Sweetwater Seduction (5 page)

As Kerrigan stepped across the threshold into the saloon, he glanced over his shoulder at the fidgeting deputy. “Tell the sheriff to see me if he has a problem.”

Kerrigan didn't give either the sheriff or his deputy another thought, simply stepped up to the bar and ordered a whiskey. The bartender gave him a wary look when he realized he was still wearing his gun, but hurried to serve him. Kerrigan picked up his whiskey glass and turned around to lean his elbows on the bar. He hooked his boot on the footrail as he surveyed the room. He could have drawn a line down the middle of the saloon based on the division between nesters and cowboys.

He heard numerous voices with a Texas drawl coming from the cowboy tables, reminding him of home. Then, to his surprise, he heard a distinctive voice he recognized as Texan on the nester side of the room. That was odd enough to make him seek out the owner of the voice—and find the skinny face and gut-shrunk form of Levander Early. A scant year ago Kerrigan had run Levander out of Montana for rustling cattle. What was a man so handy with a running iron doing on the nester side of the room?

While Kerrigan was staring, Levander glanced up and the hired gun saw the yellow cat's eyes that had plagued him in the recent past. Levander turned and said something to the man seated next to him, then rose and headed toward Kerrigan.

Levander Early was thin as a bed slat and short as a tail-hold on a bear. The coveralls and heavy farmer's boots he wore made him look like a boy dressed in a man's clothes. Kerrigan wasn't deceived. Levander Early might have been a young man, but he had long since reserved himself a seat in hell.

Levander ordered a whiskey from the bartender, and once it arrived drank it all down before he turned to face Kerrigan.

“When I told you to head south from Montana and keep going,” Kerrigan said, “I had a mite farther south in mind than northeastern Wyoming.”

“I'm sure you did,” Levander said with a disarming grin. “But I gotta tell you, Kerrigan. When I got this far they were practically givin' away land, just givin' it away! Homestead Act or some such. I said to myself, Levander, I said, this is heaven. And suspectin' how I gotta spend the next life in the otherwheres, I decided to spend this one here.”

“Are you trying to tell me you really are a farmer?” Kerrigan asked incredulously.

“I surely am,” Levander confirmed. “Got me a house built, got land plowed, even got a few cows of my very own—the kind that gives milk. So you see, I'm a reformed man.”

“I see.” But Kerrigan was having a hard time believing.

“I come over to ask you not to spread the bad word about me. I done started over fresh. And I figger I deserve a second chance same as the next 'poke.”

Before Kerrigan had a chance to respond to Levander's plea, he was distracted by a crescendo of murmuring voices. A single glance told him what he needed to know. Sheriff Reeves had arrived. When Kerrigan turned back to Levander, he discovered the new-made farmer had slipped away. Levander never had been one with much use for the law. That, at least, hadn't changed.

“From my deputy's description I had a feeling it might be you,” Sheriff Reeves said. “Damn if it ain't.”

“Howdy, Felton. Been a coon's age.” Kerrigan extended his hand and the sheriff reached out and shook it. “Never thought I'd see you wearing a badgeed to be you got called when I was too busy to take the job.”

The sheriff merely smiled at the friendly jibe and said, “You here in Sweetwater on business, Kerrigan?”

“Sure am.”

“I was afraid of that.”

The two men knew each other well, yet they were a study in contrasts: one was light, one dark; one asked, one demanded; one shared himself with others, one didn't; one had settled down, one was still drifting.

“I don't have to ask who hired you,” the sheriff said. “The only one with a bankroll big enough to pay you is the Association. Oak made a mistake hiring you, Kerrigan. I want you to ride out of here tonight.”

Kerrigan took a sip of whiskey. “You know I can't do that, Felton.”

“That's too bad. I've got enough problems in Sweetwater without adding a gunslinger to the lot.”

“You know I never slap leather without honest provocation.”

“Problem is, you're liable to get it here,” the sheriff said. “Things are bad, Kerrigan. I don't intend for them to get worse.”

“Time was we got along peaceful as two six-guns on the same belt,” Kerrigan said.

“More like two bobcats in the same sack,” the sheriff retorted.

It was hard for two men who had ridden so many gullies together to find themselves on opposite sides of the fence.

“Damn you, Kerrigan,” Felton said with a snort of disgust. “I wish it'd been somebody else Oak got to do his dirty work. I like you too much to be the one who ends up hanging you.”

Kerrigan grinned. “I'm a long way from that, I hope. What brought you to Sweetwater, Felton?”

“Got tired of traveling, being lean in the belly and on the run from the law. Decided I wanted a place of my own, a wife and kids.”

“You make enough as a lawman to have all that?”

“I do well enough,” the sheriff said, averting his eyes.

“You still a gambling man?”

“I play poker now and then.”

“You still a ladies' man?”

Felton thought of Darcie Morton, the madam over in Canyon Creek who had been taking care of his needs since he had become Sweetwater. While he and Kerrigan had shared women in the past, he found himself reluctant to mention Darcie's name. He smiled and said, “I ain't seeing anyone I'd care to share with the likes of you, if that's what you're asking.”

“You're just mad because Doralee Smithers liked kissing a clean-shaven face like mine better than one with a prickly old mustache like yours.”

Felton smiled and stroked his bushy blond mustache. “That's all right. I'm sure the lady I got picked out to be my wife won't give you the time of day.”

“So, you really are settling down. If I know you she's a real looker.”

Felton returned Kerrigan's grin. “Maybe you don't know me as well as you think. Actually, she's a plain-looking woman.”

“Then it must be true love.”

“Love has nothing to do with it.”

At Kerrigan's questioning glance the sheriff explained. “A man who's wintered hard as many years as I have needs a special kind of wife. Miss Devlin is going to lend me the respectability I need to be a big man around here someday.”

Kerrigan felt a prickle of unease at Felton's naming of his chosen bride. Surely there couldn't be
two
Miss Devlins in Sweetwater. “This Miss Devlin of yours, she wouldn't happen to be the local schoolteacher, would she?”

“How'd you know?”

Kerrigan bit down the epithet that sprang to mind. It was no business of his who Felton married. No business at all. Miss Devlin would sure clip his horns, all right. Aw, hell. If Felton Reeves wanted her, Burke Kerrigan wasn't going to stand in his way.

“I wish you luck in your courtship, Felton,” Kerrigan said as he shook hands with the sheriff.

Once the congratulations were over, the gunslinger considered himself well rid of the spinster. He stood at the bar with Felton and drank to old times, to fast draws and faster horses.

Nevertheless, Miss Devlin's flashing eyes, her sharp tongue, and her tall, seductive form stayed on his mind the rest of the night.

Chapter 3

When you got nothin' to lose, try anythin'.

M
ISS
D
EVLIN HAD COMFORTED
B
LISS AS BEST SHE
could and promised she would somehow find a solution to the dilemma that beset her young pupil. Miss Devlin had also reassured Bliss that while the gunshot wound in Hadley's shoulder was serious because he had lost so much bloodn't deadly. With rest and care, he would recover completely.

After walking Bliss home, Miss Devlin spent a restless night plagued by unsettling visions of herself being held in the arms of a tall, dark-eyed man who bore a suspicious resemblance to the gunslinger. Such thoughts were so totally outside the normal realm of Miss Devlin's dreams (which, while adventuresome, had never included a dashing male figure) that she wasn't sure how to escape them. So instead she fully indulged them, reasoning that once she had let her wayward thoughts run their course, she would be free of them.

It was a foolish idea, Miss Devlin later conceded, because she awoke to find herself aching in new and quite alarming places. When Eden viewed herself in the mirror as she performed her ritual toilette, she was stunned to find her gray eyes almost lambent. Somehow, although she had never left the chaste confines of her bedroom, she felt disgracefully compromised.

Quite abruptly the dreamy look left her eyes, to be replaced by outrage. How dare that
rude, violent, unprincipled gunslinger
intrude on her private life! She simply would not allow it. Miss Devlin grimaced at her image in the mirror. She hoped she would have more success controlling her thoughts than she was having in confining her burnished curls in the tight bun arranged low on the back of her neck.

A narrow-brimmed hat, banded by a rust-colored ribbon that matched her dress, hid the worst of the rebellion. She straightened the tatted ivory lace collar that was the only decoration on the practical merino dress, draped it with a navy blue shawl, squared her shoulders, and marched out the door for church muttering denials of the potent stirrings the gunslinger had aroused in her.

Even in church she encountered unpleasant reminders of the awful situation that had brought the gunslinger to town. Nesters sat on hard wooden pews along one side of the chilly town meetinghouse that also served as a church, ranchers on the other. A narrow aisle that ran down the middle of the room might as well have been the Powder River, so little was the chance that either group might cross to greet the other. Miss Devlin found it especially uncomfortable because the simple act of sitting down meant having to choose sides.

Oak Westbrook never came to church because he contended, “God knows where to find me if he wants me,” so Regina sat alone. Yet the sharp-eyed look the rancher's wife gave Miss Devlin made it clear she didn't wish for company. Eden settled herself next to Bliss and her family, thinking at least she would be able to determine how the troubled child had passed the night.

The absence of Hadley Westbrook and Big Ben Davis had cast a pall over the congregation that no amount of Reverend Simonson's uplifting words could conquer. Miss Devlin secretly felt the reverend's failure might well have resulted from his sermon entitled “Love Thy Neighbor.”

Through whispers spoken as the collection plate was being passed, Miss Devlin discovered that Bliss had spent a sleepless night. She promised to ask Regina Westbrook for the most recent news on Hadley's condition and report back to her concerned pupil.

The congregation left the church like stiff-legged dogs and cats ced to walk the same narrow bridge—with equal likelihood that a spat would ensue. Miss Devlin lengthened her stride to catch Regina Westbrook before she stepped into her Concord spring-top buggy for the drive home.

“If you please, Mrs. Westbrook, I would like a moment of your time.”

Regina responded to the authority in Miss Devlin's schoolteacher voice by turning around. But, immediately recovering herself, she replied, “I'm not sure what we have to say to one another.”

“I hoped you could tell me how Hadley is feeling this morning.”

The older woman's eyes filled with tears that she quickly blinked back. “The doctor promised Hadley will be himself again in a matter of days, and up and around before long. But I've never seen my son so pale. And Hadley swears he isn't hungry, but how will he get well if he doesn't eat? I confess, I'm worried about him.”

“How long before he'll be well enough to receive visitors?”

“Not for a while, I'm afraid,” Regina said in a frosty voice, her gaze skipping to where Bliss stood watching them from afar. “That is, some visitors will be welcome, of course. For instance if
you
want—”

“What about Bliss Davis?”

“That girl's father shot my son. His daughter isn't welcome in my home,” Regina retorted.

“I thought Sheriff Reeves said Hadley didn't see the man who shot him, so he couldn't keep Big Ben in jail.”

“Well, no, Hadley didn't. But everyone knows—”

“What people want to believe is quite often a far cry from the truth. Won't you please reconsider allowing Bliss to visit Hadley?”

“Never!” Regina turned abruptly, stepped up into her buggy, and sat down on the dark green leather-upholstered cushion. Taking the reins into her hands, she said a curt, “Good day, Miss Devlin.”

The instant the buggy pulled away, Bliss was at Miss Devlin's side. “Is Hadley going to be all right? Can I come and see him?”

Miss Devlin put a comforting arm around Bliss's shoulder. “Hadley's going to be fine, Bliss. But Mrs. Westbrook says he isn't well enough for company yet. You'll have to wait a little longer to see him, I'm afraid.”

Under the circumstances, Miss Devlin thought Bliss took this news with commendable stoicism.

“So long as I know he's going to be all right I can wait,” she said. “Thank you, Miss Devlin. I'm going home now. I didn't get much sleep last night

Miss Devlin followed Bliss with her eyes until she reached the welcoming embrace of her mother.

“You handled that very well.”

The rumbling bass voice in her ear startled Miss Devlin, but she quickly regained her composure and smiled as she looked into a pair of friendly blue eyes. “I hardly expected to find you here today, Sheriff.”

“It was the one place I could be sure of finding you.”

“Me?”

“I was hoping you'd agree to have dinner with me.”

“Dinner?”

“You don't have other plans, do you?”

“No.”

Miss Devlin was aware how ridiculous her one-word responses must sound, but she wasn't sure what to say. The sheriff's invitation had come as a complete surprise.

When Felton Reeves had come to Sweetwater, she had noticed him right away because he was an attractive man, and one of the few tall enough for her to look up to. However, not once in the past two years had he expressed an interest in courting her. Fortunately, that also meant she had never used any Big Words to discourage him.

Since he had never expressed any personal interest in her in the past, Eden naturally presumed he must have some other reason for asking her to dinner—and a ready explanation came to mind. The invitation to join him must have something to do with the shooting. That settled in her mind, Miss Devlin smiled at the sheriff and said, “I'd be glad to dine with you.”

To Miss Devlin's dismay, when she walked into the Townhouse Restaurant with Sheriff Reeves, the very first person she saw was that no-name gunslinger, sitting with his back to the wall. As big as he was, and dressed all in black in a cheerful room full of red-checked tablecloths, he was hard to miss.

She planned to ignore him, but Felton made a point of raising his hat to the man as they headed past him on their way to the sunshine-brightened tables by the front window. Miss Devlin nodded but kept her eyes averted from the gunslinger's face, agitated anew by memories of the previous night's encounter. To her utter disgust, she felt her face begin to flush.

She had a vain hope that the gunslinger would keep his mouth shut, but he didn't.

“Good afternoon, Miss Devlin.”

She would have walked right past him without responding, except Felton had a politely supporting hand on her elbow and was able to stop her. She lifted her chin, determined not to end up in another confrontation with the stranger. “Good afternoon

“You two know each other?” Felton's surprise and distress were evident in his frowning face and disapproving voice.

“Miss Devlin and I have only a passing acquaintance,” the gunslinger replied. “In fact, we've never been properly introduced.”

“There's no need—”

Miss Devlin was cut off by Felton's brusque, “This scoundrel is Burke Kerrigan. You'll do well to avoid him.”

The flush on Miss Devlin's face darkened at Felton's rudeness, but the gunslinger only smiled and said, “Your introduction is only half complete, Felton. To whom do I have the honor of being presented?”

“My name is Eden Devlin.”

“This is the respectable lady you were telling me about, Sheriff?”

Miss Devlin was confused by the gunslinger's comment, which suggested he had been discussing her with Felton, and irked by the way he had said
respectable lady
as though she were no such thing. Why, everyone knew Eden Devlin was the soul of propriety! The gunslinger's eyes slowly raked her from ribbon-trimmed hat to high-button shoes, and she realized suddenly that the only other time she had met him she had been wearing a nightshift and spectacles.

Miss Devlin's jaw slackened in horror. There had been a perfectly good reason why she had answered the door in her bedclothes last night, and if the gunman had suggested otherwise to Felton Reeves, why— She turned to Felton for some clarification of Kerrigan's statement, but the sheriff avoided her eyes. Taking a firm hold on her arm, he urged her away from Kerrigan's mocking glance.

Miss Devlin refused to take another step. Her eyes darkened as she pinned the gunslinger with an icy stare. That rogue had obviously told the sheriff some slander about her. No wonder Felton had invited her to dinner today. He probably planned to warn her off the man. As if she would ever have anything to do with Burke Kerrigan again!

Eden's temper got the better of her. “As a respectable lady,” she began tartly, “I trust I will be safe from the unwelcome attentions of a gentleman like yourself.” She left no doubt when she said
gentleman
that she meant exactly the opposite.

Kerrigan grinned. “You're right, of course. A gentleman like myself could hardly be expected to have a conversation with a lady—especially if the lady in question is determined to act
respectable
.”

Eden opened her mouth to retort and found herself with nothing to say. That man had a way of turning her own words against her that she found totally reprehensible. Chagrined literally beyond words, and anxious to escape the scrutiny in the dark eyes that followed her, Miss Devlin allowed Felton to escort her to their table.

Felton was furious with Kerrigan. Why his former friend had stuck a spoon in the stew with Eden Devlin, Felton had no idea. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought, from the sparks flying between them, that the two had a long-standing feud. But Kerrigan had just gotten into town last night, so that was clearly impossible.

Still, he didn't like it. Felton had told Kerrigan about his serious intentions toward Miss Devlin. Maybe Kerrigan didn't realize that meant the “share-and-share-alike” rules they had followed with women in the past didn't apply in this instance. He would have to make sure Kerrigan got the message before he provoked another scene with Miss Devlin.