“How long is she going to be in town?” Jericho stepped aside to let Wash Halliday take his position.
“Long enough to catch the bastard who’s trying to kill her,” Hawk growled.
“Got any leads?”
“Not a damn one. I told you, it’s someone who hates the idea of women getting the vote.”
“I felt that way once,” Jericho said in a conversational tone.
“Yeah? What changed your mind?”
“Maddie. And that set of law books she gave me for a wedding present. What about at night?” Jericho went on with no change in inflection.
Hawk jerked. “What about what at night?”
Hell. All kinds of things went on at night when it came to Caroline. His thoughts circled and backtracked, remembering the scent of her hair; the softness of her skin; her trim, tiny little ankles; and the way her eyes went wide when she was thinking. Or said she was thinking.
Jericho clapped him on the shoulder. “I mean who’s guarding her at night while you’re sleeping?”
“Sandy. And Rooney Cloudman. She’s watched twenty-four hours a day.”
And night. Goddamn, in the evening he couldn’t stop looking at her across the supper table and he couldn’t stop thinking about her at night from the time he crawled into his bed at the opposite end of the hall until the rooster crowed and he went over to the jail to relieve his deputy.
“Does she know?” Jericho asked quietly.
“Know what? That she’s under surveillance?”
“No, you damn fool. That you’re in love with her.”
Hawk whirled on the man. “Jericho, I’ve never slugged a judge before, but so help me—”
“Watch it, Hawk. Here she comes.” With a laugh Jericho sauntered off toward his wife and their twin boys.
Caroline was smiling. Lordy, he wished she’d stop. Her lips looked like ripe raspberries and he couldn’t take his eyes off them.
“Is it over? Did you win?”
“No and no. That’s only the first round. Didn’t you see?”
“Well, some. I found it difficult. The noise of the guns, I mean.”
Hawk stared at her. “But you came to watch m—” He caught himself. “The competition. Did you think it wouldn’t bother you?”
Caroline looked away. “I came to watch you, Hawk. I forgot there would be so much gunfire.” Her voice had a little tremor in it. How she wished she could hide it. She didn’t want to be frightened around him.
But she was.
He grasped her arm and walked her over to where the slim, dark-skinned man and his wife stood. “Maddie, have you got any cotton?”
The attractive young mother looked up. “Cotton? You mean like a cotton ball? I will look in my bag. But first, introduce me to your companion. My goodness, for a sheriff, you have the worst manners!”
Hawk gestured awkwardly from Caroline to the young woman. “Caroline, meet Maddie Silver. Yeah, I need a cotton ball.”
Maddie sent Caroline an amused look and rummaged in the large mesh bag she was carrying. “Don’t tell Jericho,” she whispered as she pressed a wad of cotton into her hand, “but I use a bit of this in my own ears at night when the twins…” She sent Caroline a wide smile.
“Come visit me, why don’t you?” Maddie glanced at Hawk. “It’s perfectly safe. I am a Pinkerton agent.”
Caroline gaped at her until Hawk drew her off behind the thick tree trunk. “Stuff your ears full of this, Caroline. Just don’t tell Eli you can’t hear what he’s rambling on about.”
He laid his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “But be sure and take it out when I get home for supper tonight. I’ve got something on my mind.”
Chapter Eighteen
The competition continued until there were only two contestants left, Hawk and Jericho Silver, and the target was moved back another fifty yards. Hawk and Jericho each fired two rounds, and it seemed to her just one hole showed on the queen of hearts. “Whooee,” Eli crowed. “That’s mighty fine shootin’, a rifle at one hundred yards.”
Then they moved the target back another fifty yards, and each competitor shot only once; the first one who missed was judged the loser. Caroline could scarcely bear to watch.
Hawk lost. Jericho clapped him on the back and offered to buy him a beer, but Hawk shook his head, then looked for Caroline.
At supper that night Caroline couldn’t sit still. What was it Hawk had on his mind? She fidgeted, knocked her knife onto the kitchen floor not once but twice and finally laced her fingers together in her lap to stop their fluttering.
Hawk didn’t appear until halfway through the baked beans and corn bread, and then it got worse. When he strode in, his hair still wet from washing up at the pump out back, Caroline reached for a glass of water and knocked it over.
Fernanda sent her a questioning look. “Hija, you have an itch?” The Mexican woman’s sly smile indicated she knew all about the nerves dancing up and down Caroline’s spine.
“How come you didn’t win today, Uncle Hawk?” Billy piped.
“Can’t win all the time, Billy. You know that.”
“You can,” the boy insisted.
“Guess I was distracted.” Hawk reached for the platter of corn bread and Billy shoved the butter dish across the table toward him.
“What distracted you, Uncle Hawk?”
“Billy,” Ilsa admonished. “Let your uncle eat his supper.”
Eli’s blue eyes twinkled. “Mighta been the crowd, huh, Hawk?”
“Eli,” Ilsa said in the same tone she used to caution her son. “Enough.”
Across the table, Fernanda and Ilsa exchanged glances, and all at once Caroline wanted to scream. What was going on that she didn’t know about?
She bolted for the kitchen, sank her plate and fork into the bucket of dishwater heating on the stove and fled to the backyard. The washing she had hung on the clothesline earlier that afternoon was now dry and flapping in the breeze.
Caroline grabbed the wicker laundry basket and began unpinning the garments and folding them up. She hadn’t reached the second row of sheets before the screen door banged open and someone lifted the clothespin bag out of her hand.
“Bedclothes, huh?” He unpinned a pillowcase and dropped it into the basket.
“You should fold it up,” she said. “Ilsa says it smooths out the wrinkles and saves ironing.”
He unpinned another sheet. “I don’t mind wrinkles.”
“Well, you should. You’ll sleep better on smooth—”
“Nothing’s gonna help me sleep,” he said mildly. “These yours?” He flicked his forefinger against the remaining sheet and a matching embroidered pillowcase as he unpinned them.
“Well, yes.”
“Okay, let’s fold this one up.” He shook out the square of muslin and offered her two corners, then moved toward her and mated his corners to hers.
The intent look in his eyes made her belly flip-flop. “I can manage from here on.”
He paid no attention, just smoothed the crease in the once-folded sheet and again offered her the corners. This time when they brought them together he captured both her hands.
“I need to talk to you.”
“I need to fold up the laundry.”
He barked a laugh. “Don’t want to talk, huh?”
“It isn’t that so much as…well, yes, it is that. I am just beginning to feel safe here at your sister’s, and now I have a feeling you’re going to spoil it.”
She bent to retrieve the wadded-up sheet he’d tossed into the basket, but he jerked it out of her hand. “Dammit, why don’t you listen first and then decide?”
She snatched the sheet back. “Because I don’t want things to change. I’m just now starting to sleep at night without dreaming, and—”
“Caroline, you’ve got your head in the sand. If you think this problem is gonna go away, you’d better take another look at how close you came to not getting to Smoke River in one piece.”
S
he was silent for so long Hawk wondered if she’d heard him. Of course she heard you, you idiot. You’re yelling at her!
She stuffed the crumpled sheet back into the basket and spun away toward the back porch. But she didn’t stomp through the screen door. Instead, she settled on the wooden porch step and wrapped her skirt around her legs. It was the same yellow skirt Ilsa had loaned her three days ago; a splotch of applesauce had dried near the hem.
“Sooner or later you’re gonna have to wash that skirt,” he remarked.
“I can’t. I have only jeans and one shirt to wear. I must visit the dressmaker.”
He laughed softly, then settled on the step below her. “What about your underclothes?”
“What about them?” she snapped. Her cheeks got real pink. Damn pretty color.
“Just wondering.”
“Wondering what?”
“Whether you’re wearing any.”
“Of course I am! Ladies should always wear undergarments.”
“Not always,” he said quietly.
Caroline had had enough of conversations that made her skin go hot and her stomach fill with grasshoppers. She tried to stand up, but he caught her hand and yanked her down.
“I want you to listen to me.” His voice had turned so hard it sent a shiver up the back of her neck. Hawk Rivera must be formidable as a lawman. Few would withstand an order given in that tone.
“All right, I am listening.”
He picked up her hand, the same one he’d pulled her down with. “Did I hurt you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Hell if it doesn’t. I’ve never abused a prisoner in my care yet.”
“A prisoner? A prisoner? I am most certainly not your prisoner!”
“Damn right,” he replied. “But you’re under my protection. It’s the same thing.”
“Is this what you wanted to talk about?” She made her voice as severe as she could manage, but the truth was that a conversation conducted while folding up laundry was so ludicrous it almost made her laugh. Mama would have found it hilarious. That is, if it were not so serious. Hawk was right. The situation as it was could not continue.
She noticed he was staring off toward the golden hills in the distance.
“Okay,” he began. “Here’s how I see it. You’re hell-bent on traveling around making speeches. You ever think about stopping?”
“You mean give up working to get the vote for women? No, I could not give it up, Hawk. It is important.”
“It would get you out of the line of fire.”
“But this is my life’s work! I can’t just walk away because the path is rough.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. Your path is more than ‘rough,’ Caroline. Your path is suicidal.”
“But it will not be when you catch that man who—”
“What if I can’t?” He scuffed his boot heel back and forth across the wooden step. “After the competition today I talked to the marshal, Matt Johnson. He made me see things a lot clearer. I’ve got five men guarding you, including me. That works only if you’re here in Smoke River, but I don’t think you want that, do you?”
“What about your stakeout plan? The one you talked about back in Boise?”
“It’s too dangerous. Matt saw that right off.”
“Could we try your plan anyway? I cannot live my life like this, compromising what I have set out to do and looking over my shoulder every time I make a speech.”
Again he picked up her hand. “To be honest, Caroline, I’m afraid to try my plan. Any plan.”
She stared at him. “Hawk, I would judge you as a man who fears very little.”
“Maybe. But I’m sure as hell afraid of this. I’m afraid to put you at risk.”
“Then it seems we are at an impasse.”
Hawk groaned, then brought her hand to his lips. “Risk I can live with. Danger I can live with. But an impasse? Not hardly.”
He twisted to wrap his fingers about the back of her neck and drew her face down to his. “Don’t scream. I’m going to kiss you.”
He levered his body up beside her and reached sideways to take her face between his two hands.
“Wait,” she breathed.
“No.”
“Hawk—”
He captured her words under his mouth, moved slowly, carefully over her lips until he felt her tremble and he broke away to gulp air. “Hell, Caroline.”
“What is it?”
He blew out a heavy breath. “Just hell.” He kissed her again, hoping to God she wasn’t frightened, that she was liking it. Him. Her mouth was like hot silk, and he drank deep while his heart turned a slow cartwheel and floated up into his throat. God help him.
He lifted his head and looked into her eyes, now deep blue and shiny. Caroline brought her hand up to touch her trembling lips, then noticed that her fingers were trembling as well and buried them in the folds of her skirt.
“I—” she began again, working to keep her voice steady. “I would like…”
Hawk held his breath.
“I—I would like to visit the dressmaker tomorrow afternoon. Would you go with me?”
“What? That’s all you can say?” Incredulous, he stared at her. “I kiss you until I’m burning up inside and all you want to talk about is the dressmaker?”
“Well, will you?” He thought he saw a fleeting smile cross her lips, but maybe it was just his imagination. Maybe everything was his imagination, her lips accepting his kiss, her fluttery breathing, the glow in her eyes.
“Hell, no, I won’t.”
Her eyes went wide. “Why not?”
“I don’t think I can stand watching you get fitted for a dress or a skirt or whatever it is you need.”
She laughed. “But Hawk. I’ll just be getting measured. I won’t be taking off my—”
He jolted to his feet, yanked all the rest of the washing off the clothesline and used the wicker basket to hide his body’s unmistakable evidence of how damn much he wanted her.
Chapter Nineteen
The dressmaker, Verena Forester, was in her midforties, Caroline judged, with gray-streaked blonde hair and a sour expression. The woman was looking at her as if she had strawberries growing out of her ears.
“What kinda skirt, may I ask?”
“Something plain. A simple bombazine in a dark color, perhaps.”
“Four gore or six?”
Caroline had to smile at the mystified expression on Hawk’s face. He stopped pacing back and forth in front of the display window and planted himself at her side. “Gore?” he whispered.
“Gores refer to the fullness,” she murmured.
“Make it with pockets,” he ordered the dressmaker.
Verena blinked. “What on earth? Sheriff Rivera, do you always stick your nose into your…” she eyed Caroline, clearly suspicious of her supposed relationship to Hawk “…your niece’s fashion choices?”
It was clear the dressmaker knew Caroline was not really his niece. “Yep,” came Hawk’s instant reply. “Carrie’s got no sense of propriety, never has had. I’m here to keep her looking decent.”
Verena’s lorgnette fell to her almost-flat bosom and Caroline gasped. “Hush up!” she hissed.
“I won’t have any bombazine until fall,” Verena said smoothly. “But I do have a nice dark green poplin. Or perhaps royal blue?”
Undaunted, Hawk pressed on. “Pockets, like I said. Big ones.”
“Just what,” Verena said icily, “do you intend to put in them, miss?”
“A pist—”
“Pie tin,” Hawk interjected. “Make them big enough to hold a pie tin. And—” he drew Caroline over to a display of bright colored prints “—not dark green. Make it in—” he ran his forefinger over the cloth “—this one.”
He pointed to a gaily flowered red-and-yellow calico, a color so bright Caroline would never consider wearing it.
Verena nodded her approval and lifted the bolt onto the counter. “For the dance on
Saturday night, is that right?”
“What dance?” Caroline ventured.
“Why, the Jensen’s barn dance,” the dressmaker explained. “They hold one every summer.”
Caroline noted the wistful look in the dressmaker’s hazel eyes. She also noted that her cheeks turned rosy whenever Hawk looked at her. Heavens! Were half the females in Smoke River hankering after the sheriff?
“And make up another skirt in the dark blue, would you?” Caroline asked. “Also with pockets. Large ones.”
The dressmaker smiled. “Need any petticoats? Or shirtwaists?”
“Oh, no. I don’t, thank you.”
“Yes.” Hawk contradicted. “And add some lace here and there. Ilsa’s clothes never have any lace.”
Caroline gaped at him. “Ilsa probably cannot afford lace,” she murmured. “And I don’t want to dress like a peacock while under her roof.”
Verena fingered another bolt of fabric. “How about this forest green muslin, made with flounces?” She whipped out a tape measure and measured Caroline’s waist while Hawk watched avidly. She fervently wished he would spy some miscreant outside the window and leave her in peace. But she pivoted and lifted her arms on Verena’s command while the sheriff’s eyes darkened into emerald pools and his mouth pressed into a line.
Abruptly he stepped between the dressmaker and herself and drew her off behind a display of hats. “What about undergarments?” he intoned.
She gave a little squeak and Hawk grinned. “How dare you presume—” she whispered.
“Come off it, Caroline. Ilsa’s two sizes bigger than you around the waist. Her bloomers are probably falling off your hips right this minute.”
Hawk knew he shouldn’t have said that, but it was worth it to watch Caroline’s eyes grow larger and more purple-blue and her mouth drop open into a little pink O. Before she could explode, he walked her back to the counter and plunked down two bills.
“My, uh, niece and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things,” he said blandly. “So throw in a couple of petticoats and…whatever understuff she needs.”
Verena was all smiles. “Your niece, Sheriff Rivera, is a very fortunate young lady.”
Caroline shot him a look that could curl tree bark and marched out the door. Hawk peeled off another bill and tossed it on the counter. Verena looked from the money to Hawk and back to the money.
Her Sheriff Bodyguard Page 12
