Salvation in the Sheriff's Kiss

Chapter Five

Hunter kept silent as she passed, wishing he could tell her the truth, but what good would it do them now? So much water had passed under their bridge it was a wonder they hadn’t drowned in the overflow. Would she care that the reason he had walked away from the stage before she even pulled out of the station was because he couldn’t stand the thought of watching her leave? Knowing it was happening had been bad enough, witnessing it was something else entirely.

He knew without a doubt if he’d had to stand there and watch her leave, he would have hauled her off that stage without a moment’s hesitation, her safety and the promises he’d made be damned.

So he’d walked away before it came to that. He couldn’t put his own wants and needs first. He may not have fully understood what was going on, but instinct told him if Abbott was adamant she be kept safe, he needed to do it. He didn’t have a choice.

Hunter followed Meredith into the office and stopped abruptly. Near Yucton’s cell, a tall lanky stranger stood with his back to them. He reacted instantly and grabbed Meredith by the arm, shoving her behind him as the stranger turned around.

“What do you think you’re do—”

Hunter held on to her arm to keep her in place, then raised his voice to drown her out. “Who are you? Jenkins!”

“Out here choppin’ some wood, Sheriff,” Jenkins called out, his voice filtering from around the back of the jailhouse, through the window he kept open a crack to keep the air from getting stale. “There’s a man here to see Bill but I told him he should talk to you first!”

Hunter shook his head. What his deputy had in brawn he lacked in judgment. It did not bode well for the future of the town once Hunter stepped down. He gave the stranger a hard stare. “What’s your business here?”

Beneath the stranger’s thin moustache, a painted-on smile plastered itself across his bland face. As it did so, Hunter noticed Yucton sitting on the edge of the bed partially hidden by shadow. The outlaw made a small, swift motion with his hand and, much to Hunter’s surprise, Meredith stopped struggling.

“Good day. You must be Sheriff Donovan.” The man stepped forward, his hand extended. Hunter didn’t bother taking it. No point makin’ friendly until he knew what the man was about. Though whatever that was, he was already forming the opinion he didn’t like him. Trussed up in a fancy suit, he reminded Hunter of someone you’d see peddling an elixir on the thoroughfare claiming it would cure all your ills. Men like that usually wanted something, and after his setdown from Meredith, he wasn’t in a giving mood.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

The stranger’s hand dropped and his smile grew more forced. “Of course, how ill-mannered of me. My name is Wallace Platt.”

Hunter noted the Southern lilt to the man’s speech. An outsider. “Not familiar. What are you doing in my jail?”

Yucton’s lazy drawl drifted out from the middle cell. “Says he’s my lawyer.”

“That’s what he says, huh?” Yucton had been taking up space in the middle jail cell for over two weeks now and not once during that time had he made any kind of move to employ legal counsel. Nor had he bothered curing Hunter’s curiosity as to why that was. It was as if the man was biding his time—but for what? “Didn’t know you’d hired one.”

“I didn’t.”

Hunter turned his attention back to Platt. “Care to shed some light?”

The smile on Platt’s face became pinched and a red stain tinted his pale skin. It didn’t look like the man spent much time out of doors. City type, no doubt. Hunter didn’t necessarily have a stringent dislike for city folk, he just didn’t trust them was all. Especially not the namby-pamby type standing in front of him now.

“I’m not in the habit of explaining myself, Sheriff.”

“You could always leave,” Hunter suggested, nodding toward the open door.

“I’m afraid I can’t. I need to speak to my client.”

“Your client doesn’t appear to return those feelings. You want to speak to this man, Yucton?”

“Can’t say that I do, Sheriff.”

Hunter shrugged. “See.”

“Think I might represent myself.”

Platt spun on his well-shod heel to face the cell again. “Mr. Yucton, it is a commonly held belief that a man who represents himself—”

“Ain’t interested in your beliefs,” Yucton said, cutting him off.

Frustration colored Platt’s tone. “I didn’t say it was my belief, Mr. Yucton. I said it was—”

“Then you won’t mind if I ignore it.”

Hunter’s estimation of his prisoner raised a notch.

“I get the sense Yucton here isn’t the one who hired you. Which leads me to the question—who did?” Hunter didn’t like this. Yucton was allegedly one of the rustlers who had stolen his father’s cattle all those years ago. Why would anyone care enough about it, or Yucton, to pay for some fancy lawyer from who knows where to represent him? It didn’t sit right. There was a lot of things not sitting right lately. If this kept up, he’d find himself running out of chairs real soon.

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to comment on that. You see, my benefactor—and yours, Mr. Yucton—wishes to remain anonymous. Suffice to say, he is interested in ensuring Mr. Yucton receives a vigorous and skillful defense against the pending charges.”

Yucton snorted. “And they sent you?”

Hunter pursed his lips together to keep his smirk in check. Behind him, however, Meredith’s muffled laugh rippled up to tease him. He wished he could turn around and see it. He hadn’t heard her laugh in longer than he could remember, but he hadn’t forgotten the way her eyes danced when she did.

Dammit. Focus, Donovan.

Platt cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder at Hunter. Irritation flashed in his eyes and the smarmy smile disappeared.

“I can assure you, Mr. Yucton, I have much experience in these matters and I am certain I can be of great service to you.”

“Not interested.”

Platt ignored the rejection. “I will give you the day to think on it and return on the morrow.”

Yucton grunted in response. “Return on whatever morrow you want. Won’t be changing my mind.”

Platt turned away from the occupied cell and fixed his snake oil salesman smile back in place. “I expect I will be allowed to see my client tomorrow, Sheriff.”

Hunter shrugged. “The man isn’t going anywhere.” He wasn’t thrilled about Platt and his pompous attitude gracing his office again, but there was something fishy about the man, and better he keep him in his sights until he figured out what was going on and who this so-called mysterious benefactor was.

Dig deeper.

Platt headed toward the door but stopped when he reached Hunter. He looked past him to where Meredith peeked around his shoulder.

“My apologies, madam. I did not see you standing there or I would have introduced myself to you directly. Mr. Wallace Platt, at your service.” Platt executed a courtly bow. When he straightened, he glanced at Hunter expectantly.

Hunter ignored him. He couldn’t conjure any good reason to introduce Meredith to the likes of this dandified Southerner. Meredith, unfortunately, did not feel the same. She elbowed past his protective barrier and held out her hand. He watched in disgust as Platt bowed over it. Lucky for him, he didn’t raise it to his lips. If he had, Hunter was more than prepared to plant him into next week. He wasn’t sure what irritated him more—the fact that she didn’t appreciate he was only trying to protect her, or this ridiculous sense of proprietorship he felt toward her. She didn’t belong to him. A fact his head had accepted but failed to relay to his heart. Or other parts of him for that matter.

“You’ll have to excuse the sheriff, Mr. Platt. Manners were never his strong suit. I suppose those of us who have come from away can appreciate their usefulness a bit more. Miss Meredith Connolly.” She gifted the lawyer with a smile so sweet Hunter’s teeth ached.

“It is indeed my honor to make your acquaintance, ma’am. And where might away be for you, Miss Connolly, if it is not too impertinent of me to ask?”

He had yet to let go of her hand. Hunter gritted his teeth against the surge of possessiveness that erupted within him. Planting Platt into next week was beginning to look like a stellar idea. He curled his hand into a tight fist.

“Boston, Mr. Platt. And you? I assume from your accent you do not hail from these parts?”

“Alas, no. From the fine state of Virginia originally. San Francisco most recently.”

“How lovely.”

“It’s positively wonderful,” Hunter drawled out, unable to keep his growing irritation from lacing its way through each word. “Now if you’ll excuse us, Platt. I have things to do and seein’ as how your supposed client isn’t interested in having you as his lawyer, I don’t see much reason for you to hang around.”

Platt didn’t bother looking at him. He was too busy making cow eyes at Meredith. “Perhaps we’ll meet again, Miss Connolly. I always feel it is nice to make as many friends as possible when one is a stranger in a new place. It would be my pleasure to count a lovely lady like yourself among them.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Platt. And I agree— one cannot have too many friends. I look forward to furthering our acquaintance.”

Hunter waited until Platt closed the door behind him upon his exit, then turned on Meredith. “What the hell was that all about?”

The words were out before he could stop them. She blinked at him, her eyes pools of innocent blue. She dropped her gaze to her gloves and slowly pulled them off, one finger at a time. “I have no idea what you’re talking about? I was merely being polite to a stranger.”

He glared down at her. His agitation grew with her feigned innocence. For crying out loud, she’d all but swooned at Platt’s pretty words. “Well you might want to learn more about the damn stranger before you start cozying up to him like he was your new best friend.”

She pulled off her second glove then smiled up at him. “I hardly think one has to take a man’s measure before they decide whether or not to be polite. Perhaps you should try it. Your manners could use a little brushing up. They’re hardly up to the Donovan standard, now are they? Oh no, wait,” her brow furrowed, “of course they are. You Donovans always had a habit of assuming money meant you didn’t need manners, if I recall?”

The barb hit its intended mark. “My manners are just fine, thank you.”

She offered him a dubious look then brushed past him and walked to Yucton’s cell her hips tormenting him with their gentle sway. Her dismissal and low opinion left a gaping emptiness inside of him. Is this how she’d felt when he’d jilted her? No wonder she disliked him with such intensity.

* * *

“Good morning, Bill. It is lovely to see you again.”

Yucton stood and held his hands out through the bars that separated them. She grasped them like an old friend.

“Still able to charm any gentleman that crosses your path, I see.”

Meredith laughed and took the older man’s hands in her own. They were warm and rough, a lifetime of hard living worn into them. “I may have learned a thing or two while navigating Boston’s high society.” Granted, it was as their seamstress, but Hunter didn’t need to know that. Let him think she was now on a social par with him, even if it was nothing more than a ruse. It would serve him right.

“That a fact? And have you given any thought to returning to Boston? Sounds like you had a nice life going for yourself there? Sure be a shame to give something like that up.”

Meredith scowled at Bill. “Why is everyone trying to pack me off and send me back to Boston? I appreciate Aunt Erma taking me in, but that didn’t make it home. My heart always longed for the fresh mountain air and wide-open spaces. What brought you back, Bill?”

She was thankful he let the matter drop. She didn’t want to argue with him. “Figured you’d come home when you learned about your pa’s passing. Thought I’d head back this way. Make sure you was all right. Your pa died an innocent man. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

She squeezed Bill’s hands and pulled strength from them. Pa was gone for good. Seeing his grave marker had driven the reality of it home. She fought back the tears from earlier. There was no time for such things now.

“I’m afraid you and I are in the minority on that belief.”

“It’s no belief. It’s a plain and simple fact.” Bill smiled and his eyes creased deeply at the corners. She noted his hair was grayer than she remembered and the lines of his face had burrowed a little deeper. “He was so proud of you. Told me so himself.”

Meredith’s throat tightened. She took a deep breath and swallowed past it. “I wish you hadn’t made the trip back. Now look at you.” Guilt swept through her. Bill had always been a close friend of her father’s. Steady and reliable, though he drifted in and out of their lives from time to time. She understood as she got older it was because of his penchant for living on the outskirts of the law. She always wished he’d chosen a different path, but it hadn’t diminished her affection for one of the few men to be a true friend to her father.

“Don’t worry too much on that. Ain’t been a jail that could hold me yet.”

“This one will.” The conviction in Hunter’s words cut through the small office. He’d moved and now sat behind his desk. Meredith couldn’t help but notice he filled the space with a sense of authority. He’d been so uncertain when Sheriff McLaren had died. Unsure if he was up to the task, if he could do the job justice. Part of her had wondered if he might relinquish the role the town had bestowed upon him and instead take up the reins of running the Diamond D Ranch as his father insisted. He hadn’t, though. Fortunate for the town, she supposed, though she didn’t much care for the constant contact with him while she tried to clear her father’s name.

She glared over her shoulder at Hunter who leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up onto his desk, actively listening to their conversation. She walked over to his desk and picked up the straight-back chair in front of it.

“Do you mind?” she said to Hunter.

“Not so much. You?”

She carried the chair back to Bill’s cell and set it down with a bang. “Yes! I would appreciate some privacy.” The sharp tone in her voice made her cringe. She wanted to maintain a distance from him emotionally if not physically, but somehow he managed to pluck every last nerve she owned.

“This place isn’t exactly built for private conversations,” he informed her, waving a hand in the air at the small open space.

“Perhaps you could plug your ears.”

“Can’t. I’m on duty. Never know when someone might call for help.” He grinned. Damnation if that didn’t pick at her nerves all over again but in a completely different way. Lord help her, dealing with him was going to turn her upside down and inside out before it was over and done. The man was infuriating. Though no more so than her body’s response to him.

“You don’t have to be so smug about it.” She scuttled her chair closer to the bars and lowered her voice in the hopes of putting an end to Hunter’s eavesdropping. “I plan to clear Pa’s name, Bill. I’m hoping you can help me with that.”

Bill’s eyebrows raised a notch until they disappeared beneath the rim of his hat. “Can’t imagine what kind of assistance I could be to you in that regard. I already told ’em your pa didn’t take part in the rustling. No one cared about my opinion then. Can’t imagine much has changed in that regard.”

Meredith remembered the impotent rage she felt when Bill’s eyewitness testimony was tossed aside by the circuit court judge. Judge Arthur Laidlow had arrived in town with his mind already made up on the matter it seemed. Truth and justice didn’t sway him one iota, a fact made obvious by his rulings. Bill had escaped and disappeared shortly after that and she didn’t blame him. Nor had her father.

Best he get gone and stay that way. No sense both of us sitting in this cell waitin’ for the hangman’s noose, Pa had told her. She’d agreed he had the right of it, but she had missed Bill’s comforting presence, the feeling that someone else was on her side. She hadn’t seen him since, though in his letters her father referred to him from time to time indicating they had been in contact.

She slipped one of the strings of her reticule from her wrist and opened it up, fishing inside until her fingers hit upon what she was looking for. She pulled out two folded pieces of paper and handed them to Bill through the bars.

“When Aunt Erma died, I was sorting through her things and came across a letter Pa had sent her early on, shortly after I arrived.”

Bill took the papers and flipped them open. She didn’t bother to ask him if he could read it. She knew him to be an educated man. His mama had run a high-end brothel somewhere in Texas, and she ensured her only son was educated, hoping to give him every advantage she hadn’t had. Unfortunately she’d died of the pox when Bill was only fourteen, putting an end to her dreams.

When he finished perusing the first piece of paper, he let out a slow breath, refolded it along the crease and passed it back to her. “You know what this is?” He asked, indicating the second piece of paper.

She lifted a hand in exasperation. “It’s a page from a ledger of some sort. I kept the account books for Aunt Erma, but I can’t make heads or tails out of this one. The list of items on the left is a jumble of letters. It’s like it was written in code. Do you recognize it? I figured it must be important. Pa’s letter told Aunt Erma to keep it somewhere safe. Why else would he do that if it wasn’t important?”

“Like I said,” Bill told her, his voice more weary than when they first began their conversation. “I’m not sure I can be much help to you.”

“But—”

Bill shook his head, cutting her off. “It was a long time ago, Meredith. My memory ain’t what it used to be. Besides, you really think your pa would want you dredging all this old stuff up? I think for certain he’d rather you get on with your life. Find yourself a good man, settle down and have some babies. Bet he’d smile real proud-like from Heaven to see you bringing up his grandbabies.”

Frustration rippled through her. She’d had dreams like that once, but her foolish heart and rebellious body had put an end to that. What man would want her now when she had already given herself to another? No, she had put that dream away, along with the idea of love. It was a road riddled with hurt and heartbreak and she had no desire to travel down it ever again.

“I’m sorry, Bill. But I can’t. I can’t live here day in and day out, seeing my father’s grave and knowing people believe the man buried there was a thief.”

Bill nodded and fell silent for a moment, staring at his hands. “Do you remember that ole chessboard your pa made?”

She had hoped Bill could help her, that he could shed light on the curious ledger sheet her father deemed important enough to send to Aunt Erma for safekeeping. Her shoulders drooped with disappointment. She was on her own with no idea of how to proceed.

“Yes, of course, I remember,” she said, forcing a smile. “Pa taught me how to play when I was a little girl.”

“Taught me, too. Haven’t played in a dog’s age, though. You still have that?”

“I suppose it’s still out at the homestead. I haven’t been back yet.” Bertram assured her he’d kept an eye on it, but she had put off going there herself. Seeing the place in which she had once lived safe and happy now sitting empty and abandoned only drove home everything she had lost. Sooner or later she would have to—she couldn’t stay at the Klein forever, but she’d hoped the sooner would be more like later.

“Might be kinda nice to take it up again, whittle away the hours. What do you say?”

“I can get you a chessboard and you can teach Jenkins to play if you’re hard up for entertainment, Yucton. Sitting in here keeping you company isn’t any place for a lady,” Hunter said, butting into their conversation again.

“I don’t recall you ever thinking of me as a lady, Sheriff, and I certainly don’t recall asking you for your opinion on the matter,” Meredith stated. If nothing else, she could use the time to convince Bill to hire Bertram for his defense.

Hunter pulled his mouth into a tight line. “No one has to ask me. It’s my jail.”

She offered him her sweetest smile but layered her words with sarcasm. “Is it now? I thought it was the town’s jail.”

“Semantics.”

“Well, if you are saying you’re prohibiting Bill from having visitors, I’m not sure you have the right to do that. Of course, I suppose I could always check with that gentleman lawyer. What was his name again?”

“Mr. Wallace Platt,” Bill supplied.

“Of course. Mr. Platt. I’m sure such a fine Southern gentleman wouldn’t hesitate to help a lady in need.”

A small sliver of satisfaction pierced her when Hunter shot her a dark look. “I’m not saying he can’t have visitors. I’m saying I can think of better places for you to be spending your time.”

“Really? And where are these better places?”

“Boston.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Has anyone ever told you how annoyingly overbearing you are?”

“Not recently.”

“I find that very difficult to believe.”

Bill laughed, the deep rumble rolling around her. “Maybe I won’t need that chess game after all, Sheriff. I find listenin’ to the two of you jaw back and forth quite entertaining.”

Hunter shifted his gaze away from her to land on Bill. “Shut up, Yucton. She shouldn’t be here.”

Shouldn’t be around him is what Hunter likely meant. And while she would be more than happy to comply, it hurt more than she cared to admit to know he shared those feelings. Had he always felt that way, even while he played her false? She’d been such a fool, too blinded by the wonder that someone as fine and upstanding as Hunter Donovan was interested in her to see the truth.

Bill shrugged. “Can’t do no harm. ’Sides, a man can get sick of looking at your mug day in and day out. Ain’t sayin’ you’re ugly or nothin’. God knows to hear Jenkins tell it, half the single women in town get downright fluttery whenever you walk by. But I’d still rather have a pretty face and sweet disposition to keep me company all the same.”

Meredith didn’t care to hear how the women still got themselves all in a dither over Hunter. Obviously, not much had changed in that regard during her absence. Still, she did find it odd he hadn’t found one to settle down with. Surely one of them met the lofty Donovan standards. Though a small, rebellious part of her, a part she refused to give credence to, gave a little cheer over the fact no one had.

“If you’re done arguing on that account,” she said. “I will ride out to the homestead tomorrow and see if I can’t find Pa’s old chess set. It would be my pleasure to keep you entertained, Bill. Although I’ll admit, I’m quite rusty.”

“That makes two of us. Guess we can relearn the game together.”

* * *

Hunter waited until Meredith left the office before he gave up on his relaxed position and let his feet hit the floor with every ounce of his suppressed anger coursing through his veins.

“You mind telling me what the hell you’re doing bringing her into this place every day like it’s where she oughta be? This isn’t the place for her! Hell, half the time we’ve got drunks and idiots on either side of you. Do you want her exposed to that?”

Hunter certainly didn’t. Nor did he want to be constantly exposed to her. Or rather he did, which meant he shouldn’t because there was only so much a man could stand on that account before he started to lose the part of his mind that made him step back and steer clear. If Meredith was in his jail every day, there’d be no avoiding it. How long did he think he could go without declaring his feelings, making a total arse of himself and giving her enough ammunition to do him in? Not long, he guessed if his current state of thinking was any indication.

Yucton glared up at him. “Well she ain’t going back to Boston that much is clear. And if you think you’re going to convince her otherwise then you’ve forgotten she owns a stubborn streak deep enough to sink a ship in. So tell me this, Sheriff—given she’s not leavin’ and given you promised her pa you’d keep her safe, where do you think is a safer place to keep her if not right under your nose?”

Yucton’s words stopped him in his tracks halfway to the cell. He hadn’t told a soul about the promise he’d made to Abbott. “How do you know about that?”

“Who do you think he entrusted to make sure you kept up your end of things if she got it in her head to come back here?”

The truth of things settled around him. “Is that what you’re doing back here?”

Yucton said nothing.

“You could end up hanging for your efforts.”

The glint of determination hardened Yucton’s expression making the bones of his face stand out even more. “We all gotta die sometime. And who knows, maybe your pappy will come to my defense, the way he did Abbott’s.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath.” His father wasn’t known for doing favors. The fact he had stood up in court and argued against a sentence of hanging for Abbott Connolly had been completely out of character for the man, especially when he’d spent the better part of his life trying to ruin Abbott. To this day, Hunter could not find a satisfactory reason to justify the behavior. Lord only knew his father was not inclined to give him one.

“You ever find that strange?” Yucton asked, as if reading Hunter’s mind. “Your pappy hated Abbott with every breath he took. Odd, then, that the one chance he had to get rid of him, he didn’t take.”

“Maybe he had a change of heart.”

Yucton arched one eyebrow upward, his expression echoing Hunter’s own thoughts. His father didn’t have a heart. The only true feeling he’d ever shown was toward Vivienne Connolly. He called it love, but Hunter had seen love, and that wasn’t it. Vivienne had been his father’s obsession. Vernon had wanted what he couldn’t have, and not having it had turned him into a bitter and hateful man. Going out of his way to save Abbott’s neck from the hangman’s noose had never added up.

“Maybe he did it for Vivienne.”

Yucton shrugged. “You believe that?”

Hunter let out a long slow breath. He wished he did, but truth be told the idea fit about as well as a pair of boots two sizes too small. Vivienne had died a week before Abbott’s sentencing and somehow the idea of Vernon waxing sentimental over her passing and letting his emotions change his mind on what happened to Abbott...well, sentimental and emotions weren’t exactly words Hunter associated with his father.

“What precisely is it Abbott thought Meredith needed protection from? Does this have anything to do with the Syndicate you mentioned?”

Yucton pulled his hat off his head and worked the brim in his hands, turning it slowly as if mulling over Hunter’s question. In the end, whatever he decided didn’t include imparting any more information than what Hunter already had. Which amounted to diddly-squat.

“You just make sure that little lady has you for a shadow.”

“That’s it? You don’t think it would help me out if I knew exactly what it was I’m supposed to be watching out for?” Yucton said nothing. “Hell, I’m the last person she wants dogging her every step.”

Yucton smirked. “Maybe you oughta try changin’ her mind on that.”

Hunter sat on the edge of his desk and folded his arms over his chest. The man was obviously a few birds short of a full nest if he believed that could happen. “You think you know so much, yet you don’t even know who’s bankrolling your defense.”

Yucton leaned back on his bed. “I have a good idea.”

“Enlighten me.”

Yucton placed the hat he’d been turning in his hands over his face. “Been to see your father lately?”

The ground shifted beneath Hunter as the conversation swerved in a direction he hadn’t been prepared for. “What does my father have to do with anything?”

Yucton lifted his hat. “You really that clueless, boy? Or are you just pretendin’ because maybe you got something to do with it and you jus’ don’t want no one to know?”

“Know about what?” The old man had an irritating habit of talking in riddles.

“You think on it a bit,” Yucton said. His sharp eyes probed and stared and willed Hunter to pay attention, to read between the lines. But Hunter didn’t like the story he found there. He didn’t like it one bit.