The Lawman (The Willow Creek Series #1)

by Lily Graison

  Everyone but him, that is.

  Morgan didn’t think there was a spot of flesh on his body that didn’t ache. Blood leaked from cuts too numerous to count, his lip was split and his left eye was definitely swelling shut. He turned and looked back toward the bar, the woman who ran into him upon entering the saloon still standing where he told her to. She was against the wall, her bag clutched in her hands tight enough to cause her knuckles to shine white from across the room. When she lifted her head and looked at him, giving him a smile that said everything in the world was perfect, his hellish week caught up with him in a flash.

  All he’d wanted since getting back into town was to wash the dust from his throat with the strongest rot-gut whiskey Vernon could offer him and have a tumble with one of the little ladies upstairs. What he got instead was her. The blonde he’d found straddling his lap when he woke up from a fist-induced sleep. He stared at her as she looked around the room. She was pretty but now that she was standing, he could see how small she actually was. A little scrawny for his tastes. He liked his women plump with big breasts and eager appetites for sinful pleasures. The diminutive blonde, who shouldn’t have been inside the saloon to begin with according to Vernon, looked tame as a kitten. Too bad, he thought. He would have willingly took his frustrations out between her thighs but if Vernon said she didn’t belong here, then he believed him.

  Crossing the room to where she stood, he stopped inches in front of her. “Who are you?” She didn’t answer. Instead, she stared up at him with those large blue eyes of hers, her jaw held at an arrogant angle. Morgan waited and braced his hands on his hips. And then waited some more. “Well?” he asked, irritated at her silence. “I don’t have all day. Spit it out.”

  He saw her throat work as she swallowed. “Abigail. Abigail… uh, Thornton.”

  “Well, Abigail Thornton, would you like to explain to me what the hell you’re doing in the saloon?”

  She stared at his chest and Morgan followed her gaze. His badge was crooked. When she said, “This has all been a terrible misunderstanding,” he looked back up.

  “Is that what you’d call this?” Morgan turned to look at the now destroyed saloon behind him. He crossed his arms over his chest when he turned back to face her, studying her as she stood there unmoving. Her dress wasn’t very revealing but the fabric was a deep green wool with fancy lace trimming around the neck and cuffs. He didn’t know much about women’s fashion but that dress was unlike any he’d seen around Willow Creek. It was too fancy by half. He’d never seen her before either and he knew the stagecoach had come into town. He’d seen it sitting by the station on his way from the jail. She was a newcomer and trouble if he’d ever seen it.

  “I would,” she said, her chin lifting a small fraction. “The bartender can tell you that.”

  Morgan glanced at Vernon, who had stepped behind the bar and was currently trying to clear the broken glass off the top of it. “Is she right?”

  Vernon snorted and gave the woman a sneer. “This is why women aren’t allowed in here, marshal, and you know it! They aint nothing but trouble. I told her she couldn’t be in here but did she listen?”

  His head was throbbing now and Morgan wanted nothing more than to take to his bed and sleep for a week, with or without the comfort of a willing body next to him. He looked at Abigail again, leaning his head to one side. She was wafer thin but that little dress clung to shapely curves even he couldn’t help but notice. Her breasts were full, if not a bit on the small side, but they were high and quite perky. Her hair was falling down around her face and it softened her look a bit and made her appear to be innocent. Almost. His irritation grew the longer she stood there unmoving. She was looking at anything but him and he wasn’t getting anywhere questioning her. What was she doing here? Since she seemed uneager to tell, he figured she was just down on her luck and looking for work. Why else would a woman come into a saloon? His reason for coming inside latched onto that little morsel. “Are you a whore?” he asked, a small part of him hoping she was.

  She gasped, her face turning blood red before splotches broke out across her neck. “I most certainly am not!”

  “Are you looking to be one?”

  Her lips turned bloodless as she pinched them together. The fire in her eyes caused one corner of his mouth to tilt up and her chest heaved as her breaths were huffed out. Definitely not a whore.

  “I am a lady,” she said, indignant.

  Morgan raised one eyebrow. “A lady in a saloon?”

  “I was looking for the stagecoach driver if you must know.”

  “Well, I asked you ten minutes ago what the hell you were doing in here. Why didn’t you just say so?”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a long sigh. “May I go now?”

  “No.”

  Her head snapped up, those pretty blue eyes widening again. “Why ever not?”

  “Well, let’s see.” Morgan lifted a hand and scratched the week’s worth of beard that had grown in while he was on the trail. “There’s the issue of you being inside the bar, for one. The sign outside clearly says, you can’t come in here. There’s also the matter of the fight, the damage to the saloon and let’s not forget the damage done to me.” He pointed to his still throbbing face for emphasis.

  “Fine.” She turned toward Vernon and smiled prettily. “Mr. Vernon, I’m very sorry about your establishment. I’ll not come inside again.” When she turned to him, the smile disappeared. “As for you, Marshal, I’m sorry for your trouble.”

  The woman had the nerve to turn on her heel and stroll out of the saloon with the regal air of a queen. Morgan snorted a laugh at her audacity before following her outside. She was crossing the street and he had to run to catch up with her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  She stopped, turned to look at him and blew out a long breath. “Away from the saloon. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  “Not exactly.” A wagon forced them out of the road and Abigail Thornton dismissed him again as if he wasn’t even standing there. She walked toward the stagecoach station, her booted feet clicking against the wooden sidewalk in rapid little taps. He followed her and grabbed her arm so she couldn’t walk away again. “We’re not through, Mrs. Thornton.”

  “It’s Miss,” she said, that little chin of hers lifting again. “And please unhand me.”

  He would have laughed the entire mess off if her high-handed demand hadn’t been laced with total contempt. The look in her eyes scalded him to the bone. He knew he looked like hell. He’d been riding the countryside in pursuit of an outlaw for the past week. He probably stank to high heaven, his beard was scraggly and itched like the dickens and his clothes would have to be burned. Not to mention the damage done to his face after that bar brawl she started. Well, according to Vernon, she did. He’d yet to hear the entire story. Regardless, that still didn’t give her the right to treat him like a no-good saddle bum. He was the marshal, damn it, and she’d treat him with the respect he deserved.

  Staring down at her, every ache, cut and bruise throbbing and pulsing, he knew she was the reason for it. The ache in his long neglected groin was her fault too. The blood pumping through his veins heated at the defiant look in her eyes and the thought of what to do with her was suddenly clear. “Miss Thornton, you have no idea how happy it makes me to tell you that you’re under arrest.”

  She gasped and jumped back from him, her arm jerking from his grasp. “Under arrest? What for?”

  Her outrage soothed some of his aches and Morgan gave her a smug smile before answering her. “We’ll start with disturbing the peace and add entering a gentleman’s establishment, damage to personal property and careless endangerment of a federal marshal. That should be enough to keep you out of trouble for quite a while. Or at least until the circuit judge gets back into town.”

  The look on her face would have caused him to laugh if it wouldn’t have hurt so damn much. Even a tiny smile hurt. It pulled the edges of his bust
ed lip but he managed a cruel imitation of one just to annoy her.

  She straightened her spine, tilted her chin up a notch and exploded. “That is absurd! You can’t arrest me for things I had no control over.”

  Morgan grinned through the pain. “I assure you, I can, Miss Thornton, and I am. Let’s go.” When he grabbed her arm again and tried to walk her back down the street, she dug in her heels, her free arm latching on to his where he gripped her wrist and tried to shake him off.

  “Let me go. This is all a mistake. You can’t do this!”

  “I won’t, I don’t care, and I am.”

  She let out an ear-piercing shriek and struggled like a wild cat before raising her free hand, balling her fingers into a fist and punching at his shoulder. Morgan’s abused muscles screamed in agony as she fought him and it took all the control he had not to lash out in return. “Do you want resisting arrest to be added to your list of crimes, Miss Thornton?”

  Her eyes widened. “I haven’t committed any crime. Now unhand me this instant.”

  The humor in the situation diminished. Her screams were drawing attention and the local gossips were already hovered around Jenkins Mercantile, hands over their mouths as they gaped at him. He could only imagine what the story would be by the time the whole town found out. Glaring at the people gawking at him, he grabbed Abigail around the waist and tossed her over his shoulder, gritting his teeth through the pain the act caused, before turning and starting for the jail.

  Chapter Two

  Abigail was too stunned to do more than hang there, upside down, while the marshal carried her to jail. Jail! He was arresting her for what amounted to nothing more than a misunderstanding but the pig-headed man didn’t want to hear her side of the story. Not that she’d really tried very hard to tell him. Getting away from him seemed like the best course of action back at the saloon. If she’d only walked faster, she may have avoided this entire embarrassment.

  Reaching the jail, Abigail lifted her head and noticed a line of people filling the wooden sidewalk, staring at them. She groaned and let her head drop again. The floor of the jail came into view. It was covered in dried mud, much like the marshal’s pants and boots, she noticed, and the stench inside the building took her breath.

  The marshal stood her on her feet and she glared at him before looking around her. She was inside what was apparently the jails one and only cell. The barred prison was bare except for a cot that sat under a small, open window. The blanket lying at the foot of the bed was threadbare and filthy. It also contributed greatly to the foul smell in the air. Turning back to face the marshal, Abigail crossed her arms under her breasts. “These accommodations aren’t suitable for a woman. You can’t keep me here.”

  He had the gall to laugh at her before walking out of the cell and slamming the door hard enough to make her jump before he locked it behind him. “A jail isn’t a hotel, Miss Thornton. You’ll get used to it.”

  She watched him cross the room to a stove in the corner, filling it with wood before starting a fire. He rattled a coffee pot, making as much noise as possible before abandoning the stove and walking to a small desk sitting by the door. He unhooked the gun belt she just now noticed hanging around his hips, hanging it on the back of the chair. His back was to her and even though he was covered from head to toe in dirt, she had to admit he was an impressive sight.

  His shoulders were wide; his waist tapered to slim hips and strong, firm looking thighs. His pants fit snug in places she shouldn’t be looking but with a backside like that, it was hard not to stare. Lord knew the men in Atlanta certainly looked nothing like the marshal did. They acted nothing like him either. They had manners. This man did not.

  He turned and sat down in the chair, tossed his hat onto the desk and propped his booted feet up on the edge. His hair was dark and in need of barbering. The ends hung nearly to his shoulders. The indentions from his hat caused it to lay slick to his head. For a town marshal, he apparently wasn’t too concerned about his personal grooming. Not that she cared.

  When he clasped his hands behind his head and stared at her, Abigail raised an eyebrow at him. His returning smile rankled her nerves. The scraggly beard covering his face didn’t hide the fact he was probably very attractive. From across the room she could see the mischief in his green eyes. Well, the one that wasn’t swollen shut, that is. The purple bruising on his face didn’t conceal the warm hue of his tanned skin and looking at his forearms below the cuffs of his rolled up shirt sleeves let her know he spent more hours outdoors than most.

  The fact she found him attractive, as scruffy as he was, galled her. “Are you comfortable now?”

  “Absolutely. I can finally put my feet up and I have the best view a man in my position can ask for. A prisoner.”

  He was enjoying the fact he locked her up. The pig.

  Unwilling to let him see how worried she actually was, she turned her back to him and walked to the cot. The smell was worse close up. She gingerly picked up the offending blanket with two fingers and tossed it to the other side of the cell. The mattress underneath was stained with heaven knows what. She shook her head in disgust. “I’ll need clean linens, marshal. This bed isn’t fit for a dog let alone a human.”

  “Never heard any complaints before now. Besides, it’s cleaner than the floor. Let’s not forget this is a jail, Miss Thornton. It isn’t set up for your comfort. You’ll get no special treatment from me just because you’re a—lady.”

  The way he said lady caused Abigail’s irritation to grow and she looked over her shoulder at him. He was still smiling. “Am I to assume my meals will consist of water and bread, then?”

  “You can assume what you want.”

  “Well, in that case,” she said, turning to face him and placing both hands on her hips, “I’ll assume you’re as big an ass as you seem.” His smile faltered and Abigail gave him one in return that made her cheeks ache before she sat down on the edge of the cot. She laid her reticule on her lap and stared back at him, unmoving.

  The staring contest may have lasted all night if the door hadn’t opened minutes later. A man who looked very much like the marshal stepped inside and shut the door behind him, his gaze searching and finding her in the cell. He smiled and shook his head. “Vernon told me you locked up a woman but I had to come see for myself.”

  “It’s nice to see you too, brother.”

  This new man was everything the marshal wasn’t. Clean, freshly barbered and had an easy going smile. Abigail watched him take the vacant seat across from the desk and smiled at him again when he turned to look at her. “You can’t keep her locked up, Morgan,” he said, not taking his gaze from her. “The townsfolk will have a hissy fit.”

  “She started a brawl in the saloon, among other things. Once they find out why she’s here, they’ll understand.”

  The man snorted a laugh. “I doubt that. I’m sure Edna is on her way over right now to give you a piece of her mind.”

  “She’ll do that regardless of who I have locked up in here.” The marshal looked over at her before lowering his feet to the floor and standing. “Come on,” he said, gesturing to the door to the other man. “Take a walk with me. I suddenly have a need for some fresh air. It stinks like a weeks worth of horse shit in here.”

  When they started for the door, Abigail rose as well. “Marshal! You can’t leave me in here.”

  “Sure I can,” he said, looking over his shoulder at her. “You’re locked up, remember? You’re not going anywhere.” With a parting smile, he left, the door closing behind him.

  * * * *

  Morgan wasn’t able to wipe the grin off his face until he stepped off the sidewalk. “Buy me a drink, Holden,” he said, slapping his brother on the back. “And tell me what’s going on at the ranch since I’ve been gone.”

  Holden nodded and they walked in silence until they reached the sidewalk in front of the saloon. “Same as it was when you left. Well, except for Alex’s desire to be a horse wrangler now inste
ad of a cowpuncher.”

  “That didn’t last long.”

  “Her career decisions never last long. Of course, she’s only eight. I hope by the time she’s old enough to marry, she’ll be interested in babies and a home of her own.”

  Morgan laughed as they walked inside. “I don’t think Alex even knows she’s a girl.” The barroom had been cleaned, somewhat. There were two tables now standing, both of them propped up with wooden blocks under the wobbly legs. Mismatched chairs were leaning against the wall and the men inside were still there, drinking, cussing and telling lies as usual.

  Reaching the long bar, Vernon greeted them both before pouring them a drink, leaving the bottle behind. “So,” Holden said, grinning. “What’s the story with the woman?”

  Abigail Thornton’s face came instantly to mind and Morgan fought the urge to smile. “She destroyed the bar.”

  Holden shook his head. “One little woman caused all this damage?” He turned to look at what remained of the Diamond Back Saloon. “She must be one hell of a wild cat to break all this shit.”

  She was a wild cat, all right. Her claws came out the moment he spoke to her and she hadn’t retracted them yet. The fire in her eyes hadn’t dimmed since then either. The scorn he’d seen in them was directed at him and him alone. “She’s trouble. I’m just making sure she doesn’t give me anymore.”

  “And keeping her locked up will accomplish that?”

  “It sure will.” Morgan knocked back his drink, turned and refilled his glass.

  Holden grunted. “I know it’s been a while, and you’re used to the company of whores, but come on, Morgan, surely you know a lady isn’t going to sit quietly while locked up. The jail stinks, the bedding has been there since the building was built ten years ago and if she has to survive with nothing but your cooking, she’ll be dead in a week.”

  Morgan glared at his brother. “I’m not going to coddle her.”