She stiffened, having been put in her place by his words. “That’s not what I wanted, Sheriff.”
“Then what is it?”
“I just wanted to hear a please.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry for acting like a child.” She motioned for him to turn around. He complied. She poured a small amount of the lotion into her palm and rubbed it in small circles on his lower back.
Chance shivered when she first placed her cold hand on his smooth skin, but her fingers soon warmed up and his muscles relaxed. She traced the line of his back. He shivered again. She heard him swallow. With upward strokes, she massaged the medicine into his skin until a thin layer of the lotion coated his back.
He released a long breath as she lifted her hands away. “Dammit, I’m sorry, too,” he said. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
“No, Mr. Magrane, you shouldn’t have. It wasn’t very polite. Your bad reaction to the cranberry pie wasn’t my fault.”
He turned around and gave her a slight smile. “Call me Chance. If we’re going to live together, you can at least do that.”
“All right.” She stepped away, the bottle clutched tight in one hand. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her voice came out shaky as she asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you…Chance?”
He gave her a beleaguered grin. “Please don’t leave town.”
She couldn’t help the surprised lift of her brows. “I guess that wouldn’t be fair now, would it?”
He gave a short bark of laughter and shook his head. “No, ma’am, it would not. If I have to chase you, let’s at least be somewhat evenly matched. Right now, I’m about done in. You could walk away slowly, and I couldn’t catch you. I’ll bed down in front of the door, though, if I think you’ll take off.”
“That won’t be necessary, Sheriff. Let me prove to you that I can be trusted, that I’m not this Mad Maggie West.”
“I won’t argue because I’m too done in to care. But know that tomorrow, if you’re gone, I’ll hunt you down and drag your sorry butt back.”
“Fine. You’ll see me right here. But for now I’ll let you sleep.” Trixianna stepped out the door, slowly pulling it closed behind her. She leaned against the door, waiting for her heart to stop thudding. She didn’t understand why he made her so uneasy.
The bed ropes groaned as he lay down. “Thanks, Trixianna,” came his deep, masculine voice through the door. He sounded tired, yet there seemed to be a faint trace of humor in his voice as well.
She bit her lip, and as casually as she could manage, walked back to the kitchen. She wondered if Chance could eat a currant pie. She had left one unopened bottle of green preserves, more than enough to bake him one.
Angel curled around her ankles as Trixianna sat at the kitchen table. She stared at the bottle in her hand, rubbing her thumb over the label and remembering the feel of Chance’s skin beneath her fingers. Warmth flowed through her and she felt blissfully alive. Even under the sheriff’s lock and key, she didn’t honestly mind her unusual circumstances. Until he could sort out the mistake in identity, she could still bake and support herself. She had Angel for company, and the sheriff might even need her, just a little bit.
And in the meantime, she had the puzzle of Chance and Fanny to sift over. It was like a dime novel—The Mystery of the Sheriff and his Betrothed.
It certainly was better than any dime novel Trixianna had ever read. It also took her mind off the way he made her feel—things she had no right to feel about this man.
He that has too much to do will do something wrong.
– Samuel Johnson
CHAPTER FIVE
Miss Trixianna Lawless
Grand Fork, Kansas
DEAR TRIXIANNA,
I was extremely cheered to receive your letter. I can’t begin to tell you how worried I was when you left. I know women today consider themselves quite independent, but a woman traveling alone can be so vulnerable. I worry about you as I would about my Georgette.
As soon as business allows I shall endeavor to write more frequently. For some unknown reason, Abilene is suffering from a rash of untimely deaths right now. As an undertaker I can’t complain, but I do feel sorry for the poor bereaved families. One never knows when the Lord will call you home.
It sounds, though, as if you’re getting along splendidly in your new community and making friends. I have to wonder why a thriving town such as Grand Fork would hire a sheriff with questionable health. They must be very compassionate to keep him on when he has difficulty doing his job.
Although Georgette would never admit it, she misses you dreadfully. She mopes about the house or talks all the time about some of the pickles you and she used to get into when you were children. I think it’s a good sign that she can discuss you without anger.
I’m planning a business trip soon to Grand Fork, and I hope she will agree to accompany me. Don’t fret, I have no intention of telling her you are there. I’m hoping that she will be so surprised when she sees you that she will forget why you left in the first place.
You are constantly in my prayers, Trixianna. I know the two of you will work out your problems soon and all will be well again. I’m looking forward to the day when we are a family again. I know you are, too.
Your brother in heart,
Jonathan Lacina
Abilene, Kansas
“Five hundred dollars.”
Bounty hunter Sam Smith leaned a tad closer to the table beside him in the restaurant where he sat eating his evening meal. He strained to hear the conversation between an eager young deputy and two other men.
The deputy, his badge shiny and new and pinned to his shirtfront where no one could miss it, went on to tell his cohorts about the arrest of the notorious Mad Maggie West in Grand Fork.
In his wanderings, Sam had heard tell the bounty on the bank robber was five hundred dollars. That could sure buy a whole passel of whiskey and wicked women.
Grand Fork. He puzzled over the town. He thought he knew its location, although his sense of direction was none too accurate. He didn’t think he was far from it, but he didn’t know if it was north or south. He could find out easily enough.
“Howdy, boys.”
Three curious faces turned his way.
“I couldn’t help hearing you say that Mad Maggie West got herself arrested in Grand Fork.”
The deputy swallowed a forkful of stew before replying. “Yep, that’s a fact, sir.”
“Ain’t you that bounty hunter Sam Smith?” one of the others asked.
“That’s me.” Sam lifted his chin and grinned at the inquiring fellow. He liked the idea that he was well-known.
“Looks like you missed out on a nice bundle this time around, Smith,” the deputy said.
“I reckon I’ll just mosey on over to Grand Fork and collect that bounty.”
“I just said she’s already been arrested.”
“Uh-huh.” Sam nodded in agreement.
The deputy set down his fork. “The sheriff in Grand Fork arrested her, and has her in his jail.”
“Just where is Grand Fork?”
“Due south.” The man to the deputy’s right answered. “I reckon it’s about fifty miles.”
“Would that be past the livery or past the rail station?” Sam asked.
“South, son, beyond the train yard.”
“Good.”
“What are you going to do?” asked the deputy.
“Collect that money.”
“You can’t do that,” the deputy insisted.
“You gonna stop me?”
“Well, no.”
“Then I’ll be seeing you all.” Smith threw a couple of dollars on the table, smiled amiably and stood up. He left the three men staring at him like he was as loco as a rabid dog.
Lawmen. They didn’t have sense enough to spit downwind. And, by damn, if there was one thing ole Sam smith knew how to do, it was skirting the law.
Trixianna had just put the last p
ie of the morning into the oven when she heard a pounding on the front door. She wiped her hands on her apron, then yanked off the scarf she’d tied around her hair. She pushed a straggling strand of hair from her face, then hurried to the door and pulled it open.
She stared a moment in shock before she found her voice. “My stars! I hardly recognized you!”
She openly gaped at the man standing on Chance’s threshold, his fist poised to knock again. If not for the twinkle in his eye, she never would have thought this was the same person she’d come to know in the Grand Fork jail.
“I do clean up rather nicely, don’t I?” Burnsey stated. With a gloved hand, he brushed at the lapel of his elegant black frock coat. He lifted her flour-dusted fingers and brushed a light kiss across the knuckles. “Alistair Burns, sixth Viscount of Huxford, at your service, madam.”
“My stars.”
“You’re repeating yourself, my dear.”
The epitome of the perfectly dressed English gentleman, Burnsey looked about as out of place in Kansas as a professional gambler did in church. From the tips of his polished black boots to the elegant white silk ascot tied in an expert knot about his neck, his appearance astounded her. He even clasped a cane in one gloved hand. She stared like a woman turned to stone.
“Aren’t you at least going to invite me into your new jail for tea?”
She closed her mouth, then stepped aside. “Forgive me. I’m just…”
He strode through the door, whipping off his black felt derby as he entered. Over one shoulder, he called, “Jolly well bowled over? Flabbergasted? Overwhelmed by my exceedingly good taste, charm and devastating looks?”
“Yes, yes, yes.” She squeezed his hands in hers. “It’s so good to see you, too.”
He chuckled, then set her away and peered into her face with a critical gleam in his eye. “How has our big galoot been treating you?”
“Why, just fine, of course.”
“What do you mean, ‘of course’? The man imprisoned you, first in that horrid cell and now in his own home.” He frowned, his eyes level with hers. “Has he been taking advantage of your good nature?”
Trixianna’s cheeks flamed. How? she wondered. By asking her to rub lotion into his warm flesh and making her want to touch him in other, more intimate places? By wishing for something between them that could never be? She turned away, heading for the kitchen. “Let me start the tea.”
“Humph.” He followed behind her, his walking stick tapping the floor. He seated himself at the oilcloth-covered kitchen table, then he cleared his throat expectantly. His fingers drummed impatiently on the table top. “Something’s afoot here, isn’t it?”
Trixianna glanced over her shoulder.
He gazed back at her, a look of concern etched on his face.
“No, not at all,” she replied, unable to stop the slight tremble in her voice.
Burnsey’s mouth twisted in a wry expression of doubt. Trixianna knew she was a dreadful liar.
Abruptly rising to his feet, he said, “I know Chance. He can be a bit, how shall I say, uncivil, almost to the point of rudeness. He’s not mistreating you now, is he? Or making advances? Not that I would blame him. If I were a younger man…” He tapped the cane against the side of the table.
Trixianna blushed, her heart in her throat. Could the man read her mind?
“I’ll speak to him if that’s the situation,” he said. “He can be surprisingly naive about women.”
Trixianna hurried to his side and pushed him gently into his seat. “You’re reading much more into this than necessary.”
“I doubt it. I consider myself an excellent judge of character. You are a beautiful young lady who has never so much as loitered on the streets, much less robbed a bank. The idea is simply abhorrent.” He shivered and made a disgusted face. “But aside from that, the sheriff is a fine-looking man in the prime of his life.”
Trixianna’s face heated as she thought of the sheriff. Yes, he was handsome. Very handsome indeed. And he’d arrested her falsely, didn’t believe her and didn’t trust her. He thought she was a heinous criminal. She shook her head.
Burnsey raised one eyebrow. “Aha, I believe I see the problem.”
“It’s not what you think; he thinks I poisoned him.”
“What?” Burnsey asked. His eyes rounded. Obviously, that wasn’t what he’d expected her to say.
Chance rolled over in bed, roused from a decent sleep by the sound of voices and an enticing aroma wafting from the kitchen. He lay back, smiling. What was Mad Maggie cooking today? He hoped cranberry pie was not on the menu. Grinning, he shook his head, then stumbled out of bed to awkwardly clean up and dress. He sat back down on the bed, appreciating the fine scents of Maggie’s baking, until the throbbing in his shoulder wound lessened. It was a sore reminder of the criminal woman residing in his residence.
Sometime around midnight the itching had stopped and he’d been able to fall asleep. He’d slept like the dead, for the second night in a row. If he wasn’t careful, the county would terminate his position as sheriff for allowing his prisoner to escape while he slept. Although arresting the infamous bank robber Mad Maggie West was a feather in his cap, he wasn’t exactly keeping a close eye on her. But she was still here this morning. He’d give her that much.
Chance sneaked down the hall to eavesdrop on the conversation in the kitchen. Maybe his prisoner was planning her escape…or another bank robbery…or more likely still, she was planning how she’d try to dispose of him the next time.
A knife, maybe?
How about a Gatling gun?
What was it they said, “third time is a charm”? He’d be careful, that was for sure.
He stopped at the entry to the kitchen, peered around the corner and listened.
“He thinks I poisoned him.”
She sat across the table from Burnsey. They were drinking tea as if they were seated in a fancy English castle and both were upper-crust Britishers. That Burnsey was a corker. Chance shook his head.
The woman’s green eyes sparkled with pleasure as she listened to Burnsey. Falling about her face in curling ringlets, her russet hair lay mussed. Flour smudged her freckled nose, but Maggie or Trixianna, or whatever she called herself, looked like royalty. She could be a princess. With her head held high, her shoulders back, she enhanced his plain kitchen.
She sure didn’t act like any criminal Chance had ever encountered. Of course, he’d never encountered a female desperado. She had him damned confounded.
“He thinks you what?”
“Poisoned him.”
“Did you?” Burnsey whispered. He leaned across the table and clasped her hand in his. “If you did, I promise I won’t tell a soul.”
“Of course not.” She sounded highly offended. Chance smiled. “All he did was take a slice of my cranberry pie with him when he left yesterday morning. Then he came home a few hours later, sick and covered from head to toe with hives.”
Burnsey hooted with laughter.
Unable to hide her own grin, she continued, “Since Fanny and I were in the midst of eating a slice ourselves, he couldn’t really accuse me further of trying to harm him. That’s really all there is to tell.”
“Where is he now?”
“Still sleeping. I imagine he didn’t get much rest. A rash like that can be rather tiresome.”
“Tiresome?”
This time she leaned forward and whispered, “It itches something fierce.”
“You say he was covered with this rash from head to toe?”
“Why, yes.”
“And how would you know that?”
“Well, I helped, I mean, I—” Her cheeks bloomed with fiery color.
Chance thought this would be a good time to make his presence known, but the devil in him kept him silent and still in the hallway. He wanted to see her squirm a while longer. Besides, when rattled, lawbreakers often gave themselves away. And she had yet to give him any real evidence other than the physical resembla
nce to the woman depicted on the wanted poster.
“It’s not what it seems. He hasn’t taken advantage of me or compromised my reputation in any way—”
“God’s teeth,” Burnsey interrupted. He dropped his cup, rattling the saucer. He paused for a moment, then sighed resignedly. “I will concede this is better than the jail. No woman should have to stay there.
“However, a woman of decent upbringing shouldn’t see enough of an undressed gentleman to know that his body is covered with anything from head to toe.”
“What about you?”
His brows rose. “What about me?”
“I saw you in your under-clothing and you didn’t seem too upset about that.”
“That was quite different,” he retorted. “I was inebriated.”
“Well, I don’t see any difference. Besides, I didn’t have to see him to know that he was covered from head to toe. My sister, Georgette, is allergic to strawberries, and the same thing happens to her whenever she eats them.”
Ah-ha. So there really was a sister. If she was the wife of the man Trixianna had mentioned, Chance needed to find out that woman’s maiden name and where she lived.
“But you did see him, didn’t you?” insisted Burnsey.
If possible, her face became more rosy. Her voice sounded resigned when she said, “He was sick and hardly capable of doing anything untoward. I merely helped him with the lotion to relieve his itching. He couldn’t reach his back.”
“And what was he wearing when you helped him?”
“Burnsey, this is—”
“What was he wearing?”
Her shoulders stiffened. “His drawers…just like you were.”
“Well, that’s something,” Burnsey grumbled. “But hardly appropriate attire to be seen by a single young lady such as yourself. I expect this took place in his bedroom, as well.”
“Yes.”
“Did he try to kiss you?”
“No.” Her freckles stood out like drops of maple syrup against her apple red cheeks. Chance found himself wanting to kiss all those enticing freckles…one by one.
“No? I would have. But by the look on your face, I’d venture to say you wouldn’t have minded either.”