Western Kansas, 1866

Steady, wealthy and oh-so-safe—that’s the kind of husband Bess Trundale wants. Someone like the local banker’s son. Someone unlike Sheriff Kirk Landers. The lawman’s confident swagger gets right under her skin…and into her fantasies. And though she’s tried to ignore the chemistry surging between them, one night is about to change everything.

Kirk isn’t planning on being anyone’s husband ever again. But months of living under the same boardinghouse roof as quick-witted, feisty Bess have stirred desires he can’t ignore. Together they could put their pasts to rest and claim a bold, passionate future—if he can tempt her to break all the rules with him….

Never Tempt a Lawman

Lauri Robinson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Dedication

To Jean, for always knowing when I need a lunch date!

Author Note

There’s a lot to a name. One word that, in reality, identifies a person from birth to death, and we have no say or control over it. Unless we choose to change it.

At birth my mother was given the name Arlene Ruth. However, her older sister Betty Ann, who was four at the time, called the new baby Mary Jane. Betty Ann died eighteen months later from meningitis, and my great-aunt paid $300 (quite a sum in 1931) to have my mother’s name legally changed to Mary Jane. I shared that story at my mom’s funeral and was surprised by the number of family members who didn’t know about her name change.

When I was little, I loved the name Barbara, and so wanted that to be my name. That’s probably when my mother first told me about her name being changed, but I can’t say for sure. Did you have a name you thought was the best name ever? My sister-in-law said her wish-was-mine name was Sally.

Names… I have a list of them that I want to use in stories, but I have to wait until the “right” character comes along. Bess finally arrived for me. My paternal grandmother’s name was Bessie. It’s a name I’ve always loved, and I’m so glad I finally got to use it in a story.

I must also admit, sometimes I start using a name and then the character says, “Nope, that’s not my name.” I’ve changed names more than once because of that, and in the end, the character was right.

So here’s Bess Trundale and Sheriff Kirk Lander’s story. I hope you enjoy how Bess tempts Kirk, even though she doesn’t mean to. Or does she?

Blessings,

Lauri Robinson

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter One

1866 Western Kansas

His lips were moving and sound entered her ears, but Bess Trundale’s mind didn’t process a word Eli Clancy said. How could it? He’d wear her brain out with his nonstop talking. Might already have.

Out of courtesy, she nodded now and again, and smiled as if listening, whereas she really wished he’d give his mouth a rest. If just for a few minutes. It was a nice night. The moon was big and bright, and the crickets were serenading. At least she thought they were. Eli’s prattling had long ago drowned out any sounds she might have wanted to hear.

Unable to take any more, Bess leaped to her feet. “It’s late.”

Startled, Eli was quiet for a moment, but then caught air. “Oh, yes, well, I suspect it is getting rather long into the night, now, isn’t it? I do believe it’s most likely going on nine o’clock, of course, the stars…”

Bess groaned, and spoke over him, knowing he might not stop again. “Good night, Eli. Thank you for the company this evening.”

Lamppost skinny, he rose off the porch swing to tower over her. “No, thank you, Bess. I truly enjoy our times together, why, it makes me feel splendid. Just splendid, I say.” He took her hand and smacked a slobbery kiss on the back of it. “I shall look forward to next Saturday evening all week.”

Bess pulled her hand away. “Next Saturday?”

“Yes, next Saturday, now that we’re courting, I’ll—”

“Courting?” Good heavens, maybe she should have been listening.

“Yes, courting,” he said. “I asked earlier, and you—”

“Hello, Miss Trundale, Mr. Clancy.”

The back of her neck tightened at the greeting. She didn’t mind the interruption, but not by him. Sheriff Kirk Landers was worse than Eli. He didn’t talk nonstop, but he irritated her. Like how he shoved open the gate to stroll up the walkway of the boarding house as if he owned the place.

He didn’t.

But he did live here, which goaded her. A lawman should be able to afford his own house. Kirk would have his own place soon enough. The very one she lived in. That shouldn’t bother her as much as it did. If anyone deserved happiness, it was her sister Helen.

“Good evening, Sheriff Landers,” Eli said. “It’s a mighty fine night, tonight, that it is. Why, I was just telling Bess, here, how the frogs…”

Bess groaned and wiped the back of her hand on her skirt as Eli started in on a thorough explanation about the different species of frogs that live in Kansas.

“That’s very interesting, Eli,” the sheriff said, now leaning against the porch railing. “I’ll have to take a closer look at the frogs that cross my path.” He glanced toward the night sky. “Right now, though, you should think about heading home. There’s a nasty storm brewing.”

“Oh, yes, yes, sir, I suspect I should. My ma wouldn’t appreciate my new suit getting wet. It’s wool, you know.” Eli started for the steps, but then swung his lanky frame around. “I’ll see you next Saturday evening, Bess.”

Bess bit her lips together. The smug smirk on the sheriff’s face didn’t allow her to voice a protest. She would not give him that satisfaction. A rumble made her glance to the sky where clouds shrouded the moon that had shined so brightly a short time ago. “You best hurry home, Eli.”

“Yes, yes, I best.”

His feet were so big, his legs so long, Eli tripped twice on the four steps leading to the ground, and once again when he had to stop to open the gate.

“So, the two of you are courting.”

The sheriff’s tone—the mockery it held—sent a bolt of inner lightning up Bess’s spine, and again when the dirty glare she cast his way only resulted in his full-blown laughter.

Crossing her arms, Bess demanded, “And what do you find funny about that, Sheriff Landers?” She’d put extra emphasis on his name. Helen called him Kirk, Bess didn’t. Not to his face. Her sister and Kirk were friends, she and he weren’t.

He pushed off the rail. Although he was as tall as Eli, Kirk’s height fit him as well as the black pants, white shirt and black leather vest he always wore. He had several pairs of pants and white shirts—she knew from doing his laundry—but only one vest. And hat. It was black, too. Also unlike Eli, Kirk’s clothes molded to his shape like hide on a cat, proving there was a whole lot more to him than skin and bones.

“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all.” He brushed her nose with one finger as he walked past.

More lightning flashed inside her. The thunder that rolled came from the sky. “He is the banker’s son,” Bess pointed out. It twisted her insides at how Kirk could make her feel like a child, which she was not. No more than her sister was. Even though Helen was twenty-three, four years older than her, neither of them had been a child for a long time.

Kirk opened the screen door and drew it wider as he said, “Still set on becoming a rich woman, are you?”

“Yes, one with her own house.” Head up, Bess marched through the door. “And you best be careful.”

“Why?”

“Because a married woman can hold a seat on the town council.” She didn’t plan on pursuing such a thing, but couldn’t ignore the chance to taunt him.

He arched a dark eyebrow, the same shade of brown as the hair on his head. “Oh?”

“Yes.” All of a sudden the idea of marrying Eli grew possible again. That happened. When Eli wasn’t around—not talking her deaf—she could imagine marrying him. There were other eligible men in Beaver Creek, but Eli was the only one with enough money to get her out of here. His father owning the bank and all. That’s what she had to do. Go back to Alabama. She wasn’t stupid. Things would never be like they had been before the war. Before her parents died. Before she and Helen came to Kansas to live with Aunt Martha. But if she didn’t leave, Helen would never get on with her own life.

Things might have been different if Aunt Martha hadn’t died only weeks after they’d arrived. Helen had stepped right in, running the boarding house as if she’d been doing it her entire life, and that’s when Bess saw history repeating itself. Her sister putting everyone’s needs before her own.

“Why should it matter to me if you’re on the town council?”

The air in Bess’s lungs rattled. Kirk’s eyes were surrounded by dark lashes, making their periwinkle twinkle more prominent. All this sure would be easier if he were as homely as Eli, or if Eli were as handsome as Kirk. Handsome, though, wouldn’t get her out of Kansas.

“Because,” Bess snapped, “when I’m on the town council, I’ll see we hire a new sheriff. One who goes about chasing down outlaws rather than—” a clash of thunder filled in the blank that had formed in her mind “—worrying about storms.”

He laughed while closing the door. “Well, if your new sheriff is foolish enough to let outlaws enter Beaver Creek, then he best be prepared to chase them down.” Walking past the staircase leading to the second floor, he said, “But he still better worry about storms.”

Bess had the desire to stick her tongue out at him, but he already treated her like a child, and she didn’t need to give him more cause to do so.

Huffing out a breath, she followed him through the dining room and into the kitchen. That’s where Helen usually was, and Kirk always looked for Helen first thing.

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