A Kiss in the Shadows

by Marie Patrick

  He brought her lips to his and slowly, with a passion that still stunned her, slid his mouth over hers. “Then I’m not doing my job,” he said when they broke apart. “I promised when we married that I would tell you I loved you at least ten times a day.” He traced her bottom lip with his thumb. “I do, you know. I love you with everything I am. You saved me. Made me see the sunlight beyond the shadow.”

  Heat flooded her, rising up from the depths of her soul to touch every part of her. “We saved each other.”

  The stagecoach rolled to a rattling, creaking halt in front of Hagan’s Saloon. Brock pushed open the door and stepped out, stretching the kinks from stiff muscles while she gathered the few belongings she’d brought inside the stagecoach and stuffed them in the trusty leather medical bag that had once been her father’s. Her door opened and Brock’s hand stretched toward her, and in that moment, Stevie Rae couldn’t stop herself from grinning like an idiot. She was the luckiest woman in the world to have the love of such a man.

  As the stagecoach driver handed their trunks down to the man who had ridden shotgun, Brock took her hand and helped her from the coach.

  “Ah, there’s Dan.” He pulled his watch from his pocket and grinned as the sheriff came into view, perched on the seat of a buckboard that looked like it wouldn’t last another day. “Right on time.”

  “Have you ever known him to be late?”

  “Never.”

  The man in question saluted them smartly, then tugged lightly on the reins and brought the rattletrap wagon to a stop not three feet away. He jumped from his seat and swept Stevie Rae into a bruising hug, nearly knocking her hat—not her treasured cowboy hat, but a fashionable thing with feathers that matched her traveling ensemble—from her head. “Chickadee, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  “Oh Dan, I’m so happy for you!”

  When he released her, she saw that his eyes were shiny and filled with moisture. It didn’t surprise her when he gave Brock the same welcome.

  “Where’s Martha?”

  “I’m making her rest,” he said, a touch of smugness in his voice. “And she finally listened to me. She’s been running around these past few days, worried that you and Brock wouldn’t arrive in time, worried that the flowers for her bouquet would be wilted by the time she and I walked down the aisle tomorrow. She’s even worried the preacher will forget the words.” He chuckled but there was affection in his voice. “Let’s get you all settled.”

  They piled their luggage in the back of the wagon and climbed into the seat. “Martha will be so happy to see you,” Dan said as he flicked the reins with a well-practiced turn of the wrist.

  They passed the dress shop, the one where Stevie Rae had once admired a dress in the window, and Garrity’s General Store. There was a new café and a hotel on the main street and several new homes higher up on the mountainside, but not much else had changed here since Brock had slipped the plain gold band on her finger in front of Dan and Martha and they’d begun their new adventure as a married couple.

  They turned the corner at Nate’s Barbershop. The barber stopped sweeping the raised sidewalk outside his store and waved as they drove by.

  Stevie Rae waved in return, then faced forward. Martha’s house stood at the end of the street, the two-storied structure picturesque against the mountainside background, but they didn’t make it to Martha’s house. Instead, Dan lightly tugged on the reins and brought the dilapidated buckboard to a halt…in front of the house Stevie Rae had grown up in.

  “Why are we stopping here?”

  “There’s someone you need to see.” With those cryptic words, Brock climbed down from the seat, then helped her down as well. He placed her hand in the crook of his arm, opened the gate in the fence that surrounded the front yard, and led them through. Flowers bloomed beside the walkway, and she noticed the fence and the deep front porch had a fresh coat of paint. The porch swing, the one she’d spent hours in when she was younger, swayed with the breeze and lacy curtains fluttered in the open windows on the first floor.

  Stevie Rae stopped before reaching the steps of the wide front porch, nearly yanking him from his feet. “We can’t just go barging in on people, Brock. It isn’t right.”

  “I promise you, the people who live here now won’t mind a bit.” He slipped his hand into hers and gently led her up the porch steps. “Come on. It’ll be all right. I promise.”

  The front door opened, and a very beautiful young woman stood in the entrance, her face wreathed in a smile that made her velvety brown eyes twinkle.

  Stevie Rae stared at the woman, then blinked. “Annie?”

  The woman gave a slight nod.

  Tears instantly stung Stevie Rae’s eyes as memories flooded her. The last time she’d seen Annie was when the woman had served her whiskey at the outlaw saloon so long ago. She’d given her money and sent her to Martha, who took Annie in and gave her what she needed. A home. Respect. Good food and Martha’s particular brand of tough love. And Annie had thrived, though in the beginning, she’d been shy and reserved and hid from everyone, including Stevie. Not now, though. Now, she seemed like a totally different woman. Confident. Realizing her own worth. Happy. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  “Hello, Miss Stevie.” She opened the door wider and pulled Stevie Rae into a warm embrace, then stepped back, embarrassment coloring her face. “I’ve wanted to thank you for so long. If it wasn’t for you, I’d probably be…dead.” She acknowledged Brock with a big smile. “Mr. MacDermott.”

  He tipped his hat in return.

  “You live here now?”

  “Oh no, Miss Stevie, I’m just getting things ready for the new owner.” She stuffed a dust rag into the pocket of her apron, then took another step back. “Conrad and I have been staying here until he finished building our home.”

  “You’re married?” Martha hadn’t told her, but then, Martha had been busy planning her own wedding.

  The woman nodded and again, her smile dazzled. “Please, come in. I’ll be back in a moment.” Annie ran down the hall as Stevie Rae stepped farther into the parlor. Her eyes opened wide and her heart pounded fiercely in her chest. Nothing had changed in this house where she’d grown up. The parlor looked almost exactly as it had before her father had sold the house, right down to the flowered wallpaper. She spun around in a slow circle, her gaze landing on familiar objects, memories bringing tears to her eyes. She reached out to slide her hand over the back of a rocking chair. “This was my mother’s.” She pointed to a desk in the corner and the big leather chair behind it. “And that’s my father’s desk.” She glanced down the hallway and saw the kitchen table she’d shared with her parents when her mother had been well enough to cook, and beyond that, the window in front of the sink where she had dreamed of her future while she washed the supper dishes. She turned toward her husband, her vision blurred by tears. “I don’t understand.”

  “You will.” Brock tilted his head and grinned. “Come, I want to show you something else.” He reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her back toward the front door then along the porch to the side of the house. “Close your eyes.”

  Excitement rippled through her, but as much as she wanted to see, she kept her eyes closed. For him. Because he seemed so excited. She heard whispering, but she didn’t peek although curiosity swelled within her.

  “You can look now.” His voice hovered near her ear. Goose bumps broke out on her flesh as she opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was her husband, grinning like a fool. And Annie, her eyes shining. The second thing she saw was the plaque hanging beside the door. It read Dr. S. MacDermott in fancy script. Below the sign was another plaque that read The Doctor Is In.

  “Go on. Take a look,” Brock encouraged her, but she couldn’t even draw breath, let alone move a muscle.

  “I hope I did everything right,” Annie said as she grabbed her hand and led her into the room, which looked no different than when her father had his practice here. Her feet sank into t
he thick rug on the floor and for a moment, she felt as if she’d stepped into one of her own memories. Several comfortable chairs lined the wall. There were even magazines on the tables between the chairs and through another door, the examination room, just as her father had set it up so long ago. Glass-fronted cabinets held bandages and medicines—all the supplies she’d had Brock send to Paradise Falls. “I’ll be your first patient.”

  Startled, her heart racing, hardly able to believe what her eyes were seeing, Stevie Rae turned toward her. “What?”

  “I’ll be your first patient,” Annie repeated. “Conrad and I are having a baby.”

  “A baby?” God, she felt stupid repeating everything, but she couldn’t help herself. It was all happening so fast.

  The woman nodded, her face aglow, then slowly drew her farther into the room and moved off to the side.

  Stunned, unable to take it all in, Stevie Rae stood still and looked around with the eyes of the child she had been and the adult she had become. Her breath hitched in her chest. It was all too much. So unexpected and so…just like Brock to surprise her like this. Their marriage had been full of surprises—unexpected flowers or candy when she’d had a particularly trying time in school, hot baths waiting for her when she came home from a long day at the hospital—but nothing like this. Now she knew why he’d been so quiet and why he couldn’t stop smiling. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she swallowed hard against the lump in her throat as she faced her husband in the doorway. “How?”

  “Martha, mostly. Believe it or not, your father had given her much of the furniture when he sold the house. She kept those pieces, hoping someday to give them back to you.” He glanced at Annie, his smile deepening, warmth and affection in his voice—and in his beautiful, soft gray eyes. “Dan and Annie helped me, too. All those supplies you had me send to my brother? I sent them here instead and Annie set everything up.”

  “But…” She couldn’t find the words, though they filled her heart. “You did this for me?”

  “I thought about this for a long time, Stevie Rae, and when your old house came up for sale, I… It just felt right.” He entered the room, his long legs eating up the short distance between them. “Can you imagine how hard that’s been to keep a secret? I wanted to tell you so many times, but couldn’t.” He gathered her in his arms, his finger tracing her cheek. “We don’t belong in Paradise Falls. Or Boston, kid. We belong here in Little River. This is where I want to raise our family. In this house. In this town. Where you grew up.”

  Once again, he had sacrificed his own happiness for her, and that alone nearly brought her to her knees. “What about you?”

  His chest puffed out with pride and the smile she’d fallen in love with so long ago stretched his lips. “You’re looking at the new sheriff of Little River. Dan brought my name up to the town council. I was voted in unanimously. So you see, all the pieces have fallen into place.” He pulled her into his arms and held tight, his voice in her ear making shivers race up and down her spine. “I love you, kid—or should I say Doctor MacDermott? Welcome home.”

  Author Bio

  Marie Patrick has always had a love affair with words and books, but it wasn’t until a trip to Arizona, where she now makes her home with her husband and her furry, four-legged “girls,” that she became inspired to write about the sometimes desolate, yet beautiful landscape. Her inspiration doesn’t just come from the Wild West, though. It comes from history itself. She is fascinated with pirates and men in uniform and lawmen with shiny badges. When not writing or researching her favorite topics, she can usually be found curled up with a good book. Marie loves to hear from her readers. Drop her a note at Akamariep@aol.com or visit her website at www.mariepatrick.com.

  More from This Author

  Mischief and Magnolias

  Marie Patrick

  Natchez, Mississippi

  September 1863

  Shaelyn Cavanaugh leaned against the railing of the second-floor gallery of her home and focused on the two men coming up the road, their blue uniforms unmistakable. They rode at a swift pace, a trail of dust behind them.

  Since Natchez, Mississippi, surrendered to the Union forces, it wasn’t unusual to see blue uniforms, especially since they’d made Rosalie, the home next door, their headquarters. But the two men didn’t turn into Rosalie’s drive as she expected.

  Her breath caught in her throat when she glimpsed light auburn hair, much like her brother’s, gleaming in the sunlight. “Ian!”

  His companion had raven-black hair, though it too reflected the sun’s light. Traveling with Ian, he could be only one man—the one she had promised to wait for. “James.” Her hand gripped the wrought-iron railing, her knuckles white. Tears blurred her vision. Her heart beat a frantic rhythm in her chest as excitement surged through her veins.

  “They’re home!” she cried. “Mama!”

  She lifted her skirts and ran for the outside staircase at the back of the house. “They’re home!”

  She jumped, missing the last few stairs, and hit the veranda at a run, her skirts held high as she ran into the house through the French doors in the small sun parlor.

  “Mama!” Shaelyn darted into the central hallway, her footsteps clicking on the marble tiles as she ran to the front door, flung it open, and rushed headlong into a pair of strong arms. She rested her head against a firm, hard chest, and squeezed tight. A button pressed into her cheek, but she didn’t care. They were home. “Thank God,” she whispered into the uniform.

  “Well, that’s quite a greeting,” a deep, rich voice as smooth as drizzling molasses responded. Laughter rumbled in his chest. “Not expected, but certainly welcomed.”

  “Hmm. Where’s mine?” his companion asked in the clipped tones of New England.

  Shaelyn recognized neither voice nor accent and turned her head to glance at the auburn-haired man. Ian Cavanaugh did not look back at her, which meant she did not have her arms around James Brooks.

  Her face hot with embarrassment, Shaelyn pulled away from the man. She drew in a shaky breath and stared. The most beautiful pair of soft blue-gray eyes she’d ever seen stared back. “Forgive me. I thought you were someone else.”

  “Obviously,” the man replied. “Perhaps introductions are in order, although after your greeting, it may be too late.” Amusement gleamed from his eyes as a wide grin showed off his white teeth in a charming smile. She wanted to touch the dimple that appeared in his cheek. “Major Remington Harte.” He gestured to the man beside him. “This is my second in command, Captain Vincent Davenport.”

  “Miss.” Captain Davenport bowed from the waist.

  Shaelyn nodded in his general direction, but her focus remained on the major. She’d never seen hair so black or so thick. An insane impulse overwhelmed her—she wanted to run her fingers through that mass of thick, shiny hair and feel its silkiness. Struck by her own inappropriate thoughts, she stilled. He wasn’t James. She shouldn’t want to run her fingers through his hair.

  “Are you Brenna Cavanaugh?”

  “What?” Startled, Shaelyn shook her head. “No, I’m her daughter, Shaelyn.”

  Footsteps rang out down the hallway. Shaelyn dragged her gaze away from the man in uniform for just a moment as her mother joined them at the door. “I am Brenna Cavanaugh.” A sweet smile accompanied the hand she offered the major. “May I help you?”

  Introductions were quickly made, and Shaelyn watched the exchange of pleasantries, but her gaze was drawn back to the major. He looked dashing in his uniform. The dark blue complimented his eyes quite nicely. The material molded to his body, emphasizing his broad shoulders, lean waist, and slim hips. He stood tall, well over six feet she guessed, as her gaze swept the length of his body with admiration. She noticed a silver-tipped cane in his hand, which he leaned on. He must have been injured in battle.

  She had always loved seeing a man in uniform. They stood differently: straighter, taller. Proud. They acted differently, too, as if wearing a uniform had somethi
ng to do with how the world perceived them.

  Her gaze met his and she felt the warmth of a blush creep up from her chest. A smile parted his full lips and her face grew hotter. She’d been staring at him and he knew it.

  “Is this about Ian, my son?” Hope colored her mother’s tone, a hope she had tended carefully, like one tends a garden.

  “Or James Brooks?” Shaelyn added.

  “May we go inside?” Major Harte gestured toward the open door.

  “Where are my manners?” Brenna smiled. “Of course.” She turned to Shaelyn. “Please show our guests into the sun parlor, dear. I just finished making tea.”

  With effort, Shaelyn dragged her gaze away from the major and the pulse throbbing in his neck, above the collar of his uniform, which had mesmerized her. “Please follow me.”

  Major Harte’s uneven footsteps echoed in the hallway and the tip of his cane tapped on the marble tiles as Shaelyn showed them into a small, comfortable, sun-filled room at the back of the house, while Brenna pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

  “Thank you.” The major moved to the fireplace and rested his arm on the mantle while Captain Davenport sat on a rattan love seat.

  Shaelyn sank into a chair across from the captain, her fingers settling into one of the rattan grooves, and let out a slow breath—anything to still the anxiety plucking at her spine with its icy fingers and chilling her from the inside out. After a moment, the heat of the major’s gaze rested on her, negating that chill. He didn’t speak as she turned to face him, nor did he smile, but the warmth in his slate-colored eyes captured and held hers.

  She opened her mouth, but no words issued forth. She didn’t know what to say. Or do. She’d never had to entertain Union officers, although her brother had marched off to war wearing blue. In all truth, she hadn’t entertained in a very long time, and the lessons her mother had taught her about proper decorum and genteel manners simply escaped her.