The Widow's Little Secret

No one else was in the restaurant—not Mrs. Nance, who did the cooking, or the Spencer girls, who served the guests, or Billy, who washed the dishes. None of them had probably even considered that Mattie would open for business today.

She gripped the platter tightly. None of them knew how desperately she needed to open the restaurant today.

And no one would ever know.

Another wave of humiliation washed over Mattie, bearing down on her painfully, bringing the memory of her husband into her mind. How could she have been so stupid?

When Del Ingram had arrived in Stanford a year ago, he’d taken one look at her and sworn he’d fallen desperately in love. And Mattie had believed him. He’d been so convincing, how could she not? He’d been kind and thoughtful. He’d brought her gifts, praised her every move. He’d been mannerly, well dressed, wise and worldly. He seemed like a godsend.

Mattie had been lonely since both her parents had died the year before Del’s arrival. She’d stayed in the house they built and taken over the restaurant they started, and she’d done well for herself. In fact, the restaurant had improved considerably under her ownership.

It helped that her mother was no longer around to do the cooking. Mama, bless her heart, wasn’t the best of cooks. Mattie had hired Mrs. Nance and business really picked up.

With pride, Mattie gazed around the kitchen, through the door to the dining room. She’d made other changes as well. Blue checkered linens on the tables, vases with fresh flowers from Mrs. Donovan’s garden. She improved the menu to offer heartier meals.

As a result, the restaurant looked so inviting and the food tasted so delicious diners appeared often and regularly, including the mayor and the reverend with their wives and children, out-of-town guests and dignitaries. The town’s businessmen had made the Cottonwood Café their spot for breakfast almost every morning. She sent a wagon over to the train depot to bring in diners during their layover. Almost no one commented on the modest price increase she’d made.

All of her changes had paid off handsomely. Everything was going wonderfully. And still seemed to be when Del arrived in town.

Mattie sighed in the empty kitchen remembering how lonely she’d been back then. Even with the restaurant keeping her busy day and night, she’d led a solitary life.

She’d longed for family, wished for her house to come alive with voices and laughter as it had when her parents were alive. She’d caught herself watching enviously as women in town strolled the streets with new babies in their arms. After all, she was twenty-one years old, certainly of sufficient age to have a family of her own.

Del had come along, seemingly just the sort of man she’d prayed for. Then, everything had changed.

After their marriage, which many in town had cautioned her against simply because no one really knew him at the time, another side of her husband emerged. Lazy, shiftless, domineering. He’d insisted on taking over her finances. He’d shouted at her when she questioned what he was doing with her money. He began to spend more and more time away from home. Some nights he hadn’t come home at all.

Mattie sagged against the worktable, holding the serving platter against her stomach. She’d never known where she’d gone wrong as a wife. She’d lain awake nights wondering what to do. She hadn’t wanted anyone to know the state of her marriage, or how she was treated by her husband—a man the town admired because he was so good at deceiving everyone, as he’d deceived her. She couldn’t admit how wrong she’d been in marrying him.

Mattie pinched the bridge of her nose, her mind spinning. It seemed that now, this morning, she could hardly stand up under the weight of it.

If only she could forget.

She bolted upright. Oh, heavens. Last night.

The kitchen door burst open with a gust of cold wind, and a man filled the doorway, his hat pulled low, his long coat whipping around him.

The serving platter slipped from Mattie’s hand and shattered on the floor.

Oh, heavens. Last night.

He slammed the door and crossed the kitchen, his gaze sharp and penetrating beneath the brim of his hat. Mattie gulped and backed up a step.

Stopping in front of her, the shattered platter on the floor between them, he gave her a long, grim look.

“I woke up and you were gone,” he said, and his tone told her he was none too happy about it.

“I had to leave,” she said.

“Why?” His gaze hardened. “Because you were done with me?”

Heat bloomed across Mattie’s face, reddening her cheeks as a deeper wave of humiliation swept through her. She’d thrown herself at him—a perfect stranger. She’d asked him to make love to her—practically begged him to do it.

How could she have done such a thing? Never in her life had she even imagined doing such a reckless thing.

Mattie turned away, unable to look him in the eye. “Last night…last night was a mistake, Mr….” She glanced back at him. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“McQuaid,” he growled. “Jared McQuaid.”

Mattie gulped, trying to force down her embarrassment. “Oh, well, yes of course. I remember.” She cleared her throat. “As I said, Mr. McQuaid, last night was a mistake.”

“You didn’t seem to think so just before dawn.”

She winced, remembering what they’d been doing at that particular moment, and her cheeks burned anew. “Well, no, I suppose I didn’t. But still, it shouldn’t have happened.”

“Why not?” he asked. “Seemed to me you needed it.”

She moaned with humiliation and squeezed her eyes closed for a moment, clasping her hand to her chest.

“Why wouldn’t you?” he asked. “Your husband hadn’t made love to you in months.”

She gasped and spun to face him again. “How did you know that?”

“You told me.”

“I told you that?” she wheezed.

“Yeah. You said it somewhere between ‘make me forget’ and ‘don’t stop now.”’ Jared leaned closer. “Sound familiar?”

“Oh, heavens…” Mattie spun away, unable to tolerate the heat of his gaze, or the heat burning inside her.

She stalked to the cupboard at the rear of the kitchen and pulled out the broom and dustpan, desperate for something to do. But when she started sweeping up the broken serving platter she felt even more conspicuous with Jared scrutinizing her every move.

Her skin tingled where his gaze touched her. Memories of last night sprang into her mind. She’d never experienced such a night—never imagined it was possible to do some of the things they’d done. Even on his best night, Del, her own husband, had been woefully lacking in comparison.

Mattie cast a furtive glance at the man towering over her, then focused her gaze on her chore. Jared McQuaid was ruggedly handsome. Well over six feet tall; she remembered brushing her legs against his longer ones during the night.

He had big shoulders and arms; he’d rolled her around the bed with considerable ease. A hard chest; her fingers had raked over it a good portion of the night. Thick, black hair; she’d yanked on it more than once.

Now, this morning in the light, she saw that his eyes were blue. The very last secret the man held.

Thanks to her wanton behavior last night.

Mattie cringed, a deeper heat crackling inside her.

But he’d made her forget, just as he’d boasted he could. She’d forgotten all her troubles. And how welcome that had been, even for those few hours.

His strength went beyond the physical. In her kitchen last night she’d seen it. Jared McQuaid could carry the weight of his own troubles, plus hers and dozens more.

Another shudder passed through Mattie and her cheeks heated again. Embarrassment. Humiliation.

What else could it be?

Mattie made tiny strokes with the broom, trying to make the chore last as long as possible. If he saw she was busy maybe he would simply go away.

She wanted him to go away. Good gracious, how she wanted him to leave. She never wanted to lay eyes on this Jared McQuaid again, or to be reminded of last night.

She’d propositioned a stranger. Wrestled him like a wild bear. And liked it.

A little whimper slipped through Mattie’s lips at the thought. She dashed to the trash bin with the dustpan full of broken china, and took her time emptying it.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she said a silent prayer that when she turned around, Jared McQuaid would be gone.

“Why are you here today?” she heard him ask.

With a sigh she turned and saw him wave his big hand around the kitchen.

“Nobody expects you to be open for business,” he said. “Not today.”

Mattie stuffed the broom and dustpan into the cupboard, a little peeved that he wouldn’t take the hint, do the decent thing and leave her alone with her humiliation.

“Since you’re brimming over with my personal information, and have such an excellent memory of everything I said last night, perhaps you’ll recall that my husband left me penniless? I have to open for business today.”

“No, you don’t,” he said softly. “What you’ve been through isn’t easy to bear. You need some time.”

“I hope you won’t think I’m rude, Mr. McQuaid, when I point out that this is none of your business.”

“You made it my business,” he told her. “Last night.”

She faltered and touched her hand to her throat. “I know you feel…used…under the circumstances.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Circumstances?”

“Yes.” Mattie tried to look at him, but failed. “The circumstances in which I…used you.”

She felt his gaze burn hotter against her skin, and Mattie wished with all her heart that she could simply disappear in a puff of smoke. It was too much. All of it. Everything she’d been through in the past three days was simply too much to bear.

Seeing Del fall from the roof, one of the very few times he’d done something useful at the house.

Realizing that her husband was dying before her eyes.

Hearing his confession.

Knowing what a fool she’d been.

Thinking how disappointed her parents would have been in her.

Imagining what everyone would say about her, if they found out.

Pretending, in front of the whole town.

And now this.

A lump rose in Mattie’s throat, closing it off, bringing a mist of tears to her eyes. She looked up at Jared and knew she owed him an apology. But somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to say she was sorry.

“Mr. McQuaid—” Her voice broke. Mattie gulped down the knot of emotion and tried again. “Mr. McQuaid, I realize you owe me nothing and I have no right to ask anything else of you, but I would appreciate it if you would leave.”

He didn’t leave. Instead, he studied her for a long moment, then eased closer until she could feel the heat of his body.

“You’re going to have to figure out a way to deal with your husband’s betrayal, Mattie,” he said. “But don’t be sorry you reached out for help last night. Don’t be sorry you needed somebody.”

He touched her chin and brought her face around.

“Don’t be sorry it was me,” he whispered.

And with that, Jared McQuaid walked out the kitchen door of the Cottonwood Café.

As he stalked down the boardwalk, people got out of his way. Jared strode into the newspaper office, then went to the jail. The sheriff was there, limping on his makeshift crutch, cursing the pain of his gunshot wound.

Jared signed the paperwork, took custody of the prisoners and marched them to the train station at gun-point. He loaded them into the baggage car, chained their leg irons to the floor and went back out to the platform.

The wind snapped his coat around his knees as he stared down Main Street. Prosperous businesses, likable people; this was a good town.

His gaze landed on the Cottonwood Café, the sign barely visible at the other end of town.

Mattie Ingram.

Yeah, he’d made her forget, all right.

Now, how was he going to manage it?

Chapter Three

“Two months? Two months gone by since you were here the last time?” Mayor Rayburn asked.

“Almost three,” Jared said.

“Well, if that don’t beat all…”

Standing with the mayor inside the sheriff’s office, Jared could hardly believe how quickly the time had passed since his first visit to Stanford.

Or how much had happened.

“Where does the time go?” the mayor lamented, stroking his gray side whiskers. “Anyway, take it from me and the town council, we’re plum tickled to have you here in Stanford, to stay this time.”

Jared looked down at the mayor, dressed in his cravat and the rumpled suit that hung loosely on his thin frame. “Too bad about Sheriff Hickert.”

“Yep. A damn shame, all right. Tricky thing about them gunshot wounds. Don’t heal right, sometimes. He tried to handle his duties, but just couldn’t manage anymore.” The mayor clasped Jared’s arm. “But I know you’re going to do us a fine job in his place. Stanford is a good town, full of good people. We want to keep it that way.”

The mayor and the men of the town council had said those exact words to Jared shortly after he’d arrived on the train this morning, when they’d sworn him in to office at the mayor’s house. In fact, Jared had heard those words three times now.

“You can count on it,” he declared.

“Just what I like to hear.” The mayor rubbed his palms together. “Let me know if there’s anything you’re needing.”

“I’ll do that,” Jared said, and followed him outside.

“Me and the missus will have you over for supper some night,” Mayor Rayburn said, and headed off across the street.

Jared stood on the boardwalk watching the horses, wagons and buggies move along Main Street. Miners, women and children, gentlemen in suits and cowboys wearing guns went about their business.

Jared’s chest swelled a little.

Stanford. His town.

He glanced down his vest. Gone was the U.S. Marshal’s badge he’d worn for nearly ten years. In its place was the tin star declaring him Stanford’s sheriff.

When last here, he’d signed up for a subscription to the Stanford Gazette on his way out of town. Despite the sporadic mail service and the duties that had kept him on the trail, he’d actually received a few issues. Enough for him to follow the story of Sheriff Hickert, who’d never fully recovered from his gunshot wound. Enough to learn that Stanford needed a new lawman. Jared had telegrammed, asking for the job, and within a few weeks got the answer he’d hoped for.

It hadn’t taken much for Jared to make the life-changing decision. Hunkered down by a feeble camp-fire one cold night, with the wind biting his ears, Jared had thought about why he’d been so envious of Del Ingram, a dead man.

Ingram had everything Jared didn’t have—a town, a home, a family, the respect of decent people. In that moment, Jared had realized that’s what he wanted for himself.

True, he’d had no desire for any of those things for a long time, for a lot of reasons. But that was behind him now. Jared knew where his future lay.

So here he was.

Jared rested his thumbs in his gun belt and scanned Main Street one final time before going into the sheriff’s office. His office.

Not only did he have an office, he had a deputy who, at this very minute, was out keeping an eye on the streets of Stanford. He’d met Drew Tanner at the mayor’s house this morning. Tanner looked a little young and seemed a little green, but he had some experience and he was eager.

As sheriff’s offices went, this one was as good as any. Jared surveyed his desk, his racks of rifles, Wanted posters nailed to the walls, the little stove in the corner with the rocking chair next to it. Down the hallway were two cells, both empty at the moment.

Jared’s living quarters were there, too. The room was small, but it held everything he needed: a bunk, a washstand, a bureau. A place he could hang his hat every single night.

No more meals around a campfire. No more cold nights on the trail. No more hunting down lawbreakers who would knife him in the back or blow his head off given a second’s opportunity. He’d never have a daily dose of those kind of men again.

Jared smiled in the quiet office. The town of Stanford was peaceful as a Sunday morning, tame as a speckled pony. He could do his sheriff duties in his sleep.

Jared drew in a deep, satisfied breath. Yep, he was going to like it here in Stanford.

Pausing at the little mirror beside the stove, Jared straightened his badge and pulled his hat a little lower over one eye. He gave himself a brisk nod, then walked out into the streets of his town.

Spring had come to Stanford and should have been gone by now, but the pleasant weather hung on. The morning was warm. A hint of a breeze stirred.

Citizens crowded the boardwalks and the streets, going about their business. Jared strolled along, looking things over, watching for trouble, getting the lay of the place.

And looking for Mattie Ingram.

He stopped abruptly outside the Stanford Mercantile, realizing that his first walk-through of the town had taken him directly to the Cottonwood Café.

Well, why shouldn’t he head here first? It was the heart of the business district, he told himself. Nearby was the bank, the assay office and most of the shops. Places likely to draw criminal activity. Mattie and her Cottonwood Café didn’t have anything to do with it.

Jared pulled on his chin. No sense in lying to himself.

Mattie had been on his mind—and in his dreams—almost continually since he’d laid eyes on her. Since their night together.

Mattie was a widow, Jared reminded himself, her husband dead not quite three months yet. Of course, after what she’d told him about Ingram, Jared doubted she’d done too much grieving over him.

But after her proper period of mourning, dare he hope to court her himself? A little smile pulled at Jared’s lips. Yep, that’s exactly what he could do.

In the meantime, he’d have to settle for looking at her. Of course, he could talk to her, too. Have supper at her restaurant.

Think about rolling around in bed with her.

Heat rushed through Jared, pumping his blood faster. Damn, after all this time, thoughts of making love to Mattie still had the same affect on him.

He walked a little faster, trying to push those images out of his mind before he gave the townsfolk an impression of their new sheriff he didn’t want them to have.

But, as if he didn’t have a will of his own, Jared’s feet carried him across the street to the Cottonwood Café. He peered through the window. Only one table was occupied.

Good, he thought. If the restaurant wasn’t busy, that meant Mattie would have time to talk to him. But he didn’t want their reunion to take place in front of an audience. Jared circled the building.

As he walked he allowed himself to indulge in a little fantasy. On those long, lonely nights on the trail he’d often found himself thinking about how Mattie might react when she saw him again.

His favorite conjured-up scene was the one where she took one look at him, shucked off her clothes and jumped into bed with him.

Jared pulled on his chin. A hell of a nice vision—one he’d about worn out—but not likely to happen.

Next was the one where she confessed that she’d pined endlessly for him, prayed for his return, then shucked off her clothes and jumped into bed with him.

He’d even imagined that she said she loved him—then shucked off her clothes and jumped into bed with him.

“Damn…”

Jared shook his head, getting himself under control. Fact was, the best he could hope for when Mattie saw him was a smile on her face. That would be plenty. A smile would mean she was happy to see him. A smile meant…everything.

Rounding the corner of the restaurant, Jared stopped. His heart thundered in his chest.

Mattie stood on the back steps, holding on to the railing, gazing up at the sky. His insides seemed to melt.

Lord, what a pretty woman she was. At times over the past months he’d wondered if his imagination had turned her into something she wasn’t. But seeing her now, he knew that wasn’t true. Mattie was as pretty as he remembered.

She had on a gray dress with a black lace collar and cuffs. Proper mourning attire for a widow, but it did nothing to hide her swells and curves.

Jared headed toward the back steps, anxious to see her up close, talk to her. What the hell? Maybe she would shuck off her clothes and jump into bed with him.

“Mattie?” he called.

She spun around. Only a second passed before recognition bloomed on her face. Her eyes widened.

A little whimper slipped from Mattie’s lips. She splayed her fingers across her stomach.

“Surprise,” he said.

Mattie slapped her hand over her mouth and raced to the outhouse.

Jared frowned as he pushed his hat back on his head and watched the outhouse door bang shut behind her.

“Well, damn…” he muttered. Never ever had he imagined the sight of him would send her running to the privy.

The restaurant door opened and a gray-haired woman stepped outside, wiping her hands on a linen towel.

Jared looked at her hopefully. “Something she ate?”

Mattie slumped against the door of the outhouse, the coarse wood digging into her forehead. She had to get out of this airless little shed. The smell, the heat…

Her stomach rolled. Mattie swallowed quickly, fearful she’d be sick again.

But she didn’t want to go outside. He was there.

Her heart banged in her chest. What was he doing here? Why had he come back? And why did it have to be now?

Did he know? Had he somehow found out?

Mattie touched her palm to her stomach. Flat, still. No outward sign of the baby—his baby.

No, he couldn’t know, she decided. He couldn’t possibly know.

What should she do? Mattie thought frantically. Tell him?

Weeks ago when she’d found out she was carrying his child, she’d decided not to contact him. His presence would only complicate things.

Mattie twisted her fingers together. But now he was here. Did that change things?

Drawing in a deep breath, Mattie fought off the nausea that had plagued her for weeks, her spirits lifting a little as she realized that, like before, Jared McQuaid would be in town for only a day or so to pick up prisoners, probably. Then he’d be gone. All she had to do was keep her condition a secret from him—which would be a snap, since she didn’t intend to speak to the man—and by tomorrow he’d be gone, none the wiser.

And her baby’s future would be safe again.

Mattie gulped a few times, fighting off another wave of nausea and an unsettling nudge from her conscience.

“Mattie?” Mrs. Nance called from outside.

Bless her, the dear woman had been such a comfort—her only comfort, really.

Slowly, Mattie opened the door to Mrs. Nance’s smile. The woman was stout, with a lifetime of lines on her face.

“Feeling better?” she asked.

“Well, no…not really.”

Mrs. Nance patted her hand. “All perfectly normal. Come along, dear.”

Mattie didn’t move. “Is—is that man still out there?”

“The new sheriff, you mean?” Mrs. Nance asked.

“The—what?”

“Jared McQuaid. The new sheriff,” she explained. Mattie’s stomach heaved. She fought it down, along with a rising wave of panic. “We have a new sheriff?”

“You hadn’t heard?” Mrs. Nance nodded. “I guess not. You’ve had your mind on other things lately.”

Yes, that was certainly true. Her queasy stomach—on top of all her other problems.

“He’s the new sheriff? Stanford’s sheriff?” Mattie asked. “Here permanently?”

“Just arrived this morning, and here to stay, he says.”

Mattie clamped her lips together to hold in her groan.

“You need to get off your feet for a while,” Mrs. Nance said, and led her from the outhouse.