Gregory, Jill

by Warm Stranger Cold Night

  "Understand what?"

  "For heaven's sake, Quinn, I never wanted you to accept that sheriff's job, but just tell me why you're so angry that they offered it to you. It's not an insult, it's an honor...."

  "Honor!" He snorted. "It's no honor to be a lawman, Maura. I told you last night you were too softhearted for your own good and it's true."

  "What do you have against lawmen?" she demanded. "Something pretty strong, to have treated our guests that way! They'll never come back!"

  "Fine with me. We don't need them." But he saw immediately the bewilderment and disappointment that filled her eyes, and a pang shot through him. It suddenly sank in to him that his harsh reaction might have cost her any chance of being accepted in Hope, of having those friends and neighbors she wanted so badly.

  He should have handled things differently.

  Without thinking, he reached for her, grasped her arm and pulled her closer. All he knew was that the frustration in her pale face tore at his heart.

  "Look," he said roughly, "I'm sorry I lost my temper with those folks. You want to make friends with them, fine, go right ahead. But I reckon I'm not used to trying to get along with people."

  "I can see that," she murmured.

  He subdued a crack of laughter, and hauled her closer yet, wrapping his arms around her to shield her from the morning chill. "Just remember it's me they're sore at, Maura, not you. No one could be sore at you."

  "You are."

  "Who says?" He grinned suddenly, and it transformed his face, warming the sharp angles, warming Maura clear through like a red-hot sunbeam.

  "Tell you what." Quinn brushed a hand through her wind-tossed curls, smoothing them. Hell, how he wanted to kiss her. She had the most delectable lips, and the sauciest way of tilting her head to one side, and he suddenly wanted to drag her over to the creekbank and take her on the ground beneath one of those spreading cotton-woods....

  Alarmed at his own runaway thoughts, he loosened his grip on her and stepped back, forcing himself to regain control.

  "How about if we go to town this afternoon and load up the wagon?" he asked gruffly, knowing the idea would please her. "I reckon the larder's pretty empty and you'd probably like to get some things for the cabin—and for yourself. You didn't bring much along in that satchel of yours."

  "That would be nice, but I thought you had work to do."

  "Not so much that I can't spare a few hours for my wife. Besides, I've got to hire on a few more hands to help out around here. Cattle need branding, and there's a corral to build. Thought I'd check in town and see if anyone's looking for work."

  She nodded. He was trying to apologize, trying to cheer her. What a strange, contradictory, impossible man.

  Yet even as she took heart in his attempt to smooth things over with her, disappointment tugged at her because he'd let her go quite so quickly.

  Heaven help me, Maura thought in despair. Quinn was too handsome for comfort, too gentle when he wanted to be. He turned her insides to a puddle of jelly. She'd actually reveled in the hard strength of his arms around her, and could have stood all day basking in the devastating warmth of his smile. But that was dangerous. He was dangerous.

  Partnership, she reminded herself. That's what he wants—and what you want too. Don't start getting any other ideas or this gunfighter will break your heart.

  She turned back toward the cabin, making an effort to appear as casual as he, when what she really wanted was to throw herself like a fool into his arms. "Guess I'd better see to the dishes."

  "Guess I'll see you later."

  Oh, yes, he certainly would. But until then, Maura told herself, clutching her windblown skirts as she headed back to the cabin, she was going to put Quinn Lassiter out of her mind. She had enough to think about without daydreaming over a black-haired devil with eyes that pierced right into her soul. Enough to worry about without wondering what Quinn Lassiter had against lawmen—and why his slightest touch made her forget to breathe.

  There was so much she didn't know about this gun-fighter she'd married. She wondered if he'd ever trust her enough to let her get close, to share his past and his secrets with her. He'd told her about his father—she supposed that was something. Pity for the small boy who had lived with such a man flooded her.

  And so did questions about what had become of his mother.

  At noon, Quinn hitched up the team and they left for town.

  Hope was just as quiet and tense as it had been the day before. Despite the glowing blue sky and crystal air, the storefronts appeared drab and gloomy. Few people appeared on the boardwalk and only a few horses were tethered on the street, most of them near the saloon.

  Behind the counter in the mercantile, John Hicks nodded at her. "Afternoon, Mrs. Lassiter." He sounded wary.

  Maura offered him a smile. "It's very nice to see you again, Mr. Hicks."

  He cleared his throat, a dull flush climbing up his neck. "Reckon I ought to apologize again for that welcome I gave you and your husband yesterday. Folks are spooked in Hope, that's all. Didn't mean to scare you."

  "I understand. And so does my husband. It's a shame about all the trouble."

  Nell Hicks strode from the back room just then, carrying a box overflowing with an assortment of colored hair ribbons. "Papa, I thought I'd set these in the window so that—"

  She broke off when she caught sight of Maura. "Sorry—didn't mean to interrupt while you were waiting on a customer," she said quickly. "We don't get too many these days—customers, that is," she added with a little grimace.

  "You didn't interrupt—we were just about to get started." Maura returned the girl's friendly smile. Like yesterday, Nell wore a plaid shirt and denim pants and boy's boots. But despite her direct, no-nonsense air and tomboyish clothes, Nell Hicks was as young, fresh, and pretty as a spring day. The thought of how close she'd come to being carried off by the Campbells sent a shudder down Maura's back. The girl was no more than sixteen.

  "If you're setting up housekeeping down by Sage Creek, I reckon you need half the supplies we've got in this store," Nell declared, setting the hair ribbons down on a shelf in the window and hurrying back to the counter. "Papa and I had better both wait on you or you'll be here all day. What do you need to start? Five pounds of flour? Sugar? We've got raisins, and molasses and eggs aplenty. Chase and Sanborn coffee. There's pots and pans on that shelf back there, and we sell whiskey and beer from those barrels right up front. And I bet you need soap and candles. We've got a fine selection, Mrs. Lassiter, better than anything you'll find between here and Denver."

  Maura listened in awe as she rattled off dozens of goods available in the store. John Hicks scratched his head and fumbled around for a pencil and ledger sheet to write down all the purchases as his daughter took charge.

  "Nell here will have you set up in no time," he told Maura encouragingly. "She's been working side by side with me since her ma died when she was nine, and she knows our stock better than I do. Whatever you need, chances are she'll find it."

  "I can see that." Maura was gazing eagerly at the barrels of pickles, canned goods, spices, and salted fish. Quinn had told her to buy whatever she needed.

  "I need some of everything," she said simply, and Nell grinned, her lime-green eyes lighting up.

  "Then you've come to the right place."

  While Maura was buying flour, potatoes, lard, sugar, cheese, a side of beef, canned goods, ham, coffee, eating utensils, candles, another kerosene lamp, pots and pans, curtain fabric, and even some embroidered pillows to decorate the sofa, Quinn had stopped in at the saloon to let the bartender know he was looking to hire two ranch hands, asking the man to send anyone looking for work out to Sage Creek to see him.

  Then he went to Mason's Hardware Store to buy tools and lumber for the building that would need to be done.

  But as he was loading his purchases into the wagon, the sound of horses' hooves thundering in the distance made him pause, an armful of lumber in hand.


  Four horses galloped over the ridge at the edge of town and charged toward Main Street. Their riders fired into the air, whooping and shouting. By the time they reached the first of Hope's false-fronted stores, they were firing at windows, doors, posts, and porches, their rough yells mingling with the crashing roar of ironclad hooves.

  Quinn knew it was the Campbells even before they were close enough for him to see their faces. Lee, Hoss, Marv, and Ned Campbell were four of the meanest, ugliest, greediest outlaws he'd ever encountered. Only their cousin Luke was crueler—and even more homely.

  He didn't know where the hell Luke was, but the other four were rampaging through the street, and as Quinn dumped the lumber into the wagon he heard a cry. He glanced aside and saw that Alice Tyler of the Crooked T ranch had just stepped out of the millinery shop and had been crossing the street when the ruckus began. She started to jump back as she saw the horses bearing down on her, but in her haste and fear she stumbled and fell.

  Lee's mustang was in the lead, and was bearing down straight toward the woman.

  Chapter 18

  Quinn lunged at the woman and dragged her back onto the boardwalk just as the mustang charged past. The other horses thundered close behind, and it was then that Marv and Hoss spotted him, both at the same time.

  They both aimed their pistols at him and fired. He'd managed to shove the woman through the doorway of the hardware store before the first bullets flew. He dove behind a post and fired almost simultaneously with their shots. First Marv and then Hoss toppled from his saddle.

  As Lee and Ned reached the end of the street they whipped their horses around and started back. No longer were they firing into the air—they now had their six-shooters pointed right at Quinn as they came on at a full gallop, fury replacing their whoops of laughter. They'd seen their fallen brothers.

  "Damn you to hell, Lassiter, you're finally gonna die!" Lee yelled, and a bullet exploded through the post only inches from Quinn's head.

  He dodged to the next post, aimed, and fired.

  There was a scream and Lee fell over, still in the saddle, but drooping low across his horse's mane and leaving a blood trail in the street.

  Quinn fired again, but missed Ned, and this time the two remaining Campbell brothers continued straight for the ridge and out of town, leaving Hoss and Marv lying in the street.

  Silence descended over the town once more as the last of the hoofbeats faded away.

  Slowly, doors and windows swung open. Taut, fearful faces appeared, figures emerged with caution.

  Stepping down into the dusty street, Quinn saw Serena Walsh framed in her doorway. She hurried toward him as he moved to check on the bloodied bodies in the road.

  "Quinn, that was the fanciest shooting I've ever seen!"

  "Stay back," he ordered, and she froze, watching as he studied the outlaw with the stringy straw-colored hair lying facedown beside the horse trough.

  "This one's dead." Quinn moved past Hoss to the other brother, Marv. Lying on his side, Marv Campbell was still gasping, his chest heaving. Blood ran from his mouth and puddled beneath his head. There was a black gaping hole in his shirt from which blood ran bright and hot.

  "They're...gonna git you, Lassiter. If it's the last thing... my brothers ever do..."

  "It will be, you son of a bitch."

  "Luke's outta jail. He's been huntin' for you. He'll come...and Ned...and Lee. They're gonna—"

  He coughed, and a shudder racked his body. "They're gonna plug you full of..."

  "Then I'll see you in hell." Quinn watched, his face hard as stone as the outlaw twisted and writhed and choked on his own blood. He twitched once, then again, and finally lay still.

  "I suppose now...the rest of them are really going to go on the warpath," Serena said softly behind him, and he turned to look at her. She was pale, and appeared shaken—unusual for her.

  He shrugged. "Next time it'll be their turn."

  He felt a hand on his arm and spun around.

  "Thank you, Mr. Lassiter," Alice Tyler whispered. Fear was still etched starkly across her small, delicate face. Her eyes were glazed with shock.

  "You saved my life."

  "Glad to help, ma'am." Quinn doffed his hat and started walking away. All he could think was that Maura could have been the one in the street. She was in the mercantile. If the Campbells had gone there first, instead of riding like savages through the street, who knew what the hell might have happened?

  Scowling with concern, he started toward the general store. Serena fell into step beside him. "You haven't changed."

  "What?" He glanced at her, for the first time noticing her scurrying to keep up with his long strides. He'd forgotten all about her, all about everyone but Maura.

  "Whenever a woman needs you—you're always right there to protect her. You never hesitate."

  He stopped and faced her, studying her beautiful face, those lustrous blue eyes, the wide, sensuous mouth he remembered so well. Serena Walsh was every bit as alluring as ever. "Why are you staying here, Serena? Hope has more than its share of trouble and is mighty dangerous these days from what I can see. It's not like you to stick out a bad situation when you can just as easily move on. Why don't you find yourself a safer town?"

  Her smile was rueful. She tilted her head and studied him. "That's just what I would have done a few years ago, when you met me, Quinn, honey. But the funny thing is, I'm tired of that kind of life. Tired of running— running away from things, running toward other things. I've settled here in Hope. I just got my boardinghouse fixed up the way I like it—and the folks here are no worse than anyplace else. One day," she said dryly, "they might even come to accept me. Oh, I'm not good enough for most of the ladies who fancy themselves richer, or more educated, or more proper than me—and they let me know it." She gave a short, contemptuous laugh. "But I don't give a damn about that. The fact is, I'm just plain tired of moving on all the time. So are you, apparently."

  The streets were filling up suddenly. People began running toward the other end of Main Street, crowding around the fallen Campbell brothers.

  "This town still got an undertaker?" Quinn asked as he continued toward Hicks Mercantile.

  "Yes, indeed. Rufus Tweedy. That's him over there." Serena nodded toward a black-coated man who was loping up the street, right behind a red-faced, huffing Seth Weaver.

  "Tweedy won't be the only one celebrating tonight," Serena commented. "Everyone in town will be happy that two of the Campbells are going to be six feet under in Boot Hill, but pretty soon they're going to realize that the trouble is only going to get worse. The others will want revenge."

  "Don't you worry about the others," Quinn said shortly, then he saw Maura hurrying up the street, her face white as chalk, her skirts clenched in one hand. The dark-haired girl, Nell, ran along beside her, and just behind them was John Hicks, his shotgun in hand.

  "Well, well, here comes your sweet little wife," Serena murmured.

  He scarcely heard her. He was watching Maura's face, watching the fear lift and the rush of relief settle over her lovely features as she caught sight of him.

  Then she slowed her steps as she came closer and saw Serena alongside him. Instead of throwing herself into his arms, Maura grasped his hands as she reached him and gazed into his eyes.

  "I heard there was shooting—the Campbell gang. Someone said they shot at you—"

  "Those boys never could hit much of anything they shot at."

  "Quinn, how can you joke about it?" Her voice broke. "I thought... I thought..."

  She caught herself, struggling to compose her churning emotions. Her chest felt as though a bison was sitting on it, but she managed to summon up a quavery smile. "Is there anything left of them?" she asked, trying to match his offhand tone.

  "Just a little bit," Serena answered for him. "Two of those vermin are dead in the street. Quinn wounded another one, but he and his brother got away."

  "Will they be back? Won't they come looking for you?" Ma
ura asked, her voice hitching, and he saw the fear shining in her eyes.

  Fear. For him. No one ever felt fear for him. He was the one everyone looked to as a shield, the one to stand between them and the bullets. The one hired to face the danger, the first line of defense against the enemy. But Maura had terror in her face and it wasn't for herself—it was for him.

  "No need to worry, angel. I'm going to find them first."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Soon as I get you back to the cabin and settled, I'm going to hunt them down. Don't worry," he told her as he saw the flash of panic across her face. He reached up to cup her chin, holding it gently.

  She looked so distraught that he did it without thinking, forgetting even that Serena was right there, watching him, watching both of them. "I've had some practice at this," he told Maura dryly. "I put Luke Campbell in prison a while back, and I'll bring the rest of them in, too."

  Serena, glancing back and forth from one to the other, drew in a breath.

  And at that moment, a man's voice spoke directly behind Quinn.

  "Lassiter."

  He released Maura's chin and turned around to find Jim Tyler standing before him, feet planted apart. Alice stood beside her husband, clutching his arm.

  "Yeah?"

  "I owe you, Lassiter." Deep emotion threaded the rancher's low voice. His eyes glistened in the sunlight that angled down on the street. "My wife says you saved her life—and risked yours. I don't know how to thank you."

  "You don't have to thank me. I just happened to be there at the right time."

  Tyler held out his hand. He seemed to be struggling for words. "What can I do to show my appreciation? I'm not much good at making speeches, but...I'll never forget this. And neither will my four young sons." He spoke forcefully. "If there's anything you need, anytime, just say so."

  Quinn started to shake his head, then changed his mind. "Matter of fact, there is something."

  Other people were gathering around. Not the undertaker, he was still kneeling over the fallen men, but Seth Weaver, John Hicks, Nell, and several other townspeople were now clustered around Jim Tyler.