Praise for Marie Patrick
A Treasure Worth Keeping
Mischief and Magnolias
“Plenty of intrigue, romance, and an unforeseen plot twist will captivate the audience of this spirited tale; enthusiastically recommended.”—Library Journal (starred review)
The MacDermott Brothers series:
A Kiss in the Shadows
“This western with a hint of mystery is . . . a real rootin’, tootin’, captivatin’ read!”—RT Reviews
A Kiss in the Morning Mist
“The story pace is smooth, and the descriptions of the characters, setting, and conversations are all very vivid . . . a real winner for fans of steamy historical romance.”—InD’tale Magazine
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Contents
Cover
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
‘Mischief and Magnolias’ Excerpt
About the Author
Copyright
Guide
Cover
Contents
Start of content
A Kiss in the Sunlight
Marie Patrick
Avon, Massachusetts
Thanks to Paige Wood for once again agreeing to beta read. I can’t begin to tell you how wonderful I think you are!
Thanks to Jess Verdi, my fantastic editor, whose comments and suggestions are always spot on (and made in the nicest way possible), and the rest of the Crimson family—you’re all so wonderful to work with!
To Lexi and Ann, my critique partners, for your continued support and encouragement. I’d be lost without you.
And to my husband . . . for so many things . . . always!
Chapter One
Colorado, 1888
Sheriff Teague MacDermott ripped yesterday off the calendar to reveal a new day. He hadn’t done it when he’d come in to the office earlier. He hadn’t needed to. He already knew what day it was . . . and how many days were left until Jeff Logan, the last of the infamous Logan Gang, finished his sentence and was released from prison. He stiffened as he studied the date.
Fifty-eight days before his life changed. Again.
He took a deep breath, willing his muscles to relax, then rose from his chair and moved toward the window. Bright sunlight made him squint as his gaze took in the main street of Paradise Falls. He loved this town and had from the moment his father had accepted the sheriff’s job all those years ago when there was almost nothing here except the silver miners. It was a good place to grow up and become a man, to make friends and keep them. Even a good place to fall in love, which he’d done, although that hadn’t worked out the way he wanted, thanks in part to the Logans.
The townspeople still believed in him, supported him, despite the tragedy that had befallen his family and the many people who had lost their lives that day over four years ago when the Logan Gang rode into town, hell bent on springing Jefferson, the youngest brother, from jail.
The jailbreak hadn’t quite worked out the way the Logans had thought it would. Six of the outlaw gang had died that day, but they’d left heartache and misery as a reminder they’d been there. And the youngest brother? Jeff? The one they were trying to free? The circuit judge gave him four years for horse rustling. That was all he could do. The boy―and he was a boy, barely seventeen at the time―couldn’t be charged with murder. He had been behind bars when the shooting began. He’d never killed anyone.
Teague clenched his jaw as he studied the scenery outside his window. He could pinpoint each bullet hole, though they’d long been repaired, and the exact spots where his friends and neighbors and those he was sworn to protect had lost their lives when the Logans rode into town, shooting at everything that moved . . . and things that didn’t.
He tried to steady the rhythm of his heart. Jeff would be free in a little less than two months, his four years of imprisonment over. How long would it take him to make his way from Canon City to Paradise Falls? How many days until he made good on the promise to put a bullet in Teague’s back?
“Fifty-eight days.” Teague answered his silent question, then shook his head.
“You say somethin’, boss?”
He turned and studied his newly transformed deputy, Royal Travers. Tall and slender, dark hair slicked back with pomade, he looked a little different since he’d shaved off the trademark horseshoe mustache he’d sported for the past five years. When asked why, Roy had simply shrugged and said he needed a change, but Teague thought it had more to do with Bethany Silas, the widow his deputy was sweet on. He found it amusing that after knowing each other for most of their lives, they’d finally started stepping out together. It was a good match though and surprisingly, had nothing to do with his efforts.
“I think I’ll walk on over to the Prentice Hotel and get a cup of coffee.”
The deputy grinned, showing a dimple in his cheek, one that had previously been hidden beneath an abundance of facial hair. “We got coffee right here, boss. Just made a fresh pot.”
Teague suppressed a shudder. He’d had Roy’s coffee. The brew reminded him of dirty socks simmered in muddy water with a sweaty, old bandana thrown in to add flavor. It couldn’t be used to poison anyone, but it came close.
“Thanks just the same.”
Roy leaned back in his chair and eyed him, his mouth thinning into a grim line. “I’ll admit my coffee ain’t the best, but that ain’t the reason you’re goin’ to the Prentice.” He shook his head, then folded his arms across his chest. “You know she ain’t gonna be on the stagecoach this afternoon, right?”
Teague stiffened. Some things didn’t change. He and Roy played this same tableau every day. He understood. Roy was just trying to protect him. As if mere words could. Despite the three years Michaela, his former fiancée, had been gone, the ache in his heart had not yet completely healed, but it was a damn sight better now than it had been. Perhaps there would always be a shadow of the love they’d shared―a reminder of happier times. He didn’t blame her for leaving. He’d been devastated, but as time flew by, he understood. The fault had been entirely his. After the gunfight, his priorities changed. Not only had he taken on the responsibility of raising his niece, but he’d closed himself off from Michaela emotionally, refusing to set a wedding date, afraid of the danger he might eventually put her in. Frustrated and angry with his reluctance to marry her, she’d left town.
“I know that, Roy. And I’m not looking for her. She made it quite clear she wouldn’t come back. She was tired of waiting, and I can’t rightly say I blame her.”
Roy grabbed his coffee cup, rose from his seat, and sauntered across the floor in his slow, languid style, his boot heels loud on the wooden planks. He took a sip of the dark brew, then stood at the window beside Teague. He spoke to the glass. “I know what she said. I was stand
ing right here when she said it. She―”
“Don’t, Roy. Leave me some dignity.”
“Sure, boss. I can do that.” He shrugged then took another sip of coffee. “You know, Logan won’t be on the stagecoach, either.”
Teague raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the man he’d known since they were twelve years old. There was none better than Royal Travers. He was a good man and an excellent deputy. More importantly, he was a faithful friend, but sometimes he talked too much, as if Teague needed a reminder of Jeff Logan’s promise as he was moved to Durango to await the circuit judge a day after the shooting. The warning “I’ll be coming to get you, MacDermott. You’ll never know when you’ll find my bullet in your back” was embedded in his brain.
Teague did not respond as he moved from the window to the door, grabbing his hat and his gun belt from the hat rack as he did so. Before opening the door, he strapped on his pistols then checked to make sure they were fully loaded. Paradise Falls was a peaceful town, but he knew from experience, peace could be shattered within the space of a heartbeat. He was determined it would never happen again. “Come on, Shotgun. Time to earn your keep.”
The dog, a sandy-haired mongrel with floppy ears someone had left on his doorstep when he was just a pup, shot up from the small rug in front of one of the jail cells. He stretched then shook and trotted toward the door, his nails clicking on the wood plank floor.
Roy raised his coffee cup in mock salute. “I’ll hold down the fort.”
Teague left the sheriff’s office and stood outside on the sidewalk, once again surveying the town. Without conscious thought, he rubbed his fingers through Shotgun’s silky hair. The dog leaned against his leg and made small whiny noises, reveling in the attention.
He spotted his niece, Desi Lyn, coming out of Folsom’s General Store, her hand clutched in Mrs. Calvin’s as they walked up the raised wooden sidewalk and headed toward home. A basket swung from Mrs. Calvin’s arm—no doubt filled with whatever she planned to make for dinner. Neither one of them saw him, which was just as well.
Thank heaven for Ada Calvin. Desi Lyn loved her. He had to admit, he loved her, too. Not in any kind of romantic way―hell, she was old enough to be his mother―but because she took excellent care of Desi Lyn, and by extension, him. The widow of retired General James Calvin had come all the way out to Whispering Pines, his brother Kieran’s ranch, a day after the shooting and just . . . took charge of everything. A military wife for most of her life, Mrs. Calvin issued orders like her late husband, and she expected them to be obeyed without argument. Teague’s brothers, Brock and Eamon, had recovered from their gunshot wounds simply because Mrs. Calvin had ordered it so.
She’d been taking charge ever since. His house was always clean, good food graced his table, but most importantly, his niece was thriving. He’d worried about that when he’d taken on the responsibility of raising her after Kieran’s death.
He watched them until they turned a corner and disappeared from view, then headed in the opposite direction.
Teague tipped his hat to several people as he passed by, but no one stopped and engaged him in conversation, which was fine. Though he had denied it to Roy, he did want to meet the stagecoach. He did so every day, a habit his father had started so many years ago, but one that stood him in good stead. He liked knowing who was coming into his town, whether they be friend or foe.
And he was just in time. The stagecoach came around the bend in the road in a cloud of dust, the sound of wooden wheels turning over hard-packed dirt thunderous in the late afternoon quiet as he climbed up the first step of the Prentice’s wide wraparound porch. From this distance, he could see who handled the reins and who rode shotgun for the Double Eagle Stage Line―Pete Cummings and Bill Simms. He knew them well. Trusted them, too.
The dog followed him and sank to his haunches on the hard planks.
He stepped into the street as Pete pulled on the reins, leather harnesses creaking as he brought the vehicle to a rumbling halt. The door flung open while the stagecoach was still bouncing and rolling back and forth, and for a moment, the world around him dimmed as his gaze fell upon the tall, slim woman who stood in the doorway. She could be called nothing less than stunning, from her plum silk traveling outfit to the little hat on her head, perched at a jaunty angle atop her ebony hair. A purple feather curled from the top of the hat to her cheek and drew attention to her eyes.
He’d never seen eyes like hers. Slightly tipped upward at the corners and fringed with thick, dark lashes, they were a deep, rich violet blue, like the flowers his mother had grown in her garden. And right now, her eyes glimmered with excitement.
She was anxious, he supposed, to leave the close confines of the coach—too excited to wait for the retractable step to come down even though Bill started to jump from his seat atop the vehicle to do just that. If he hadn’t been completely captivated by her, Teague would have pulled the step down, but he wasn’t thinking. Wasn’t even breathing. He could only stare.
Pete threw down two soft-sided valises from the top of the coach, startling him as the goddess in the doorway took a step. Those eyes of hers opened wide as a startled “Oh!” escaped her, and she scrambled for purchase, realizing too late there was no step―just empty air below her foot.
Teague reached out for her, but she lost whatever precarious balance she had . . . and fell, face forward, right on top of him, with a very unladylike oomph.
Unprepared for the sudden weight of warm female in his arms, Teague fell to the ground as well, right on his back. The dog leaped from the step and started dancing around them, licking their faces and wherever else his tongue could reach. “Enough, Shotgun!” With one last swipe of his tongue, the dog settled himself on the ground beside them.
Teague couldn’t say he minded the woman falling on him all that much. Yes, he was in the dirt, and a knee had come perilously close to parts he may need at a later date. He also could have done without the dog kisses, but the woman was soft in all the right places, and she smelled like . . . peaches―fresh, ripe, delicious peaches.
“Goodness gracious! I’m so sorry!” A blush stained her smooth cheeks as she tried to climb off him, but her skirts were twisted around their legs. She squirmed a little more and actually managed to make progress, but then her foot slid on the hard-packed dirt, the heel of her shoe scraping along his boot-clad calf, and once again, she sprawled on top of him. This only served to tangle her skirts more, and in turn, force her knee closer to his body while oddly, pushing her cloth-covered breasts against his face. “Oh, dear!”
If she kept this up, he was going to suffocate . . . but oh, what a way to die. Still, dying hadn’t been in his plan today, despite how pleasant drawing his last breath would be at this moment.
“Stop!” His word came out muffled, said as it was into the softness of her bosom.
“Stop?” Her breathy voice sent a shiver down his spine.
Yes, sir, he was enjoying this little tussle a bit too much, but he’d rather do it somewhere private, with a nice soft bed instead of the hard ground under them . . . without the restriction of clothes and Shotgun pawing at him.
Teague groaned as the enticing thought popped into his head, and his body reacted quickly. No surprise, given the circumstances. He had a warm, beautiful woman in his arms. It would hardly take any effort at all to turn them both so she could be beneath him. All he had to do was―
What am I thinking?
Sanity and good sense flooded his brain. He took a deep breath. “Yes, ma’am. Just stop moving.” With effort, he turned his head and saw a pair of beat-up, worn-out boots―he knew to whom they belonged. “You gonna help, Bill, or you just gonna stand there gawkin’?”
“Thought you were handlin’ the situation just fine,” the disembodied voice floated down to him, followed by a chuckle. A moment later, the woman was on her own two feet, and Teague could breathe a little easier. It wasn’t that she had been heavy. No, that wasn’t the problem at all. The prob
lem was, it had been too long since he’d felt anything that good in his arms.
Catching his balance in more ways than one, Teague sat up, then took the helping hands offered him by both Bill and the young woman. Once more steady on his feet, he picked up his hat. “You all right, ma’am?”
She stopped brushing at her clothing, then flicked the feather away from her cheek and blinked as her gaze rose up to his. The blush staining her face deepened, highlighting her pansy-colored eyes. “I should be asking you that question, and I do apologize . . . for everything, but yes, I’m all right. This isn’t the first time I’ve fallen for a man.”
It was said so matter-of-factly with just a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth, he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. He didn’t know what he expected―profuse apologies, rushed explanations and the like, certainly―but not humor.
He smiled, then chuckled. He couldn’t help himself. This woman startled him. Yes, that was the only word he could think of to describe her. Startling. She was like a quick burst of sunlight peeking from behind the clouds―warm, vivacious, and bright, with just a touch of sauciness, if the twinkle in her eyes was any indication.
“Are you all right?” She moved closer and stepped on the tip of the dog’s tail. Shotgun yelped, then, having no desire to be trod on again, retreated to the relative safety of the hotel’s porch. Teague saw it all from the corner of his eye but hardly paid attention―he smelled peaches again. He inhaled, and let the aroma tickle his brain.
He loved peaches. Always had. The response Actually, it was quite enjoyable popped into his head. As much as he’d like to, he couldn’t say that out loud. “Yes, ma’am. No harm done.”
She started to brush the dirt off his clothing, her gloved hands sliding across his chest, but even so, he could feel the heat of her palm beneath the cloth. She stopped suddenly when her fingers slid across the Silver Star pinned to his vest. Her eyes widened and met his with undisguised curiosity. “I’m awfully glad, Sheriff. It’s never my intention to hurt anyone, but as you can see, sometimes I just . . . can’t help myself. It is the bane of my existence and the worry of my very elegant, very poised mother as well as my equally charming father.”
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