Whirlwind Groom

“I told Charlie I’d deliver it since I was coming over anyway.” He’d forgotten just how deeply green her eyes were. And how tiny her waist.

She stared at him for a minute. Long enough for her sweet, fresh scent—honeysuckle?—to slide into his lungs. Long enough for him to deduce by the way her lavender skirts clung to her legs that she wasn’t wearing petticoats. At least not more than one. A heat he hadn’t felt in a long time worked its way under his skin.

He cleared his throat. “You want me to put this down somewhere?”

She blinked. “Yes. Sorry. Come in.”

She opened the door wider and he walked inside, noting she left the door open. Which was a good thing seeing as how he had also just determined she wasn’t wearing a corset, either.

“I— You can just put them on the bed.” Her voice was breathy.

Davis Lee walked over to the neatly made bed that was pushed into the far corner of the room. Two lengths of fabric, one white and one calico, were folded neatly at its foot. He laid the new bolts next to them.

The room was bigger than most of the others in the hotel, but not grand by any means. On the wall beside the bed was a plain dressing table with a wall mirror and washbasin. A waist-high dresser backed against the wall across from the foot of the bed. The middle and right side of the room was empty except for a length of calico spread across the floor. A pair of scissors lay on top as if her cutting had been interrupted. A chair sat at the partially open window facing town.

He didn’t have to walk over there to confirm that she had a clear and close view of the jail, but he did. A short lacy curtain hung at the top of the window and he ducked his head to keep it out of his eyes. Yep, sure enough, this window provided a direct view to the jail. And anyone going in or out.

“Uh, thank you for bringing the fabric. You certainly didn’t have to do that. I’m sure you have things you need to get back to.”

The shimmer of unease in her voice had him leaning one shoulder against the window frame as if he had all day to spend. So far he hadn’t seen anything in here except fabric and furniture. And her. “You gettin’ settled in?”

“Yes.” She offered him a tentative smile, staying over by the door.

Her gaze dropped to his badge and he got the distinct impression she was wishing him gone. “Penn said you changed rooms.”

“I— Yes.” She gave a stiff laugh. “I wouldn’t think that would merit him giving a report to the sheriff.”

“He just mentioned it. Any reason why he shouldn’t?”

Her gaze searched his, her fingers tangling in the folds of her skirt. “Of course not.”

He hooked a thumb into the front pocket of his trousers. “Interesting that you would want to move.”

“I don’t know why.” She shrugged, leaving the door to walk over and snatch a lavender ribbon from the top of the dresser. She pulled her hair back and secured it with jerky movements.

He tried to ignore the way her bodice pulled taut across her breasts. “It’s noisier in this part of the hotel.”

Her chin angled slightly. He had obviously come for a reason besides delivering her fabric. “I like noise.”

“You’ve got a view of the whole town from here.” His gaze slid down her body then back up, his eyes glinting.

Under his hot scrutiny, her pulse hitched. “I—I like to have something to look at while I’m working.”

He stroked his chin. “Like me.”

“I did not change rooms to watch you!”

He grinned and she felt a slow pull in her belly. “I meant I like to have a view while I’m working, too.”

“Oh.” Heat flushed her face. The man flustered her six ways to Sunday. And he was entirely too amused.

She wanted to get his handsome self out of here. “I hardly see what you find so fascinating about the whole subject.”

“Don’t you?” he asked softly.

That set off a flurry of panic in her stomach and it wasn’t due strictly to the fact that he might know the real reason she had moved into a room overlooking the jail.

Curling her fingers into her damp palms, she asked tartly, “Is changing hotel rooms against the law, Sheriff? Are you planning to haul me to jail?”

His gaze moved slowly, leisurely over her as if he found the prospect appealing. “If I did, I’d have to put you in a cell next to my prisoner. Which wouldn’t be good.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” She bit back the temper that threatened, her nerves snapping. She moved to the open door, not caring if she appeared rude. “If that’s all, I really have a lot of work to do.”

He started toward her, moving with a smooth grace for such a large man. His gaze swept the fabric that lay on the floor, then the bed. “It appears you’ll be busy for quite a while.”

“Yes,” she murmured, her hand tight on the doorknob.

He definitely unsettled her. She told herself it was because of the suspicion in his eyes. Not because they were alone in her room with only a deaf old man downstairs if she needed help.

Davis Lee stopped at the door, close enough that his shirtsleeve brushed hers. Her fresh scent teased him, bringing to mind the last time he’d purposely gone to a woman’s room. It had been over two years, but not long enough to make him forget how a pretty face and sultry eyes could hide betrayal and lies. “If you need anything, Miz Webster, you just holler out that window. I’m sure I’ll be able to hear you.”

“Yes, all right. Thank you.”

Tension bowed her shoulders and he could feel her urging him out the door. Even though he didn’t like the way his body tightened at her nearness, he grinned and tipped his hat. “Good day, ma’am.”

She mumbled goodbye and nearly closed the door on the heel of his boot.

He gave her door one last look. Yeah, she was definitely up to something.

Three days passed before Josie felt confident enough to make another try at McDougal. Since the sheriff had been to her room, she had been careful to do her spying as discreetly as she could, keeping to the corner of the window.

Holt had changed his schedule, but now that she had this view of the jail, she wasn’t concerned. She could usually tell how long he would stay somewhere depending on where he went. He was wont to linger at the Pearl Restaurant and Ef Gerard’s blacksmithy.

On Saturday afternoon, she stood at the window’s edge, drumming her sewing-sore fingers on the wall of her hotel room as she waited for the sheriff to leave the jail. She had worked from dawn until dark every day to finish the hotel’s curtains and they now hung one story below in the front windows. The length for one tablecloth had been cut, but her mind wasn’t on the task.

There! She saw the sheriff leave the jail and go into the restaurant. She hurried downstairs, wondering where he lived. He didn’t sleep every night at the jail, and on those nights his deputy stayed there. Once outside, she ducked around to the back of the hotel and made her way behind the telegraph and post office, then the Pearl. Rounding the corner of the restaurant, she sidled up the west wall and peered out at the street.

A few people milled about, but Josie didn’t see the sheriff.

She stepped into the open and tried to be casual as she walked to the hitching post in front of the jail where the deputy had left his horse. He had arrived a few minutes before Sheriff Holt left.

The air was pleasantly warm today, but that wasn’t the cause of the dampness forming between her breasts. Pausing as if to admire the bay mare who stood placidly, Josie slid her fingers into the looped reins and loosened the leather before she moved away. She passed two older women then ducked into the alley between the jail and the blacksmithy.

Making sure there was no one nearby, Josie threw a stone and hit the horse square on the hock of its left rear leg. The mare nickered and shied away, pulling the reins loose from the hitching post. Dancing into the street, she trotted off.

A second later, Josie heard the jail door open and bang against the wall. Boots thudded down the wooden steps.

“Dad burn it!”