The Lady and the Lawman Read online

  He leaned and grabbed her, his thumbs making small circles on her shoulders. The fight left her. The look he gave her was possessive. He was trying to protect her.

  “I understand.”

  He nodded. “Good. I’ll be back as soon as I can. In the meantime, don’t let anyone in but me...or Tom.” Picking up his hat, he added, “It’s early yet and you should be tired from last night, so get some rest.”

  She blushed, but smiled too. Last night had been...unbelievable. Who would have thought? All the stories she’d heard from her society friends in Philadelphia had been wrong. She knew it wouldn't always be like the fumbling, painful experience she'd had with William, but she hadn't expected the pleasure from Grant, either.

  Looking up into her husband’s face, she couldn’t remember why she’d been apprehensive. Her hand caressed his stubbly cheek, contouring his strong jaw. She ran a thumb ran across his lower lip and he bit down on her appendage playfully. His eyes sparkled with amusement, mesmerizing her, forgetting all of her troubles.

  “I love you.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. She meant them with all her heart, but was afraid of what he would do when he knew the truth. Skittish now, she dropped her hand from his face.

  He grabbed her wrist, holding it in midair. “What took you so long, sweetheart?”

  “What—”

  He lowered his head to hers for a quick kiss, cutting off her question. She melted. The ice that had surrounded her heart her entire life began to thaw. His arms about her and his mouth pressed to hers only added more heat, her whole body at once alive, happy.

  Lifting her head, she laughed. A beautiful sound, even to her own ears.

  “Stay just like this.” He tugged on the sheet at her breast. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” A quick chaste kiss brushed by her lips as he went to the door.

  “Grant,” she called to him.

  He looked to her, one hand on the doorknob.

  She didn’t want him to go. Not yet. Not now after she’d shared her deepest feelings. “I wanted to tell you I love you, one more time.”

  His smile lit up his face, little crinkles of happiness formed at the edges of his beautiful eyes.

  She approached him and ran her hand up to his face, then down his large body...and lower still. “But it would be better if I showed you instead.”

  “I really should...oh God, yes, right there.” His voice hitched and ended with a groan.

  “Right there? How about here?” Her hands moved over him as her mouth came up to circle his ear with kisses.

  “Turn around and grab hold of the table. Whatever you do, don't let go,” he commanded, yanking the sheet from her body. He still had a thing or two to show his vixen wife.

  ***

  Two hours later, Grant walked through the doors of Croft’s saloon. Since this dive was the first place he met Maggie, he wasn’t sure if he should think of this place fondly or with hatred. That led him to thinking about how he left her, sleeping and sated in their bed from the multiple orgasms he'd wrung from her body.

  There were a handful of men at the bar and a few playing cards at a table, but it was a slow time of day. Most of Croft’s customers were sleeping off their night of debauchery.

  “Jimmy, a bit early for you?” Grant called to the bartender.

  “Mornin’, Sheriff.”

  Jimmy looked exhausted. His clothes were wrinkled, sleeves rolled up and his hair was mussed as if he’d been working for two days straight.

  “Had your baby yet?”

  The man smiled, fatherly pride noticeable even through the exhaustion etched on his face.

  “Over a week now. A boy!”

  “That’s just great.” Grant leaned over the counter and gave him a congratulatory slap on the shoulder. “Croft awake?”

  “No sir. He went into his office around five and hasn’t come out since.”

  “Then I know just where to find him. Thanks.” He tipped his hat and looked forward to stirring Croft from his sleep.

  ***

  Margaret woke to sunlight streaming through the open window. She was refreshed and blissfully happy. Stretching, she smiled to herself. At long last, she was home. Home with someone who loved her. She had had her proof the night before, then once again during the darkest hours of night, then again only an hour ago. And in a way she never imagined. Her cheeks flushed just thinking about what Grant did to her.

  Who would have thought a Philadelphia socialite would find the love of her life—and happiness to match—in the arms of a sheriff in the wilds of Colorado?

  She smiled again, grinning now. Me, she thought.

  Leisurely, she dressed and attempted to make the bed. While she was completing the task, unease washed over her, goose bumps rising on her arms. She knew the sensation well. Danger. Grant’s house was to be a safe place, devoid of the dangers that had been following her for months. But now here she was, alone in the house, fear prickling up her spine. She shivered, knowing that whatever the danger, it was close.

  She needed to get to safety—in Grant’s arms—and fast. She sprang from the bed and dashed into the parlor. A silhouette of a man blocked out most of the light from one of the front windows.

  Dalton. It had to be him, ready to kill her!

  She screamed and fled into the kitchen. She hadn't made through the doorway when a hand clamped down on her shoulder. She was yanked into the man’s evil clutches. She grabbed onto the molding around the doorway, holding on with all her might.

  He was too strong. Easily enough, her fingers slipped from their tenuous hold and she was pulled backward. An arm came around her waist, squeezing the air from her lungs. It was too late for her to resist. The man had her in his grasp. Thrashing in his arms, she screamed, but a hand pressed tightly over her mouth. There was no escape.

  The man grunted as she struggled still. A swift blow to the head turned her world to black.

  ***

  “I got nowhere at Croft’s,” Grant shouted into the bedroom as he shut the front door behind him. “No leads at all. Everyone was asleep. They heard the shots, but that’s nothing new at that end of town. Even Croft sounded believable.”

  All was quiet in the house and he expected Maggie to be in bed, sleeping off their activities from the night before. Just thinking about it made him hard.

  He unbuttoned his shirt as he entered the bedroom, but he stopped halfway. No Maggie. Where the hell was she? His eagerness to have her naked, in bed, waiting for him was greater than he anticipated. Looking around, he noticed the outfit he’d so carelessly thrown to the floor was gone. A cursory search of the house yielded no Maggie, but some damage to the parlor. A table was knocked over and the braided rug was turned up at one edge. Could this be her attempt at cleaning?

  Damn, where was she? He was becoming quickly agitated, and concerned. He’d told her not open the door to anyone, only himself and....

  She was with Tom, of course. Maybe he took her to breakfast. Relief filled him as he left the house to join them.

  ***

  Margaret awoke to darkness. Complete, utter darkness. Only a thin sliver of light seeping in from the cracks in and around the doorway illumined the room. She was lying on a lumpy bed of some sort, with a scratchy wool blanket that felt worn and frayed under her fingers.

  Blood rushed to her head as she sat up. She quickly laid back down, her head throbbing where she had been struck. Closing her eyes to the pain, she tentatively placed a hand at the base of her neck and found a lump the size of a goose egg. Giving in to the pain wasn't going to help her escape, so she fought the dull ache and carefully went to the door to see if it was unlocked, afraid she might run into some obstacle in the darkness. Turning the knob resulted in nothing. The door did not give an inch.

  She returned to the bed, to sit and think about her most recent predicament. How was she going to get out of this? It was amazing how she could be kidnapped for the third time! It had to be some kind of record.

&n
bsp; Hopefully, Grant would find her missing and start a search. How long had it been since she was kidnapped, she didn’t know. She didn’t even know where she was, so she was wary of her chances at being found.

  He loved her. She knew it in his every look, every touch, every action. The thought was enough to keep her spirits and hopes lifted.

  Her entire life now was with Grant. She didn't miss her life in Philadelphia one bit. Everyone in the town—except Dalton—was a friend, and they were true friends. She’d never had those before. She thought back to the dinner when she was forced into the engagement with William. She had believed those at the dining table were her closest of friends. Now she knew better. Personal gain and appearances were all that mattered.

  William had never cared about her, only her money. But when Grant had learned of her inheritance, he didn’t seem fazed. No interest was raised about the amount of the inheritance, and he had never inquired how to receive any of her funds. He'd made love to her with a tenderness and warmth that spoke his true feelings, without words. Without a care for anything but her.

  Tears slipped from her eyes. Any escape was futile. Hopefully, she’d still be alive when Grant found her. Exhausted, not knowing what time or what day it was, she fell asleep on the smelly cot.

  ***

  “Where’s Maggie?” Grant asked. He reined in his horse with a cloud of dust as Tom rushed out of his stable to meet him.

  “What do you mean? I haven’t seen her.”

  There was something definitely wrong. He knew Maggie. There was no possibility she would have just gone off somewhere. Well, not anymore. If she was with anyone voluntarily, it would be Tom.

  “You haven’t seen her?”

  Tom shook his head as he grabbed the bridle of Grant’s horse to hold it still. “Not since the other night with you. What’s wrong?”

  “She’s gone.”

  “Gone? Climb down and tell me what you know.”

  “No time. I’ve got to find her—and I know where to start.”

  “Wait!”

  Grant turned the horse around.

  “What do you want me to do?” Tom asked, worry in his voice.

  “Meet me in town as soon as you can. I’ll need all the help I can get.”

  “Grant!” Tom shouted as he started off. He reined in and turned to his brother. “You love her, don’t you?”

  “Since I first laid eyes on her.” He prodded the horse into action.

  ***

  The door rattled as it opened with a key. He carried a tray of food in his left hand, a lantern in his right.

  “You! I thought you would have given up by now.” Bitterness welled up inside of her at the sight of her captor.

  “I know. That's why it worked out so well. Your precious husband shouldn’t have let you out of his sight,” said William Hunt with a wicked smile on his face.

  “But why, William? Why did you do this? It's been days since you left.”

  “Ah, but I didn't really leave, now did I?” William was reveling in his evil deed. If his hands weren’t full, she imagined he would rub them together with glee. “Masterson knows nothing about my presence and believed I returned east, tail between my legs, giving up what was rightfully mine.”

  She was scared. She’d never seen William this way before. He had a harrowed look about him, his anger focused to a sharp razor’s edge, ready to slice her to bits.

  “You were successful in my capture. Do you mind telling me how you accomplished this?” Her hand gestured to the room around her.

  William’s laugh echoed in the confines of the small space. “Oh, it was an easy job to do, stealing you from your husband. And he calls himself a Sheriff? Ha! Masterson wasn't there, no one was there to protect you. All someone had to do was walk into the house and grab you. It was simple.” He snapped his fingers. “No one saw you leave. Don’t worry, we’ll be together now. Forever.”

  The man was insane. She hadn’t been able to protect herself from his brutishness when he was sane, but now, her fear only increased. Should she try to escape, or play along? What was the saying? You can attract more bees with honey than with vinegar?

  “How did you get past my husband? It seems you are much smarter than he.”

  A sneer formed on his lean face, and his chest puffed up with what she surmised as male pride. “Very well. I’ll share my escapades with you. It's the least I can do for my future bride.”

  She stopped listening to his ego-building babble. Her thoughts honed in on his words. Future bride. She was married to Grant. How...? Oh God!

  “...when I was so rudely sent away from you the last time you saw me, I bumped into your friend Dalton in town. At the saloon, to be exact. If I remember our conversation correctly, Croft’s Saloon was where you met him for the first time, as well.”

  William raised an eyebrow at her, questioning her through a look. She made no reply, too scared to speak, so William continued with a wave of his hand. “It seemed our desires were similar, to bring Masterson down. I, however, wanted more. Much more. I wanted you back. It doesn't matter to me that Masterson’s your husband and you've slept with him, and likely every man that waltzed through that brothel as well. I don't mind sleeping with a whore. I’m sure you’ve picked up many talents I will enjoy immensely.”

  She was physically ill, nauseated. The thought of William’s hands on her body made bile rise in her throat.

  William had planned for days to take her away from Grant, with the assistance of Grant's worst foe, Dalton. Dalton wanted Grant dead, and so did William. But William didn't want to get his gentlemanly hands filthy, and he knew that Dalton wouldn’t care in the slightest. He had Dalton doing his dirty work while William gained a wife.

  If Grant was killed, there would be nothing to prevent William from marrying her. They could return to Philadelphia without anyone the wiser, with William just where he wanted to be—in her mansion with her money.

  A thought struck her. “You were the one shooting at us.”

  “At Masterson, yes,” William replied.

  It was a good thing he as a terrible shot.

  “What are your plans now that you’ve captured me?”

  “We will return to Philadelphia, to your old life. It will be easy. No one will be the wiser. The story will be simple.” he crossed his arms over his lanky frame. “I came upon you in California and brought you home. Your marriage to Masterson never happened, and for you it will only be a distant memory.”

  “I’m already married. To Grant. You can’t marry me.”

  “Ah, but that’s just it,” William said. Looking at his pocket watch, he continued, “As of two hours ago, Masterson’s dead. Dalton’s men took care of that little impediment in my plan. You are now a widow, therefore you can marry again. Me, to be specific.”

  She didn't believe him. Grant couldn’t be dead. If he was still alive, she couldn’t warn him, to protect him. She was more afraid now than ever before in her life.

  William’s plan sounded solid and foolproof.

  “If I'm to become your wife, don't you think these surroundings,” she said as she held her arms up gesturing the room around her, “are unnecessary?”

  “You slipped away from me once. I'm not letting it happen again. You're not my wife—yet.”

  He left her then, closing the door behind him. The key turned in the lock, making her a prisoner once again. William had left the lantern next to the tray of food so she was able to take in her rustic surroundings. The room was cast in strange shadows, and she could see the steam rise from the food on the tray. Hungry as she was, the greasy smell made her stomach turn.

  Hours passed and she waited. She slept fitfully on the bed and listened for anything, anyone. Her thoughts constantly turned to Grant and his fate. Was he really dead? She’d just confided in him, sharing her love, and now she wouldn’t have the chance again.

  William would get away with Grant’s murder. He wouldn't even be tied in as an accomplice. Even with Grant
dead, she wasn’t free to marry. She loved him. Her heart was his, thinking of all of their intimacies they shared, remembering how his hands could awaken her body with only a brush or a caress. She had never felt closer to another when she was in his arms, their bodies joined, becoming one. Her love though, would not be enough to save him.

  She would marry William and return to Philadelphia, to a society she left behind without a thought. He would make her forget her marriage, keep it a secret. William would be cast as the hero, rescuing her from herself, her own weaknesses as a woman. He would make her appear frail and pathetic to all of their acquaintances, building his own ego because of her faults. She would not be allowed to leave the house without an escort of his choosing, watched and guarded at all times. William knew she would try to escape. She'd done it once. If given the opportunity, she’d do it again.

  She'd learned to appreciate the freedom that the west, and Grant, offered. Conforming to the rules of Eastern society again would crush her spirit. William knew it, and was using it against her. It was his weapon. And he’d use it to kill her slowly, painfully over time.

  Or maybe not. Maybe William was still committed to his ultimate goal. Murder. She hadn’t heard anything about a honeymoon trip, but there was no question in her mind William’s ultimate intentions.

  Thoughts quickly dissipated when she again heard steps outside the door and a key in the lock.

  “Come, my dear, you're filthy and you need to look every bit the lady you will soon be. You will redeem all of the qualities of a lady, of my wife, you lost when you married Masterson. I won’t tolerate any of these casual ways they condone out here in this God-forsaken place. Hopefully the trip east will be enough time for your skin to lose that awful complexion. And those freckles! No wife of mine will let their skin darken.”

  She thought of a conversation she and Grant shared one afternoon. He’d commented on how beautiful she looked, brushing his knuckles over the soft skin of her cheek. He’d told her the warm color only added to her beauty. She longed for Grant’s touch, for his kind words.

  William made her mad. How dare he take away something from her as precious as Grant? Playing by his rules, promoting his egotistical fantasies, was all in the past. She was ready to defy him at every turn.