by Debra Cowan
“Promise me you won’t disappear. That I’ll hear from you again.”
He shook his head.
“Promise,” she ordered fiercely, her hand tightening on his leg. “I can help you.”
She wanted to scream at him never to contact her again, but if she did, he would vanish. She would be left to wonder if he was dead or alive. She would likely never hear from him again. That would be the worst thing for the two of them. And for Bowie.
“You have to contact me again,” she said. “Don’t put me through another two years of wondering if something bad has happened to you.”
His gaze softened. “All right. I’ll get in touch with you soon. I’ve got to go. I love you, little sister.”
“I love you, too.” Throat tight, she watched as he turned his horse into the trees, then melted into the night.
She wanted to scream, to hit something. Heart sinking, she mounted up.
She had managed to stay out of Bowie’s investigation for a week. He would not be happy to hear that she had learned something else, but the information she had was too important not to share.
She choked back a sob. She didn’t want to tell Bowie what she had learned, but she really had no choice.
It was almost midnight when Merritt heard Bowie finally come in. She had just brushed out her hair and was starting to rebraid it when she caught the measured tread of his boots on the stairs. Since seeing Saul, she had done her share of crying and raging. She was calm now. Or at least more so.
She was still furious at him for being involved in the Cahills’ murders, but she knew he wasn’t the one behind it.
No. That was Tobias Hobbs and whoever Lefty had overheard talking.
Her anger was punctuated with fear for her foster brother and a growing dislike of the former marshal. So far, Tobias had gotten away with killing her friends. What if he had killed someone else? What if he were searching for Saul to kill him?
On edge, unsure of the welcome she would receive, Merritt pulled on her button-up shoes and quietly made her way to Bowie’s room.
A fringe of light showed under his door. Good, he was still awake. Shadows shifted in the hall, her path lit by a lamp she’d left burning at the foot of the stairs. The open window at the end of the hall allowed in some air, but it was warm and heavy.
Dreading what Bowie would say when she told him why she’d come, she knocked lightly.
The door opened and he stood there bare-chested, framed in the glow of the lamp behind him.
His hair and shoulders were damp and she caught a whiff of soap. The sight of his taut muscled flesh sent a rush of desire through her. Her gaze moved from his brawny shoulders to his lean waist and down his long legs. The breath backed up in her lungs. Oh. My.
His look of surprise faded and he frowned. “Merritt? Are you okay?”
“Mm, yes. If you weren’t able to eat supper, there are some leftovers in the kitchen.” She couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from the dark hair on his chest, the way it thinned down the hard plane of his stomach to disappear beneath the waist of his denims.
He braced one shoulder against the door frame, muscles flexing down his arm with the movement. “I ate at the 4C. I rode out there to check on things for Quin and Addie. Their cook, Elda, fed me.”
Merritt struggled to gather her wits. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen a man’s bare chest before. Or bare other things. She was a widow, for goodness’ sake. But as always, anything to do with this man seemed to knock her silly.
“Have you heard from your brother and sister-in-law?”
“Not yet.” His gaze searched hers, lingering briefly on her mouth. “Are you sure there isn’t something wrong?”
She might as well get it over with. She glanced down the hall to make sure the other doors were closed. “I need to talk to you about your parents’ murders.”
He snapped to attention, catching her wrist and pulling her inside. He closed the door. “No one else knows about that.”
“I tried to be quiet.”
His open window let in a draft of summer air and she drew in the scent of leather and male musk. As he released her, his thumb brushed the sensitive skin of her wrist, sending a tingle up her arm. “What’s going on?”
She saw no reason to tiptoe around. “I spoke to someone who confirmed that Hobbs knew your folks were murdered.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why in the hell would you be talking to anyone about that? I told you not to—”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes. Answer me.”
“A man contacted me and asked me to meet him at Triple Creek.”
Bowie stilled, smoky amber light washing over his bare torso.
“And you went?” he asked roughly.
“Yes.”
“Did it occur to you that might have been dangerous?”
“Yes. I took my gun.”
He didn’t look relieved.
“This is important, Bowie.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why would he contact you?”
She started to give Saul’s name, but something held her back. Tears stung her eyes. “This man said his friend Pettit was hired by Hobbs to kill your parents.”
“How does he know that?”
“Because Pettit hired him to help.”
Bowie’s shoulders went rigid. “So, this mystery man is one of the people responsible for my parents’ murders.”
“Not directly.” That seemed a fine line to draw. “Pettit told this man that they were to rob the Cahills. He never said anything about killing them. My…friend’s part was to stop the wagon. When he did, Pettit spooked the horses and ran them off the road.”
“And then they killed my parents?” Bowie’s eyes turned to steel.
The stark words gave her a jolt. “You don’t think Earl and Ruby might have died when the wagon crashed?”
“No. Hobbs said their injuries were caused by the wagon wreck, but Pa’s skull looked—” Bowie broke off, his voice hoarse. “It looked like it had been bashed in, by a rock or a rifle butt. Quin agreed with me, but we had no reason to think murder back then. Druckman tried to fix Pa’s head for the funeral, but he couldn’t. Not all the way.”
She winced, remembering how she had barely been able to look at Earl or Ruby. Earl’s head wound must have been horrible if the undertaker hadn’t been able to smooth it out.
Savage emotion flashed in Bowie’s eyes. “Did your new friend tell you if he and Pettit stole anything?”
She shook her head. She hadn’t thought to ask that. She’d been too stunned by the things Saul had shared with her, by his confessed involvement. “Were some things stolen from them?”
Bowie didn’t answer, which caused a pang of hurt in Merritt’s chest. What else had Saul done? She could barely stand to think there might be more he hadn’t told her.
“So, this man you met. He was there when the wagon went off the road at Ghost Canyon?”
“Yes.”
“What else did he tell you? That Hobbs killed Pettit?”
“No.”
“That Huck Allen was also in on it?”
“Yes, he did say that.”
Seething with anger, Bowie stepped closer. “You’re upset.”
“Of course I am!”
“Because this information confirms my folks were murdered?”
“Yes.”
A shrewd look came into his blue eyes. “And because this person you met with means something to you.”
She drew in a sharp breath. “Why do you say that?”
“If he didn’t, you would’ve already given me a name.”
She had intended to do just that, but now she didn’t want to. Not until she could determine how Bowie would treat her foster brother.
Bowie shifted, his big body forcing her back a step. Then another. Flickering lamplight swirled on the floor and walls. “Who is it?”
“Bowie.”
He crowded her against the door. His muscular
chest brushed hers, his legs spread wide to cage her in. “So, this mystery man just randomly chose you?”
The suspicion in his voice had her spine going stiff. “What are you implying? That I had something to do with what happened to your parents?”
“I’m implying you know this man. It was no random act that he chose you, so tell me why.”
She swallowed hard. “I’ve known him almost my entire life.”
“Not what I asked,” Bowie said silkily, leaning in until she could feel the hard line of his powerful thighs. He planted a hand on either side of her, dipping his head until his gaze was level with hers. “Who is it?”
“I grew up with him.”
“Brother?”
“Not…really.” That wasn’t a lie exactly.
“When you hold back information, you’re interfering with an investigation.”
Her stomach dropped to her knees, but she tried not to let him see her alarm. “I can’t give you his name. I promised.”
“You—” The vein in Bowie’s neck throbbed and tension lashed the air between them. He straightened, staring at her for a full five seconds before saying slowly, incredulously, “You. Promised.”
“Yes.”
As though he were having trouble breathing, he choked out, “You promised an outlaw that you wouldn’t tell me?”
The contempt in his voice had her lifting her chin. “Yes.”
Shoving a hand through his hair, he stepped back. Stone-faced, his voice was sharp. “Why did you even come up here?”
“Because I thought you should know what I found out.”
“Then tell me who you spoke to so I can do the same,” he gritted out.
“I tried to convince him to talk to you, but he’s been in trouble with the law before. He doesn’t trust lawmen.”
“Criminals usually don’t,” he said tersely.
“Let me talk to him again.”
“If I had two minutes alone with him, I could get him to talk.”
Alarm flared. “What do you mean? Beat it out of him?”
“I didn’t say that.”
He wasn’t denying it, either, she noted. Oh, no, she wasn’t letting that happen. Saul might deserve it, but she couldn’t be responsible for letting it happen.
Bowie folded his arms over his broad, solid chest, his gaze piercing in the dim light. The air seemed even hotter now.
“You came up here to tell me about this person. Why won’t you tell me his name?”
“I came up here to tell you that someone else could confirm Lefty’s story about Hobbs.”
“Why won’t you tell me what I want to know?”
“Why won’t you respect that I gave my word not to reveal this man’s name?”
“Because that man likely murdered my parents,” he snapped. “And if he didn’t, that’s just more reason for you to identify him. He might be able to lead me to whoever really killed my folks.”
Saul might or might not have told her the whole truth about his part. Was it possible he had physically helped murder Earl and Ruby?
Bowie moved back to her. The intensity in his blue eyes had her squaring her shoulders.
“You claim my parents were your friends.”
“They were.” She glared at him. She felt bad enough already. “But this person is my friend, too. I just want to be sure he won’t be hurt if he talks to you.”
“What do you think I’m going to do?” Bowie demanded. “Draw down on him the second I see him?”
“No.” Seeing the banked fury in his eyes, it didn’t sound so far-fetched. “I don’t know.”
“I know how to treat a suspect.”
“Have you ever had to deal with one in a case involving family members?”
“No. Doesn’t mean I can’t.”
“You know I want to find out who’s behind your parents’ murders.”
“I thought you did. Now, I’m not so sure.”
“Stop trying to make me feel guilty.”
“Why? You should!” A muscle flickered in his jaw and she shrank from the black fury in his face.
What if Bowie saw Saul and his anger got the better of him? He could hurt Saul or, worse, kill him. Merritt didn’t want to believe that about Bowie, but how well did she really know him? Not well enough. She couldn’t take a chance with Saul’s life. Hadn’t there been enough loss?
Torn between wanting to help both men, she reached for the doorknob. “I…need to go.”
“Merritt—”
“I still plan to convince my friend to talk to you.”
“I can hunt him down.”
Her heart clenched. “Please don’t.”
If Bowie found Saul, there would be nothing Merritt could do for her foster brother. At least if she managed to convince Saul to meet with Bowie she might save his life, even though she knew he would likely spend the rest of it in prison.
“I can’t believe you’re asking me to let this ride.”
“I’m not! I’m just asking for a little time.”
He shook his head. “I can’t do it.”
“Not even for a few days?”
“No.”
“Fine.” She opened the door, glancing back.
His eyes were bleak, his jaw clenched tight.
She walked out on shaking legs. She didn’t know if she was doing the right thing, but she was doing it nonetheless.
Instead of giving Bowie everything she knew and letting him take it from there, she had just committed herself to staying involved. He couldn’t be any more unhappy about that than she was.
Chapter Seven
Bowie wasn’t sure exactly how to handle Merritt Dixon, but he was sure going to try.
After she’d left last night, it had taken him a while to fall asleep because he’d been so irritated. And not only because of her refusal to tell him what he wanted to know.
He was irritated at himself, too. He thought he could still smell her fresh, subtle scent and he couldn’t escape the image of her silky curtain of hair sliding around her shoulders. He had wanted to touch it. Touch her.
If he didn’t put aside his frustration with her and this distracting awareness, he wouldn’t get anywhere.
If Merritt hadn’t been withholding information Bowie needed about his parents’ murders, he would’ve admired her refusal to give him her friend’s name. But right now she was a burr under his saddle and he was determined to get that name from her.
The next morning, he joined her downstairs for breakfast. So did Lefty and Mr. Wilson, which meant Bowie couldn’t talk to her. After eating, he waited around until it became apparent that Lefty was staying to help Merritt clean up the dishes. He would have to talk to her later.
He tried once more at lunch, but again they weren’t alone. Soon afterward, she said she had an appointment and left. Could she read on his face what he wanted? Was she trying to avoid him?
When he stepped onto the landing of the jail later that afternoon, he saw her carrying a basket of laundry to the back of the boardinghouse. Alone.
He jogged down the steps and made his way to the Morning Glory. Easing up to the back corner of the house, he watched her for a minute, enjoying her graceful movements as she bent to gather up a wet sheet from her basket, then drape it over the clothesline.
Sunlight threaded through her dark brown hair, bringing out a glint of gold here and there. Her small hands handled the bulky sheets capably. A purple calico dress molded her trim back and waist, and made her look like a spring flower. He bet she smelled like one, too. Occasionally, he caught a glimpse of her petticoat in a swirl of skirts.
Picking up another sheet, she hung it beside the first one, turning toward him as she rolled up on tiptoe to smooth it out. Just as she finished, she saw him.
She ducked around the wet cloth, barely sparing him a glance as she bent to pull more laundry from the basket.
Four strides brought him within a foot of her and he saw wariness in her green eyes as he approached. “Hello.�
�
She looked away, bending to pull another sheet from the basket. “Did you need something?”
So she was still vexed about yesterday, which meant she had probably guessed why he was here. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you. You ran out pretty fast after lunch.”
“I was at Rosa’s Boutique getting a new dress fitted for the Fourth of July celebration. What can I help you with?”
Her cool tone told Bowie she knew exactly what. He debated about working his way up to the question, but he saw no reason to beat around the bush. “I’d like you to tell me your friend’s name.”
Despite the difference in their heights, she managed to look down her nose at him. “And I already told you no.”
“Why are you protecting him?” Bowie hadn’t really expected her to give him what he wanted, but he had hoped. “If he cared about you the way you seem to think he does, he wouldn’t have involved you. At the very least, he would’ve done as you asked and come to talk to me.”
“He’s trying to do the right thing, Marshal.”
He didn’t like the way she bit out that last word. “Yeah, he wants to do the right thing as long as it doesn’t get him in trouble.”
Irritation flickered across her pretty features. “Maybe so, but his intent should count for something.”
“It’s gonna count for a hanging rope if I get information from someone else before I get it from him. You should tell him that the next time you see him.”
She pushed the sheet aside, glaring at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, if he doesn’t talk to me before I find him, I won’t go easy.”
Coming out from behind the wet laundry, she braced a hand on her hip, her mouth tightening. “And here I thought maybe you searched me out so you could apologize.”
He drew back. “Apologize for what?”
“For bullying me last night. You’re doing it again right now.”
He barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. “I thought maybe you might have come to your senses and decided to give me your friend’s name.”
“Come to my senses?” Her eyes narrowed.
Was that hurt he saw in her face? Okay, maybe that hadn’t been the best choice of words, but the woman made him crazy. Did she not care that she was putting herself in danger?
