Heart of a Lawman

by Patricia Rosemoor

  Josie recognized the pain in Bart’s eyes as going so deep it had to sear his soul. She reached out and touched his hand, ready to whip it back if necessary. But he didn’t so much as twitch.

  She told him, “You don’t have to talk about it.”

  “I want to.” Those penetrating eyes met hers, as if conveying some message he wanted her to understand. His free hand covered hers, binding them together. “God only knows why she didn’t tell me what was going on. It’s not like I didn’t already know the success of the program was in making sure the kids got to shelters where they’d have a bed and food.”

  “And in keeping the locations of those shelters secret,” Josie murmured, too aware of his touch. “Even from the authorities.”

  She was too aware, and he didn’t seem to notice that he was drawing designs on the back of her hand with the tips of his long fingers. She was melting inside—the short, light strokes stoking a fire in her. What started as tickling warmth quickly grew more intense. She had to force herself to focus on what he was saying.

  “I didn’t know the rest until after. It seemed that one of the fathers somehow learned that Sara was a volunteer, helping to shelter his runaway child from him. This guy was a sicko—sexually obsessed with his fifteen-year-old daughter. He tried to get information about the girl’s whereabouts from Sara, but she wouldn’t tell him anything, so he started following her. And then threatening her.”

  His wife in danger because she’d been trying to protect someone…a girl who couldn’t protect herself. “How awful,” Josie murmured.

  She closed her eyes. Mistake. In her mind, that disembodied hand flashed toward her face again. She flashed her eyes open to obliterate the image. Heart thudding, she immediately glanced over at the counter, her instincts to seek out Ruskin.

  His stool was empty. A quick glance around the room assured her the bartender was gone. Now, why didn’t that make her feel better?

  She looked back to Bart, tried to keep her gaze and voice moderated when she wasn’t feeling at all normal. Her world had just turned cockeyed and she wasn’t sure why.

  “Why didn’t Sara tell you about this creep?” she asked. “Surely your own wife trusted you.”

  “Obviously not enough to believe I could handle the situation to her satisfaction.”

  “Maybe she was afraid you’d turn the girl over to the child welfare people.”

  Which would have been the legally correct thing to do if not the right thing for an abused girl, who was trying her best to be invisible, Josie thought.

  “I’ve wondered about that,” Bart admitted. “I figure she thought that, if I got involved, my duty would be more important to me than this poor girl. No doubt she feared that I would do something to lose the trust of the rest of the kids who depended on having that safe place to turn to.”

  “And there was always the possibility that the father might have gotten his hands on the girl again once Child Welfare was involved,” Josie added.

  Her mouth went dry with her increasing distress.

  What would Bart have done? she wondered.

  He might have convinced himself that he wouldn’t have let down a woman he was committed to…but he’d also committed himself to uphold the law.

  She said, “Unfortunately, the law doesn’t always protect the innocent the way it should.”

  Somehow, Josie knew that fact so intimately that it terrified her.

  “I wouldn’t have betrayed Sara that way, Josie,” Bart insisted. “I would have figured out something…if only she’d trusted me….”

  The hurt wasn’t fresh anymore, but she could still hear it. Hurt and the guilt.

  “So he killed her?” she asked. “The father?”

  “He finally lost it,” Bart agreed. “When Sara refused to tell the bastard his daughter’s whereabouts, he shot her. In front of witnesses yet. Then, when he realized what he’d done—and knowing he wasn’t going to get away with it—he turned the gun on himself. Both DOA.”

  Josie’s eyes welled with tears. “My God, how tragic. I’m so sorry.”

  “I can’t stop blaming myself.”

  “But you didn’t even know.”

  “That’s the thing. My own wife didn’t tell me she was in a dangerous situation and needed some help. That had to be my fault. I must have done something to convince her that she couldn’t trust me.” His gaze caught hers once more. “I would have helped her,” he said solemnly. “Just like I’ll help you if you’ll let me.”

  The significance of that statement didn’t hit her immediately. Then the meaning of his words seeped inside her, sneaking under her skin, filling her with disappointment and anger.

  A chill followed, spreading all the way to her hand still wedged between his. Any warmth or connection she’d felt mere moments ago had vanished.

  Josie pulled her hand free. “I don’t believe this—you set me up!”

  Bart shook his head. “I’m just offering—”

  “You’re not offering anything,” she said, cutting him off. “You’re just trying to manipulate me.”

  “What?”

  “Just as you accused your pa of doing. I wouldn’t get on my high horse there, if I were you, boss. You’re just like him!”

  “How?” He sounded outraged.

  “You tell me some sad story in hopes that I’ll pour out my soul to you.”

  Though Bart didn’t deny that, he said, “Everything I told you is God’s truth.”

  Not wanting to hear more, she whipped out of the booth, thankful that she hadn’t let him suck her in any further than he had.

  “Take what I owe you for dinner out of my pay! You can drop the rest off at Alcina’s.”

  “You’re not quitting.”

  In response, she gave him her back and fled across the room, dancing around Reba, who was seeing to some customers and blocking her way to the exit.

  “Josie, wait a minute!”

  Now every eye in the place was on her, as if the café’s patrons were watching some show.

  “Let’s talk about this!” he yelled after her.

  At the door, Josie whirled around to face him one last time. He was standing up near the booth, glaring at her, looking for all the world like the injured party. Her sense of outrage intensified.

  “Don’t you get it?” she asked. “I have nothing to say to you!”

  Then she slammed out of the café and stumbled into the street. She hesitated long enough to get her bearings. The moon had sheltered behind a bank of clouds, and, as usual, she had trouble with her night vision. Her eyes couldn’t adjust to this little light. But she headed in the general direction of the bed-and-breakfast, anyway, believing instinct would see her home.

  A wind swept up the street, sneaking into every entry her clothes allowed. Josie wrapped her arms around her middle, cradling her still-sore rib cage, and tried to think warm.

  Disappointment threatened to overwhelm her. She hadn’t been prepared for this. She’d known Bart was trouble, certainly, but he was a lawman. She’d trusted him to be a straight shooter. Up-front. She hadn’t thought he’d try to use her emotions to trick her into telling him what he wanted to know. Probably the only ploy that could have surprised her.

  What a fool she was!

  Bart had sucked her in good and she’d followed him every inch of the way. Then he’d been a little too anxious to reveal his hand. He hadn’t played her smart, waited until she’d been in too far to get back out.

  The thought jarred something loose from the past.

  Warm breath feathered the back of her neck, but she was cold inside.

  “You need me, honey, ’cause I’m all you got. All you’ll ever have. It’s time you learned that.”

  No, she didn’t need him anymore, and she certainly didn’t trust him….

  Josie faltered, caught at a porch post and hung on, swaying at the memory that obviously had been instigated by the scene with Bart. The wind licked her with cold so that she started to shake ins
ide.

  He was in back of her, arms around her middle. She stood there, frozen, heart pounding, wishing him away. But no matter how hard she wished, he was always there, waiting for his chance.

  Her fault she hadn’t been smarter in the first place.

  Now she had trouble she couldn’t even shake with the help of the law….

  Another man had wanted her to trust him and she foolishly had, Josie realized. Who was he? And what had spoiled that trust between them? What had that man done to her that she’d been so afraid of him?

  An open hand swung toward her….

  In a daze, mind searching for the truth, Josie pushed away from the post and careered toward the bed-and-breakfast, moving faster as if she could evade the very truth she sought. The past was catching up to her in more ways than one. And something told her she wasn’t really prepared to face it.

  She sped by buildings—occupied and abandoned—without focusing. Everything was as much of a blur to her eyes as it was to her mind.

  Unable to see where she stepped, Josie stumbled when her toe hit ragged pavement. Even as she caught herself, a hand snagged her waist as if to steady her.

  Bart! “Let go—”

  But he whipped her around and pulled her between two abandoned buildings.

  As Josie slammed against the weathered boards, the breath was knocked out of her. Her entire body sang out with various shades of pain, her side especially, and she realized her mistake. She didn’t have to see the glow of his white buzz cut to know this wasn’t her lawman.

  After leaving the café, Hugh Ruskin must have been waiting for the opportunity to get to her.

  The moon had slipped out of its cloud shelter and now beamed silver across the man’s cruel expression. He was so close, Josie felt as if she couldn’t breathe. His big body nearly touched hers, and his palms rested flat against the wall on either side of her face.

  She wanted to move, but she felt frozen with fear.

  “So you think you’re too good for the likes of me, do you?” he said in a singsong voice.

  Josie told herself to keep calm. “I never said that.” And told herself to look for an opportunity to make her break.

  “Just because I’m a bartender, you think I’m beneath you?” Ruskin asked. “But the boss, he’s good enough, right?” His voice lowered to a growl. “Getting into your jeans has to be his only interest—you got nothing else going for you. So what makes you so hot, huh?”

  Finding her courage, Josie dodged to her right, but the man caught her and pinned an arm across her throat.

  “Nothing,” she choked out, anxiety rising. She wanted to fight him, but her muscles all felt locked up. “Let me go, please. Alcina’s waiting….”

  “I can imagine,” Ruskin continued as he dared to run his hand down her belly. “You give him some of this, do you?”

  Josie’s skin crawled as she felt the path of his fingers through her jeans, and she knew he meant to take what she wasn’t willing to give him. Mind whirling, she tried to think of what she could do to hurt him bad. But even as she focused, Ruskin suddenly flew back.

  “I warned you not to speak disrespectfully of a lady in my presence!”

  Her eyes finally adjusting to the moonlight, Josie saw Bart’s fist connect with Ruskin’s jaw. The bartender stumbled back, caught himself and rushed in for more. As big as Bart was, Ruskin was bigger. Josie gasped as the two men flew out to the street together.

  Fearing Ruskin had the upper hand because of his size, that he would hurt Bart, Josie looked around frantically for a weapon. A couple of boards lay on the ground near the building. Grabbing one, she advanced on the men who were rolling and pounding at each other.

  They were like one big knot, arms and legs tangled. A moving knot, no clear shot.

  “C’mon,” she whispered.

  Ruskin lifted himself over Bart and raised his arm with a closed fist.

  “Gotcha!” she yelled.

  They swung together—her board, Ruskin’s fist. Somehow, the mass on the ground shifted and flipped.

  A thunk melded with a groan of pain.

  “Oh, God!” Josie cried.

  She’d hit the wrong man!

  Chapter Ten

  Ruskin pried himself loose from the tangle, stood and kicked Bart in the ribs for good measure, then stomped off muttering, “You’re gonna be real sorry you messed with me!”

  A horrified Josie threw down the board and dropped to her knees next to a groaning Bart, who now lay on his side, blood dribbling from his lip.

  “Bart! Are you all right?”

  “Just dandy.”

  “Let me give you a hand.”

  “Uh, no thanks.” He rose to one elbow. “You’ve been help enough for one day.”

  When Josie made an attempt, anyway, trying to assist him by bracing his arm, his groans convinced her she was merely making his pain worse. “I’m sorry.” Guilt at having hit him so hard flooded her.

  Imagining she could feel his pain as he rose to a sitting position, Josie said, “You need a doctor.”

  It took all her will not to touch his poor face. In addition to the bloody lip, she could make out a raw-looking spot high on his left cheek where Ruskin’s fist must have made contact.

  “Nothing is broken,” Bart assured her.

  “You can hardly move.”

  He disproved that by stumbling to his feet. “I’m moving just fine.”

  But the arm she’d smacked with the board wasn’t. Bart was cradling it at his side.

  “At least let’s take a look at the damage where there’s some light before you drive all the way back to the Curly-Q.” If it looked bad enough, she’d force him to see a doctor if she had to rope him up and drive him all the way to the nearest real city to find one. “We’re almost to Alcina’s.”

  Bart nodded. “As long as you don’t try to touch me until we get there.”

  Tempted to protest, Josie kept her mouth shut. He was hurt because of her. Because he’d tried to help her, even as he’d offered in the café. Here was one man who wasn’t all words.

  As if he could read her mind, Bart said, “About our altercation at Reba’s—I only want to do right by you, Josie. I only want to help you.”

  If she hadn’t believed him before, she did now. Nevertheless, she wasn’t going to open up—not when the truth about her having stolen that truck would change the way he looked at her.

  “I appreciate your offer,” she said, “but I don’t need a rescuer.”

  “Ruskin contradicted that in a big way.”

  She shuddered. “He’s a jerk with more hormones than brains. He could have picked on any woman.”

  “But he picked on you. And I suspect it had to do with more than hormones. Any idea of what?”

  That set up a flurry of questions in her mind.

  Hugh Ruskin? Could it be? Had she known him before? Was he the kind of man who would ambush a woman with a rifle?

  As vile a person as he might be, Josie didn’t think that was Ruskin’s style. He was open. Liked an audience when he could have one. Probably had enjoyed the altercation with Bart.

  When they were in sight of the Silver Springs Bed-and-Breakfast, she said, “Let’s go around back.”

  Josie took Bart inside through the mudroom. The kitchen light was on, so she called, “Anyone here?” but got no response. “This way.”

  She led him to her narrow room where Miss Kitty waited for her, dancing on tiptoes. Josie picked up the cat, fluffed and hugged her until she purred loudly.

  “Take your shirt off,” she told Bart, “while I get some towels and ice.”

  She set the cat on the bed and started to leave until Bart said, “I don’t know…I may need your help…with these buttons.”

  His tone was at once vulnerable…and self-mocking. Warmth flushed her, but Josie put up her best front as she stood before him and tried to unhook the button at his neck. Her fingers felt stiff, and she fumbled with it for a moment before getting the button
through the hole.

  “At this rate, we’ll be here all night,” he said, his gaze doing funny things to her insides. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  Flushed through and through, Josie made quick work of the rest. Only when she got to the last button did she realize he probably could have done this himself if he’d tried—both of his arms weren’t hurt, after all. But when she got a glimpse of the new bruise starting to bloom across his ribs, chastising him flew from her mind.

  “That could be nasty if it isn’t taken care of right away,” she murmured, her forehead furrowing. “Are you sure you won’t see a doctor?”

  “Bruised but not broken,” he assured her. “Why would I want to see some cranky old guy when I can have a lovely young woman to see to my wellbeing?”

  Gritting her teeth at the intimacy of his tone, Josie pulled the shirttails free of his jeans. That involved some touching, more than made her comfortable. His flesh was warm and seductive wherever she made contact.

  “Talk to me, Josie, please,” he murmured as she drew closer to him. “Tell me who you’re running from.”

  “I don’t know…I mean I’m not…” They were so close that she was almost in his arms. “You’re trying to confuse me again.”

  More touching was involved as she peeled the shirt down off his shoulders, first to free his good right arm, then to slip it off his injured left. Though she tried not to stare, she couldn’t help admiring his magnificent musculature, due, no doubt, to countless hours of hard work. Nor could she ignore his flat stomach and the light dusting of hair that trailed down below the waist of his jeans.

  Her breath shuddered through her and her teeth tugged at her lower lip as her imagination soared. Then she looked again at his ribs and at his upper arm—the flesh looked angry and swollen where she’d whacked it with the board.

  “Go ahead and sit,” she said. “I’ll get some ice packs.”

  He didn’t move. He cupped her cheek, turned her face to his. “Someone hurt you,” he said, his thoughts obviously one-track. “A man. Josie, tell me.”

  Chest tightening, resisting the seduction of his voice, she pulled away. “I’ll be right back.”

  In the kitchen, the back of her neck prickled…almost as if someone were watching her. The dining room was dark. Flipping on the light revealed nothing out of place. And yet she felt unsettled. She looked out the windows, both kitchen and mudroom. Again, nothing.