Inga was right where he’d left her, bending down to stoke the cookstove, only now she wore one of the soft calico dresses she seemed so partial to. The sight of her generous curves shot straight to the part of him that rejoiced in the fact he was a man and she a woman, and had him reaching deep for the ironclad control he always exhibited around others.
“Inga?”
She looked over her shoulder, smiled at him, then straightened to her full height. “Well, you’re back earlier than I thought you’d be.” She tilted her head to one side and watched him. “Are you hungry? I still have some biscuits and scones left from breakfast.”
He stepped closer, marveling that he’d never taken the time to notice her ivory skin and pale white-blonde hair. He’d taken the competent package the woman showed the rest of the world as boarding-house proprietress at face value. Now he saw below the surface to the fine-looking woman standing before him.
He wasn’t good with flowery words and phrases that would turn a woman’s head. He’d spent more time chasing down outlaws and cattle rustlers than sipping tea and making small talk with the ladies of his acquaintance.
He cleared his throat. “No. At least not for food.”
Something that looked a lot like hope flared in her pale blue eyes.
“I am an idiot,” he whispered, taking a step toward her.
She did the same. “I don’t know that I’d go that far, Marshal.”
“Ben,” he whispered, closing the rest of the distance between them. “I’d be pleased if you’d call me Ben.”
Eye to eye, toe to toe, and belly to belly, they stood drinking in the sight of one another as if for the first time. “How could I have missed you, morning after morning, leaning over that blasted cookstove, heating it up to make me coffee?”
“I didn’t miss you,” she confided.
He grabbed her upper arms and hauled her against his chest. Her gaze met his, and to his everlasting gratitude, desire flared to life. He shifted his hold from her arms to her back, drawing her lips, and her hips, within reach of his. “I want to ask, but am afraid you’ll say no.”
She swallowed audibly. “No to what, Ben?”
His entire body stiffened at the sound of his name on her sweet lips. “To me asking if I could kiss you.”
Their lips were a breath apart. “Only a fool would say no to you.”
His mouth found hers and he kissed her gently, tenderly at first. She moaned low in her throat, and he was lost. A man who’d found what he’d been seeking for years, he plundered her mouth. Molding her curves to fit against him, she let him.
The way they fit promised mind-boggling passion. “I might be late getting back,” he said when he finally broke the kiss.
She seemed as rattled as he was. “I can wait supper for you.”
He nodded and moved to tip his hat to her, but his hand met with air. She nodded behind him and smiled. “You seem to have missed something.”
He grinned. “That was before.” He bent to retrieve his hat, straightened, and met her gaze honestly. “I plan to make up for lost time, Inga.”
The flush staining her cheeks reminded him of a well-ripened peach. Who’d have thought one kiss with this woman would turn his brain to mush?
“See that you do.” She smiled at him, and he just had to kiss her one more time.
Hat in hand, he turned and strode back out of the house, eager to put his plans into action for protecting Pearl and her girls. Time to find out what Turner and Flaherty were up to.
“Ben?”
Inga’s soft voice calling to him had him whirling around. She stood in the doorway to her kitchen, flaxen hair tumbling over her shoulders. He’d somehow pulled the pins free.
“Be careful.” Her quiet beauty humbled him. He had even more reason to watch his back now. If he read the look in her soft blue eyes right, she’d be waiting more than supper for him.
“Count on it.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Smythe bit back his frustration at not doing anything. He needed to ride to town to find out just how the gossip about him had reached the marshal’s ears, but Pearl had sent Amy and Daisy on an errand earlier, and he’d only just now figured out what that errand was.
Former Marshal Joshua Turner sat across from Smythe while Pearl’s neighbor, rancher Seamus Flaherty, sat to his right. Each man had a cup of untouched coffee in front of him. Pearl had done what she’d thought was needed and summoned the men here, but for what purpose?
They weren’t drinking their damned coffee, so why were they here?
“Reilly went to town early this morning, Pearl.” Flaherty’s statement had Smythe wondering what for, but not enough to ask the question aloud. He’d wait to see who would spill the beans first.
“Obviously you both know about what’s going on in town,” Pearl said looking from one man to the other. “I’m assuming that’s why you and Joshua were already riding toward my ranch when Amy and Daisy met up with you.” Pearl looked at Smythe, but didn’t ask him why he thought the two men rode out to her ranch. She was behind their both being here together.
Needing something to do with his hands, Smythe grabbed his cup and took a mouthful of piping-hot coffee.
His eyes watered, while his mouth and throat burned.
“Damnation, Smythe,” Turner said with a smile. “You must have needed the coffee badly to not let it cool off first.”
Flaherty grinned. “You could have found a more interesting way to keep your hands busy, boy-o.”
Now that he was sure he hadn’t burned his throat beyond repair, Smythe rasped, “Why don’t you just tell us why the hell you’re here.”
Pearl ignored his question and asked Turner, “Did you find out anything about Lincoln yet?”
“Lincoln?” Smythe didn’t know anyone by that name, but then remembered that Lincoln was the Boston man who sent the wire asking questions and spreading lies about him.
Flaherty winked at Pearl. “You were right. He is surly.”
“If one of you doesn’t start answering my questions soon, you will see more than surly,” Smythe threatened, hoping he didn’t have to go up against the hard-eyed former marshal and tough-as-nails rancher.
Turner lifted his cup to his lips, blew across the surface to cool it, then sipped carefully. “Perfect.”
Smythe shot to his feet, “Damnation, Pearl! I—”
She got up and put her arms around him. “Davidson, please. I wanted to give you time to relax before springing the latest gossip on you.”
Turning to the other men, she nodded. “I’ve asked Joshua and Seamus here to help with our problem.”
“Our problem?” Sonofabitch. Which one?
She seemed to hesitate, then asked softly, “Joshua?”
The man nodded. “It seems someone in Boson has hired an investigator to find you.”
“Why?”
“My question exactly.”
Pearl turned to Flaherty, and he nodded. “I sent Reilly into town early this morning for supplies, and he came home with the news. Apparently, this Lincoln stopped to see the marshal first, then stopped at the mercantile and Swenson’s Boarding House.” He turned to Smythe. “You follow?”
Smythe’s gut clenched, and an icy feeling slid up his spine. He knew this had to do with his brother’s death.
“Davidson, won’t you let us help you?” Pearl whispered.
“I’ve already decided to wire Samuel Jones in Denver and demand my money be returned.”
Tears filled her eyes. “This isn’t about the ranch,” she whispered. “I told you I don’t believe you killed anyone.”
Their eyes met and held. He believed his grandmother’s oft-told advice that the eyes mirrored the soul. Pearl’s soft, cloud-gray eyes mirrored a pure soul and her unshakeable belief in his innocence remained solid. How could he not trust her in return?
“I think we need the marshal to sit in on this conversation.”
Flaherty tilted his head to one side,
listening. “You won’t have to wait long.”
Then Smythe heard what the other man had: hoofbeats rapidly approaching.
Ten minutes later, the men were gathered around Pearl’s kitchen table, while her girls hovered in the doorway. Their faces were pale as they listened to the men.
Pearl looked from the girls to Davidson. “The last time Joshua, Seamus, and Ben were here,” she whispered, “there was a shootout.”
Smythe swore roundly.
Pearl looked from the girls to the men. “Come on in, and sit down,” she urged. “No one is gunning for our place or me today.”
Unable to imagine just how horrible that day must have been, Smythe rose and walked over to where the girls stood, shoulder to shoulder, arms entwined. “Amy, Daisy, won’t you go sit down?”
They didn’t move at first, but when he held out his hand, the older girls finally let go of the younger girls and walked over to the chairs the men vacated.
“Mary, Nellie, would you sit on the other side of Pearl?
“You’re not leaving, are you?” Nellie sounded so scared.
He shook his head. “No. I’m not.”
Once the girls surrounded Pearl, he told them of his arriving late at his parents’ stable and finding his own mount already gone. His brother for some reason had chosen to ride it.
“It wasn’t unusual, just something Michael did now and again.”
“What happened?” Turner asked, arms crossed; face impassive.
Smythe swallowed against the lump of emotion clogging his throat. “I caught up with my brother in time to hear a gunshot close by.” Telling the tale was harder than he’d imagined. He paced while he spoke.
“Someone shot at him?” Flaherty demanded.
Smythe shook his head. “No.”
Pearl got up and walked past Nellie and Mary to stand in front of him. “It spooked the horse.”
His gaze locked with hers, and he was grateful for the distraction, but curious. “How did you know?”
“The gunshot wouldn’t have been significant if someone wasn’t either shooting at your brother or trying to spook your horses,” the marshal clarified.
Pearl knew what happened. “He was thrown.”
“You almost sound as if you were there,” Davidson whispered.
She took his hand in hers, and held tight. “I can see the truth reflected in your eyes. It was horrible.”
He nodded.
Turner and Justiss traded ideas back and forth while Pearl held his hand, oddly comforting him. Finally, Justiss turned back to him. “I’m willing to make a deal with you, Smythe.”
“Another one?”
Flaherty snorted. “Probably told you not to leave town.”
“How did you know?”
Flaherty grinned. “Long story.”
Justiss shook his head. “This is about your brother, Smythe, not Pearl’s ranch.”
Pearl moved to stand beside Smythe, her arm hooked through his. “What do want us to do, Ben?”
Us. There it was again, first she’d called it their problem and now she’d tacitly declared her open acceptance that they would be together for more than just the time he’d held her last night.
“I think there is more to Lincoln’s tracking you here than the man is telling us,” the marshal continued.
Smythe nodded. He thought so too. Whoever wanted him tracked down was involved with his brother’s death.
“Your coming to Emerson has indirectly forced us to deal with an on-going problem.” The marshal sounded irritated.
“The committee?” Pearl interrupted.
The marshal nodded. “In exchange for that, and for helping us get to the bottom of Pearl’s missing deed, Turner and I will use all of our contacts to see what we can find out in Boston.”
Smythe said, “Justiss, you already know Sam—”
The marshal shook his head, cutting him off.
Pearl smiled. “I think that’s a fine idea. Thank you, Ben. Thank you, Joshua.”
“I’ve already sent a wire off to Boston,” the marshal began.
“I did, too,” Turner added. “Did you send one off to Brody?”
The marshal shook his head. “My mother’s brother is a judge in Massachusetts.”
The three men rose and bade the women good bye. Watching them saddle up and ride off, Smythe finally asked, “Why do you think Justiss didn’t want me to tell the other men we already know what happened to your deed?”
“They’ll find out soon enough from the marshal. Besides, from what I know about Seamus and Joshua, they wouldn’t have offered to help if they didn’t want to. They’ve got a stake in this too.”
“Your ranch?” Smythe didn’t see how that was possible.
“The committee,” Pearl said, “and what they tried to do to Bridget and Maggie.”
“Sometimes you have to stretch the truth, just a little bit,” Daisy offered.
Pearl turned around to face her. “Most times, you shouldn’t. Remember that.”
Daisy nodded.
“I wonder why Marshal Justiss didn’t tell us how his talk with the Burnbaums went.”
Smythe shrugged. “He’s a busy man and may not have spoken to them yet. Either way, I’m sure you’ll see your young man soon enough.”
Daisy grinned and Amy smiled. “He’ll probably try to sneak over later tonight for some of my berry cobbler.” Amy sounded hopeful.
Pearl nodded. “I didn’t forget to tell the marshal. He’ll make sure Samuel hears.”
“I hope you made enough for everyone,” Smythe said, grinning at Pearl.
Heaven help him, she smiled back, and all seemed right with his world.
* * *
Runyon paced his downstairs library. The information he’d just received would destroy Davidson. His friend had enough guilt to deal with. Not this too.
Unwilling to put the words to paper, he quit the room, bounding up the stairs to his bedroom. “Simms!” he called out, bursting into the room. “My valise!”
“But where are you going?” his valet demanded.
“Emerson.”
“Where?”
“Colorado Territory.”
“May God have mercy on your soul.” The older man crossed himself. “They are still plagued by savages out West!”
Thinking of the missive tucked in his waistcoat pocket, Runyon wondered why no one recognized the savages living in Boston.
* * *
“Smythe!”
Hearing the marshal call his name, Smythe stopped and waited for him to catch up. “Any news?”
“Yes.”
Finally. Smythe breathed deeply. “What did you find out?”
The lawman looked over his left shoulder and then the right. “Not here.”
Once safely ensconced in the marshal’s tidy, but small, office, Justiss waved him to a seat. “You’ll need to sit to hear this.”
Smythe shook his head. “I believe I’ll stand.”
“Suit yourself.”
Justiss hung his hat on a wooden peg and settled onto his chair. “My source in Boston said your brother was a victim of an accident.”
Smythe nodded. This was not particularly news to him.
“He also confirmed the name of the man who hired Lincoln.”
Smythe tried to appear disinterested, but could not quite pull it off. “Well?”
“Aloysius Stanton.”
“Damnation.”
“I take it the rest of the rumor is true?”
Smythe bit out, “If the rest is that he’s related to me, then the answer is yes. Second cousin on my mother’s side.”
“Who would stand to inherit both your inheritance and your brother’s should anything happen to either of you.”
Smythe started pacing. “No. I inherit from my brother, or my brother would have inherited my half of the money our father left to us to be collected any time after our twenty-eighth year.” He paused, “We’d both have to be dead for him to inherit it all.”<
br />
“Stanton does not stand to inherit your brother’s money?”
“No.” Smythe stopped dead in his tracks. “Unless I die.”
“Why did your father want you to wait until you turned twenty-eight?”
Smythe shrugged. “It was past twenty-five and not quite thirty. Our father was a bit of a free thinker, a self-made man. Fell in love with our mother the moment she stepped off the ship from England, but had some strict notions about handling money.”
“Does she still have connections in England?”
Smythe smiled. “My grandfather, Earl Stanbridge, is still alive.”
Marshal Justiss nodded, leafing through the stack of papers on his desk. “I’ve also received a message from your mother.”
Smythe’s chest constricted, then eased. “What does it say?”
“She hopes you are well and will get in touch with her when you are settled.”
Guilt ate at him. He’d not told her he was leaving until after the fact. It had been a difficult message to send, given the fact that she wasn’t speaking to him. He nodded and turned to leave.
“One last thing.” The lawman leaned across the desk and handed Smythe a folded piece of paper. “I’m afraid word has probably already gotten around about this, but it seems a friend of yours has tried to send you a wire more than once, but either the wires were down or an electrical storm interrupted the transmission. When the party trying to send the wire doesn’t stick around to ensure that it goes through, messages are sometimes misplaced. We only received it today.”
“Runyon?”
The marshal smiled at him. “It seems your friend is on his way to Emerson.”
Smythe unfolded the paper and had to wonder why Runyon was headed all the way out here. Why didn’t he simply tell him in the wire what he wanted to say?
“It may not be good news, if he’s coming all this way to tell you in person,” Justiss offered.
Smythe nodded. “When was the original transmission?”
“A few weeks ago. He should be arriving any day.”
“You know where to find me.” Smythe shook the marshal’s hand and headed back to Pearl.
The summer day was warm, the air alive with the sound of birdcall as if the creatures rejoiced in the bright sun overhead. Breathing deeply, drawing in the scent of warm earth, fir trees—were they pines?—and a faint trace of wildflowers, he tried to sort through everything he knew and all that he’d heard.
The Irish Westerns Boxed Set Page 61
