Fall back in love with 1800s Kansas in Susan Mallery’s fan-favorite tale of love, loss, and redemption.

Justin Kincaid is the local bad-boy-turned-sheriff, and now he’s got to prove himself to his people and his town. When a saloon girl is murdered, it’s up to him to lead the investigation and to find a home for the dead woman’s young daughter. But what he hadn’t counted on was Megan, the only woman he’s ever loved, volunteering to take in the young girl…

Megan Bartlett had all but given up on ever seeing Justin Kincaid again when he returned to assume the sheriff’s position. And the man who returns—the man with a bitter, mocking smile—is not the man she remembers. But when she notices how tender he is with the orphaned girl, she can’t help but see glimpses of the man she fell in love with, and she wonders if life has granted them a second chance after all…

Justin’s Bride

Susan Mallery

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CONTENTS

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE
Landing, Kansas—1878

Justin Kincaid was back.

Between the rustling petticoats of the ladies looking at the current issue of Godey’s and the rattling of nails being weighed on their scale in the back corner, Megan Bartlett heard talk in her general store. The nearby farmers, in town to buy their spring supplies, mentioned the news to one another. The old-timers said it couldn’t be the same boy. He wouldn’t dare show his face back in Landing after what had happened to him. The newer settlers wanted to know what exactly this Justin Kincaid was supposed to have done. Vague talk about boyhood pranks and no one’s ever having seen his father made them shrug. The town needed a sheriff, they said. If this Kincaid fellow could protect them and keep peace, they didn’t much care about his past.

The women, clustering by the bolts of fabric and the new shipment of fashion books, whispered that he’d been as handsome as sin.

“And sin makes its own kind of trouble,” Widow Dobson said, shaking her head as she walked away from the group of women toward the front of the store and her small table and dresser that served as the United States Post Office. She maneuvered her considerable bulk around the furniture and plopped down in her chair.

Megan looked up from the inventory papers in front of her. The first big shipment from the East had arrived. Spring was always a busy time. Settlers and farmers came into town more often. They needed seed and new tools, clothes and whatever supplies they’d run out of during the cold Kansas winter.

“Who’s making trouble?” Megan asked, even though she knew the answer. Like everyone else, she wanted to talk about Justin. Had he really come back? Did he remember her? She shook her head. She was being silly. Of course he remembered. How could he have forgotten the way they’d parted seven years ago? Megan drew in a deep breath. Who could have known he would come back?

Mrs. Dobson stopped counting her small inventory of stamps and raised her head. She tugged at the bodice of her jet black gown. Ten years after Farmer Dobson’s passing, she still wore mourning. From her perky feather hat set at an angle, clear down to her shoes, she wore black. Privately, Megan thought it was because the buxom widow, with her fading red hair, knew she looked especially striking in that color.

“Those women.” The widow jerked her head toward the small group clustered at the far counter. “They’re jawing on about Justin Kincaid. Saying he’s handsome. Well, the boy was always more handsome than a body had a right to be, but he was always trouble, too. That kind never wants for female attention.”

Megan set down the papers she’d been examining and smoothed her suddenly damp hands over her full skirt. “Maybe he’s changed.”

Widow Dobson turned in her chair. Her bright green eyes narrowed as she looked across the dresser, pinning Megan with her stare. “You weren’t one of those harebrained misses who was sweet on that Kincaid boy, were you?”

Megan raised her chin and met the other woman’s gaze. Her light laugh sounded confident, even to her own ears. “Did you ever once see me with him? Can you imagine him coming courting at my house?”

The older woman leaned back in her chair and smiled. “Of course not, Megan. You always were the right kind of girl. Respectable.” She turned to her stamps. “Not that I would have blamed you for noticing him. Hard not to. And he wasn’t all bad. I’m willing to admit that. Still, he’s going to be trouble. You mark my words.”

Megan gathered her papers together and escaped to the back of the store. Behind the calico curtain was a short hallway. To the left was the large room holding her inventory. To the right, a tiny cubbyhole that served as her office. She closed the door behind her and leaned against the desk.

Like the rest of the store, this small space was clean and tidy, with everything in its proper place. Even as she struggled to still her pounding heart, Megan placed the inventory papers in the right pile on her desk, and slipped around her chair to the little table in the corner. After pouring some water from the pitcher into the basin, she rolled up her cuffs and washed her face.

It didn’t help. The oval mirror above the basin showed her that the flush she’d felt on her cheeks was still visible. Her eyes glowed, although whether from panic or excitement, she couldn’t say. Her mouth quivered. She touched her finger to her lips but couldn’t still the trembling.

Justin Kincaid had come back.

Maybe it wasn’t him, she thought as she refastened her cuffs. It could well be another Justin Kincaid. Both names were common enough. She’d met a family of Kincaids two springs ago when a wagon train had camped close to Landing. She’d asked a couple of the women settlers, but they’d never heard of Justin.

She smoothed her hair, then made her way back into her store. Andrew, her assistant, was wrapping up a purchase of bleached muslin for one of the young women in town. No doubt she would be making a pretty dress for the Fourth of July dance. The celebration was months away, but people started preparing well in advance. Thinking about that dance didn’t ease her mind nor make her forget Justin. In fact, it made her think of other dances when she’d been held by proper young men but had watched Justin out of the corner of her eye. He’d danced with almost everyone but her. He’d made those girls laugh with his easy humor and flirtatious winks.

Once, at one of the dances, on a magical night filled with stars, he’d found her out walking through a grove of trees. No one had been around, although they could still hear the music of the fiddler. Without saying a word, Justin had taken her into his arms. He’d pulled her closer than the other boys did. Close enough that she’d felt the heat of his body, his warm breath on her face. Close enough that her heart had pounded harder in her chest. They’d danced for what felt like a lifetime, circling, staring into each other’s eyes. His fingers had burned into her back. For a moment, while they’d waited between songs, his head had dipped low and he’d brushed his mouth against her cheek. Then he’d looked at her and—

“Oh, Megan,” she heard someone say. “I need to order a few yards of silk.”

Megan blinked several times and found herself standing in her general store. The woman in front of her went on about her daughter’s upcoming wedding and the need for the young woman to have something pretty to wear her first night married.

Megan flushed. She’d never had a wedding night. Had never had a wedding. At twenty-four, she was an old maid. And a businesswoman, she reminded herself as she hurried forward to help the customer. So what if Justin had come back? She didn’t care. She didn’t have time to care. But as she continued to work that afternoon, she could hear the faint sounds of the fiddle from that long-ago night and her cheek tingled with the soft echo of Justin’s kiss.

* * *

By three-thirty, Megan couldn’t stand it anymore. If one more person came into the store and asked if it was true that Justin Kincaid had come back, she was going to scream. Everyone wanted to talk about the possibility, but no one was willing to find out the truth.

Widow Dobson talked on and on about what a mistake it was going to be, and how someone born to trouble usually died from trouble. Even if it wasn’t his fault.

“You mark my words,” the older woman said for at least the fortieth time that day. “It’s easy to hope a boy like that will turn out right. But a body never knows for sure. I can just see—”

Not willing to listen to the widow for one more minute, Megan marched to the rear of the store and slipped behind the curtain. In her tiny office, she picked up her hat and set it on her head. She paused in front of the oval mirror long enough to make sure the hat was straight and that no stray hairs had escaped from her morning coiffure, then she picked up her cloak and drew it over her shoulders. After closing the fasteners at her throat, she reached for her gloves and reticule, and headed back into the store.

“Andrew, watch things for me, please,” she called as she sailed down the center aisle.

“Where are you going?” the widow asked.

Megan paused by the door and pulled on her gloves. “To find out the truth.”

The older woman gasped. “You mean—”

“I’m going to the sheriff’s office.”

“But you can’t. My dear girl, if it is him, well, he’s one of those kind of men. What will people think?”

The question made her hesitate. Megan knew the power of what other people thought. She lived her life by what other people would or would not think of her actions. Between her late father’s rules and having a minister for a brother-in-law, she always had to think about other people’s opinions.

But she also had to know. She would go mad if she didn’t find out the truth. If it wasn’t the Justin Kincaid she knew, then she would simply introduce herself and come back. And if it was him...well, she would figure that out when she saw him.

“It’s the middle of the day,” she said, and opened the door. “The sheriff’s office is a place of business. It’s not as if I’m going to a man’s hotel room, Mrs. Dobson. Why would anyone say anything?”

Before she lost the little courage she had, she stepped out into the afternoon and turned right.

Her ankle-high buttoned shoes clicked on the wooden planking in front of her store. The boardwalk continued to the stage office, then came to an abrupt end ten feet from the butcher shop. From there it was a wide river of mud until the planking started again in front of the sheriff’s office.

Spring was almost here, she thought as she took a firm grip on her skirts and pulled them up several inches. She eyed the moist muck, planning out her path to avoid the worst of the puddles and a still-steaming pile of manure left by the stagecoach horses. With a quick prayer for the state of her shoes, she stepped daintily across to the planking several feet away.

A couple of farmers nodded as she passed them. A lady she knew said hello. Megan smiled and kept on moving, hoping no one would ask where she was off to.

When she reached the safety of the wooden sidewalk, she stamped her feet to get rid of the loose mud, then dropped her skirts to the ground. Her heart thundered loudly. She raised her chin slightly, trying to ignore the fear that fueled the pounding in her chest and made her palms damp against the kid leather of her gloves.

She approached the one-story wooden building. Two windows flanked the door. They hadn’t been washed in weeks, so she couldn’t just peek inside and find out if the man in question was the Justin Kincaid she had known. Besides, she scolded herself, it wasn’t seemly for her to go around spying on others. She would simply open the door and step inside, as any good citizen could. She would see for herself, then leave.

“Afternoon, Megan.”

She spun toward the voice. Mrs. Greeley, the butcher’s wife, strolled by her.

“Good afternoon.” Megan almost choked on the words. She’d forgotten that guilt made her throat dry. “Fine weather we’re having.”

The older woman hiked up her skirts to almost her knees and waded through the mud. “If you don’t mind a little mess,” she called over her shoulder.

Megan stared at the front door. Indecision gripped her. Oh, just get it over with, she told herself firmly. She had to do it now before someone else she knew came along. What was the worst that could happen?

She gripped the door handle and turned it. The door swung open silently, and she stepped inside. Until that moment, Megan hadn’t realized she’d never been inside the sheriff’s office before. She’d had no reason to come here. She’d never sworn out a warrant against another or been accused of a crime. Her father had conducted his business with the sheriff in the small office in the back of the general store.

Standing by the door, she slowly studied the room. The walls hadn’t been papered. Posters of wanted men hung on the bare wood. Dappled sunshine highlighted the floor scarred by boot heels, spurs and tobacco burns. Three desks, two smaller ones on each side and a larger one in the center of the room, took up most of the space. There were two doors leading into the back. Both of them were closed. Except for the furniture and herself, the room was empty.

She stepped inside and breathed a sigh of relief. There was no one to witness her potential humiliation at the hands of Justin Kincaid. Of course, there wasn’t any Justin Kincaid, either.

She moved closer to the large desk. A box sat on top. The cover had been pushed aside and she could see pencils and papers, along with a pair of handcuffs. She saw the edge of a pocketknife at the bottom of the box. Initials had been carved into the side, but she couldn’t read them. She didn’t have to. Justin had always put his initials on his pocketknife. No doubt the JK carved on this knife would match the one she kept in the bottom drawer of her jewelry box.

It was him. He’d come back.

“This is a surprise.”

She jumped when she heard the man’s voice, and her head jerked up. He stood by the back door, beyond the afternoon light filtering through the windows behind her. She had trouble making out his individual features. Even so, she knew the man. She recognized the broadness of his shoulders, the tilt of his head and the easy grace of his stride.

As he walked toward her, he moved in and out of the shadows. For a second, his face was clear to her, then hidden, then clear again. She hadn’t realized she was backing up until the desk was between them. It should have made her feel safer, but it didn’t. She took one more step to the side and the sun illuminated him fully. She wished she’d left him in shade.

His hair was as dark as she remembered, and as long as ever. The dark brown layered lengths reached to the bottom of his white shirt collar. Equally dark eyes flickered over her face and body with all the impersonal appraisal of a horse buyer inspecting a brood mare. But she was too intent on her own study to take much offense. The lines by his eyes had deepened. Was it from the weather or had he had reason to laugh and smile these last seven years? The hollows of his cheeks made his mouth look fuller than she remembered. His square chin and angular jaw were still thrust forward in stubborn defiance. She’d told him that once. He’d asked what other kind of defiance was there.

She’d laughed then, and he’d joined in. Their laughter had led to kisses, and then he’d touched her waist. His hand had slipped higher and—

“So. You’ve come to welcome me back,” he said, taking the straight-backed chair in his hands. He turned it neatly and straddled the seat, folding his arms along the top of the back. “I’m honored. Is it me, or do you welcome all newcomers to town?”

She stared, not quite able to believe that he’d actually taken a seat without offering her one. She shook her head. Why was she shocked? He was behaving exactly like the Justin she remembered.

“Come now, Megan, are you here simply to stare at me? Has it been that long since the carnival came through town? I don’t remember your being this quiet.”

She gave him her best glare. “Welcome back, Justin. No, thank you for the kind offer of a chair, but I prefer to stand.”

He raised his dark eyebrows. “Oh, a temper. I don’t remember that, either. Did you want me to get you a seat? You’ll have to forgive me. Being the town bastard, I tend to forget my manners.”

She flinched as if he’d struck her. Before she could gather herself together enough to think about leaving, he rose to his feet and grabbed a chair from behind the desk on his right. He carried it over and placed it next to her.

“Please.” He motioned to the chair, giving her a mocking half bow.

They stood close, now. Close enough for her to see the pure color of his eyes. No flecks of gold or green marred the deep brown irises. She’d never been able to see what he was thinking, and today was no exception. She was close enough to count the individual whiskers on his cheeks. Close enough to study the scar on his chin. Her fingers curled tightly against her palms as she remembered what it was like to touch that chin. The contrast of textures. The rasp of the stubble, the hard line of the scar, then the damp heat of his lower lip.

His scent surrounded her. The fragrance of his body, a unique blend of man and temptation, filled her lungs and made her knees tremble. It had been so long, she thought as she swayed toward him. So very long. His eyes locked on hers. She felt her fear fade as a fiery weakness invaded her. Her breath caught in her throat and she exhaled his name.

“Sit down, Megan,” he growled, holding the chair in one hand and pushing her shoulder with the other. “Sit down and tell me what the hell you’re doing in my office.”

His anger completed the job his nearness had already begun. Her knees gave way and she sank onto the seat.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Embarrassment flooded her, making her duck her head in shame. How could she have reacted to him that way? She stared at her hands, twisting them together on her lap.

She didn’t hear him move, but when she finally gathered the courage to look up, he was back behind his desk, straddling his chair. Nothing in his expression gave away his feelings, but his anger lingered in the room. She could smell it when she breathed.

“This was a mistake,” she said. “I should never have come here.”

“Why did you?” he asked and folded his arms on the back of the chair.

He wore a black vest over a white shirt. Convention required that all the buttons be fastened, even on the warmest of days. There was still a bite of winter in the air, but Justin wore his shirt open at his throat. She could see the hollow there, his tanned skin and the hint of the dark hairs on his chest. Once, when they’d sat on the edge of the creek on a summer night, once, when she’d sipped from his flask and felt the heat in her belly and the languor in her limbs, she’d kissed that spot. She’d tasted his skin and felt his heat. Once, he’d moaned in her arms.

Foolish memories best forgotten, she told herself. He was angry at her. She couldn’t blame him, of course. He had every right to be angry, more than angry. He should hate her.

“I came to find out if you were really back.” Megan reached up and unfastened her cloak. It slid off her shoulders and onto the chair back. “And you are.”

His gaze narrowed. “Don’t play your games with me, Megan. You could have asked any number of people if I was back,” he said. “Why are you here? What do you want from me?”

“Oh, I couldn’t have asked about you. People would have wanted to know why. I couldn’t have them think—”

She bit back the rest of her sentence, but it was too late. For the second time, he rose from his seat. He didn’t bother concealing his anger. It flared out from him, tightening the line of his jaw and pulling his mouth into a straight line. His arms hung loosely at his sides, but his hands were balled into fists. She shrank back as he approached.

“What couldn’t you have them think?” he asked. He came to a stop in front of the desk.

“I—I didn’t mean to say that, exactly.”

“What did you mean? Exactly.”

She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t bear to see the censure in his eyes. He did hate her. She saw it as clearly as she saw the man before her.

She buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry for all the things I said.”

“But not for what you did.”

He spoke so softly that at first she thought she’d imagined the words. She looked up. He sat on the corner of the desk in front of her.

“You’re sorry you called me the town bastard, but you’re not sorry you didn’t come with me.”

He said the words flatly, as if they had no meaning. She searched his eyes, hoping for a clue to his feelings. Nothing. The brown depths offered nothing except tiny twin reflections of herself.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” she said, hoping her apology would be enough.

“Oh, no, Megan. It’s not that simple.” He moved quickly, stepping in front of her and crouching down. He stared at her face. “It’s the words you used that bother you. Not the deed.”

“Stop it,” she commanded, but her voice was weak, and she had no power to make him stop. She couldn’t even escape. She would have to push him away. To do that would require her touching him, and as surely as she knew her name, she knew if she touched him, all would be lost. “What do you want from me?”

“The truth, Megan. For once in your sorry life, tell me the truth. I’ll accept that instead of your apology.”

Now her temper flared, quarreling with the confusion inside of her. She didn’t know this angry stranger. He wasn’t the Justin Kincaid she remembered from her childhood, or the young man who had made her fall in love with him seven summers ago. He was hard and frightening, mocking and cold. She wanted to run away and forget she’d ever been here. She wanted to forget the heat of his stare and the scent of his body and the way his hands reached for hers, holding them tight.

“The truth,” he growled. “Say it.”

His fingers squeezed hers. His hands had always been hard from his long hours working in the livery stable. Time hadn’t changed that. He pressed until her fingers dug into her own palms. The sharp pain shocked her into action. She jerked free of his touch and sprang to her feet. Stalking across the room, she drew in deep cleansing breaths.

“Yes,” she said loudly, turning to face him. “Yes, I’m sorry I said those things, but I’m not sorry I stayed here. I’m not sorry I didn’t go with you.”

He stood and smiled at her. There was no humor or kindness in the curve of his lips or the flash of his white teeth. She felt chilled and folded her arms over her chest.

“Are you satisfied?” she asked.

His smiled faded. He returned to his seat. “No,” he said without looking at her. “But you told me the truth. At last. Does your husband know about your habit of avoiding the unpleasant?”

“Husband?” Oh, Lord, he thought she was married. Megan was glad her gloves hid her bare left hand from him. Married. When he found out she wasn’t, was he going to assume she’d waited for him? Oh, he couldn’t. She hadn’t, of course. There were plenty of reasons she hadn’t married, and none of them had anything to do with Justin Kincaid.

“I don’t avoid the unpleasant,” she said, staying well away from him. “What about your wife? Does she know you accost strange women in your office?”

This time his smile was genuine. She’d forgotten about the dimple in his left cheek, and the way his eyes crinkled when he was amused. Against her will, her own lips turned up at the corners. Justin had always had the ability to charm her, no matter how hard she tried to hold on to her anger, or her sensibilities.

“You were hardly accosted, Megan.”

“You know what I mean.” Cautiously, she approached the chair he’d given her. She sank onto the edge of the seat, prepared to spring up at the least provocation.

“No, she doesn’t know I accost women in my office.”

His words shouldn’t have surprised her, but she felt as punctured as a pincushion. Who would have thought he had married? She recalled her worries of that morning. How she’d wondered what she would do when she came face-to-face with him. She’d been torn between hoping he would remember what had gone on between them, and fearing that he would want to continue the relationship. Now there was no question of that. Married.

“Who is she?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t notice that her smile had faded.

He folded his arms over the chair back. “Who?”

“Your wife.”

He gave her a lazy wink. “What wife?”

She sighed. “Justin, even you cannot treat your wife with such disrespect. Who is the woman you married?”

She could see his humor fade, and with it the man that she remembered. The cold, angry stranger returned. “You mean, even the town bastard should know how to treat a lady? What makes you think I married a lady?”

“Your time away has taught you a quickness I cannot match.” She picked up her cloak and drew it over her shoulders. “I apologize for any insult I may have spoken. It was, I assure you, unintentional. I wish you and your good wife well.”

“There is no wife, Megan. A widow woman tempted me once, but I managed to escape.”

Her anger was gone, battered by his overwhelming presence. She wasn’t afraid, what with half a room and his desk between them. Her knees still trembled from his handsomeness, but she would be able to overcome that weakness. Which left only confusion. Why did he toy with her? Was this his punishment for her actions seven years ago?

No. If he sought punishment, that would mean he still cared for her. It couldn’t be true. Even if it was, nothing had changed. He was still Justin Kincaid and she was—

The door flew open. “Megan Bartlett, what on earth are you doing here with that...that man?”

Her sister, Colleen, swept into the room with all the fiery determination of an angel entering the devil’s domain. Megan wanted to crawl under the desk but there wasn’t time. Or room, she thought practically, knowing she would never be able to slip past Justin, even if Colleen hadn’t seen her.

“Ah, Miss Bartlett,” Justin said, approaching her and smiling. “How good to see you again.”

“It’s Mrs. Estes, sir. What do you think you’re doing here with my sister?”

“Why we were just...talking.”

Megan groaned and sank lower into her chair. There had been enough of a pause between the words just and talking to give Colleen reason for concern. When combined with Justin’s suggestive smile and the wink he shot her, she knew her fate was sealed. Colleen would lecture her for the next three weeks. Megan had always regretted being the sister-in-law to the town minister, but never more than right now.

Just when Megan was telling herself it couldn’t get any worse, Justin reached for Colleen’s gloved hand and brought it to his mouth. Before the woman could snatch her hand back, he kissed it. Colleen squealed.

“Unhand me, sir. Do you know who I am? Megan, tell this...this creature who I am.”

Megan looked up at him. Behind the mocking facade, behind the quick smile and easy charm lurked anger. She saw it in the stiffness of his body and the lines around his mouth. Like a wolf sunning himself on a warm day, Justin would revert back to the wild at any moment. No one would be given any warning, least of all her.

Justin Kincaid was back in town. The tingling in her fingertips told her nothing was ever going to be the same again.

CHAPTER TWO

Justin glanced from Megan to her sister and back. There was a time when the Bartlett girls had looked so much alike strangers had trouble telling them apart. Time had changed that. Colleen had grown matronly. Her once-pretty smiling face seemed pinched, her expression sour, as if the fragrance of life was more than she cared to smell.

As for Megan, she’d grown more beautiful. Justin should hate her for it. Instead, he hated himself for giving a damn. Why couldn’t she have become old and ugly in the seven years he’d been gone? Or at the very least, why couldn’t she have married and moved away?

He looked at her and caught her staring at him. With his left eye, he gave her a wink.

She flushed and bit her lower lip.

He knew Megan was wondering if he’d caught her sister’s salutation. He saw it in the panicked expression in her eyes. She was hoping he hadn’t noticed Colleen had called her Megan Bartlett, instead of by another man’s name. He’d noticed. She hadn’t married while he’d been gone. He moved his gaze down to her full bosom, then back to her heart-shaped face. It wasn’t her looks that had kept the suitors away. He remembered the taste of her mouth and the passion she hadn’t been able to control. That wouldn’t have contributed to her unmarried state, either. Seven years ago she hadn’t known exactly what went on between a man and a woman but she’d been eager to experience as much as convention allowed an unmarried couple. She’d even been willing to experience a little more, he remembered, then cursed the heat that flowed to his loins. So why hadn’t she married?

“I say, do you know who I am?” Colleen demanded a second time.

Justin had grown bored with the game. He walked back to his desk, turned the chair around and sat in it. He moved the box to one side and picked up a sheet of paper.

“I remember everything about you, Colleen, including the Sunday you went running out of church so fast that you didn’t see the pile of horse manure right below the steps. You slipped and got green muck all over your dress. You cried because you smelled, and no one would sit next to you.”

Colleen flushed an unbecoming shade of red. From the corner of his eye, he saw Megan’s shocked look. Justin sighed. Maybe he had gone too far with the story, but he didn’t care. Colleen had been younger than most of the other children Justin had gone to school with, but her tender years hadn’t gentled her spirit. He recalled how, during recess, she’d stood with the older children and taunted him. At five, when her soft voice had still lisped like a baby’s, she’d sung the singsongy school yard refrain of “Justin is a bastard.” Megan had been one of the few who hadn’t joined in. She’d turned away from the taunting children.

The mocking song had continued until he was strong enough to beat up any boy too dumb to shut his mouth and until he’d become good-looking enough to distract the girls. But he’d never forgotten.

Colleen tugged at her cloak and approached his desk. Rage radiated from her. He wasn’t impressed, although Megan seemed bothered by her.

“My husband is an influential man in this town,” Colleen said.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Justin leaned back in his chair and smiled.

“You’ll never be sheriff here, Justin Kincaid. I’ll see to that.” She pointed at the box on his desk. “Don’t bother unpacking. You’ll be gone before sundown.” She turned to glare at Megan. “I’m glad Papa’s dead and not here to see you shame the family this way.”

With that, Colleen spun on her heel and marched out of the room. Justin stared after her. When he’d first seen Landing on his return to town, he’d realized there had been a lot of changes in the time he’d been gone. New buildings had sprung up along Main Street. Most of the people he’d seen were strangers to him. But he counted on some things to be the same. He’d expected trouble and had assumed old man Bartlett would still be around to give him hell. He’d spent his whole life trying to hate that man, but found he couldn’t even dislike him. The man was Megan’s father. Justin knew that if he had a daughter like her, he wouldn’t have wanted a boy like him around her, either. He’d always understood Mr. Bartlett’s feelings, even though he’d never let on.

“I’m sorry about your father,” he said. “I didn’t know he was gone.”

Megan looked surprised. “Thank you,” she said cautiously, as if she wondered if he was going to say something else. “He passed on about five years ago.”

“Who runs the store? Colleen and her husband?”

Megan laughed. The sound hit him square in the chest, like an unexpected blow. Her laughter always made him think of summer. He didn’t know why, but even now he pictured the two of them on the banks of that stream east of town. Her blond hair streaming around her shoulders, her hazel eyes gazing up at him in adoration. He shook his head to banish the memory. He had no time or interest in the past and if he remembered anything, he would do better to recall their last hour together before he left town. That would be enough to cure any man of dreams.

“Colleen married a minister.” She leaned forward in her seat and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Mr. Estes. I think he was here before you left. He’s a few inches taller than you, but he has no hair.” She giggled. “He did have hair then, I think. Or parts of it.”

Justin smiled in return. “A minister? Figures. I’m surprised you didn’t marry one, yourself. Megan Bartlett.”

She swallowed. The blush climbed rapidly from the collar of her dark blue dress up her pale throat to her cheeks. Unlike the flush of rage that had made Colleen look harder, this pink hue made Megan more beautiful. He studied her mouth. It was uneven, with the bottom lip fuller than the top. He’d teased by telling her that it made her look as if she was always pouting. When she’d become self-conscious, he’d whispered all the things her pout made him think about doing with her.

Stop! he commanded himself. He couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t keep going into the past and finding the good memories. He had to hold on to his anger until he could come to grips with seeing Megan again.

“I never said I was married,” she said, smoothing her hands over her full skirt. “You assumed.”

“So neither of us married.”

“I didn’t wait for you,” she said hastily, as she raised her chin higher. “Don’t think I did.”

Her words brought another revelation. After all this time, Megan still had the power to hurt him. Of course she hadn’t waited. She’d made it very clear what she thought of him and his marriage proposal. He gripped his hands so tightly, he thought he would split the skin over his knuckles. He forced himself to relax. Eventually, he wouldn’t care anymore. Time away from Landing had taught him that.

“I never thought you waited for me,” he said mildly and rested one ankle on the opposite knee. “Until you mentioned it.”

“Justin.” Megan shook her head. “You haven’t changed at all.”

“Oh, but I have, sweet Megan. I’m a different man. Much more dangerous.”

“I suppose you’re right. There are parts of you that seem the same, but other things are different.” She studied him. He liked the way her gaze lingered on his face, focusing on his mouth. It was almost like being touched by her. The steady glance, the sudden panic as she realized she was staring. The careful looking away, only to have her eyes flicker back again and again.

“What has changed?” he asked, liking the way he flustered her. She might not have waited for him, but she hadn’t forgotten what they’d been to each other.

“You used to be nicer.”

He’d expected many comparisons but not that one. He threw back his head and laughed. “Nicer? I was never nice.”

“You were to me.”

His humor fled and with it his desire to continue this conversation. “Are you surprised? After what happened?”

“You’re still angry with me.”

He wanted to deny it, but what was the point? They both knew the truth. “Yes. I am still angry. It’s been seven years, and I figure I should have forgotten it by now, but I haven’t. If nothing else, Megan, you were supposed to be my friend.”

“I was.” But her actions then belied her words. She dropped her gaze to her lap, where her fingers twisted together nervously.

“Then why didn’t you believe me?” he asked.

“I wasn’t sure. Everyone said you did it.”

“I said I didn’t.”

She looked up at him. Sadness widened her eyes, darkening the hazel color to gray. “I know. Later, when I knew you were innocent, I didn’t know where you were. I wanted to write and tell you I was sorry.”

He stood, walked over to where she was sitting and held out his hand. She stared at his outstretched palm for several seconds, then placed her gloved fingers on his and let him help her rise.

She was tall for a woman, but the top of her head only came to his chin. She smelled of some forbidden flower. With her blond hair pulled away from her face, there was nothing to hide the pure beauty of her skin, the large almond-shaped eyes, or her trembling mouth. How many nights had he lain awake picturing this face, trying to forget...desperate to remember? How many times had he begged God to let him hear the words she’d just spoken? The statement of his innocence.

“It’s too late,” he said. “It doesn’t matter now.”

She blinked. “Oh, Justin, it has to matter. As you said, whatever happened, we were friends.”

“Not anymore.” He wouldn’t forgive her, couldn’t trust her. “You don’t want to be friends with me, Megan. I’m still the town bastard.”

“I’m sorry I said that. You frightened me that day. I didn’t know what to do.”

“You could have said you’d changed your mind.”

“I was afraid you would persuade me.” She bit her lower lip. “You always had the power to persuade me.”

Did he still? The thought tempted him. No, it didn’t matter. None of this mattered. He’d come back to Landing to make his peace with the town. To prove to them, and himself, that he was more than a troublemaker. When his year was up, he would move on and find a place to put down roots. Until then, he would stay as far away from Megan Bartlett as possible. She had always been his greatest weakness. Chances are, that hadn’t changed.

“Go home, Megan,” he said. “Go back to your respectable life. I’m not here to make trouble.”

“You’ve made it already, and you know it. Did you think that you could just come back here and be sheriff? Did you think people wouldn’t notice...or remember?”

“I’m counting on them remembering.”

Her delicate eyebrows drew together. He loved her frowns. They made him want to kiss away the lines in her forehead and hold her close until her worries faded. He drew back a step, putting more distance between them. He’d been right to want to avoid her. She was more trouble than he had ever been.

“Then why are you here?” she asked.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“I would.” She stepped closer, close enough for her to touch his arm. Even through her gloves, the brief contact seared though his shirt to his bare skin. Instantly, his body reacted to the heat as his blood flowed quicker. “Explain it to me.”

The fire of need ignited his anger. He jerked his arm loose and walked over to the desk. After picking up a single sheet of paper, he waved it at her. “This is all you have to know, Miss Bartlett. The town council of Landing has signed a contract with me. Unless I commit a criminal offense, I will be your sheriff for the next year. I don’t need your friendship, or anything else from you.”

“Fine.” She reached for her cloak and drew it over her shoulders. The heavy fabric swirled around her, brushing against his legs, taunting him like a too-brief caress. “Keep your secrets and your friendship. I’ll be sure to tell everyone you’re back in town and that you’ve only changed for the worse.”

“Why don’t you tell them the rest?” he asked, knowing he was pushing, trying to hurt her the way he’d been hurt. “Why don’t you tell them the real reason you’re so afraid?”

She picked up her reticule. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She started toward the door, but he moved quicker and slammed his hand against the wood, preventing her from leaving. “Tell them your dirty little secret. No one knows, do they? No one knows about our times by the stream.”

“Stop it.”

She reached for the door handle and pulled, but the door didn’t budge. He leaned against it and folded his arms over his chest.

“Tell them about how you liked my kisses, Megan. How you liked me touching you.”

“Justin, no.”

She raised her head to him. Tears glistened in her eyes. But the visual proof of her pain didn’t ease his anger. If anything, it made him want to her hurt her more.

“I was good enough to sneak around with, but not good enough to bring home to your father.”

“You don’t understand. You never understood.” She raised her hands in front of her, palms up. “There are things you don’t know. I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t tell anyone.”

“That’s you, Megan. You’ve always kept your dirty little secrets. Does anyone know you promised to marry me?”

She choked on a sob. “Let me g-go.” She pulled frantically at the door handle. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry you agreed to marry me, or sorry you threw it back in my face? Are you sorry you couldn’t marry the town bastard?”

He stepped back and she jerked the door open. She gave him one last glance. He saw the tears on her cheeks and the hurt in her eyes. Suddenly, his anger died, snuffed out by a wave of shame.

“I’m sorry you’re back,” she said and escaped onto the boardwalk. “That’s what you wanted to hear, isn’t it? You wanted me to be sorry. I am. I truly am.” With that, she slammed the door shut behind her.

He thought about going after her, then shook his head. It was too late. He made a fist and hit the wall beside the door. The sharp pain wasn’t enough to distract him. Megan was right. He wasn’t nice anymore. He sure as hell hadn’t been nice to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, staring out the window at her retreating back. She walked quickly, not greeting the people on the street. He saw her hand rise toward her face and wondered if she was wiping away the tears.

“Come back to Landing and set the past right,” he muttered. “You just made a hell of a start.”

He owed her an apology. Whatever had gone on between them seven years ago had nothing to do with the fact that he was the new sheriff. He had no right to treat one of his citizens so rudely. Williams would be damned disappointed.

Of course, it was Williams’s fault he was here in the first place. “Meddling old goat,” he said affectionately. His friend and former employer had been the one to come up with the idea that Justin needed to make peace with the past. He’d been the one to find the notice soliciting applications for a sheriff in Landing. Then he’d bullied Justin into applying. And here he was.

He turned away from the window and stared at his small office. Maybe this had been a mistake. It would have been better to take another job. After all, small-town sheriffs weren’t that easy to come by. Especially in Kansas. He could have gone further west, or maybe south to Texas. But no. He had to come back to Landing and prove them all wrong. It was a great plan with only one flaw.

What if they hadn’t been wrong? What if he was the one who was wrong? Maybe he wasn’t better than a born troublemaker. He picked up the signed contract and stared at it. He had a whole year to find out the truth.

* * *

An hour later, he grabbed his coat and hat from a hook on the wall and left. Suddenly, the office had seemed too confining. He crossed the street, jogging to avoid an oncoming wagon pulled by six horses.

It was late afternoon. The sun was already sinking behind the buildings, leaving half the street in shade. A stiff breeze tugged at his open jacket and hat. If it rained, there could be snow, but the skies were clear in all directions.

He stopped and stared at the livery stable. Someone had told him it had burned down three years ago. The new building was larger. He’d worked there from the time he was thirteen, until he’d left Landing at twenty. He liked being a deputy and he was fairly sure he was going to enjoy being sheriff, but he missed working with horses. Maybe when he left here, he would find a bit of land and raise them. He shrugged, then kept walking. Any plans for the future were a waste of time. He still had to get through his year here.

Next to the livery stable stood a small brick building. The bottom floor belonged to the town doctor, the top to a lawyer. As he walked by, the front door opened and an older woman stepped out, wrestling with an oversize basket. Her mud-caked shoes slipped on the stone steps. She spun to regain her balance and cried out.

Justin ran up the steps, and grabbed the basket with one hand and the woman with the other. He held on to her arm until she was steady. She clutched at him, her small black straw-and-feather hat shaking in the late-afternoon breeze.

“Thank you, sir. I just about tumbled down those stairs. At my age, that would be enough to send me to meet my maker.” She straightened and looked up at him. Small green eyes focused on his face. She let out her breath with an audible whoosh. “Well, well. If it isn’t Justin Kincaid.”

Justin stared down at Widow Dobson and groaned silently. Of all the people to run into. He gave her a forced smile. “Afternoon, ma’am. If you’re steady on your feet, I’d best be—”

“You just stand there and let me look you over, young man.” Her tone said she wasn’t willing to be argued with. “I’d heard it was you, but I couldn’t believe you’d come back to town.”

Mrs. Dobson had never had any trouble speaking her mind. Looks as if that hadn’t changed. She’d also been the only person in town who had cared when his mother had taken sick. She’d brought soup and home remedies to their small, dark room, and sat up with his mother until she died. Justin wanted to hand her back her basket and walk away. He couldn’t. The widow had never wanted to hear a word of thanks, nor had she accepted the money he’d tried to give her. Listening to her berate him was a small price to pay for such a large debt.

She looked exactly as he remembered. Small and plump, with a generous bosom, and dressed entirely in black. The thick wool cape that fell from her shoulders gaped slightly, exposing a dark dress underneath. He didn’t recall her caring about Mr. Dobson as much in life as she seemed to in death.

“I’m back here, ma’am,” he said politely. “For the next year. I’m the new sheriff.”

“I’d heard that.” She pointed at him. “Take off your hat. Let me get a look at your face.” He let go of her and did as she requested. She shook her head. “The women always said you’re handsome as sin. You know what I say?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Sin makes its own kind of trouble. Are you here to cause trouble?”

“I’m here to keep trouble from happening. I enforce the law, Mrs. Dobson.”

“I hope you’re right. It’s my recollection that trouble seems to find you whether you want it to or not.” She gave a little cackle. “Tongues are wagging over you. Guess you’ve set everyone on their ear. Now, help me down these stairs and be quick about it.” She softened her words with a smile.

He’d always thought of the old lady as one of the judgmental old guard. But after she’d tended his dying mother, he’d realized her gruff words hid a tender heart.

He held out his hand. She placed hers on top and he backed down the stairs, making sure she stayed balanced.

When they reached the planked boardwalk, she shook her head again. The black feather on her hat danced with the movement. “There’s folks who aren’t going to be happy to see you back here.”

“I kind of figured that. I aim to win them over to my side of things.”

“Is that why you came back?”

He handed her back her basket. “You be careful, ma’am. I wouldn’t want you to take a tumble. I might not be there next time.”

As she grabbed the basket, it shifted suddenly. A soft sound drifted out.

“Now, you girls hush,” Mrs. Dobson said. “We’ll be home soon. I’ve got some cream for you.” She looked up at him. “Kittens. Doc Ramsey told me their mother is a good mouser.”

She drew back the red-and-white-checkered cloth that covered the basket. He bent down. Three kittens were curled up together, feet and tails overlapping. Two were black-and-white with bits of marmalade color on their faces, the third was a small calico with big green eyes.

“I only wanted the two, but old Doc Ramsey snuck the third one inside with the others.” She glanced down and patted the kittens. “Silly thing is too small to be much good. But he said if I didn’t take it, he’d drown it.” She pulled the cover over the basket. “I’ve never had cats before. My dog always took care of the mice, but he didn’t make it through the winter. And with my fence in need of mending, another dog seemed like too much trouble.” She shifted her burden to her other hand. “So now I’ve got three cats. We’ll see if we like one another.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

She glanced around as if suddenly realizing how long they’d been talking. “Mercy, I’ve got to get on home. It wouldn’t do for me to be seen talking to a handsome young man. What would people say?” She gave him a quick smile, then turned away. “Thank you for helping me.”

“You’re welcome.” He watched her walk by the public water pump. Her basket bounced wildly as if the kittens had decided to start playing. They sure were cute, especially the little calico one.

He got the thought about the same time his feet started moving. It was a silly idea. Then he grinned. Why not?

“Mrs. Dobson,” he called as he hurried after her.

She stopped, turned and looked at him.

“If you don’t want the little cat, could I have her?”

She couldn’t have looked more shocked if he’d tried to steal a kiss. “You want a kitten? They’re not going to let you keep it in your room at the hotel.”

He didn’t bother asking how she knew where he was staying. The widow had always known everything about everybody. The only secret he’d ever kept in this town was the one about him and Megan. No one had known they’d been spending time together. No one had known that he’d asked her to marry him and she’d said yes. No one knew what she’d said to him that last day when he’d asked her to come away with him.

He pushed away those memories, knowing he would have to face them sometime but not wanting it to be today. “It’s a gift for someone.”

“A girl you’re bringing in from wherever you used to live?”

“There’s no girl coming, and no, I didn’t go and get married, either.”

Mrs. Dobson didn’t even have the grace to flush. She tilted her head. “You trust this person to take care of the cat?”

“Yes.”

“All right.” She reached in the basket and pulled out the little calico. “Here. She’s probably hungry, so don’t dawdle.”

He hadn’t been accused of dawdling since he’d been about eight, but there was no point in correcting her. He thanked her, tipped his hat and hurried toward the Bartlett General Store.

The kitten curled against his chest, then shivered. The wind was picking up in force and the temperature had dropped. He pulled open his coat and set the kitten into an inner pocket. After making sure the animal was comfortable, he carefully held the edges of his coat together tight enough to keep out the chill, but not so tight that she couldn’t breathe. He could feel the tiny vibration of her purring.

When he crossed the street in front of the general store, he stepped carefully so as not to jar the kitten, then shook his head in disgust. The little creature had probably received plenty of jostling in Mrs. Dobson’s basket. Still, he moved with care.

He was so intent on his passenger, he didn’t realize he was close to the store until he stopped in front of it. The big windows, ordered special from the East, gleamed. The painted name looked freshly touched up. Lace curtains hung over the glass in the door, and between the glass and lace was a sign saying Closed.

He swore under his breath. He should have remembered that the town kept winter hours until well after the spring thaw. Blizzards could crop up without warning, trapping the unwary for the night. Everything closed up early so that the shopkeepers had time to get home in the light. He shouldn’t have taken so long with Mrs. Dobson. No, he shouldn’t have taunted Megan in the beginning. Then he wouldn’t have to waste his time apologizing.

He was about to turn back toward his office, when he heard a door close. He looked around the side of the building and saw Megan walking briskly away from the back of the store. She was heading home. Justin started after her. If her sister had gone and married the town minister and Megan’s father had passed away, Megan most likely still lived in the Bartlett place on the edge of town. With her long dress and ladylike shoes, she would have to keep to the path. If he hurried, he could cut through the grove of trees behind the land office and beat her there.

“Hold on,” he told the kitten and circled around the front of the general store. He nearly bumped into a large man wearing a bloodied apron under his coat. “Evening, Mr. Greeley.”

“Evening. Justin Kincaid? Is that you?”

Justin didn’t bother to stop and chat. He tipped his hat and hurried along the boardwalk. Once past the land office, he headed directly into the trees. Without green leaves to hide the path, the way was easy to spot. He cupped one hand under the kitten and jogged through the grove.

When he came out the other side, he could see the Bartlett house sitting at the top of a small rise. It stood three stories tall, looking like a graceful old lady. Bare oak trees reached past the peaked roof. The setting sun reflected off the front windows. A wide porch circled the house, but all the outdoor furniture had been pushed to one side and covered with oilcloth. Bare patches of dirt showed where the garden would be, come spring.

He moved closer, fighting the memories. How many times had he stood just inside the grove of trees and stared at this house? He’d often willed Megan to come out and join him. Many afternoons, she had. One night, she’d crept out the back door and met him by the creek. They’d laughed and talked almost until dawn. Until he’d sent her inside because he’d wanted her so badly. Even as a young man, he’d known that Megan Bartlett wasn’t the kind of girl a man had his way with. She was the kind of girl a man married. That was why he’d proposed.

The familiar ache in his chest made him push the memories aside. He didn’t want to remember any of it. He wanted to apologize and be on his way.

He walked over to the front steps and sat down. Megan would be along any moment. The path she’d taken was longer, but only by about five minutes. He checked on the kitten. She’d fallen asleep in his pocket. He stroked the soft fur on her head. She stirred, blinked sleepily at him and yawned. Her tiny teeth made him smile. She sniffed his finger, then closed her eyes. Her soft purr faded as she went back to sleep.

The sound of footsteps on gravel made him look up. He could see Megan approaching. She carried a wrapped parcel under one arm. The other swung freely at her side. She looked up at the house and came to a complete stop.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I came to apologize.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“I don’t know. It’s the truth.”

She started walking again, this time moving quickly toward him, then up the stairs. “Nothing is ever simple with you, Justin. Do you know the kind of gossip there would be if someone spotted you here?” She opened the front door and ducked inside. “Hurry. Get in here before someone sees you. You might not care about the talk, but I do.”

He rose slowly and stepped onto the porch. For the first time in his life, he was going in through the front door. He should have been pleased, but he wasn’t. He’d been a fool to come back. Nothing had changed. Megan Bartlett still cared about her reputation more than anything in the world. And he was still just that bastard Justin Kincaid.

CHAPTER THREE

Megan held the door open impatiently as Justin slowly stepped inside. If she didn’t know better, she would swear he was taking as long as possible. Probably to punish her, she thought, shaking her head. She’d seen the anger in his eyes when just moments ago she’d accused him of not thinking of her reputation.

As soon as he was in the foyer, she slammed the door shut and adjusted the curtains on the side window. Her father had built the house on the far edge of town, opposite where all the new buildings had sprung up. He’d bought the surrounding land and enough of the woods to ensure privacy. Megan didn’t get many visitors, but it would only take one to see Justin sitting on her front porch. Within hours, the entire town would know he’d been there and her reputation would be ruined. Not that he cared.

She glared up at him. His brown eyes met hers and flashed with equal fire. The tension between them crackled. She wanted to stomp her foot with irritation.

“Aren’t you going to invite me to take a seat in the parlor?” he asked, his lazy drawl a direct contrast to the stiff set of his body and the angry, thin line of his mouth.

“No,” she said curtly, even as the reminder of good manners made her feel guilty. It was wrong to keep a guest standing in the foyer. But Justin wasn’t a guest. Thank goodness her father wasn’t alive to see this moment. Why he would have—

She swallowed hard as she met his stare. The tension she’d been aware of moments before charged the air. Like a summer electrical storm, when bolts of lightning ripped across the sky and loud claps of thunder echoed so forcefully the house shook. But during those storms there was no rain for relief, no soft patter of individual drops to provide counterpoint to the violence and beauty. And so it was in this room. There was the combination of anger and the past with nothing gentle to ease the intensity between them.

The skin on her arms puckered and a shiver raced down her spine. She lowered her gaze from Justin’s dark brown eyes to his mouth, then to his broad shoulders and chest. His thick coat only made him look more powerful. And masculine.

He was a man, a man who had always been able to make her forget what was right and proper. He’d always been able to make her forget herself and all her good intentions. The ticking of the clock in the parlor suddenly sounded very loud. The steady sound seemed to echo in the house, reminding her she was completely alone with him. There were no witnesses, and no one to come to her rescue.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice low and quavering.

He shook his head, as if coming out of a dream, then moved away from her. There was very little light penetrating the curtained windows and soon they would be in darkness. Justin walked to the lamp she kept by the front door. Without asking her permission, he lit it. When the wick caught, he adjusted the flame until it burned brightly. Casually, as if he had the entire evening, and more time besides, he unbuttoned his coat.

Megan clutched at the fasteners at her throat. He hadn’t done anything untoward, but she suddenly felt vulnerable, as if he’d started to undress. It’s just a coat, she told herself. Most people took them off indoors. But most people hadn’t kissed her on summer nights while sitting on the bank of the stream. Most people hadn’t touched her waist and then moved higher to delicately caress her—

Don’t think about it, she commanded herself. What she’d done with Justin had been a madness born of youth and the night, and that bit of whiskey she’d sipped from his flask. It had been a dream. In the light of day, she’d felt ashamed.

Liar, a voice inside of her whispered. You felt wonderful. She ignored the voice.

“I told you, I came to apologize.” He paced to the bottom of the staircase that circled gracefully toward the second floor, then turned and glared at her. “God knows why I bothered. I should have remembered nothing is more important to Miss Megan Bartlett than what the rest of the world thinks.”

It was a familiar argument, one they’d had countless times. “Not everyone enjoys flouting convention.”

“Maybe, for once, you could figure out yourself what matters instead of letting other people tell you,” he said.

She clenched her teeth together and unfastened her cloak. After setting it on a hook on the hall tree, she stepped in front of the mirror and pulled the pin from her hat. She could see the flush of anger on her cheeks. It reminded her that she could deal with Justin better if she stopped letting him think that his comments had any power over her.

“I form my opinions after reflecting on the Lord’s, the laws of the day and dictates of society,” she said calmly and set her hat down. She turned to him. “Despite your urgings, I don’t believe I should place my opinions above theirs.”

“That’s always been your problem. You need backbone, Megan.”

Her temper began to burn at the edges of her self-control. She firmly gripped the singed edges. “In your absence, I seem to have survived the loss of my father and kept the store running successfully. Rather large accomplishments for someone with no backbone, wouldn’t you say?”

He stepped toward her. “But everything you do, every thought, every action is dictated by what other people think. What are you so afraid of?”

“Harming my reputation,” she snapped. “Something you wouldn’t care about, being a man. But I’m a single woman in a small town. If I expect to keep my place, I must concern myself with others’ thoughts. If you don’t share my concerns, you should at least understand them. After all, your mother had a bad reputation and look what happened to her.”

The second she spoke the words, Megan wanted to call them back. She clamped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late.

Justin froze in place, halfway between her and the stairs. The flame from the lamp danced with some slight draft, casting shadows on his face. His mouth straightened into a grim line and the muscle in his right cheek twitched. Something dark and ugly stole into his eyes.

She stepped away. Not out of fear, but out of shame. “I’m s-sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to say that. It was wrong of me. Completely wrong. I know you loved your mother and that she was a good woman. You made me angry.” She twisted her fingers together in front of her waist and shrugged slightly. “That’s a stupid excuse, isn’t it? It’s not your fault and I shouldn’t try to say that it is. It’s mine. I’m sorry.”

He blinked and it was as if he’d never heard her slight. His face relaxed into its original mocking expression. “Don’t apologize on my account. I’ve heard worse in my time. Your comments weren’t original, or even harshly spoken. I don’t care enough about you to be wounded by your opinions.”

He’d changed so much in the time he’d been gone. The young man who had taught her about kissing and passion had been replaced by a dark stranger. Just as well, she told herself. The old Justin would have tempted her too much. This man was unknown to her. If she kept it that way, she wouldn’t be at risk.

“Wounded or not, I do apologize.” With a sigh, she moved past him into the parlor. The last rays of afternoon light slipped through the drapes and outlined the large pieces of furniture in the room. She moved to a corner table and lit a lamp. She placed the smoldering match in a small metal tray, then turned to him.

As she’d suspected, he had followed her into the room. He rocked back and forth on his heels as he looked around at the furnishings. She followed his gaze, wondering how the parlor would appear to a stranger.

Overly furnished, she thought, glancing from the three settees, to the scattered tables and covered chairs. Her father had had a fondness for expensive things. There were lacquered boxes and silver candy dishes. A beautiful ivory fan bought in New Orleans from a ship that had been nearly around the world. Cream-colored wallpaper and heavy, dark blue drapes provided a backdrop for the ostentatious display.

“Who would have thought I would be so blessed as to finally see the inside of the famed Bartlett mansion?” he said. He raised his eyebrows. “You must be very proud living here.”

“I’m not. You know that, Justin.” She glanced at one of the settees and thought about sitting down, but she was afraid he would sit next to her. With her heart already pounding in her chest and her palms damp, she didn’t think she could deal with the consequences of him being so close. “This house means nothing to me. It is still my father’s home, not mine.”

“Yes, of course. You could be happy in a small sod hut somewhere out west. Fighting snakes and scorpions, watching your children die from the elements.”

“You twist my meaning.”

He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. The smile pulling at his mouth was anything but pleasant. “Are you saying you would be content in a single room above a saloon? Like my mother? You could hear the noise from below, you know. The yells of the drunken men, the squeals of the saloon girls. And the smells. Tobacco, sweat and—”

“Stop!” She moved toward him until she was directly in front of him. “Please, stop. I’ve said I was sorry for what I said about your mother. It was thoughtless and cruel. I have no excuse except for the truth.” She dipped her head slightly and stared at the center of his broad chest.

“Which is?”

He had been in town less than a day and already her life had been turned upside down. “When I’m frightened, I tend to speak without thinking. It’s a failing. I beg your indulgence.”

“Beg” had been a poor choice of words. She saw that instantly when she risked meeting his gaze. The fire had returned, but it wasn’t fueled by anger.

He had the most beautiful eyes, she thought, staring into their deep brown depths. Thick lashes framed the pure color. The dark slash of his eyebrows added to his handsomeness, making him look sardonic one minute, gently teasing the next. Justin’s moods changed like the surface of the stream, quickly and without warning.

She blinked several times and looked away. Yes, the anger was gone, but that which replaced it was much more dangerous.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked softly.

“Your return.”

She turned away and walked over to the fireplace. Logs and kindling were kept stacked in readiness for guests. She crouched down and lit the fire. When the smaller pieces had caught, she rose to her feet and motioned to one of the settees. “Please, have a seat.”

He shook his head. “I’m not going to be here that long. Why are you afraid of me?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said, then smiled. He was the least of it, really. She was the problem. Being around him, thinking of him, made her act differently, as if the respectable woman she worked hard to be was just a false covering, like a storefront. As if the world saw her as a gracious two-story mercantile, but inside she was just a squat saloon.

She smiled at the analogy. He seemed to addle her brain as well as her senses.

“So, you’re going to be here for a year,” she said.

His gaze moved over her face, then dipped lower. She told herself to be insulted, but the frank appraisal left her feeling warm and tingling. Justin had often looked at her like that in the past. The appreciation in his eyes had made her proud to be female and that which he desired. It had frightened her a little, for her inexperience had left her with more questions than explanations. But in his arms that hadn’t mattered.

He’d tempted her with his soft kisses. Despite his time away and the changes in both their lives, he still tempted her. Pray God he chose to ignore her.

“Yes. As I told you earlier this afternoon, I have a one-year contract with the good citizens of this town.” The mocking tone had returned.

“Why did you come back? To punish them?”

He shook his head. “To make peace with the past, although that doesn’t seem to be working.”

“What are your plans while you’re here?”

He raised his eyebrows again. “I’m the sheriff. I’ll enforce the laws, try to keep people out of trouble and generally make my presence known.”

She bent down and picked up a lacquered box from the table. The smooth surface felt cool against her heated fingers. “There are those who will oppose you.”

“Your sister, you mean?”

“Not just her. I know Colleen has become a—”

“Prig?”

Megan smiled. “That’s quite unkind of you.” She set the box back on the table, then straightened. Her smile broadened. “But yes, she has. And her husband is worse. I’ve heard the whispers, what people are saying about you. Eventually, everyone comes into the store. The new settlers don’t mind that you’re sheriff. As long as they are free to get on with their lives, they’ll have no complaints. But the old-timers, the ones who were here when...” Her hand fluttered toward him. She didn’t want to speak of that time, or that day. She didn’t want to recall the ugly words she’d spoken to him, or the pain in his eyes. She didn’t want to know how much she’d hurt him. And herself. In the deepest, darkest part of her heart, she knew she’d made the right decision. She couldn’t have gone with him. But she’d been wrong in the delivery of the message. She’d been so afraid he would convince her to come with him that she’d lashed out in fear, speaking harsh words that could never be recalled.

“They won’t forgive you,” she said.

“They don’t have to. I appreciate your concern, but it’s misplaced. The contract’s binding. Unless I commit a crime, they can’t get rid of me. For the next year, they’re going to have to get used to having me around.”

“When the year is up, what happens then?”

He looked past her toward the fire. “Then I leave this place behind and never come back.”

“So it’s just for a year?”

His eyes met hers. She saw the amusement. She was so grateful he would eventually be leaving, she didn’t care that it was at her expense.

“Yes, Megan. One year. Then you’ll be through with me for good.”

She could bear anything for a year, she told herself. “I think it best that we try to stay out of each other’s way during that time,” she said.

Instead of answering, he smiled. She knew that smile. It made her knees weak and her fingers tremble. It made her remember his kisses, and more. It made her wish Justin Kincaid had been respectable, the son of a farmer or a business owner. It made her wonder what would have happened if she’d gone with him.

“Why is it a problem if we see each other?” he asked, the glint in his eye reminding her he was dangerous.

She couldn’t answer that question. He might suspect the truth, but he wouldn’t know for sure. “Why are you here?”

“I told you, I’m the sheriff.”

“No, why are you in my house? Why did you come to see me tonight?”

“I want my question answered first. Why is it a problem if we see each other?”

She didn’t think he’d moved, but somehow they were standing closer together. The snapping of the burning wood in the fireplace filled the silence. The scent of the smoke mingled with the fragrance of the night and the man. She could feel his heat. She had to tilt her head back to look at his face. Her hands clasped and unclasped.

He reached out toward her. She thought about stepping back, but she couldn’t seem to get her feet to move. He was going to touch her, and she was going to let him. She needed to know if he could still affect her, she told herself firmly. It was a scientific experiment.

His thumb whispered against her jaw, then swept across her chin. Sensation shot through her like the unexpected warmth of sunlight after a storm. The room grew hot, her muscles clenched tight.

“Why aren’t you married?” he asked.

“No one ever asked.”

The lie was so automatic, she shocked herself. Why had she said that? She’d been engaged for months. It would be better for Justin to know the truth, but she couldn’t say anything now. She was confused. Nothing made sense, and Justin was moving closer.

“I find it hard to believe you never tempted a man,” he said. “Are they all blind?”

She should have been pleased at the implied compliment, but she was too caught up in that single word. Tempted. Had he known that was what she was thinking? Did he know he tempted her?

“I’m not interested in temptation,” she murmured, wondering why her voice was so soft. She tried to swallow, but her throat was dry. Against her will, she found herself staring into his eyes, watching the fire reflected there. The light seemed to dance about, then darken. The night closed in around them. She could feel the heat from the fireplace behind her and the heat of the man. It was like a dream where she couldn’t move, couldn’t call out. Could only bravely accept her fate.

But instead of the frightening demons of her dreams, she only had to face Justin. Not so difficult a task.

“I’m interested,” he said, reaching his hand up to cup her face. His lean fingers held her gently. She felt the rough calluses against her skin.

“In what?” she asked.

“Temptation.”

His face drew closer. The flames in his eyes grew brighter. She vaguely thought it couldn’t just be the reflection of the fire behind her, it had to be something else, something...

When his lips touched hers, all conscious thought fled. Her eyelids must have closed for she could see nothing, hear nothing. There was only the moment and the flood of memories filling her with the bittersweet taste of the past.

His mouth was firm, yet yielding. The powerful passion she recalled was now carefully controlled. He brushed across her mouth, back and forth as if familiarizing himself with her. She raised herself on tiptoe to mold her shape to his. The correct and proper side of herself screamed it was foolish and wrong to be doing this. She didn’t care.

Justin wrapped his arms around her shoulders and drew her closer. From chest to knees they touched. Through the layers of her skirt and petticoats, she couldn’t feel much but the general shape of him, but he was all she remembered him to be. The rightness of it brought a burning to her eyes.

She wanted to hold him, as well, but couldn’t bring herself to acquiesce that much. She held her arms at her sides, her hands curled into tight fists.

His fingers slipped under her chignon and kneaded the back of her neck. He moved down her spine, touching, pulling her even closer. His mouth angled against hers, his lips pressing harder now, taunting her with passion.

It wasn’t supposed to feel so good. Other men had kissed her. Not many, but one or two. Why did he have to be the one who made her feel this way? She swallowed her cry of protest against this cruel trick of fate.

His hands encircled her waist. Her breathing came faster now. He dipped his head lower, moving his mouth to her jaw, then down her neck to the collar of her dress. She arched against him, ignoring the way her movement caused her corset to dig into her. The pain didn’t matter, and neither did the fact she couldn’t draw in a deep enough breath. When he returned his lips to hers and his tongue swept across her sensitized skin, she released her last hold on sanity. Her mouth parted and her arms came up toward him.

As he dipped inside, she prepared herself for the onslaught of madness. He would make her forget herself, forget everything, and she didn’t care at all.

Her hands splayed across his chest, feeling the strength of him concealed only by his white shirt and long underwear. He was hard to her soft, angles and planes where she was curves and swells. She reached under his coat to hug him tighter, all the while savoring his kiss. She moved her hands over his ribs and bumped something in his pocket.

The lump moved, then meowed softly and stretched. Justin broke their kiss.

“What’s that?” she asked as soon as she could get her mouth working again.

He reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a tiny calico kitten. “Her mother was a good mouser. I thought you might like her.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry about what happened in my office today. That’s what I came by to tell you. We’ve had our problems in the past, but that doesn’t change my responsibilities to you or the town. I was rude to you and I apologize. I brought her for you.”

He held out the kitten. She took her and cupped the small creature in her hands. Bright green eyes blinked sleepily. The kitten nuzzled Megan’s chest and exhaled a deep breath. The kitten’s purring became muffled as she buried her face under the tip of her tail.

“She’s so sweet.” Megan glanced up at him. The dampness of his mouth and his knowing look reminded her what had just happened between them. They were still standing close together. Too close. She stepped back. It didn’t help much. She had a bad feeling she could walk clear to the other side of Kansas and it wouldn’t be far enough. Justin’s apology made her want to forgive him everything. His hot kisses and thoughtful gift made her feel more than was safe. She should ask him to leave right now. Before any more damage was done.

“Would you like to stay for supper?” she blurted out.

He shook his head and started buttoning up his coat. “That wouldn’t be a good idea. You’re right. We aren’t supposed to be friends. It would be better for everyone if we tried to stay out of each other’s way. I know Landing isn’t that big, but if we work at it, I think we can avoid too much contact.”

She wanted to ask why he’d had a sudden shift in attitude. She bit her lower lip. Was it the kiss? Had he been disappointed? Had she shocked him by responding? Did he think she wasn’t a lady?

She walked with him to the front door. She held the kitten close, savoring the animal’s warmth and the faint rumble of her purr.

“Thank you for her,” she said.

“You’re welcome.” Dark eyes met and held hers. She couldn’t read his expression. Justin was such an odd combination of known and unknown. A stranger, and yet—she squeezed her still-tingling lips together—someone she would never forget.

“I apologize for what I said about your mother.”

He shrugged. “Goodbye, Megan.” He reached for the hat he’d left on the hall tree when he’d first come inside, then stepped onto the porch.

Instinctively, she swept her gaze across the bare garden. In the last lingering illumination of twilight, she didn’t see anyone standing around. Thank goodness. Heaven only knew what would happen if her sister or someone from town saw him leaving her house.

“You aren’t going to say anything to anyone, are you?” she asked.

He looked at her over his shoulder. Confusion pulled his dark eyebrows together, then his expression cleared and she could read his contempt. “No. I won’t say a word. Your precious reputation is safe with me.”

He stalked away. Megan stared after him. She thought about trying to explain, but he would never understand. He didn’t know the danger of being ostracized. He didn’t know what fate she would suffer. So many times she’d started to tell him the ugly secret from her past, but she hadn’t. She’d been too ashamed.

So instead of calling him back, she closed the door and locked it, then headed for the kitchen.

“I have some cream,” she murmured. “Would you like that?”

The kitten stirred in her arms. The small warmth wasn’t enough to banish the ghosts from the past and the chill from her heart, but it was so much better than facing them all alone.

* * *

Justin pulled up his collar against the cold night air. As he made his way back to town, he cursed himself for still being a fool. Damn Megan and damn himself for caring. Her precious reputation had always been more important than anything else. Why was he surprised that hadn’t changed?

He shook his head in disgust. He hoped her reputation kept her company in bed at night, otherwise she was going to have a long and lonely life. Not that he cared. He was only sorry that he’d wasted his time with her. Going to see her had been a mistake. Kissing her a bigger one.

Suddenly, he laughed out loud. His breath created a small cloud. He slapped his arms over his chest and walked faster. Kissing her hadn’t been a mistake, it had been mighty pleasurable. He’d wondered if anything had changed between them. Now he knew it hadn’t. The passion, the fire, had still flared, and she’d tasted as sweet as he remembered.

Just thinking about her yielding body pressing against his was enough to make his groin harden. Unfortunately, even the cold didn’t ease the swelling. He hoped thoughts of their kisses were bothering her as much as they bothered him. He grinned. It had been worth it, that’s for sure.

Justin walked around the back of the Bartlett General Store, then across the muddy street toward the sheriff’s office. He had to lock up for the night before he could head back to his hotel room. As he passed the saloon, he heard the familiar sound of music and yells of excitement. No doubt there were a couple of poker games going on inside. He should probably make an appearance, but his duties didn’t officially start until the morning.

He paused across the street from the building and stared at it. This saloon was newer and larger than the smaller Golden Landing down the street. He made himself walk toward that one, wondering what it would cost him to go inside.

The old building hadn’t changed. The worn sign still needed painting. Three panes of glass had been covered over by boards, so little light filtered onto the boardwalk. Upstairs the windows were dark. The women hadn’t started their “hostess” duties yet. It was early and most of the customers hadn’t found their way to the saloon yet. Tinny piano music covered the sound of conversations and clinking glasses. Justin knew that in an hour or two the raucous noises would drown out the sound of the piano, and by ten o’clock, the man playing the instrument would give up. He knew the sights and sounds and smells of that saloon. The Golden Landing had been the first wooden building constructed in town. His mother had worked there for as long as he could remember.

Without trying to he could recall the sound of her weary footsteps on the stairs as she’d climbed up to their room. Year after year she’d worked washing glasses, serving customers, cleaning up after everyone had gone home. Time and time again she’d been offered money to warm a man’s bed. With a growing boy to provide for, she must have been tempted to take the easy way out. But she hadn’t. She’d kept their tiny room spotless, him in food and shoes. Every year he’d watched her grow weaker. He’d quit school to work, but the extra money hadn’t helped improve her cough, or changed the gray tinge to her skin.

He swallowed hard, fighting the memories. His mother had been a decent hardworking woman. But no one in Landing had cared. She’d worked in a saloon and hadn’t married his father. That was all anyone had needed to know.

He turned away from the building and the past. As he had several times already that day, he wondered if he’d made a mistake by coming back. The idea of returning to Landing and making his peace with the town had sounded so easy. Now he wanted to forget he’d ever heard of the place. And Megan Bartlett.

Without trying, he could feel her body pressed against his and taste the sweetness of her mouth. Damn. He’d never been able to resist her. He wouldn’t have come back if he’d known she was here. Why hadn’t she married and moved away? Now he was going to have to deal with the fact that he’d once offered his heart to her, exposed his most secret self and she’d thrown all of it back in his face. She’d reminded him he was just that bastard Justin Kincaid and that he’d been a fool to think she might have cared about him.

The anger might be old, but it still lived inside of him. He wished it would burn hot enough to allow him to make her pay for what she’d said and done, but that wasn’t possible. He could never hurt Megan. Which is why he had to stay out of her way.

As he crossed the dark, empty street, he noticed light shining out of the sheriff’s office. He hadn’t lit any lanterns before he’d left, so he must have visitors.

As he approached the building, he saw two men standing in front of his desk. One of them turned toward the window. The muscles in Justin’s stomach clenched tight. He recognized the light brown hair and mustache. It had taken Wyatt the better part of five months for it to grow in that thick. He’d been so proud of his mustache that Justin wasn’t surprised to see he still wore it, after all these years. He didn’t know the younger man standing next to Wyatt, but he knew who they were. The gleaming silver badges on their chests told him. His deputies.

He walked softly toward the door, then paused before entering. Wyatt had been one of the boys who had taken pleasure in beating Justin up. When Justin had grown big enough to hurt back, Wyatt had given up his game. Justin wondered if his old enemy knew who the new sheriff was.

He opened the door and stepped inside. The two men turned toward him. The stranger gave him a half smile, but Wyatt stared as if he’d seen a ghost.

“Evening, gentlemen,” Justin said. He walked closer to the men. “I’m Justin Kincaid, the new sheriff of Landing.”

The smaller, dark-haired man held out his hand. “Daniel Thomas, Sheriff. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” They shook hands. Justin studied the younger man, taking in the firm set of his jaw and the straightforward appraisal of his eyes.

“Thomas,” he said. “How long have you been in town?”

“About three weeks, sir. I worked as a deputy up North for a while. I’m sure excited about this job.”

“Good.” Justin turned his attention to the other man. “Evening, Wyatt.”

“Justin.” Wyatt’s blue eyes met his. Justin read the confusion there, the shock and anger. Then all the emotions were banished, and the other man smiled. “Welcome home.”

Justin walked over to his desk and picked up a piece of paper. “I’ve got a contract that says I’ll be here for a year. I won’t accept less than complete loyalty and obedience. You can either work with me, or move on. Which is it to be?”

Wyatt shifted his weight and brought his right hand up to rest on his waist, right above the butt of his pistol. Justin didn’t blink. He wasn’t armed, but that wasn’t something he cared about right now. Wyatt wasn’t going to draw, the man was just testing him. He didn’t mind the testing, what he cared about was Wyatt’s decision. He would rather be a man short than work with someone he couldn’t trust.

Thomas glanced from him to Wyatt, obviously confused. Wyatt stared at Justin. “I heard the name but didn’t believe it. If someone had told me we were going to meet in a sheriff’s office, I would have guessed you’d be on the other side of the bars.”

Justin smiled. Wyatt was right. After all the trouble he’d caused in town and the reason he’d been run off, it made sense to assume that. “I almost was,” he said. “But I’ve learned from my mistakes. I’ve been a deputy over five years. I’ve studied law, even been offered a turn at being a judge. My qualifications were enough for this town. I don’t give a damn about whether or not they’re good enough for you. I just want to know where you stand. I won’t watch my back. Either you’re with me, or you find yourself another job.”

Wyatt relaxed and dropped his hand to his side. “Take a good look at this man, Thomas. He broke my nose when we were both twelve. Did it again when I was fifteen. All right, Justin. I’ve learned my lesson, too. I’ll work with you.”

Justin’s gaze narrowed. That was too easy. He didn’t trust Wyatt.

Wyatt shrugged. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s not only your besting me in a fight. We all know you didn’t beat up that woman. If you’d stuck around long enough, you would have found out for yourself that you were cleared of the accusation.”

Justin settled on a corner of his desk. “No one else was willing to wait around to find out I was innocent,” he said. “They were all anxious to attend a hanging. Leaving seemed best.”

Wyatt nodded. He walked two steps closer, then held out his hand. “My sister admitted to me that she was sweet on you. Told me she’d cornered you after a barn dance. Said she kissed you, and, ah, made it clear she wouldn’t say no. She told me you sent her back to her mama and warned her if she was foolish enough to make that offer to another man, she would find herself in more trouble than she could handle. I’m obliged to you for that.”

Justin took the man’s hand and they shook slowly, measuring each other. He still didn’t trust Wyatt, but he was willing to give him a chance.

Thomas still stared at the two of them, bewildered. “Sir, I don’t understand.”

“You will.” Justin slapped him on the shoulder. “I used to live here. I was a hell-raiser and troublemaker. My mother worked in a saloon, but she wasn’t a whore. I never knew my father and my parents didn’t marry. That makes me a bastard. Some would be happy to tell you that’s not the only thing, either. I work hard and I expect the same from my men. I hold on to my temper.” Except around Megan, he thought suddenly and had to fight back a grin. “I don’t allow drinking on duty, or gambling ever. Aside from that, what you do with your own time is your business. Any questions?”

Wyatt shook his head. Thomas gaped at him, apparently overwhelmed by the information and instructions.

“Thomas? You have a problem with any of that?”

“No, sir.”

“Good.” Justin took his seat, then lowered the box containing his belongings to the floor. “Anything been going on in town that I should know about, Wyatt?”

Wyatt walked over to his desk and picked up a couple of papers. “I was writing up a report for you. Everything has been quiet around here.” He handed Justin the sheets. “Except for the murder last month.”

“Murder?”

Wyatt shrugged. “Some saloon girl was found beaten to death on the edge of town.”

Justin stared at the other man. The coldness in his stomach quickly spread to the rest of his body. He was careful to keep his face expressionless as he studied the details of the case. There weren’t many. According to the report, Roberts, the previous sheriff, had investigated for a couple of days and had concluded that one of the many drifters who had been in town at that time had been responsible for the crime.

The hairs on the back of Justin’s neck stood up. Something wasn’t right. “What kind of sheriff was Roberts?” he asked without looking up.

“Decent. He kept the town clean.”

Not clean enough, Justin thought, fighting the ghosts that threatened to suffocate him. For a second, he entertained the notion that Roberts had ended the investigation because he’d been bought off. No way to prove that. But he didn’t like any of it—not the murder, the brief nature of the investigation or the fact that the victim was a saloon girl.

“According to this, he didn’t interview anyone but the saloon owner. There’s no proof she was murdered by a drifter.”

“If it wasn’t a drifter, then it had to have been someone in town,” Wyatt said. “That doesn’t make sense. Who would want to kill her?”

Justin had no answer for that. He glanced over the paper once more, then focused on her name.

Laurie Smith. The cold knot in his stomach tightened. She was the same woman who had been beaten up seven years before. She was the reason he’d been run out of town. He’d been accused of the crime. He hadn’t done it and as soon as she’d regained consciousness, she’d cleared his name. But it had been too late. He’d already left Landing, swearing he would never come back.

Well, he was back now. And a saloon girl had been murdered. In keeping with this town’s attitude about someone they thought was less respectable than themselves, no one gave a damn. But he did. It was possible the two crimes had been committed by the same person. And he damn well wanted to find out who.

“I want to reopen the investigation.”

He glanced up at Wyatt. The deputy shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

Justin set down the paper. He had something to prove to the town and himself. He would solve this. He had no choice. The case hit far too close to home.

CHAPTER FOUR

It was late afternoon when Justin left the livery stable and stood alone on the boardwalk. The blue Kansas sky stretched on forever. It was warmer than it had been the day before. He buttoned up his lined coat and adjusted his hat.

Two women carrying overloaded baskets walked along the boardwalk. He stepped back out of their way and touched his hat brim. The younger of the two smiled and nodded until her companion leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. Then both of them glanced at him and hurried away.

He’d had that kind of trouble all the day. Most of the old-timers remembered him and weren’t pleased to have him as their sheriff. And, as Megan had told him, the newer settlers didn’t much care about him or his past, as long as he kept the peace. Neither group had any information about the dead saloon girl. They’d answered his questions patiently, but he’d seen the questions in their eyes. Why did he care about the likes of her?

One or two people had tried to be helpful, but most couldn’t bother. He hated that some lives were valued more than others. As long as he was in charge of justice in this town, that wasn’t going to happen. Unfortunately, he was too late for Laurie Smith.

“Will there be anything else, Sheriff?”

Justin turned back toward the stable. “No. If you think of anything, I’d be obliged if you’d come tell me about it. Or one of the deputies.”

“I’ll sure do that.”

Rumors about his presence in town and what he was asking everyone about had spread so quickly that by the time Justin got to the livery stable, Zeke had simply come out shaking his head. Said he’d never met the girl, hadn’t known she was dead. Zeke man was so frail that Justin doubted the old man could have raised his hand against a good-size dog, let alone a woman. But as far as he was concerned, everyone else was suspect.

“Afternoon, Zeke.”

“Afternoon, Sheriff.”

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and surveyed the town. He’d sent Wyatt to speak with the other saloon girls, and Thomas to find out what he could from nearby farmers. Justin had asked questions at every business in town. Except one.

He started down the boardwalk, then jogged across the street between two wagons. He wished he knew if he’d been putting off talking to her, or saving her for last. Better for both of them if he hadn’t had to think about it at all. Best if she hadn’t still been in Landing, or if he hadn’t have given a damn about seeing her.

It was too late to change what had already happened between them, he reminded himself. Too late to take back the kisses that had kept him up half the night. If only she’d gotten old, fat or bald. Even a husband would have been enough to keep him at bay. Now there was nothing between him and Megan Bartlett except his good intentions. They would provide as much protection as cotton sheet in a blizzard.

His boots clunked on the boardwalk outside the general store. He wished he didn’t have to go inside. He didn’t want to look at her and know that she was still bent on protecting her reputation more than anything in the world. He didn’t want to know that just seeing her was enough to make him act like a fool. Megan had been nothing but trouble for him. From the moment he’d first laid eyes on her, he knew he had to have her or die. In the end, she’d almost destroyed him.

But right now, he didn’t have a choice. There was a dead girl buried by the church and no one to bring her killer to justice but him. That was more important than any woman, or any feelings either he or Megan might have.

He opened the door and stepped inside the store. As the door slammed shut behind him, he heard the faint tinkling of a bell. Despite the big windows in front and spaced on the sides, it was dimmer inside than out and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

Before he could see all the merchandise in her store, he could smell it. Leathers and perfumes, burning wood, tobacco, coffee, salt brine from the barrels along the wall, and underlying it all, exotic spices. He inhaled deeply, remembering how, as a child, he’d loved visiting the general store. Old man Bartlett had chased him out quick enough, fearing the young Kincaid boy was as likely to steal as a cow is to eat hay. So his trips had been furtive, planned out in detail as he tried to enter hidden by the full skirt of some respected matron. He took great pride in the fact that he had never stolen anything, despite his reputation. All these years later, when he had every right to be in the store, he couldn’t quite shake the urge to look over his shoulder.

Although the bounty of the store was similar to what he remembered it had in the past, Megan had changed the organization. Instead of a hodgepodge of goods piled around, she had rows of neatly stacked items for sale. Bolts of fabric were at the front of the store, along with tables of pattern books and magazines. Behind them were the household goods. Dishes, steel knives, pans, pails, brooms. There was even an adult-size coffin tucked under a table. Display cases down the center of the store held jewelry and pistols. On the left of the room was the food. Barrels and bags, jars, tins, boxes. A dozen or so customers filled the aisles.

“Good afternoon, Justin. Have you come to see me?”

He turned toward the voice and was surprised to see Widow Dobson sitting behind a desk by the front window. Her black dress, different from the one she’d worn yesterday, but no less severe, clung to her generous form. The buttons over her mammoth bosom seemed to test the strength of the fabric.

“Not specifically,” he said. “But I do have a few questions.” He motioned to the store. “If you’re done with your shopping.”

She cackled gleefully. “I’m not shopping, I’m working.” She spread out several letters in front of her. “Should I be looking for mail for you?”

Of course. She ran the small Landing post office. He shook his head. “No. I’m not expecting any letters.”

Her bright green eyes danced. “We can always hope. From a young lady, perhaps?”

Just what he needed. A matchmaking, meddling old woman spreading gossip about his correspondence. A sharp retort sprang to his lips, but he held it back. He reminded himself again that Mrs. Dobson had been kind to his mother. He owed her for that.

“How is my kitten?” she asked, leaning forward and resting her bosom on the table. It smothered some of the letters and pushed others aside. He wondered if Mr. Dobson had ever felt inadequate at the sight of such largesse.

Kitten? He stiffened. The one he’d given to Megan last night. “She’s fine.”

“It’s puzzling,” she said. “Megan came in this morning with a kitten. Just like the one I gave you. I didn’t know you and Megan were acquainted.”

The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he scented danger. The older woman could make trouble for Megan. He didn’t trust her with the truth, so all that was left was a bluff. Slowly, he reached up and removed his hat. He slapped it against his thigh, then met the woman’s gaze. “I’m sure I don’t know anything about that.”

Her green eyes narrowed as she studied him. He waited to see if she would call him on the lie. Instead, Mrs. Dobson leaned back and straightened the pile of letters. “I see. You said you had some questions for me. What are they?”

“I’m investigating a murder that occurred here last month. One of the saloon girls was beaten and left on the edge of town. Do you know anything about that?”

Mrs. Dobson stood and glared at him. “Because I know you didn’t mean to insult me with that question, I will pretend I never heard it. I’ll ask you to go on about your business.”

“I’m not implying that you had anything to do with her death, ma’am. I’m just trying to find out information.”

The woman continued to stare at a point just left of his shoulder.

“Did you ever speak to her?”

Her gaze didn’t waver.

“All right, Mrs. Dobson. Good afternoon.”

He walked toward a young man behind the counter. Widow Dobson’s reaction had been the same as most women’s in town. They wouldn’t discuss the girl’s murder with him. It was frustrating and he didn’t know what to do about it.

A young man in his late teens looked up when Justin approached. The stitched name on his apron said Andrew.

“May I help you, sir?”

Justin needed a minute to let his temper cool off before he spoke to Megan. Starting a fight with her the moment he saw her wouldn’t help his investigation.

He glanced at the counter in front of him and pointed. “A penny’s worth of candy.” He pulled the coin out of his vest pocket.

Andrew measured out the hard sweets, then dropped them into a piece of brown paper and twisted the ends together. “Anything else?”

Justin took the offered package. “I’m the new sheriff in town. About a month ago, a woman was killed and I’m looking into her murder. Her name was Laurie Smith. She worked in one of the saloons. Did you know her?”

Andrew’s still-pimply face blushed bright red. He ducked his head toward his chest. “N-no,” he muttered, his voice cracking on the single syllable. He cleared his throat. “I don’t go to saloons much. My ma doesn’t approve.”

“You never paid for her company?”

Andrew looked up, his gaze stricken, then looked away. From the deepening of the flush on his cheeks, it looked as if the boy had never had the pleasure of bedding a woman. Justin shook his head. He felt old. Very old.

“Your time will come, son,” he said.

Andrew’s answer was unintelligible.

Justin glanced around the crowded store. Several women were having a lively discussion over a fashion book. A couple of farmers had spread out packages of seeds. He glanced back at the clerk. “Where’s Miss Bartlett?”

“In the back.”

Justin started in that direction.

“Sir, you can’t go there. It’s private.”

He shot Andrew his coldest look. “Official business, young man.”

That froze the boy in place. Justin weaved through the shoppers and ducked behind a curtain.

* * *

Megan bent over her task, trying to tally the number of bolts of calico she was ordering. They would arrive in plenty of time for the fall Harvest Dance. With spring and summer crops bringing in extra coin, lots of people liked to buy an extra garment or two. She wanted to be prepared.

But as she moved her pencil down the neat row of figures, the tiny calico kitten batted it away.

“You’re not helping,” Megan said, trying to sound stern.

The kitten looked up at her. Her pretty face was as multicolored as the rest of her, as if God had changed his mind about her several times, but hadn’t bothered to erase what he’d already started. Her belly, paws and half of her face were white. There were blotches of orange, black and an intriguing sprinkling of tabby on the rest of her body. Her tail was ringed all the way up to the solid black tip.

“You should be as ugly as a groundhog,” she said, picking up the kitten and holding her close. The little cat nestled against her chest and purred contentedly. Megan leaned back in her chair and stroked the little animal’s soft coat.

“I see you’re working hard.”

The male voice shocked her. She straightened immediately, causing the kitten to meow in protest. Megan looked up and saw Justin leaning against the doorway of her office. The room was small enough without him taking up all the space. She scooted the chair back to put more distance between them, but the file drawers behind her didn’t give her anywhere to go.

He was too tall, too broad, altogether too masculine. Her father had been gone long enough for her to have removed all traces of him from the office. This was her domain now; she was in charge. But just seeing Justin standing there made her feel helpless and fluttery. With his hat pushed back on his head, she could see his eyes, but she didn’t want to look there. She didn’t want to see his expression and perhaps know what he was thinking.

His scent came to her—the cool freshness of the sunny afternoon, the faint smell of her store and something else, something wholly male and wholly Justin. She recognized the fragrance. It had clung to her clothing last night for a brief time, reminding her of his kisses.

She set the kitten on the desk, then stood and smoothed her skirt. “Good afternoon, Justin,” she said, hoping her voice sounded calmer than the thundering of her heart. “This is a surprise.”

“I came to make a purchase.” He held up the small paper package, then nodded at the kitten. “And to check up on her. She seems quite happy. Have you given her a name?”

“Alice.”

He raised one dark eyebrow.

She tilted up her chin slightly. “She’s my cat. I can name her what I like.”

“Alice?”

“I’ve never liked those silly names like Boots or Snowball. I wanted to give her a real name. Something she could be proud of.”

He took a step closer. In the tiny office, that action left less than two feet between them. She tried to slow her breathing.

“She’s just a cat,” he said.

“I know, but...” Her words died in her throat when he reached toward her. Her body began to hum in anticipation. Her palms got sweaty and her blood heated. He was going to touch her, right here in her office where anyone could come in and—

He stretched his arm past her and picked up the kitten. “Good afternoon, Alice,” he said softly and stroked the animal under the chin. The kitten looked up at him, then started to purr. Her rumble seemed far too loud for a cat her size.

Megan abruptly sat in her chair. She understood exactly how Alice felt. If Justin had touched her, she would have purred as loudly. She’d told herself she could survive anything for a year. This was the second day of his stay and already she was in trouble. She had a bad feeling it was going to be a very long twelve months.

“I want to talk about the murder,” he said. His voice was still low and pleasant, but when she looked at his face she saw the tightness in his expression. “About a month ago a saloon girl was killed. What do you know about that?”

“Nothing. Why would I?”

He set the kitten on the desk. “Because someone who lived here for many years was brutally murdered. She didn’t die in her sleep or have an accident. Someone found her and beat her to death.”

Megan folded her arms in front of her and clutched at her waist. Justin’s anger was a tangible force in the room. It filled the small space and used up all the air until she felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

“I’d heard—”

“Nothing. I know. Damn.” He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his dark hair. Brown eyes bored into hers. “What is wrong with all you people? Why doesn’t anyone care about her? Why didn’t you want to know what happened?”

“I didn’t know her. Of course, I’m sorry she met with such an unfortunate fate, but there is no reason for me to know a saloon girl.”

“That makes her death all right with you.”

“No.” She grabbed the arms of her chair and glared at him. “Not at all. I wouldn’t want anyone to die like that.”

“Weren’t you concerned for yourself? Your safety?”

She drew her eyebrows together. “Why should I be? Someone who wanted her dead wouldn’t be interested in a respectable woman.”

Justin bent over her and placed his hands on the arms of her chair, trapping her fingers under his. His coat fell open, blocking her view of the rest of the room. His face was inches from hers. “How do you know?”

She wanted to get away, but squirming would be undignified. She refused to let him know how he was upsetting her. “The sheriff said her killer was just a drifter. There were several in town around that time. He said it was an argument over...services.” She could feel the heat on her cheeks.

“And no one cared.”

“You have no right to ask me these questions or to make me say these things.”

“Explain that to Laurie.”

“Who?”

“The dead girl. She had a name, you know.” His dark, angry eyes refused to release her. She tried to look away, but she couldn’t. “She was just your age, Megan. Not much taller than you. Not nearly as pretty, though. But because she worked in a saloon and took money for what you offered me for free, it’s all right that she’s dead?”

“No!” She jerked her hands free and pushed at his chest. “I never offered you anything.” She banished the memory of their times by the stream. Nothing had happened.

But she’d wanted it to.

Justin straightened. Only then did she realize the door was open and that anyone could have overheard their conversation. She sent up a quick prayer, then rose and moved around him to close it.

“Keep your voice down,” she said quietly.

“Ah, yes. Your precious reputation.” He mocked her, then took her chair without asking. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, trapping her by the door.

She glanced at the desk. Alice had curled up on the order forms and had gone to sleep. The sight of the sweet kitten reminded her that Justin had brought her the cat as an apology for the harsh words he’d said yesterday. Here they were, arguing again.

She tugged at the waist of her dress, then looked at him. “You didn’t really expect me to know her, Justin. I’m sorry she’s dead. I’m sorry I don’t know anything, but you can’t blame me for her life or her death.”

He placed his hat on his lap. “I suppose not.” He thought for a minute. “Did anyone demand a more thorough investigation?”

“Not that I remember. Sheriff Roberts told everyone it was one of the drifters who had killed her.”

“That’s it?”

She nodded. “Justin, I’m sorry. He was the sheriff. Why wouldn’t he tell the truth?”

He leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. He dangled his hat from his hands. “I’m not saying he lied on purpose. I just wonder why he didn’t bother looking into the case further.”

“You think there was another killer?”

“I don’t know.”

He looked desolate. Megan had to hold herself back to keep from going to him. She wanted to touch him and tell him that everything was going to be all right. Except she didn’t know that to be true. And even if she did, Justin wouldn’t want comfort from her.

“Her name was Laurie,” he said.

“You told me.”

“Laurie Smith.”

Megan grabbed on to the door handle for support. She stared at his bent head, then watched as he looked up at her. She tried to school her features, but couldn’t. Heaven knew what he saw on her face. His dark eyes gave nothing away.

“So you remember.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “She was the one—” She swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

“The woman I was accused of beating seven years ago. Interesting, don’t you think?”

“She cleared your name.”

“So I heard.”

“But you don’t know how.”

“What do you mean?”

Megan was sorry she’d said anything. She didn’t want to have this conversation with Justin. There was no way for her to talk about it without him guessing how much she’d been hurt. No one had known the truth, she reminded herself. That was the only thought that had kept her alive during those awful days. When she’d heard the story, she’d known she’d made the right decision about staying in Landing. What would have happened if she’d left with him and then found out? She would have been destroyed.

“Megan, tell me what you’re talking about.” He rose from the chair and approached her. With the closed door behind her, there was nowhere to go. He tossed his hat on the chair and gently held her upper arms. “Tell me.”

“I...” She looked up into his face, then away. “When she said it wasn’t you, the sheriff wanted to know how she was sure. He told her it had been dark. She said—” Her voice caught. She swallowed again, then closed her eyes. It was easier to speak of it without looking at him. “She said she would have known you anywhere. That you’d been with her several times, some of them in the dark.” She blinked back the tears, but could do nothing about the pain. “You spent those summer evenings kissing me and tempting me on the bank of the stream, but you spent your nights with her. You went from me to a w-whore.”

His fingers gripped her tighter. “Sonofabitch.”

She flinched at the harsh word.

He released her then, and turned away. “So even if you knew anything about her death you, wouldn’t tell me,” he said.

“That’s not true. If you think that, you don’t know me at all.”

“You’re right, I don’t know you.” He picked up his hat. “It’s been seven years, Megan. Despite the past we shared, we’re strangers.”

Then why does my heart beat faster around you? She didn’t ask. He would have no answer, at least none that she wanted to hear.

“I’d better go,” he said, turning toward her.

She feared what she would see in his eyes, but for once his lack of expression was a blessing. “I really don’t know anything,” she said.

He nodded and moved past her toward the door. She wanted to say something, anything to make it right between them. There were no words left. He was right; they were strangers.

He opened the door.

“Justin?”

He paused.

She raised her hand toward him, wanting to touch him, then let her arm drop to her side. “I don’t know if this helps or not, but there was another saloon girl killed about four years ago. She was beaten to death, as well.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.” She held her palm out. “I was caring for my father while he was ill, so don’t yell at me for not being concerned about her death. I don’t know any of the details, but they sound the same as those surrounding Laurie Smith’s death. Maybe it will help.”

“Thanks for telling me. No one else bothered to.” He grimaced. “I don’t suppose you would consider asking around about Laurie? Maybe people would tell you something they won’t tell me?”

She wouldn’t have been more shocked if he’d asked her to take off her dress and parade around in her petticoats. “I can’t. What would people—”

“Think,” he finished grimly. “Stupid of me to ask.”

“That’s not fair. No one I know would be familiar with a saloon girl.”

He stepped into the hallway. “Tell me, Megan, does it get cold and lonely being perfect?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, he simply walked away. She stared after him, biting her lower lip and fighting the tears. He wasn’t being reasonable. He wanted too much. And he was right. Her world was much colder and emptier than he could ever imagine.

* * *

Justin stormed along the boardwalk, then stomped through the mud on his way back to his office. Damn Megan for her heartlessness. He pulled his mouth into a straight line and barely had the good manners to nod as one of the new settlers in the area greeted him.

She couldn’t risk her precious reputation to ask a few questions about a dead girl. Laurie Smith had never hurt anyone; she’d been the one hurt.

His steps slowed as he remembered the look on Megan’s face as she’d tonelessly spoken the words that had proven his innocence. That Laurie knew Justin’s form in the dark because he’d bedded her. More than once.

He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He’d been so young, then. So infatuated with Megan, so determined to do the right thing. But night after night of kissing her and nothing more had left him as randy as a stallion teased by a mare in heat. He’d taken his release with Laurie because she was young and smelled sweet and because if he closed his eyes, he could pretend her curves were Megan’s. He would have cut out his heart rather than let Megan know what he’d done.

He shook his head but that didn’t banish her look of hurt and shattered pride. She was too innocent to understand the needs of a man, especially a foolish young man. She wouldn’t know that time and experience would temper those needs and that spending his coin on Laurie didn’t mean he had loved Megan less. Things would be different now. He could handle the temptation without giving in. He had developed self-control. Not that it mattered. There was nothing between him and Megan and there never would be. When his year was up, he was leaving and never looking back.

He stalked around the pile of manure by the sheriff’s office, then jerked open the door. He was so intent on forgetting Megan and trying to concentrate on her news of another murder four years ago that at first he didn’t notice Thomas cowering in front of a tall, large-boned woman.

“Sheriff,” Thomas said as Justin stepped into the office. “I’m real glad you’re back. This lady here—” he motioned to the poorly dressed older woman “—needs to speak with you.”

The woman turned her cold stare on him. There was something meanspirited about her and Justin understood why his deputy was squirming.

“Are you the last person I got to explain this to, or should I just hold my tongue a spell? I ain’t fond of chewin’ my food twice.”

“I’m the sheriff here,” he said and motioned for her to take a seat. He took off his hat and coat and hung them on the hooks by the door, then offered her his most charming smile.

The woman glared at him and sat. Her gray-streaked hair was pulled back into a bun. The afternoon sunlight caught the strands, highlighting the oily film. Her coat and dress were old and dirty, her face none too clean. Only practice kept him from recoiling when her odor drifted to him.

“How can I help you?” he asked.

Her gaze narrowed. “I’ve been to that church there. The pea-eyed lady done told me she don’t care for the likes of my trouble. Not that I blame her. I don’t care for it none, neither.”

Justin perched on the edge of his desk and looked at Thomas. The deputy shrugged. “I’m not sure, sir. We had just started our discussion when you walked in.”

“I’m gettin’ to it,” the woman said impatiently. “Girl, get over here.”

Justin saw something move away from the corner. He looked closer. With all the commotion, he hadn’t noticed the child standing so quietly. At the woman’s command, the girl stepped forward slowly, but kept her gaze firmly fixed on her shoes.

If anything, her clothing was worse than the woman’s. Her dress and coat were too short. Patches of lining showed through on the sleeves and what he saw wasn’t too thick. Her legs were thin, bare and scratched around the knees. Her littlest toe on her left foot poked through her shoe. The soles were probably missing altogether.

Anger welled up inside of him. He understood families being poor. God knows he and his mother had had their share of tough times. “Are you saying the lady at the church wasn’t willing to provide you with food and clothing for your daughter?” How like Colleen, he thought grimly. She would save all her Christian charity for the well-placed citizens of towns, the ones who needed it the least.

“She ain’t mine,” the woman said. When the girl was close enough, she grabbed the child’s arm and pulled her in front of the chair. “Say how-do.”

“Hello,” the small child whispered. Her voice was shaking. She couldn’t be more than five or six and was obviously terrified.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Justin said.

The woman scowled. “It’s real simple. That whore, Laurie Smith, paid me to take care of her bastard girl here.” The woman poked at the girl. “She’s dead, and the money’s run out. I don’t run no orphanage. I got babes of my own to feed and there ain’t no extra.”

Justin curled his fingers into his palm, just in case his temper got the better of him.

“Madam, I would thank you not to speak like that in front of the child.”

The woman stood up and shrugged. “Say all the fancy talk you want. Like I said, the church lady didn’t want nothin’ to do with the girl. I ain’t gonna keep her. As I sees it, she’s your problem.” The woman moved to the door, opened it and walked away.

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