Jillian Hart (10 page)

Her eyes widened. He could see her shift back a few inches. When he helped her out of the wagon, she laid her hand on his palm with the lightest touch. Maybe he shouldn't have said that. Maybe his new wife didn't feel for him.

Not that she wasn't warmhearted. He could see it in her movements as she made sure Chad got safely to the ground and his clothes were on straight. She took a second to button Chad's top button and dust bits of leaf and twig from his hair.

"Good afternoon, Lissa," Susan Russell greeted from behind the counter. "And how nice to see your son and husband with you."

"Hello, ma'am." Jack tipped his hat to the pleasant-faced woman. "Come on, Chad. I fear those women are going to start talking. If they do, we'll never get what we need."

"Mama talks a lot." Chad's grave statement made Lissa laugh.

"No peppermint for you," she said, but her eyes were bright.

Not every woman was kind to her child, Jack knew. A stern mother who had planted herself in front of the bolts of fabric slapped her small daughter's hand when she reached to touch the pretty fabric. The resounding smack tore through Jack.

A glimmer of grayness haunted his memory, but he lost it and there was only the void.

"We need some nails," he told the boy, steering him down the farthest aisle from the door.

"We got hammers," Chad informed him as they passed a wall of carpentry tools.

Jack stopped and considered. The child was old enough to help out, to learn how to hammer, to know the satisfaction of building something with his own hands. "This here's a small one, just your size."

"Oh, boy." Chad reached up with both hands, eager to hold the small hammer, a replica of the larger ones, for grown-ups.

Jack fought the rise of feelings for this child he hardly knew. He was his pa. He was responsible for Chad and for the blond, pretty woman whose voice filtered through the store, light and sweet. It staggered him, and yet it made him glad, too.

"Are you coming next Thursday?" Susan asked after she'd cut a length of cloth for Mrs. Halverston. "We've missed you. Now that you have that big, strong husband of yours to run the ranch, maybe you'll have time for us now and then."

"I would love to." How she had missed the Sweetwater Gulch Ladies' Club meetings. With Michael gone, it seemed she'd never had one spare minute to herself. "Jack is still so injured. I'm not sure if I can leave him this week."

"Already planning on leaving me, huh?" His voice rippled across her like ice water, invigorating enough to make her shiver. "I thought you'd give me at least a week."

He winked and made Susan flutter in appreciation. Lissa took a deep breath, sizing up the man she had married—not bad, not bad at all.

"Mama, Pa likes peppermint too," Chad said, his eager gaze already fastening on the colorful glass jars decorating the counter.

"Aren't we lucky?" She laughed as Susan reached for a small paper sack. Candy crinkled and cascaded into the bag, drawing more delight from Chad.

"I'm gettin' a hammer all my own." Pride lifted the boy up, made him seem so changed, and all for the better.

Whatever Jack Murray was, whatever he wanted, she owed him much more than she could ever repay.

"Give me some of those cinnamon ones, too," he told Susan. "Now, when's this get-together?"

"Thursday afternoon. Every Thursday afternoon." Susan handed him the bag with a grin. "If you're the man I think you are, you'll want your wife to be there. We raise money for many important projects right here in town."

"Susan," Lissa scolded. "Don't mislead the poor man."

"Well, we raised all the funds for the new schoolhouse. And last year we bought the bell."

"My wife will be there," he promised.

The look he gave her made Lissa's toes curl. She could read it in his eyes—how he wanted her to go, simply because she wanted to.

"I'll be just fine, Lissa," he said low, so close that only she could hear the rich timbre of his voice, smell his wood and man scent. "I know these past few months have been hard without Michael. But all that's changed now. I'm here. You go to your meeting. You have fun. It's what I want."

Tears filled her eyes, and gratefulness that this man she hardly knew understood.

She let him take her hand when they left the store, Chad munching on his candy. When Jack helped her up into the wagon, she felt the strength in him, the ease as he nearly lifted her, and her pulse fluttered. She felt all aglow.

"Murray." That lone, cold voice could only belong to one man.

Lissa turned to see Ike Palmer, his sheriff's badge winking in the low sunlight. In a flash she saw the hard set of Ike's eyes, his fists and the wide-legged stance that meant trouble.

Jack faced the lawman with apparent ease. "What can I do for you, Sheriff?"

"I've been meaning to come out to the ranch and talk with you."

"About what?"

"The man you shot and killed."

Jack considered the sheriff's words. He did not miss the double holstered Colt Peacemakers strapped to Palmer's thighs, loaded and ready, or the glint of dislike in the man's steely eyes. "That criminal was on my property, shooting at me and attempting to steal my cattle."

"It didn't take you long to push your way in and take over." A blood vessel stood out in the lawman's forehead.

"That land was legally mine the moment I married Lissa. It's one reason why I came to Montana." Jack wondered what the lawman was up to. "Have I broken the law?"

He heard the shuffling of Lissa's skirts. "Ike, I don't like this. You know those rustlers have targeted my ranch. Why—"

"It's my job," Palmer interrupted, his jaw clenched. "Catching those rustlers is my responsibility. Not yours, and not some man you married for his gunpower."

Jack didn't like the sheriff's insinuation—Lissa was his wife, and she deserved respect—yet his guts told him Ike Palmer was just waiting for an opportunity, just waiting.

Jack refused to give Palmer the fight he was looking for. He held his anger in check and purged it from his voice before he spoke. "I used to wear a badge, same as you, Ike. I'm not looking for trouble."

"Then you will come with me now. We can talk."

"Ike—" Lissa protested.

"It's fine. The sheriff and I will talk. I imagine he wants to know what I can remember of those rustlers, since he's so eager to hunt them down."

"That's right, Murray." A smile twisted along the lawman's face, but it wasn't pleasant. "Let's go."

Jack had no choice. He told Lissa to drive the wagon around to the back, of the store, where Susan's husband had promised to load up their newly purchased guns and lumber.

Worry lined her pretty face and made everything he was trying to accomplish fade.

"I won't be long," he promised. "Take Chad home. I'll find my way there."

"Jack."

He turned around.

"Ike wanted to marry me. I never told you. I guess he's mad because I turned him down so many times."

"I can handle him." He took a step. "You really turned him down, huh?"

"I did. For you."

Her smile touched him, soft as rain, as gentle as dreams. So she hadn't married him out of desperation. She had married him out of choice.

All in all, that was good to know, very good indeed. As he strode after the sheriff, his heart felt lighter.

The inside of the jail looked familiar, not this particular building but the barred windows and stone walls and the feel of the office. He saw edges of memories, but nothing more.

A positive sign. He knew he'd been a deputy before. Perhaps it was only a matter of time until he remembered.

"Sit," the sheriff bellowed, rough and hard.

Jack didn't like Ike Palmer's attitude, but he sat down, anyway—best to get this ordeal over with. "What do you want to know, Sheriff?"

Palmer's boots rang with each step. "I want to know about this man you killed."

"I don't know who I killed. I was told no one recognized him."

"Did you shoot first, or did he?"

"I did." Jack formed fists, refusing to be intimidated by the lawman's cold stare. "He was on my land and stealing my cattle."

"It wasn't self-defense."

"Cattle rustling is a hanging offense in these parts."

"So's murder."

Jack's patience snapped. "We both know I'm no murderer. I stopped a crime."

"You killed a man."

"I only meant to unseat him from his horse. I only wanted to stop the rustling, and bring the men to justice. There's no law against that, as far as I know."

A muscle jumped along Ike's clenched jaw. He curled beefy fingers around the back of a wooden chair and pulled it out from beneath his desk with a splintering scrape.

"Now you listen up, Murray. I don't care if you once were a deputy. I'm the law around here. And I do things my way. It isn't your job to bring in those rustlers. It's mine. Got it?"

"Then do your job, Sheriff." Jack bolted out of the chair. Anger licked through him. "There are men stealing from an innocent woman. If you don't put a stop to it, I will."

His threat lingered in the room, echoed in the single, empty cell.

Palmer's eyes hardened. "Then we're in agreement. Do you remember what the men looked like?"

"They were too distant to see well."

"You weren't close enough to see their faces?"

"No. Nothing stands out in my mind. If I remember anything, you will be the first to know. I want those men caught."

"So do I." Unrelenting, the sheriff didn't blink or move. "I am working to catch those rustlers."

Jack felt some of the anger ease from his tight chest. "Let me know what I can do to help."

"The next time you have trouble, you send for me instead of taking after them yourself."

There was no chance of that, though Jack nodded and tipped his hat. Sunshine blinded him when he stepped out into the street. He felt Palmer's gaze, felt the hard, hot fury of the sheriff's jealousy.

"Jack!" Lissa's voice spun him around. There she stood, haloed by the long, lean rays of a golden sun near to setting. Her checked skirts flicked in the breeze, the same one that tossed fine, gold curls across her pretty, heart-shaped face.

"Pa!" Chad dashed across the street, hat brim flapping with each bounding step.

Jack knelt down to greet the boy. "What have you and your mother been up to?"

"Lookin' at the feed store." Chad sighed.

Apparently that place wasn't fun to shop in. "Feed store? I thought buying feed was my job."

Lissa swept closer. "No, it's mine. I thought since I had the wagon already here, I would load up on more grain."

Running the ranch was his job. Jack held back the words because he didn't want to argue. Lissa brushed those curls from her face, and the way she looked made him feel changed and new—as if he was looking upon paradise for the first time and liked the view.

"Is there a good place to eat around here?"

"Maggie's Diner." She lifted one graceful hand and gestured, palm up, toward a neat little blue building.

Chad tugged on Jack's hand. "They got good pie there."

"Good pie. There's nothing more tempting than a good piece of pie." His gaze fell on Lissa, and on the way her eyes sparkled so blue and merry. "Well, almost nothing as tempting."

It was true—Lissa Banks Murray tempted him far more than a plate of sweets ever could.

"Behave yourself," she admonished, but she laughed, too.

He couldn't help but wish away the sharp blows of pain in his skull. He couldn't help wishing he was well enough to show her just how tempting she was.

"Ouch." He jumped beneath her touch.

"It's just an herbal salve." Lissa fingered a blob of the mashed, crisp-smelling yarrow leaves over the entire length of the stitches on his chest.

His hot, hard, very well-made chest.

She swallowed and dipped her finger into the small jar.

"It stings." He gazed up at her from his perch on the kitchen chair, broad shoulders washed by steady lamplight. "Doc didn't say I needed any of that."

"He wouldn't. It's a Crow Indian cure." Lissa snatched up a fresh strip of cloth and pressed it over his wound. Her hand buzzed from contact with his skin. Sensation telegraphed through every part of her body.

Goodness.
Lissa took a deep breath and tried to calm her beating heart. She was not looking for love, not even sexual pleasure.
Heavens.
The thought of being pleasured by her masculine, hard-bodied husband left her blushing.

That was no way to think about an injured man. Determined, Lissa wrapped strips of cotton around the breadth of his chest to hold the medicine and bandage tightly in place. "What did Ike want?"

"The sheriff is not a friendly man." Jack breathed in, hiding his pain, but she could feel the tension in his ribs.

"Ike Palmer isn't known for his good humor." Lissa tied the end of the bandage tight. "Did he give you a hard time?"

"Something like that." Jack caught her hand. His fingers, strong columns, heated her skin. "Don't worry. I can handle the likes of him."

As dangerous as any outlaw, Jack rose from the chair with lethal grace and raw power. He snagged his shirt and slipped into it, wincing when he moved his chest, then his arm.

Lissa watched the fabric cover his exposed body from sight, felt regret as he fumbled with the buttons. "I can help," she offered, stepping forward.

"I appreciate it. My arm hurts."

The buttons felt smooth against her fingertips. As she fit button to stitched buttonhole, she lost her concentration. He towered over her, so close she could feel the heat from his body, see the stubble rough on his jaw, so close their breaths mingled.

She remembered the kiss they'd shared, the warm, velvet brand of his mouth, and how her heart had stopped beating. Now it drummed fast and hard, anticipating the dip of his head, the drawing closer of his lips, the closing of the distance between them.

He tasted like sweetened coffee. He felt like a late night dream, all sensation and a whirling, out of control, feeling. She gave up her task and laid her hands flat against the breadth of his chest. Beneath the layers of cotton and sun-browned male skin and steely muscles beat his heart, as fast and furious as her own.