by Debra Cowan
“You might trust that no-account friend of yours, but I don’t.”
Anger flushed her cheeks, turned her green eyes to deep emerald, and Bowie went stupid for about half a second. She was beautiful.
She gave him a look. “I guess you’re aware that calling him names isn’t the way to get what you want.”
She was right. This wasn’t the way to get anywhere with her. He took a deep breath, catching her sweet scent beneath that of lye wash soap. “I’m sorry, but I’m concerned about your safety.”
“There’s no need.”
“Maybe not, but I’d like to hear that from him,” Bowie said tightly. “The two men he ran with are both dead, so forgive me if I want to hear from him that you aren’t in danger.”
She searched his face. He hoped she was weighing his words and realizing that he was right.
“Is my safety really what you care about?” she challenged.
Yes. Surprised at her question, it took his brain a moment to catch up. He did care about her safety. Because he had grown to care about her, he realized. But he didn’t say so. Since he wanted something from her, now would be the wrong time to tell her. She wouldn’t believe him. “This is my town. I don’t want any of its citizens to be in danger.”
He thought he saw disappointment flash across her delicate features, but it was so quick he couldn’t be sure. He added quietly, “And besides, we’re friends, aren’t we?”
She tilted her head back, shading her eyes. What was she looking for? Was she trying to judge his sincerity? He was definitely sincere.
She must have seen that because she said, “Yes, and I appreciate that, but I can’t betray a confidence from another friend.”
Bowie ground his teeth. Why did she have to be so stubborn? “I’m also concerned about your friend’s safety. It’s possible Hobbs could get to him before I do, especially if Pettit gave Hobbs the names of the men he hired to kill my parents.”
She paled at that.
“Your friend would be safer with me than on his own.”
She didn’t answer.
“I really need to talk to him. He might say something that wouldn’t mean anything to you, but it might mean something to me.”
She looked conflicted, then shook her head. “He’ll contact me again, and when he does, I think I can convince him to talk to you.”
Bowie held on to his temper with an effort. “If your friend cared as much as you think he does, he would only want what’s best for you, and putting you in the middle of this isn’t it.”
“Can’t you just give him a chance to do the right thing?”
“I guess I don’t have a choice if I want to get my information from you.”
There were other ways he could figure out this man’s identity. Talk to her friends, for one, but he wasn’t sharing that with Merritt. He didn’t want her convincing anyone not to talk to him. And, he admitted, she would not be happy if she knew.
Suspicion glittered in her eyes. “What are you planning to do?”
He shrugged and saw her mouth tighten. He thought she might lay into him, but before she could, a voice called out.
“Marshal? I have a wire for you.”
Bowie turned to see a gangly boy of about twelve or thirteen. The red-haired kid hurried toward him, holding out a piece of paper. “Marshal, this wire just came for Mr. Quin, but he ain’t here.”
“Thanks.” Bowie unfolded the paper and saw it was from Leanna. “Can you tell the telegraph operator to wire the other office in Deadwood and let the lady know she needs to wait for a reply?”
“Who’s it from?” Merritt stepped toward him.
“Leanna.”
The kid snickered and Bowie’s gaze sliced to him. “Something funny?”
“No, sir.”
But Bowie heard the kid laugh again as he ran off. He cursed under his breath. His sister was obviously still the subject of town gossip.
“What in the world?” Merritt frowned after the boy.
Bowie turned his attention to the message. Thanks to Quin’s wire informing her that questions had come up about their parents’ deaths, Annie was coming home. Bowie’s relief and pleasure at that faded when he read she was bringing her son.
So, his sister did have a child. And he must be illegitimate or Leanna surely would’ve mentioned a husband. Guilt and regret sawed at him.
Merritt put a hand on his arm. “What is it? Bad news?”
“Annie’s coming home and she’s bringing her son.” He stared out across the green hillside, thick with trees. “Do you know about that?”
“Do you mean the gossip?” At his nod, she said, “Yes. I didn’t know Leanna well before she left Ca-Cross, but I’m not sure I believe she would have an illegitimate child.”
“I don’t want to believe it, either.” Bowie refolded the message and slid it into the back pocket of his denims. “But if it’s true, it’s probably my damn fault.”
“Why?”
Glancing at her, he hesitated. “When the four of us split up, Quin and I had jobs, places to live. Annie and Chance didn’t have that. I wasn’t worried about my little brother because he can make his own way, but not Annie. I know she got a job in a saloon. What else did she have to do in order to survive?”
“You can’t blame yourself for that.” Merritt looked so trusting, so certain that it wasn’t his fault. Annie used to look at him the same way, as if he could do anything.
“Part of it, I can.” He shook his head, his voice turning hoarse. “She was always able to come to me for help. Obviously, she felt she couldn’t this time. If she had to sell herself—”
He broke off.
“If that’s the case, I’ll never forgive myself.”
Merritt was quiet for a moment. “Can you forgive her?”
He scowled down at her. “Of course.”
“That’s what matters.” At his puzzled look, she continued. “She’s coming home and you’ll be here for her now. If she does have a child, she’s going to need you and your support more than ever. The support you weren’t able to give her before.”
Merritt was right. He would have another chance with his sister, something he would never have with their parents. “That’s true.”
He appreciated her belief that he could make things up to Annie, but he was still trying to figure out what had made him run on about his family. Why had he shared so much with her? “I’ve never talked to anyone about this,” he said slowly. “I don’t know why I’m telling you.”
“Thank you for trusting me. You don’t need to worry that I’ll repeat it.”
“I guess not.” He winked. “Not if you keep our conversation in confidence with the same stubbornness you have for your other friend.”
He’d meant to lighten the moment, but the flash of hurt in her eyes told him he hadn’t. Before he could apologize, she asked quietly, “Is that why you told me about your sister? Because you thought it would persuade me to confide in you about my friend?”
“Hell, no.” He reared back. “Why would you even think that?”
“You said you’ve never told anyone before.”
“That’s true, but I told you because I wanted to.” In fact, he had felt compelled. “That’s the only reason.”
“Okay.” She shook her head, turning away.
“Hey.” He put a hand on her delicate shoulder and brought her back around to face him. “Why don’t you believe me?”
“I do.”
“No, you don’t. Why?”
Her lips twisted. “I’ve seen…lawmen do that before to suspects.”
“You’re not a suspect.” It hit him then, what she hadn’t said. “You’re talking about your husband. He manipulated you into doing or thinking what he wanted?”
“Not on purpose. Or at least I don’t think so. Like I said before, he spent most of his time with outlaws and suspects. It’s just the way he was.”
The sadness on her face grabbed Bowie right in the chest. “But you w
ere his wife.”
“And I’m making him sound like a bad husband. He wasn’t.” She gave a tremulous smile.
Before he realized what he was doing, Bowie stroked her cheek. “He just wasn’t there when you needed him.”
The vulnerability in her eyes had his chest going tight. He wanted to kiss her. The softness in her eyes told him she wanted it, too.
His finger brushed her cheek again. Touching her soft skin, drawing in her sweet scent, Bowie knew he wasn’t thinking straight. That point slammed into him when she nervously licked her lips. He wanted to do that, wanted his mouth on hers, wanted to taste her.
His senses narrowed to only Merritt. The clean, fresh scent of her, the velvety smoothness of her skin, her thick satiny hair. He wanted to undo her neat braid and bury his fingers in the dark mass, put his hands on her. All over her.
She must have seen something in his face because she did the smart thing and stepped back, just enough to move away from his hand.
It shook some sense into him. The thought that she might view him as manipulative didn’t sit well with Bowie. His telling her about the guilt he felt over Annie hadn’t been about manipulation. Still, he had been pressuring her.
Bowie wasn’t going to apologize for doing his job, but there was more than one way to skin a cat. He’d just get his information another way.
She tilted her head. “What are you going to do?”
It took him a second to realize she was referring to his sister, not his investigation. “I’m going to wire her back and offer to send her money if she needs it. And a couple of men to escort her the rest of the way home.”
“That’s good.” Merritt smiled.
Bowie’s gaze met hers and he smiled, too. When he found himself staring at her mouth, he decided he’d better get out of there.
Looking away, she pointed to the basket of laundry. “I guess I should finish that.”
“Right. Need any help?”
“No,” she said quickly. Too quickly. She gave a small smile. “You go send that wire to your sister.”
“I will.” He started to leave, then paused. “Thanks, Merritt.”
“You’re welcome.”
All the way across town, he thought about the things he’d told her, the fact that he had told her anything.
He’d gone there to get information. He’d come back empty-handed. Merritt Dixon distracted him more easily than anyone ever had. The woman would really get under his skin if he let her. He had to watch his step.
Merritt had seen a side of Bowie she never would’ve guessed at and she couldn’t stop thinking about it. When he had received the telegram from his sister, the harsh regret on his face had tapped something deep inside her.
Even the next afternoon, it was fresh in Merritt’s mind. The more Bowie had talked about Annie, the more guilt and love Merritt had seen. There had been nothing of the dauntless, purposeful lawman. For just a second, she had glimpsed the man behind the badge. A brother concerned about his sister.
He hadn’t once condemned Annie for having an illegitimate child, although Merritt knew it would be an embarrassment to his family. That softness in him had led to her wanting to comfort him. And that had led to them almost kissing.
For one brief giddy second, Merritt had thought he would kiss her and she had wanted him to. What was more vexing than that was her disappointment that he hadn’t. Thank goodness she had stepped back, preventing what would have been a mistake for both of them. Yet the disappointment and the moment were still with her.
She would do better to remember how he had pressured her for information on Saul, although he hadn’t asked her again since their conversation. That had given her time to think, to consider what Bowie had said about her foster brother’s safety and her own.
As Bowie had said, Hobbs was probably looking for Saul and he would be safer with Bowie than out on his own. She’d tried to convince Saul of that very thing herself.
Though Merritt was torn about revealing Saul’s identity, she was sure of one thing. She didn’t want to be involved. But she would be until she was able to convince Saul to talk to the marshal.
She would tell Bowie what he wanted to know and make sure he was made aware when Saul got in touch with her. She didn’t know how much of her decision was influenced by the fact that he hadn’t bothered her about it again and how much was because he had told her about his sister.
Merritt wished Bowie hadn’t told her about his feelings regarding his sister. She wished she hadn’t been privy to that secret part of him. It made her want to know more. It made her want more, period. And that was dangerous.
After supper, when she and Bowie were alone, she would give him what he wanted.
But he wasn’t there for supper. Wondering where he was, she cleared the dishes from the table. Mr. Wilson helped her wash and put them away. She had just agreed to join him in the parlor when Livvy and Rosa walked in.
“Hi!” Glad to see her friends, she untied her apron and draped it over the back of a dining chair. She moved the length of the table toward the two blondes. “What brings you here? Are Ace and Lucas with you?”
“It’s just us,” Rosa said, her amethyst eyes serious.
“Evening, ladies.” Mr. Wilson bowed gallantly.
As they exchanged greetings, Merritt noted that Livvy’s gaze scanned the dining room, the entry and foot of the stairs, and the parlor.
She exchanged a look with Rosa, then said, “We just wanted to visit.”
Merritt could tell by Rosa’s heightened color and the spark in Livvy’s blue eyes that something was going on. “I have coffee and some cake left from supper.”
Mr. Wilson ran a hand over his bald head. “The cake is excellent. If you ladies will excuse me, I have an article to write for the newspaper.”
Once he was upstairs, Merritt turned to the other two women. “Has something happened?”
Livvy pointed to the window across the dining room. “Let’s talk over there.”
The three of them walked past the long table to the opposite wall. Late-day sunlight gave way to a soft pink and gold. What was going on? Merritt had never seen her friends so secretive, so cautious.
Livvy gave one last look around, then said in a low, urgent voice, “We thought you should know Bowie has been asking questions about you.”
Merritt’s heart thudded hard. “Like what?”
“Specifically, he asked if I knew anything about a man you had grown up with?”
Her blood started a slow boil. He had some nerve. Even though she had asked him to give her another chance to convince Saul to talk to Bowie, he was trying to hunt down the man.
“That’s what he asked me, too.” Rosa pushed back a silvery-blond strand of hair, glancing over her shoulder.
“He isn’t here,” Merritt said. “What did you tell him?”
Livvy grimaced. “Only that I knew you had a foster brother and his name was Saul. I don’t know that you’ve ever told me his last name. If you did, I forgot it.”
“Bowie asked me the same,” Rosa said. “That was my answer, too.”
Merritt didn’t remember what she had told her friends, either. What mattered was that the marshal hadn’t gotten a full name from them. Her satisfaction at that was overwhelmed by growing anger and a sense of betrayal.
Where was he? Out trying to find more of her friends to question?
No one else knew Saul’s history except her parents. Thank goodness they didn’t live here. She had no doubt Bowie Cahill would’ve darkened their doorstep right after he’d seen the two women she counted as close friends.
“So all he knows is that I have a foster brother named Saul?”
“Yes.”
“I appreciate you telling me about his visit.”
“I hope we didn’t make trouble for you,” Rosa said.
“Not at all.” The troublemaker was Saul. And Bowie.
Livvy laid a hand on Merritt’s arm. “What is all of this about?”
> “It’s—” She broke off, realizing she couldn’t tell her friends. Saul was somehow involved in the murders of Bowie’s parents and he didn’t want anyone knowing how they had died. “I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to say.”
Both women studied her with concern. “Are you all right?” they asked in unison.
“That’s all we care about,” Livvy added.
“I’m fine. I promise.” It went all over her that the marshal had gone to her friends. Even if he hadn’t deliberately gained her sympathy about his sister and softened her up by sharing his regret over Annie, Merritt still felt manipulated.
She had actually started to believe the man had decided to respect her position and leave her alone, but no. He had just tried a different tactic.
She should let it go. Confronting him about it could only cause problems for her. But the thought of what he’d done made her mad enough to eat bees. As did the fact that she had considered telling him what he wanted to know.
Her skin burned from the inside out. The last time she’d been this mad, it had been at a lawman, too. Seth. When he’d missed their anniversary. Again.
Livvy squeezed Merritt’s hand. “You know if you need anything, you can come to me and Ace.”
“Same for me and Lucas,” Rosa added.
“Thanks, both of you, but I’m fine.” She wasn’t promising the same about Marshal Cahill.
Mr. Wilson clambered down the stairs and disappeared into the parlor. The women lowered their voices.
After several minutes spent making sure they hadn’t made things difficult for her, Merritt’s friends left. She found Mr. Wilson asleep in one of the chairs near the fireplace. Where was Bowie? she fumed. Drat the man.
She tried to embroider but put it aside after she tore out the same stitch for the third time. She tried to read but couldn’t concentrate on the words. Rising, she walked to the window, looking out at the fat white moon hanging low in the dark sky. She felt just as pressured now as she had yesterday and Bowie wasn’t even here.
Too restless to stay still, she went to the kitchen to see about the bread loaves she’d left to rise. She checked the dough and re-covered it with cheesecloth. Where was he?
