Accidental Hero

by Lauren Nichols

  Maggie felt herself being dragged into his familiar craziness and knew that she had to finally take a stand—for her own emotional well-being. She couldn’t keep flirting with the devil and not expect to face the consequences. Besides, today she really did have work to do, and Ross’s mere presence was enough to blow every thought from her mind except the ones she shouldn’t be thinking.

  “Ross,” she said, more coolly than she intended, “if you have something important to say, I’d really appreciate it if you’d just say it so I can get back to work.”

  His smile faded, and his eyebrows raised in rebuffed surprise. “Sorry. I just stopped by to tell you that when I was over at the feed store picking up supplies, I ran into Reverend Fremont.”

  “And?” she prompted.

  His eyes narrowed on her, his rugged face losing its genial lines and his mouth thinning. Suddenly a solemn Ross, dusty from loading bags of feed, was more sensual and unnerving than the grinning man who’d teased her.

  “And,” he replied, “Fremont’s decided to replace the church roof this Saturday if we can get enough people to do it.”

  Maggie’s heart sank, along with the hope that she could finally put some distance between them. The reverend’s recruiting speech to Ross on the day of the auction had—fairly or unfairly—included Maggie’s participation as part of the deal. She and Ross would be there together, further cementing the disturbing bond between them.

  “Why so soon?”

  “Why not? If the man has enough money to pay for it, why put it off?”

  “Because some people just might have plans, that’s why. Ranchers and farmers have full days this time of year.” A nerve leaped in Ross’s jaw at her irritable tone, but she’d decided to make the break and she had to continue. “An activity like this should be scheduled so people aren’t caught unaware. My father would never have sprung this on anyone.”

  Ross’s eyes went cold and flat. “Every man, woman and child in the county isn’t coming, Maggie. Only those who can, and only a handful at that. Most people are able to adjust their schedules when something important comes up. If you can’t, I’m sure another woman could step in and handle things in your place.”

  That shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. Swallowing, Maggie murmured, “I’m sure another woman could—very easily.” And she was no longer talking about preparing food and filling iced tea glasses for thirsty men. “Do you have someone in mind?”

  Ross ignored the question. “If you change your mind, we’re starting at nine o’clock. Since most people around here are up at the crack of dawn, that should give the ranchers and farmers time to see to their livestock and take care of their kids.”

  He walked to the door, his spine straight and his shoulders rigid. Just before he left, he turned around, his eyes hard on hers. “You know, I don’t have a clue as to what just happened here. Or why you wanted it to happen.”

  Then he was replacing his Stetson and striding outside, presumably heading back to the feed store.

  Maggie brought the heels of her hands to her forehead and pressed at the pain growing there. Right on cue, up popped that aggravating little voice—the one that loved to point out her faults. Congratulations. You really handled that well. The man’s probably wondering if you have a personality disorder or just a raging case of P.M.S.

  She brought her hands back down and clasped them on her desk. Well, how was she supposed to handle it? Just tell him outright that it wasn’t a good idea for them to see each other anymore? He’d probably laugh his head off and point out that they had never even had a real date—so how could they “stop” seeing each other? She could hardly tell him the truth—that she couldn’t look at him without wanting him, and that she couldn’t have him because he was the kind of man who wouldn’t be “had” for long. She’d already wasted two years on someone who’d bolted like a young colt when she’d asked him about their future. She didn’t intend to repeat that mistake.

  Cy Farrell stormed inside, red-faced and blustering. “What the hell did he want?”

  Holding back a sigh, Maggie asked “Who?” though she knew full well who Cy meant.

  “Dalton. What’s he sniffing around here for? You’d think he’d get tired of lookin’ at these green walls.”

  Maggie loaded a stack of paper into the printer. “He just stopped by with some church news from Reverend Fremont.”

  Cy released a sarcastic laugh. “Church news? You and the town renegade thinkin’ of gettin’ hitched, Maggie?”

  Maggie gritted her teeth. Cy didn’t believe that for an instant, and she knew it. He just had to remind her that he knew there was something between her and Ross—and that he didn’t like it.

  “He came by to tell me that the reverend wants to start the new church roof this Saturday. He knew I’d offered to prepare some of the food.”

  “And Ross Dalton’s gonna help with this roof?”

  “As a matter of fact, he is.”

  “That oughta be some roof. Accordin’ to the women in this town, his specialty’s never been carpentry.”

  Maggie felt like lashing out and tearing up at the same time. Cy was doing everything in his power to make sure Ross kept his distance from the hired help, and enjoying every moment of it. He needn’t have worried. Maggie had taken care of that herself. She just wished that she felt happier about it.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, changing the subject, “but someone put my printer ribbons in your desk by mistake. I swapped them with the ones they left in my drawer.”

  The color drained from Farrell’s face, then returned two shades redder than normal. To Maggie’s surprise, he turned, walked into his office and closed the door—some—thing he rarely did.

  When he came back out, he was more composed, but gruff. “My mistake,” he grumbled. “I put the new ribbons away when I picked them up the other day. That one workin’ out okay?”

  “It’s fine,” Maggie said, indicating the sheets coming out of the printer. She eyed him curiously. Why was he so churned up? Was making a mistake and being found out by an underling that disturbing?

  Or was Cy afraid that she might have discovered the secret of his bottom drawer? Her pulse leapt. Was he hiding something in there? Something he didn’t want anyone to know about? Something incriminating?

  Maggie frowned wryly at the clandestine path her thoughts were taking, as she took the sheets from the printer. Her suspicions were just plain silly. If there was anything in the drawer at all, it was probably a girlie magazine. She obviously missed detective work more than she realized.

  It was nearly quitting time when Farrell shuffled out of his office, pursing his lips around a toothpick that he plucked out of his mouth. “By the way, Maggie—you still plannin’ to take that deputy position when Mike leaves for law school in the fall? I know we talked about it some.”

  The question stunned her. Farrell knew she was still interested. And they hadn’t “talked about it some.” He’d promised her the job.

  “‘Cause if you’re content bein’ the dispatcher, one of Harvey Becker’s boys is interested in gettin’ into police work. Just got outta school with a degree in criminal justice. Did real good, too. Third in his class.”

  The blood in Maggie’s veins turned to ice. It was an enormous effort for her to keep her tone pleasant. Farrell was trying to manipulate her again, and he wasn’t being very subtle about it.

  “Yes, I’m still planning to take Mike’s place. In fact, I’m really looking forward to it.”

  “Great. Because with your two years of experience, you’d naturally be my first choice. Unless...”

  “Unless?” she repeated.

  “Unless you decided that it wasn’t what you wanted after all. Sometimes the hours get long, and the work gets risky—especially for a woman who might want a family someday. You start wonderin’ if you really want to put yourself in the line of fire when you’ve got little ones.”

  With a folksy smile, he ambled over to her des
k, scanned the arrest report she’d printed for the paper, then put it back down. “Not that it’s dangerous all the time. I just wouldn’t want you to take a job like that unadvised.” The green eyes behind his glasses cooled. “Still want it?”

  “Yes. I still want it.”

  Farrell was either strengthening his warning to stay away from Ross, or he was trying to force her out. Maggie just didn’t know which.

  Chapter 7

  Unable to sleep, and too restless to wait for her shift to begin, Maggie parked in front of the sheriffs office nearly an hour early the next morning, then walked to the door. At 4:00 a.m., she’d been awakened by a disturbing dream, but by the time she was fully awake, she could only recall parts of it. The only clear thing in her memory was Cy Farrell’s accusing face.

  Opening the door, she stepped inside to hear angry shouts coming from Cy’s private office. Maggie froze in the doorway, instantly recognizing the voices.

  “If you think I’m shelling out this kind of money for a rally, you’re out of your blasted mind!” Ben Campion bellowed. “It’s bad enough that it’s only July, you’re running unopposed, and you’ve already had cards, buttons, pencils and God-knows-what-else printed up!” He’d run out of breath at the last, and now he sucked in another deep one. “Well, I’ll foot the bill for that crap, but that’s it. I’m telling you for the last time, this rally isn’t going to happen!”

  Farrell lowered his voice, steel running through his words. “Then your son isn’t going to the legislature.”

  Unnerved, Maggie slammed the door to alert the two men that someone was in the office. Had she heard Farrell right? Had he really threatened Ben Campion? Quick boot heels sounded on the floor tiles, and Cy strode into the reception area.

  “Maggie,” he said, obviously trying to hide his irritation, “you’re early.”

  Smiling as though there weren’t a thing wrong, Maggie walked over to her desk and slung her purse on top of it. “I know. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get a head start on finishing those monthly reports. That is, if it’s okay with you.”

  Farrell stared at her for a brief moment, then nodded. “Of course. But I’m in the middle of a meeting, so I’d appreciate not being disturbed for a while, okay?” He glanced into his office, and Maggie followed his gaze. Campion stood beside Farrell’s desk, looking relaxed in a white shirt, khaki chinos and his ever-present white Stetson and string tie. He nodded cordially at Maggie, and she smiled back.

  “No problem,” she answered cheerfully. “I’ll just put a pot of coffee on, charge up the computer, and stay out of your hair.”

  Cy nodded, then went back inside, closing the door behind him. Maggie’s heartbeat began to slow down. What was going on? She couldn’t have heard Cy correctly. No one in their right mind messed with the Campions. Besides being the benefactors of half a dozen local charities and businesses, they had loyal, powerful friends. That could be the kiss of death for a man who wanted to be reelected.

  Maggie dug under a cupboard for coffee and filters, keeping her attention on the closed office door. The sound of arguing still rumbled behind the walls, but it was too low for Maggie to understand what they were saying. She heard a hard thump—something that might have been a fist banging a desktop—and a moment later, Ben threw open the door and walked out. He held several sheets of paper, crushed like an hourglass, in one of his meaty hands. Farrell followed him out.

  “So are we all set for the rally?” Farrell persisted, giving Ben a companionable slap on the back.

  Ben stared at Cy as though he were a bug to be squashed beneath his boot. “Send me another copy of the figures. I’ll look them over again.” His mood quickly reversed itself when he realized he had an audience. Smoothing the papers, he tucked them into his pocket, then turned another smile on Maggie. “You’re looking exceptionally pretty today, Maggie.”

  “Thank you,” she said, returning his smile. But she didn’t want compliments from this man. Lately, she’d begun to think that he was dangerous. Or was the dangerous man the stocky, uniformed sheriff smiling benignly at his side?

  Maggie’s thoughts tumbled slowly, as Campion took his leave, and Cy returned to his office. Maybe she’d misunderstood the whole thing. Walking in on an argument, then drawing conclusions based only on the part she’d overheard, meant making hasty judgments. She could easily have misinterpreted the conversation. She just didn’t think so.

  Because the image of that strange drawer with the false bottom kept creeping into her mind.

  She didn’t see Cy again until nearly lunchtime. When he came out of his office, he was whistling cheerfully. Taking the tan cowboy hat that matched his uniform from a hook on the wall, he smoothed his thinning brown hair, then pulled his hat low. “I’ll be out for a while, Maggie—got some business with the folks at the Gold and Silver Exchange—” he winked “—Then I’m gonna walk over to the Donut Shop and see how Mike’s comin’ with crowd control.”

  Cops-at-the-donut-shop humor? From Farrell? Scoring a victory over one of the most influential men in the state had certainly improved his disposition. “Sounds like a great idea. In fact, when Mike comes back, I might see you over there.”

  Chuckling, Farrell headed for the door. Suddenly, he stopped, smacked his forehead in an absentminded gesture, and turned around. “I swear, I’d forget my head if it wasn’t attached,” he said through another chuckle. He went back into his office. A moment later, he called her.

  “Maggie, could you come in here for a minute, please?”

  “Be right there.” Maggie saved the data on her computer, then walked around her desk and into Farrell’s office. She was surprised to see him bent over that bottom drawer. “Yes?”

  Cy glanced up briefly as he dug around for something. “I want to show you this. Reckon it’s time you saw it if you’re gonna be my new deputy in the fall.”

  Was she? After yesterday, she wasn’t so sure. “What is it?” she asked, feeling uncomfortable with the question because she already knew the answer.

  Cy beckoned her around to the back of the desk where he’d unloaded the computer ribbons, preprinted forms and other contents of the drawer, laying bare the false bottom she’d discovered yesterday. With the forms out of the way, Maggie could see that it was a two-piece metal affair with a hinged center. Cy took a key that was duct-taped to the bottom of the drawer above it and inserted it into a keyhole. Then he lifted the front of the metal plate to reveal a four-inch-deep space and a small coin collector’s album full of silver dollars.

  “If you ever need to bring anything of value into the office, this is the place you’ll want to put it for safekeeping.”

  Warily, Maggie stared at the Morgan Dollars behind the plastic sleeves. Was it just coincidence that the day after she’d discovered it on her own, he’d invited her to take a look at this drawer? Had he really “forgotten” his coins? Or was Farrell simply showing her something so that she could cast aside any possible suspicions? She recalled Farrell’s extreme reaction to her removing the printer ribbons yesterday—and she couldn’t help wondering if there’d been something other than silver dollars in the drawer then.

  After retrieving his booty, Farrell locked the flap and replaced the drawer’s contents. “Now you saw where I keep the key, right?”

  “Yes. I did.”

  “Good. Now, like I said, if you need to keep something safe for a couple of hours, this is the place you’ll want to store it.”

  “Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Farrell slipped the key under the duct tape again, pressed it tightly to the drawer bottom, closed both drawers, then accompanied Maggie back to the reception area. “I won’t be long,” he said. “Forty-five minutes at the most.”

  Maggie walked to her desk and sat down numbly. The man’s inconsistency was setting off all kinds of alarms in her mind.

  The phone buzzed. Reaching for the receiver, she thanked heaven that the next day was Saturday, and that she’d be able to r
elax a little. Then she remembered the church roofing, and realized her nervewracking week wasn’t over. She had to see Ross again.

  “That it for the shingles, Ross?” Scott Jackson called.

  “Yep.”

  “Guess we need another bundle, then.”

  “You stay put. I’ll get them.”

  “Thanks. I keep wondering why he picked black. Cheaper?”

  “You got me,” Ross chuckled. “I’m just thankful my aunt Ruby didn’t pick them out. They’d be red.”

  On the ground, Maggie overheard their conversation and smiled. Wending through the chattering women busing platters of food to the tables, she lugged the huge iced tea dispenser over to the shaded beverage station. She cast a veiled glance at Ross as he climbed down from the scaffolding and grabbed another square of shingles—then jerked her head forward again when he caught her looking.

  Fighting a flush of embarrassment, she set the dispenser in her arms down beside a stack of plastic tumblers and a large lemonade dispenser. To her right, a gray metal washtub held a mountain of crushed ice and assorted soft drinks.

  Maggie ventured another look at Ross. He was on the pitched roof again, opening the bundle as the noonday sun baked his powerful shoulders and smooth, tanned back. Unbidden, a rush of arousal seized her and suddenly she was back at the hot spring, hearing his soft laughter... watching him bathe... feeling his hard mouth on hers...

  To her mortification, Maggie felt her nipples harden, and she turned away to add more soft drinks to the gray washtub, shoving the cans deep into the ice. She had to stop thinking these ridiculous thoughts before she made a spectacle of herself.

  Though it had disturbed her to do it, all morning long she’d continued to be polite but distant to Ross. It was the only way that she could break free of the emotional quagmire she felt herself slipping into. She was glad that her cousin Scott was treating him well, though. Her Uncle Moe was into holding grudges; his son Scott was the kind of man who looked at a situation, reasoned it out, and moved on. Maggie knew that in Scott’s mind, Ross had paid for his sins.