Rake Most Likely to Sin

by Bronwyn Scott

  “That’s good news,” Smythe murmured. “At least the girl is married, so whatever the trouble, it can be dealt with.”

  They ate in silence for a moment, as did the rest of the diners.

  “I want to meet my cousin.” She reminded Stanley Smythe, setting her fork down on her plate.

  Her guardian’s expression hardened. He slid his glasses up his nose. If he’d had more hair, she guessed it would be standing on end.

  “I’ll tell him who you are but I will not have you associating with criminals.”

  “Once you’ve worked your magic, he’ll no longer be a criminal.”

  “As your temporary guardian, I forbid it.”

  She clenched her fingers around her fork.

  “I understand,” she said with the most distracting smile she knew how to give. “I leave that to your judgment.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course.”

  His gaze at her was less than believing and she couldn’t blame him for that. She did, indeed, have every intention of meeting Boone Walker.

  She owed it to Rebecca to discover everything she could about their relative.

  * * *

  Boone reclined on a cot in a cell at the Buffalo Bend sheriff’s office, his head cradled in his arms and his elbows jutting out. The space, dimly illuminated by a lamp that shone under the crack of the deputy’s office door, was a sight better than his prison cell back in Omaha.

  He watched a dusting of stars through the barred transom set high on the wall that faced the alley. Damned if they weren’t prettier than the finest jewels.

  Wind whistled through the slats with a chilly moan. The cold that rushed in wasn’t comfortable but that was a small sacrifice for a breath of fresh air.

  Because he’d spent much of his life living in the open and on the run, the thing he had missed the most over the past year of incarceration was fresh air.

  Locked up, there had been days when the scent of a hundred prisoners’s sweat and stale pee permeated the prison walls like smoke trapped in a flue. Made a man want to puke.

  If, somehow, his dandy little lawyer managed to get his sentence overturned, he’d never again so much as bend a rule that might jeopardize his freedom.

  He placed one hand on his chest, over his heart.

  “I vow it on my—” he nearly said “honor” but remembered he was short on that virtue. “Hell, I just vow it.”

  He’d endeavor to be as reformed as any man could be. As righteous as Lantree had been on his best day. As good as Ma used to pray he would be.

  Thoughts of his brother had haunted him over the years. One time he’d even snuck back to the home farm. From the look of things he’d been about five years too late. All that was left of the place was half of the barn and the outhouse minus its roof.

  He would have visited the cemetery but it was near sunup and the protection of darkness had begun to fade. And in all truth, he hadn’t wanted to know if Ma and Pa were there. Hadn’t reckoned he could face the dawn if he saw his brother’s grave.

  That would have meant that it was too late to beg his forgiveness, if there was any to be had. But now he knew that Lantree was not in that cemetery.

  That meant he had lived years hearing the ugly stories about Boone Walker. Did he believe them?

  Hell’s curses, even if he didn’t, how would he ever face Lantree given all he had done to break his brother’s heart? Maybe one day he would write, try to make amends, then again, maybe it would be better not to. It might be for the best if he just continued to be a memory, one that probably faded with each passing year.

  Something hit the wall near the window. A mischievous kid tossing a rock, he reckoned. Getting a thrill out of riling a killer is something he, himself, might have done as a know-nothing youth.

  Damn if that character flaw hadn’t helped get him where he was today.

  Hell, he’d been drunk when he’d shot Mantry. And full of himself. He’d been sure as moonrise that he’d get his money back; have the fellow groveling at his feet in apology.

  He’d learned a thing or two since then, not that it made him any less of an outlaw.

  Over the years he’d done some things just to get by. Most of them he was ashamed of, but he’d never killed again. At least he didn’t have that sin on his conscience.

  A pebble sailed between the bars of his cell window and landed on the floor with a thud. Best to ignore it until the kid got bored and went home. No doubt, tomorrow he would be bragging about how he riled the beast and gotten away with it.

  With Halloween only a couple of weeks away, maybe Boone ought to leap up, holler and rattle the bars, give the kid a real story to tell his friends.

  While he thought about it, the pelting quit, so he resumed his admiration of the stars.

  A few moments later he heard scraping outside then a pause and then more scraping. It sounded as though something was being dragged across the dirt toward his window.

  Quietly he scooted from his cot and crouched beside the wall below the transom. He’d heard stories of vigilantes delivering warped justice through unguarded windows.

  “Mr. Walker?” a feminine voice whispered. “Mr. Walker, are you in there?”

  Startled, he looked up. A pair of beautiful eyes blinked in the dim light. Even from down here he could see that they were as blue as daybreak.

  He stood, slowly meeting her gaze.

  “Oh, there you are.” Strands of wind whipped hair crossed her mouth. She puckered her lips to blow it away. “Why were you on the floor?”

  He took a big step back. Had to. Because, stranger or not, the urge to reach his hands through the bars, cup her face and kiss that puckering mouth was strong.

  It had been some time, a good long year, since he had lain with a woman, which might explain the feelings she stirred up, even with only her face in view.

  “Who are you?”

  Clearly she was the woman from the courthouse...the lady. But who was her guardian? What kind of man let a sweet-looking thing like her just slip out into the night?

  “Who let you out?”

  “Let me out?” Her brow wrinkled, looking puzzled.

  “Who is supposed to be making sure you don’t run afoul of some low life in the dark?”

  “Oh...well, that would be Mr. Smythe, your lawyer.”

  “He gave you permission to go out unaccompanied?”

  “Naturally not. The man is dedicated to my safety. But just now he’s asleep. It’s a wonder anyone else is, though. His snoring is rattling the walls. Who would have guessed such a small person could create such a ruckus?”

  “Who would have guessed that a lady would not have the sense to stay inside after dark?”

  “Really, Boone, I’ve lived the past several months in the wilds of Montana. I can’t imagine that crossing the street from the hotel to here can hold any more danger than that.”

  Who was this woman who felt she could call him by his given name when they had not even been introduced? Was she someone from his past that he’d forgotten?

  Not the hell likely.

  “You’re standing half a block from two saloons. Men of low morals stagger down this alley all night long.”

  “I doubt that. I’ve been out here for nearly half an hour trying to get your attention. I’ve yet to see a single low-moraled staggerer.”

  “You’re looking at one, miss. I suggest you get back to the hotel and let Smythe think he’s doing his job.” He sure hoped that his lawyer was better at presenting his case than he was at watching over pretty little misses. “Who are you, anyway?”

  “That’s what I came to tell you. And since Mr. Smythe has forbidden me to speak with you, I had no choice but to come over after dark.” She curled her fingers around the transom bars
. Her fair hands were velvety-looking now that he saw them without gloves. “In Stanley’s opinion, ladies should not engage with criminals.”

  “I can’t help but agree.”

  “Naturally, I pointed out that after he pleads your case, you will, in fact, no longer be a criminal.”

  “May I ask why you so all-fired care?”

  “Because that is what family does. They care.”

  Family? He reckoned that in spite of the woman’s beautiful face, she must be deranged.

  He and Lantree had been the only children of only children. Couldn’t recollect that there had ever been anyone but Ma and Pa and the two of them.

  “You wouldn’t know me, of course, but I’m your cousin...of sorts. Melinda Winston.”

  “Miss Winston, I don’t have any cousins. Go on back to Smythe. I’ll watch until you get safely inside the hotel. I can see the front door from here.”

  A great gust of wind tilted Miss Winston sideways but she caught her balance.

  “This stack of crates isn’t as sturdy as one would hope,” she said with a laugh. “You didn’t used to have cousins, but now you have me.”

  He didn’t know what to say about that so he remained silent, listening to the wind knock something against the side of a building and the drunken laugher of a couple of fellows leaving the Golden Buffalo Saloon.

  It was more than a little alarming to hear them coming in this direction.

  “I see that this is confusing for you, Boone, but would I be calling you by your given name if I was not related to you?”

  “I get the feeling that you are a lady who does as she pleases when she pleases.”

  “Well, yes, that is true.” Her smile indicated that she reckoned it to be a virtue rather than plain willfulness. “And that’s why I’ve come to tell you about Caroline.”

  “Caroline?” He didn’t recall a Caroline in his past. He didn’t like to think that he’d forgotten but...

  “Your beautiful baby niece.”

  His heart constricted. He felt gut-punched.

  “Lantree’s got a daughter?”

  “And a wife—my cousin, Rebecca Lane Walker. That makes me your cousin and I’m here because they can’t travel with the baby being so young.”

  The men’s laughter grew louder. There was an edge of nastiness to it that made Boone’s skin prickle.

  “We’ll talk, but later.” The drunks had noticed her. There was but one conclusion they would come to about a woman standing on crates in the dark speaking to a convict.

  “Hey, lady! I’ve got a quarter.” They’d reached the conclusion even quicker than he thought they would.

  “Better run. I’ll see that you get across the street safely.”

  She stepped off the crates, took four steps then spun around, her brows arched in question and the wind whipping her skirt.

  “I don’t see how you can when—”

  “Get!”

  The men picked up their pace. He watched her run for the safety of the hotel but not quickly enough. Her pursuers were only steps behind.

  Boone stooped, snatched up the pebble that she had tossed through his window. He fired it at man in front and hit him square in the back of the head.

  The fool dropped cold. The other drunk tripped over him. They both rolled around in the dirt.

  Hell, who would have guessed that all the practicing at skipping stones that he and Lantree had done as children would turn out to be so useful?

  Melinda Winston, her skirts flapping, reached the safety of the hotel door. With her hand on the knob, she turned, flashed him a smile then, oh damn, she winked.

  Heaven help Stanley Smythe was all he could think.

  Copyright © 2016 by Carol Arens

  ISBN-13: 9781488003974

  Rake Most Likely to Sin

  Copyright © 2016 by Nikki Poppen

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