Outlaw's Bride (15 page)

Clint arched his brow. “For starters, a gentle hand, which has already been administered.”

She nearly laughed. “I can change that. What else?”

He frowned, though his eyes twinkled. “Plenty of bedrest.”

“Now, that's a sensible one.”

“With a woman.”

Her breath gusted through her lips as her nipples hardened. She put a few more inches between them, but the heat between their bodies still intensified. “Are you always this forward, or do I just bring out the worst in you?”

He raised his hand to brush her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Hardly the worst, Mattie.”

His gentle touch brought goose bumps to her arms and her brain lost all track of coherent thought. Oh, Lord, she didn't need this. Not now.

Some perverse part of her liked the control she held over him, but another part recognized the control he held over her. If Andy and Herman hadn't been there…

She
had
to resist him if she was to hold on to her fragile pride.

“Save it for some woman who's willing,” she managed to say with just the right amount of flippancy.

He cupped her chin and gave her a devilish wink that turned her knees to mush. “You're willing, Mattie. You just won't admit it yet.”

Damn him! He was right, but thankfully her mind still managed to control her hot and willing nature.

So far.

As she applied a clean dressing, her fingers brushed the light smattering of hair across his chest and her thoughts skittered back to the feel of his hard body against her own.

“I can do this,” she muttered.

“I sure hope so. Or maybe you haven't had enough practice yet.”

And I'll bet you're willing to teach me.
Mattie shoved the rebellious thought aside. He only meant changing his bandages. Hadn't he?

The half-smile on his lips was open to interpretation. Her fingers trembled as she knotted the bandage around his middle. She reached for his shirt and thrust it at him. “Put it on.”

He made no attempt to take it from her. “What's wrong? Don't you trust yourself around me?”

The gall of the man! “That's right. I don't trust myself not to slap that smug look off your face.”

She tossed his shirt at him and stalked back into the house—but not fast enough to escape the sound of his laughter.

T
he smell of baking pies and frying fish wafted out onto the porch, making Clint's mouth water in anticipation. He closed his eyes, imagining Mattie bustling about in the kitchen. The image was a dangerously enticing one. She was like a little whirlwind, full of energy that Clint had hoped to channel in other directions. But the woman was as stubborn as she was seductive.

Damn.

The sound of hoofbeats and squeaking leather brought Clint's eyes open. At the hitching rail, the sheriff dismounted and tossed the reins loosely around the pole.

Then he climbed the steps to the porch. “Howdy, Beaudry.”

Clint tensed, wondering if Atwater had any news about the man who'd shot him. “Sheriff. What brings you out here?”

Atwater sniffed deeply and a wide smile creased his face. “If that ain't reason enough, then you ain't human.”

Clint chuckled and relaxed.

The sheriff sat down and removed his hat, then mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “You look like you're healin' right fine.”

“Thanks to Mattie.”

Atwater leaned back and eyed him for a long moment. “You should be ready to move on real soon.”

The hint was anything but subtle, and though Clint had come to the same conclusion himself, he didn't like another man telling him what to do. Especially when it came to Mattie. “Is that an order?” he drawled.

“Nope, just some friendly advice.”

Any question that the sheriff had come visiting only for Mattie's cooking was dispelled. He was checking up on Clint, ensuring that he hadn't taken advantage of Mattie. Clint couldn't blame the lawman—the idea had certainly crossed his mind more than once. But Mattie St. Clair was a special woman, and he had no intention of using her like he would a saloon gal.

“I plan on leaving the day after tomorrow,” Clint finally said.

“Does Mattie know?”

“No. I'll tell her this evening.”

Atwater rocked silently and Clint listened to the muffled creak of the chair, trying not to think about how he was going to break the news to Mattie.

“It's for the best, you know,” the sheriff said quietly. “You got too damn much hate and anger inside you. It's only goin' to destroy you and hurt everyone around you.”

Clint couldn't deny it. “You'd feel the same way if it'd been your wife.”

“You tell Mattie about her yet?”

“No.”

Atwater shrugged. “Might make things easier for her to understand.”

“My business is my own,” Clint said coldly. He wasn't about to turn his wife's death into grist for the gossip mill in Green Valley.

“Have it your way.”

“I always do.”

Mattie appeared in the doorway and smiled. “I thought I heard voices. Hello, Walt. You chose a good night to come calling. Andy, Clint, and Herman helped me pick peaches this morning and we all caught enough fish for supper.”

“I was just tellin' Beaudry here how good your cookin' is, but I was preachin' to the choir. He already knows, right?” Atwater gazed at Clint.

“Yep.” Clint forced a smile to ease the sting of his curt tone. “Did you know she makes the best flapjacks in the world, but only on Saturday mornings?”

“You don't say.”

“She says they wouldn't be as good if we had them every day.”

“That's a woman for you. My Sarah was the same way,” Atwater said. “Would only make chicken 'n' dumplin's on Sundays.”

“Who knows how a woman thinks?”

“Ain't that the truth.”

“If you two are finished with your illuminating conversation about women, you can come in and eat,” Mattie flounced back into the house.

Atwater's twinkling eyes met Clint's gaze. “You got any idea what that was all about?”

“Nope.”

The two men stared at one another a moment, then chuckled, easing the tension that had sprung up between them. Clint opened the door and allowed the sheriff to enter ahead of him.

Herman and Andy, already seated at the table, didn't seem surprised to see the sheriff. Either Mattie had told them of his arrival or they were accustomed to him dropping by now and again.

“Howdy, Sheriff,” Herman said. “How's your lumbago doin'?”

Atwater pressed a hand to his lower back. “Sometimes better'n other times.”

“You want me to rub some of Ma's smelly stuff on it again?” Andy asked.

“Maybe later,” the sheriff said, ruffling the boy's hair.

Jealousy caught Clint off guard. It was clear Atwater was a member of Mattie's extended family. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like if he gave up the hunt and settled here. Could he become part of her family, too? A very close part?

He shook aside the treasonous thought—he had a job to do and he couldn't let a raven-haired angel beguile him into forgetting his responsibility.

Clint and Atwater moved toward the same chair, and when they both tried to sit on it at the same time, Andy laughed.

“You two playing musical chairs?” the boy asked.

“Seems that way,” Clint muttered. He motioned for the older man to sit down, then took the chair on the other side of Andy.

After they said grace, the food was passed around.

“Anything happen in town lately?” Mattie asked.

“Not much,” the sheriff replied. “Finally caught young Tommy Kidder stealin' the tailfeathers from Old Lady Shingle's turkeys. Said he needed 'em to make a pair of wings.”

Clint smiled, remembering his own days as a lawman and the stunts kids used to pull.

“And Miss Lathrop is airin' out the schoolhouse, gettin' ready to start classes in a couple weeks, soon as the harvest is in.”

Andy groaned.

“You should be grateful you have a teacher. My ma taught me to read and write,” Clint said.

He could recall the many evenings sitting by the table in the light of a single kerosene lamp. His mother, exhausted after caring for six children, would still find time to teach them their letters and numbers.

“Where was that?” Atwater asked.

“Down around the Texas panhandle.”

“How did you end up here?” Mattie asked.

Clint saw Atwater's eyes narrow, but Clint wasn't ready to tell Mattie the truth. He shrugged. “Itchy feet, I guess.”

Before she could probe further, the sheriff spoke. “You'll probably be gettin' some boarders soon,” he said to Mattie. “Folks'll be lookin' for a place to hole up over the winter.” He deliberately gazed at Clint. “Or they'll be headed to warmer weather.”

Mattie glanced downward, obviously understanding the sheriff's pointed remark.

For the remainder of the meal, she was quieter than usual. Herman and Atwater compared their aches and pains, and Andy had to show everyone the scar under his chin he'd earned when he stumbled chasing a fox kit. Then they all laughed about the time the boy had fallen in the creek while trying to “catch” a log.

Suddenly feeling like an intruder, Clint pushed back his plate. “My side's getting a little stiff. I think I'll go take a walk.”

“Don't you want some pie?” Mattie asked.

He forced a smile and patted his belly. “I'm full up right now. I'll have some later after I make some room.”

Escaping the odd loneliness that had settled in his chest, he stepped outside. He didn't belong here any more than a fox belonged with the chickens. He had no right disrupting their peaceful existence with the rage and vengeance that ate away at his insides.

Where
did
he belong? Chasing down a murderer for the rest of his days, or in a place like this, with a woman like Mattie?

He slid his hands into his jeans pockets and strolled down to the corral. Dakota met him with an enthusiastic nicker and Clint patted the animal's neck. Light shone invitingly from the house's windows, and melancholy stole across him.

No, he didn't belong here any more than his Colt did.

Later, when he headed back to the house, he saw Mattie and Sheriff Atwater step onto the porch and he drew back in the shadows. Mattie's womanly curves were silhouetted in the light spilling from the doorway and Clint curled his fingers into tight fists. He knew how those curves would feel, how they would fit snugly against his hard body.

“You should retire, Walt,” Mattie said.

Clint pressed his back against the side of the house and shamelessly eavesdropped.

“You worry too much.”

“I have reason enough.”

“Tarnation, Mattie, that was ten years ago. The town is civilized now, not like when your husband was sheriff.”

“Your reflexes aren't what they used to be.”

“You sayin' I'm gettin' too old for the job?” Atwater asked, a definite edge to his voice.

Clint tensed, recognizing the tone of a man who'd just had his pride injured.

“No. I'm just afraid you might get hurt one of these days.”

“I ain't ready to be put out to pasture yet, Mattie St. Clair. And even if I was, there's no one around who would be willin' or able to take over for me.”

“But—”

“There ain't any buts. I'm Green Valley's sheriff and plan on stayin' that way.”

Atwater strode down the steps and to his horse at the hitching post. Before he turned the animal to leave, he touched the brim of his hat. “Thanks for supper, Mattie.”