Justin's Bride

“No, ma’am.”

“Sin makes its own kind of trouble. Are you here to cause trouble?”

“I’m here to keep trouble from happening. I enforce the law, Mrs. Dobson.”

“I hope you’re right. It’s my recollection that trouble seems to find you whether you want it to or not.” She gave a little cackle. “Tongues are wagging over you. Guess you’ve set everyone on their ear. Now, help me down these stairs and be quick about it.” She softened her words with a smile.

He’d always thought of the old lady as one of the judgmental old guard. But after she’d tended his dying mother, he’d realized her gruff words hid a tender heart.

He held out his hand. She placed hers on top and he backed down the stairs, making sure she stayed balanced.

When they reached the planked boardwalk, she shook her head again. The black feather on her hat danced with the movement. “There’s folks who aren’t going to be happy to see you back here.”

“I kind of figured that. I aim to win them over to my side of things.”

“Is that why you came back?”

He handed her back her basket. “You be careful, ma’am. I wouldn’t want you to take a tumble. I might not be there next time.”

As she grabbed the basket, it shifted suddenly. A soft sound drifted out.

“Now, you girls hush,” Mrs. Dobson said. “We’ll be home soon. I’ve got some cream for you.” She looked up at him. “Kittens. Doc Ramsey told me their mother is a good mouser.”

She drew back the red-and-white-checkered cloth that covered the basket. He bent down. Three kittens were curled up together, feet and tails overlapping. Two were black-and-white with bits of marmalade color on their faces, the third was a small calico with big green eyes.

“I only wanted the two, but old Doc Ramsey snuck the third one inside with the others.” She glanced down and patted the kittens. “Silly thing is too small to be much good. But he said if I didn’t take it, he’d drown it.” She pulled the cover over the basket. “I’ve never had cats before. My dog always took care of the mice, but he didn’t make it through the winter. And with my fence in need of mending, another dog seemed like too much trouble.” She shifted her burden to her other hand. “So now I’ve got three cats. We’ll see if we like one another.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

She glanced around as if suddenly realizing how long they’d been talking. “Mercy, I’ve got to get on home. It wouldn’t do for me to be seen talking to a handsome young man. What would people say?” She gave him a quick smile, then turned away. “Thank you for helping me.”

“You’re welcome.” He watched her walk by the public water pump. Her basket bounced wildly as if the kittens had decided to start playing. They sure were cute, especially the little calico one.

He got the thought about the same time his feet started moving. It was a silly idea. Then he grinned. Why not?

“Mrs. Dobson,” he called as he hurried after her.

She stopped, turned and looked at him.

“If you don’t want the little cat, could I have her?”

She couldn’t have looked more shocked if he’d tried to steal a kiss. “You want a kitten? They’re not going to let you keep it in your room at the hotel.”

He didn’t bother asking how she knew where he was staying. The widow had always known everything about everybody. The only secret he’d ever kept in this town was the one about him and Megan. No one had known they’d been spending time together. No one had known that he’d asked her to marry him and she’d said yes. No one knew what she’d said to him that last day when he’d asked her to come away with him.

He pushed away those memories, knowing he would have to face them sometime but not wanting it to be today. “It’s a gift for someone.”

“A girl you’re bringing in from wherever you used to live?”

“There’s no girl coming, and no, I didn’t go and get married, either.”

Mrs. Dobson didn’t even have the grace to flush. She tilted her head. “You trust this person to take care of the cat?”

“Yes.”

“All right.” She reached in the basket and pulled out the little calico. “Here. She’s probably hungry, so don’t dawdle.”

He hadn’t been accused of dawdling since he’d been about eight, but there was no point in correcting her. He thanked her, tipped his hat and hurried toward the Bartlett General Store.

The kitten curled against his chest, then shivered. The wind was picking up in force and the temperature had dropped. He pulled open his coat and set the kitten into an inner pocket. After making sure the animal was comfortable, he carefully held the edges of his coat together tight enough to keep out the chill, but not so tight that she couldn’t breathe. He could feel the tiny vibration of her purring.

When he crossed the street in front of the general store, he stepped carefully so as not to jar the kitten, then shook his head in disgust. The little creature had probably received plenty of jostling in Mrs. Dobson’s basket. Still, he moved with care.

He was so intent on his passenger, he didn’t realize he was close to the store until he stopped in front of it. The big windows, ordered special from the East, gleamed. The painted name looked freshly touched up. Lace curtains hung over the glass in the door, and between the glass and lace was a sign saying Closed.

He swore under his breath. He should have remembered that the town kept winter hours until well after the spring thaw. Blizzards could crop up without warning, trapping the unwary for the night. Everything closed up early so that the shopkeepers had time to get home in the light. He shouldn’t have taken so long with Mrs. Dobson. No, he shouldn’t have taunted Megan in the beginning. Then he wouldn’t have to waste his time apologizing.

He was about to turn back toward his office, when he heard a door close. He looked around the side of the building and saw Megan walking briskly away from the back of the store. She was heading home. Justin started after her. If her sister had gone and married the town minister and Megan’s father had passed away, Megan most likely still lived in the Bartlett place on the edge of town. With her long dress and ladylike shoes, she would have to keep to the path. If he hurried, he could cut through the grove of trees behind the land office and beat her there.

“Hold on,” he told the kitten and circled around the front of the general store. He nearly bumped into a large man wearing a bloodied apron under his coat. “Evening, Mr. Greeley.”

“Evening. Justin Kincaid? Is that you?”

Justin didn’t bother to stop and chat. He tipped his hat and hurried along the boardwalk. Once past the land office, he headed directly into the trees. Without green leaves to hide the path, the way was easy to spot. He cupped one hand under the kitten and jogged through the grove.

When he came out the other side, he could see the Bartlett house sitting at the top of a small rise. It stood three stories tall, looking like a graceful old lady. Bare oak trees reached past the peaked roof. The setting sun reflected off the front windows. A wide porch circled the house, but all the outdoor furniture had been pushed to one side and covered with oilcloth. Bare patches of dirt showed where the garden would be, come spring.

He moved closer, fighting the memories. How many times had he stood just inside the grove of trees and stared at this house? He’d often willed Megan to come out and join him. Many afternoons, she had. One night, she’d crept out the back door and met him by the creek. They’d laughed and talked almost until dawn. Until he’d sent her inside because he’d wanted her so badly. Even as a young man, he’d known that Megan Bartlett wasn’t the kind of girl a man had his way with. She was the kind of girl a man married. That was why he’d proposed.

The familiar ache in his chest made him push the memories aside. He didn’t want to remember any of it. He wanted to apologize and be on his way.

He walked over to the front steps and sat down. Megan would be along any moment. The path she’d taken was longer, but only by about five minutes. He checked on the kitten. She’d fallen asleep in his pocket. He stroked the soft fur on her head. She stirred, blinked sleepily at him and yawned. Her tiny teeth made him smile. She sniffed his finger, then closed her eyes. Her soft purr faded as she went back to sleep.

The sound of footsteps on gravel made him look up. He could see Megan approaching. She carried a wrapped parcel under one arm. The other swung freely at her side. She looked up at the house and came to a complete stop.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I came to apologize.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“I don’t know. It’s the truth.”

She started walking again, this time moving quickly toward him, then up the stairs. “Nothing is ever simple with you, Justin. Do you know the kind of gossip there would be if someone spotted you here?” She opened the front door and ducked inside. “Hurry. Get in here before someone sees you. You might not care about the talk, but I do.”

He rose slowly and stepped onto the porch. For the first time in his life, he was going in through the front door. He should have been pleased, but he wasn’t. He’d been a fool to come back. Nothing had changed. Megan Bartlett still cared about her reputation more than anything in the world. And he was still just that bastard Justin Kincaid.

CHAPTER THREE

Megan held the door open impatiently as Justin slowly stepped inside. If she didn’t know better, she would swear he was taking as long as possible. Probably to punish her, she thought, shaking her head. She’d seen the anger in his eyes when just moments ago she’d accused him of not thinking of her reputation.

As soon as he was in the foyer, she slammed the door shut and adjusted the curtains on the side window. Her father had built the house on the far edge of town, opposite where all the new buildings had sprung up. He’d bought the surrounding land and enough of the woods to ensure privacy. Megan didn’t get many visitors, but it would only take one to see Justin sitting on her front porch. Within hours, the entire town would know he’d been there and her reputation would be ruined. Not that he cared.

She glared up at him. His brown eyes met hers and flashed with equal fire. The tension between them crackled. She wanted to stomp her foot with irritation.

“Aren’t you going to invite me to take a seat in the parlor?” he asked, his lazy drawl a direct contrast to the stiff set of his body and the angry, thin line of his mouth.

“No,” she said curtly, even as the reminder of good manners made her feel guilty. It was wrong to keep a guest standing in the foyer. But Justin wasn’t a guest. Thank goodness her father wasn’t alive to see this moment. Why he would have—

She swallowed hard as she met his stare. The tension she’d been aware of moments before charged the air. Like a summer electrical storm, when bolts of lightning ripped across the sky and loud claps of thunder echoed so forcefully the house shook. But during those storms there was no rain for relief, no soft patter of individual drops to provide counterpoint to the violence and beauty. And so it was in this room. There was the combination of anger and the past with nothing gentle to ease the intensity between them.

The skin on her arms puckered and a shiver raced down her spine. She lowered her gaze from Justin’s dark brown eyes to his mouth, then to his broad shoulders and chest. His thick coat only made him look more powerful. And masculine.

He was a man, a man who had always been able to make her forget what was right and proper. He’d always been able to make her forget herself and all her good intentions. The ticking of the clock in the parlor suddenly sounded very loud. The steady sound seemed to echo in the house, reminding her she was completely alone with him. There were no witnesses, and no one to come to her rescue.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice low and quavering.

He shook his head, as if coming out of a dream, then moved away from her. There was very little light penetrating the curtained windows and soon they would be in darkness. Justin walked to the lamp she kept by the front door. Without asking her permission, he lit it. When the wick caught, he adjusted the flame until it burned brightly. Casually, as if he had the entire evening, and more time besides, he unbuttoned his coat.

Megan clutched at the fasteners at her throat. He hadn’t done anything untoward, but she suddenly felt vulnerable, as if he’d started to undress. It’s just a coat, she told herself. Most people took them off indoors. But most people hadn’t kissed her on summer nights while sitting on the bank of the stream. Most people hadn’t touched her waist and then moved higher to delicately caress her—

Don’t think about it, she commanded herself. What she’d done with Justin had been a madness born of youth and the night, and that bit of whiskey she’d sipped from his flask. It had been a dream. In the light of day, she’d felt ashamed.

Liar, a voice inside of her whispered. You felt wonderful. She ignored the voice.

“I told you, I came to apologize.” He paced to the bottom of the staircase that circled gracefully toward the second floor, then turned and glared at her. “God knows why I bothered. I should have remembered nothing is more important to Miss Megan Bartlett than what the rest of the world thinks.”

It was a familiar argument, one they’d had countless times. “Not everyone enjoys flouting convention.”

“Maybe, for once, you could figure out yourself what matters instead of letting other people tell you,” he said.

She clenched her teeth together and unfastened her cloak. After setting it on a hook on the hall tree, she stepped in front of the mirror and pulled the pin from her hat. She could see the flush of anger on her cheeks. It reminded her that she could deal with Justin better if she stopped letting him think that his comments had any power over her.

“I form my opinions after reflecting on the Lord’s, the laws of the day and dictates of society,” she said calmly and set her hat down. She turned to him. “Despite your urgings, I don’t believe I should place my opinions above theirs.”

“That’s always been your problem. You need backbone, Megan.”

Her temper began to burn at the edges of her self-control. She firmly gripped the singed edges. “In your absence, I seem to have survived the loss of my father and kept the store running successfully. Rather large accomplishments for someone with no backbone, wouldn’t you say?”

He stepped toward her. “But everything you do, every thought, every action is dictated by what other people think. What are you so afraid of?”

“Harming my reputation,” she snapped. “Something you wouldn’t care about, being a man. But I’m a single woman in a small town. If I expect to keep my place, I must concern myself with others’ thoughts. If you don’t share my concerns, you should at least understand them. After all, your mother had a bad reputation and look what happened to her.”

The second she spoke the words, Megan wanted to call them back. She clamped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late.

Justin froze in place, halfway between her and the stairs. The flame from the lamp danced with some slight draft, casting shadows on his face. His mouth straightened into a grim line and the muscle in his right cheek twitched. Something dark and ugly stole into his eyes.

She stepped away. Not out of fear, but out of shame. “I’m s-sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to say that. It was wrong of me. Completely wrong. I know you loved your mother and that she was a good woman. You made me angry.” She twisted her fingers together in front of her waist and shrugged slightly. “That’s a stupid excuse, isn’t it? It’s not your fault and I shouldn’t try to say that it is. It’s mine. I’m sorry.”

He blinked and it was as if he’d never heard her slight. His face relaxed into its original mocking expression. “Don’t apologize on my account. I’ve heard worse in my time. Your comments weren’t original, or even harshly spoken. I don’t care enough about you to be wounded by your opinions.”

He’d changed so much in the time he’d been gone. The young man who had taught her about kissing and passion had been replaced by a dark stranger. Just as well, she told herself. The old Justin would have tempted her too much. This man was unknown to her. If she kept it that way, she wouldn’t be at risk.

“Wounded or not, I do apologize.” With a sigh, she moved past him into the parlor. The last rays of afternoon light slipped through the drapes and outlined the large pieces of furniture in the room. She moved to a corner table and lit a lamp. She placed the smoldering match in a small metal tray, then turned to him.

As she’d suspected, he had followed her into the room. He rocked back and forth on his heels as he looked around at the furnishings. She followed his gaze, wondering how the parlor would appear to a stranger.

Overly furnished, she thought, glancing from the three settees, to the scattered tables and covered chairs. Her father had had a fondness for expensive things. There were lacquered boxes and silver candy dishes. A beautiful ivory fan bought in New Orleans from a ship that had been nearly around the world. Cream-colored wallpaper and heavy, dark blue drapes provided a backdrop for the ostentatious display.

“Who would have thought I would be so blessed as to finally see the inside of the famed Bartlett mansion?” he said. He raised his eyebrows. “You must be very proud living here.”

“I’m not. You know that, Justin.” She glanced at one of the settees and thought about sitting down, but she was afraid he would sit next to her. With her heart already pounding in her chest and her palms damp, she didn’t think she could deal with the consequences of him being so close. “This house means nothing to me. It is still my father’s home, not mine.”

“Yes, of course. You could be happy in a small sod hut somewhere out west. Fighting snakes and scorpions, watching your children die from the elements.”

“You twist my meaning.”

He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. The smile pulling at his mouth was anything but pleasant. “Are you saying you would be content in a single room above a saloon? Like my mother? You could hear the noise from below, you know. The yells of the drunken men, the squeals of the saloon girls. And the smells. Tobacco, sweat and—”

“Stop!” She moved toward him until she was directly in front of him. “Please, stop. I’ve said I was sorry for what I said about your mother. It was thoughtless and cruel. I have no excuse except for the truth.” She dipped her head slightly and stared at the center of his broad chest.

“Which is?”

He had been in town less than a day and already her life had been turned upside down. “When I’m frightened, I tend to speak without thinking. It’s a failing. I beg your indulgence.”

“Beg” had been a poor choice of words. She saw that instantly when she risked meeting his gaze. The fire had returned, but it wasn’t fueled by anger.

He had the most beautiful eyes, she thought, staring into their deep brown depths. Thick lashes framed the pure color. The dark slash of his eyebrows added to his handsomeness, making him look sardonic one minute, gently teasing the next. Justin’s moods changed like the surface of the stream, quickly and without warning.

She blinked several times and looked away. Yes, the anger was gone, but that which replaced it was much more dangerous.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked softly.

“Your return.”

She turned away and walked over to the fireplace. Logs and kindling were kept stacked in readiness for guests. She crouched down and lit the fire. When the smaller pieces had caught, she rose to her feet and motioned to one of the settees. “Please, have a seat.”

He shook his head. “I’m not going to be here that long. Why are you afraid of me?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said, then smiled. He was the least of it, really. She was the problem. Being around him, thinking of him, made her act differently, as if the respectable woman she worked hard to be was just a false covering, like a storefront. As if the world saw her as a gracious two-story mercantile, but inside she was just a squat saloon.

She smiled at the analogy. He seemed to addle her brain as well as her senses.

“So, you’re going to be here for a year,” she said.

His gaze moved over her face, then dipped lower. She told herself to be insulted, but the frank appraisal left her feeling warm and tingling. Justin had often looked at her like that in the past. The appreciation in his eyes had made her proud to be female and that which he desired. It had frightened her a little, for her inexperience had left her with more questions than explanations. But in his arms that hadn’t mattered.

He’d tempted her with his soft kisses. Despite his time away and the changes in both their lives, he still tempted her. Pray God he chose to ignore her.

“Yes. As I told you earlier this afternoon, I have a one-year contract with the good citizens of this town.” The mocking tone had returned.

“Why did you come back? To punish them?”

He shook his head. “To make peace with the past, although that doesn’t seem to be working.”

“What are your plans while you’re here?”

He raised his eyebrows again. “I’m the sheriff. I’ll enforce the laws, try to keep people out of trouble and generally make my presence known.”

She bent down and picked up a lacquered box from the table. The smooth surface felt cool against her heated fingers. “There are those who will oppose you.”

“Your sister, you mean?”

“Not just her. I know Colleen has become a—”

“Prig?”

Megan smiled. “That’s quite unkind of you.” She set the box back on the table, then straightened. Her smile broadened. “But yes, she has. And her husband is worse. I’ve heard the whispers, what people are saying about you. Eventually, everyone comes into the store. The new settlers don’t mind that you’re sheriff. As long as they are free to get on with their lives, they’ll have no complaints. But the old-timers, the ones who were here when...” Her hand fluttered toward him. She didn’t want to speak of that time, or that day. She didn’t want to recall the ugly words she’d spoken to him, or the pain in his eyes. She didn’t want to know how much she’d hurt him. And herself. In the deepest, darkest part of her heart, she knew she’d made the right decision. She couldn’t have gone with him. But she’d been wrong in the delivery of the message. She’d been so afraid he would convince her to come with him that she’d lashed out in fear, speaking harsh words that could never be recalled.

“They won’t forgive you,” she said.

“They don’t have to. I appreciate your concern, but it’s misplaced. The contract’s binding. Unless I commit a crime, they can’t get rid of me. For the next year, they’re going to have to get used to having me around.”

“When the year is up, what happens then?”

He looked past her toward the fire. “Then I leave this place behind and never come back.”

“So it’s just for a year?”

His eyes met hers. She saw the amusement. She was so grateful he would eventually be leaving, she didn’t care that it was at her expense.

“Yes, Megan. One year. Then you’ll be through with me for good.”

She could bear anything for a year, she told herself. “I think it best that we try to stay out of each other’s way during that time,” she said.

Instead of answering, he smiled. She knew that smile. It made her knees weak and her fingers tremble. It made her remember his kisses, and more. It made her wish Justin Kincaid had been respectable, the son of a farmer or a business owner. It made her wonder what would have happened if she’d gone with him.

“Why is it a problem if we see each other?” he asked, the glint in his eye reminding her he was dangerous.