Just West of Heaven

by Maureen Child

  Brawls. Shootouts. He said it all so matter-of-factly. This was his way of life and he was completely suited to it. She’d never forget the surge of something raw and wild that had swept through her when she’d seen him striding toward the mounted gunman. With the hot sun slashing at him, his eyes squinted and his jaw set, he’d looked powerful. And confident.

  And alone.

  Which was why she’d gone out there in the first place. What kind of man was it, she wondered, who accepted such things as a part of his life and thought no more about it? What kind of man believed so firmly in the law that he would risk his own life daily to uphold it? A dangerous man.

  “Knife fights,” she muttered, thinking instantly of the bowie knife. She’d read several stories in which the legendary and lethal knife had played a prominent role.

  Strange how much more entertaining tales of the West were when you were back East, sitting safely at home on a tidy street in a civilized city. How much harder it was to imagine such things as shootouts and knife fights happening to someone she knew. Someone she... what? Cared about?

  Oh, God help her. She couldn’t care for him. Not at the risk of Jenna’s future. Not at the risk of her own freedom.

  “What’re you thinking?” he asked quietly. “I can almost see your brain working. And to tell you the truth, that worries me some.”

  She blinked, smiled, and shook her head. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Only that somehow...”

  “What?” He moved closer. Close enough that she could smell the telltale scent of the bay rum he must have applied after shaving.

  “This is all so different from what I’ve re—”

  “What you’ve read.” One corner of his mouth twitched.

  “Well,” she said. “Yes.”

  He moved even closer and she thought briefly about backing up, then decided that would look cowardly.

  “Books can’t teach you everything, Sophie,” he said.

  “Of course not, but—”

  “You scared the hell out of me today,” he told her quietly.

  “I did?”

  “Yeah,” he admitted and reached out to tuck a stray red curl behind her right ear.

  She shivered slightly at the touch of his fingertip against her skin.

  “Surprised me too,” he said.

  Honestly, Sophie thought absently, he had the most amazingly beautiful eyes.

  “You surprise me a lot, Sophie,” he continued.

  “Really?” Her heart crept out of her chest and up her throat. She felt his gaze slide across her face, and she held her breath in. anticipation. Of what, she wasn’t sure.

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “You do. And you know something?”

  “What?”

  He tilted her chin up with the tips of his fingers. “I never liked surprises.”

  Stung, she came right out of the pleasant little haze he’d woven. A rush of color swamped her cheeks; she felt the heat of it pulsing through her. What on earth had come over her? Had she really been standing in front of a man, hoping he’d kiss her? Oh, good Lord.

  She inhaled sharply, gave him a brief, stiff nod and moved back and away from him. Turning slightly to move around the man who at the moment she desperately wanted to kick, she said, “Well, forgive me for being unpredictable.” Gripping a fistful of skirt, she hiked the dusty hem free of the floor, straightened her spine, frowned at him and added, “I assure you, if you’re ever in a knife fight, you needn’t worry that I’ll leap to your defense.” Stabbing her index finger at his broad chest, she added, “On the contrary, Sheriff, I just might be tempted to find a knife and join your opponent!”

  And she’d actually considered being nicer to the man, she fumed silently. Sophie’d taken only a couple of steps toward the office door before Ridge grabbed her arm again, turned her around to face him and said, “You didn’t let me finish.”

  “Oh,” she said quickly, eager now to get away from him. “I think you’ve already said quite enough.”

  He shook his head and gave her a slow, easy smile that a few minutes ago might have affected her. Now, thank heaven, she was impervious to his charm.

  “I said,” he whispered, bending low enough that his breath brushed her cheeks, “I never liked surprises. Until now.”

  Then he surprised her by planting a quick, hard kiss square on her mouth. Her stomach whirled, her mind swam, and her heart nearly flew from her chest. She’d read about kisses as she’d read about so many other things. What young woman hadn’t read her share of politely written romances? But in all of those stories, the hero gave the heroine a sweet, chaste kiss that left her nearly as untouched as she’d been before. Not once had she read about the sort of peculiar, nearly overwhelming heat that rippled through her like the echoes from a stone tossed into a pond.

  Apparently the authors of those books had been kissing the wrong men.

  Sophie barely had time to enjoy the liquid sensation pooling in her knees before the whole experience was over. He released her and she struggled to remain upright, locking her knees and fumbling behind her to grip the edge of his desk.

  “Your hat’s falling off,” he said, then chuckled before strolling out of the office, leaving her staring after him.

  CHAPTER Nine

  “Sophie’s not scared of frogs,” Jenna said quietly.

  Travis McCoy jumped, startled at the sound of the child’s voice, and took a step back and away from the schoolteacher’s bed. Tightening his hold on the squirming frog he held in his right hand, he shot a look at the little girl standing in the open doorway.

  Wouldn’t you know the kid would see him putting the frog in her mama’s bed? Heck, if she told his ma what he was up to, he’d get a lickin’ for sure.

  “Can I see him?” Jenna asked, walking farther into the room.

  “I reckon,” Travis grudgingly offered and tossed his hair back out of his eyes. As she came closer, he held the frog out and Jenna stretched out one hand to pet its head.

  “He ain’t a dog,” he said, disgusted.

  “He’s soft, though.”

  “Yeah, I caught him myself. Down by the creek a couple weeks ago.” And he’d hated the idea of giving the frog up, but had considered it a small price to pay if it scared the teacher into leaving town. But now, he guessed he’d get to keep it.

  “Sophie’s not gonna leave, y’know,” Jenna said.

  He glanced at her. “How come you call your ma by her rightful name?”

  Jenna bit at her bottom lip, then lifted her shoulders into an exaggerated shrug. “’Cause I keep forgetting.”

  “Forgetting what?”

  “To remember.”

  He frowned at her. Served him right for trying to talk to a girl. “You don’t make no sense a’tall.”

  “I do too,” she said, and her bottom lip jutted out in a perfect pout. “And I know stuff too.”

  “Yeah?” Travis asked, not really interested, as he stuffed his frog back into his pocket. “Like what?”

  “Like you stole some cigars from the store and you put ‘em in the pantry.”

  Travis shot a look at the empty doorway, half expecting to see his mother standing there glaring at him. Slapping one hand across the little girl’s mouth, he bent down and said, “Hush now, don’t talk so loud.”

  She pried his fingers off.

  “You been following me around?” he demanded in a harsh whisper.

  “Nope, but I saw you.”

  “How’d you see me if you wasn’t followin’ me?”

  “I just did.”

  “You are the strangest girl,” he muttered even while telling himself that he’d better find a new hiding place for his cigars.

  “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  “Am not,” Jenna said, then added, “And Sophie­�
��Mama’s not scared of snakes either, ‘cept for the bad ones, so you should take yours back from the closet.”

  Travis drew his head back and stared at her through narrowed eyes. Now he knew darn well that child hadn’t been around when he’d put the garter snake in the teacher’s hatbox. So how’d she know about it?

  “You saw me do that too, did ya?”

  “Uh-huh.” She leaned on the edge of the bed and idly swung her right leg back and forth. “You wanna play?”

  Thoughtfully, he said, “I reckon we could play for a while. Then maybe you could tell me the other stuff you see.”

  ●

  Three days later, Ridge was wondering if he’d taken leave of what little sense he’d started life out with. He couldn’t seem to stop thinking about the woman who was taking Tanglewood like Grant took Richmond. Unstoppable, Sophie Ryan was bound and determined to get this schoolhouse up and running and wasn’t about to take no for an answer from anyone.

  She had the menfolk taking turns, working in shifts, damn near from sunup to sundown. And the ladies of Tanglewood weren’t much help to their husbands either. They kept bringing food over so the men wouldn’t have to leave work to eat, and damned if they didn’t side with Sophie every blasted time there was an argument. Ridge wouldn’t have been a bit surprised to find a genuine war—men against the women—had broken out. Except for the fact that most of the husbands wouldn’t dare go against their wives.

  Humiliating, really, to watch these women riding roughshod over the men.

  But he was in no position to say anything. Grimacing tightly, he glanced down at the hammer in his hand. Hell, she even had him pounding nails. And he wasn’t a damn carpenter. Ridge was more comfortable with a pistol than a hammer, yet here he stood, hip deep in sawdust and nails and planks and God knew what else littering the floor of the schoolhouse.

  But even Ridge had to admit... silently, of course... that she did get things done. The new roof was finished, the plank walls were almost ready to be painted, the floors and steps had been braced and repaired, and the rooms at the back of the building for her and Jenna were about ready to be moved into.

  She was a wonder, all right. Never still for a minute, she poked her nose into everyone’s work, offered her opinions—whether they were asked for or not—and, to give her her due, wasn’t afraid to swing a hammer herself.

  “That woman should have been a general,” he muttered as his gaze followed her across the room.

  “Hell, the army don’t work this hard,” Tall whispered from just behind him.

  Ridge shot him a quick, unsympathetic look. He had his own problems and didn’t care to hear about his deputy’s. “Aren’t you supposed to be hanging the new windows?”

  Tall’s features twisted into a pitiful mask. Holding up one hand to display the line of blood seeping from a nasty-looking cut, he said, “I broke one of ‘em.”

  Ridge shook his head. “God help you if she finds out.”

  “Well, don’t tell her,” the younger man said and the tone of his voice should have been funny if it wasn’t so damned pathetic.

  A sorry state of affairs, Ridge told himself, scowling. And it was all Sophie’s doing. She’d marched into Tanglewood and snatched the reins of leadership right out of the mayor’s—and his—hands.

  “I won’t say anything,” Ridge said. “But if I was you, I’d get over to the mercantile and have Simpson cut you another one. Fast.”

  “I’m bleedin’ here,” Tall whined.

  “Don’t think that’ll matter much to some folks,” Ridge said, shifting his gaze back to Sophie.

  “No, sir,” the deputy said on a tired sigh. “I don’t suppose it will.”

  Tall slipped out the open window frame, and Ridge noticed the slanting rays of the dying sun slash across the floorboards. Day’s over, he told himself and tossed the hammer onto the nearest desk. The clatter of sound caught everyone’s attention and Ridge said loudly, “That’s it for today, fellas.”

  Mike Thorn, Dick Whittles, and George Fenwick set their tools down, threw him a smile of thanks, and headed for the door.

  “Just a moment,” Sophie said quickly, and moved to head the men off before they could leave. Waving one hand at the far wall where the new blackboard hung at a drunken angle, she said, “We can’t leave things half finished, can we?”

  “Now, ma’am—” George started, but she interrupted him.

  “It wouldn’t take long,” she said.

  “It’ll be dark here in another minute or two,” Mike said, inching his way toward escape.

  “I brought a lamp,” Sophie said brightly.

  “My missus’ll have dinner waitin’,” Dick said and

  Ridge thought he detected just a bit of a whine in the other man’s tone that set his own teeth on edge.

  “We’re tired,” he said, his voice drowning out all the others.

  Sophie turned toward him. “Sheriff Hawkins,” she said with an exaggerated sigh, “this wouldn’t take long.”

  Mike had made it to the door and George was just a step or two behind him. Ridge kept her focused on him so the others could make their escape. Dick saluted him silently as he followed his friends.

  “It’ll get done tomorrow,” he said, locking his gaze with Sophie’s.

  “What’s wrong with today?” she countered.

  “Tonight,” he corrected. “Today is over.”

  “Piffle,” she snapped.

  “Piffle?” One dark eyebrow lifted.

  “The sun hasn’t gone down yet.”

  “You should know by now, the minute she’s down, it’s blacker than pitch around here.”

  “My lamp—”

  “Wouldn’t throw enough light.”

  “You’re wasting time,” she told him. “The work would have been finished by now.”

  Hardest-headed female he’d ever met.

  “Sophie, the men have gone home,” he said quietly.

  She whipped around, stamped her foot, then whirled back to face him. “You did that purposely.”

  “What?” he asked, innocence coloring his tone.

  “Argued with me so I wouldn’t notice them leaving.”

  “Sophie, every time we talk, we argue.”

  “That’s not true,” she said.

  “See?”

  He shook his head and in the soft, golden light of sunset watched a frown scuttle across her features briefly.

  “Very well,” she said after a long moment, “I’ll do it myself.”

  “Don’t you be foolish,” he told her, but it was too late. She was already snatching up a hammer and heading for the blackboard.

  Muttering curses under his breath, he crossed the room quickly and stopped alongside her. While she rummaged through a box of nails looking for just the right one, he dropped to one knee behind her.

  “I’m perfectly capable, you know,” she said, paying no attention to him at all.

  “Yeah,” he muttered, and positioned two nails, holding them in place with his fingers. “So I noticed.”

  “All this needs is a bit of straightening.”

  “Uh-huh.” A couple of swift, sure strokes of the hammer drove the nails home and Ridge smiled to himself as he set the hammer down again and stood up. Crossing his arms over his chest, he watched her.

  “You’ll see,” she told him and took a step. She stopped short, tried to step again and was stopped just as surely as the first time. Scowling fiercely now, she glanced back over her shoulder, first at him, then down, to where he’d nailed the hem of her skirt to the floor. Lifting her gaze to his, she said, “I can’t believe you did that.”

  “You are the movingest woman I’ve ever known,” he said bluntly. “It was the only way I could think of to stop you.”

  “For heaven’s sake,” she muttered darkly and
tugged at her skirt. The material pulled but didn’t give and she yanked at it again a couple of times before giving up. “Release me this minute.”

  “I don’t think so,” he said, with a shake of his head.

  “Sheriff Hawkins—”

  “It’s Ridge.”

  “You can’t just nail people to the floor.”

  “Sophie,” he said, tipping his hat to the back of his head. “You’ve been riding roughshod over me and everybody else in town for days.”

  “I have not, I’ve only...” She paused and tugged at her skirt again.

  A small shred of guilt unwound inside him. All right, maybe he shouldn’t have nailed her skirt to the floor. But damn it, a man could only take so much. And when up against a woman like Sophie, Ridge figured, all’s fair. Besides, she hadn’t been this still in days.

  “Been working us and yourself near around the clock. What’s your big hurry, anyway?”

  The light in the room had gone a pale orange. Through the open window frames, Sophie saw the last of the sunset’s brilliant colors bleeding into a lavender sky that would all too soon become the warm black velvet of a desert night.

  She looked up into the shadowy depths of Ridge Hawkins’s blue eyes and knew she couldn’t tell him the truth. That she was desperate to get the school up and running. That she needed to be at work, teaching the children in Tanglewood as quickly as possible. She had to show the people of this town how much they needed her. How much their children needed her.

  Then, if Charles Vinson did show up, demanding that she be thrown in jail and that Jenna be handed over to him, the townspeople would be on her side. It was the driving force behind everything she did now. She had to make her place here. She had to become one of them so that they would all stand beside her against an outsider.

  And she had a feeling that time was running out.

  Every night, her dreams were filled with broken shards of visions. Splintered images of Charles’s face. Of Jenna’s tears. Of Ridge’s hard, chiseled features. Every night, she chased through the shadows of her own dreams seeking some sort of comfort. Yet every morning, she woke to the fear that her new world would soon come crashing down around her.