Whirlwind Groom (2 page)

T
he sheriff was going to be a problem, Josie fumed as she ducked inside Haskell's General Store just to escape the hard gaze boring into her back. A thin man, only about six inches taller than her five-foot-three, was showing a customer to the boots in the far corner of the store. Although she took in the colorful bolts of fabric, barrels of nails and a stack of wooden tubs around her, her mind was on Davis Lee Holt.

She burned to march back to him and demand he give Ian McDougal over to her, but she knew that would be futile. In the past two years, her faith in the law had been shaken. Or perhaps she had simply had her eyes opened.

The fact that Ian McDougal had run out of her house and smack into her after killing her parents and fiancé had been dismissed out of hand. Despite the attorney and sheriff who knew she told the truth, Judge Shelton Horn had declared her testimony wasn't enough to convene a trial for the murderer. But the real reason the judge had let McDougal walk away was because he had never gotten over the fact that Josie's mother had chosen her father over him all those years ago.

The thought of the people Josie had loved and lost tight
ened her chest. And the prospect of having to deal with Whirlwind's lawman settled a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Sheriff Holt threw her off balance. She had never planned on telling him about Galveston and yet she'd been so confounded when he walked right up to her that she had blurted out where she was from the instant he asked.

She certainly couldn't watch the jail from that alley anymore so she had to find another place. And if Holt kept interfering, she would have to stay in Whirlwind a lot longer than she had planned.

She had to be extremely careful next time, but she had every intention of getting access to Ian McDougal.

Then killing him.

Up close Sheriff Holt was rugged and compelling and one of the most handsome men she'd ever seen. It wasn't hard to imagine that his blue eyes would go razor sharp if he were crossed. And the stubborn jaw told her that the man could intimidate if he chose, tin star or no tin star.

Surely the sheriff was gone by now. She edged between a wooden crate full of brooms and a barrel of pickles. The strong smell of brine reached her as she peeked out the wide front window of the general store. When she didn't see the tall, lanky lawman, she left and started across the street for the Whirlwind Hotel. Another hotel, still under construction, stood at the other end of town, but Josie would've chosen the Whirlwind anyway because of its view of the jail.

Halting for a passing wagon, she mentally calculated the money stashed in her hidden skirt pocket. Being as good a seamstress as her mother, Josie had taken on Virginia Webster's customers after her mother's death so she had money to pay for her stay at the hotel. But she didn't know how long she might need to stay. She had to keep back a good part of her money for when she finished with McDougal and fled town.

Sunlight glittered off the windows of the town's busi
nesses. Josie shaded her eyes as she continued across the street, angling away from the jail and toward the hotel three buildings away.

How was she going to keep an eye on the outlaw now that she knew the sheriff was keeping an eye on
her?
Her spot in the alley had been perfect, but thanks to Holt, she couldn't go back there.

She had passed the telegraph and post office when an idea hit her. Stepping back a few feet into the street, she peered up at the hotel then shifted her gaze to the jail.

Smiling, her heels clicking against the planked porch, Josie hurried into the hotel and approached the long waxed wood counter.

Penn Wavers, the elderly clerk, slumped in a chair in the corner, snoring. Josie knew the gangly man was nearly deaf so she stomped on the floor, hoping the vibrations would wake him if her loud voice didn't. “Mr. Wavers!”

“Huh?” His head drooped and he bolted upright, his long white hair flying. He blinked a couple of times as he stepped to the counter. “Oh, hello, miss.”

“It looks like I'll be staying longer than I planned. I wonder if I might get a different room? Maybe one on the west side and closer to the front of the hotel?”

“Is there something wrong?” Age filmed his blue eyes, but they were kind. “If so, I'll fix it.”

“No, sir. Nothing like that.” She smiled. “It's just that I'm a dressmaker and since I have to sit for such long periods, I like to watch the sights. It relieves the tedium.”

“I've been told it's louder in those front rooms. Wouldn't you rather have something else?”

“I don't mind the noise. I'm used to it, being from Galveston and all. I'm a little homesick.”

“Well, miss, I don't mind moving you, but those rooms cost a little extra.”

“Even though they're noisier?”

“They're a mite bigger,” he explained apologetically.

More money? She had brought a few pieces of sewing from Galveston to finish up for some of her mother's regular customers, but she wouldn't be paid until she delivered the items. What would she do after that? She stared out the window, finally registering that the curtain hanging there was faded and worn.

“What would you think about making a bargain with me, Mr. Wavers?”

“What kind of barn?”

“No, a bargain,” she said louder.

“Oh, a bargain.” He eyed her for a moment. “What did you have in mind?”

“A west room closer to the front of the hotel in exchange for new curtains.”

He glanced at the faded calico drooping limply at the two large front windows. “If I buy the fabric, would you be willing to make some new tablecloths for the dining hall, too?”

That would be perfect! She pretended to consider.

He leaned in. “You could trade that for room and meals, as well.”

Her one meal here, cooked by Mrs. Wavers, had been delicious. “All right, you've got a deal.”

They shook on it, both smiling.

Mr. Wavers reached into a pigeonhole beneath the counter and handed her a key to her new room. “When can you start on those curtains?”

“Today if you like. Would you like me to pick out the fabric or would you like to do it?”

“I'll leave that to you. The tablecloths, too.”

“Should I ask Mrs. Wavers if she has a preference as to color?”

“She can't tell blue from green.” He gestured at Josie's
well-fitted cotton daydress. “Besides, you seem to know what you're doing. I think she'd agree.”

“Wonderful! I'll move my things then pick out something at Haskell's.”

“I'll go tell Charlie to put whatever you need on the hotel's account. This will work out mighty fine.”

“I think so, too.”

“You must like Whirlwind if you're planning to stay.”

“It seems like a nice place.” She glanced out the window, half expecting to find Sheriff Holt staring back at her. “I met the sheriff today. He seems…pleasant. What is he like?”

“Heh.” Mr. Wavers peered at her. “You sweet on him?”

“No! Nothing like that.” Just because she got a shiver when thinking of those piercing blue eyes did not mean she was sweet on him. She simply wanted to know what she was up against. “I'm…curious.”

“He's a fine man. Had his share of troubles, but who hasn't?”

Josie nodded, wondering what troubles the lawman had experienced. He had plainly wanted to know if she were married; she wondered the same about him. Perhaps his coming over to her only meant he was dedicated about doing his job, but Josie knew she couldn't let down her guard around him.

“Thank you for letting me switch rooms, Mr. Wavers,” she said in a raised voice. “I'll go move my things.”

She patted his hand and headed upstairs, smiling broadly.

Between the sewing she had brought to finish and the new curtains and tablecloths for the hotel, she would be busier than a one-armed bank robber. She needed to work quickly on the hotel's items since she didn't know how soon she would be leaving.

But for now she could watch the jail from her new room without attracting notice. When the time was right, she
would make sure Ian McDougal saw justice. And that handsome sheriff wasn't going to get in her way.

 

It had been two days since Davis Lee had seen Josie Webster's pretty little hide in the alley. Since he'd seen her
anywhere.
So where was she? Was she still watching his jail? In case she was, he had taken the precaution of rearranging his schedule, which had caused him to miss his hot pie. If she had left town using the stage or a rig rented from the livery, he would've known.

Either she had left town by some other means or she was up to something. Intending to find out which, he shackled McDougal to the bars of his cell before going outside and locking the door to his office. He walked a slow but thorough path through town. No sign of her. When she'd left him the other day she had slipped into Haskell's, so Davis Lee made the general store his last stop before the hotel. Maybe Charlie had seen her.

Davis Lee walked into the store, catching the sweet tang of apples as he said hello to Cal Doyle's wife, Lizzie, who was leaving.

Charlie Haskell stood behind the scratched wooden counter, polishing his spectacles. The store owner was small-framed and spare. “Morning, Davis Lee. What can I do for you today?”

Mitchell Orr, Charlie's eighteen-year-old nephew who helped in the store and kept the books, ducked through the faded blue curtain separating the store from the back office. He was dressed just as his uncle in dark trousers and a white shirt with suspenders. His wiry arms held several bolts of white fabric and a red, blue and yellow calico. “Hello, Sheriff.”

“Hey, Mitchell.” Davis Lee greeted the blond-haired boy before speaking to his uncle. “Just had a question, Charlie.
A woman came in here the other day. She's new to town. Has brown or well, maybe brownish-red hair—”

“You mean that pretty little thing who's staying at the Whirlwind Hotel?” Charlie peered at him over the top of his glasses, his brown eyes sparking with interest.

Mitchell stopped at the edge of the counter. “Josie Webster?” he asked eagerly.

Davis Lee figured that a hundred unfamiliar women could have paraded through Haskell's General Store, and Charlie and Mitchell would've known Josie. They weren't likely to forget that heart-shaped face or that creamy skin. Or the graceful curves that made a man crazy to put his hands on her. He sure hadn't been able to forget. “Yeah, that's her.”

“She's been in a couple of times,” Mitchell offered.

“When was the last time y'all saw her?”

Charlie thought for a minute.

“She was in yesterday for more thread,” the younger man said.

“And the day before to buy fabric for the hotel,” Charlie added. “She's making new curtains and tablecloths for Penn and Esther.”

“Is that right?” So it appeared she had decided to stay, at least for a while. Did that decision have anything to do with Ian McDougal?

Mitchell nodded at his burden. “This is the rest of the fabric Miss Webster ordered. We didn't have all she needed so I had to go over to Abilene. I about cleaned out that store.” He edged his way out from behind the counter. “I'll take this over to her at the hotel, Uncle. Won't be long.”

“Hold up there, Mitchell.” Davis Lee stepped in front of him. “I already have to stop by the hotel. I'd be happy to deliver that for you.”

“Oh, I don't mind.”

“Since I'm already going there, it won't put me out.” He didn't need an excuse to talk to her, but delivering the fabric
provided him with a better chance of getting into her room, seeing if he could find anything to confirm his suspicions about her.

Charlie motioned for his nephew to give the cloth to Davis Lee. “She in some kind of trouble?”

“No.” She
is
trouble. And he aimed to find out how much. He took the stack from the boy, who looked disappointed. “Just saving you a trip.”

“If I were twenty years younger, I'd take it myself.” Charlie chuckled. “Can't say as I blame you, Sheriff.”

Davis Lee grinned, not bothering to correct the man's assumption that he was romantically interested in Josie Webster.

A few minutes later, Davis Lee stood at the hotel's registration desk, loaded down with four bolts of fabric. “Penn, I've got a delivery here for Miz Webster,” he said loudly. “Is she here?”

“I believe so.” The man's wizened features creased in a smile. “You working for Charlie now, Sheriff?”

“Just helping out.”

“She's in room 214.”

“Thanks.” Davis Lee started up the scratched pine staircase, his boots scuffing the freshly swept wood.

“No, no, that's not right, Sheriff,” Penn said. “She's not in that room anymore.”

Halfway up the staircase, Davis Lee turned.

“She's in room 200 now. I forgot she asked to move a couple of days ago.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Said she wanted a room at the front of the hotel so she could have a view while she sewed.”

Davis Lee's eyes narrowed. That was why he hadn't seen her in the alley since that encounter a couple of days ago. Since he already thought she was hiding something, this news made him even more determined to find out what.

“Thanks, Penn. I'll get this stuff up to her.” He reached the top of the second-story landing and turned to the right, going down the hall until he got to the last room. A room he knew had a bird's-eye view of town. And his jail.

She answered his knock right away, her eyes widening when she opened the door. “Sheriff!”

He couldn't tell if it was surprise or dismay he heard in her voice.

Her hair was down, sliding around her shoulders in a silky curtain of rich brown with a shy touch of red. She recovered, her green eyes cool and unreadable. “You have my fabric.”