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Never Tempt a Lawman
Western Kansas, 1866
Steady, wealthy and oh-so-safe—that’s the kind of husband Bess Trundale wants. Someone like the local banker’s son. Someone unlike Sheriff Kirk Landers. The lawman’s confident swagger gets right under her skin…and into her fantasies. And though she’s tried to ignore the chemistry surging between them, one night is about to change everything.
Kirk isn’t planning on being anyone’s husband ever again. But months of living under the same boardinghouse roof as quick-witted, feisty Bess have stirred desires he can’t ignore. Together they could put their pasts to rest and claim a bold, passionate future—if he can tempt her to break all the rules with him….
Never Tempt a Lawman
Lauri Robinson
Dedication
To Jean, for always knowing when I need a lunch date!
Author Note
There’s a lot to a name. One word that, in reality, identifies a person from birth to death, and we have no say or control over it. Unless we choose to change it.
At birth my mother was given the name Arlene Ruth. However, her older sister Betty Ann, who was four at the time, called the new baby Mary Jane. Betty Ann died eighteen months later from meningitis, and my great-aunt paid $300 (quite a sum in 1931) to have my mother’s name legally changed to Mary Jane. I shared that story at my mom’s funeral and was surprised by the number of family members who didn’t know about her name change.
When I was little, I loved the name Barbara, and so wanted that to be my name. That’s probably when my mother first told me about her name being changed, but I can’t say for sure. Did you have a name you thought was the best name ever? My sister-in-law said her wish-was-mine name was Sally.
Names… I have a list of them that I want to use in stories, but I have to wait until the “right” character comes along. Bess finally arrived for me. My paternal grandmother’s name was Bessie. It’s a name I’ve always loved, and I’m so glad I finally got to use it in a story.
I must also admit, sometimes I start using a name and then the character says, “Nope, that’s not my name.” I’ve changed names more than once because of that, and in the end, the character was right.
So here’s Bess Trundale and Sheriff Kirk Lander’s story. I hope you enjoy how Bess tempts Kirk, even though she doesn’t mean to. Or does she?
Blessings,
Lauri Robinson
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter One
1866 Western Kansas
His lips were moving and sound entered her ears, but Bess Trundale’s mind didn’t process a word Eli Clancy said. How could it? He’d wear her brain out with his nonstop talking. Might already have.
Out of courtesy, she nodded now and again, and smiled as if listening, whereas she really wished he’d give his mouth a rest. If just for a few minutes. It was a nice night. The moon was big and bright, and the crickets were serenading. At least she thought they were. Eli’s prattling had long ago drowned out any sounds she might have wanted to hear.
Unable to take any more, Bess leaped to her feet. “It’s late.”
Startled, Eli was quiet for a moment, but then caught air. “Oh, yes, well, I suspect it is getting rather long into the night, now, isn’t it? I do believe it’s most likely going on nine o’clock, of course, the stars…”
Bess groaned, and spoke over him, knowing he might not stop again. “Good night, Eli. Thank you for the company this evening.”
Lamppost skinny, he rose off the porch swing to tower over her. “No, thank you, Bess. I truly enjoy our times together, why, it makes me feel splendid. Just splendid, I say.” He took her hand and smacked a slobbery kiss on the back of it. “I shall look forward to next Saturday evening all week.”
Bess pulled her hand away. “Next Saturday?”
“Yes, next Saturday, now that we’re courting, I’ll—”
“Courting?” Good heavens, maybe she should have been listening.
“Yes, courting,” he said. “I asked earlier, and you—”
“Hello, Miss Trundale, Mr. Clancy.”
The back of her neck tightened at the greeting. She didn’t mind the interruption, but not by him. Sheriff Kirk Landers was worse than Eli. He didn’t talk nonstop, but he irritated her. Like how he shoved open the gate to stroll up the walkway of the boarding house as if he owned the place.
He didn’t.
But he did live here, which goaded her. A lawman should be able to afford his own house. Kirk would have his own place soon enough. The very one she lived in. That shouldn’t bother her as much as it did. If anyone deserved happiness, it was her sister Helen.
“Good evening, Sheriff Landers,” Eli said. “It’s a mighty fine night, tonight, that it is. Why, I was just telling Bess, here, how the frogs…”
Bess groaned and wiped the back of her hand on her skirt as Eli started in on a thorough explanation about the different species of frogs that live in Kansas.
“That’s very interesting, Eli,” the sheriff said, now leaning against the porch railing. “I’ll have to take a closer look at the frogs that cross my path.” He glanced toward the night sky. “Right now, though, you should think about heading home. There’s a nasty storm brewing.”
“Oh, yes, yes, sir, I suspect I should. My ma wouldn’t appreciate my new suit getting wet. It’s wool, you know.” Eli started for the steps, but then swung his lanky frame around. “I’ll see you next Saturday evening, Bess.”
Bess bit her lips together. The smug smirk on the sheriff’s face didn’t allow her to voice a protest. She would not give him that satisfaction. A rumble made her glance to the sky where clouds shrouded the moon that had shined so brightly a short time ago. “You best hurry home, Eli.”
“Yes, yes, I best.”
His feet were so big, his legs so long, Eli tripped twice on the four steps leading to the ground, and once again when he had to stop to open the gate.
“So, the two of you are courting.”
The sheriff’s tone—the mockery it held—sent a bolt of inner lightning up Bess’s spine, and again when the dirty glare she cast his way only resulted in his full-blown laughter.
Crossing her arms, Bess demanded, “And what do you find funny about that, Sheriff Landers?” She’d put extra emphasis on his name. Helen called him Kirk, Bess didn’t. Not to his face. Her sister and Kirk were friends, she and he weren’t.
He pushed off the rail. Although he was as tall as Eli, Kirk’s height fit him as well as the black pants, white shirt and black leather vest he always wore. He had several pairs of pants and white shirts—she knew from doing his laundry—but only one vest. And hat. It was black, too. Also unlike Eli, Kirk’s clothes molded to his shape like hide on a cat, proving there was a whole lot more to him than skin and bones.
“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all.” He brushed her nose with one finger as he walked past.
More lightning flashed inside her. The thunder that rolled came from the sky. “He is the banker’s son,” Bess pointed out. It twisted her insides at how Kirk could make her feel like a child, which she was not. No more than her sister was. Even though Helen was twenty-three, four years older than her, neither of them had been a child for a long time.
Kirk opened the screen door and drew it wider as he said, “Still set on becoming a rich woman, are you?”
“Yes, one with her own house.” Head up, Bess marched through the door. “And you best be careful.”
“Why?”
“Because a married woman can hold a seat on the town council.” She didn’t plan on pursuing such a thing, but couldn’t ignore the chance to taunt him.
He arched a dark eyebrow, the same shade of brown as the hair on his head. “Oh?”
“Yes.” All of a sudden the idea of marrying Eli grew possible again. That happened. When Eli wasn’t around—not talking her deaf—she could imagine marrying him. There were other eligible men in Beaver Creek, but Eli was the only one with enough money to get her out of here. His father owning the bank and all. That’s what she had to do. Go back to Alabama. She wasn’t stupid. Things would never be like they had been before the war. Before her parents died. Before she and Helen came to Kansas to live with Aunt Martha. But if she didn’t leave, Helen would never get on with her own life.
Things might have been different if Aunt Martha hadn’t died only weeks after they’d arrived. Helen had stepped right in, running the boarding house as if she’d been doing it her entire life, and that’s when Bess saw history repeating itself. Her sister putting everyone’s needs before her own.
“Why should it matter to me if you’re on the town council?”
The air in Bess’s lungs rattled. Kirk’s eyes were surrounded by dark lashes, making their periwinkle twinkle more prominent. All this sure would be easier if he were as homely as Eli, or if Eli were as handsome as Kirk. Handsome, though, wouldn’t get her out of Kansas.
“Because,” Bess snapped, “when I’m on the town council, I’ll see we hire a new sheriff. One who goes about chasing down outlaws rather than—” a clash of thunder filled in the blank that had formed in her mind “—worrying about storms.”
He laughed while closing the door. “Well, if your new sheriff is foolish enough to let outlaws enter Beaver Creek, then he best be prepared to chase them down.” Walking past the staircase leading to the second floor, he said, “But he still better worry about storms.”
Bess had the desire to stick her tongue out at him, but he already treated her like a child, and she didn’t need to give him more cause to do so.
Huffing out a breath, she followed him through the dining room and into the kitchen. That’s where Helen usually was, and Kirk always looked for Helen first thing.
Chapter Two
If there ever was a woman Kirk wanted to shake some sense into, it was Bess Trundale. Eli Clancy was just a kid. Bess would eat him for breakfast and spit him out before lunch.
Although half the town claimed they couldn’t tell them apart, the Trundale sisters were complete opposites. Both were blonde and slender with blue eyes and high cheekbones, and cute, perfectly formed noses. But that’s where the similarities ended.
Some men, too busy taking note of the beauty of their faces and bodies, might get the girls confused, but he never had. Not since the first day he’d met them. Now, after living with them for going on six months, he knew their differences like the back of his hand.
Helen was all a man could ever hope for in a wife—and half the town was hoping—while Bess was a man’s worst nightmare.
She couldn’t cook, his sheets were as gritty as sand after she’d washed them, her attitude could curdle milk, and, worst of all, she was dead set on getting married.
Whereas Helen acted as if marriage never crossed her mind. She seemed more than happy to run their aunt’s boarding house and offer medical assistance to anyone who knocked upon her door. Women could change their minds, did it often enough, and he couldn’t understand why Doc Billings hadn’t tried to changed Helen’s. If anyone cared what Kirk thought, he’d say Wyatt Billings was blind. Helen Trundale was one fine woman. One who might tempt Kirk, if getting married was in his future.
It wasn’t.
He’d traveled down that road once, five years ago. Sharleen had been a lot like Helen. Sweet. Generous. Pretty. He’d never forget finding her dead in their cabin. The two years following that were a blur. Most likely always would be. He’d found the braves who’d killed her, but he couldn’t say it helped.
“She’s not here.”
Kirk spun around. Bess stood in the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen he’d entered while allowing his thoughts to drift to places they didn’t need to go. “Who?”
“Helen,” Bess said, gesturing toward the stove. “There’s pie and coffee for you as usual.”
The only reason he ended his day with pie and coffee with Helen in the kitchen was so he wouldn’t be alone with Bess. He knew himself well enough to know that could be dangerous. “Where is she?” he asked, growing concerned. Not just for himself. He’d become accustomed to taking care of the sisters.
“Out at the Arnold place. Mr. Arnold’s horse got spooked and pulled the plow over his leg. Wesley Arnold came for Helen after Mrs. Cummings told him Dr. Billings was out at the Baker place.” Shooting him one of her sarcastic little looks, Bess added, “Maybe when Beaver Creek has a real sheriff, one with his own house, he’ll be able to tell people where to find the doctor, rather than poor old Mrs. Cummings.”
Mrs. Cummings lived for the opportunities to tell others where the doctor had gone. It gave her something to do and feel needed. Kirk didn’t say that. He simply walked to the back door, but stalled upon opening it. Rain came down in a solid sheet.
“Walter VanCamp already rode out to the Bakers’, to tell Dr. Billings he was needed at the Arnold place,” Bess said. “Perhaps Walter should give up peddling his wears and become a lawman.”
Kirk didn’t need to turn around to know there was a snide grin on Bess’s face. He could imagine it, having seen it numerous times. Nor did he tell her he’d known where Doc Billings was, and could have told Wesley, but he’d been at the saloon, shooing men home so their wives and children would have money for food this week. He shut the door at the bolt of lightning hitting so close the hair on his arms stood. Giving Bess a solid stare, he said, “It appears my interrupting you and your beau has put you in a better mood than normal.” She and that scrawny Clancy kid had probably been planning their wedding, which should make him happy.
Bess huffed and spun around.
Not about to let her off that easy, not when another thought struck, Kirk marched across the room and caught her arm. “What were you doing having a man over here when Helen isn’t home?”
She wrenched her arm from his hold. “I can have Eli over whenever I want.” Stomping toward the stove, she spouted, “Good heavens, Helen and I live with men. You and Mr. VanCamp. The town has accepted that.”
That wasn’t saying much. The town had accepted him, too. Three years ago, when he’d ridden into Beaver Creek, smack dab in the middle of a gun fight. He’d wounded the man who’d shot the sheriff and apprehended the other two before they got out of town. The next day the city council hired him as their new sheriff.
He hadn’t been too keen on the idea, but without any real place to be, he’d taken the job, for the time being, and had moved into Martha Trundale’s boarding house. He was still here, and had no plans to change it anytime soon. He’d come to like being a lawman. The solitude of it. Course, Martha Trundale had kept him from getting lonely, even before her nieces moved from Alabama to reside with her. A colorful woman, she, along with her friend Adeline, had entertained him with tales about their younger days back east.
“You certainly don’t need to concern yourself with my reputation, Sheriff,” Bess said, dumping the coffee pot. “I can take care of myself.”
It wasn’t necessarily her reputation that concerned him. The idea of Bess being home alone ate at a spot inside him that hadn’t been alive for a long time. Up until a few weeks ago, she wouldn’t have been left alone. Adeline Grabowski would have been here, but last month, Adeline claimed age was catching up with her and moved to Kansas City, where another old friend lived.
The town council had held a meeting about him remaining at the boarding house after Adeline left—living with two young women was a bit scandalous. He’d assured them it was no different than him living with Martha and Adeline and had pointed out his job included room and board. Besides this being the only boarding house in town, the money the sisters got from the city for his rent was their main source of income. He hadn’t wanted that taken away from them. Martha had told him about all the girls had lost before they’d arrived. Their family. Their home. The war had left a lot of carnage.
He’d also pointed out to the council that he wasn’t the only man residing at the boarding house. Walter VanCamp spent several nights a month here. Walter was a good man, and didn’t worry Kirk. It was the other travelers who spent a night now and again that troubled him. Beaver Creek didn’t have a hotel. The only bed to rent was at the boarding house.
The council had deliberated on him remaining here, but not for long. The entire town had high hopes the rumors about the railroad coming through were true. If so, they’d need a place for the surveyors to stay and left things as they stood. Him living with Helen and Bess.
At this very moment, Kirk questioned that arrangement more than ever.
Helen might be the one a man would want for a wife, but Bess was the type of woman a man would enjoy. Just keeping her in line would be exhausting. What a fine exhaustion that would be. Keeping her awake all night, sampling that perfect little body, so she’d sleep half the day is what it would take to keep Bess under control.
The desire that festered uncontrollably in his loins zinged to attention, or maybe it was the crash of thunder that made the entire house tremble that knocked his thoughts in order. Either way, he crossed the room to tower over her. “Someone needs to worry about your reputation. You evidently don’t.”
The indignation in her pale blue eyes made him want to smile, but the way she gasped, as if air snagged in the back of her throat, had his fermenting desires hitting his blood stream at full force. She had incredible lips. Kissable lips.
She shoved at his chest and skirted around him. “I can take care of myself. I could have years ago and I can now.”
A man whose past was woven with pain and regret recognizes it in someone else. Bess had that. Regret. Sorrow. He wanted to know why, and he wanted to tell her it would ease. Eventually. It took time, but sooner or later, one finds a way to combat regrets. He had. Becoming a lawman had shown him the right kind of justice.
“I’m going to bed now, Sheriff. Considering you’re so worried about my reputation, you can lock up.” Never to be outdone, she eyed him daringly. “Or perhaps it’s your reputation you’re worried about.”
The urge to kiss her sprang forth bolder and more primitive than ever. She was so righteous and full of herself. He shouldn’t appreciate that, for it made her as dangerous as dynamite, but he did. He liked her smart mouth and her snippety attitude. In truth, there wasn’t much about her he didn’t like. Stepping forward, he touched the end of her nose, knowing how much she hated it. “I don’t give a hoot about my reputation, but you should.”
She frowned and he was almost to the dining room when she asked, “Why should I care about your reputation?”
He grinned, and turned enough for her to see it. “Because this rain means Helen will be at the Arnold’s all night and Mr. VanCamp will stay at the Bakers’. Leaving us, you and me, alone here.”
Speechless due to the swarm of butterflies that suddenly took flight in her stomach, Bess didn’t move. She hadn’t felt this way for years, not since anticipating a boy might ask her to dance at a cotillion. Lately, the closest she’d ever come to a man asking her to dance was Eli chasing her down after church.
Her gaze caught on Kirk’s grin, his lips. She’d bet money they wouldn’t be wet and sloppy like Eli’s.
Kirk shifted to lean one hand on the frame of the doorway, and started laughing. Bess clamped her lips shut, realizing her mouth was hanging open.
The brief but fascinating excitement of a stomach full of butterflies completely disappeared. “You’re a—”
His challenge was silent, a mere lift of one brow, but it stole what she’d been about to say right out of her lips. She hated being speechless, especially when it came to him. “Good night, Sheriff.” Dredging up the best insult she could think of, she added, “Make sure you take your boots off—I don’t want to have to wash sheets again tomorrow.”
He pushed off the wall and walked into the dining room with a slow, yet determined swagger. “You never want to wash sheets.”
“I’ve never complained.”
“But you want to.”
Fueled, and unable not to, for arguing with him was the most exciting thing—when she was winning—Bess followed him into the other room. “Only yours. They’re always so full of sand I have to change the wash water.”
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