Whirlwind Groom

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.”

“I told Charlie I’d deliver it since I was coming over anyway.” He’d forgotten just how deeply green her eyes were. And how tiny her waist.

She stared at him for a minute. Long enough for her sweet, fresh scent—honeysuckle?—to slide into his lungs. Long enough for him to deduce by the way her lavender skirts clung to her legs that she wasn’t wearing petticoats. At least not more than one. A heat he hadn’t felt in a long time worked its way under his skin.

He cleared his throat. “You want me to put this down somewhere?”

She blinked. “Yes. Sorry. Come in.”

She opened the door wider and he walked inside, noting she left the door open. Which was a good thing seeing as how he had also just determined she wasn’t wearing a corset, either.

“I— You can just put them on the bed.” Her voice was breathy.

Davis Lee walked over to the neatly made bed that was pushed into the far corner of the room. Two lengths of fabric, one white and one calico, were folded neatly at its foot. He laid the new bolts next to them.

The room was bigger than most of the others in the hotel, but not grand by any means. On the wall beside the bed was a plain dressing table with a wall mirror and washbasin. A waist-high dresser backed against the wall across from the foot of the bed. The middle and right side of the room was empty except for a length of calico spread across the floor. A pair of scissors lay on top as if her cutting had been interrupted. A chair sat at the partially open window facing town.

He didn’t have to walk over there to confirm that she had a clear and close view of the jail, but he did. A short lacy curtain hung at the top of the window and he ducked his head to keep it out of his eyes. Yep, sure enough, this window provided a direct view to the jail. And anyone going in or out.

“Uh, thank you for bringing the fabric. You certainly didn’t have to do that. I’m sure you have things you need to get back to.”

The shimmer of unease in her voice had him leaning one shoulder against the window frame as if he had all day to spend. So far he hadn’t seen anything in here except fabric and furniture. And her. “You gettin’ settled in?”

“Yes.” She offered him a tentative smile, staying over by the door.

Her gaze dropped to his badge and he got the distinct impression she was wishing him gone. “Penn said you changed rooms.”

“I— Yes.” She gave a stiff laugh. “I wouldn’t think that would merit him giving a report to the sheriff.”

“He just mentioned it. Any reason why he shouldn’t?”

Her gaze searched his, her fingers tangling in the folds of her skirt. “Of course not.”

He hooked a thumb into the front pocket of his trousers. “Interesting that you would want to move.”

“I don’t know why.” She shrugged, leaving the door to walk over and snatch a lavender ribbon from the top of the dresser. She pulled her hair back and secured it with jerky movements.

He tried to ignore the way her bodice pulled taut across her breasts. “It’s noisier in this part of the hotel.”

Her chin angled slightly. He had obviously come for a reason besides delivering her fabric. “I like noise.”

“You’ve got a view of the whole town from here.” His gaze slid down her body then back up, his eyes glinting.

Under his hot scrutiny, her pulse hitched. “I—I like to have something to look at while I’m working.”

He stroked his chin. “Like me.”

“I did not change rooms to watch you!”

He grinned and she felt a slow pull in her belly. “I meant I like to have a view while I’m working, too.”

“Oh.” Heat flushed her face. The man flustered her six ways to Sunday. And he was entirely too amused.

She wanted to get his handsome self out of here. “I hardly see what you find so fascinating about the whole subject.”

“Don’t you?” he asked softly.

That set off a flurry of panic in her stomach and it wasn’t due strictly to the fact that he might know the real reason she had moved into a room overlooking the jail.

Curling her fingers into her damp palms, she asked tartly, “Is changing hotel rooms against the law, Sheriff? Are you planning to haul me to jail?”

His gaze moved slowly, leisurely over her as if he found the prospect appealing. “If I did, I’d have to put you in a cell next to my prisoner. Which wouldn’t be good.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” She bit back the temper that threatened, her nerves snapping. She moved to the open door, not caring if she appeared rude. “If that’s all, I really have a lot of work to do.”

He started toward her, moving with a smooth grace for such a large man. His gaze swept the fabric that lay on the floor, then the bed. “It appears you’ll be busy for quite a while.”

“Yes,” she murmured, her hand tight on the doorknob.

He definitely unsettled her. She told herself it was because of the suspicion in his eyes. Not because they were alone in her room with only a deaf old man downstairs if she needed help.

Davis Lee stopped at the door, close enough that his shirtsleeve brushed hers. Her fresh scent teased him, bringing to mind the last time he’d purposely gone to a woman’s room. It had been over two years, but not long enough to make him forget how a pretty face and sultry eyes could hide betrayal and lies. “If you need anything, Miz Webster, you just holler out that window. I’m sure I’ll be able to hear you.”

“Yes, all right. Thank you.”

Tension bowed her shoulders and he could feel her urging him out the door. Even though he didn’t like the way his body tightened at her nearness, he grinned and tipped his hat. “Good day, ma’am.”

She mumbled goodbye and nearly closed the door on the heel of his boot.

He gave her door one last look. Yeah, she was definitely up to something.

Three days passed before Josie felt confident enough to make another try at McDougal. Since the sheriff had been to her room, she had been careful to do her spying as discreetly as she could, keeping to the corner of the window.

Holt had changed his schedule, but now that she had this view of the jail, she wasn’t concerned. She could usually tell how long he would stay somewhere depending on where he went. He was wont to linger at the Pearl Restaurant and Ef Gerard’s blacksmithy.

On Saturday afternoon, she stood at the window’s edge, drumming her sewing-sore fingers on the wall of her hotel room as she waited for the sheriff to leave the jail. She had worked from dawn until dark every day to finish the hotel’s curtains and they now hung one story below in the front windows. The length for one tablecloth had been cut, but her mind wasn’t on the task.

There! She saw the sheriff leave the jail and go into the restaurant. She hurried downstairs, wondering where he lived. He didn’t sleep every night at the jail, and on those nights his deputy stayed there. Once outside, she ducked around to the back of the hotel and made her way behind the telegraph and post office, then the Pearl. Rounding the corner of the restaurant, she sidled up the west wall and peered out at the street.

A few people milled about, but Josie didn’t see the sheriff.

She stepped into the open and tried to be casual as she walked to the hitching post in front of the jail where the deputy had left his horse. He had arrived a few minutes before Sheriff Holt left.

The air was pleasantly warm today, but that wasn’t the cause of the dampness forming between her breasts. Pausing as if to admire the bay mare who stood placidly, Josie slid her fingers into the looped reins and loosened the leather before she moved away. She passed two older women then ducked into the alley between the jail and the blacksmithy.

Making sure there was no one nearby, Josie threw a stone and hit the horse square on the hock of its left rear leg. The mare nickered and shied away, pulling the reins loose from the hitching post. Dancing into the street, she trotted off.

A second later, Josie heard the jail door open and bang against the wall. Boots thudded down the wooden steps.

“Dad burn it!”

The young, broad-shouldered deputy whom she’d seen with Whirlwind’s sheriff thundered past her, putting two fingers in his mouth and letting out a shrill whistle. The mare kept going; the man followed.

Josie checked the opposite direction then hurried up the steps and slipped inside the jail. Sheriff Holt’s office smelled faintly of soap and pine. Wood shavings littered the floor around the leg of a wide oak desk.

Her gaze paused on a creased Wanted poster boasting Ian McDougal’s face. The paper was tacked onto an otherwise-blank space of wall behind the desk. Three shotguns lined up behind the glass door of a tall gun cabinet. A door in the opposite corner led into a back room. The cells had to be back there.

Her heart hammering in her chest, she reached into her bodice for the scalpel. Knowing McDougal was only feet away had her throat closing up. Doubt slashed through her. Could she really do this?

She closed her eyes and conjured up the last images she had of her parents and William. Their sightless eyes had been trained on the ceiling of her home. Blood spattered the floor and the door. They had died horribly. Her family deserved justice. Yes, she could do this.

Taking a deep breath and sliding her sweaty palm down to a more comfortable position on the thin, ridged handle, she started toward the raspy whistling coming from the back room. It was McDougal. She knew it.

The murdering bastard was finally going to pay for killing everyone she had loved.

She gripped the scalpel so hard the steel gouged into her palm. All she had to do was get close to him.

She reached the door, her steps faltering at the thought of facing the worthless, no-account cur. She reminded herself of the nearly two years she had spent in the Galveston County sheriff’s office checking every day to see if McDougal had been captured.

Her heartbeat hammering in her ears, she gripped the doorknob.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

The now-familiar voice coming from behind her lashed her already-raw nerves and she nearly dropped the scalpel. No! She quickly slipped the blade into the hidden pocket of her bodice and turned with a bright smile on her face, praying Holt couldn’t see her heart banging against her ribs. “Hello, Sheriff. I was looking for you.”

“Is that so?” He pushed his hat back and planted his hands on lean hips. His eyes narrowed as he glanced about the empty room. “Where’s my deputy?”

“No one was here when I came in.” That wasn’t a lie, but still her pulse raced.

“There was a commotion outside so I went to check on it.” He closed the front door and moved toward her, his boots ominously soft on the pine floor. Worn denim sleeked down his long legs. The chambray shirt he wore looked brand-spanking new. “You must have heard it, too.”

“Yes. It sounded like someone was leaving town in a hurry.”

“Weren’t you just the tiniest bit curious about what was going on?”

Oh, dear. He looked fit to be tied. His eyes had turned a dark stormy blue, suspicious and hard. She refused to panic. She’d dealt with this man—this big man—before. And she was prepared this time. “Like I said, I was looking for you.”

“There’s a prisoner back there, Miz Webster.” He inclined his head toward the door behind her. “It’s not a good idea for you to be in here alone.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “I guess not.”

Despite the day’s heat, she wished she hadn’t forgotten her gloves. Her hands were clammy and shaking awfully.

“You said you were looking for me?” Holt stepped around her to check the door, once more between her and McDougal.

“Oh, yes.” She cleared her throat. “I wonder if you might know someone who can teach me to shoot?”

“To shoot?”

“Yes. You know, a gun.”

Irritation crossed his features as he moved to stand in front of her again. “I didn’t think you meant a slingshot.”

“Well?” She hoped he would believe she had come to the jail only for this reason.

He crossed his arms and studied her. “I just can’t figure you, Miz Webster.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think your being in my jail has something to do with Ian McDougal.”

“Sheriff!” the prisoner yelled. “What’s going on out there?”

Josie stiffened. She did not want the outlaw to see her. Or know she was here until she chose.

“Just talkin’ to a visitor.” Sheriff Holt edged closer, causing her to step away. “What do you say, Miz Webster?”

“About what?” She could barely get the words out through her tight throat.

“You seem fascinated with my prisoner,” he said softly. “Why is that?”

“I’m not.” She clenched one fist in the folds of her skirt and tried to look curious rather than nervous. “Are you saying your prisoner is one of the McDougal gang? You didn’t tell me that the other day.”

“Don’t recall you askin’, but I think you already know he is.” Holt advanced again, forcing her against the wall. “Are you his sweetheart?”

“No!” The thought made her stomach seize up. She scooted down the wall in front of him, but he shifted his large body, trapping her against the door.

“A relative? His sister maybe?”

“Absolutely not.” How could he think her related to that murdering criminal? “I’ve heard about the things he and his brothers have done. I don’t appreciate being referred to as part of their family.”

“Well, I don’t appreciate being lied to and I think that’s what you’re doing.”

“I never!”

“What were you hiding when I walked in?”

“Hiding? Nothing. I—”

He leaned in and she pressed her shoulder blades flat against the wood at her back. Holt planted a hand on either side of her. “Something up your sleeve? A derringer maybe? A file? Some kind of weapon?”

She struggled to keep her composure though the hard warmth of his body proved very distracting. “Do the ladies you know carry weapons, Sheriff?”

“We’re fixin’ to find out.”

His silky voice did things to her insides that she couldn’t recall having ever experienced with William. “Derringer? I don’t have a gun. I told you I want to learn how to shoot.”

His gaze slid down her body then back up to meet her eyes. “Do you want me to search you?”

She gasped. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“I will if you don’t show me what you’ve got hidden.”

“What kind of man are you that you would put your hands on me?”

“The kind who wants an answer,” he said hotly. “Now either show me or I’ll get it myself.”

The thrill that shot through her veins told Josie she did not want this man touching her. She instinctively knew she wouldn’t forget it.

A clanging sounded from the other room. “Sheriff, I’m thirsty.”

“Shut up.” Though Holt spoke to the prisoner, he never took his eyes off Josie.

She realized the noise of metal on metal was the sound of McDougal banging a tin cup or plate against the bars.

The sheriff dipped his head a fraction, his breath soft against her temple. She smelled leather and soap and man. “What’s it gonna be?”

Showing him her scalpel proved nothing, Josie told herself. She angled her chin, hoping he couldn’t see how she trembled all over. “Very well. I do have a weapon. I’ll get it.”

She dipped a hand inside her square-necked gingham bodice.

The sheriff drew back, eyes widening. “What are you doin’?”

“Getting my weapon.” If she weren’t so rattled, she might have laughed at the expression on his face—half anticipation, half stone-cold fear that she might expose herself.

She pulled the blade from between her breasts and saw his eyes darken. Not with curiosity or surprise, but with raw, hot desire. Her stomach did a slow drop to her feet.

“What—” he cleared his throat “—the heck is that?”

The fire in his gaze sent a tingle to her toes and she swallowed hard. “It’s a scalpel.”

“A doctor’s instrument?”

She nodded.

“I thought you said you were a dressmaker.”

“I am.”

He frowned at the weapon’s short silver blade. “You beat all, lady. What are you planning to do with that?”

“Defend myself.” She pressed harder against the door, trying to escape the feel of his lean thighs, the warmth from his body. “My father was a doctor and he taught my mother and me how to use this.”

“Then why do you need to learn how to shoot?”

“With the scalpel, I have to be really close to someone. Like I am to you.”

He eased back slightly, frowning.

She tried not to smile. “But I have no defense if someone were to shoot at me.”

“Just what can you do with that thing?”

“Stab it in someone’s windpipe or eye. If I go deep enough, I can slice into this big vein here.” She touched the side of her neck.

The sheriff eyed the scalpel warily. “You already seem plenty dangerous to me. I’m not sure that you having a gun is a good idea.”

If she had known how to use a gun two years ago, her family might still be alive. “Are you saying you won’t help me find a teacher?”

“Are you saying you’ve decided to make a home in Whirlwind?”

“Uh, yes.” From the excruciatingly slow way her plan was progressing, she would have to. At this rate, she’d be a year older before she ever got to McDougal. “But Whirlwind seems less…civilized than Galveston. I would just feel safer if I knew how to use a gun.”

“And you’re going to open a dressmaker shop?”

She laughed lightly. “That’s the only skill I have.”

Holt stared at her for a long minute, his eyes hooded beneath his hat. “I’ll teach you to shoot.”

“You? But I thought—”

“Change your mind?”

“No.” But maybe she should.

“Then I’ll teach you. I’m good with guns and I can show you the proper way to handle them.”

“Could you give me a lesson every day?” She needed to check on McDougal as often as possible.

“Sure, I can do that.”

“Oh, good. Thank you, Sheriff Holt.” Why was he so willing to help her? Her smile felt overly bright as she realized exactly what their deal meant.

He finally stepped back a few inches. “If we’re going to see each other every day, you should call me Davis Lee.”

“All right.” She wouldn’t. “I’ll see you in the morning then, bright and early.”

“Tomorrow is Sunday. I’ll be in church. Won’t you?”

She hesitated. She and her parents had regularly attended church in Galveston. It was the one place she had been able to find a small amount of peace after the murders. But she had come here to kill a man. “Church?”

“It’s at the end of Main Street. You can’t miss it.”

“Oh, yes.” She recalled the white frame building with the steeple, and a part of her wanted to be there tomorrow.

“I’ll see you here on Monday then. Make it about six-thirty or seven in the evening. I’ll have to get my other deputy, Jake, to guard the prisoner.”

“All right. Monday.” Tarnation!

She would be spending far more time with the sheriff than she wanted. Despite the opportunity she now had to wheedle information about McDougal out of the lawman, she had the uneasy sense that Holt had agreed to teach her to shoot for the very same reason she had asked—so he could keep an eye on her. She didn’t like that at all.