Sterling's Way (Lawmen & Outlaws) (2 page)

Confused, he turned to the preacher. “Mister—uh, Reverend—”

“Pastor,” the man supplied. “Pastor Godsworth is fine. Preacher Godsworth will do as well.”

In these rugged parts, the man was more apt to hear the latter but Jack was not from around here so he said, “Thank you, Pastor. So, where is the boy? Your grandson—I don’t see the little guy. I’d like to thank him for bringing help the way he did.”

The door on the opposite side opened. A hearty voice filled the small space. “Grandfather, are you all right? And you, Miss Marsh, are you intact? I rode as hard as I could but I worried the scoundrels might harm you both before I got back. Are you both spared?”

Pastor Godsworth pulled the man inside the carriage and embraced him before answering the barrage of questions. Keeping an arm around his grandson’s shoulders, he waved away the other man’s concern with his free hand. “We’re fine, my boy, just fine. The good Lord above saved us—with a little help from this fine man, a gift of divine providence if ever I met one. Isn’t that right, Miss Marsh?”

“Why, yes. This, ah, gentleman came upon the scene and, without any thought to his own safety, rushed to our assistance.” Miss Marsh turned and faced Jack, a grateful smile twitching up the corners of her rosebud lips. “How ever will we thank you? Why, we don’t even know your name, do we, Pastor?”

“No, we don’t.” The pastor slapped his grandson’s broad shoulder with a wink. “At least, not all of it.”

Jack’s brain barely had time to register the fact that the preacher’s “boy” was a grown man—a man whose gaze had been pinned on the young woman across from him ever since he’d been welcomed by his grandfather. The attraction was clear but Jack wondered if it was mutual.

The musing was lost when a deputy leaned in and asked, “Everyone all right here?”

“We are, sir. Thank you for enquiring.” Miss Marsh answered softly. She bestowed a small smile on the lawman.

A wild, irrational stab of jealousy tore through Jack but he quelled it. There was no time for entanglements, and jealousy was energy wasted that could be better used to accomplish his goal. A goal that he had not come closer to achieving, despite his best intentions and efforts. If only the stagecoach hadn’t been under siege when he had come upon it… But there wasn’t time for recriminations or regrets. Not now.

“We were just trying to learn the identity of our hero.” The pastor gestured to Jack, bringing everyone’s focus to the same point. “This kind stranger found us helpless and under fire, but he didn’t give a thought for his own safety. This brave fellow made his way into the coach and single-handedly held the robbers at bay. We will be forever in your debt, Mr.—what
is
your name, sir?”

“Jack Sterling. And there’s no need to thank me, any of you.” Jack warmed beneath his dusty hat. The carriage felt close and he would have jumped out into the open air had there not been deputies at both door openings. “I just found you all in a tight spot, and did what anyone would have done. It’s no big deal, really.”

“Pretty darn lucky for everyone, you riding up on the stagecoach unexpectedly like that.” The deputy spat a stream of tobacco juice to the ground, punctuating his statement in true cowboy fashion.

For an instant, Jack went cold inside. Then he realized there was no way the deputy—or anyone else, for that matter—could know why he “happened” on the coach the way he had.

Luck? It had nothing to do with Jack’s presence.

He had come prepared to rob the stagecoach. If it were not for his own bad luck, he would have been able to do so—without having to save it instead.

Chapter Two

Had anyone told socialite Kristen Marsh she would step onto the muddy, rutted road before the Brown’s Point Stagecoach Station and be grateful for the chance to fill her travel-weary lungs with dusty, hot air—redolent with the scent of horse manure, no less—she might have laughed herself silly over the preposterousness of such an idea.

The irony of her situation was not lost on her as she narrowly avoided a smelly deposit left by one of the six horses still attached to the coach.

Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any messier
.

Pulling her skirt high enough off the ground to ensure some measure of cleanliness, she took a rather large, unladylike step and ascended to the wide wooden walkway in front of the building. A fleeting mental image of her mother’s horrified reaction to Kristen’s small leap onto the walkway made her smile. The motion wasn’t anything she had learned at the prestigious Boston Academy for Young Women, but it served a purpose. A glance down at her hem made her glad for the improvised leap.

She was in a new land—or at least a new-to-her land—and a move this big called for a few adjustments. It wasn’t enough to simply change her name. No, if this plan was to work she would need a whole new identity, one that was so far removed from her real self, and her former life, that no one would suspect who she was—or why she was hiding. Bounding onto the boardwalk like a common fishmonger’s wife was a small jump by comparison to the leap of faith she had taken when she left all she knew and loved behind her.

Well, mostly loved.

If she had loved everything about her life—and, most especially,
everyone
—she might still be comfortably ensconced in her suite of rooms at her parents’ house on Haven Hill. The salt-air breeze coming off the bay wafting through her open windows, stirring the lacy eyelet curtains and filling her mind and heart with treasured memories. Birdsong from her mother’s flower gardens would stir her soul.

Instead her nose felt assaulted by the scent of sweat-soaked horseflesh. The cacophony of barrels being unloaded from a delivery wagon across the street, every movement like a shot from a cannon, made her temples throb. Fortunately her stomach had settled some and the butterflies she had first hosted beneath her ribs slumbered, leaving her slightly unnerved but cautiously curious about the wild world she had just so unceremoniously leapt into.

Still, curiosity had little to do with survival. And, one way or another, Kristen was determined to survive. She was intelligent, reasonably attractive and, thanks to her mother’s insistence that she attend only the finest schools her father’s money could afford, very well educated. It was more than enough, she believed, to open any door she wished to enter.

A niggling fear that in the rugged western frontier the doors she hoped would be thrown wide might only be minimally cracked sent an icy fingertip up her spine.

Kristen gave herself a brisk internal shake. There was no sense dwelling on what was behind her, or mulling over doom-and-gloom possibilities that might never come to fruition.

If she was to succeed, she had to focus on the path ahead.

In her mind, she heard her beloved Aunt Irene’s words, spoken softly but with such down-to-earth eastern wisdom they could not be ignored.
Chin up, child. Take whatever God gives you, and make the best of it. It’s all any of us can do, remember that. There’s no use sniffling over things that cannot be changed.

With renewed resolve, Kristen turned on the heel of one hand-tooled black leather traveling boot and reached to retrieve her satchel. It was the first time she had ever carried her own bag but she was sure it would not be the last. She had made this journey without her private maid or a chaperone of any kind. All of her needs were her own providence now—beginning with toting her baggage. Thank goodness, she had packed only the barest necessities.

“I’ll take my valise now, if you pl—
Oof!
” The air left her lungs in a fast
whoosh
as she collided with a hard form. For an instant she teetered, dangerously close to tumbling off the walk. Then she took one small step backward and regained her footing, but not before a pair of strong hands reached out to grip her upper arms.

Kristen pulled in a shaky breath, her right hand going instinctively to cover her hammering heart. It felt ready to burst from her chest! She looked up to meet the gaze of the owner of the solid wall of flesh she had just bounced off of—and recognized the man instantly.

Her heart began to dance double-time.

“You!”

His lips quirked upward at the ends, giving his slow smile an impertinent edge. For some reason his amusement annoyed her more. How dare this common gunslinger beam impudently at her?

“Miss Marsh.” His voice was as smooth as warm honey dripping down the sides of an oven-hot biscuit. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again—and so unexpectedly, at that.”

With a small twist, Kristen pulled herself out of the man’s grasp. His hands fell away naturally. She should have felt freed without his touch on her but instead a fresh wave of unsteadiness swept over her. The man reached for her arm a second time, but she gestured him away, feeling more foolish than ever that she had nearly swooned right before his eyes.

Get hold of yourself!

“I didn’t see you standing there. I, um, wouldn’t have turned so quickly and—”

He cut her off smoothly, a teasing glint sending pinpricks of light dancing in the depths of his deep brown eyes. “Tried to knock me down? Attempted to bowl me over is more like it.”

“I did no such thing!”

She would have protested further but the sincerity of his gaze and the intensity of his smile dazzled her. The hardness of his chiseled features softened when he smiled, as he was doing now. The cold initial impression he had imparted, handsome rescuer arriving in the nick of time, pistol drawn and shooting to kill, gave way to a less frightening image in these less formidable circumstances. Certainly, he was still a rugged, rough-and-tumble figure but with a smirk twitching his lips and the sparkles in his eyes turning Kristen’s legs wobbly, he seemed more cowboy hero than gunslinger.

Remembering her manners, Kristen put less vinegar and more honey behind her words. After all, he had saved her barely an hour earlier. And now, he had held her steady when she might have taken a nasty tumble. That had to count for something, didn’t it?

“I assure you, Mr. Sterling, I did
not
try to knock you down. Quite the contrary, in fact. Why, it would appear that you placed yourself between my baggage and me in order to bowl
me
over. After all, I was the one who nearly went down on my…uh, well, I was the one who nearly fell.”

He stood at least a foot taller than her five feet, so it was a simple maneuver for him to peer pointedly over her shoulder toward the portion of her anatomy she would have fallen onto if she had, in fact, fallen. The glance would have been scandalous back in Boston, but on the grimy street of the Wyoming frontier it seemed fitting.

“Jack.” When she quirked an eyebrow upward, he held out one hand. His palm faced her and she caught a glimpse of the lines and calluses on its surface. This man was no stranger to hard work. “‘Mr. Sterling’ seems pretty strait-laced at this point, don’t you think?”

“But—”

His hand snapped up again, but went down again just as fast. A smile tickled her lips at the gesture. Again, it felt so far distant from the rapid-firing rescuer that her heart warmed.

“Now think about it, Miss Marsh. You and I have not been properly, drawing-room style introduced, but I would say we
have
gotten pretty close in the past couple of hours. I mean, I did cover your body with my own—if I can be excused my boldness for bringing that up. And, as you so delicately pointed out, I may have nearly knocked you onto your—” He raised an amused brow before he continued. “Well, let’s just say I almost knocked you down. So from where I’m standing, you and I have formed a fast friendship. I don’t know about you, but I’m new to Brown’s Point and I could surely use a friend. So, what do you say? Could you see yourself calling me by my given name?”

It was impossible to refuse him.

“Jack,” she said with a heavy sigh. Why fight something that seemed almost destined? Propriety could not be totally forgotten, however, so she added, “But although I am pleased to make your acquaintance, I am afraid I cannot agree that we are fast friends. Not yet, anyhow. Why, I don’t even know anything about you, other than your name.”

“There’s not much else to know, believe me.”

“I find that a stretch.” Aunt Irene had always said Kristen had a gift for seeing beneath the surface of people and situations. Instinct told her now that Jack Sterling was a man with many layers, and with some closely guarded secrets. She didn’t know how she knew that about him, only that she did. ‘The gift’, she supposed. Aunt Irene had it, and apparently she did, too.

“Why don’t we take our time getting to know each other? Maybe then you’ll see that the most interesting part of this man really is his name.” He chuckled, the sound so disarmingly masculine that Kristen forgot the question she had been about to ask.

Jack reached up and grabbed Kristen’s traveling bag from the stagecoach attendant. When she attempted to take it from him, he shifted it from one hand to the other and held out an arm to her. “So where are we headed, Miss Marsh? It seems only fitting that I see my new friend safely to her destination.”

Weariness swept over Kristen like a blanket. The journey had been long and tedious, the excitement of the stagecoach robbery bringing her nearly to the point of exhaustion.

With a resigned sigh, Kristen placed her hand through Jack’s open elbow and rested it on his arm.

“The boardinghouse. Brown’s Rest, I think it’s called. I’m told a ‘Mrs. King’ is a woman of some grace, and runs a very respectable establishment. I certainly hope it is the truth, because I am sorely in need of a place to rest.” Manners couldn’t be ignored, so Kristen added, “That is, if you’re certain you don’t mind escorting me.”

As they began to walk, Jack shook his head. “Believe me, I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing right now than escorting you home. Not one single, solitary thing.”

Chapter Three