Sterling's Way (Lawmen & Outlaws) (3 page)

Dust swirled around his boot tips the moment he stepped into the street but it stopped rising into the air before it hit his knees so Jack chalked it up to mere inconvenience. He had heard talk of drought, rainmakers and ruined crops in the dining room the evening before but he hadn’t paid the locals discussing the weather much attention. He had other, more pressing, matters on his mind.

The lack of rain in this ramshackle town had no bearing on what he had to do, so why concern himself? If he were lucky he would be long gone before the place either dried up and blew away or got its rainfall. Besides, there had been worse things coating his boots in his lifetime, particularly during his stint fighting Indians back in the Kansas Territory. A little dust wasn’t anything he couldn’t endure.

Leaving his horse at the stable, he set off on foot toward the center of town.

A grizzled old man wearing the requisite miner’s garb jerked his stubbled chin in greeting as he passed. Jack responded in kind, and then listened to the tools dangling from the fellow’s belt jangle as he sauntered away. South Pass City, a large mining town where gold had turned paupers into men of means, wasn’t far north of Brown’s Point. Idly Jack wondered if the man had a claim there. It might be a good place to visit before heading home to Kansas.

But now wasn’t the time for planning trips. His concentration focused on Brown’s Point and its inhabitants—one person in particular. Getting a feel for the place, he strolled leisurely just beyond the wooden walkway as if he was just out for a morning constitutional instead of scanning for clues.

Long ago he learned that defeating an opponent was far less demanding when he recognized the other’s weakness. It was to his benefit to find out all he could about Randall Brown—and hopefully uncover a soft spot or two that would make his recovering the deed to his grandmother’s property less difficult.

Grandmother.
The memory of the sweet woman who had raised him tugged at Jack’s heartstrings. Everything he had, all that he was, he owed to the woman. She had taken him in when his parents were killed, loved him as if he were her own and taught him almost all he knew.

The devotion Jack had for his grandmother was surpassed only by his resolve to reclaim what was rightfully hers. No unscrupulous con man was going to steal her home out from beneath her—not while he had even one last breath in his lungs.

“Good morning.” He tipped his hat to a stout, middle-aged woman emerging from the mercantile store. The skirt of her brown dress swirled, sending a small cloud of dust into the air. She smiled in return, so he said, “Nice day, isn’t it?”

“Would be nicer if it was a fair bit wetter.” Pulling a cotton hanky from the sleeve of her dress, she lifted it to her nose and sighed dramatically.

Jack glanced at her work-worn hands, then at the burlap sack she carried tight against her bosom. From the bag’s lumpiness, he guessed she had seeds. Most folks in Brown’s Point had small garden patches in their backyards, the same way families in most other frontier towns did.

He nodded. “You’ve got a point, ma’am. I’ll keep it in mind to pray for rain before I close my eyes tonight.”

With a final blot of handkerchief to nose, she began to walk away. She called over her shoulder, “That would be greatly appreciated, sir. Have a nice day!”

The exchange lightened Jack’s mood considerably.

Countless miles, between Carroll’s Junction and the Wyoming Territory, had given him plenty of time to think. He had built up the image of a lawless, Godforsaken, thieving town in his mind. Meeting ordinary people living everyday lives wiped the idea almost completely away.

Maybe this fellow Brown is the exception, rather than the rule
.

****

Despite an unwavering attention to her circumstances and a newly developed sense of frugality, Kristen’s modest nest egg was dwindling—fast. Passage on the coach, as well as meals and lodging, had taken a bigger bite from her savings than she had bargained on.

The paltry sum spread out on the faded blue counterpane before her would barely provide for her existence beyond the next month or so. Granted, her dinner meal was included in her monthly rent with Mrs. King but there were other expenses to consider.

Kristen scooped up the money, dropped the change and bills into her coin purse, then tucked the soft leather pouch inside her bodice. It nestled near her heart, held in place by her tight corset. When she had first stowed her valuables on her person the feeling had unsettled her. Now, even with the money purse further reducing the movement of her chest, it felt as natural as the rib-crushing undergarment did.

Until she was more firmly on her feet, and certain of her safety in this frontier town, she planned to keep her cash right at hand. That way she would be ready to flee if her pursuers tracked her down.

Maybe one day, if she were lucky, she might be able to shed both strictures.

Chin up
. She grabbed her bonnet and put it on her head.
That’s what Aunt Irene would say right about now.

Opening the door with one hand while she adjusted the bow beneath her chin with the other, Kristen hurried from the room and down the staircase. No one saw her leave, and she was grateful that the boardinghouse seemed deserted. It saved her from having to make idle conversation, a task she did not feel up to now. There were too many other issues on her mind for her to stop to discuss the weather.

The morning’s dry heat slapped her cheeks. Recognizing hesitation as an adversary rather than an ally, Kristen did not let the stifling air deter her from her errand.

She hurried down the wide steps onto the wooden boardwalk and turned resolutely toward Brown’s Bank. A telegraph, folded neatly inside her money purse, assured her that upon her arrival one Mr. Randall Brown would be at her service, ready to accommodate both her financial and employment needs. At this moment her meager finances were hardly in need of accommodating but she fully intended to secure a promised position at the local schoolhouse.

Her boot heels
clack-clack-clacked
against the worn wood as she made her way past a steady stream of people. The braying of a miner’s persnickety mule, its feet planted stubbornly in the center of the street, momentarily caught Kristen’s interest. She watched, amused by the spectacle. There weren’t many mules—especially ones obviously intent on taking bites from their owners’ hats—on Boston’s streets.

Had Jack not spoken, instantly capturing her attention, Kristen would have probably slammed into him—again. But he did speak, so she turned to face him and avoided an embarrassing situation.

“Good morning, Miss Marsh.”

Kristen’s gaze met his and for a heartbeat she couldn’t speak. The dark richness of his eyes encouraged her to linger beneath his stare.

She felt pulled by the man in a way she could not begin to explain. The attraction both intrigued and frightened her. It wouldn’t do to form attachments to anyone given her situation. Who could tell when she would be found, or have to flee?

Still, Kristen could not resist Jack Sterling’s magnetism. She smiled broadly, her corset suddenly tighter and the air degrees hotter, and tipped her head slightly.

“Good morning, Jack.”

Chapter Four

Years spent at his grandfather’s side during business negotiations had honed Jack’s ability to size people up. While he tried never to jump to conclusions, it was a rare occasion when he could not at least formulate an accurate character evaluation in pretty short order.
Gut instinct
, his grandfather had called it. He always assured Jack that following his gut’s instincts would serve him well in both his business and personal endeavors.

Thus far, Jack’s grandfather had been correct.

Jack’s gut—or his mind, for that matter—had not stopped hammering at him since the moment he met Miss Marsh. That selfsame area alerted him to the lovely woman’s approach. His stomach took a queer lurch just moments before he heard her footsteps.

The world fell away during the scant seconds before he greeted her. Her natural beauty seemed out of place amidst the dust, grime and hardened citizens swirling around them. She looked delicate but Jack had already surmised that hidden beneath her ruffled petticoats was a spine of steel.

And, for a reason he could not put his finger on, he sensed she had a secret—or two or three, even—hidden from view. Discovering the mystery of Kristen Marsh was high on his list of priorities. It shouldn’t be, he knew, not with the deed fiasco hanging over his head. Still, his interest was piqued and with each chance meeting his attraction for the woman grew.

His gut tightened now as she lifted her gaze and he fell effortlessly under the spell of her aquamarine eyes.

How could it be that one small woman could bring such a powerful response—with barely a glance?

A question for the ages
, Jack thought with a wry smile.

“We seem to have a propensity for bumping into each other, don’t we?” He could not resist the bit of teasing, and was delighted when it brought a fast flush to her smooth cheeks.

“We do.” A small shrug brought her slender shoulders nearly to the lowest edge of her bonnet.

A foolish thought swept through Jack’s mind, and for an instant, he was tempted to push the bonnet back on her head just so he could get a glimpse of her hair and be reminded of endless glowing acres of prized Kansas wheat. Of their own volition, his fingers uncurled, his wrist came up slightly and he began to reach for what lay so close—yet so far. Before he could make a fool of himself, her voice brought him pleasantly back to reality.

“At least this morning you’re not insinuating that I’m trying to topple you into the street.” Miss Marsh’s eyes twinkled mischievously. She lifted her chin, daring him without words to deny he had done just that yesterday.

A woman with spirit appealed to Jack’s tastes. He had never been content to keep company with someone who smiled at every word from his mouth or agreed with all of his ideas. Beauty paired with intelligence was what he had always yearned for in a partner. Thus far, he had not found a woman who appealed to him and possessed both traits—until now. It was patently clear that the woman standing before him, grinning up so sweetly at him, had both those qualities—and a whole lot more, if he read her right.

“Ahem… Well, yes, I did do that, didn’t I? Accusing you of, ah…”

“‘Bowling’ you over, those were the words you used, I believe.”

Spirited, and fast thinking
. His smile broadened as he rose to the challenge.

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

“That’s exactly what you said. I wouldn’t forget something so…so…so inflammatory.”

“Inflammatory? Was I truly that out of line?”

Her attempt to pull her features into some semblance of bland seriousness enchanted him. Jack made a mental note to engage in future verbal parries with her, if only to watch her expressions change during the interplay.

“I fear it is so, Jack. You were quite inflammatory, I believe.”

He tilted his head to one side, hoping he looked at least a tad remorseful. Keeping his grin in check was difficult, especially considering the fact that he wanted nothing more than to throw his head back and laugh aloud. By God, Kristen Marsh was delightful! Where had she been all these years? And, more importantly, now that they were acquainted, how was he going to get closer to the woman? She intrigued him as no other ever had.

“I humbly beg your forgiveness, Miss Marsh. I don’t know what has come over me these past few days. My only excuse is that I’ve been captured by the spirit of this untamed land—a sad excuse for any man to justify his inattention to the social niceties, as I’m sure you realize.” A fast wink as he swept his hat from his head earned Jack another satisfying blush.

Spurred on by the reaction to their little game, he clapped his hat over his chest and dropped his chin to his chest. His gaze dropped to his toes but he held it there for only a second before he raised his head. “It’s a good thing for me my grandmother isn’t here to see the downfall of my manners. She taught me better than to impugn a lady’s reputation. Why, I do believe she would be mightily ashamed of me if she were here.”

Miss Marsh’s expression sobered instantly. “Oh. I am sorry for your loss. And your grandmother wouldn’t be ashamed—not at all—because you really didn’t harm my reputation.”

Now Jack gave in to his desire to tilt his head back and laugh. Her solemn countenance was just as charming as her ordinarily cheerful one was.

“Now I’ve really got something to apologize for.” Jack wiped the back of a hand over his eyes before settling his hat back in place. The sun’s glare was hotter than the inside of a boiling teakettle. Just a few uncovered moments brought an unwelcome stickiness to his head. “It seems I’ve given you the wrong impression about my dear grandmother. She isn’t deceased, merely back home.”

Understanding dawned in the enchanting eyes.

“Where exactly is home?”

“Kansas. Carroll’s Junction, to be exact.” He waited for any spark of recognition at the mention of his hometown. When none came, Jack continued. “Have you ever been to Kansas?”

A fast headshake accompanied the denial. “No, I haven’t. I have heard it’s a beautiful place, though.”

“Green pastures. Blue skies.” He glanced at the wispy tendril that brushed her left eyebrow. “Gorgeous golden wheat fields. The sort of place that sears itself into a man’s soul.”

“Why did you leave, then? It’s apparent your heart is still back in Kansas.”

Annoyance pushed enjoyment to one side as he recalled the reason for his being in Wyoming. Before he could formulate a suitable answer, a new round of braying came from the still immobile mule in the street.

“Oh!” A gasp as the beast snatched the miner’s hat off his head. “Look at that!”

Jack was amused. No one rushed to assist the aggravated man who attempted—unsuccessfully—to reclaim his hat.