Salvation in the Sheriff's Kiss

Hunter took a step closer to the cell. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Yucton didn’t answer him. He pushed away from the bars and returned to his bed. “You just keep her safe. That’s all you need to know.”

But it wasn’t all he needed to know. Not now that another piece had been added to the puzzle of McLaren’s last words. When Hunter had made his promise to protect Meredith years before, it had been made blindly to a father desperate to protect his daughter. At the time, Hunter had thought Abbott had been worried about leaving her alone in the world, her reputation damaged by the verdict delivered upon him. Now he wasn’t so sure.

But if Yucton had the answers, he kept them to himself as he lay down and pulled his hat over his face, cutting off any further conversation. In the silence, the outlaw’s words rang in Hunter’s ears and slithered like poison through his veins.

You’re still a Donovan after all.

He was nothing like his father. Everyone in town knew that. At least, he hoped they did. He’d spent most of his adult life trying to prove it, as if by doing good he could erase the horrible moment when he kept his promise to a convicted thief and broke the heart of the woman he loved.

Not that it mattered now, he supposed. Meredith was back and it was clear her animosity toward him still boiled beneath the surface. And all the good he’d tried to do as sheriff, the life he’d built, such as it was, was coming to an end. The truth of it chafed hard against his soul. His future opened up before him like a yawning abyss. But one thing was for certain—before he turned in his badge and accepted his fate, he was going to get to the bottom of whatever was going on.

Which meant another conversation with Meredith Connolly.

* * *

Meredith pulled the wool shawl tightly around her shoulders to ward off the chill of the late-autumn morning. She had almost forgotten the feel of Colorado in November. Not that it didn’t get cold in Boston, but it was a different cold, coming off the water in the harbor and giving the air a sense of salty dampness. Here the cold had a brittle quality to it, as if you could reach out and snap it in half.

She took a deep breath and let its freshness fill her lungs in the hopes it would give her courage. Bertram had offered to escort her this morning, but she had declined. She wanted her first visit with her father to be on her own. She wasn’t certain she could maintain her composure and she didn’t want Bertram to see her break down. She couldn’t afford weakness. She needed to remain strong.

Easier said than done. Her plan had already been put in jeopardy by Hunter’s surprise visit. Seeing him had left her shaken, the memories rushing back and assaulting her from all sides. She tried to avoid them, skirt around them, but they showed her no mercy. Further proof love was to be avoided at all cost. Even when it was over it refused to leave you in peace.

She walked to the church and turned onto the narrow dirt road across the street from the white clapboard building, its spire cutting like a sword into the stark gray sky. Graves dotted the horizon, more than she remembered, each one punctuating the passage of time. Despite the added population and slight change to the landscape, Meredith needed no assistance in finding her way. She had walked the pathway a hundred times over in her memories.

The crisp morning breeze ruffled her hair and nipped at her skin. She paid it little heed as she trudged on, following the winding path toward the thick oak tree in the distance. Beneath it, her mother had rested these past seven years. Her father, for only one month.

She stopped at the top of the hill and walked to the outer edge of the tree’s reach. Gathering her skirts, she knelt between the two markers, one made of stone faded and already weathered by time, the other a wooden cross bearing Pa’s name and dates indicating the start of his life, and its end. She would have the stone mason carve a proper headstone to match Mama’s, but not yet.

She wanted the words beneath his name to read an innocent man, and have everyone in town know the words as truth.

“Good morning, Mama.” She touched the browning grass where it covered her mother’s final resting place. Someone had been keeping the grave up. It was free of weeds and a small bouquet of hardy autumn flowers tied with string had been placed in front, weighted down by a rock on their stems. Bertram likely, though he hadn’t mentioned it. Either way, she was touched by the gesture, by the idea that someone had watched over Mama when she had been unable to. She would make a point to thank him.

Meredith reached out and touched the flowers, wilted and brittle now, their colors faded. Much like her memories. She would never forget her mother—that was impossible. But sometimes, when she tried to capture the full picture in her mind, so many facets were muted. The sound of her laughter had become distant, the way light danced in her eyes, the sharp, delicate bones of her face. She could see one at a time, but never all at once. A deep sadness invaded her bones and seeped into her heart.

“I came home, Mama.”

She knew that would please her mother. She’d always loved having her small family close. Thrived on it. She’d lost her own parents at an early age and had been forced to fend for herself. A dangerous proposition for a woman, but Mama had managed. She’d found work cleaning house for the Donovans. It put food in her belly and a roof over her head. For a while, her mama said, it had been enough. But then things changed. The elder Donovans passed away, and their son, Vernon, developed ideas she didn’t agree with. At the same time, she met Meredith’s father, and after that—she remembered her mother’s smile when she told this part of the story—her whole life changed.

It had made Meredith believe in love, at least for a little while. But she’d long since shelved that belief. As much as love could lift you up it could just as easily throw you down. And the landing left you broken and battered beyond repair.

Meredith wondered if her mother had any inclination then how much her rejection of Vernon Donovan would change the course of their lives.

Meredith shifted her weight and faced her father’s grave. The newly tilled ground formed a gentle mound. He’d rested here only a month and the grass had not had time to take hold before the cold weather swooped down in earnest and impeded its growth.

Her fingers ran over the dates burned into the wood. The last image she had of her father was sitting in the cell at the sheriff’s office before he was transported to prison in Laramie. He’d refused to let her come with him. He’d been adamant about it and enlisted Hunter’s help to keep her in Salvation Falls.

But Hunter had had other ideas.

The memories of that horrible time beat against her without remorse. A sob welled up in her throat. She tried to swallow it down as she always did but it refused to budge, demanded its freedom. Meredith fought it as best she could, but it was no use. Somewhere inside she had believed things would right themselves, but they never had

“Oh, Pa...”

The sob erupted from her, and behind it came all the others she had suppressed over the years. Tears obscured her view. She tried to fight them, but it was no use. Her strength gave out and she let her body fall across his grave. The need to hold Pa just one last time, to feel the safety of his arms, his gentle voice telling her everything would be fine, overwhelmed her. She cried unrestrained, all the pent-up emotion she’d held in for so long pouring out with her tears. She’d lost everyone she’d loved: Mama to illness, Pa to injustice, Hunter to betrayal.

She consoled herself with the fact she would never need to know loss again, but it was cold comfort and it only made the tears come harder.

* * *

Hunter hesitated, not wanting to disturb such a private moment, but the shaking of Meredith’s shoulders and muffled sobs were enough to get his feet moving before his brain or common sense could catch up.

He slowed as he reached her, thrown across her pa’s grave. She hadn’t heard him approach and he wasn’t sure how to let her know he was there. Given their last interaction, he doubted she would appreciate his intrusion. Still, he couldn’t just walk away when she was in distress.

He crouched down. The hard ground and dry grass crunched beneath his weight.

“Meredith?”

Chapter Four

Hunter placed a hand on Meredith’s back. The contact was exhilarating, which was almost as disconcerting as her tears. He wasn’t sure what to do about either. Seeing her so distraught cut into him, finding every last crack in the walls around his heart and seeping through until their foundations began to crumble. God help him. He thought he was stronger than this.

Meredith whirled about, dislodging his hand. Her hair slipping free from its pins on one side creating a cascade of curls that bounced against her shoulder. A smudge of dirt bruised her cheekbone. The disarray reminded him of the girl he’d once known and a strong keening pierced his insides.

“What are you doing here?”

She wore another fancy dress today, this one a light copper with odd swirly designs on it in red and blue. The color somehow made her eyes even bluer. Or maybe that was the sheen of tears.

“Uh...” He’d tried not to glance down at the bouquet of flowers in his hand. They seemed a bit pathetic, small and inconsequential, but when he attempted to move the flowers out of her line of sight, she caught the motion. Her gaze flitted from the flowers in his hand to the withered batch on her mother’s grave before returning it to him. She hiccupped then sniffed.

“You?” Disbelief filled her voice. She blinked, her lashes spiky from the tears.

He supposed it would be a bit ridiculous to deny it. He’d been caught red-handed, so to speak. Still, how did he explain it to her? He’d been doing it regularly since she’d left Salvation Falls and seven years later he still couldn’t explain it to himself. Guilt could make a man do crazy things.

“Yeah, me.” He looked away, embarrassed, but his gaze soon swung back, hungry for a glimpse of her, no matter the upheaval it caused the rest of him.

Her expression softened, a heady mix of uncertainty and something else that drew him in. Without thinking, he lifted a hand and gently brushed his thumb across the moist dirt clinging to her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered, thick lashes spiked with the remnants of tears creating crescent shadows across the tops of her cheekbones. Her skin was as soft as he remembered and he itched to touch her again, but she’d moved away from his reach and he didn’t dare make a second attempt. She reminded him of a deer caught unaware in the woods, spooked by an unexpected noise.

He cleared his throat, needing to break the strange tension between them. She’d always had the power to do that. Entrance him until everything else but the two of them faded away. “I’m sorry about what happened to your pa.”

He’d wanted to write. Composed the letter a dozen times over in his head. He knew Bertram would get it to her, but everything he came up with sounded trite and lacking. In the end, he’d left it alone, knowing she didn’t want to hear from him either way.

“When they brought your father home I made sure they did right by him. Buried him next to your ma like he’d asked.”

She nodded, the only hint she’d heard. She didn’t look at him. Her small fist clenched and unclenched in the folds of her skirt. The wool shawl had slipped from her shoulders and pooled around her hips. She shivered.

“It’s cold out here, Meredith. Why don’t you come back to the office? I’ll put a pot of coffee on. It’ll warm you up.”

She sniffled and glanced up, her gaze hitting somewhere over his shoulder. When she spoke, her voice was thin and reedy, her throat stripped raw from crying. “I’ve tasted your coffee.”

“My abilities have improved.” One golden eyebrow arched upward. “Slightly,” he amended.

Her gaze dropped to the flowers in his hand. “Why did you bring those?”

He lifted the small bundle and searched for the right words to make her understand, make her hate him a little less. “I knew you’d want to see her grave taken proper care of. And I figured if you were here, you’d put the flowers on yourself.”

She reached up and tucked her hair back into place. He wished she hadn’t. He loved seeing it down. His fingers itched to run through it. He swallowed. No, up was definitely better. Safer.

“So you’re my proxy.” The idea sat with discomfort on her furrowed brow.

“Guess so.”

She was silent a moment, then her chin tilted upward. The formality returned to her voice and he could feel the distance between them grow. “Thank you for that.”

“No need.” He figured he owed her that much. Given how he’d failed her on so many levels, this small gesture was almost laughable but he didn’t want her gratitude. He didn’t deserve it. He bent and replaced the old flowers with the new. When he was done, he took a chance and issued his earlier invitation once again. “How about that coffee? You can tell me if my skills have improved.”

She pushed herself up in one swift movement, the crumpled, crying mess he’d come upon already a thing of the past. In her place, stood the determined, confident woman he’d come face-to-face with yesterday. He barely had time to get to his feet and no time at all to hold out a hand to aid her. By the time he found his own footing, she was busy dusting off bits of grass and dirt that clung to her skirts.

“As it turns out, that was my next stop. I mean to speak to Bill Yucton.”

“Meredith...”

Anger spiked the color in her cheeks and her hands twitched where she’d pulled her shawl tight against her chest. “Don’t you Meredith me, Hunter Donovan. What I do is no longer your concern. You lost that right a long time ago.”

Exasperation filled him. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do,” he said, but she wasn’t interested in listening. She’d gathered her skirts in one hand and brushed past him, following the path back to town. “Dammit.” He tossed the old bouquet to the ground and stalked after her.

“Don’t try and stop me,” she warned, keeping her gaze fixed straight ahead.

“I’m not trying to stop you. I’m trying to warn you!” Lord help him, had she always been this stubborn?

She stopped suddenly and he had to practically dance a jig to keep from barreling into her. “Warn me about what?”

He danced around the idea of telling her what Yucton had said to him. Could she have a piece of the puzzle without even realizing it? Maybe, but he was still reluctant to involve her.

And he definitely didn’t want to tell her the whole truth. That he hadn’t wanted to send her away. That he’d regretted his decision the moment the stagecoach had pulled away from the station. She had enough to contend with right now and what would it matter anyway? What was done couldn’t be undone. Still, if she knew something...

“Have you ever heard of the Syndicate?”

Her nose crinkled in confusion and for a fleeting second the girl he used to know surfaced from beneath the finery once again. “The what?”

He had his answer. Guile and deception had never been a part of Meredith’s makeup and though she now wore fancy dresses and had the lofty manners to match, he’d bet his last dollar her insides remained the same, even if her heart had changed. She didn’t know the first thing about this mysterious Syndicate both McLaren and Yucton had mentioned and he wasn’t about to inform her. Not that he had much to tell her. Either way, the less she was involved the better. Abbott might be dead but the promise Hunter had made him still stood. Whether he liked it or not.

He waved a hand. “Nothing. Never mind. C’mon, I’ll walk you back to the office.”

She ignored his proffered arm and marched ahead of him. He stood in place a moment and watched her walk away. Her straight spine and rigid shoulders made the gentle sway of her hips all the more enticing. Regret crept in with a sad finality as he realized he couldn’t breathe life back into the embers of a fire that had gone out long ago.

Especially when he had been the one to douse those embers in the first place.

* * *

Meredith ignored the gazes she and Hunter collected as they made their way back to the jailhouse. She knew how the town worked. News of her homecoming had likely rippled through its underbelly and by sunrise this morning everyone living in close proximity of the town’s core would be apprised of her return. By evening everyone on the outskirts would be aware, as well. And they would also know she had returned a woman of means.

She tried not to think of the dent the ruse put in her small nest egg. She only needed to keep it up long enough to get people’s attention and enlist their help. A jury of men from this town had found her father guilty. Now she needed them to admit they were wrong. That the full scope of evidence hadn’t been presented.

That he had been framed.

She would need the town on her side to do this. If there was one thing experience had taught her, it was that the more money you had, the more respect you were given, the more influence you could wield. She needed all of that now.

But first she had to feel the pulse of the town. Figure out who was best placed to help her. She thought of her old friend Rachel Beckett and wondered if she dared a visit. She had been Rachel Sutter when Meredith had left town, but had since remarried a man by the name of Caleb Beckett according to Bertram. She and Rachel had lost touch during her father’s trial and perhaps her old friend no longer wished an acquaintance. She wouldn’t have been the first friend Meredith lost after her father’s arrest, but she had been the one she missed the most. Not that it had been Rachel’s fault. Rachel had had her own problems to deal with, and Meredith hadn’t wanted to burden her with hers. Besides, she’d had Hunter to lean on. Or so she had thought.

She turned to ask Hunter about Rachel, but when she glanced over at his profile, carved against the stark landscape, the words wouldn’t come. She didn’t want to engage with him as if they were old friends. They weren’t. He had broken her heart and while seven years may have passed since then, the hurt had not healed. She’d thought it had, but returning to Salvation Falls and seeing him in the flesh had torn the wound open once again. She didn’t want to ask him about Rachel. What she really wanted to do was beat on his chest in anger and ask him why. Why had he done it?

Pride stayed her tongue.

By the time they reached his office, the silence had stretched to an uncomfortable tension. He walked up the steps in front of her and rested his hand on the door handle. He stopped and faced her, his body barring her way.

“I wish you’d reconsider.”

“Reconsider?”

“About staying. Settling here. Trying to change the past. Your pa is gone, Meredith, and I’m right sorry about that. I know how much you loved him. But digging all of this up again? It’s just going to cause you more pain. Maybe you should think about going back to Boston.”

The wound opened a little wider. It hurt her heart to think of how broken things had become. Once they had shared something beautiful, something that filled every part of her. She had believed it would last forever, was certain he shared the same feelings. She’d been wrong. All these years later and he still didn’t want the reminder of her. Of the mistake he’d made.

“Boston is not my home. It never was. There’s nothing left for me there.”

“There’s nothing left for you here either.” His stern voice burned across her skin.

Aunt Erma had promised her broken hearts healed, but what she hadn’t told her was that when the pieces were stitched back together they would no longer fit properly. She hadn’t realized it at the time, but seeing Hunter now she understood it to be true. With each beat of her heart, the hurt pulsed deep and unforgiving, reminding her of everything she’d lost. If she’d ever really had it in the first place.

“This is my home.” She fought to keep her voice steady. “And my father deserves to rest easy in his grave knowing his name has been cleared of any wrong-doing. Wouldn’t you do the same if it was your father?”

He didn’t answer, but his expression tightened. “Then you’re determined to stay?”

She walked up the stairs and stopped in front of him. Being this close was dangerous. The heat in her body rose to the surface and she could feel her skin tingle. A deep longing coaxed her to move closer, to give in to her body’s craving to have him hold her. Would he? She shook the question off, irritated with her thoughts, the way they kept circling back to him. He was her past, and while she may need to deal with him in her present, he had no place in her future. He’d made his feelings on that matter perfectly clear.

“I am staying and I’m proving my father’s innocence. Now, I would appreciate it if you would step aside and let me pass.”

He ignored her request. “I don’t see the point in what you’re doing. Your pa is gone. It isn’t going to matter to him what people think.”

“It matters to me. I don’t expect you to understand.” His family had wealth, privilege and a good name. What had he ever struggled for?

Hunter hung his head and let out a slow breath. When he looked back up, myriad emotions warred in his dark eyes. She’d lost herself in those eyes once and the pull of them had not lessened over time.

“It isn’t that I don’t understand.” His voice softened and only increased the potency. She struggled against it, against the small voice that longed for what he said to be true, the sense that she wasn’t alone in this. “I know you loved your pa. I know you want to clear his name. I just don’t want to see you get hurt—”

His words broke the spell his voice wound around her. What did he know of hurt? He had used her and tossed her aside, cutting her so deep the gash refused to heal.

“You weren’t concerned with hurting me when you told me I wasn’t good enough to be a Donovan.”

The harsh words he’d said had carved themselves into her heart, imprinted on her soul. They had shared one passionate night together. She spent one glorious week dreaming of the life they would have together as man and wife, a much-needed respite of happiness as she struggled to come to terms with her father’s sentence. It had given her something to hang on to when everything else had turned dark.

But it had all been a lie. What she had given him meant nothing. She had meant nothing. No. Worse—she was nothing. Not to him.

The last image she had of Salvation Falls was seeing him walk away from her before the stagecoach had even pulled away from the livery station. He hadn’t said goodbye, hadn’t wished her well. Hadn’t changed his mind and told her it was all a cruel joke.

“Meredith, I never meant—”

“No.” She sliced her hand through the air and cut off the rest of his words. She couldn’t bear to hear them. And what could he say? That he’d never meant to say he loved her in the first place? That he shouldn’t have led her on and made promises he had no intentions of keeping? “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Except that it did. And she hated that fact more than all the others.

She pulled her shoulders back and took a deep breath. “I have no desire to relive the past or stand here discussing it with you. If you never planned on marrying me, you should have never taken things as far as you did. Now we both have to live with the consequences. I’m sorry we have to deal with each other now, but there’s little to be done about it. You can rest assured, however, once I prove my father’s innocence we need not bother with each other ever again save for a polite nod if we pass on the street. Now please, step aside.”

The idea saddened her. Despite everything, the hurt, the anger, the betrayal. Maybe that had something to do with the wrongness of the way her heart had pieced itself back together. She didn’t know. But she couldn’t worry about it now. Now she had to focus on what she’d come here to do.

Hunter looked as if he wanted to say something else, but whatever it was hovered unspoken in the silence left between them and in the end, he did as she asked and opened the door, stepping to one side to let her pass.