by Jillian Hart
“The bastard is a con man. He knows how to keep up appearances,” Travis said.
“I heard you’re bunking over at the hotel now,” Rafe said, then scowled. “Look, Travis, I agreed to go along with keeping Miss O’Keefe in town to protect her, but I won’t be a party to you sullying her reputation.”
Travis just stared at him. Many a criminal—and most honest men—would be frightened into silence by the look Travis gave him, but not Rafe. They’d been friends too long.
“Makes me wonder where your interest in this case stops and your interest in Brynn begins,” Rafe told him.
Travis formulated a response—a denial—but the words would not come out.
“I’ve seen how you look at her. She’s a good-looking woman, but it’s something more than that,” Rafe said. “What’s going on?”
Once again, Travis tried to muster a rebuttal but failed. Truth was he’d spent more time worrying about Brynn than investigating Hiram Smith.
And thoughts of Smith certainly hadn’t kept him up all night.
“It’s natural,” Rafe said, and shrugged. “A man gets to the point where he wants to settle down.”
“Just because you’re getting hitched, doesn’t mean everybody else wants to,” Travis told him.
“Hell, Travis, you’ve been at loose ends most of your life,”
Rafe said. “Nothing wrong with wanting a home and a family.”
“I like my life the way it is,” Travis said.
Rafe nodded down the boardwalk and grinned. “We’ll see how much you like your life in about one minute.”
Travis looked up. His heart lurched at the sight of Brynn making her way through the crowd of morning shoppers. He could pick her out easily in that little hat she always wore tipped forward in her thick dark hair, and her pink lips that seemed to turn up in a natural smile, her smooth, even gait that made her appear to be floating rather than walking—
His heart lurched another time, but for an entirely different reason. Brynn wasn’t floating, she was marching, and those pink lips were drawn in a tight line, and she seemed to be heading straight for…him.
“Looks as if your suspect might want to have a word with you,” Rafe said, and chuckled. He slapped Travis’s shoulder and hurried away.
She was a pretty little thing. Travis couldn’t take his eyes off her. She came toward him all puffed up with anger, cheeks pink, mouth set, eyes narrowed. Yet somehow she still looked composed, dignified.
Suddenly Travis wanted to kiss her. The feeling nearly overwhelmed him. He wanted to take her in his arms, bury his face in her neck, cover her lips with his.
“You low-down snake,” Brynn hissed as she stopped in front of him.
And, for some reason, that made him want her more.
“If I hadn’t gotten into so much trouble over outbursts such as this,” Brynn said, “I’d tell you exactly what’s on my mind right now, Mr. Hollister, and you wouldn’t like it.”
Travis came to his senses.
“Let’s go over here and talk,” he said. He caught her elbow and led her toward the alley.
“Have you no shame?” Brynn demanded. She dug in her heels and pulled away from him. “I’m not going to be seen slipping into an alley with you.”
Travis jerked his chin toward the crowded boardwalk. “I don’t think your aunt’s book suggests a public street as the perfect place for such a discussion.”
“Of course not.”
Travis shrugged. “So take your pick.”
There was no place they could go for a private conversation, no respectable place, anyway. It didn’t suit Brynn, but she put her nose in the air and huffed to the corner of the general store, then took a step into the alley. Travis followed.
Brynn pushed her chin out and rose on her toes, stretching up to her greatest height.
“Why is it that everyone in this town believes I intend to stay here?” she wanted to know.
“I—”
“My reputation is at stake here,” she told him.
“I understand—”
“What have you told people?” she demanded. “That I’m some sort of criminal?”
“I knew you’d—”
“Or that I’m suspected of breaking the law?” she asked.
“I can explain—”
“About to be hauled off to jail?”
“If you’d just let me—”
“I realize you don’t think it necessary to conduct yourself in anything approaching perfection,” she said, fighting to keep some sort of hold on her anger. “But how could you be so thoughtless?”
Brynn stared up at him, waiting for an answer. Travis just looked at her, not angry, not upset or offended by her outburst.
In fact, it almost appeared that he was struggling not to smile.
“So this sort of thing has gotten you into trouble before?” he asked. “Not what the good folks back in Richmond consider perfect behavior, is it?”
Embarrassment heated Brynn’s cheeks. He knew her greatest secret—because she’d just blurted it out.
“That’s quite a temper you have,” Travis said.
Brynn couldn’t keep up pretenses any longer. Her shoulders slumped in surrender.
“My worst fault,” she admitted. “And it has gotten me into all sorts of trouble.”
“A little trouble now and again isn’t so bad,” Travis said.
“That’s quite a statement, coming from a lawman,” she said.
He eased closer. “Your kind of trouble, I can handle.”
Heat sprang from him, covering her with intense warmth. It coiled inside her, making her aware of everything about herself.
The color of her dress. The tendril of her hair that had come loose. Her bodice that seemed a bit too small suddenly.
Everything about Travis seemed more intense, also. His smooth jaw and chin, freshly shaved. The curly dark hair that sprang from the opening at the top of his shirt. What did it feel like? Was it soft?
Coarse? What would he think if she ventured a touch?
His gaze caught hers and held it. Brynn broke away, fearing he could somehow read her thoughts.
“I’d like to know—” Her voice shook. She drew herself up and tried again. “I’d like to know why everyone in this town thinks I’m going to stay here. Did you tell them that?”
He nodded. “I did. And don’t go thinking I let it be known that you were a suspect, waiting to talk to the judge. I said nothing of the kind.”
“Good,” Brynn said, breathing a little easier. “So what reason did you give for my staying in town?”
“I told everybody that I’m courting you.”
Chapter Seven
“Pink,” Mrs. Kimball declared, then turned to Brynn. “Don’t you agree?”
Brynn glanced around the vast room that was to be the Ladies’ Social Club. Ada Holt had purchased the building that adjoined her general store, intending to expand her business, but hadn’t yet felt the time was right to begin the renovations.
She’d gladly donated the space to the ladies’ club. Mrs. Kimball headed up the committee to turn the empty room into a fashionable gathering place and, in turn, she’d asked Brynn for suggestions.
But not without sharing a few ideas of her own.
Pink walls? Brynn managed to keep her lips from turning down in a distasteful frown, and contemplated the room.
It was in dreadful condition. According to Ada, the place had been empty for several months prior to her purchasing it. Now a thick layer of dust lay on everything. The windows were smudged; two of the panes were broken. Spiderwebs clung to the corners.
On the plus side, the building had housed a bakery, so it had a kitchen in the back. The front door opened directly onto Main Street, allowing easy access for the women, and the big windows allowed for lots of sunlight.
In Brynn’s mind she saw the place in its finished condition.
Comfortable chairs arranged in a cozy group, tables for dining, a small ar
ea near the back of the room where children could play while their mothers visited. A perfect place for women to meet.
“Perhaps a creamy butter color for the walls,” Brynn suggested. “We’ll do pink table linens and accessories. Lots of pastels will give the place a light, airy appearance.”
While Mrs. Kimball squinted into the dim recesses, contemplating the paint color, Brynn wandered through the doorway at the rear of the room and into the kitchen. This area of the building had fared no better than the rest of it, thanks to months of abandonment. A cookstove remained, along with a large sideboard and cupboards, but they were nearly unrecognizable, thanks to the dirt, dust and grime. Whoever took on the task of cleaning this place would certainly have a tough job.
As she left the kitchen, Brynn saw that Effie Stanton, the wife of Harmony’s bank manager, and Nan Prescott had joined Mrs. Kimball in what was to be the social club’s meeting room.
“We’re all in complete agreement,” the mayor’s wife called.
“Buttery yellow walls, as you suggested.”
The women craned their necks, taking in the dank, dirty room; all of them, most likely, having the same thought.
“Yellow will certainly brighten up the place,” Mrs. Stanton ventured.
“I didn’t realize the room would need so much work,” Mrs.
Prescott said, shaking her head. “Where will we get the money for the renovations?”
“And who will do the cleaning?” Mrs. Stanton wondered.
“Details can be worked out,” Mrs. Kimball said.
No one had a suggestion on just what those details may be, or where the money would come from, however.
Mrs. Stanton turned to Brynn. “I believe you’re needed next door,” she said, and nodded toward Holt’s General Store.
Mrs. Prescott’s face suddenly blossomed with a knowing smile. “Oh, yes. You should go. Right away.”
Brynn had no idea why Ada Holt would want her, but felt there was nothing more to be accomplished here, under the circumstances.
As the other women continued to talk and pace around the meeting room, Brynn walked next door. Holt’s General Store was among the best in Harmony, always immaculate, with good quality merchandise filling the shelves. She’d heard that the Holt family had been merchants back east for generations before venturing west. Someone mentioned that Ada’s younger brother Tyler had struck out for California some months back in hopes of establishing another store out there.
Clutching a broom in her hand, Ada paused when Brynn walked through the door.
“What can I help you with?” Brynn asked.
The woman tilted her head and smiled. “I’m supposed to ask you that question.”
Brynn smiled in return and nodded next door. “Mrs. Stanton said I was needed here.”
Ada frowned as if trying to figure out why Effie Stanton would have sent her to the store, then nodded her head in understanding.
“I believe Effie thought you’d want to help this customer,” she said, and pointed the broom handle toward the back of the store.
Brynn walked down the aisle, copper pots on her left, woolen blankets on her right, expecting to find one of Harmony’s young women in a dither over what to buy. She’d become the fashion consultant to nearly everyone in town since the night of her lecture at the church social hall.
But she didn’t find a young woman struggling over color or pattern selection. Instead, she saw a man standing over a table display of shirts.
Brynn stopped in her tracks. Travis.
She knew him in an instant, even though his back was turned.
Tall, terribly tall, with those unmistakable wide shoulders. Long legs. A gun belt slung low on his hips.
He whipped around, as if sensing her—or someone—behind him. Brynn started at his quickness. His hand went for his gun and his eyes narrowed.
Then, just as quickly, he recognized her and his expression transformed once again. He turned to face her, shoulders relaxed, a half grin pulling at his lips.
Her heart warmed a bit, realizing he was glad to see her. Then her spirits plummeted. It was just an act meant to bolster the story he’d concocted about courting her.
When she’d confronted him on the street several days ago and he’d admitted to it, she’d been so stunned she couldn’t speak.
She’d just walked away.
“Mrs. Stanton sent me here,” Brynn said, maintaining a discreet distance from him. “I suppose she thought I’d want to help you shop, thanks to that lie you’ve spread all over town.”
“Good,” he replied. “The story’s working.”
Brynn eased a little closer and lowered her voice. “I can’t believe you have the gall to tell such an outlandish tale. The townspeople are supposed to be your friends. How can you deceive them this way?”
“It’s a perfect cover story—and you like things that are perfect,” he said, and his grin widened.
“Nowhere in my aunt’s book is there any mention of telling the perfect lie,” Brynn told him.
Travis shrugged. “Nobody in town is suspicious. Nobody thinks you’re in custody, awaiting a hearing with the judge. Way I see it, you ought to be grateful that I came up with such a convincing story.”
Her temper flared. “You expect me to thank you for all these problems you’ve caused—”
“Shh,” he said, glancing over her head. “You don’t want to jeopardize our cover story, do you?”
Brynn pressed her lips together, holding in her words. The last thing she wanted was to be talked about—more than she already was.
“Why would those women send you over here?” he asked, sorting through the stacks of folded shirts. “I can pick out my own clothes just fine.”
She looked at his shirt. “I don’t know about that.”
He glanced down at himself. “There’s nothing wrong with this shirt.”
“It’s awfully drab,” she said, sorting through the items on the display table.
She’d never shopped for a man before, except for her brothers, of course, and her father. But this was hardly the same. Shopping for clothing for Travis seemed terribly personal.
Still, he needed some guidance.
She picked up a red shirt. “This would look nice on you.”
“And make me a big target for every outlaw gunning for me,” he said.
“How about this one?” she asked, holding up a yellow one.
“That one will make it real easy for some gunslinger to pick me off in a crowd,” he grumbled.
“How about this baby blue one?” she suggested.
“No lawman can ever be taken seriously wearing a baby blue shirt,” he said. He raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Yes, but not by seeing you killed.”
“That’s no way to treat the man who’s courting you,” he pointed out, rifling through the shirts again.
She huffed irritably. “If you’re insistent on keeping up this courtship ruse, you could at least act the part,” she told him.
He eased closer. “And you know what it’s like to be courted?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” she told him, and lifted her chin a little.
She thought he’d chuckle at her comment, but instead his brows drew together in a deep scowl.
“By who?” he asked, the words coming out in a command.
At once, Brynn regretted bringing up the subject of previous courtships. She certainly didn’t want to get into what had happened back in Richmond.
“Is this man the reason you left home with your aunt?”
Travis asked.
She was surprised he’d figured it out. But maybe she should have known better. After all, he was a detective with the largest, most prestigious private law enforcement agency in the country.
Investigating and putting together pieces of a puzzle were what he did for a living.
“It’s not something I wish to discuss,” Brynn said. She’d intended the words to come ou
t in a sharp rebuke, but they sounded soft and gentle instead.
Travis watched her as if his stare might cause her to tell him more, but she determinedly glared right back until he finally turned away.
“I’ll take this one,” he said, picking up a black shirt.
“You already have one like it,” she said.
“You noticed?” he asked, and seemed to enjoy knowing that little fact.
“It’s so dreadful, how could I not?” she countered.
Brynn sorted through the shirts and selected a deep green one.
“Buy this one,” she told him. “It will bring out your eyes.”
“Just what every lawman wants,” he grumbled.
“It looks perfect.” She held it up to his chest. Her fingers brushed him.
Travis inhaled sharply and drew himself up straighter, as if some unseen current had suddenly raced through him. He leaned down, his gaze smoldering.
“Was that man back in Richmond perfect?” he asked in a low voice. “Did he give you a perfect kiss?”
His breath fanned her cheeks and he moved closer until his lips touched hers. A little groan rattled in his throat. Brynn gasped and leaned in.
He moved his mouth over hers, blending them together. Heat rushed from him to her, taking her breath away.
He broke off their kiss. Brynn’s eyes fluttered open. A few seconds passed before she realized what had happened—and where she was.
Good gracious, she’d let Travis kiss her in public. And she’d enjoyed it. Her cheeks flamed anew. How humiliating.
Was this part of the ruse he’d come up with? Or was he sincere?
Either way, it didn’t matter. She certainly wasn’t going to allow him to take advantage of the situation—or her.
She whipped around and left the store. On the boardwalk she pretended to look in the shop window, letting the breeze cool her cheeks. Voices from behind drew her attention. She glanced back to see Mrs. Kimball, Effie Stanton and Nan Prescott heading toward her.
