“You did,” Shane admitted, as there was little point in denying what he’d been doing. “And no, I won’t make a habit of smelling you but your eyes are red and tired-looking this morning.”
Mitch heaved a sigh, pressed his fingers over his eyes. “It was a long and frustrating night.”
“Would coffee help?”
“I’d die for coffee,” Mitch answered as he lowered his hands.
Catching the server’s eye, Shane called the woman over. Mitch looked at the dark brew she poured as Shane imagined he would look at a large wager piled high in the middle of a poker table. After ordering the same thing Shane was having, Mitch lifted the cup to his mouth.
“God, that’s good,” Mitch murmured and he took another drink.
“So, why was it such a miserable night?” Shane asked, biting into a crispy strip of bacon.
Mitch sighed. “Marietta may be bigger than it was when I left but there’s still precious little to do around here.”
“You could’ve come to Silver’s. Scott said he and Wade stopped by and asked you to join them.”
Mitch gave him a dry look. “My pride was stinging a little too much for that and, before you ask, I wasn’t up to what Grey’s had to offer either.”
“Well, if you didn’t go to Grey’s or Silver’s and you didn’t sleep, what the heck did you end up doing?”
“Stewing, mostly.”
Since Mitch didn’t seem inclined to elaborate Shane prodded him.
“About?”
“Just about everything.”
Shane chewed around a mouthful of thick bread covered in jam, wondering just what “everything” entailed.
“I didn’t realize you were already that taken with Silver,” he said because he couldn’t see what else Mitch would be fretting over.
“I wasn’t, although being passed over for you, even when you’re too stupid to fight for her, is difficult to swallow.”
Though Shane didn’t utter a word, Mitch must have sensed something had changed. His brother studied him a moment and Shane had to fight not to squirm in his seat.
“Well, I’ll be. You finally got the nerve and told Silver how you felt.”
Mitch must truly be a hell of a gambler because there was no hesitation in his voice. Somehow, he’d read Shane despite Shane knowing darn well he hadn’t given him any signs.
“Yeah, I told her,” he said. Of course, that wasn’t all he’d done. Feeling the burn on his ears, Shane concentrated on finishing his breakfast.
Mitch raised his brows. “Well, now I understand why you’re shinier than a new penny,” Mitch grumbled as his food was placed before him.
“I waited a long time,” Shane answered. “I’m entitled to be happy.”
Frowning, Mitch speared a forkful of scrambled eggs. “You waited too long.”
“You’re talking about Melissa.” Shane set his utensils onto his empty plate.
“Part of last night’s excitement,” he said, though it was clear by the tone it was anything but exciting, “was finding her crying on her porch.”
Ah, hell. “I was over there last night for her birthday supper. I told her afterward about my feelings for Silver.”
Mitch choked on his eggs. “Well, hell, Shane, why didn’t you just bring her a puppy and shoot it before her eyes?” He shook his head. “Of all days, why would you tell her on her birthday?”
“Because I didn’t want her finding out from anyone but me; she deserves that at least. And you know how word travels in a small town. I’d already told Silver, I couldn’t delay telling Melissa. Even if the timing was god-awful, it was the right thing to do.”
“No, the right thing to do would have been to tell her a long time ago that your feelings for her didn’t run that deep. You deliberately kept her floundering.”
“I know. I wish I could go back and do it differently but I can’t.” Curious about the vehemence in Mitch’s voice, Shane asked, “You barely know Melissa. Why are you so bothered by this?”
Mitch chewed his bacon, chased it down with a large gulp of coffee. “Because I hate to see a woman cry.”
It was clear Mitch wasn’t only speaking of Melissa. He was speaking of their mother. Which only made Shane feel worse. He might not have struck Melissa but he’d kept her hoping. He’d gotten her hopes up only to dash them again and again. Just like their pa had done.
And here he’d spent his life thinking he was nothing like the man. That he was better.
Shane scrubbed his hands over his face. “God dammit.”
“She’ll live, Shane. We both know there are worse things you could have done to her.”
Shane’s hands fell to the table. “Never. I would never have raised a hand to her. Not her, not any woman.”
“On that we agree,” Mitch said, raising his cup in salute.
Shane stewed while the waitress poured more coffee and Mitch finished his meal. Folks had trickled in while they’d sat there and over half the tables were full. Shane nodded, smiled. He didn’t miss how the welcoming smiles were never directed toward Mitch. If his brother noticed or cared, he didn’t let on.
When Mitch was finished, he wiped his mouth, tossed the napkin onto his empty plate. Eyes solemn he leaned forward.
Keeping his voice low he asked, “Melissa’s pa doesn’t strike her, does he?”
Frowning, Shane braced his elbows on the table. “Not that I know of. Why? Did she say so? Was she hurt?”
“Not physically, at least not that I could see.”
Shane blew out a relieved breath. “Then why would you ask?”
“When I asked her to join me on a walk, she turned me down.”
“That’s hardly reason to think she’s being beaten.”
“I realize that. But when I offered to stay and keep her company instead she said it wouldn’t be appropriate.”
Shane shrugged. “She’s not wrong. Especially if it was late.”
“Everyone was asleep, nobody would have known. I know I’m not her favorite person, me being a gambler and all, but it wasn’t so much what she said. I think she wanted to go, Shane. I could see she was tempted and the temptation made her even sadder. I got the feeling she was waging a war with herself, what she wanted versus what she felt was expected. When I asked her if she always did what was expected she told me we don’t all have the luxury of wandering without a care in the world.”
“She’s right, there. And that’s hardly cause for you to think there’s trouble in her family. Maybe, given her brother’s absence, she just doesn’t want to give her parents more cause for worry?”
Mitch leaned back in his chair, cradling his cup in his large hand. “Yeah, that makes sense.”
Even though it did, it didn’t seem to make Mitch any happier.
“Anyway,” his brother added, “are you up to anything exciting today?”
“Have you heard about the dead man I found yesterday?”
“Hasn’t everybody by now?”
“Right,” Shane scoffed. Of course everyone knew. “You likely don’t remember but I always had an aptitude for drawing.”
Mitch’s gaze locked with his. “I remember.”
Funny how two little words could mean so much, could fill a crack that had been empty for years.
“Well,” Shane said, uneasy at the gulf of emotion blowing through his chest. “I drew a likeness of the man, showed it around last night. Someone remembered seeing him in the hills with three other men. I’m taking my deputy Owen up there this morning, see if they’re still there.”
Interest lit Mitch’s eyes. “Can you use another man? If anything goes wrong at least it’ll be three on three.”
“You want to come?” Shane couldn’t have been more shocked.
“Sure. Why not? I don’t exactly have other pressing matters to attend to.”
“Are you willing to be deputy for a day?”
Mitch’s lips curved. “If you and Logan can be lawmen, how hard can it be?”
“Very funny. Do you have a gun?”
Mitch grinned.
“All right, then.” Shane pushed his chair back. “Let’s saddle up.”
It was a clear, warm morning, the kind that had them leaving their jackets on the stall rails before walking their mounts out into the sunshine. Overhead, the blue sky stretched between the mountain ranges with only the occasional white cloud drifting through it. Flanked by Owen on his right and Mitch on his left, Shane rode out past the quiet saloons.
Shane cast a glance toward Silver’s, thought of her asleep upstairs in her bed, warm and soft, her golden hair spilling over her pillow. Spilling over him. While it was warm outside, the air was hardly sweltering. Yet Shane felt beads of sweat on his brow, trickling down his spine.
“I’m sure Owen and I can manage if you have more... pressing things to do.” Mitch chuckled.
“Sure,” Owen agreed, though by his puzzled expression, he didn’t understand why Shane would need to leave them.
Thank God only one of them was wise to the lust consuming him. Shane pulled his hat lower, scowled at his brother.
Though there was only two years separating them, he muttered, “Just try to keep up, old man.” Then, clicking his tongue, tapping his heels into Justice’s side, Shane galloped toward the hills.
The air rushing over him dried the sweat, cooled the heat in his blood. It also helped clear his mind of everything but his job. This wasn’t a time for distractions. If he had a murderer nearby he needed to keep his focus. There’d be time for Silver later, he’d make damn sure of that, but now was for his duty and the oath he’d taken to keep the folks of Marietta safe.
They slowed to cross a trickling creek. The horses picked their way over the rocks as the saddles creaked and groaned with the careful movement. The scent of pine became sharper as they rode higher, as the gleaming white peaks of the mountains drew closer. Here the grasses, cottonwoods and aspens of the valley gave way to darker, thicker evergreens. It was stunning country. Shane couldn’t imagine any place that could compare, that could hold a candle to this part of the world.
It was one of the reasons he never fully understood why Mitch, especially, had left. But then, remembering bits of the conversations he’d shared with his brother since his return, Shane suspected Mitch’s reasons for leaving were as messy and complicated as Shane’s reasons were for staying.
“Campfire, just over those pines,” Owen said, pointing to the thin line of rising smoke to the left.
“I see it,” Shane confirmed.
And just as clearly, he smelled it in the air. Normally it was one of his favorite smells. Normally the scent of a campfire was as soothing as staring into one and watching the flames shift and dance. Normally it didn’t put a knot of tension between his shoulder blades. This one did.
Settling his hand on the barrel of his shotgun Shane said, “Keep your eyes open. I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
There were too many trees. Too many places for outlaws to lay in wait, to ambush anyone they didn’t want coming into their camp. If Jedidiah could be trusted, their numbers were the same, three on three, as the fourth had been killed. Unless, of course, there’d been other men hiding that night Jedidiah had followed the murdered man here. But even numbers only mattered in a fair fight. Any man willing to shoot another in the back wasn’t the sort to fight fair.
“You want us to split up?” Mitch asked.
“No,” Shane answered immediately. “We stay together. But you and Owen stay well behind me. I only want one of us within shooting distance, but I want them to see you, know that if you shoot me they aren’t going to get away with it.”
Shane looked to his deputy, made sure he understood. Owen nodded. So did Mitch. Like him, both men had their palms on their weapons.
“Keep your guns down,” Shane said. “It’s enough that we’re armed, and they’ll be able to see that. I don’t want to trigger itchy fingers by being more threatening than we need to be.”
Like Shane, Mitch and Owen carried shotguns across their laps but only Shane and Owen also had six-shooters riding on their hips.
One of the hardest things Shane had ever done was to keep his gun down. Coming around the pines, the ground flattened and it was nothing but open grass to the campfire and the three men sitting around it. Behind the men another long expanse of bush stretched wide. Strategically, they’d picked a perfect spot to camp. The thick forest behind them ensured nobody snuck up that way and the other bits of forest around, such as the one they’d just passed, were too far away to provide cover and a clear shot. Not that most law-abiding folks needed to worry about snipers.
The fact that these men seemed to be have considered such things left a sick, uneasy feeling in Shane’s gut. Because that was a hell of a lot of open ground Shane had to cover before he reached their fire. And while he wasn’t about to start shooting without cause, he had no such confidence about the men he was approaching, even if they did take their time coming to their feet. Perhaps that was because they weren’t near as slow about reaching for their guns.
Shane glanced over his shoulder, saw that Owen and Mitch were there, but they’d stopped as Shane had asked. Good. If he were shot, these men wouldn’t simply be able to toss his dead body for the turkey vultures to pick at.
Shane took his hand off his gun only long enough to wipe his sweaty palm down the leg of his trousers. Goddamn, he really hated being a sitting duck. Sensing his nerves, Justice became jittery. His ears swiveled as he tried to locate what had his rider on edge. Shane couldn’t afford to let down his guard and tightened his grip on the reins.
His gaze slanted to the left of the fire, then to the right. While Jedidiah had said there were only three men, Shane wasn’t taking any chances.
The other horses caught Justice’s scent. From the shade of the trees the animals turned, ears pricked forward. Shane had everyone’s attention now. Keeping Justice under firm rein, Shane kept plodding forward at an unthreatening pace. The other men had the advantage of shade and the sun behind them whereas Shane was riding into the blazing glare. Even with his hat low on his brow to shield his eyes, Shane couldn’t make out much of the men’s faces. He didn’t, however, miss anything else about them.
It wasn’t always about being the biggest. Sometimes the wiliest, meanest outlaw wasn’t the one with thick shoulders and meaty fists. Certainly that helped in a brawl but in situations like this one, when all a man needed was to be was quick on the draw, often the bulkier man was slower. These men were tall, rangy. Like the bandits who robbed Katie’s stagecoach those weeks ago, all three of these men wore a gun belt slung low around their hips. And while one of them was especially bowlegged, as Katie had described, none of them were wearing black bandanas as the robbers had. Shane could hardly arrest a man for being bowlegged when nearly half the men around Marietta were. Nevertheless, Shane figured that man for the leader.
One of the other men, slightly shorter and thicker, stood hipshot next to the fire, smoking a cheroot as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Shane wasn’t fooled. The man’s sharp gaze glinted like the blade of a knife. His movements, though slow, were too precise, too deliberate. And his right hand was just a little too close to his gun for Shane’s peace of mind.
With his eyes on Shane, the man drew on his cheroot. The tip gleamed red; the smell of tobacco mixed with that of campfire. After exhaling a ring of smoke over his head, he tossed the cigar into the fire and moved closer. When he stepped forward, so did the last of the three men, the lankier one. Shane didn’t miss that this man’s eyes didn’t hold the amusement of the leader’s, nor the coldness of the other. In fact, this one was the only of the three who seemed worried by Shane’s presence.
“Whoa,” Shane said and drew on Justice’s reins.
Though Shane didn’t doubt these strangers had already figured he was the law—his badge was sure to be shimmering in the sun—the leader made a show of looking from Shane’s badge to his face.
“Sheriff.”
Shane gave a sharp nod. “Morning.” His eyes skimmed over the other two men before returning to the one who’d spoken. “I’m Sheriff McCall from Marietta, those men back there are my deputies,” he stated.
Again the man’s gaze stayed locked on Shane. And it didn’t go unnoticed that he didn’t volunteer his name either.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
“There might be.” Shane drew the folded drawing from his pocket, leaned over the pommel and handed it over. “You recognize this man?”
The stranger’s eyes danced over the paper. Shrugging, he lifted his gaze and passed the paper back. “Sorry I can’t be of help. Is he wanted for something?”
Shane folded the drawing, tucked it back into his pocket. “He’s dead,” Shane said, watching closely for a reaction. “Shot in the back.”
“Well, now that’s a shame,” he said without so much as a blink of emotion. “A man ought to be entitled to face his attacker.”
“Yeah,” Shane agreed with a hard stare. “He should.”
“Well, thanks for coming to warn us, we’ll be extra careful now.”
“What is it you’re doing here, exactly?” Shane gestured toward their small pile of saddlebags and supplies noticing the lack of tools and flotsam a prospector needed. “Clearly you’re not here for mining or prospecting.”
“Hell, no,” the man chuckled, as though it didn’t bother him in the least to be questioned by the law. “We’re just passing through.”
“From where?”
Another shrug. “From a whole lot of places.”
“You wouldn’t have happened to have ridden through Chico in the past few weeks?”
“Chico? Can’t say that we did.”
While the man denied it, there was a flicker of challenge behind the veneer of innocence that told Shane all he needed to know. Whoever these men were, whatever their reason for camping in these hills, it wasn’t good.
“I didn’t catch your name,” Shane said.
The stranger deliberately paused, as though to let Shane know he didn’t have to tell him if he didn’t want to. But with an easy smile that said he had nothing to hide he answered, “John.”
A Sheriff's Passion Page 21
