“If? Ma, we both know…”
“No, son, we don’t know anything. We suspect, but we do not know, so stay out of it and let the federal authorities do their job. If you’re so all-fired interested in taking up the law, talk to Doc. With the arrest of Tucker, Whitman Falls is in need of a new marshal. Now about Addie,” she added, so smoothly changing the subject that Jess felt his head spinning like the dancers whirling around the courtyard. That seemed to be happening a lot tonight. “The boys just struck up a ranchera and it looks to me like a certain young lady is standing over there itching to get out on that dance floor.”
She gave him a nudge and then went off to dance the reel with his younger brother, Trey, who waved and grinned as if Jess had just come back from a day on the range, not six months gone with no word.
His mother couldn’t have engineered a better distraction. Jess looked about, dazed, and saw Addie Wilcox tapping her toe in time to the music. She wanted to dance all right. Question was, would she dance with him? After all, he hadn’t just left Whitman Falls and his family’s ranch—he had left Addie as well.
Well, the one thing he had always been able to count on with Addie was that she would tell him the truth. She would know what had really happened with his father. Of course first he had to get her to speak to him. Addie had a temper that matched his own. And the fact was that he hadn’t written her, but dabnabit, he’d sure thought about her and, more to the point, he’d come back because he’d realized that without her, his life was pretty bleak.
He nodded to friends and neighbors as he threaded his way through those watching the dancing. “Welcome home, Jess,” he heard more than one of the women say. “Learned your lesson, did you?” He expected he was going to hear that sentiment a lot in the coming weeks. He’d even heard one man mutter, “Well, all hail the prodigal son.” It was what he’d expected—and probably deserved—people assuming he’d come running home because he was out of luck and money. He wasn’t of a mind to set them straight. He had far more important matters to attend to.
Addie had to be hearing these comments and she had to be aware that he was making his way toward her, although she refused to acknowledge him. Clearly she hadn’t changed a bit in the months since he’d left. She was every bit as stubborn and mule-headed as she’d always been. He ought to just turn right around and ignore her. He ought to ask Sybil Sinclair to dance and see how Addie liked that. He ought to do half a dozen things, but he didn’t.
“Evenin’,” he muttered, sidling up next to her. He kept his eyes on the dancers. “Good to see Ma looking better,” he added.
“No thanks to you,” she replied as she took up clapping her hands in time with the beat of the music.
He bristled. Addie had this way of saying exactly what was needed to get under his skin. “Meaning what?”
Of course, he knew what she was saying. The prodigal son. He’d seen more than one person’s lips murmuring those words as they had watched his mother come running to welcome him back—as she had enfolded him in her embrace.
“I asked you a question, Addie.”
“Rhetorical, I’m sure.” She kept right on clapping and tapping her toe, smiling at the dancers as they passed by.
“Don’t you go throwing around those fancy words with me, Dr. Wilcox.”
“And don’t you go playing like you’re some uneducated country bumpkin, Jess Porterfield. You owe that much respect to your parents, who made sure all their children got a solid education.” Her smile tightened. “Besides, I’m not a doctor for real—not yet.”
He had to clench his fist to keep from touching her bare forearm below the lace trim of her sleeve, comforting her as he had in the past whenever she got discouraged. “You wanna dance or not?” he grumbled instead, holding out his hand to her.
Just then, the music finished on a crescendo and everybody applauded. “Looks like your timing is perfect, as usual,” she said. She turned to go but was prevented from moving by the throng of dancers leaving the floor in search of some cider to quench their thirst.
Jess decided to try a different tactic and moved a step closer. “Ma hinted that I ought to apply for the marshal’s job,” he said. “Your pa being head of the town council and all, do you think he might…”
She wheeled around and looked directly at him for the first time since he’d come riding up to the ranch. She was staring up at him, her dark brown eyes large with surprise behind the lenses of her wire-rimmed glasses. “Are you serious? Why would Papa trust you? Why would any of us living in town trust you not to up and leave again?” Her eyes filled with tears.
“Addie, I had to…I never meant…”
Her mouth worked as if finding and then rejecting words before she could spit them out at him. She held up her hands to stop him from saying anything more before she brushed past him, losing herself in the crowd. He glanced around to see others looking at him. Obviously they had witnessed the scene and were now passing judgment, as they always had. Well, he would show them. He would show all of them—even Addie. Especially Addie.
The question was how. He could hardly take over here at the ranch. From the talk he’d had with George Johnson, it sure seemed like Maria had done a better job than he would have thought—or than he could have done—managing things. In spite of the attempts of the Tipton Land and Cattle Company to buy out all the smaller ranchers in the area, including—no, especially—theirs, Maria had found a way to hang on.
So maybe he should think more seriously about applying for the lawman’s job. After all, even though a local marshal had no jurisdiction over crimes that took place outside the town’s borders—like the murder of his father—it would be a way he could look into the matter without raising suspicions. As head of the town council, Addie’s father, Doc Wilcox, would be the one to hire a new marshal.
That gave Jess pause. No doubt Doc would be as down on him as Addie was, so why bother? On the other hand, he needed work—work that would give him the time and the cover he needed to solve his father’s murder by tracking down the real killers.
The town was in need of a new marshal. And why wouldn’t Addie’s father hire him? He’d make a fine marshal. After all, how hard could it be?
“Hello, Jess.”
Jess looked around to find Sybil Sinclair gazing up at him. “I was on my way to get some punch,” she said, “but…”
“How about we enjoy this waltz first?” Jess offered her his arm the way his mother had taught both her boys a gentleman would escort a lady and led her onto the dance floor.
*
Addie could not for the life of her figure out why she continued to allow that man to get to her. Why couldn’t she be more like Jess’s younger sister and her good friend, Amanda—calm and sophisticated? She searched the gathering for Amanda, but hesitated when she saw her friend surrounded by the usual trio of admirers. Amanda had been planning this party for weeks now. She certainly deserved to enjoy herself and not have to sympathize with Addie. Besides, Jess was Amanda’s brother, newly returned to the fold from his travels following his father’s death—a death everyone now knew had not been the accident they’d first thought.
She stopped dead in her tracks. Her hand flew to her mouth. What was she thinking? Maybe Jess had overheard some of the talk. Maybe that was why he was talking about applying for the marshal’s position. After all, Jasper Tipton had built that big house in town to please his bride, Pearl, and his brother Buck lived there as well. While the local marshal had no jurisdiction outside the town limits, Jess might just think the fact that the Tiptons resided in town opened the door for him to go after them—and more than likely he would get himself killed in the bargain. Her mind raced as she tried to think the issue through from every side.
“This is not one of your medical cases,” she muttered to herself. “This is Jess.” And when it came to figuring out what Jess Porterfield might be thinking, she fully appreciated that logic was not part of the process. She was still mad at him for leav
ing all those months ago, but that didn’t mean she didn’t care about him, and, knowing his temper, he was bound to get into trouble.
With a sigh, she headed off to find her father. Maybe he could talk some sense into the man—the man she had fallen in love with, planned a future with and then rejected. But as she moved through the throng of party guests, pausing now and then to exchange a greeting, it wasn’t her father she saw.
It was Jess.
He wasn’t spoiling for a fight at all. No, he was laughing and flirting with Sybil Sinclair. Sybil with her blonde curls and her bright blue eyes and a cupid’s bow of a mouth that made her look like a porcelain doll. Sybil with her tiny waist and her flawless skin and giddy laugh that actually came out as “Tee-hee-hee.”
“My brother is trying to make you jealous,” Amanda murmured, coming to stand next to Addie. “Do not let him know that it’s working.”
“It’s not,” she insisted, pushing her glasses more firmly onto the bridge of her nose. She straightened to her full height that was still a good three inches shorter than Sybil’s willowy five foot four. She brushed back a strand of her hair that had drifted from the practical bun she preferred and tried not to think about how her stick-straight locks would look worn down like Sybil’s long curls. “I really couldn’t care less if your brother wants to make an utter fool of himself with that…”
“Good to know you aren’t affected,” Amanda said wryly. “But two can play this game. Come on. Dance with Harlan Stokes.”
Just like Jess, Harlan Stokes had a reputation with the ladies. He had never paid the slightest attention to Addie, but he had definitely set his sights on Amanda. She could get him to do anything—even dance with plain Addie Wilcox. Of course, even as he led Addie to the dance floor, Harlan’s eyes remained on Amanda, who had accepted another cowboy’s invitation to dance. Addie couldn’t fault Harlan because her own gaze kept drifting to where Jess was dancing with Sybil. The song was “Sweet Betsy from Pike”—a favorite of Addie’s—but she barely heard the tune as Harlan guided her around the floor.
“You think I’ve got any chance at all with Amanda?” Harlan asked.
Addie glanced up at him. He was only a few inches taller than she was and she knew the other cowhands teased him a lot about his short stature. They even called him Peewee. He looked miserable as he turned her for the sole purpose of keeping his eye on Amanda. Addie knew that her answer called for diplomacy of the highest order.
“Well, you know Amanda is still unsettled in her ways. She’s not yet decided on the path she wants to take.”
“Not like you, huh? I mean, everybody knows you’ve been planning on taking over your pa’s practice just as soon as you finish your schooling and all.”
“Well, not taking over. More like working with him.”
Harlan looked surprised. “You’ve been doing that since you were a kid.”
The fact that Harlan’s full attention was now focused on her made Addie uncomfortable—so much so that she stumbled and he tightened his hold on her, pulling her closer. “Easy there,” he said. “You got your bearings?”
“I’m fine,” she said, and knew it came out as a rebuff when he loosened his grip. “Thank you,” she added. “I’m not very good at dancing.”
He frowned. “You’re fine, Addie Wilcox. Just fine.”
She was surprised to feel a lump in her throat at his kindness. Blessedly, the waltz ended just then. “Thank you, Harlan. I know that Amanda asked you to take pity on me and…”
“You shouldn’t do that, Addie. Put yourself down that way. You’re worth two of most of the women at this party.”
This had to stop. Addie could feel the heat rise along her neck up into her cheeks. “There’s not a whole lot of competition,” she said, looking around at the gathering, where men outnumbered the girls and women by a factor of at least three to one.
“You know what I’m saying.”
“Why, thank you, Harlan. Does that include Amanda Porterfield?” She was teasing him now.
It was his turn to blush. “Well now, Miss Addie, it would take a lot to measure up to Amanda Porterfield—at least for me.”
“You’re a good man, Harlan. Thank you for the dance.” She punctuated her appreciation with a slight curtsey and laughed when Harlan bowed in return.
“Pleasure was mine, ma’am.”
They were both laughing when Addie spotted Jess scowling at her as he carried two cups of punch back to where he had left Sybil waiting.
“Hey, Jess,” Harlan called out, “’bout time you got home. The other boys and me have been missing you and your money at the poker game.”
Jess kept walking, acknowledging Harlan’s greeting only by raising one of the punch cups in a toast. Addie wondered if the cowhands had spiked the drink. She wouldn’t put it past them. It was not all that uncommon for the men to add a little whiskey, hoping the spirits might make the girls a little more amenable to their advances. But Jess had never pulled such a trick. Truth was, Jess didn’t need to do anything but be his charming self to make a girl like Sybil sit up and take notice.
Stop it, she ordered herself.
Seymour Bunker, the oldest hand on the Porterfield spread who was as good with a fiddle as he was with a lariat, struck up a reel. Harlan took Addie’s hand and joined the other dancers. At the same time she saw Jess set down the cups of punch and lead Sybil into the circle. Addie’s pulse raced as she realized there was no way she could avoid taking her turn with him in the change of partners required by the dance.
Sure enough, a few minutes later they came together and then circled away and then came together again, sashaying their way down the line of other dancers. She refused to look at him, her mouth drawn into a tight line and her brow furrowed in concentration, as if the steps of the dance were every bit as complex as her study of the thick anatomy text she’d left on the kitchen table back home. Jess tightened his hold on her waist as they made their way down the center of the other dancers. When they reached the end of the line, he let her go without a word.
When the dance finally ended, Harlan’s cheeks were flushed. “I’m sorry, Addie. I wasn’t thinking. I mean, Jess is a durn fool, if you’ll pardon me saying so. Leaving a woman like you the way he did…”
“Please don’t concern yourself, Harlan. Thank you for the dances. Oh, there’s Amanda, and she’s looking this way. Maybe she’s free for the next waltz.”
Harlan gave Addie a little bow and hurried off. Addie sighed. He wasn’t the only one who thought that Jess had left her. Jess’s stupid pride had never allowed him to admit the truth—that he had begged her to go with him and she had refused. Well, now he’d come back. She had no idea why, but she’d be willing to bet that it was because the life he’d been so sure was waiting for him in the city had never materialized. It surprised her to realize she got no satisfaction from that thought.
She watched him drink down his punch in one long gulp while Sybil sipped hers. The one thing that no amount of irritation at the man could change was that he was undeniably good-looking. He was tall and his muscular frame gave evidence of his ability to work hard. Tonight he was wearing black trousers, a blue shirt and a leather vest, as if he’d known he was dressing for a party. And boots, of course—new, from the look of them. When he’d first arrived he’d been wearing a black Stetson, but his mother had removed that as soon as she ran to embrace him. She had thrown the hat aside and combed his straw-colored hair away from his forehead with her fingers, all the while repeating his name over and over as tears of joy rolled down her weathered cheeks.
A hank of his hair had now fallen over his forehead and Addie saw Sybil reach up to push it back, but Jess stepped away from her touch. He said something to her, smiled and then walked away. Addie’s breath quickened and she closed her eyes, preparing herself for what she might say when Jess came her way. But when she opened her eyes again, she saw that he had not only walked away from Sybil—he had also walked away from her.
&n
bsp; Acknowledgments
First, I want to thank you, my readers, for taking the time to read my books. Your kind emails, letters, and Facebook comments keep me going on the days the writing bogs down or my characters throw a snit and refuse to talk to me.
Second, no words can convey my heartfelt gratitude to Natasha Kern. She is not only a terrific agent, but also a loving friend and wise mentor. I can’t say enough good things about her.
I want to thank my wonderful editor, Mary Altman, who shared my same vision for the book. Her suggestions proved invaluable in making my story stronger. Special thanks also goes to the talented and dedicated Sourcebooks team who work so hard behind the scenes.
Finally, a great big thank-you to my family for their loving patience and support. Living with me is like living with an arresting officer. Anything they say or do can be (and often is) used against them in a book!
About the Author
Bestselling author Margaret Brownley has penned more than forty novels and novellas. Her books have won numerous awards, including Readers’ Choice and Award of Excellence. She’s a former Romance Writers of America RITA finalist and has written for a TV soap. She is currently working on the next book in her A Match Made in Texas series. Not bad for someone who flunked eighth-grade English. Just don’t ask her to diagram a sentence. You can find Margaret at www.margaret-brownley.com.
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