A Kiss in the Shadows

by Marie Patrick

  “Brock MacDermott. This is Miss Buchanan.” They shook hands in the doorway. “We’re on Zeb Logan’s trail. Thought he might have passed through Embudo within the last couple of days. Have you seen him?”

  Rafferty led the way into the office and placed the small canister on a table next to a potbelly stove. “Logan? No, I haven’t. If he’s been here, I highly doubt he’d make his presence known with me.” He spoke over his shoulder as he unscrewed the tin’s cap and proceeded to make a pot of coffee. “Never seen him except for that poster on the wall. In truth, I don’t really want to. I know what he’s done.”

  The news wasn’t what Brock wanted to hear. He glanced at Stevie Rae, but she wasn’t looking at him. Instead, her eyes were on the Wanted poster and Zeb Logan’s brutish face. She shivered, her entire body quaking despite the duster she wore, and when she turned to face him, he saw the disappointment and raw anger in her features, but no fear gleamed from her eyes. He swallowed hard and turned back to Rafferty. The man stood with his hands on his hips, his fingertips brushing the top of his gun belt, his eyes, filled with curiosity, darting from him to Stevie and back.

  “Anything unusual happen lately?”

  Rafferty shrugged. “A few drunken rowdies lookin’ for a fight, but nothin’ unusual in that.”

  Another dead end. Brock couldn’t help the long sigh that escaped him or the frustration that built within him.

  “Is MacLeish still in town?”

  The sheriff shook his head. “Nah, he moved in with his daughter and her family. They have a ranch outside Santa Fe. Heard from him a couple of times since he retired. He seems happy to be chasin’ grandchildren instead of criminals.”

  Brock took in the information and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Yes, he could see MacLeish trying to keep up with a passel of young ones. The vision in his head grew for a moment then disappeared, sobering him instantly. “Any place I can send a few telegrams?”

  “Sure. Bud Hollings at the depot can help you. Just tell him I sent you.”

  Brock nodded. “Thanks for your time, Sheriff. Come on, Stevie, let’s go.”

  She tipped her hat to the sheriff, then stepped outside. “Where to now?” she asked as she stopped on the raised sidewalk and glanced at him. Weariness made her voice huskier than usual, but it was the sadness lurking in her eyes that struck him the hardest.

  “The train station.”

  They walked the horses to the depot, as it wasn’t far. “Do you want to come in with me? It shouldn’t take long.”

  “I’ll just wait here.”

  He handed her Resolute’s reins, then went inside. As was his habit whenever he rode into a new town, Brock sent out his telegrams. There were a dozen in all, lawmen throughout New Mexico and Colorado whom he’d become friends with and knew of his search for Logan, but at the moment, he had little hope they would pan out. Logan was smart. And getting smarter. More cunning. He might have come to Embudo, but he hadn’t stayed long enough to cause mayhem or perhaps, he hadn’t come to town at all, had just made them think he’d come here. The pearls could have been dropped on purpose—to draw them here while Logan went in the opposite direction, getting farther and farther away.

  As he handed several crisp bills to Mr. Hollings, Brock turned his head and caught a glimpse of Stevie Rae. She had moved from where he’d left her and now leaned against a split-rail fence just outside the train depot, hat tipped back, face turned toward the sun, her duster tossed over Willow’s saddle. For a moment, all he could do was stare at her loveliness. As his gaze traveled her lithe form and delicate face, he wished things could be different, a desire that had come to him more than once and seemed to be growing.

  Time seemed to have stopped, and for a moment, there was no one but him and her—no passengers buying tickets, no small children bickering as they sat beside their parents, waiting for the train, no young lovers sitting side by side, their hands clasped together—

  Mr. Hollings cleared his throat and extended his hand through the small space between the counter and the bottom of the grill he sat behind, the coins shining dully in his palm. “Your change, sir.”

  Reality rushed back with brutal clarity and he clenched his jaw. He’d never have a moment’s peace until Zeb Logan was no longer a menace.

  He studied the money in the man’s slender hand. “Mr. Hollings, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to send one more telegram.”

  “Of course.” The man nodded, then drew back his hand and dropped the coins in a drawer to his side. He grabbed the short stub of a pencil and half a sheet of clean paper. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Brock dictated the note, thanked Mr. Hollings, and left the building.

  Stevie Rae tilted her head and squinted up at him as she watched him cross the street. “All done?”

  He didn’t answer her question. Instead, he asked, “How’s your backside?”

  Startled, her eyes opened wide, then narrowed against the bright sunlight streaming over the peaked roof of the train station. “My what?”

  “Your backside.”

  Suspicion pulled down the corners of her mouth. “Why do you want to know?”

  Brock shrugged. “Just trying to determine if you’re ready to get back on your horse right now or wait until tomorrow.”

  “That depends. Where are we going?”

  “Santa Fe.”

  “Why?”

  “To see Sonny. He’s the only man I know who came close to capturing Logan and probably would have except Logan got the drop on him and shot him in the back.” He took Resolute’s reins from her grasp and started walking back toward the main street. Stevie fell into step beside him and he glanced in her direction. “Took a long time for Sonny to heal after the surgeon removed the bullet and I don’t think he was ever the same after that, which is probably why he retired.” He paused where the fence ended. Stevie stopped as well, giving him her full attention, her eyes bright despite the brim of her hat shading her face. “I think we should go see him. Maybe he can tell me what I’m missing.”

  She nodded before she hoisted herself into Willow’s saddle. “My backside is fine. Let’s go.” The lie flowed from her lips, like he knew it would.

  Brock climbed into Resolute’s saddle but didn’t nudge the horse’s side. Instead, he just sat there, looking at Stevie Rae until she flashed him that soul-catching grin and urged Willow forward. Caught off guard, he couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. She made him want to pull her from her horse’s back and kiss her in the middle of the street. In the shadows or in the sunlight, it didn’t matter, he wanted to feel the touch of her lips beneath his own. She did that to him. When he hit his lowest and didn’t think he could take another step in any direction, she managed to make him believe he could.

  “Are we just gonna stand here all day, or did you want to go to Santa Fe?”

  Chapter 13

  Four days later, they rode into Santa Fe. Banners hung across the streets, inviting one and all to a rodeo event, and the streets bustled with people as Brock and Stevie Rae maneuvered through the throng toward a hotel. Tired, dirty, hungry, her resolve starting to slip, Stevie Rae ignored it all as she glanced at Brock. If he felt those same things, he didn’t share, but she could see the exhaustion on his face. He hadn’t smiled since they’d left Embudo, although she had tried to get him to.

  “I’ll see if there are rooms available here.” Brock swung down from the saddle and wrapped his horse’s reins around the post in front of the building before he climbed the steps and disappeared inside.

  She slid from Willow’s back and stretched the kinks from her shoulders and back. Sitting so long in the saddle had made her muscles ache more than she would have expected. Or perhaps, it was sleeping on the hard ground. Oh, it would be lovely to sleep in a real bed on a thick mattress and soak in a hot bath.

  The hotel’s door opened a few moments later, and Stevie glanced up, expecting Brock to usher her inside. But it wasn’t Brock who
stood in the doorway. It was the last person she expected to see—Lucas Boyle, doctor of medicine—and her former fiancé.

  Stevie stiffened as memories flooded her. She didn’t want to see him, or talk to him, and the inclination to walk away before he noticed her became too strong to ignore. She turned, ready to make her escape.

  “Stephanie?”

  Too late.

  Stevie closed her eyes and resisted the urge to grind her teeth. He was the only one who insisted on using her proper name, no matter how much she disliked it.

  He stepped into the street and strutted toward her, his long-legged stride still full of purpose, his smile just a touch condescending, like it had always been. And why had she never noticed that his smile never reached his eyes, as if he held something back?

  It had been months since she’d seen him, and just as long since she’d thought about how he’d broken their engagement and the terrible words he had thrown at her. She had been devastated and angry then, but time had lessened the hurt. She thought of him fleetingly, those moments never lasting long, but seeing him again, she thought she’d feel something—a pang of regret or a flutter in her belly like when she looked at Brock. But she didn’t feel much at all. The sight of him didn’t reduce her to tears, nor did she have the desire to slap him across the face, like she had at one time.

  Stevie straightened and allowed her shoulders to relax. She even managed to smile at him. “Hello, Lucas.”

  He grabbed her hands, then bent over to kiss her, but at the last moment, she turned her head and his lips landed on her cheek.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked as he released her, then took a step back. His gaze swept her from head to toe and back and it didn’t take more than two seconds, perhaps, for his mouth to settle into a disapproving line. She’d seen that before—too many times to count. “Oh, I see. You’re still chasing after that outlaw, aren’t you? Determined to do a man’s job. As stubborn as always and hell-bent on doing things your own way.” He shook his head. “I thought you’d come to your senses these past few months, but I see you haven’t.”

  Stevie Rae opened her mouth but never had a chance to respond as her attention was drawn to the hotel’s porch and Brock leaning against the door frame. Jaw clenched, eyes narrowed and glinting like granite, he stared at Lucas, a stranger to him. “You all right, Stevie Rae? He bothering you?”

  Every muscle in her body tensed as his gaze met hers and held. How much had he heard? “No, he isn’t bothering me. I’m all right.” She took a step back and gave a slight nod of her head. “If you’ll just give me a moment…” She didn’t finish the sentence, but hoped he would understand.

  He did, though reluctantly, if the muscle jumping in his jaw and the rigid set of his shoulders was any indication. He moved away from the door and sank into one of the rocking chairs on the porch, affording a little bit of privacy but close enough to intervene if need be. She glanced in his direction and tried to smile, then focused her attention back on Lucas.

  “Is that who you’re with now, Stephanie? Some lowlife cowpoke with nothing to his name? Is he better than me? Can he offer you more than I can?” He sneered then, not even bothering to hide his disdain. “Have you taken him to your bed, too?”

  Time apart had not changed him. Not his blond hair, which lay over his forehead in a thick sheaf, nor his dark green eyes or his self-satisfied smirk. If anything, he seemed even more arrogant. Why hadn’t she seen that before? Could love truly be that blind?

  Yes, she supposed it could, but then, maybe it hadn’t been love. And maybe the problem didn’t lie with him at all, but with her. If she had truly loved him, wouldn’t she have missed him these many months? Thought of him every day instead of every now and then?

  She hadn’t. Absence had not made her heart grow fonder.

  She studied him now, her gaze resting on his handsome face, and came to the startling conclusion that it didn’t matter. None of it. Her life had changed in ways he’d never comprehend and never approve of. And he had no part in it.

  “Thank you for your concern,” she said and took a few steps away, “but if you’ll remember, it was you who left me. As of that moment, you lost whatever say you thought you had in what I can and cannot do. For your information, that man is Brock MacDermott. He’s a bounty hunter and he’s helping me to do what you refused to—find my father’s killer.”

  He moved so quickly, Stevie Rae didn’t have a chance to react. He grabbed her by her upper arms, his fingers squeezing into her soft skin. From the corner of her eye, she saw Brock shoot out of the rocking chair, vault over the porch railing, and jump to the street. The expression on his face bespoke of murderous intent, the tension in his muscles proof of his ability to follow through on that threat.

  “Mister, I don’t know who you think you are, but if you don’t let that lady go, you’ll be answering to me.”

  Lucas glanced at him, a sneer twisting his lips before dismissing him. “This is a private conversation between the lady and me.”

  “Doesn’t look like a conversation from where I’m standing.” Brock tipped his hat back, revealing his whole face and the smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Looks like you’re manhandling her and she doesn’t like it.”

  Stevie Rae drew in her breath. She’d seen that look before, had been on the receiving end of it several times. His expression harbored nothing good, but before she could speak, Brock took a step closer and his voice softened―another warning Lucas wouldn’t be aware of. “Now if I were you, I’d take my hands off the lady and I’d do it quickly.”

  Something flickered in Lucas’s wide eyes—self-preservation, perhaps? He released her and took several steps back.

  “Nice seeing you, Stephanie.” Lucas touched the brim of his hat, then walked away quickly, his movements stiff. Stevie watched him cross the street then disappear around the side of a building. Her breath released in a rush and she rubbed her arms where he had pressed his fingers so cruelly into her skin.

  “You all right?”

  Stevie Rae nodded, unable to speak. The worry in Brock’s voice was enough to make tears sting her eyes, and his kindness brought a lump in her throat. She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

  He touched her, lifting her chin with gentle fingers. “Who was that man?”

  She let her gaze roam over Brock’s face. His normally clear gray eyes were now as dark as thunderclouds. “Doctor Lucas Boyle. Up until a few months ago, we were engaged to be married.”

  “Engaged?”

  “Yes.”

  “But not anymore. What happened?”

  Stevie dropped her gaze and stared at the tips of her boots for a moment before she glanced at him again. “He broke our engagement and left town when I told him of my intentions to find Logan.”

  Understanding dawned, and his eyes changed from that polished pewter of a thundercloud to the clear gray she knew so well. “He didn’t approve, did he?”

  “No, he didn’t approve…of many things, which I’m just beginning to realize.” She took a deep breath and willed herself to remain calm. “But I didn’t let him stop me.” She drew herself up to her full height, her gaze meeting his. “I won’t let you stop me, either.”

  They stood in the middle of the street, nearly toe to toe, but Stevie Rae wasn’t about to back down or let him try to change her mind. He’d already tried on numerous occasions…and lost, but he surprised her by smiling and touching the brim of his hat with his fingers in a mock salute. “I wouldn’t dream of trying to stop you, Stevie. It wouldn’t do me any good. I know that. I can admit defeat when it’s staring me in the face.” The smile faded, concern once again claiming his expression. “You sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m tougher than I look, Brock.”

  He watched her for a moment, his beautiful eyes warming her from the inside out, before his lips twitched into a smile once again. “I know. And you’re a lot more stubborn, too.” There was humor in his voice now, which was unex
pected, but very much appreciated.

  Stevie Rae let out a chuckle. “You’re teasing me.”

  “I would never tease you, Stevie. I will always tell you the plain, unvarnished truth. And the truth is, you’re as stubborn as Whiskey Pete over there.” He fished a key out of one pocket and four gold coins out of another. “I was able to get us rooms.” He handed her the items. “You’re in room seven. I’m right next door in six. Top of the stairs and to the left. There’s a stable around back and a boy named Jackson. He’ll take care of your horse as well as Whiskey Pete. One of those coins is for him. The other three are for Barry, Simon, and Maris.” He unwrapped Resolute’s reins from around the post and hoisted himself into the saddle, but didn’t explain who any of those people were. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

  “Where are you going?”

  He grinned and tipped his hat as he looked down at her, the warmth of his gaze sending a shiver along her spine. “To send my telegrams, see Marshal Dameron, and get a message to Sonny.” He nudged Resolute, then changed his mind and lightly pulled on the reins, stopping the horse’s progress. Once more, his silvery gaze met and held hers and something in the depths of her belly fluttered. “Meet me for dinner at seven.”

  “All right. Where?”

  “The hotel’s dining room.”

  She nodded as he saluted one more time then set Resolute into a slow walk with his knees. Stevie Rae watched him as if she were in a dream until he disappeared around a corner. Mentally shaking herself, she brought Willow and Whiskey Pete to the back of the hotel, where the boy named Jackson relieved her of her burdens. Grabbing her saddlebags and the cloth valise from the mule’s back, she headed into the hotel, sailed past the registration desk with a slight nod to the man who stood behind it, and climbed the flight of stairs carpeted in a muted rose. Her room was down the hall, as Brock had said it would be.

  Stevie slipped the key into the lock and swung the door open. She caught her breath as she glanced around. Room number seven of the Old Square Hotel was nothing less than charming. Pleasantly surprised, she entered and dropped her bags and valise on a rocking chair. She moved to the window and flung open the draperies to admire the view, then turned her attention to the four-poster bed in the middle of the room. She lifted a corner of the quilt and marveled at the height of the mattress then tested the firmness, and grinned—not nearly as hard as the ground she’d been sleeping on. She sat on the edge of the bed, the softness of the mattress easing some of the discomfort of her tired, sore behind, and she let out a long sigh before she lay back.