There was no way Bowie could keep his hands to himself. As long as Merritt needed his help, there would be times when he might have to touch her. Like today.
Two days after her injury, they were washing the boardinghouse windows. He had filled a pail with water and measured in the amount of vinegar she specified. The windows upstairs and in the parlor were finished. Now they were tackling the large window in the dining room.
His gaze moved over her fine-boned profile, pausing at her temple before sliding down one slender arm. The cut on her head was healing nicely, more quickly than her injured hand, which was still swollen. The bruise had gone from bluish-black to a sickly purple.
She still wore the sling, which forced her to limit the use of her hand.
She shifted, her soft scent drifting to him. “How’s your brother? Is he healing up all right?”
“He is,” Bowie said. “He and Addie left for Dodge City this morning. Cattle drive.”
“Addie went, too?”
“According to Quin, she’s not one to miss out on anything that might be an adventure.”
Merritt smiled. “I would agree with that.”
Bowie had ridden out to the 4C last evening and told Quin he’d learned the names of the two men who had each wound up dead at their respective meetings with him. He’d also told his brother that he, too, now believed there was a strong possibility that their parents had been murdered.
Determined to learn anything else he could, he had questioned Ace about Huck Allen, the man Quin had killed in self-defense. His friend hadn’t heard of Allen. So far, only Marshal Hobbs had. His claim that he’d seen Allen on a wanted poster had Bowie wiring the sheriffs in the surrounding counties to ask if any of them could share any information on Huck Allen or Vernon Pettit.
If Bowie could establish where the men came from, it might give him some answers about why they had crossed paths with his brother. So far, he had heard from the county sheriff in San Saba, who had no knowledge of either man.
Merritt glanced at him. “Thanks for your help since the accident. If it weren’t for you, I’d be behind on my chores.”
“You’re welcome.” He rubbed at the film of red dust coating the window.
“I also appreciate you fixing the window in your room. Not everyone is so handy.”
“It’s nice to know I can do more than wear a badge, huh?”
She smiled as he’d intended, dipping her rag in the pail and wringing it out. After a moment, she turned to him with a sober look. “May I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why did you become a lawman?”
There was genuine curiosity in her voice. He slid a look at her, wondering what had brought on the question. He started to give her his standard answer—that he believed in order and justice. Instead, he found himself telling the real reason.
“I’d like to say I always wanted to wear a badge, but at first I hired on as a lawman because I wanted to get out of Quin’s shadow.”
She tilted her head. “I can’t imagine you in anyone’s shadow.”
“I was.” He gave her a half smile, pushing the bucket closer to her with his foot. “He was the firstborn, always ahead of me at roping, herding, knowing good stock. I wanted to do something he never had. So when my—” He broke off. “Something happened and I left Ca-Cross.”
“Something?” She frowned.
“I was engaged and it didn’t work out,” he said flatly.
Pausing in her work, her gaze slid to his. “Your mother said you left because of a woman. I guess that’s what she meant?”
How much had Ma told Merritt? “I ended up in White Tail and Ace hired me as his deputy. I liked it and I was good at it.”
“And then you became the Deer County sheriff after Livvy and Ace moved here.”
He nodded.
“Do you think you wouldn’t have made a good rancher?”
“I’d be okay at it now, but not then. The fact is I can’t imagine what my life would be if I hadn’t pinned on a badge.”
“I’ve known men like that,” she said quietly.
He recalled what Ace had told him about her. “I heard your late husband was a Ranger.”
She paused, her good hand crushing the cleaning rag she flattened against the window. “Yes, and he was good at it, too. Very good.”
She made the compliment sound like an insult.
Despite telling himself not to take her attitude personally, his voice tightened. “You didn’t approve?”
“Well, I didn’t want him to be bad at it,” she said smartly. “What I meant was he was so good at it, there was no room for anything else. Or anyone, like a wife. Did you know that most Rangers retire when they marry? It’s encouraged because otherwise they’ll be gone too much.”
“But your husband didn’t.” Bowie watched her closely.
“No, not Seth.” Her voice was steady, her face calm, but bitterness drummed beneath her words. “He was always a lawman first, a husband second.”
“And you resented him for not choosing you,” Bowie said evenly.
“Sometimes, yes.”
Thanks to Clea, he knew about being chosen last. He himself had chosen his job over his family and they had paid the price with their lives. It was why he had no intention of ever getting close enough to anyone to have to make the choice.
She moved to the next section of window. “Don’t misunderstand. I respect the law and admire those who enforce it. But Seth always put his job ahead of me and it got him killed.”
She rubbed hard at the same place on the glass over and over. Bowie felt an overwhelming urge to comfort her, to touch her. Instead, he asked, “What happened?”
She dunked her rag in the pail, wrung it out and went back to the window. “Though he wasn’t ordered or even asked to go, he rode out with two other Rangers who were escorting a prisoner to Austin. They were ambushed by the outlaw’s friends and all three Rangers were killed.”
“Did they leave wives behind, too?”
“No, neither was married. And Seth shouldn’t have gone at all.”
“Do you resent him for dying?”
“At one time, I did. He didn’t have to ride along.”
Bowie didn’t point out that the man had obviously felt there was a reason. He understood Merritt’s resentment, to a degree. “Did your husband ever talk about leaving the Rangers?”
“No.” Her tone was subdued. “It wasn’t as though I didn’t know who I was marrying. I knew how important his job was to him and I was aware of the dangers, but he put himself in harm’s way when there was no need.”
“Did you try to talk him out of going on that particular trip?”
“It was more that I demanded he not go. He had missed both of our birthdays and our wedding anniversary, and I was angry. I told him I wanted him to stop being a Ranger, but I really didn’t. I just wanted him to put me first sometimes.”
The way Bowie should have done with his parents.
“I know now that I’m not cut out to be a lawman’s wife.”
And Bowie knew if he ever decided to marry, his wife would have to accept that he was a lawman, for better or worse.
Merritt glanced at him sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually talk about him.”
“That’s all right. I’m glad to know.” And he was.
Just as he pushed a dining chair closer to the table, the front door opened. Glad for the interruption, Bowie looked over to see Dr. Lewis step inside. “Hi, Clancy.”
The fair-haired man swept off his hat and placed it on the dining table, looking at Merritt. “I came to check your hand.”
“All right.”
He pulled out a chair and motioned her over. “Have a seat.”
When she did, Bowie moved to Clancy’s other side. Merritt slipped her arm out of the sling so the doctor could examine her.
“The swelling is down slightly,” he said. “Wiggle your fingers for me.”
She winced and Bowie watched her face as she followed Clancy’s orders.
“Straighten your hand for me if you can.”
She tried, but couldn’t flatten it.
“How’s the pain?”
“It’s like a dull throb unless I try to pick something up, then it hurts.”
Clancy gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s coming along. You can use it, but if it pains you, stop.” Merritt nodded.
The doctor turned, scooping up his hat. “I’ll be back in another couple of days.”
“Thank you,” she said.
As Lewis started out the door, he paused, saying to Bowie, “Have you thought about our conversation?”
Merritt looked from the doctor to him.
“I have,” he said.
“I bet Merritt would agree with us.”
“About what?” she asked.
The other man inclined his head toward Bowie. “Ace and I, along with a couple of others, want Cahill to run for town marshal.”
“Oh? Is there a problem with Marshal Hobbs?” Her tone was mild, but tension coiled through her words.
“Not a problem, exactly,” Clancy said. “He hasn’t done anything bad. He just doesn’t do much of anything good.”
Merritt nodded, turning to Bowie. “Have you made up your mind? Are you going to run?”
His gaze searched hers as he tried to get an idea about her thoughts. He could read nothing. “Yes. I’ve decided to do it.”
Clancy clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s good news.”
A small smile flashed across her face. “Well, you’re certainly qualified.”
It wasn’t exactly a vote of confidence.
“You’ll be good for Cahill Crossing.” Clancy resettled his hat on his head.
“Don’t jump the gun,” Bowie cautioned. “The election is still a week away.”
“I have a good feeling about it,” his friend said, walking to the door. “I’ll see you both later.”
“All right.” Bowie lifted a hand in farewell as Merritt murmured goodbye.
Once they were alone again, he dipped his rag in the water-and-vinegar mixture, and continued to clean his side of the window.
She had grown quiet since the doctor had taken his leave. Bowie told himself her opinion didn’t matter, but he wanted to hear it. “So, what do you think? About me running for marshal, I mean.”
“It sounds like you’ve given it a lot of thought.”
Which told him nothing. “I don’t reckon I’ll win. I’ve been away too long and a lot of people don’t know me.”
She nodded. “You could be right.”
He moved farther down the window. If he did win, it could help his investigation. It would also mean that he would be staying in Ca-Cross for a while. At least four years, unless he decided to resign. Was he ready to do that?
Frustrated, he slid a look at her. She made him question his decision and he didn’t know why.
She’d agreed he had the qualifications, hadn’t shown any disapproval or even asked if he was sure. Even so, there was now a tension between them that hadn’t been there before.
She hoped Bowie lost the election. It was utterly selfish and Merritt would never say it aloud, but she hoped for it all the same. A week after learning he planned to run for marshal, she sat in the opera house surrounded by almost every resident of Ca-Cross waiting for the voting results.
The town hall had been proposed as the first gathering place, but the opera house was bigger. Even so, there wasn’t room for everyone and a crowd of people gathered outside the entrance. The double front doors as well as the single one in the back were open, and late-day sunshine flowed inside over the dark wood floors.
The buzz of voices rose and fell around her. She inhaled the mingling scents of beeswax and various perfumes and dirt.
The gold-trimmed red velvet draperies had been raised to provide more standing room. Bowie and Hobbs waited at center stage while lawyer Arthur Slocum counted the ballots.
“Can you see?” To her left, Rosa Greer Burnett touched Merritt’s shoulder. “Lucas said there are some seats up by the stage.”
“I’m fine.” Not wanting to sit closer than their seats in the middle of the room, Merritt smiled at the blond-haired woman and her tall half-Comanche husband.
Rosa had been a good friend since moving here a few months ago, although Merritt hadn’t gotten to know Lucas until he and Rosa had married. The former Texas Ranger had typically kept to himself on his ranch.
Merritt patted Rosa’s hand. “You two can move if you’d like.”
“We’ll stay here. Dog’s already settled.”
A glance down showed Lucas’s constant four-legged companion stretched out in front of her and her friend’s feet. When he lifted his head to stare at her with black eyes, Merritt scratched the wolf-dog behind the ears.
Her gaze went to Bowie, whose rugged build was imposing even beneath the high velvet curtains. As he spoke with Ace Keating and Dr. Lewis, the other candidate worked his way through the crowd, greeting and mingling with people. After visiting with rancher Don Fitzgerald, who had publicly endorsed him, Tobias Hobbs headed in Merritt’s direction, weaving through the crush of people.
Fitzgerald was second in power and influence only to the Cahills. Maybe his support of Hobbs would swing the votes in the current marshal’s favor.
The mustached lawman paused beside Merritt’s row and shook Lucas’s hand. After greeting Rosa, Hobbs leaned toward Merritt. “Mrs. Dixon, how’s your injury?”
He had checked on her a few times since the accident. “I’m healing nicely. Thank you for asking.”
“If you need anything, anything at all, you send for me.”
“I will. Thank you.” There was no need, though. She knew Tobias was more than willing to help. He had offered for other reasons in the past, and this evening he had taken it upon himself to escort her to a seat.
His help wasn’t what she wanted.
A smiling Ellie Jenkins walked by, pausing to speak to the Burnetts. Although Merritt didn’t care much for the girl’s pompous mother, Minnie, she did like the charming young woman whose parents owned the new Château Royale Hotel.
Feeling as though she was being watched, she scanned the room, her attention finally landing on the stage. Bowie’s blue eyes were focused on her with razor-sharp intensity, and a tingly heat moved under her skin.
She couldn’t tear her attention from his bronzed features, softened by the golden light. His neck was strong and corded. A white cotton shirt molded broad shoulders and arms, hinting at the definition of muscle beneath the fabric.
The weight of his gaze had her smoothing a few stray wisps of hair out of her face. Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it over the low din of the crowd. One of the men next to him spoke and he looked away from her.
Merritt stared down at her flower-sprigged skirts, hoping again that Bowie wouldn’t win. They had become friends, maybe more.
To wit, she had surprised herself by telling him so much about Seth and their marriage. She didn’t know if Bowie had understood her resentment, but he hadn’t dismissed her feelings.
Becoming aware that Rosa was talking to her, she shifted her attention to her friend.
The other woman’s unusual amethyst eyes sparkled. “I think Bowie might win.”
Everything inside Merritt went tight. The week leading up to the election had scraped her nerves raw. After she had learned of his plans, they hadn’t spoken of it again. That suited her just fine.
“It could happen,” Lucas rumbled in a voice loud enough for her to hear. “He has just as much experience as Hobbs, plus a good reputation.”
Rosa nodded. “And he’s part of the family responsible for the existence of Cahill Crossing.”
“He’s been gone four years.” Didn’t anyone care about that? Irritation burned through Merritt. “He only came back to check on his brother. If Quin hadn’t been shot, I doubt Bowie would be here.”
Rosa eyed her thoughtfully. “If he weren’t planning to stay, I don’t think he would have run for marshal.”
“Probably not,” she admitted, shifting uneasily in her chair.
“Don’t you think he would make a good marshal?”
“I’m sure he would. Probably better than good.”
At Merritt’s dry tone, her friend tilted her head. After a long moment, she said, “He’s been helping you since your accident.”
What did that have to do with anything? “Yes.”
“A lot.”
Merritt flicked her a look. “Only when I need it.”
Rosa leaned in. “I think you’re sweet on him.”
Her pulse jumped and she fought to keep her features blank. “We’re friends. That’s all.”
“If that were all, you’d want him to win. You obviously don’t.”
“I never said that.” She plucked at her skirts, staring avidly at the pattern of tiny pink flowers sprinkled on the white dimity background.
“No, you didn’t.” Rosa drummed her fingers on her leg. “But you did say you would never get involved with another lawman. If you weren’t sweet on him, you wouldn’t give a fig if he won.”
Her friend knew her too well, but Merritt admitted nothing. She reached down to stroke Dog’s thick dark coat.
Arthur Slocum stood and walked to the edge of the stage, holding a piece of paper. After a series of attention-getting whistles, the crowd quieted.
The slight man adjusted his spectacles. “And the results are…” He let the words hang, the anticipation build.
Oh, forevermore! Merritt’s stomach knotted.
“Cahill wins by more than one hundred votes!”
Some cheers erupted and a healthy amount of applause broke out.
Heart sinking, she only now realized she had been holding her breath. Her gaze automatically sought Bowie. He looked stunned as Hobbs walked over to shake his hand.
People swarmed the stage around him. Before he was enveloped by the crowd, his gaze met Merritt’s. She forced a smile. She wouldn’t ruin this for him, even though she wished it hadn’t happened. At some point, she should congratulate him.
Over the past week, he had made himself available for whatever she needed—cooking, laundry, cleaning. She had wondered what it would be like to have him in her life and now she knew. In fact, it hadn’t taken two shakes to get used to having him around and liking it.
They were friends and would only ever be friends. She wouldn’t let herself want more. She might be ready for a man in her life, but not a lawman.
For several minutes after the announcement, people crowded around Bowie, congratulating him. He certainly hadn’t expected to win. Hopefully, Quin would be fine with the fact that Bowie would once again be serving as a lawman, now in Ca-Cross. At least until the next election. Four years.
He looked around for Merritt. After scanning the large room, he realized she was no longer inside. And neither was Tobias Hobbs.
Bowie’s muscles seized up. He hoped the two of them weren’t together, but it was possible. Merritt hadn’t seemed that interested in the former marshal’s attention back when he’d been the law. Now, though, Hobbs was no longer marshal. Bowie was.
He hoped that wouldn’t change things between him and Merritt too much, but after what she’d told him about her husband, how could it not?
Three days later, Bowie unlocked the door to the jail. He walked inside, palming off his hat and running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. Midafternoon sunshine streamed through the window. The whistle of the daily train sounded as the locomotive rolled into town.
He hadn’t seen much of his landlady over the past few days. The morning after being sworn in, he had gotten a steady stream of threats against the two prisoners who were waiting in Cahill Crossing’s jail. Seemed everyone—from their former ranch-hand friends to Stokes, the general-store owner—was angry about the trouble Purvis and Fields had caused Quin and Addie.
Bowie decided the men might be safer if they were moved to Wolf Grove to await trial. Ace had agreed and ridden along to help Bowie transport the prisoners.
Before leaving, Bowie had asked Merritt if she needed help with anything, but she had said no. Her hand was healing well. While he was glad for that, she didn’t need him around now and he sometimes wished she did.
He had only just returned from Wolf Grove. It appeared Hobbs had taken his coffeepot and mug with him. The guns, wanted posters, desk and stove were all in place.
Grabbing the broom, Bowie began cleaning out the cells. The dust wouldn’t stay gone for long, so he was more concerned about getting rid of the food and pebbles and anything else that had wound up on the floor. Sweeping reminded him of helping Merritt clean rooms at the Morning Glory.
The two times he had seen her since the night of the election results, she had been friendly, though she hadn’t lingered. And he couldn’t ignore a now-tangible limitation to their friendship. Though he tried to resist thinking about her, he missed seeing her, spending time with her.
As he dumped the last of the trash from the dustpan out the cell window, he heard the front door open.
“Be right with you,” he called.
“Okay.”
He froze at the soft feminine voice he recognized immediately. Merritt.
Had she noticed his return from Wolf Grove? Surprised at how glad he was to see her, he propped the broom against the wall and walked out to greet her, unable to keep from grinning. “Hi. How are you?”
“I’m fine.” The smile she gave him came and went in a flash. “How was your trip?”
“No problems at all.”
“That’s good.” She looked relieved for about a second, then walked to the window and stared out.
What was going on? Bowie eased down onto one corner of the oak desk, admiring the sleek line of her back and gentle flare of her hips. Her silky braid fell to the middle of her spine.
She turned to face him in a swirl of blue skirts, her hands clenching and unclenching in the fabric.
Noting the worry in her pretty green eyes, he got to his feet. “Has something happened?”
“Yes. No.” Anxiety vibrated from her.
He frowned.
“I need to tell you something.”
“All right.” Bowie took a step toward her.
Seconds ticked by. She looked as though she was bracing herself for something.
Concerned, he said softly, “Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad, can it?”
She looked at him then and he saw tears in her eyes. Jolted, he reached for her, but she inched back.
“Merritt?”
“Your parents’ deaths weren’t an accident.” Her words rushed out and he struggled to make sense of them. “They were murdered.”