Flanna and the Lawman

by Cathy Maxwell

  “How much more do you need, Stacy?” he asked, keeping up with her quick pace. “You’ve won every dollar anyone had to lose. You own the biggest house in town, four businesses, and give out more loans than the bank.”

  What he said was true and required no comment from her. Not even to point out it was five businesses. She’d won the livery three days ago off Ratcliff. He’d snookered it from Ted Holmes in a game of three-card monte, something she couldn’t let be. The Holmeses had six children and needed the livery to keep them fed and clothed.

  “What more can you want?” Jake, still sounding frustrated, waved a hand toward the buildings neatly laid out in front of them. “The entire town knows Edward Blackwell is your father, not your uncle.”

  That stopped her dead in her tracks. Her stomach had burned all morning, and unable to think of anything else she’d needed a distraction, which was precisely why she’d gone to Ma Belle’s—but seeing her necklace had inched her annoyance up several notches.

  Fighting to keep her face expressionless, she eyed Jake from his boots to his hat. Of course his clothing, a black shirt tucked neatly into tan pants, fit him like the hide on his dandy horse, and told her absolutely nothing about what he’d done out at her family’s residence.

  Nearly incensed out of her mind, she spun around and started walking again. Holding her temper , and not imagining him and Emma sitting in the parlor whispering silly things to each other, was next to impossible. But she did it. She even went so far as to ask, “Tell me, Jake, how are Edward’s cows today?”

  “That’s just plain rude,” he snapped.

  Stacy stopped again, turned to where he still stood a few steps behind her. Drawing on every ability she possessed to appear innocent, she tugged her brows together. “Why would you say that? Uncle Edward has several head of cattle.”

  Jake lifted one of his dark brows.

  Gambling was a form of acting, and she was a proficient gambler, therefore an accomplished actress. Creating a smile took a considerable amount of effort with her teeth clenched so, but she managed. “Did you think I was referring to Uncle Edward’s daughters? Shame on you.”

  * * *

  If there had ever been a woman Jake McCrery wanted to turn over his knee it was Stacy Blackwell. She’d turned the peaceful town of Founder’s Creek upside down and inside out since the moment she’d hit town, making his job, and life, a nightmare.

  Stepping forward until their noses practically touched, and unable to refrain from cursing, Jake growled, “Damn it, Stacy, you know you were referring to Edward’s daughters. Your sisters.”

  “Half sisters,” she insisted with something as close to hatred as he’d ever seen flashing in her sky-blue eyes.

  No one could hide their emotions like this woman could, and that flash, no matter how brief, softened his heart several degrees. “Stacy,” he said, taking her arm.

  She pulled it away. “Forgive me, Sheriff, I momentarily forgot you’re engaged to one of those girls.” Spinning on one high-heeled boot, she started up the street again, skirt swaying and parasol bobbing.

  Chapter Two

  After two hours of fighting off Emma Blackwell, the last thing Jake needed was a confrontation with this little hotheaded gambler, yet, he had no choice. Actually, if he was as honest as he claimed to be, he’d confess that sparring with Stacy sparked fire inside him. Then, if he admitted that, he’d have to come clean on the fact he was glad she’d came to town when she had—before he’d made the biggest mistake of his life.

  Catching up with the little stick of dynamite on heels, he grasped one elbow, propelling her down the roadway. “I’m not engaged to Emma and you know it.”

  Stacy tugged at his hold, but without enough effort to break it. “That’s not the way she puts it.” Casting him a stare that was blank, except for a tiny twinkle, she added, “So you’re just in the courting stage, are you?”

  “No, I’m not, we’re not—” Damn, she flustered him. “No,” he said sternly starting over. “I am not courting Emma Blackwell. Never have been and never will be.”

  Chin up, eyes staring straight ahead, she continued to march beside him. “You oughta tell Emma that.”

  “I have,” he insisted.

  A puffed-up laugh sounded as she twirled her parasol and looked at him with an insolent grin. “She’s a little dim-witted, is she?”

  Sliced right down the middle, Jake held his lips tight together. Half of him wanted to paddle her bottom soundly for being so snippety. It wasn’t becoming. On most women, that is. That’s where the other half of him came in, wanting to chuckle and agree Emma was a bit dim-witted.

  Charming, in her own self-imposed little way, Stacy Blackwell made even being snippety adorable. Too adorable. To the point he forgot she was a gambler. A woman gambler. The one thing he could never accept in his life.

  “Cat got your tongue, Sheriff?” she asked sweetly.

  Planting a grin on his face as false as the one on hers, he increased his pace, pulling her along beside him. “No, I just don’t want the entire town listening while I box your ears for being so bad mannered and boorish about your own sisters.”

  “Half sisters,” she admonished. “And I was only referring to one of them. I find nothing appalling about Anne Marie.”

  “As you shouldn’t,” he remarked, guiding her step onto the boardwalk in front of his office. “She’s only fifteen.”

  Closing her parasol so the edges wouldn’t catch on the doorway, she nodded. “And the poor dear can’t help who her sister is.”

  Jake let that one slide as he pushed open the door and waited for her to cross the threshold. Once inside, he removed his hat, hung it on the nearby hook and gestured to his deputy who barely raised his head from the checkerboard atop an upturned barrel. “See to Shotgun, will you, Herman?” The palomino had followed them through town and now stood at the hitching post outside.

  The only man Jake had ever met who could play checkers, every day, all day long, grinned brightly as he caught sight of Stacy.

  “Sure thing, boss,” Herman said. “You want him settled in the livery?”

  “That’s fine,” Jake replied, wishing the old coot were ten years younger and a whole lot faster. To be fair, Herman was a good man and made a fine deputy for the small amount of law work Founder’s Creek required.

  Pausing near Stacy in his slow trek to the door, Herman said, “Make sure he doesn’t fiddle with my checkers. I’m about to win.”

  The smile on her face could have brought down angels. May have, the way Herman’s face lit up.

  “Don’t worry, Herman,” she said sweetly. “I’ll watch over your board.”

  “Thanks, Miss Stacy,” the old man drawled, worship almost oozing from the words. “You sure are a darling.”

  Jake wanted to squeeze his head at the tension growing between his ears. Even more so when Stacy patted Herman’s cheek.

  “As are you, Mr. Watson.” She leaned closer then to whisper, “Miss Ruby has peach pie at the diner today.”

  Herman gasped. “No?”

  Stacy nodded.

  “I’ll be gone a spell, boss,” his deputy said, roughing up his voice and hitching up his britches.

  “That’s fine,” Jake answered. “Just don’t forget Shotgun.”

  “I won’t,” Herman replied, now all but skipping out the door.

  When the door shut with a soft thud that would have been insignificant in most cases, Jake had to draw a breath. The air in the room had taken on a life of its own, as it normally did when he found himself alone with Stacy. This little poker player was a very attractive woman and had a unique quality about her that drew men faster than the discovery of gold. Jake wasn’t immune to it, and that flustered him, yet when he was alone with her, like now, it wasn’t frustration that came to life
inside him. He wanted her as he’d never wanted anything in his life.

  She’d moved, now standing over Herman’s checkerboard, examining it thoroughly. When she repositioned a checker, Jake unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “What are you doing?”

  A glow lit her face. “Making it so he does win.”

  Jake couldn’t help but point out, “He’s playing against himself.”

  “So?” With a little shrug she added, “He still wants to win.”

  “He’s the only one playing, he wins no…” Jake cut himself off with a sigh, knowing it was useless by the smug little grin on her face. He sat then, on the corner of his desk, and watched as she roamed the room, swiping a hand across things and then looking at her fingertips as if she were a dust inspector.

  As usual, a case of double vision formed. On one side he saw her just as she was—fully clothed in a light-green gown that highlighted every curve to perfection. On the other side, where his imagination came into play, he saw what was beneath the ruffles and lace. A body he’d give his right arm to explore and claim.

  Snapping out of his fantasy took more than a head shake. Jake walked to the opposite side of the room, pretended to check the lock on the glass case holding several rifles and shotguns.

  When his breathing returned to normal, even with the air in the room still pulsating of its own accord, he recalled his job. Though he had no belief in the statement, he said, “Emma Blackwell claims you threatened her.”

  “Did she?” Gazing at her hand, Stacy fiddled with a ring, as if repositioning it just right on her slender finger. “When did I manage to do that? I’ve barely seen my dear half sister since I left her house, nearly three months ago now. Heaven knows, while in town she avoids even glancing my way.”

  Moisture beaded his neck as she walked towards him. Jake swallowed, trying to bury the desire to kiss the pert grin off her lips. “Emma claims you sent a message to the ranch that said you want her to return a necklace or else you’ll see she’s hurt.”

  “Hmm.” She’d stopped a few feet away and now rested a finger against one cheek. “A necklace you say?”

  He gave an affirmative gesture, while his mind envisioned plucking the pins from her hair so the brandy-colored strands could flow freely around her heart-shaped face.

  “Do you believe her?”

  Jake shrugged. “She showed me a note.”

  “Penned by herself no doubt,” Stacy said, still sounding blasé.

  However, her temper was rising. It was reflected in those blue eyes he’d become masterful at reading. She was a gambler, a thoroughbred player, taught well by probably the most experienced expert the world had ever known. What she didn’t know was that Jake knew his way around gaming, too. Faro had been his calling, and he’d done well with it, might still be making the rounds of top-end saloons and first-class railway carriages if not for that incident back in St. Louis. It had changed his life. Three years ago, with his pockets full of more than enough money to last this lifetime and probably the next, he’d left his last winnings on the table, and closed the door on gambling—and anything to do with it.

  It hadn’t been easy. Gambling had been his life since the war left him a street urchin, and knowing he’d need something to keep him from going back, he’d accepted the job as sheriff of Founder’s Creek. The salary was small, but his savings made that insignificant, and wearing the badge made him look at gambling with different eyes. Though the thought of one more gamble—that of winning her heart—tested him and his limits.

  Chapter Three

  A nervous twitch tugging at her cheek made Stacy turn from Jake’s all-consuming and attentive gaze. He was good, too good. Never before had she felt a man inside her head, catching her thoughts before they’d even formed, and that, in no little way, scared her. Furthermore, it made her question herself. Her gut, the one thing she counted on more than anything, didn’t always work right when he was near. And she needed her gut to get her through this gamble.

  She crossed the room, put as much space as possible between them. “The necklace, the one Emma mentioned, is not in her possession, so I’d have no need to threaten her, Sheriff.” Using his title often allowed her to erect a barrier, but today it wasn’t as much help as usual. Sweat was beading on the back of her neck and heaven forbid, under her arms, probably because his office was downright stifling.

  “She claimed as much.”

  Stacy spun around, welcoming the anger walking up her spine like a slow-moving spider. “Did she tell you she gave it to Winston Ratcliff?”

  Jake shook his head, but the level of interest grew in his eyes.

  “It’s a sapphire-studded locket on a gold chain that my mother gave to me.” Stacy balled a hand at the ache the absence of the necklace created inside her. She’d get it back in time, she was sure, and getting and keeping Jake on her side was part of her retribution for its initial loss. Ultimately, he was the pot in the highest-stake game she’d ever played. Emma wanted him, had already staked her claim, which made the challenge all the sweeter.

  A little diversion was in order, just to sway him to her side of the table. “You see, Jake, when Pappy and I were invited over to England, I was the one who decided not to go. Oh, it was tempting.” She let out an exaggerated sigh—not overly done, just enough to be significant. “I’m sure Pappy will have stories of more than one game of a lifetime, but what I didn’t need, or want, was the Duke of Manchester.”

  She knew she had Jake’s full attention by the way he watched her cross the room and swivel around the chair next to Herman’s checkerboard. Never taking his eyes off her, he moved to his chair.

  ““We’d met him down in New Orleans and the Duke asked to marry me,” she said quite flatly, though her heart did a little somersault at the way Jake’s brows tugged together before he caught the action. “I have no desire to marry. Now or ever. And I will certainly not live abroad. I’ve had all I’ll ever need to see of that.”

  The sheriff—she forced her mind to think of him that way in order to settle down her heart a bit, remained silent, and that told her more than he probably wanted. She was on his mind. Had been for a while now, which is precisely how it should be. The disconcerting part was how he was on her mind. This was nothing more than a gamble for her, and needed to stay that way. She was the tutor now, and educating Emma was her goal.

  She lifted her chin, as if defending herself, something she rarely felt the need to do. “I arrived in Founder’s Creek, fully planning to spend time getting to know my father, as I promised Pappy—he really wanted to sail with the Duke, stopping at exotic ports to play, but wouldn’t go without me agreeing to come here and stay until he returns.” “I was also willing to accept Emma and Anne Marie as my half sisters. The fact that Edward Blackwell had gotten my mother pregnant at a point in time when he already had a wife and child is little concern of mine.”

  Jake finally spoke, to ask doubtfully, “Isn’t it?”

  The entire town wanted to know the sordid details explaining how Edward had a daughter of an age that was in between his other daughters. It wasn’t her story to tell, but if it would further her plan she’d share her insight with Jake. “No,” she answered honestly. “Our country was at war at that time, and among other things it left a lot of fatherless children.”

  “Yes, it did.”

  His agreement made her wonder if he’d lost family members in the battles. Most everyone did, but no one in town really knew Jake’s background. If they had, she’d have already learned all there was to know.

  “Due to Pappy’s influence, Edward wasn’t on a battlefield. He was in New Orleans, wearing a uniform and doing nothing much except gambling and chasing women. Those are Pappy’s words, I should add, since I wasn’t around at the time. When Pappy learned about me, he shipped Edward out here to keep him from being shot. You see, my
mother was a general’s daughter. His only daughter.”

  The way Jake raised a brow said he understood the impact of that.

  “Pappy paid a goodly sum, more money than some people see in a lifetime, for my mother to be cared for and give birth to me in private, and then I went to live with him.” The smile on her face was genuine. Growing up with Pappy had been a good life, one she wouldn’t change a thing about. A bit of sorrow did enter in, making her add, “The General passed on a few years ago. That was a sad day.”

  “You knew him?” Jake asked, sounding as astonished as he looked.

  “Oh, yes. He was my grandfather, same as Pappy is.”

  “But…” He shook his head.

  “Let bygones be bygones.” She repeated another one of Pappy’s sayings. Having sat long enough, she strolled across the room and looked out the dusty little window. Nothing caught her attention, and she turned back around. Telling Jake all this was a cleansing of sorts, like going to church on Sundays. “The General scared me the first time I met him. We were docked in Memphis and Pappy brought him into our ship’s cabin. He had great hairy eyebrows that reminded me of caterpillars.” She giggled at the now silly thought.

  “And your mother? Did you meet her?”

  “Oh, yes. She married a wonderful man who loves her dearly. They live in Washington.” Another grin came to her face, and she was delighted not to have to suppress it. Never showing emotions did take its toll on a person. “Pappy won a lot of money over the years. At any time he could have sent me just about anywhere to live, but he didn’t. We were a team and that’s how we both wanted it.” She’d opened Pandora’s box in her mind, not of evils, but of memories now shooting out as freely as a flock of birds leaving a nesting tree. “My mother never approved of my name change. To this day she calls me Celia.”

  Jake had moved around to the front of his desk, was leaning against it casually. “Celia?”