The Lady and the Lawman (32 page)

And
the new dead body. Who the hell was he, and how did he get Maggie's
bag? Why did Dalton want him dead? Whatever his motives, Dalton had
what he wanted, two dead stage robbers and another man who wouldn't
talk.

If
there was only anyone else to tie Dalton to the robbery, their time
was most likely very short. It was up to Grant to track down anyone
else who might be involved before he turned up dead, too. A dead man
was a quiet man, and he needed people to talk. Loud and clear.

“
Damn
you, Dalton.” He swore under his breath.

She
heard him and arched a brow in question. “You still think Dalton’s
behind this?”

He
grimaced at the thought and nodded.

“
What
did Dalton do to make you hate him so?”

Old
memories fueled his anger and bitterness at his one-time friend. He
stood abruptly and paced the room.

“
Years
ago, he had his sights set on my sister, Amy.” Pausing, he thought
back. “She was sixteen and innocent. Dalton was her escort one
evening for a dance. On the way home he made...advances on her. When
she arrived home, her dress was torn in places,” he continued
slowly, the memories still painful. “She was hysterical,
inconsolable.”

“
Dear
God.” Maggie’s hand covered her mouth in shock.

“
He’d
raped her.”

Maggie’s
eyes closed at the words.

“
He
said she came on to him, but she was only sixteen. Sixteen!”

Dalton
had been his friend. He hadn’t been there to protect his sister. It
had been his fault. The old feelings of guilt returned like a ship
tossed in a storm.

“
It
was her word against his.” He finished with old anguish torturing
his words.

“
Your
father must have wanted to kill Dalton.”

He
shook his head. “Our parents were already dead.” His voice was
now hard. “I was her guardian.”

“
Why...why
weren’t there charges pressed against him?”

He
ran his fingers through his hair. “I wasn’t sheriff then. The old
lawman believed Dalton. The bastard had paid the man off, like
everyone else in this town.”

“
Tom
said she married?”

A
smile hinted at his mouth. “Yes, she did marry. A friend of a
friend was visiting from out of town. They had one look at each other
and that was it. Christopher was a decent enough man to overlook the
incident with Dalton. He always said if I had enough evidence to get
Dalton, I was to send for him. He wants to pull the trigger.”

She
reached out and gr
abbed
his hand as he walked by, stopping him in his tracks. He looked down
at her small shapely fingers. Her warmth seeped into him, thawing the
ice around his heart.

She
was so beautiful, and so
his
.
Dalton had ruined the life of his sister. Grant had no intention of
letting the man come between them, too.

Squeezing
her fingers, he pulled her to her feet. Their eyes met, close, face
to face. Her breath mingled with his. “Let’s forget about
Dalton.”

He
was desperate to make her his wife—in all aspects. The interference
of their lovemaking by the murder had turned Grant’s desire to
pain. His control was now close to snapping, and he didn’t want
Maggie to suffer because of his randy mood. He owed it to her to take
it slow, to teach her all there was between a man and a woman.

Grabbing
her wrist, he pulled her out into the hot, summer day. Thoughts of
her naked form pressed beneath his had him picking up his pace on the
boardwalk.

“
Are
we in a rush?” she asked, a bit breathless.

“
Hell,
yes.”

They
were crossing the dusty street when the first shot was fired. The
second followed almost immediately, and this time the bullet hit the
water trough behind them.

“
Get
down!” he shouted. He pushed Maggie to the ground, his large frame
landing heavily on top of her. His weight was probably crushing her,
but she said nothing.

As
he pulled his gun from his holster, he looked up and tried to find
the shooter. The first bullet had gone wide, the second hit to their
left. The shooter had to be at some distance and using a rifle;
otherwise they’d both be dead.

Someone
shouted and pointed to the top of Croft’s. Grant spun around and
aimed his gun in the direction of the saloon, five or six buildings
away. No one was on the roof, but the false front made it difficult
to see. All that moved were flimsy curtains in the open windows on
the second floor.

Townspeople
had ducked into the nearest buildings for protection, leaving only
Maggie and Grant in the street.

“
When
I tell you, I want you to run into the Mercantile. It’s right
behind us. Don’t stop, don’t look back, don’t do anything but
run. Understand?”

He
felt her head bob beneath his shoulder. He’d assume that was a yes.

He
came up on one knee and fired toward Croft’s rooftop.

“
Go!”

She
sprinted to the Mercantile as he aimed his gun toward the saloon. He
heard the door slam shut behind him as his gun emptied of ammunition.
Dust settled about him and mud soaked into his pant leg as he dove
for protection behind the water trough.

He
listened, but could only hear his loud breath and thundering heart. A
slight breeze made the air stir a bit cooler, but all was quiet. It
appeared the shooter had made his attempt and had run. Fortunately,
the man was a terrible shot. Cautiously, he made his way to the
Mercantile, and to Maggie.

***

Grant
entered the Mercantile and searched for Maggie. He found her as s
he
peered
above the counter. A rush of relief flooded him. Her safety was the
only thing he cared about.

Running
to him, she threw herself into his arms, her face pressed into his
shoulder. She started to cry.

He
held her tightly as he moved away from the window. She felt so good
pressed against him. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice a
bit desperate, his eyes roving over her face, her bo
dy.
He cupped her head and brushed her tears away with his thumbs.

She
nodded into his shirt. After a minute, she asked, “Why...who shot
at us?”

His
hands moved up and down her back, to reassure himself as much as her.
His chin rested on top of her head. “I don’t know who it was.”

“
I
don’t understand.” She lifted her head and looked up at him.

“
I
think I’m just beginning to,” he replied. His blood, which had
been racing, was finally starting to slow. Somehow, they’d come out
unharmed. Maybe a few scratches, but unharmed.

The
shooter had been aiming for Maggie. Someone wanted her dead. The
reason was clear, especially after the murder the night before. The
men from the stage couldn't link Dalton to the murders, but someone
must have talked. Someone else knew Dalton was involved, so he was
killing them off one by one. But Maggie was the only person alive who
knew what really happened at the stage. If she were eliminated,
Dalton would have no witness to his crime.

Dalton.

The
bastard was being careful. He was removing every possibility of
implication through murder. She'd killed one of the men for him.
Dalton had gotten lucky there. But that’s where it stopped.

As
Grant stroked his hand down her silky mane, he was more than thankful
they were both safe. Now they needed to track down their shooter, and
to do that, they needed to go to Croft’s.

“
I
want you to stay here with Mr. Hodges.”
Her grip tightened on
his sleeves. “Why? Where are you going?”

“
I
need to go to Croft’s. The shooter will have left a trail and it
starts there.”

“
The
man was shooting at me, wasn’t he?”

“
Yes,”
he replied honestly, but worried about how she might handle that
truth.

“
Do
you think it was Dalton?”

He
had surmised as much, and was pleased by her logical mind. Beauty and
brains. He was a lucky man. “Probably not. Dalton wouldn’t get
his hands dirty with this. Someone else he hired to do the job, most
likely.”

“
I
want to go with you.”

“
To
Croft’s?”

She
shook her head. A blush crept into her cheeks and her hand absently
brushed over his lapels, her thumbs tickling his skin at the opening
of his shirt.

“
Where...what—?”

Looking
over her shoulder to Mr. Hodges, she darted her eyes to the shop
owner and back to Grant. Pulling on his shirt, she stood up on her
tiptoes and whispered in his ear, her breath enticing him as much as
what she said.

At
her words, he grabbed her hands tightly. “Got a back door, Mr.
Hodges?”

***

Grant
was none too gentle as he led her across town, darting through the
back alleyway be
tween
buildings toward his...
their
home.

She
couldn’t believe her boldness at his reaction. At the news of their
intended trip to Croft’s, she had been disappointed with her
husband’s focus. Hadn’t he told her since he met her he wanted
her? Desired her? Of course the shooter needed to be brought to
justice and be penalized.

Ever
since the banging on the front door interrupted their lovemaking the
previous night, her mind had been focused on one thing. Grant in bed.
Naked. Sure, it was brazen of her. She couldn’t help it. She was in
love with Grant and the realization only made her need for him grow.
To show him how much she loved him, she wanted—no, needed—to give
herself entirely to him. To make her his. With everyone trying to
kill her, she didn’t want to die an almost-virgin. She didn't want
her only chance at lovemaking to have been William's painful
fumbling.

Reliving
the words she’d whispered to him, she blushed. She’d never
seduced a man before, and hopefully, her words were a start. From his
actions, it seemed she had been successful.

Grant
had found the back door to the Mercantile quickly. A poor fit made
the door stick. He kicked the door open with the heel of his boot in
one motion without releasing his hold on her. He slammed the door
shut behind them with more vehemence than necessary.

Their
pace was quick, yet careful. By the time they reached the house, she
was all but running to keep up.

He
opened the front door, pulled her inside with one yank on her wrist.
The room was cool, light filtering through the muslin curtains at the
windows. All was quiet except for their ragged breathing.

The
intensity blazing in his eyes was enough to scare her. But it didn’t.
When he placed one hand next to her head on the door and leaned in,
she should’ve been afraid. But she wasn’t.
He
lowered his head,
his
mouth enveloping hers with enough heat to set her aflame, she let him
come.

Her
arms circled his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened as he
coaxed her mouth open and their tongues met, mated. A groan bubbled
from deep down inside her, making him angle his head and delve
impossibly deeper.

Oxygen
was not needed. Grant was supplying all the life giving she needed.
His spare hand ran across her cheek, then lower, caressing her nape,
then moving to the buttons on her shirt. Each button seemed an
impediment to her, blocking Grant from her heated skin she
desperately wanted him to touch.