Whirlwind Reunion (6 page)

It was better for her to just keep her distance and find someone who could relay the information to him. Russ?

Her gaze went to the jail. Davis Lee. The sheriff would also need to know what she'd found and he could pass the information to Matt or whoever he saw fit.

Perfect. Now she wouldn't have to see Matt.

 

Matt sauntered over to the door of the jailhouse and looked out the adjacent window, glad to see Annalise and Quentin were no longer in the street. They were nowhere in sight, and despite the relief he felt, the tightness in his chest didn't ease.

He knew Prescott and Annalise were friends, but what did she have to talk to him about for so long? Why had she smiled at him like he was something special? And why the hell had they been holding hands?

Was their friendship turning into more? Had she done anything else with Prescott? Like kiss him? The thought had Matt's gut knotting up like rusty barbed wire.

He didn't try to tell himself he didn't care because he did. A heap.

Clenching his jaw hard enough to snap bone, he moved back to the corner of the room where he couldn't see out the window.

He wished it was that easy to get her image out of his mind. Despite sitting up two nights in a row to keep a watch over his cattle, he hadn't been able to forget the kiss they'd shared. And her sweet taste wasn't the only thing that had haunted him. His doubts about her lying wouldn't leave him be.

Was that kiss making him soft in the head? Had he been wrong about her all these years? The idea didn't sit well.

He braced one shoulder against the weathered pine wall, taking in the four shotguns lined up in the glass-fronted cabinet behind Davis Lee. The wanted posters for Reuben and Pat Landis helped Matt focus his attention on the rustling and not on his former love.

“A cow and her calf disappeared from our herd. I know those cattle were rustled, but I found no footprints, only cow hoof prints.”

“What about horse tracks?”

“No. They hit the Circle R last night, too. In fact, Bram and I started trackin' those rustlers together at dawn and we found nothing.”

Davis Lee opened his top drawer and pulled out a leather-bound book. Snagging a pencil, he eased down on the corner of his wide oak desk then flipped through a couple of pages. “How many head were taken from the Ross place?”

“Five. Two of those are unbranded calves.” As the sheriff made notes, Matt continued, “Bram and I rode into Whirlwind together to report the thefts.”

“Where is he? I would make a joke about him getting rustled, too, but I'm sick to death of these thievin' bastards.”

Matt nodded grimly. “Bram saw Deborah Blue going into Haskell's.”

“Ah, enough said.” The lawman continued to scribble in his book. “It sure would be helpful if we could get a lead on these rustlers or even the two SOBs who attacked you.”

“It was those damn Landis brothers who jumped me.”

“We can't prove it, though.”

“Provin' it is your speciality. I know where to set my sights.” Frustrated and on edge, Matt dragged a hand down his face. “I'm going to the saloon. I need a drink.”

Just as he straightened, the door opened. Annalise stepped inside in a swirl of yellow skirts, carrying two pieces of white fabric.

Matt froze, squelching the pleasure that flared inside him. Had she seen him come in here? Was she looking for him?

“Annalise.” Davis Lee rose from his desk, his eyes dark with concern. “Has something happened with Josie?”

“No, she's just fine. I didn't mean to alarm you.” She gave a reassuring smile. She didn't appear to have noticed Matt yet.

Well, he was noticing plenty about her. Even from here, he could smell her light floral scent and in that sunny dress she looked like a spring flower. Her wavy mahogany hair was down, sliding around her shoulders in a fall of deep brown silk. It was pulled back on the sides by a pair of combs, showing the soft curve of her jaw. The sunlight picked up dark and light shades of gold, even a touch of red. He wanted to bury his hands, his face in it.

She closed the door behind her. “I may have figured out what caused Matt's injuries.”

Then she could dang well tell
him.
“What do you reckon it was?” he asked.

Annalise whirled toward him, the surprise in her green eyes quickly shifting to irritation. Ah, she hadn't known he was here and she was vexed that he was. Well, too bad.

When she didn't answer him, he let his gaze drift from the top of her gorgeous head over the square neckline of her bodice that bared a small patch of peachy skin to the tip of her black shoes. A slow burn started in his belly. On the way back up, he paused at her soft pink mouth. “Hello, Angel.”

At the endearment, her eyes flashed. Lips flattening, she turned away.

He'd thought that might get more of a rise out of her, and only then realized that was exactly what he had tried to do.

Keeping her back to him, she moved in front of the sheriff's desk, laying the two pieces of cloth side by side. One had black marks and the other was the cheesecloth imprinted with the impression of his wounds.

He gave himself a mental kick. He should have been pondering on the weapon himself instead of on Annalise and that kiss. Just the sight of her put an ache inside him, so he stayed where he was.

Davis Lee stood beside her, slanting her a look. “I saw you talking to Quentin. Everything okay?”

“Oh, yes. I was just ordering some honey.”

Since when did it take so long? Matt thought darkly. And why did it involve all that touching? And dammit, Quentin kissing her hand?

Gesturing to the stiffened cheesecloth, she explained to Davis Lee how she had mixed a paste of cornstarch and water to take an impression of Matt's wounds.

“So, now we have a likeness and we won't have to recall from memory,” Davis Lee said.

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” He looked impressed.

It was impressive, Matt admitted. Even so, he pressed her. “It still doesn't tell us what made the wounds.”

Her shoulders went rigid, but she didn't turn to look at him, just glanced at Davis Lee. “I think it was spurs.”

“Well, I'll be! I can see it now.”

Matt moved to stand beside the other man. He, too, could identify the pattern, but his relief at finding a possible answer was interrupted by the thought that Quentin might have helped her with the idea.

“Ef helped me test my theory.” Smiling at Davis Lee, she indicated the other piece of fabric. “He put some blacking on a pair of spur rowels and we rolled them across the cloth. Look how similar the pattern is to the one I made from Matt's wounds.”

There was a moment of silence as the two men studied the ragged short lines. The pattern was so similar that there was no doubt about the weapon in question.

“I'll be danged,” Matt said, unable to keep the awe out of his voice. “You're right.”

She didn't respond. Didn't nod her head, blink, anything.

Davis Lee grinned at her. “Where did you come up with this idea?”

“Andrew was showing me his new pair of spurs and it hit me.”

Matt couldn't take his eyes off her. “So you decided to compare spur marks to the wound impressions.”

Looking at Davis Lee, she said, “I'd already compared every weapon and implement I could, with no luck.”

She was ignoring him, Matt realized with a flare of
irritation. Like hell. He moved behind her, standing near enough that his shoulder brushed hers. Near enough to feel her body heat.

He knew being this close would rattle her, make it impossible for her to pretend he wasn't in the room. But even when he leaned over to look more closely at the samples and brushed her hand with his, she didn't react.

The sheriff looked from one piece of fabric to the other. “Good thinking to make an impression of Matt's wounds. Is that something you learned in Philadelphia?”

“Yes.” She smiled.

Matt's attention locked on her lush pink mouth, remembering the velvet slide of her lips beneath his. And the way she had pulled back.

Her gaze flicked dispassionately to him then away. As if she didn't know him. As if they had never kissed.

“A professor of mine taught me how to do it,” she said.

“Quackenbush,” Matt put in, well aware that her eyes narrowed at his intrusion. He explained to the sheriff how Annalise's professor had worked with the police on some criminal cases.

She took a step back, putting enough distance between them that they were no longer touching. She acted unaffected by him, completely unaware, but he knew she wasn't unaware.

The hectic flutter of her pulse in her neck and the slight flush on her creamy skin were more than enough proof. She saw him, all right. She
felt
him, just like he felt her.

She remembered that kiss every bit as much as he did.

He wanted to drag her into the back room and do it
again, until she melted against him the way she had in the cemetery.

His temper spiked.

“I'd like to keep both these samples,” Davis Lee said.

“Of course. Just handle them carefully and keep them out of direct sunlight. I'm not sure if they'll fade, but it's better not to chance it.”

“This is great, Annalise.” Excitement underscored the man's words. “This is the first lead we've had since Matt's ambush.”

“I hope it helps.” Her full attention was on the sheriff.

Matt wanted her eyes on him. “It won't help us find the men who ambushed me.”

“Maybe not.” Annalise looked directly at Davis Lee. “But when you do, you'll be able to check their spurs, see if any of them match the impression I made. If so, that will prove who jumped him.”

Him?
He was standing right here! A red mist hazed his vision.

She walked to the door, smiling at Davis Lee. “I'd appreciate it if you would keep me apprised. I'd like to let my professor know if the method helped.”

“Sure thing. And thanks again for leaving the samples. I'll be careful with them.”

With a quick smile, she let herself out.

Fuming, Matt stalked to the window, watching the gentle sway of her hips, catching a glimpse of a white stocking when she lifted her skirts to go down the steps.

“It seemed like y'all were getting along just then.” The lawman's voice came from behind him. “I guess you resolved whatever the problem was between you.”

“She ignored me the entire time she was in here,” Matt pointed out dryly, rubbing at the ache in his chest. She had never done that to him. Ever.

“True.” Grinning, Davis Lee slapped him on the back. “Which means she wasn't really ignoring you.”

Matt shook his head at his friend. It had sure felt real to him. He and Annalise hadn't resolved anything. In fact, seeing her had stirred up everything he thought he had gotten past.

I
t was downright aggravating that Annalise had ignored him at the jail.

Working sixteen-to eighteen-hour days at the ranch should have crowded out all thoughts of her, but it didn't. And it only got worse when Pa proposed to Cora and they decided to get married right away.

Their announcement brought up the memory of Matt's proposal to Annalise. On a perfect spring evening, they had stopped at a special place on the ranch to watch the sunset and he had asked her. She had accepted, and once they arrived back in Whirlwind and found her father out, they had made love for the first time. Two months later, her pa had died and she'd left. Expecting their child.

The memory stirred up his anger all over again.

Four days after seeing her at the jail, Matt and Russ were dressing for J.T.'s wedding at the Triple B. Russ and Lydia had offered to have the ceremony at the Fontaine, but the bride and groom wanted to do it at the ranch.

Vows were set to be exchanged at sunset and the
guests would be arriving any minute. Russ and Matt had cleared out the barn that was closest to the house then constructed a wooden floor for the ceremony and for dancing. Now they stood in front of the wall mirror in Matt's bedroom, checking their string ties.

Cora was in a bedroom across the hall, getting ready with Susannah Holt's help. Susannah was standing up with Cora and her husband, Riley, was walking the older woman down the aisle. Davis Lee and Josie were the only people from town who wouldn't be present, due to the doctor's orders that the expectant mother stay in bed.

Russ bent to look in the mirror, fiddling with the buttoned-up collar of his white shirt. “Davis Lee told me Annalise figured out what weapon was used on you.”

“Yeah.” Matt shouldered his brother out of the way to inspect his tie.

“That gives us a great lead.”

“Yeah.”

Russ slid him a look. “You aren't pleased about it?”

“I am.” Matt hesitated. He had sawed back and forth between gratitude towards her and regret over what he had said to her that day at the cemetery. “In fact, I can't believe she did it.”

“Why not?” His brother eased back against the wall, waiting.

Matt yanked at the tie that already felt like a noose and began to retie it. “The day I came home with Pa, we passed Annalise in the cemetery and I stopped. I wanted her to admit she had lied to me about knowing she was expecting when she left Whirlwind.”

Russ's gaze sharpened, but he remained silent.

“She still swears she didn't lie about that, but she did say it was her fault the baby died, that if she had waited
even a week to leave, she might've realized she was expecting and postponed her trip to Philadelphia.”

“If she's telling the truth, you can't blame her for the miscarriage.”

“She blames herself plenty and I made things worse.” Matt dragged a hand down his face. “She was standing in front of a grave marker and it belonged to our baby. She named him Hardy, after her pa.”

His brother's brows snapped together.

Matt didn't know if the child's middle initial,
M,
stood for Matthew. He explained about getting angry over Annalise not telling him about the memorial and how she had let loose her temper on him.

Until he'd seen the wooden remembrance, the baby and the loss hadn't seemed quite real. It was more than real now. Matt felt the same emptiness he had felt when she had left years ago.

“After miscarrying, she got an infection and nearly died,” he said hoarsely, still recalling too clearly the staggering anguish in her eyes. She had looked ravaged. “You should've seen her face.”

He couldn't get the image out of his head.

“And she was alone through all of that,” his brother said quietly.

Throat tight, Matt nodded. He thought he understood now a little bit about how alone she must have felt, how difficult it must have been to tell him, in the space of a single letter, that they had been expecting a child then lost him.

Russ shook his head. “It's amazing she didn't turn her back on you the night we brought you to her clinic—refuse to patch you up or help figure out what tore up your back.”

“I know.” And Matt had wrestled with it for days. He
owed her a thank-you for that. And an apology for what had happened at the cemetery. Not the kiss. No way in hell was he apologizing for that. “I understand why she didn't tell me about the baby's marker. Doesn't mean I think she was right.”

Through his open window, he heard the rattle of wagons and people calling greetings to each other. He finished his tie and preceded Russ down the stairs.

“So what are you going to do?” his brother asked as they stepped onto the porch and halted in front of the door.

“I'm not sure.” Matt faced the other man, running a finger under his collar. It was already tight and the wedding hadn't even started yet.

Still smarting from the way Annalise had ignored him at the jail, Matt wanted to confront her, force her to acknowledge that kiss. It would take some work to soften her up, but he could do it. Remembering the hurt and blame on her face made him question if he
should
do it.

Could anything between them be set right? There were so many years of blame and resentment, anger and betrayal. At the cemetery, Matt had seen her guard down, seen the pain and guilt she carried.

“I think…too much has happened between us. There are too many wounds. I don't want to hurt her any more.”

“Meaning what?”

Staring blankly at the door, Matt took a deep breath. “I'm going to leave her be.”

His brother arched a brow. “Really?”

“I'm going to apologize for lambasting her at the cemetery the other day and thank her for figuring out the
weapon that was used on me during the ambush. Then I won't bother her anymore.”

Russ's gaze flicked over Matt's shoulder. “She's here.”

“I figured she'd come.” He braced himself to turn and see her.

“With Quentin.”

Quentin! Matt jerked around. She walked beside the newspaperman as he wheeled his chair toward the porch. The two of them weren't even touching, but a fierce heat clutched at Matt's gut.

A moss-green dress hugged her petite curves like a shadow, sleeking over a full bosom and down her taut waist. The lacy shawl draped loosely around her shoulders drew his eye to the creamy swells of her breasts bared by her square neckline.

The bodice wasn't cut daringly low, but Matt knew what the rest of her looked like, tasted like. His mouth went dry.

Slightly flushed, her skin glowed like a sun-kissed peach. Her hair was caught up high in the back then cascaded loosely in a fall of mahogany waves, revealing the delicate shells of her ears, the graceful line of her neck. Her mouth curved as she sent a soft smile to Quentin.

The look on her face, the memory of her slick, naked flesh against his set off a smoky explosion of lust in Matt's belly.

As Russ directed her and her escort to the barn for the ceremony, she barely glanced his way. Matt managed to do the same until the wedding was over and people were crowding around to congratulate the bride and groom.

Dusk had settled. As Matt finished lighting the lan
terns he had hung around the barn, a hazy amber glow spread over the guests, edged into the corners.

From a few feet away, he watched her talking to Mitchell Orr, Charlie's nephew, and squashed the impulse to join them. Her wrap had slipped and Matt couldn't take his eyes off her. The memory of how her breasts had felt in his hands, against his tongue, hammered at him.

“Ah, Matt and Russ.” Theodore Julius, who owned the Eight of Hearts Ranch west of town, walked up. “I'd like you both to meet my new ranch manager.”

Matt forced his attention to the barrel-shaped man in front of him, shaking Julius's hand after Russ did.

Theodore Julius was the newest ranch owner in the area and had first come to Whirlwind to buy Russ's share of the Fontaine. The man had some ignorant notions about women, one being he didn't do business with them. When he learned Lydia owned the other half of the hotel, the deal had fallen through. Despite Julius, Russ had managed to pay off the note on the ranch and save the Triple B from foreclosure.

Julius indicated the stranger beside him. “This is Cosgrove. He's just taken over management of the Eight of Hearts.”

“Cosgrove?” Matt asked. “That your first or last name?”

“Just Cosgrove,” the man said in a deep voice. He stood about six feet tall with a muscular build, dark hair and dark eyes.

His fancy three-piece suit looked to be of tailored quality. Matt recognized that because all three of the Baldwins had their suits tailored. They were too big to buy ready-made clothing.

“Where were you before joining up with Theo?” Russ asked genially.

“A small ranch in Colorado.”

The man looked them both in the eye, answered all their questions without hesitation, but something about him sat wrong with Matt.

After a few minutes, Julius took his manager around the barn, stopping to talk to other townspeople. Matt noticed that Annalise introduced them to Quentin.

It seemed to Matt that Cosgrove and Julius both spent an inordinate amount of time visiting with Dr. Fine. He didn't like it, and he liked it even less when the ranch manager led her onto the dance floor.

A growing unfamiliar impatience snaked through his belly. No matter who he spoke to or where he stood, he was aware of her. Cosgrove finally relinquished Annalise to Mr. Julius, and Matt didn't care for that either.

Bram Ross eased up beside him, frowning. “Deborah has spent almost as much time with that Cosgrove cuss as she has with me, and she came with
me.
Not that anyone would know it.”

Matt tore his gaze from Annalise to find the oldest of Jericho Blue's raven-haired sisters. Bram had been sweet on the girl since her arrival a couple of years ago.

His friend had a point. Matt couldn't remember even seeing Deborah with Bram since the ceremony. Just then, Jericho interrupted the pair, leading his sister away from Cosgrove. She was plainly reluctant to go. “Looks like her brother doesn't care much for Deborah spending so much time with the man either.”

“Good,” Bram said. “Have you talked to that Cosgrove fella much?”

“Just a little.”

“What do you think?”

“Something about him puts me off.”

“Me, too,” Bram said, “and it's not because he's spending so much time with our women.”

“I agree.” Matt didn't point out that Annalise wasn't his woman. “He's too…shiny. Too smooth.”

“As a baby's butt,” Bram agreed darkly before saying goodbye and making his way through the crowd to Deborah on the other side of the barn.

Matt wanted to apologize to Annalise, but if he was waiting for a chance to catch her alone, it wasn't likely to happen. As the night went on, he never came close to getting near her, let alone talking to her. She seemed always to be surrounded by a group of people. He didn't know if they were seeking medical advice or just making nice, but she was highly sought out by old friends and new acquaintances, usually from her spot beside Quentin.

As Matt watched, little Lorelai Holt tugged on Annalise's skirts and held up a rag doll. She knelt, looking serious as the blond-haired child spoke to her. When she straightened and took Lorelai's hand, Matt saw his opportunity.

He followed the two females out of the barn and into the house, careful to move slowly and quietly across the wooden floor. Once inside the house, the sounds of music and dancing faded. He stopped at the corner of the dining room as Annalise lifted the little girl into a chair and sat down opposite her, her back to Matt. Her light floral scent drifted around him.

“What seems to be the problem?” Annalise asked.

Lorelai thrust her doll at the doctor. “Margaret cut her finger.”

Annalise took the toy and pointed to its right hand. “This one?”

“Yes.” Lorelai nodded, blond curls bouncing.

Pulling his gaze from Annalise's profile, Matt noticed
the little girl had a bandage on the index finger of her right hand, the same hand Annalise examined on the doll.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Me, I mean her, was playing with Mama's fancy tea cup and her dropped it. I helped clean it up.”

“Is that how you cut your finger, too?”

“Yes.” The child's blue eyes were wide and wary as if afraid the doctor would see through her story that the doll and not she had broken the cup.

Annalise took a handkerchief from a hidden pocket in her skirt. As she cleaned the doll's hand, the little girl watched closely.

“Her's not s'pposed to play with that cup. I've told her a hunnerd times.”

Matt saw Annalise bite back a smile. A strange heat prickled in his chest as he watched her with the child. Their son would be six now. What would he have looked like? Would he have had Matt's black hair or Annalise's mahogany brown? His blue eyes or her green ones?

The doctor wrapped the handkerchief around the doll's hand. “Keep this on until you get home then have one of your parents help you bandage it.”

The little girl nodded emphatically as she carefully took her toy.

“Maybe Margaret will know better next time,” Annalise said to Lorelai.

“Her will.”

“Be careful to keep her hand clean, especially for the next week.”

“Does she need medicine?”

“One kiss in the morning and one at night.”

“Even if I already kiss her a bunch?”

“Yes.” There was a smile in the doctor's voice. “That should fix her right up.”

Kisses would sure fix him up, Matt thought.

The front door opened and he looked over his shoulder to see who was coming inside.

So did Annalise and when she caught sight of Matt, her lips flattened.