyone, let alone Miss Rachel Bailey.”

“Why not? She’s handsome enough, ain’t she?”

“Handsome enough?” It wasn’t how he would have described her, but coming from Rose, it was a fulsome compliment. “Yes. She’s that.” And more, he thought. A pure pleasure. He nudged Rose with his shoulder. “Who are you trying to marry off? Me or her?”

“Don’t see that it matters either way. You’re not exactly keeping me in silk and silver, and she’s a nice enough lady. A little sad about the eyes, if you ask me, but not so much that you think she’s about to burst into tears if you look at her sideways.”

“Huh.”

That was enough of a prompt for Rose to go on. “I never heard anything that wasn’t gossip and speculation because Miss Bailey likes to keep to herself, but my girls spin a good tale about her pining away. They’re fanciful in that regard, especially on a slow day.”

“Is that right?”

Rose ignored that. “Anyway, if you came around more, I might not like seein’ you go, but the way it is now, it’d be all right if you put your hat in the ring for Miss Bailey’s affections. She’s not going to stop making dresses just because she gets married, so I’m thinkin’ that’ll be all right, too. And she
does
keep me in silk and silver, though, God knows, I pay a pretty price for it.”

“You’re the best-dressed woman in Reidsville,” Wyatt said. “Probably in Colorado.”

She laughed. “When I’m wearing clothes.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your birthday suit, but Miss Bailey does right by you.”

Rose thought it was an odd thing for him to say. Not the first, but the second. She’d never have guessed his watchful, predatory eyes noticed the cut of a woman’s gown or the color of her threads. “You’re a peculiar sort of fellow, aren’t you, Wyatt?”

Though only one side of his mouth lifted, what he offered his companion was most definitely a grin. “I never thought about it.”

“Well, I’m telling you, you are. I’ve known you, what? Five years?”

“Something like that.”

She simply shook her head. “Peculiar.” Before she could elaborate, she saw Rachel Bailey step out of the telegraph office. “Oh, there she is.”

“Mmm.”

“Looks like her packages came.”

“Looks like.”

“She’s juggling an armful. Might be she could use an extra pair of hands.”

“Might be she should have taken Artie up on his offer to help her.”

“Now, how do you know he offered to tote those home for her?”

“He always offers. She always refuses.”

Rose gave him another sideways glance. “You been askin’ after her.”

Wyatt didn’t confirm or deny her claim.

Sighing softly, Rose changed the subject. “I hope she’s got the peacock-blue sateen in one of those. That’s for me.”

“I thought it might be.”

“Adele’s been waiting for the Belgian lace. She’s been pining for that trim on a nightgown since Miss Bailey showed her a sample.”

“She sews for your girls, too?”

“Sure she does. Pays to have them lookin’ real nice. Like I said, if you dropped in more than once in a blue moon, you probably would have realized it. Where have you been anyway?”

“Around.”

“Not in town, not so folks have seen you much. You leave that no-account Beatty boy in charge. What do you suppose he’d do if there was trouble?”

“Same as me. And you shouldn’t call him that.”

Rose rolled her eyes at his rebuke. “Why not? You do. Everyone does.”

“Everyone else doesn’t say it with the same mean edge that you do.”

“I’m sure you misheard. Is it all right with you if I call him a boy?”

Wyatt drew back and regarded Rose with interest. “Are you sweet on him?”

“Sweet on him? Didn’t I just say he was a boy?”

“He’s twenty-seven. Seems about the right age for a man.”

“No man as far as I can tell, and my girls have been wonderin’ the same. We’re thinkin’ he’s sweet on you, Wyatt Cooper, and that explains why he never visits us.”

Wyatt considered all the responses he could make to the particulars of that statement. “Well,” he said slowly, “I suppose that’s a compliment. Will’s a real fine-looking young man.”

“You’ve only got five years on him, Wyatt.”

“But a lot more time in the saddle.”

“That’s what I mean. No one doubted you were a man at twenty-seven. Will’s still got pink in his cheeks and green behind his ears.”

Wyatt settled his hip against the rail and folded his arms across his chest. “Will does all right for himself, Rose. He likes Denver women just fine.”

“Denver women?” Her dark eyebrows arched dramatically. “Whores, you mean. What’s he doin’, goin’ to Denver? What’s wrong with my girls?”

“Did I say he was bedding whores?”

“There’s no respectable women in Denver that aren’t married. Is he seeing a married woman?”

“No.”

“Ha! Then he’s bedding down in the tenderloin.”

Wyatt laughed. “Is it losing his business that bothers you or something else? Maybe I was wrong about you not having a jealous bone.”

Rose’s mouth flattened. “As if I’d give him the time of day.”

“Maybe not, but you’d wind his clock.”

Pushing away from the rail, Rose spun around and jerked her chin in the direction of the departing Rachel Bailey. “Shouldn’t you be trailing after her skirts?”

Having riled her sufficiently to make his point, he merely gave her his laziest half grin. “I know where she’s going.”

Rose fingered Wyatt’s suspender from his waist to his shoulder. In case the gesture wasn’t obvious to him, she offered a coy come-on. “What about me? Do you know where I’m going?”

“I have a pretty good idea.”

She abandoned the suspender strap in favor of taking a fistful of his shirttail. “Why don’t we see if you’re right?”

Offering no resistance, Wyatt allowed Rose to lead him back inside her fancy house and into her fancier bed. They were satisfied, as they always were, to make good use of each other.

Rachel Bailey dropped one of her parcels. Even as she stooped to retrieve it, young Johnny Winslow was bending to scoop it up.

“Here you are, Miss Bailey.” He held it out to her before he noticed she was having difficulty with her remaining load. As more packages bobbled in her arms, he made another offer. “Better yet, let me take some of these from you. No trouble, I promise you.”

“That’s kind of you,” she said, “but Mrs. Longabach likely has need of you elsewhere. I can hear her calling for you. Just help me rearrange these, and I’ll be all right.”

Johnny regarded her with a mixture of skepticism and disappointment. He glanced at the broom he’d set against the restaurant’s window so he could help her. Sometimes he wished Mrs. Longabach would just hop on and ride it out of Reidsville. “Course, miss. I’ll get them settled in your arms just the way you want them.”

Rachel allowed her arms to relax as Johnny took the weight of the parcels from her. She knew she shouldn’t have tried to carry everything herself, but she’d stubbornly insisted that she could do it even though Mr. Showalter offered one of his boys to share the load. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the kindness; she simply didn’t want the company. She never wanted the company.

The sudden appearance of Mrs. Longabach made Rachel jump and lose the two parcels that Johnny had already put in her outstretched hands.

“Heavens! I didn’t mean to startle you, Miss Bailey. I came out to learn why Johnny was ignoring me.” Mrs. Longabach’s thin face lost its pinched, disapproving expression as she took account of the scene in front of her. “Well, I can surely see that he’s up to good this time, and I can tell you, it’s a nice change. Go on, Johnny, finish helping Miss Bailey. You take some of her packages and see that she gets home without another mishap.”