Whirlwind Groom

“I will if you don’t show me what you’ve got hidden.”

“What kind of man are you that you would put your hands on me?”

“The kind who wants an answer,” he said hotly. “Now either show me or I’ll get it myself.”

The thrill that shot through her veins told Josie she did not want this man touching her. She instinctively knew she wouldn’t forget it.

A clanging sounded from the other room. “Sheriff, I’m thirsty.”

“Shut up.” Though Holt spoke to the prisoner, he never took his eyes off Josie.

She realized the noise of metal on metal was the sound of McDougal banging a tin cup or plate against the bars.

The sheriff dipped his head a fraction, his breath soft against her temple. She smelled leather and soap and man. “What’s it gonna be?”

Showing him her scalpel proved nothing, Josie told herself. She angled her chin, hoping he couldn’t see how she trembled all over. “Very well. I do have a weapon. I’ll get it.”

She dipped a hand inside her square-necked gingham bodice.

The sheriff drew back, eyes widening. “What are you doin’?”

“Getting my weapon.” If she weren’t so rattled, she might have laughed at the expression on his face—half anticipation, half stone-cold fear that she might expose herself.

She pulled the blade from between her breasts and saw his eyes darken. Not with curiosity or surprise, but with raw, hot desire. Her stomach did a slow drop to her feet.

“What—” he cleared his throat “—the heck is that?”

The fire in his gaze sent a tingle to her toes and she swallowed hard. “It’s a scalpel.”

“A doctor’s instrument?”

She nodded.

“I thought you said you were a dressmaker.”

“I am.”

He frowned at the weapon’s short silver blade. “You beat all, lady. What are you planning to do with that?”

“Defend myself.” She pressed harder against the door, trying to escape the feel of his lean thighs, the warmth from his body. “My father was a doctor and he taught my mother and me how to use this.”

“Then why do you need to learn how to shoot?”

“With the scalpel, I have to be really close to someone. Like I am to you.”

He eased back slightly, frowning.

She tried not to smile. “But I have no defense if someone were to shoot at me.”

“Just what can you do with that thing?”

“Stab it in someone’s windpipe or eye. If I go deep enough, I can slice into this big vein here.” She touched the side of her neck.

The sheriff eyed the scalpel warily. “You already seem plenty dangerous to me. I’m not sure that you having a gun is a good idea.”

If she had known how to use a gun two years ago, her family might still be alive. “Are you saying you won’t help me find a teacher?”

“Are you saying you’ve decided to make a home in Whirlwind?”

“Uh, yes.” From the excruciatingly slow way her plan was progressing, she would have to. At this rate, she’d be a year older before she ever got to McDougal. “But Whirlwind seems less…civilized than Galveston. I would just feel safer if I knew how to use a gun.”

“And you’re going to open a dressmaker shop?”

She laughed lightly. “That’s the only skill I have.”

Holt stared at her for a long minute, his eyes hooded beneath his hat. “I’ll teach you to shoot.”

“You? But I thought—”

“Change your mind?”

“No.” But maybe she should.

“Then I’ll teach you. I’m good with guns and I can show you the proper way to handle them.”

“Could you give me a lesson every day?” She needed to check on McDougal as often as possible.

“Sure, I can do that.”

“Oh, good. Thank you, Sheriff Holt.” Why was he so willing to help her? Her smile felt overly bright as she realized exactly what their deal meant.

He finally stepped back a few inches. “If we’re going to see each other every day, you should call me Davis Lee.”

“All right.” She wouldn’t. “I’ll see you in the morning then, bright and early.”

“Tomorrow is Sunday. I’ll be in church. Won’t you?”

She hesitated. She and her parents had regularly attended church in Galveston. It was the one place she had been able to find a small amount of peace after the murders. But she had come here to kill a man. “Church?”

“It’s at the end of Main Street. You can’t miss it.”

“Oh, yes.” She recalled the white frame building with the steeple, and a part of her wanted to be there tomorrow.

“I’ll see you here on Monday then. Make it about six-thirty or seven in the evening. I’ll have to get my other deputy, Jake, to guard the prisoner.”

“All right. Monday.” Tarnation!

She would be spending far more time with the sheriff than she wanted. Despite the opportunity she now had to wheedle information about McDougal out of the lawman, she had the uneasy sense that Holt had agreed to teach her to shoot for the very same reason she had asked—so he could keep an eye on her. She didn’t like that at all.