The Lady and the Lawman

by Jennifer Zane

  Her mouth fell open, closed for once without a retort.

  “It's only a matter of time before your body and brain are aligned.”

  ***

  Riding through town, Margaret was able to get her first glimpse of its rustic buildings. There were at least fifteen businesses flanking the wide thoroughfare, with the inhabitants living in small houses on the outskirts. No trees, only bright sunshine and open prairie. The mountains met the sky in the distance, crisp and clear.

  Grant led her to a tidy house at the far end, with a wooden sign hanging out front that read ‘Miss Lorena’s, Boarders Welcome’. She took in her new accommodations and was pleased. It was two stories tall with windows on both floors. She could see curtains blowing in the open windows. Clapboard siding was painted a cool white with a door in a midnight black. It was tidy, clean and welcoming.

  “Mornin’, Sheriff.” An older woman sweeping the front porch greeted them.

  Grant took off his hat and he replied, “Miss Lorena, ma’am. How are you this fine day?” The curls in his hair sprung to life, various shades of dark brown and burnished gold glimmered in the sun. He carefully dismounted then helped Margaret down. Hopefully his wound wasn't bothering him, although he offered no sign of it. He certainly hadn't had any problem with it that morning when he'd had her beneath him in bed.

  “Very well, thank you.” The woman’s voice was deep, sounding as if she didn’t brook any nonsense. She laid her broom down against the front door and approached them. She had graying hair pulled in a bun at the nape of her neck. She wore a serviceable blue dress and was as tidy as her home. Her hands rested on her wide hips. “What can I do for you?”

  “This is Miss Atwater and she needs a room.” His warm hand at her back was comforting. A burst of heat spread through her like a match being struck against a flint with this slight, and innocent of touches. After the kisses of this morning, and his hands roaming over her in places she'd never thought of, her skin knew the feel of him and wanted more. His hands had slid up her thighs and held her bottom. He'd actually squeezed her...there! And to make things even more shocking, he'd pulled her body tightly against his and she'd felt him, hard and long against her hip.

  Miss Lorena sized her up, including her outfit, the wrinkled skirt, too short for her long legs, and blouse. Could she see how just the brush of his hand affected her? Would she know they'd spent the night alone together, sharing a bed? From the woman’s keen eye, it appeared she took in quite a bit more than what she could see on the outside. “Of course. Would you like to come in and rest?”

  Margaret was about to decline, but Grant spoke for her.

  “We’ll be back for supper, Miss Lorena.” He put his hat back on. “We’ve got some work to do first. Just wanted to make sure you had a room available and to see if we could leave the horses here for a bit.”

  “Sure thing,” Miss Lorena replied, nodding her head. “I’ll get those horses taken care of.” She returned to her sweeping, but she added over her shoulder, “You may want to visit Mrs. Daley, don’t you think, young man?”

  The woman was cryptic, at least to Margaret. Who was Mrs. Daley and why was it so important for Grant to visit her?

  “Yes, ma’am.” Grant donned his hat and led Margaret with a hand on the small of her back down the street. Would her nipples tighten, her woman's core become damp, every time his fingers brushed against her?

  After a few minutes and some distance from the boardinghouse later, she had to distract herself from the new sensations coursing through her body. “Who...who’s Mrs. Daley?”

  He led her to a one level house, with wood siding that was crisply whitewashed, making it look bright and cheerful. Colorful flowers bloomed in boxes under the two windows on either side of the front door.

  “She’s a dressmaker.”

  Miss Lorena had been able to tell she was in desperate need of new clothes. Margaret flushed with mortification. “Oh, dear, I look like I've just—”

  “You've just been through a thunderstorm,” Grant replied, tilting her chin up to look at him. “Nothing else.”

  “But I don’t need any new clothes, Sheriff.”

  “I think, after this morning, it’s time you call me Grant,” he replied, his mouth twitching.

  Of all the nerve! “I really don’t need anything new, Grant.” She ground out his name between clenched teeth.

  “Of course you do. Miss Lorena thinks so, too. You can't wear my sister's clothes around. She's a lot shorter than you.” He leaned in close and whispered, “Besides your ankles exposed in that skirt, I don't want any other men getting a look at you in those pants you've been wearing. The sight of your gorgeous legs is for me alone.”

  Stunned yet aroused at his words, her mouth fell open. Before she had a chance to respond, either by pulling his head down for a kiss or to squeal in outrage, he held out his arm for her and winked, the discussion clearly over. Unless she wanted to make a scene in the middle of town, she reluctantly wrapped her hand around his thick bicep.

  She felt hard muscle through his shirt as he led her to the front door. Oh dear. Every time she touched him, her body responded. Was he right? Did her body want him? From the way her core actually ached for him, she was pretty sure she knew the answer.

  A woman she judged to be in her early forties answered their knock.

  “Hello, Mrs. Daley, this is Miss Atwater. She is in need of some new clothing.”

  What would Mrs. Daley think of her and Grant together? If the woman questioned the arrangement, her mussed state, or her attire, she didn't show it. Instead, she smiled warmly in greeting.

  “Miss Atwater.” The woman nodded at her. “Good to see you again, Sheriff. It's been a long time. Please, come in.” She led the two into a small living room and they were directed to comfortable chairs, although Grant chose to stand. The chairs were made for women, not brawny men.

  “Now then, what kind of items will you be needing, Miss Atwater?”

  “Miss Atwater needs everything,” Grant replied as he leaned against the wall, not giving her time to answer. “She has been separated from her wardrobe unexpectedly.”

  Margaret turned to stare at Grant with surprise. He seemed at ease purchasing women’s clothing, not something she'd ever known a man to do.

  “You will need a few dresses.” As she took notes, Mrs. Daley continued, speaking now to Grant, “I don’t think I’ve seen you since you brought your sister in before her wedding. Such a lovely day.” The woman reminisced with Grant about his sister, speaking of her marriage and her new life in Kansas. She turned her attention back to Margaret with the small talk out of the way. It was time to get down to business. “Shall we pick out some fabric and get your measurements?” She went to retrieve some bolts of material.

  When they were alone, Margaret turned to Grant. He was surprisingly at ease with a such a feminine undertaking, at odds with his sheer size, his large hands almost too rough to handle such delicate fabrics and notions.

  “Sheriff...I mean Grant, I don’t have enough money to pay for these items.”

  “What do you mean, ‘enough money?'” He looked puzzled, his brow furrowed.

  “I...mean with me.” He knew she was an heiress and had as much money as Midas. “I sewed some into the lining of my dress when I left Philadelphia. It’s not much, and it certainly won’t pay for new clothing.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” His voice was matter of fact, final.

  Now she was puzzled. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I won't have you wearing those clothes,” he pointed to her current attire, “and only those clothes for the foreseeable future.”

  Mrs. Daley returned with swatches before Margaret could consider his words too closely. “We’ll need all articles of clothing, not just dresses.”

  Margaret blushed. She knew her cheeks must be bright red with embarrassment. “Grant, please!” She darted a glance to Mrs. Daley, who did not flinch at the request
.

  Mrs. Daley took more notes in a small book as she responded. “Although I don’t think lady’s unmentionables should be discussed with the opposite sex, I will have to say he is correct.”

  “I don't need all of these things, Sher...Grant.”

  “Yes, you do. You need several dresses and...other things...because you have nothing.”

  “But I can't repay you now,” she whispered.

  “You don’t have to repay me. Like I said before, this is not up for discussion.” He ran his hat, held in his left hand, over his thigh. His solid, muscular thigh.

  Margaret remained quiet, though she fumed inside. She didn’t know what else to say to sway him. Especially in front of the dressmaker.

  Grant smiled. “I want to do this for you, all right?” His voice had a different tone than before. Softer, as if his words were a caress against her bare skin.

  Margaret glanced down at her hands in her lap and nodded, afraid if she spoke she might start to cry. No one had done anything for her before, with no apparent reason or expectation from it. It was a very simple gesture on Grant's part, and all the more unbelievably sweet and touching for it.

  “We'll need some ready-made items if you have them, as well,” Grant added.

  Over the next hour they chose a variety of fabrics, soft cottons in several colors and textures. She followed Mrs. Daley into another room to be measured and finally they were on their way. She was once again alone with Grant, a parcel of two dresses beneath his arm.

  ***

  Mr. Hodges from the Mercantile called to them as they walked down the wooden boardwalk. “Sheriff, I could use your help for a minute.”

  Grant had been lost in thought as he led Margaret back through town, his hand cupping her elbow. The simple gesture reminded him how small she was, how delicate. His protective instincts flared to life once again.

  He didn't know why he wanted to pamper her with a full selection of clothes, and it scared him. He could have just gotten her the few dresses to hold her over. They could have had his sister's things let out so they fit her better. But the only clothes he'd seen Maggie wear were extremely inappropriate, ripped, too small, or made for a man.

  When they rode away from Croft's that fateful night, he'd decided then and there she was his and this was a way of proving this, not only to her, but to himself as well. And after having her beneath him and not finishing what they started, much to his continuing discomfort, there was no going back, regardless of whether she was supposed to marry his brother or not.

  Hell, he couldn’t have the woman he wanted to bed walk around in his sister’s clothes. It just wasn’t right. She couldn't marry Tom. The best way to keep her from doing that was to keep them as far apart as possible.

  “What can I do for you?” He shook the older man’s hand in greeting. Squat and round, reminding him of a whiskey barrel, Mr. Hodges had run the Mercantile as long as he could remember. He'd given penny candy to his sister when she was small.

  Mr. Hodges looked over his shoulder into his store, his hands absently rubbing over his white apron. “I’ve got little Jimmy Reed inside and I think he needs a little lesson in right from wrong.” He said the last with a slight tilt of his head and a raised brow.

  Jimmy Reed was nine and in serious need of a little time behind bars. Though he was a delinquent who ran wild most of the time, he was deep down a good kid. But an equally wild older brother steered the boy toward trouble on a constant basis. Hopefully, with a little tough love, Grant might sway him down a better, more honest path.

  Grant looked to Margaret, hoping she didn't mind the interruption in their day, but work called at odd times and in odd ways.

  She smiled at him and nodded. “I’ll wait right here. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” She tilted her head toward a wooden bench where she could watch the comings and goings of the townspeople.

  “All right, I won’t be long,” he followed Mr. Hodges into the store.

  ***

  Comfortably seated, Margaret closed her eyes to the hot sun and relaxed. Grant had warmed her heart when he’d splurged on her at Mrs. Daley’s. No one had ever given her a gift, one offered so generously. Without a care to her social status or the size of her bank account, Grant had thought of her, and that had never happened before.

  He’d shown her a new way of life, a new sense of compassion and caring she hadn't known. Constraints of Philadelphia society had been lifted from her shoulders. The pressure to be perfect and well-mannered was exhausting. Listening to idle gossip and having people preen because of your money left one wary.

  She hadn't met one person interested in just her. William certainly had proven her point on that one. He'd been so self-centered and egotistical that he took the one thing she couldn't get back, and couldn't give to the man she really loved.

  Grant could have done the same as William had, taken her in the small line shack. This time, she'd been more than willing. But he hadn't. He'd said he wanted her, there was no doubting that. But Margaret knew he'd have her only when she belonged to him. With there already being a line for her hand in marriage, she wasn't so sure if it would happen.

  Her thoughts shifted to the town of Cranston and its people. They followed a different pace, a different way of life than what was familiar to her. There was a different code of conduct in the West, a casual relaxed atmosphere, and she felt it suited her. Freedom. That’s what it was. There was space to breathe, to reinvent yourself, to make your mark for who you were.

  Considering the unusual, if not dangerous, start to her visit in the area, she was actually enjoying herself. She didn’t think about William as often as she used to. Perhaps she was free of him, of his guardianship, his engagement, once and for all. Grant and Tom gave her the confidence to hope.

  Now, with her marriage to Tom only a week away, she had a sense of security, as well. Security, she thought with dread. Was that what she'd dreamt of as a little girl about her husband? Was the first word that came to mind…security?

  What about love? She was well aware that she didn't love Tom, but he was a nice man, a good choice. Secure. There it was again.

  A sense of dread settled in her stomach at the thought. Was that enough? Would she be content with just security for the rest of her life?

  After the passion she felt at Grant's touch only hours before, she wasn't so sure.

  Long shadows appeared behind her closed eyelids. Opening her eyes, she gasped at the surprise appearance.

  “Wondered where you’d gone to.” Dalton propped his foot up on the bench next to her with a loud thunk, dust rising around it, his forearms resting on his knee. He was backlit by the sun, his face in shadow, but she could still see the sneer, the anger in his eyes. Startled, she tried to slide away from him across the bench, but he was fast. His tight grasp sank into her shoulder, yanking her back in front of him. His fingers dug in unmercifully and she winced at the pain. Frantically, she looked toward the door of the Mercantile, hoping Grant would emerge. Hoping anyone would come and help her.

  “I don't think I'm finished with you yet,” Dalton said, a sly grin spreading across his face.

  “Leave me alone!” she tried to work out of his tight hold.

  Dalton's grin switched rapidly to a harsh frown. The man was pure evil, hatred written across his face. “I don't think I will. I didn't get what should have been mine last week.”

  Dalton took her arm and pulled her closer so she was able to see the darkness of his eyes, feel his fetid breath against her cheek.

  “Take your hands off her, Dalton.”

  The blessed words came from over her shoulder. There, in the doorway of the Mercantile, was Grant, hand on his hip next to his gun. Dalton's grasp on her shoulder tightened and Margaret cried out in pain.

  “I said let...her...go!”

  Grant moved and stood two paces from Dalton, his jaw set, murder in his eyes. Dalton released his grip and Margaret rubbed her arm to get the blood flowing again. She quickly moved
to stand behind Grant. She felt safe in her position, his large body, his very presence protecting her.

  Dalton gave a menacing laugh, his face turned up toward the bright sun, and she could tell this fight might be about her, but the battle between the two men had started long before. Tom had been right. She was just a pawn in the men's lifelong game. He was toying with Grant and her like a cat holding a mouse by the tail.

  “She must have been damn good that night at Croft’s for you to keep her this long. Must be nice having a whore to keep you warm at night.”

  She clamped her mouth shut in a thin line. She was nothing like the lurid picture he painted!

  A nerve ticked in Grant’s jaw. “I don't want to see you anywhere near her, understand?” he ground out like glass beneath a boot.

  Dalton held up his hands in a placating gesture, clearly knowing when he'd pushed far enough, but not too far. “Sheriff, she’s the key to your big investigation. I want to see Cawley’s killer found as much as you do.”

  Even only knowing the man a short time, it was clear to Margaret that Grant wasn’t buying a word out of Dalton’s mouth. His tone, his demeanor, everything about the man screamed defiance, not compliance. He was the kind of man who wasn't interested in anyone but himself. Quite like William.

  “That’s very thoughtful of you, Dalton, but I think I’ll do the interrogating around here.”

  “She’s the only witness! The whole town wants to find those who did this.”

  She gripped the fabric of Grant's shirt. It was soft, warm and comforting to her.

  “I’m well aware of that. But this conversation is over as far as I'm concerned.” With those final words, Grant took her hand and left Dalton standing on the boardwalk.

  She kept her head down as she followed Grant. He was going to be mad at her for the confrontation with Dalton. But it hadn’t been her fault! He’d just appeared from nowhere, silent and very dangerous. Since she didn’t know what to say besides being sorry, she remained silent. The sun was warm and her skin was coated in a sheen of perspiration. Her nerves jangled and she took a few breaths in an attempt to calm them. Deep in her worries, she bumped into Grant’s hard back when he stopped in front of the jail.