by Regina Scott
Perhaps it was all the memories of his past. Perhaps it was the look in Beth’s deep blue eyes. He found he couldn’t refuse her.
“All right,” he said. “I’m in.”
* * *
It was a merry group that clustered around Beth as they gathered at the Howard house. She’d known all of them except Bobby Donovan most of her life. At sixteen, Aiden was more arms and legs than body, his black-haired head sticking out of a shirt and coat Maddie had already let out twice. His older sister Ciara’s brown hair was still braided down her back as it had been eight years ago when Ciara and Beth had first met, but she was taller than Beth now, and no one would doubt her a woman in that pretty cotton frock embroidered with daisies. Scout and Bobby were already laughing together as if they’d known each other fifteen years instead of fifteen minutes. Even Hart had a smile tugging at his mouth as he watched them.
Allegra’s cook had been persuaded to fill a wicker hamper. Scout and Aiden took the handles to carry it up the hill to the meadow that lay at the top. Ciara and Gillian followed with jugs of apple cider and cups. Bobby carried an umbrella Allegra had insisted upon to shade the ladies. Beth walked with Hart, blankets bundled in her arms.
Hart glanced down at the stringed rackets she’d handed him. “What did you say these are for again?”
“Battledore and shuttlecock,” Beth explained, detouring around a root on the path. Already the trees were becoming thicker, shadows crossing the path and blocking the sunny sky. “Allegra taught Gillian, and she taught us. I’m not tremendously good at it, yet, but Ciara’s excellent. I’ll teach you, if you’d like.”
He grunted. Very likely, when one was used to defeating villains, batting a feathered cork back and forth was far too tame.
Still, he was good about helping spread the blankets when they came out of the trees. A few brave wildflowers dotted the waving grass of the clearing at the top of the hill, and Gillian set about picking them to weave into crowns. Ciara was busy unpacking the hamper, Bobby helping. Aiden and Scout had been exploring the edges of the clearing.
“Plenty of downed wood if we want to start a fire,” Aiden reported, returning to throw himself down on one of the blankets.
“No fires,” Hart ordered. “Even with the recent rains it would be too easy to get away from you.”
The others looked disappointed, but Beth could only commend his good sense. A forest fire was one of the biggest dangers of living in the wilderness. Aiden might not realize that, having grown up in cities or towns, but she’d lived with loggers and farmers too long not to fear the consequences.
“Ah, well,” Aiden said with a good-natured shrug. “What’s to eat?”
Allegra’s cook had packed cold chicken, biscuits, dried apples and cookies. Everyone tucked in, laughing and talking. At one point, Aiden challenged Scout to a duel over a cookie, and the two leapt to their feet, brandishing drumsticks. Ciara, Gillian and Beth cheered them on.
Hart chuckled. “Why do I feel old?”
Beth pulled the crown Gillian had made for her off her head and draped it around his. “There. That should help.”
His look, one brow raised, flowers bright against the dark of his hair, set off peals of laughter.
Beth managed to compose herself. Rising, she held out her hand. “Come on.”
He looked so skeptical she nearly laughed again. But he accepted her hand, and she drew him out onto the meadow.
“Take both my hands,” she advised.
He did as she bid.
“Now, turn with me in a circle, like this.” She swung to the right, and he mimicked her to the left. Slowly at first, then faster and faster she moved, until her feet skimmed the grass.
“Let go!” Beth cried. He did, and she flew back to land on the soft grass. Dizzy, she lay still a moment, savoring the warmth of the sun on her face, the caress of the breeze, the scent of the grass.
Hart knelt beside her, face pale. “Beth! Are you all right? Did I hurt you? Speak to me!”
Beth sat up. “Well, I certainly would if you’d let me get a word in.”
Something flew through the air and bounced off Hart’s shoulder. He shot his gaze across the meadow, hand going to his hip where his holster usually sat.
“Sorry!” Aiden called. “Got away from me.”
Beth put her hand on Hart’s, finding his fingers stiff, tensed. “It’s all right, Hart. There’s no danger here.”
He blew out a breath and pushed himself to his feet. “So it seems. I should go.”
“No, wait!” Beth clambered to her feet. “Please stay. I haven’t shown you how to play battledore and shuttlecock yet.”
He eyed Aiden and Scout, who were batting one of the feathered shuttlecocks between them. Bobby and Gillian were doing the same while Ciara kept count in the shade of the umbrella. “You sure?”
“Absolutely.” She tugged him back to a blanket and picked up the last two rackets and one of the feathered corks. “The goal,” she said, handing him the racket, “is to keep the shuttlecock in the air the longest.”
Ciara nodded. “Scout and Aiden managed eight times just now.”
He turned the racket as if studying it. The curved wood stringed with gut looked small in his capable hands.
“I’ll start,” Beth offered. She moved away from the blanket, tossed the shuttlecock in the air and struck it with the racket, lobbing it in his direction. It fell at his feet.
“Probably easier to shoot the thing, eh, Deputy?” Scout called.
Hart scowled. He picked up the cork, tossed it in the air as Beth had done, and struck it hard.
It bounced off her chest.
He took a step forward. “Did I...”
“I’m fine,” Beth assured him. Why was he so determined to see harm? Was he so used to fighting he couldn’t enjoy peace? How sad!
She bent to pick up the shuttlecock and tried again. This time he got under it and sent it back her way. Beth returned it.
“The number to beat,” Ciara announced, “is now ten. Beth and Deputy McCormick are at two. Gillian and Bobby have three. Scout and Aiden are at five, no, wait. They must start over.”
Hart tapped the cork, hands swift but gentle, and it arced toward Beth. She shifted to get under it and sent it back.
“Four for Beth and the deputy. Five for Gillian and Bobby. Three for Scout and Aiden.”
“We don’t have to work too hard,” Aiden bragged, sending a grin Beth’s way. “We hold the record so far. Oh, rats!”
“Six for Beth and Deputy McCormick,” Ciara said with a laugh. “Seven for Gillian and Bobby. Scout and Aiden start over.”
Beth focused on the feathered cork, fluttering down from Hart’s serve. She tapped it, and her stomach sank. She’d struck too lightly. The shuttlecock was heading for the ground. Hart dived under it, pushed it higher and back toward her. With a grin, she returned it.
“Nine for Beth and the deputy,” Ciara sang out. “Nine for Gillian and Bobby.”
Scout and Aiden must have stopped to watch. Beth didn’t dare spare them a glance. Her world had shrunk to Hart’s determined face as he lobbed the shuttlecock toward her. She returned it.
“Eleven for Beth and Deputy McCormick!” Ciara cried.
Hart struck the cork back toward her with a grin. “How much longer do you want to go on?”
“Until no one can possibly catch us, of course.” Beth returned his grin along with the shuttlecock.
They sent the feathered cork back and forth three more times before a stray breeze caught the thing and pushed it beyond Beth’s reach.
“Fifteen times!” Ciara cried, clapping with the others as Scout went to retrieve the shuttlecock. “Well done!”
The flush in Hart’s cheeks, the gleam of his eyes, told Beth he was pleased and not a little surprised by the approval.
“That twist you did with your wrist,” Bobby said, edging closer to Hart. “Can you show me how to do it?”
Scout and Aiden gathered near as wel
l.
“Boys,” Ciara said with a shake of her head as Beth joined her on the blanket. “Next thing you know they’ll be asking how many notches he has on his gun belt.”
“Hopefully none,” Beth told her friend. “I don’t remember hearing that he had to kill anyone in the line of duty.”
Ciara nudged her. “Only broken a few hearts, it seems.”
Beth started. She had never told her friend how Hart had rejected her. All Ciara knew was that Beth no longer fancied him.
“Hearts?” she asked, voice coming out higher than usual.
Ciara raised a brow. “Oh, come now. It’s written on your face. You still like him.”
“Certainly I like him,” Beth protested. “He’s an old friend.”
Ciara’s smile was knowing. “So you say. But I have a feeling he’s won more than this contest. If you don’t watch out, Beth, he’s going to win your heart all over again.”
Beth must have shaken her head too vehemently, for Ciara’s smile faded. “Beth? Don’t you want to fall in love with Hart McCormick?”
Her hands were so tightly knit she could feel all her bones. “Oh, Ciara, no. He doesn’t care about me.”
Ciara put a hand over Beth’s. “I think you’re wrong, but if you ever have questions about him, talk to Maddie. He’s more open with her than anyone, or at least he was before she married.”
Beth nodded, but she didn’t think she could take her friend’s suggestion. She could just imagine what Hart would think if she went behind his back and investigated him.
Chapter Nine
Hart found it difficult to ease back into work on Monday. As he waited for the telegraph operator to send a query to San Francisco about a man charged with petty theft, he remembered the grin on Beth’s face when they’d won at battledore. Why was it one look from her brightened his life?
“This must be important,” the telegraph operator said, handing him back the note. “I’ve never seen you smile like that.”
Hart schooled his face. “Every case is important.” He tipped his hat and strolled out of the office.
But he couldn’t seem to focus on patrolling either. Monday and Tuesday he generally kept close to town. Several of the larger businesses moved money those days, and supplies arrived from the south. Good time for criminals to strike. Wednesday and Thursday he rode around the county so he could be back in Seattle for Friday and Saturday, when the sawmill, Seattle’s biggest employer, paid its men and the dance hall was full.
Today, however, Beth’s face superimposed itself everywhere he looked. Her rapt expression as she sang a hymn, her concentration as she listened to the minister, her giggle at the picnic, the feel of her hand in his.
When he saw her, late-morning, standing on the boardwalk in front of Kelloggs’, he almost rode past, sure she was just a figment of his imagination. Her determined wave made him realize his mistake.
“Good morning, Deputy,” she said with her usual smile. Today she was all business in a tailored dress the color of forget-me-nots with a white collar, white parasol and white gloves. “We have work to do.”
Hart pushed his hat back off his brow. “I have work. Did you need my help?”
A dimple appeared in her cheek, drawing his gaze to her lips. They were the prettiest pink, like the inside of one of the seashells on the Sound. He forced himself to meet her gaze instead. There was a decided twinkle in the blue of her eyes.
“We’re going to look for a new house,” she announced.
Hart frowned. “You moving to town permanently? I thought you filed a claim at Wallin Landing.”
Her laughter floated on the breeze as she twirled her parasol. “Not a house for me. A house for you.”
Hart leaned back in the saddle. “There’s nothing wrong with my house.”
“For a bachelor, likely not,” Beth agreed, parasol stilling. “Allegra tells me that cabin has two rooms and a fireplace to cook in. But you have to admit that’s a little cozy for a wife and children.”
His face felt hot even though the breeze was cool. “Miss Wallin, I am not planning to take a wife and beget children anytime soon.”
“Hush!” She darted forward and laid a hand on Arno’s muzzle as if he’d been the one to make the statement. “You promised me you’d go courting, and I promised the ladies of the Literary Society I’d help.”
Hart sighed. “You don’t need to find me a house, Beth. And today’s not a good day in any event. I’m scheduled to work until sundown.”
“You were scheduled to work until sundown,” Beth replied, stroking Arno’s nose. “I talked with Mrs. Wyckoff, and she talked with her husband the sheriff, and you have the rest of the day off. You can thank me later.” She released his horse with a fond pat, and Arno, the rat, whickered his thanks for the attention. “Now, stable this dear beast and let’s be off.”
Arguing, he was learning, would get him nowhere. Then again, his investigation into the gang was going nowhere as well. Schneider steadfastly refused to tell him anything more, and no ships were due in until tomorrow. At least in looking around the area he might spot a stranger he hadn’t noticed before.
He rode Arno back to the Howard house and let him loose in the pasture behind the stables, then returned to Kelloggs’, where Beth was waiting. She stood humming to herself, rocking aimlessly side to side, her parasol twirling once more.
“Surely you have better things to do,” he said as he joined her.
“They’re already done,” she assured him, lowering her parasol. “I advised Gillian on what to wear to interest the young man who’s caught her attentions, accompanied Scout to Messieurs Black and Powell for a new suit for Easter, urged them to finish yours sooner—you have a fitting at two, by the way—and made sure Mr. Schneider was comfortable at the Occidental.”
“Schneider.” He seized on the name as she turned the corner and started up the hill toward the residences. “Did he say anything more about his ordeal?”
“Not much. He seems embarrassed about the whole thing, poor dear.”
“So did the other victims.”
“Were there three or four? I forget.”
“Four.”
Her sweet smile warned him of his error. Why did he keep forgetting to watch his tongue with her? That innocent look made it far too easy to share confidences. “Keep that to yourself,” he warned.
She nodded, smile fading. “It’s simply terrible. Of course you must catch the villains. I’m almost sorry to pull you away from your duties today.”
“Almost?” He couldn’t help the tease.
She shot him a grin. “I am not entirely altruistic.”
That he found hard to believe.
She stopped beside a clapboard house two blocks up from the business district. One of the more recently built houses, it had obviously been put up hastily, and Hart wasn’t sure whether it was the steep slope or the frame of the house that made it lean.
Taking a paper from her little bag, Beth frowned down at it.
“Mr. Denny gave me a list of houses available for rent or purchase. I don’t much like the look of this one.”
Neither did he. “Even if it stood up straight, it has too many windows. You’d be hauling coal or wood for days to heat the place, and how would you defend it?”
She cast him a glance. “Expecting a siege, are we?”
He chuckled. “I hope not, but you never know.”
“Hmm. Well, let’s see if the next is any better.”
It wasn’t. A two-story affair, every edge and cornice dripped bric-a-brac. He thought Beth would admire it, but she wrinkled her nose. “What was the builder thinking? A stream of lace is fine, but you certainly don’t want to drown in it.”
She was equally unimpressed with the next two houses. Her parasol drooped at her side unless she was using it as a cane to push herself higher on the hill. “The last one is out a ways. We’ll have a bit of a walk.”
“You don’t have to do this,” he said as they neared the t
op of the hill.
“Yes, I must,” she insisted. “You cannot see these places as a woman would. You need my perspective.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
“I also did what I could about this gang problem,” she continued, twitching her skirts away from the damp grass that verged the road, which was dwindling to a path. “I asked Allegra, Clay and Mrs. Wyckoff about Mr. Schneider’s case. They were unaware of the situation with the gang, but Clay said he’d ask his business partners.”
The entrepreneur had his hand in more than a dozen businesses in the area. “I’ll thank him when I see him next. I never thought about asking the business owners. They usually come forward if they have a problem.”
“Of their own,” Beth pointed out. “They may not think to alert you if they find someone hurt behind their establishment. They’d assume the injured party would come to you directly.” She glanced his way. “I take it they don’t come so readily.”
Hart shook his head. “They seem to be as embarrassed as Schneider, and none of them will describe their assailants.”
“Perhaps they fear reprisal.”
“But if they gave me the information to catch the criminals, there would be no reprisal.”
“There is that.” They must have reached the last house on her list, for she drew up before one. It was solidly built, two stories high, with a deep porch wrapping around it and a stable behind.
“Oh, Hart, it’s perfect!” She picked up her skirts and climbed to the porch to peer in the front window. “There’s a darling parlor with room for a table, and I can see the handle of a pump in the kitchen. Inside the kitchen. Can you imagine?”
Few homesteads in Seattle boasted indoor plumbing, of any kind. The house must be situated near its own spring. He glanced around the side of the house. “Pasture out back too—room for Arno, maybe a milk cow.”
Beth bounced off the porch in a flurry of blue. “Mr. Denny said several houses on the list had at least three bedrooms and a cellar. I can assure you any lady in Seattle would approve of this one.” Hands on her hips, she turned to eye the place again. “I can see you here.”
