COWBOY WITH A BADGE

by Margaret Watson

  When she opened her eyes, they were dark, unfocused pools of passion and pleasure. He saw her need in them, the desire that was impossible to hide. He bent to kiss her again, and her mouth met his eagerly.

  They twined together, chest to chest, leg to leg. Every inch of him demanded her touch, ached to feel her hands on his skin. He wanted to rip away the barriers of their clothing, to allow hot, needy flesh to join and become one.

  But the one part of him capable of rational thought wouldn't allow him to go any further. Cursing his conscience, he forced himself to gentle his hands and his mouth. As much as he wanted her, and as much as she seemed to want him, he couldn't take advantage of her vulnerability.

  He was supposed to be helping her. She'd had a shock, and now that the adrenaline was ebbing, she was looking for something to reassure her. Only an unprincipled bastard would make love to a woman under those circumstances.

  But he couldn't bring himself to let her go completely, not yet. He had never known such pleasure from merely touching and kissing a woman. And never had a woman in his arms responded the way Carly responded. So he kissed her again, softly this time, and smoothed her hair away from her face.

  Her eyes fluttered open, and she struggled to focus on him. "What's wrong?" she asked.

  "Nothing's wrong." He bent to kiss her again, and he knew that she could taste his need, his desire in the way his mouth lingered. "I just don't think this is the time or place."

  She stared at him for a long moment, bewildered, her eyes still clouded with passion. Then her eyes cleared, and although the passion lingered, he could see the second that she regained control.

  She stepped back, touching one hand to her mouth. He wondered if it was still throbbing, if his taste still lingered on her lips. He didn't think he'd ever forget how Carly tasted.

  "You're right." She spoke in a low voice, passion making it more husky than ever. "I don't know what I was thinking about."

  He watched as she stood taller and tried to hide the desire that still filled her eyes. And suddenly he wondered if she thought he had stopped because he hadn't wanted her enough.

  "Don't think that," he said, his voice a low growl in the room.

  "Don't think what?"

  "That I didn't want you. I've never wanted anything more in my life."

  Some of the caution eased in her eyes. "Then why did you stop?"

  He couldn't resist touching her. His fingers trailed down her cheek, then slid over her lips, memorizing their shape and texture. "I have some principles. One of them involves not taking advantage of women. And I would have been taking advantage of you, Carly. You'd just had a shock, and you were looking for comfort. I let it go way beyond the comfort stage."

  "Just when I think I have you figured out, you surprise me again," she murmured. She brushed a kiss over his lips, then glanced around the room. Surprisingly, she smiled at him. "At least I won't have nightmares about an intruder in my room. I suspect I'll be having far different dreams tonight."

  Her green eyes seemed to glow in the light from the one small lamp, and Devlin had to stop himself from reaching for her again. If he touched her one more time, he wouldn't leave this room tonight.

  "I'll see you in the morning, Carly." He paused at the door of her room. "And if anything else happens, call me. I'll be at the office."

  He was down the stairs and out the door of Melba's house before he could talk himself into staying. Carly would feel different in the morning, he told himself. She would have had a chance to think about what had happened, and realize it was a reaction to stress, nothing more. He wouldn't allow it to be more.

  He drove over to the office, where he found Ben working on the samples he'd collected in Carly's room. His deputy's dark head was bent over his work, and he realized that Ben should have gone off duty a couple of hours ago. But he was still here, working.

  It made him remember what Carly had said about his deputies, and how they felt about him. Surely she was wrong. He didn't want to be the kind of man to inspire those kinds of feelings in his employees. He wanted them to do a good job for the town, not for him.

  "Tell me something, Ben." Dev tilted back in his chair and crossed his hands behind his head, deliberately trying to lighten his mood. "Do you worship the ground I walk on?"

  Ben choked and sputtered on the coffee he was drinking. When he looked at Dev, his dark eyes were wary. "You know I respect the hell out of you," he said cautiously.

  "But you don't light candles at my shrine?"

  A grin teased the corners of Ben's mouth, and his eyes crinkled. "Hell, no. I'm too busy trying to handle your work and mine to be lighting candles."

  "Thank God." Dev tilted his chair upright again. "Carly had me worried there for a while. Let's get busy. It looks like we've got another situation in Cameron."

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  «^»

  The next morning, Carly thought longingly of the pancakes at Heaven on Seventh as she walked into Melba's dining room. But she banished them from her mind as she watched the older woman set a coffeepot down on the sideboard. She needed to make sure Melba had recovered from the night before. "I just want a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee," she told Melba brightly.

  Carly chose a box of cereal from the sideboard and poured herself a cup of coffee, then sat down to eat. Melba joined her a few minutes later.

  "Are you all right this morning?" Carly asked.

  "I'm fine." Melba compressed her lips together. "Whoever was in my house last night won't get in again. Next time I'll be waiting for him."

  "I'm sorry it happened," Carly said softly.

  She thought Melba's gaze softened. "It's not your fault, girl."

  "They were leaving a message for me. So in a way it is." She set her coffee cup down. She'd get another one, later, at Heaven on Seventh.

  "You're just doing your job," Melba said, her voice gruff. "Don't you let one no-account sneak scare you off."

  Carly smiled at the woman who'd been her third grade teacher. "Don't worry, I won't."

  As she pushed her chair away from the table, she added, "I won't be here for dinner tonight, either." She felt her cheeks warm. "I have a, ah, date."

  Surprisingly, Melba nodded at her, a look of satisfaction on her face. "You go and have a good time. I saw the way he was looking at you last night."

  Blazing heat scorched her neck and face. "It's not like that, Ms. Corboy."

  Melba gave her a look of scorn. "I have eyes, missy. I may be getting on in years, but I can still put two and two together and come up with four. The sheriff is a good man. You could do a lot worse."

  Mumbling something incoherent, Carly grabbed her backpack and headed for the front door. When she yanked it open, she nearly barreled into Devlin, who was standing on the other side.

  "Morning, Carly." His eyes sharpened as he looked at her and he grabbed her arm. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing's wrong." She swallowed once and tossed him what she hoped was a casual smile. There was no way he could have heard what Melba had said, she told herself. "I was just surprised to see you."

  "I thought I'd stop by and see how you and Melba were doing. And ask if there was anything you'd thought of that you hadn't told me."

  He was still holding her arm, but his fingers had gentled. Slowly his palm brushed down her arm until he reached her wrist. He circled her wrist with his hand, feathered one finger over her palm, then let her hand drop.

  It happened so quickly it could almost be mistaken for a casual touch. Almost, but not quite. She suspected he'd felt her pulse leap in her wrist, was certain he'd noticed her hand trembling.

  Just as she'd felt his hand shake before it dropped away from

  "Melba's in the dining room," she said, her voice huskier than usual. She cleared her throat. "I think she's fine."

  He nodded, but didn't take his eyes off her. "Were you headed out?"

  "Yes." She gripped the strap of her backpack and stared back at him
defiantly, unwilling to tell him where she was going. She didn't want another lecture about the Hansons.

  His eyes hardened as he watched her. "Wait a few minutes. I need to talk to you, too."

  She sat down on the stairs and listened to the rise and fall of voices from the dining room. From the tone of the higher-pitched voice, Melba was telling Devlin exactly what she was going to do if she caught their intruder. Carly smothered a grin as she heard Devlin's patient, reassuring reply, then her smile faded.

  He really did care about the people of Cameron. He didn't have to come back here this morning and see how Melba was doing. But he'd understood that underneath her bluster, the older woman was upset.

  It was getting harder and harder to think of Devlin as the enemy. Desire stirred, deep inside, as she remembered their kisses of the night before, but she forced the memory out of her mind. She had to think of him that way. There was no future for Carly Fitzpatrick and Devlin McAllister. There couldn't be. Sooner or later he would find out why she was really in Cameron, and then the passion would disappear from his eyes. All that would be left was scorn and mistrust.

  She heard him walking through the parlor and stood up. She wanted every advantage she could get when she faced him.

  "Can I take another look at your room?" he said, stopping in front of her.

  "Of course." She turned and led the way upstairs.

  He hesitated before he walked into her room, and she wondered if his memories of the night before made him stop. She didn't look at his face. Instead, she stepped into the room and stared out the window. After a moment, he followed her.

  "Have you found anything missing since last night?" His low voice rippled over her, making her shiver.

  Only her tunnel-visioned sense of purpose. The thought shocked her, and she shook her head numbly. "Everything seems to be here."

  "Have you looked through all your things?"

  "Yes. It didn't take long. I didn't bring a lot with me."

  "You believe in traveling light?"

  His words were casual, but she heard the intensity beneath them. She turned around to face him. "I always travel light. I never stay in one place for very long."

  Their eyes met and held, and finally he nodded. "That's what I figured."

  "I'd pegged you for the same type, Sheriff," she said, her voice soft.

  Their eyes locked. His mouth flattened, and finally he said, "You're right. I don't travel much, but when I do, I never stay very long."

  "Then we have something in common, it seems." Clearly, neither of them had any interest in getting involved. Her heart pounded at the suddenly fierce expression in his eyes.

  "I'm afraid that's true." He watched her for another moment, his eyes suddenly hungry, then he turned away. "It would be best if we both remembered that."

  "I intend to, Sheriff."

  "Good. So do I."

  He stood with his back toward her, and she watched as his gaze traveled around the room. The tension in his muscles slowly eased, and finally he turned to face her. There was no hint of personal involvement in his face. Once again he was the sheriff, in complete control.

  "Ben didn't find any fingerprints on the lipstick case. We don't have the fancy equipment we'd need to get them, so we're sending the case to the state lab. He lifted a bunch of prints from other things in the room, but they'll probably turn out to be yours or Melba's. I'd appreciate it if you'd come to the office later today and give us a set of your prints."

  "Was there something else you needed from my room this morning?" she asked.

  His jaw tightened as he looked around the room one more time. "No. I just wanted to get another look at it in daylight. See if anything else struck me."

  "I don't expect you to find the person who did this," she said. "In New York, it would hardly be worth calling the police about it. After all, the person who broke in didn't take anything."

  At her words his face hardened again. "This isn't New York," he snapped. "This is Cameron, Utah, and we get upset when someone breaks into an old woman's house and leaves threatening messages on the mirrors. You can be sure I'll do my damnedest to find out who did this."

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to imply that you wouldn't do your job. I just meant that it's not a big deal. It wouldn't be the first time I've been threatened because of my job."

  "It is a big deal, Carly. It's a very big deal." His voice was soft, and he stepped closer. "I want to know why someone felt it was necessary to tell you to leave Cameron, I want to know what hornet's nest you've stirred up. And I'm not going to stop until I find out."

  "Then we both want the same thing." She shouldered her backpack again and moved toward the door. "It appears I touched a nerve when I asked about that boy's murder. I'm going to continue my investigation, and I'll let you get on with yours."

  "Don't you think it's just as likely someone doesn't want Cameron made into a tourist destination?" he demanded.

  Carly shrugged. "I have no idea. But I guess we'll find out."

  She turned and hurried down the stairs before Devlin could tempt her to linger. In spite of her words about traveling light, she wanted to spend more time with Cameron's intriguing sheriff. She wanted to find out why he, also, traveled light through life. And, God help her, one part of her wanted to try and make him change his mind.

  * * *

  By the time she finished another cup of coffee at Heaven on Seventh, most of the breakfast crowd had dissipated. When a small, slender woman with curly red-gold hair pulled back ruthlessly into a braid stopped by her table with a pot of coffee, she looked up from her notes in confusion.

  "What happened to Phyllis?" she asked.

  The woman nodded at the clock. "Her shift is finished." She watched Carly with unsmiling eyes. "Do you want more coffee?"

  "No, thanks." Carly looked around the restaurant and found it nearly empty. "Are you the lunch waitress?"

  The other woman shook her head. "I'm the owner."

  "You must be Janie, then." Carly looked at her more carefully. "I'm glad to meet you."

  Janie nodded once. "Welcome to Cameron. Just be careful what you say about us in your article."

  Carly leaned back against the vinyl of the booth. "You agree with Sheriff McAllister, then? You don't want to see Cameron become a tourist town?"

  Janie watched her coolly. "I like Cameron just the way it is. I don't want it to change."

  Carly nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

  "You do that." Janie slipped the check on the table, then hurried away. She carefully avoided the back booth, where Ben Jackson sat with a couple of the other deputies. Carly watched as Ben stared at Janie, almost as if he couldn't help himself. Janie didn't return the look, but tension swirled in the air between them. Then Janie fled into the kitchen, and Carly knew the owner wouldn't be back in front until Ben had left the restaurant.

  Wondering idly why Heaven on Seventh's owner was so skittish, and what was going on between her and the deputy, Carly paid her bill and walked out into the sunshine. Even though it was autumn, the sun was merciless. Heat rose up from the sidewalk in waves, and by the time she reached the newspaper office she was looking forward to the cool dampness in the basement.

  Ralph Hanson was sitting at the desk when she walked in, and she saw his face tense at the sight of her. "Morning, Ms. Fitzpatrick. What can I do for you today?"

  "I'm back to look at your old newspapers again, Mr. Hanson. If that's all right with you."

  She saw him hesitate, and knew that he was searching for an excuse to forbid her access. She jumped in to reassure him before he could tell her no. "Mr. Hanson, I want to assure you that I have no intention of writing about anyone's personal problems. That's not why I came to Cameron." She hesitated, unsure of how much to say. "I don't know why Sheriff McAllister was here talking to you the other day, and I don't care to know. I'm interested in the town, and that's why I want to look at your papers. That's the only reason."

  "June said y
ou were asking about what happened to that Whitmore boy. That was twenty years ago." His expression hardened. "That sounds like you're interested in raking up the past. What does that have to do with making Cameron into a tourist attraction?"

  "Nothing, really. It's just an interesting bit of local history." She smiled at him. "People like knowing a place's history. It makes them feel connected to the town. That's why I was interested in the story. Plus it sounds like something out of the Old West." She shrugged. "You know how it is in the news business. The lurid is what draws people every time." Again she silently begged her brother's forgiveness for trivializing his death.

  Some of the wariness left Ralph's eyes, but not all of it. "Go ahead, then, and use the papers. But folks around here aren't going to appreciate it if you dredge up old scandals and splash them across the pages of your magazine."

  "I don't think you're going to have to worry about that, Mr. Hanson."

  He nodded, but watched her as she descended the stairs. She wondered again what had made Ralph and June so nervous. Could they have been involved somehow in Edmund's death?

  Dropping her backpack on the table in the basement, she uncovered the newspapers she'd hidden the day before. She was determined to read every one of them, if necessary, to get to the truth.

  * * *

  When Carly emerged into the sunlight again, she squinted at the brightness of the Utah sun and took a deep breath of the fresh air. She was stiff and cold from spending too long in the newspaper office's basement, but she didn't care. She'd found some information, and she was anxious to ask Devlin about it.

  But when she arrived at the sheriff's office, she found only Ben Jackson. He looked up when she walked in, and nodded at her gravely.

  "Dev told me you'd be by."

  For a moment Carly was confused. How could Devlin have known that she'd seek him out? Then she remembered the fingerprints. "Right. You wanted a set of my fingerprints."

  Ben stood up and led her over to a table. "It'll just take a minute. Then I can eliminate your fingerprints from the ones we've found in your room." For a moment, a ghost of a smile flitted across his face. "Ms. Corboy was in earlier."