Dr. Martin snapped his suspenders with his thumbs, then shoved his hands in the pockets of his baggy trousers. He looked around the room as if searching for something, before finally meeting Adam's half-amused gaze. “Yeah, she's a widow, been one for about five years now. Ain't been here much longer myself. Took the old doc's place after he fell from his horse into Mule Creek and drowned."
Adam was glad his head hurt, because otherwise he would have laughed over the doctor's quick change of subject. He should assure the poor man that he had no intention of competing for the widow Ross. In fact, he intended to walk a mile around her and her hellion brood if he happened to see them. Hopefully, his business in Shadow City wouldn't take too long.
Rubbing gingerly at the bump on his temple, Adam asked the burning question. “Why'd she hit me?” It galled him to know a little girl had done this to him. What would the townsfolk think of their new sheriff when they heard? And why should he care? He wasn't here to become a hero. He was here to dig up the truth—if he was lucky enough to find anyone who remembered something that happened fifteen years ago.
Dr. Martin walked to a long table set against the far wall of the good-sized room, turning his back to him. Adam rose slowly onto his elbows to watch as the doctor began arranging an assortment of surgical instruments that appeared to have been just fine the way they were. The ache in his head was easing, and he didn't think he had a concussion. No blurred vision, no nausea, which he knew were signs.
"I reckon she hit you because you're a white man,” the doctor began slowly, without turning around. “The sight of your gun probably set her off."
Adam sensed the doctor was choosing his words with care, waiting for each reaction before continuing. Politics. “Can't hardly blame her.” After a slight hesitation, he added, “And if she's heard about Custard and what he did at Wounded Knee Creek down in South Dakota, that didn't help matters none."
The doctor turned around and stared at Adam, his expression neutral, but his tone one of poorly concealed disgust. “So, you've heard about it?"
Adam shrugged, but his eyes revealed enough contempt to inform the doctor of how he really felt. “Who hasn't? What was it, three hundred Indians on that reservation—women and children included—slaughtered like hogs?"
"Yes. The stories I've heard are beyond the imagination.” Dr. Martin took a cloth and began dusting the vast array of medicine jars on a shelf above the table where he stood. Suddenly, he threw the rag onto the table and faced Adam again, his whiskered sideburns working along with his jaw. “There's not many who know about Takola, Sheriff Logan. What I'm about to tell you could mean her death if you should repeat this to anyone. I figure you got a right to know, you being the new sheriff and all."
Intrigued, Adam nodded. “I give you my word—as long as it's within the law.” It was what the doctor would expect him to say, and he certainly wanted everyone in Shadow City to think he took his job as sheriff seriously.
Dr. Martin seemed satisfied with his answer. “Takola showed up in Shadow City this past February. Mrs. Ross found her asleep in the smoke house, damn near froze half to death, her feet nothin’ but raw meat where she'd walked on ‘em.” He paused significantly and Adam realized he was holding his breath. “We believe she walked here from Wounded Knee Creek."
There was dead silence in the room. Adam remembered to breathe again, trying to comprehend what the doctor was implying. “That's hundreds of miles from here! You think she was there during the massacre?” He frowned. “But they said there weren't any survivors. General Custard's men made sure of that."
Dr. Martin nodded. “Yes, that's what they say—no one survived. We don't want them to know otherwise, either. They'd hunt her down like a rabid dog and kill her. Wouldn't be much we could do to stop it from happening."
Adam lowered himself down onto the cot. His head was beginning to pound again. If the doctor was right and the Indian girl had witnessed such a massacre, then he understood why she harbored so much hate. Hell, he even understood why she'd hit him.
And Dr. Martin was right about what the army would do to Takola if they knew.
"But Mrs. Ross would try,” Dr. Martin said.
Adam sat up again, this time ignoring the flash of pain the sudden movement caused. “What?"
"I said Mrs. Ross would try to stop ‘em."
"She'd get her fool self killed, too,” Adam growled. He remembered how fiercely she'd protected the little thief—Ben—and knew the doctor spoke the truth. They would take Takola over Lacy Ross's dead body, and Adam felt sure that's how it would be. Over her dead body. Without the slightest regret.
Well, it wasn't his business, and as far as he was concerned, Lacy Ross wasn't breaking the law by keeping the Indian girl. As long as she could handle Takola, and the little hellcat didn't kill anyone, then Adam felt he should stay out of it. He certainly hadn't come to Shadow City to get embroiled in the town's woes—just to pump them for information. And when he finished his investigation, he would get the hell out of town.
He had a piece of land picked out right smack dab in the middle of Wyoming, and the sooner he got there to claim it, the better. He'd be there now, if it hadn't been for the promise he'd made to his mother before she died.
Adam swung his legs down and sat up on the cot. He discovered that if he didn't move too quickly, the pain was bearable. “How long you reckon this head's gonna hurt?” he asked, thinking of the pile of wanted posters on his desk. One of the first jobs as sheriff would be to familiarize himself with the faces of those outlaws on the off-chance any of them passed through town.
Dr. Martin shrugged. “Can't say for sure. I'd advise you to get an early night, and with luck, you'll be as good as new in the morning."
"Thanks, Doc. How much do I owe you?” Adam slid off the cot, stretching carefully. Maybe he'd follow the doc's orders, and do just that. In the morning, he'd get an early start on those posters, then take a leisurely stroll around town to acquaint himself with the people. It was Thursday. By this time next week, he should be able to ask a few questions without arousing too much suspicion. By then, he should have a pretty good idea of who to ask.
"This one's on me, Sheriff Logan, and welcome to Shadow City."
Dr. Martin held out his hand and Adam shook it. He walked to the door, then hesitated. There was a question still burning to be asked. “About the boy, Ben—"
The doctor cut him off. “You'll have to let Mrs. Ross explain that one, Sheriff. I've told enough of her business as it is. Wouldn't want her to be mad at me.” Dr. Martin looked regretful, but stubborn, and Adam realized he wouldn't get any further information out of the doc about Mrs. Ross and her family.
"Well ... thanks for your help, Doc.” As he strode out of the office into the dwindling afternoon light and made for the jailhouse, he thought about Lacy Ross, wondering again why he couldn't just forget it. The town was small, but if he concentrated hard, he could avoid the widow and her wild youngsters for the next month or two. He needed to focus all of his energy into finishing the job he came to do, and getting the hell out. It was the end of June. He wanted to buy his land and build a shelter before winter set in.
He crossed the street and stepped onto the boardwalk in front of the jailhouse, glad he had finally managed to get Lacy Ross out of his mind. As he passed by the building's only window, he saw light glowing inside the office. He froze with his hand on the doorknob, knowing that he hadn't left the lamp burning when he'd gone chasing the boy. Of course he hadn't, because at the time it had been broad daylight.
Slowly, he withdrew his gun and eased the door open with his boot, keeping his upper body out of sight. No one came at him as the door swung wide open, giving him a fair view of the room.
Lacy Ross stood before his desk fiddling with something in front of her, unaware of his presence.
Adam walked softly into the room, grasped the door, and gave it a hard push. It slammed shut. He holstered his gun just as Lacy turned with a startled jerk.
Her eyes looked enormous in a face blanched white with fear. She looked as if she'd just seen a ghost. The sight of him didn't appear to reassure her.
"You ... I thought you might be hungry, so I brought dinner.” She gestured to the plate on the desk, then let her hands drop to her sides.
Adam slanted a glance at the plate, covered with a cloth to keep away the flies, then turned his back to Lacy. She was a beautiful woman, he decided, despite the drawn look about her mouth. Her hair, a dark honey color, looked thick and silky. Since their last meeting, she had wound the heavy braid into a cornet at her neck.
"Is this a peace offering?” he drawled, moving around the desk and seating himself. With a sigh, he propped his feet up and closed his eyes. What a day! When a moment passed in silence, he opened one eye to peer at her, lifting a questioning brow.
"I suppose you could call it that,” she said stiffly.
Adam smiled faintly. Mrs. Ross thought he'd jump at the offering, and thought he was rude for not doing so. Maybe if his head wasn't hurting like hell, he'd have been more obliging. But right now he didn't feel very obliging. “Or you could call it a bribe."
His interested gaze watched the flush break the stark whiteness of her face. Much better, he thought. Now she looked downright pretty. Mad, but pretty. No longer scared. He couldn't imagine why Lacy Ross would be afraid of him. She didn't strike him as the cowering type. Like his mother had been.
Under his level stare, Lacy grew visibly taller, her chin squaring off. Her brown eyes took on a gleam Adam was already familiar with. “I don't know what you're talking about, Mr.—Sheriff Logan. It's customary to welcome a new town member, and this is one of the ways we do it. I don't have an ulterior motive."
She wasn't a good liar, Adam noted, enjoying himself. “I'm talking about the way you're hoping to soften me up so I don't put the bunch of you in jail.” He paused to let that sink in, knowing he was being a brute and unable to help himself. It was the headache, he excused. “Stealin', holding the sheriff at gunpoint, attacking the sheriff—"
"I'm aware of what happened, Sheriff Logan."
Adam watched her chest rise and fall with more interest than a man with such a head pain should have.
"I'm sorry for all of it.” She walked a few steps toward the door, then turned and walked back, avoiding his eyes. “When Ben came running into the house, looking so frightened, I lost my head.” Suddenly she pinned him with an accusing look. “He said you threatened to shoot him."
"I told him thieves get shot,” Adam said flatly. “And where I come from, they do. Sometimes they get hanged."
The color disappeared from her face again. “He's a child—"
"Who will grow up to be a man."
"But it was just a pie—"
"And next time it might be my horse,” Adam inserted.
Lacy's fingers curled into her apron, the restraining gesture not lost on Adam. So the widow Ross possessed a temper.
"Would you stop interrupting me?"
When he simply sat and stared, Lacy went on. “Everyone in town knows Ben, and they all love him, despite the fact that he steals food."
"Is he your son?” Adam surprised himself by asking. His gaze dropped to her slim hips, then crawled slowly upward where they lingered speculatively on her small breasts.
Lacy's mouth fell open. She shut it with a snap, her lips pursed in a thin line of annoyance. “What's that got to do with anything?"
"Is he?” Adam wasn't certain why he wanted to know, but he did. He dropped his boots to the floor and settled his hands on his knees, waiting for an answer.
Lacy hissed the word. “No. He's not my own flesh and blood child. I don't have any. But he's like my own."
Adam rose and walked around the desk, not surprised when Lacy held her ground. He could tell by the way she tensed up that she wanted to run; the signs were there in the white lines around her lips and the way she swayed back. Her sparkling anger enhanced her beauty and intrigued the male in him. But he didn't need the distraction, and instinct told him that if he didn't scare her good right now, she'd end up getting under his skin. He didn't want that. Didn't need it, either. He had two jobs to do in this town, and getting involved with a woman—especially this woman—wasn't in his plans.
He didn't stop walking until he was a few inches away. Her breath came faster, drawing his eyes once again to the quick rise and fall of her breasts. She had lowered her eyes, staring somewhere in the vicinity of his chin as if she were bowing to his will, but Adam wasn't a fool. “Tell me, Mrs. Ross. Do you take in every stray that happens along? Do you hold them to your breast and rock them gently until their tears dry?"
Lacy backed up a step and Adam followed. This time, he allowed his chest to brush hers. He reached out and ran his knuckles along her clenched jaw, then down to her throat.
She flinched and jerked her head away, eyes suddenly up and blazing.
Adam admired the defiance he saw there, then dropped his gaze to her lips. He wondered how long it had been since Lacy's last kiss and why, after five years, she remained a widow.
"You're a bully, Mr. Logan. Just as I first thought.” Her voice came out a little shaky, enticingly husky. It was filled with loathing, the vehemence of which startled Adam.
He smiled. “If I'm a bully, Mrs. Ross, why isn't little Ben in jail right now? Or the little Indian girl, for that matter?"
As she prepared a retort, Adam leaned in that last inch and covered her open mouth with his own, inhaling her startled gasp of shock.
The kiss ended before it really began, but Adam planned it that way. He wasn't so confident he could handle a true kiss without wanting more. And he didn't want her screaming, just frightened enough to stay out of his way from now on. From what he gathered, it wouldn't take much to scare Lacy Ross.
He stepped back and braced himself, fully expecting a sharp slap to his face, which wouldn't help his aching head. Instead, Lacy covered her mouth with her hand and stared at him, her eyes wide, accusing. Finally, she swept past him to the door.
"One more thing, Mrs. Ross,” Adam called, watching as she ground to a halt. She didn't turn, her back stiff and her head held high. “Send Ben over in the morning. I've got a saddle that needs oiling. He can do that to pay for the pie."
Lacy didn't answer. The door slammed behind her and Adam grinned, then heaved a sigh of regret. But he knew he'd done the right thing. Lacy Ross would definitely be too much of a diversion, and he couldn't risk that happening. If he wasn't mistaken, she would avoid him in the future, as much as she would avoid a pile of horse manure in the road.
He wondered if his instincts were right about her. She had shown all the signs of being afraid of him, and it left him wondering what had happened to her to make her so jumpy.
The tantalizing aroma of fried chicken wafted Adam's way, drawing his attention to the food she'd brought. He dismissed his musings and moved to the desk, where he uncovered the plate. His appreciative gaze skimmed the contents. Along with crisp fried chicken, there was a generous helping of boiled potatoes, green beans and a thick slice of cornbread topped with creamy butter. His stomach growled with anticipation. Adam smiled. If the widow Ross cooked as good as she kissed, he wouldn't go to bed hungry tonight.
At least, not hungry for food. He chuckled to himself and made a mental note to find out if there were any women to be bought in this town. It wasn't his normal way of scratching his itch, but he didn't have time for courting.
* * * *
Lacy was mad enough to spit. She marched home, mentally flaying herself and Sheriff Logan in turn. What made her think she could change his mind about Ben? What made her crazy enough to bring him something to eat, hoping, just as he'd guessed, to soften things for Takola and Ben—and herself?
"Good evening, Mrs. Ross."
Lacy forced herself to smile at the blacksmith as he locked up for the night. “Good evening, Mr. Crow.” She continued on as darkness slid into place around her, hoping she
would find Grandpa at home keeping an eye on Ben and Takola. Somebody needed to, while she made a fool of herself with Sheriff Logan.
She thought about the other reason for making the attempt to apologize to the new sheriff. For Rusty's sake, she'd hoped to get Sheriff Logan on their side before he caught wind of the rumors the mayor was spreading around town about why he had fired her grandpa. So far, she didn't think many people believed him, but with Adam Logan being a newcomer, she feared it was a matter of who talked to him first.
A groan escaped her. After what happened today, with Ben and Takola, she reckoned she was wasting her time. Sheriff Logan would never hire Rusty as a deputy now, the way Sheriff Murddock had done before his death. She loved her grandpa, but she wasn't blind to his faults. He was getting too old to be sheriff of a growing town like Shadow City. She hoped being appointed deputy would salvage his pride and help keep him out of the saloon. Lacy picked up her skirts and crossed the road, nodding absently at the lamp lighter as she passed by.
Adam Logan didn't know what it had cost her to go into that darkened office alone. The last time had been fifteen years ago, when she found Sheriff Murddock dead. Lacy hastened her steps, a shiver racing down her spine as she recalled the awful fear she'd felt tonight as she set the plate down and lit the lamp.
Time had rolled back, and she was a little girl again. Everything looked the same; the same lamp, the same desk, the same murky, pre-dark light. By the time she finished lighting the lamp, she was fully convinced that when she turned around to face the jail cell, she would find Sheriff Logan's handsome face staring at her through the bars, just as Sheriff Murddock's had done so many years ago.
She still saw that face in her dreams sometimes. Her husband had thought she was silly for dreaming about something that happened so long ago. Lacy wished she could forget about it entirely. What happened this evening only proved that wish was futile.
Secrets In The Shadows Page 3
