Bewildered, Lacy said, “Because Mary Ann said you owned a ranch in Wyoming, so naturally I assumed—"
"Something you're good at,” Adam cut in, but this time he was smiling. “Snake River Ranch isn't mine. It's belongs to my stepfather."
Lacy watched his jaw harden and automatically tensed.
His smile disappeared. “Mr. Silverstone assumed the ranch had gone to me, since it belonged to Colt—Sheriff Murddock. But a will wasn't found."
"Oh,” Lacy mumbled in sympathy. He didn't appear bitter about the settlement, but she sensed he wasn't pleased, either. “I'm sure if Sheriff Murddock had known, he would have made a will."
"Oh, he made a will, all right.” His eyes met hers briefly before he turned his attention back to the road. “I said a will wasn't found."
Lacy sat in confused silence, waiting for him to explain. A deer darted across their path, crashing into the woods on the other side, white tail flashing. Grasshopper twitched her ears at the disturbance, but continued on at a steady pace. Occasionally, the mare would swing her head around and roll her eyes at the stallion trailing behind the wagon.
Finally, Adam spoke, his voice soft with an underlying tension. “Lacy, do you believe my grandfather killed himself?"
Lacy stiffened on the bench, gripping the sides as she fought the memories that haunted her to this very day. She didn't want to think about it, not on such a beautiful day. Not with Adam. She kept her eyes straight ahead. “I don't really know, Adam. I was young.” But unfortunately, not so young she couldn't remember.
"I'm going to prove he was murdered."
Surprised, Lacy turned to him. “Murdered? But who would want to kill such a gentle, kind man?” Too late, she realized her slip.
Adam narrowed his eyes at her. “So, you do remember. As for who might want him dead, my stepfather for one. Without a will, the ranch would naturally revert to my mother, and on her death, to him. He got what he wanted. Question is, did he murder my grandfather to get it? And if he did, did he also destroy the will?
"There was a fire the same day—at Graham Silverstone's place of business—that destroyed the envelope Colt had given him for safe keeping. Graham swears Colt had another copy hidden somewhere."
Lacy scrambled to put the pieces together. What Adam said made sense, but she couldn't see a way to prove any of it. Fifteen years was a long time. “If you could find the will, you might have a chance to prove your stepfather killed Colt, but if not ... I don't see how you could."
Adam was silent for a moment, as if he was weighing his words with care. Staring at his profile, Lacy felt a nervous fluttering in her stomach, a premonition of unpleasant things to come. She had an idea of what he was going to say, and she didn't want to hear it.
"Lacy ... I know you're the one who found my grandfather."
"So?” She tried to sound casual, but knew she had failed when he slanted a hard glance her way. She swallowed. “I was nine years old, Adam. You have no idea how awful that was for me."
"And do you have any idea how awful it was for me and Ma to hear he'd killed himself? We knew it was a lie, but we could do nothing about it. My stepfather wouldn't let her leave the ranch, and I didn't dare leave her."
"And now she's gone,” Lacy concluded quietly. She heard the underlying grief in his voice, and saw the strain on his face. “I don't know what you want from me, Adam. I was just a child, and memories fade.” Heat rushed into her face at the lie, and she turned away so he wouldn't see the telltale sign. Why did he have to dredge it all up again? Why didn't he just leave it be? Colt Murddock was dead, had been dead for fifteen years.
As if he read her thoughts, Adam said, “What if it was Rusty we were discussing? What if everyone believed he had killed himself, but you knew he hadn't? Wouldn't you want to clear his name, prove he wasn't a coward?"
When Lacy remained turned away from him, he pulled the wagon to a stop and grabbed her shoulders, twisting her around. A curious light burned brightly in his eyes that Lacy recognized; it was determination.
He wouldn't give up until he had what he wanted.
"What? What, Adam?” She struggled to break from his strong grip, but he held tight. Fighting panic, Lacy hissed in his face, “Tell me what you want from me, and if I can, I'll give it to you. Just don't expect miracles."
Adam kissed her, fed from her mouth like a starving man. He raked his lips over hers and thrust his tongue inside her warm, willing mouth. Lacy opened for him without hesitation, melting against him. His arms closed around her, holding her tight. She lifted her own and circled his neck, pulling him tighter, tighter still, until she felt the fierce beating of his heart against her own.
Finally, breathless and aching, she pulled away. Her voice was nothing more than a shaky whisper. “I think you misunderstood me, Adam."
Adam chuckled, a deep, bone-melting chuckle that made her want to throw herself back into his arms. It felt so right to be there. Right, and safe, and exciting.
"No, I didn't misunderstand—I just couldn't resist. When you're that close to me, it's like my mouth has a mind of its own, darlin'."
"You shouldn't call me—"
"Why are you so confounded worried about what I call you? First, you don't want me to call you Miz Ross because it's too impersonal. Now you're tellin’ me not to call you darlin'?"
Lacy blushed. “Well, it's not proper—"
"Woman!” Adam roared, startling both the mare and the stallion. “Make up your mind."
"Lacy. Just call me Lacy.” Primly, Lacy faced forward on the wagon seat, praying she had succeeded in distracting him from the issue of Colt Murddock.
"It didn't work, Lacy,” Adam drawled, turning her chin with his fingers. He met her apprehensive gaze, held it. “I've got to find out what really happened that day, and you're my only clue."
Lacy caught a sigh in her throat, wishing it were otherwise. She wished it wasn't so important to Adam, that his reason for coming to Shadow City had been because he planned to settle. “I told you I'll do what I can to help you. That's all I can promise."
He set a brief kiss on her lips before releasing her and taking up the reins again. This time, Lacy let go of the sigh. She couldn't seem to think straight when Adam was close to her.
She became downright brainless when he kissed her.
The wagon lurched forward. Spots of sunlight danced along Grasshopper's back as the wagon found its way through the heavy foliage overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a woodpecker knocked a rapid rhythm.
They had traveled a mile or so in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, before Adam spoke again. “I appreciate your help, Lacy. You don't know how much."
Enough to stay? Lacy wanted to ask. But she didn't, because she feared his answer. “Don't thank me yet, Adam. I may not be any help at all.” She watched a squirrel leap from limb to limb, chattering a mile a minute. Her throat felt tight, and her chest ached. Thunder. Surely she would not start crying?
Adam seemed to sense her inner turmoil. With a muffled curse, he said, “Lacy, you make a man think about settling down. Make him stop and take stock of his life, what he has and what he doesn't have."
Lacy heard the ‘but’ in his confession. She swallowed a ball of tears and managed a careless smile. Just for Adam. “I'm not the marryin’ kind, anyway, Adam Logan. So I guess it's best you don't have serious notions. I'd hate to have to break your heart.” She added a laugh that sounded remarkably carefree, considering how miserable she really felt inside.
Adam shot her a disgruntled look. “Make no mistake, Lacy Lynn Ross. If I wanted you to, you'd marry me."
"Ha!” Lacy tossed her bonnet-clad head. “You think so? I've managed to avoid marriage for five years—what makes you so confident you could change my mind?” Her mood had begun to lighten until she caught the determined gleam in his eyes. She swallowed and started to slide as far away as she could get.
Adam's arm shot out, catching her waist. He hauled her to his side and clampe
d his hungry mouth on hers, kissing her until she didn't have a rigid bone in her body. When he finally released her, she let her head fall onto his shoulder. They were both breathing heavily.
The rumble of his voice vibrated beneath her cheek. “Don't ever challenge me, Lacy, unless you're ready for the consequences."
Lacy lifted her head to look at the hard angle of his chin. “What do you want me to do?” Adam knew what she meant. At least she hoped he did.
His arm inched up, settling in a most disturbing place just beneath her breast. Lacy caught her breath as a jolt of desire swept through her. She wanted to lean into him, but she managed to hold herself still. This wasn't the place to let desires rage out of control.
With Adam, there wouldn't be a place.
"Do you think it would help if you tried to recreate that day?” Adam asked after a thoughtful moment. The wagon wheel hit a bump and his hand jumped up, closing over a firm, sweet breast. He cursed low, bit his lip, and moved his hand back to her waist.
Lacy heard his curse and knew the reason. She had stopped breathing when he touched her, and shamelessly, hadn't wanted him to stop. She ached all over and wondered if he felt the same. Pressed against him as she was, she could feel the tension in his body. It radiated through her, thrumming like a siren's sweet call.
She had never imagined love could be so all-consuming.
Love? Oh, heavens, yes. She loved Adam Logan.
And he would leave after he discovered what happened to his grandfather.
They rounded a bend in the road and the Henderson farm came into sight. It was a weathered frame house, flanked by a rickety barn and a corral that needed mending. Lacy sat straighter on the bench, adjusting her bonnet and flicking imaginary wrinkles out of her calico dress. Adam dropped his hand from her waist and guided Grasshopper along the lane leading to the farm house.
As they approached, a skinny bird dog ran to greet them, followed by two girls who looked to be around six and seven. Lacy smiled, thinking of the cornhusk dolls from Takola. They would be perfect.
Adam pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the porch as Lester Salvage and his tiny, very pregnant wife stepped out to greet them.
"Hello!” Lester called cheerfully. “Wasn't expecting you, Sheriff, but you're mighty welcome.” Lester Salvage jumped forward to help Lacy dismount, smiling at her flushed face. “Miz Ross. A pleasure to see you again."
"And you, Mr. Salvage. This is your wife?” She peered around Lester's bulky frame to the woman waiting beneath the shade of the porch. From the size of her protruding stomach, Lacy guessed she wasn't far away from having her third child. And such a tiny thing, she thought in wonder. She hardly looked capable of bearing one child, much less three!
Lester led Lacy up the wobbly steps to introduce her to his wife. “Victoria, this here's Lacy Ross, Sheriff—er—Deputy Palmer's granddaughter."
"Pleased to meet you.” Black eyes regarded her with gentle curiosity. Raven black hair hung in two braids on either side of her face, and her skin was a light almond color. She wore a roomy, homespun dress of faded calico instead of the traditional Indian dress of leather tunic and knee-high moccasins.
Lacy thought Takola would look much the same when she reached womanhood. With a sincere smile, Lacy said, “Nice to meet you, Victoria. Welcome to Callaway County.” She was surprised to discover Lester was married to an Indian, and further surprised by the name, but she hid it well. Going to one knee, she focused on the two girls who had come to stand beside their mother. Both girls resembled Victoria, with their dark brown eyes and black hair. “And who have we here?"
"I'm Jesse,” the oldest whispered shyly, hiding her face in the folds of her mother's dress.
But the youngest obviously didn't know the meaning of the word stranger. She stepped forward and said, “I'm Tory. My name's almost like Ma's.” She pointed a pudgy finger at Adam, who stood behind her. “Is that your husband?"
Victoria scolded her and Lester smothered a laugh. Lacy looked at Adam, her face heating. He lifted an eyebrow and grinned.
"No, he's not my husband. I wouldn't have the mangy varmint.” She softened her words with a smile, tugging on Tory's braid. “Actually, he's all right—just not my type. Too bossy. That's Adam Logan, the sheriff.” She could feel Adam's gaze on her, and knew retribution was on his mind.
Tory giggled, picking up on the mischief in Lacy's eyes. “I guess he has to be bossy, since he's the sheriff. Pa says he's a right decent man, braver than—."
Wisely, Victoria covered Tory's mouth with her hand as she said, “Let's go inside and have something to drink."
"Oh, but we've got butter—"
"We'll unload the wagon, Lacy,” Adam called out, interrupting her.
So Lacy followed Victoria inside the small, neat house and left the men to bring in the supplies. Obviously, Lester had worked hard to get the farmhouse in shape for his wife, she thought, for surely Victoria had not had time to do all this in the short time she'd been here? Lacy had been expecting a mess, and had fully intended to pitch in and do what she could. She knew the farm had been vacant for nearly a year.
But everything seemed to be in its place, the bare wood floor swept and scrubbed clean. Brightly colored rugs scattered here and there gave it a much needed splash of color. A squat, pot-bellied stove stood in the center of the living room, used both for heating and cooking. The table Victoria led them to had been carved from raw oak, then sanded and varnished to a shine Lacy could almost see her reflection in.
As Victoria squeezed lemons into tall glasses of cold well water, Adam and Lester unloaded the wagon, setting the perishable goods on the table. The girls had followed the women inside and now stood by Lacy's chair, watching her with fathomless dark eyes.
When Adam handed her the basket she had carried on the wagon seat beside her, Lacy reached inside and brought out the cornhusk dolls, dressed in leather tunics decorated with colorful beads. Jesse and Tory took the gifts from her outstretched hand, their eyes rounding with pleasure.
"Oh, they're beautiful! Thank you,” Jesse said, losing her shyness.
"Yes, she's lovely,” Tory added. She leaned forward and kissed Lacy's cheek. Jesse followed suit.
"Takola made these for you. Sometime I'll bring her out to meet you. Would you like that?” Both girls nodded eagerly, then skipped off to play with their new dolls.
"That was a very nice thing to do, Miz Ross,” Victoria said, setting a glass of lemonade on the table in front of her.
Lacy took a long swallow of the delicious concoction, easing her parched throat. “Please, call me Lacy. And Takola made the dolls, so I can't take any of the credit.” Suddenly, she remembered the baby rattle. “Oh, and she made this for the new baby.” She lifted the rattle out of the basket and handed it to Victoria."
Victoria studied the rattle for a long moment, her expression somber. “She is Dakota, is she not?” When Lacy hesitated, then nodded, Victoria continued, her voice hushed, almost revered. “She must have done something very brave when she was but a baby, to earn the name Takola. It is a name given to male children of the tribe."
Lacy hadn't known this. “She drew us a picture—we know it means fox."
Victoria nodded. “Yes. The fox are brave, wily animals, much admired by the Dakota.” She shook her head and smiled at Lacy. “Sometime, you must bring her to visit."
"Yes. I will. Maybe she'll talk to you ... she hasn't spoken since ... since she came to us."
Again, Victoria nodded, as if she understood. “She will come around. Give her time, be patient.” Victoria eased herself awkwardly down onto a chair, massaging her lower back. “This baby, he will be a boy. He gives me lots of trouble, this one does."
"Your English is good."
"Lester taught me much. The rest I learned from the teacher on the reservation and from listening. You learn much from listening.” She began to examine the supplies on the table, showing her appreciation with soft murmurings and gasps. “So much
—you bring all this?"
"Not all. The townspeople helped.” Carefully, Lacy added, “We do this for all the new settlers, to welcome them to the territory.” She knew how fragile pride was, and didn't want the Indian woman to be offended by the gifts.
But she needn't have worried. Victoria seemed pleased and excited by the many items. “You are kind, as Lester said. You will make a good wife."
"I don't want to be a wife,” Lacy blurted out. The moment she said the words, she wanted to cover her flaming face. To say such a thing to Carrianna, her close friend, was one thing; to say it to a total stranger was quite another! What in the world had gotten into her? She met Victoria's shrewd eyes, wishing she could sneak quietly away.
"You have been a wife, to know you don't want to be a wife?"
Lacy thought about lying, thought about changing the subject, but decided Victoria's feelings would be hurt, and she didn't want that. “Yes, I have and no, I don't want to be again.” She lowered her eyes to her lap, studying her chipped nails, her rough hands. The cream had helped, but her hands still looked a fright. She jumped as Victoria covered her rough hands with small brown ones.
"You have had a bad time, huh? My mother was married to a white man who was mean to her—my father—and she prayed for him to die. Each night, in my bed in the loft above her room, I would hear her praying for his death. I added my prayers to hers.” When Lacy's horrified eyes flew to Victoria's, the Indian woman nodded and squeezed Lacy's hands. “God answered our prayers."
"I—I don't—"
"It is not always the same, Lacy Ross. Lester is a good man, a good husband, and a good father. He does not beat me. Adam Logan would not beat you."
Lacy was floored. Her mouth gaped open, then closed. “But, how did you—"
"I know these things. If you watch and listen, you can know these things.” Victoria gave her a sly look. “He makes you want to have his babies, right?” When Lacy gasped in shock, Victoria threw her into further shock by giggling. “You white women, you are all so silly!"
"Victoria!” Lacy exclaimed, covering her flaming cheeks with her hands. Then she found herself laughing along with her. When the laughter finally subsided, Lacy glanced at the open doorway and leaned forward, whispering, “Do you—do you actually like sleeping with your husband?” This time she ignored her hot cheeks, desperate for reassurance.
Secrets In The Shadows Page 18
