His Most Wanted (12 page)

Chapter Twelve

Cora finished buttoning her bodice as she admired Kit lying beside her. His hand rested on her skirt, lightly caressing her thigh while his eyes remained closed and his long body spread across the surface of the flat rock on the bank of a lovely creek. The late afternoon sun lit the gurgling water like thousands of diamonds passing by, and with Kit's shirt open, exposing his chest still-damp from their latest lovemaking, his skin glistened as well.

Six times they'd made love now. Six glorious, magical moments of stirring, breathless romps followed by slow, intimate hours of exploring each other's bodies.

Each time, they'd chosen a different setting for their stolen moments, surreptitiously avoiding Ben—though the old codger had to know why they'd sent him off alone so often. But even as they'd grown closer to each other, they'd also avoided conversations about home. Yesterday, when she'd mentioned how she'd dreaded the horseback ride to Fort McNamara, Kit had told her that his side wasn't healed enough to travel, and he'd swiftly changed the topic of conversation. Then this morning, after a lengthy kissing session in the barn, she'd broached the subject of returning to check on her employees. Kit's face had reddened, but he'd said nothing in return, merely mumbled something inaudible before heading into the house to make her the most wonderful breakfast with the dwindling provisions.

Maybe he didn't want to talk about her work. Fine. Some men were uncomfortable with her profession. Jupiter, for one. But for Pete's sake, Kit had owned a brothel before, and he'd even been a Willows' client himself before they'd come to his ranch.

It made no sense why he would want to avoid their obligations in town. Cora didn't buy his late uncle's insistence that Kit would never be anything but lazy. He'd worked hard on the ranch so far, helping Ben with every chore that needed to be done. Kit's pride seemed evident in his efforts and demeanor.

He was a good man, a caring man. He didn't deserve the lingering guilt from his uncle's untimely death.

Now, unbeknownst to him, she studied his face, the regal bone structure beneath the skin she'd enjoyed shaving earlier, the thick black lashes resting on his cheeks, the full mouth that had loved her so well these past several days.

Her insides fluttered as she imagined his eyes opening to catch her staring. Yet even if he did, she would welcome the smile that would surely follow. His easy, charming grin could melt her heart. She couldn't imagine having a day without seeing his smile.

Oh, gracious Lord.
Could she be in love with Christopher Wainwright?

Impossible.

They'd talked some about themselves, shared a few personal stories, but there was still a lot about each other they didn't know. Maybe she should look for some reason
not
to care about him—aside from the fact he was a sheriff and she was the owner of a house of ill-repute and killer of the last lawman.

“What do you know about your family, Kit?” she began timidly. “I never knew my father, but my mother said he was a wealthy planter in Mississippi. You said your uncle and aunt raised you. Why didn't they have any children of their own?”

His eyes opened to regard her through narrow slits. “Maybe having me was enough?” He snorted, giving her leg another stroke. “Honestly, I don't recall the two of them being exactly enamored with each other.”

“Oh, surely you're wrong. Your uncle wore mourning clothes all those years…didn't they ever kiss in front of you? Maybe they couldn't have any babies.”

He pushed up on one elbow, regarding her with one arched brow. “I have no idea. They never mentioned wanting children. I never saw any cordiality between them, let alone embraces or warmth. Why all this sudden interest in the Wainwrights?”

Heat traveled up her neck as she struggled to think of an answer.
Because I care about you, what your childhood must've been like…who you are and what's important to you.

Ugh. Please God, don't let me be jealous of the bride he has yet to meet and marry.

Too late. Her mind went there, imagining him with a beautiful wife, living in the idyllic ranch she'd helped him fix up, and a precocious little raven-haired tot at Kit's side. A life she could never have, no matter how she longed for it.

She cringed and scooted away from his touch. “We still have time to make it into town before sunset.”

He snagged her hand, keeping her from rising. “Cora—”

“We can even take it slow, follow the river so there'll be fewer hills for your horse to climb.” A current of warmth traveled up her arm from his touch, but when she tugged against him, he didn't release her.

He squeezed her hand. “Look at me.”

His voice compelled her and twisted her insides like ribbons around his finger, made her glance into his eyes. His deep and serious gaze pulled her in.

“I know you have obligations to the club and the ladies, but I have a job to do too.”

“Catching the sheriff's murderer, you mean?” She set her jaw and drew back her shoulders, mustering all the courage she could. “I told you I would surrender—”

“No, you won't.” He shook his head, bending over their joined hands as he drew in a long breath. When he glanced back up, his mouth curved. “I told you, there's no need for you to do anythin' like that. Just give Velvet Grace a rest, retire the hood and give people time to forget what happened. In the meantime, you and I—”

“Whoa.” She put her free hand on his shoulder, bracing herself from the embrace he was pulling her into. “I can't give up protecting my friends.”

A frown appeared between his eyes. “No. I didn't think you could. But at least quit runnin' into town at night, tryin' to scare dangerous men. I'm the sheriff. It's my job to protect you and the others. I could stay in the Willows—or at least have a room nearby—where I could keep a better watch on the place.”

“What? No. I couldn't ask you to do that. For one reason, it'd be professional ruin…for both of us. The town would never stand for a sheriff who spent all his nights hangin' around the Row. And for another, if you did stay close by, who would keep an eye on your ranch and the rest of Fort McNamara? Surely not your deputy. No, it's a terrible idea.”

He released her and leaned back, searching her face. “I thought you might like the idea of me being around. Guess I was wrong.” He folded his arms over his chest, and his face tightened with emotion she hadn't seen from him before.

Her heart hammered with anger and disappointment. If only he'd said he cared about her, that he'd simply wanted to be with her.

“If I let you hover over the club, sleeping with me,” she said, the hot words tumbling from her mouth before she could stop herself, “how would that be any different than the arrangement I had with Sidlow? The only difference would be that you would be getting sex and he was getting money.”

His eyes darkened, and she could feel him withdrawing from her.

“I think it's past time we went back to check on Ben.” Kit got to his feet, pulling her up with him. Leaving her standing, he jumped off the rock to the ground, grabbed his gun belt and lifted his arms to assist her.

A flare of temper overtook her. She moved out of reach, gathered up her rumpled skirt and hopped down on her own. They marched back through the woods in icy silence, her leading and him walking farther and farther behind her. He lagged so far back, the only way she knew he was still there was from the occasional whap of wood hitting a tree as he kicked a fallen limb out of his path. By the time they reached the empty pasture, her chest ached from the angry drill of blood in her breast.

“Cora!
Cora!
” Her name reached her ears as a shout, making her wonder how long Kit had repeated it before she heard him. She turned around to find him catching up with her, his finger pointed at the group of riders heading their way on the horizon.

How had she missed seeing them? Clearly, the men were coming to greet them.

She glanced back at Kit, putting a question in her expression. But his eyes were locked on the riders, his face rigid. She couldn't help noticing his hand resting on the handle of the gun now strapped on his hip.

For all his vowing he would give up wearing the weapon, he still put it on each day. Now she was damned glad he had since she'd left her own pistol on the bedroom dresser.

He moved closer to her as the riders grew near.

She made out the faces of the men as they got close enough. There were three of them. Ray, Jupiter and Joe Buchanan from the telegraph office and one of her regulars at the club. All looked grim, no smiles or nods in greeting as they stopped. No man moved to dismount.

This can't be good.

The mayor spoke first. “Sheriff, Jupiter told us he thought we'd find you out here.”

Kit lifted his hand as if to touch the brim of his hat, but he'd left it behind on the rock, probably forgotten when they'd quarreled. “Yes, sir. Doing a little work on the place.”

Kit crossed his arms over his chest again, and Cora's face heated at the sight of his state of clothes, his open shirt, mussed hair.

She glanced down at herself. At least she'd managed to finish dressing before they'd argued. She looked back at Jupiter. Why would the mayor be asking him about the sheriff's whereabouts? And why did Jupiter refuse to meet her gaze?

Then she caught the flash of new metal on his chest.

“Have you been deputized, Jupiter?” She took a step toward his horse, but Kit cut her off, blocking her from the other men.

“What's the meaning of this visit, Mayor? Not a social call, I'd imagine.” His voice was serious and the set of his shoulders held wary aggression.

“No. I'm afraid not.” Ray's voice lowered an octave. Leaning around Kit, she saw the mayor avert his eyes. “Your deputy has been murdered. Shot in the back.”

“Hazen?”

“Jim?”

Her shocked voice echoed Kit's before he added, “Could've been McGruder, a woman beater we ran into close to Dillard's Peak. When I tried to arrest him, he shot at us. Got away.”

Ray shook his head. “Wasn't him. McGruder was arrested down in Calico Springs yesterday evening, confessed to all sorts of crimes while waiting to see a doctor. No, Deputy Hazen was murdered in Fort McNamara in the alley outside the saloon. Someone saw a woman matching Cora's description in the area earlier that night.” Ray looked at her now with accusation in his gaze.

Kit snorted. “We've been out of town for the past three days. Jupiter can attest to that.”

Mr. Buchanan shook his head. “Didn't happen in the last three days. Happened the night before you two left.”

She felt the blood leeching from her face. She
had
been in town that evening. That would've been the last night she'd dressed as Velvet Grace.

Mr. Buchanan nudged his horse closer, circling Kit to get a better view of Cora. “I went to the Club. Searched her room. I found this hidden in a cabinet.” He reached in his saddlebag and gave them a glimpse of the blue fabric within.

“Sheriff, I'm afraid he's right,” Ray said in a quiet voice. “After the witness came forward and the cloak was discovered, I went to the blacksmith. Jupiter told us he'd given the lady some bullets, even a gun some months ago. Before the last sheriff was murdered.”

“Cora, I had to tell the truth. My wife…” Jupiter pleaded, “Tell them you didn't kill Sidlow. It had to have been another person. One of the other women, maybe?”

Nausea rose up, filling the back of her throat. She had to defend her employees, her friends. They were blameless, and she was strong.
Be brave!
Slowly, she slipped around Kit's side, heading toward Buchanan. “My girls didn't do it. None of them have held a gun in their lives—or wanted to.” Her instincts urged her to defend herself too. She could tell them she'd seen Jim trying to rape the girl in the alleyway, so there were probably other people who wanted to put lead in him—but what difference did that make? It would only make her look guiltier with a motive for killing the sonofabitch.

Kit's hand closed around her elbow, keeping her firmly by his side. Warm and strong yet offering none of the tenderness he'd shown her less than an hour ago. He addressed Ray, “I'll see to it that justice is done.”

His hard tone made her glance at him in surprise, but his stony gaze remained on the mayor, full of resolve. His grip was sure and unyielding, likely remembering that night and her sneaking back through the secret entrance of her bedroom.

Kit had suddenly forgotten whatever they'd shared these past few days.

Built more like a sepulcher for the deceased than a dwelling for the living, the Fort McNamara jail was made of stone and cement, and when Cora lay spread-eagle in the center of it, she was no more than three feet away from touching every wall.

Presently, the center of the cell was the only place Cora could bear to sit, as the walls had begun to weep from the change in temperature after the sun went down. Now left alone with only a hole in the wall and the occasional squeaking brown bat keeping her company, she struggled to keep from crying, pulling her knees to her body and rocking herself.

It had only been a few hours, but in the tiny quarters, it seemed a lifetime since she'd been outside, escorted back to town on what she now considered the horseback ride from hell.

The worst part of being arrested hadn't been the fear of her coming trial and conviction, her likely sentence, or even being humiliated and left on public display for passing drunks to taunt from the street outside. No, the worst part came from Kit's total silence during the journey, the feel of his rigid arms around her as they'd ridden without speaking to each other. Being with their escorts, the mayor and Kit's new deputies, she'd been unable to say anything to Kit in her defense. Just as he'd been prevented from talking to her.
If
he'd wanted to, though he might not. His actions had been wooden as he'd helped her throw a couple of blankets and a few clothes in a bag. He'd refused to look at her even as he'd settled her on the back of his mount. His demeanor spoke volumes.