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Now, how was he going to manage it?
Chapter Three
“Two months? Two months gone by since you were here the last time?” Mayor Rayburn asked.
“Almost three,” Jared said.
“Well, if that don’t beat all…”
Standing with the mayor inside the sheriff’s office, Jared could hardly believe how quickly the time had passed since his first visit to Stanford.
Or how much had happened.
“Where does the time go?” the mayor lamented, stroking his gray side whiskers. “Anyway, take it from me and the town council, we’re plum tickled to have you here in Stanford, to stay this time.”
Jared looked down at the mayor, dressed in his cravat and the rumpled suit that hung loosely on his thin frame. “Too bad about Sheriff Hickert.”
“Yep. A damn shame, all right. Tricky thing about them gunshot wounds. Don’t heal right, sometimes. He tried to handle his duties, but just couldn’t manage anymore.” The mayor clasped Jared’s arm. “But I know you’re going to do us a fine job in his place. Stanford is a good town, full of good people. We want to keep it that way.”
The mayor and the men of the town council had said those exact words to Jared shortly after he’d arrived on the train this morning, when they’d sworn him in to office at the mayor’s house. In fact, Jared had heard those words three times now.
“You can count on it,” he declared.
“Just what I like to hear.” The mayor rubbed his palms together. “Let me know if there’s anything you’re needing.”
“I’ll do that,” Jared said, and followed him outside.
“Me and the missus will have you over for supper some night,” Mayor Rayburn said, and headed off across the street.
Jared stood on the boardwalk watching the horses, wagons and buggies move along Main Street. Miners, women and children, gentlemen in suits and cowboys wearing guns went about their business.
Jared’s chest swelled a little.
Stanford. His town.
He glanced down his vest. Gone was the U.S. Marshal’s badge he’d worn for nearly ten years. In its place was the tin star declaring him Stanford’s sheriff.
When last here, he’d signed up for a subscription to the Stanford Gazette on his way out of town. Despite the sporadic mail service and the duties that had kept him on the trail, he’d actually received a few issues. Enough for him to follow the story of Sheriff Hickert, who’d never fully recovered from his gunshot wound. Enough to learn that Stanford needed a new lawman. Jared had telegrammed, asking for the job, and within a few weeks got the answer he’d hoped for.
It hadn’t taken much for Jared to make the life-changing decision. Hunkered down by a feeble camp-fire one cold night, with the wind biting his ears, Jared had thought about why he’d been so envious of Del Ingram, a dead man.
Ingram had everything Jared didn’t have—a town, a home, a family, the respect of decent people. In that moment, Jared had realized that’s what he wanted for himself.
True, he’d had no desire for any of those things for a long time, for a lot of reasons. But that was behind him now. Jared knew where his future lay.
So here he was.
Jared rested his thumbs in his gun belt and scanned Main Street one final time before going into the sheriff’s office. His office.
Not only did he have an office, he had a deputy who, at this very minute, was out keeping an eye on the streets of Stanford. He’d met Drew Tanner at the mayor’s house this morning. Tanner looked a little young and seemed a little green, but he had some experience and he was eager.
As sheriff’s offices went, this one was as good as any. Jared surveyed his desk, his racks of rifles, Wanted posters nailed to the walls, the little stove in the corner with the rocking chair next to it. Down the hallway were two cells, both empty at the moment.
Jared’s living quarters were there, too. The room was small, but it held everything he needed: a bunk, a washstand, a bureau. A place he could hang his hat every single night.
No more meals around a campfire. No more cold nights on the trail. No more hunting down lawbreakers who would knife him in the back or blow his head off given a second’s opportunity. He’d never have a daily dose of those kind of men again.
Jared smiled in the quiet office. The town of Stanford was peaceful as a Sunday morning, tame as a speckled pony. He could do his sheriff duties in his sleep.
Jared drew in a deep, satisfied breath. Yep, he was going to like it here in Stanford.
Pausing at the little mirror beside the stove, Jared straightened his badge and pulled his hat a little lower over one eye. He gave himself a brisk nod, then walked out into the streets of his town.
Spring had come to Stanford and should have been gone by now, but the pleasant weather hung on. The morning was warm. A hint of a breeze stirred.
Citizens crowded the boardwalks and the streets, going about their business. Jared strolled along, looking things over, watching for trouble, getting the lay of the place.
And looking for Mattie Ingram.
He stopped abruptly outside the Stanford Mercantile, realizing that his first walk-through of the town had taken him directly to the Cottonwood Café.
Well, why shouldn’t he head here first? It was the heart of the business district, he told himself. Nearby was the bank, the assay office and most of the shops. Places likely to draw criminal activity. Mattie and her Cottonwood Café didn’t have anything to do with it.
Jared pulled on his chin. No sense in lying to himself.
Mattie had been on his mind—and in his dreams—almost continually since he’d laid eyes on her. Since their night together.
Mattie was a widow, Jared reminded himself, her husband dead not quite three months yet. Of course, after what she’d told him about Ingram, Jared doubted she’d done too much grieving over him.
But after her proper period of mourning, dare he hope to court her himself? A little smile pulled at Jared’s lips. Yep, that’s exactly what he could do.
In the meantime, he’d have to settle for looking at her. Of course, he could talk to her, too. Have supper at her restaurant.
Think about rolling around in bed with her.
Heat rushed through Jared, pumping his blood faster. Damn, after all this time, thoughts of making love to Mattie still had the same affect on him.
He walked a little faster, trying to push those images out of his mind before he gave the townsfolk an impression of their new sheriff he didn’t want them to have.
But, as if he didn’t have a will of his own, Jared’s feet carried him across the street to the Cottonwood Café. He peered through the window. Only one table was occupied.
Good, he thought. If the restaurant wasn’t busy, that meant Mattie would have time to talk to him. But he didn’t want their reunion to take place in front of an audience. Jared circled the building.
As he walked he allowed himself to indulge in a little fantasy. On those long, lonely nights on the trail he’d often found himself thinking about how Mattie might react when she saw him again.
His favorite conjured-up scene was the one where she took one look at him, shucked off her clothes and jumped into bed with him.
Jared pulled on his chin. A hell of a nice vision—one he’d about worn out—but not likely to happen.
Next was the one where she confessed that she’d pined endlessly for him, prayed for his return, then shucked off her clothes and jumped into bed with him.
He’d even imagined that she said she loved him—then shucked off her clothes and jumped into bed with him.
“Damn…”
Jared shook his head, getting himself under control. Fact was, the best he could hope for when Mattie saw him was a smile on her face. That would be plenty. A smile would mean she was happy to see him. A smile meant…everything.
Rounding the corner of the restaurant, Jared stopped. His heart thundered in his chest.
Mattie stood on the back steps, holding on to the railing, gazing up at the sky. His insides seemed to melt.
Lord, what a pretty woman she was. At times over the past months he’d wondered if his imagination had turned her into something she wasn’t. But seeing her now, he knew that wasn’t true. Mattie was as pretty as he remembered.
She had on a gray dress with a black lace collar and cuffs. Proper mourning attire for a widow, but it did nothing to hide her swells and curves.
Jared headed toward the back steps, anxious to see her up close, talk to her. What the hell? Maybe she would shuck off her clothes and jump into bed with him.
“Mattie?” he called.
She spun around. Only a second passed before recognition bloomed on her face. Her eyes widened.
A little whimper slipped from Mattie’s lips. She splayed her fingers across her stomach.
“Surprise,” he said.
Mattie slapped her hand over her mouth and raced to the outhouse.
Jared frowned as he pushed his hat back on his head and watched the outhouse door bang shut behind her.
“Well, damn…” he muttered. Never ever had he imagined the sight of him would send her running to the privy.
The restaurant door opened and a gray-haired woman stepped outside, wiping her hands on a linen towel.
Jared looked at her hopefully. “Something she ate?”
Mattie slumped against the door of the outhouse, the coarse wood digging into her forehead. She had to get out of this airless little shed. The smell, the heat…
Her stomach rolled. Mattie swallowed quickly, fearful she’d be sick again.
But she didn’t want to go outside. He was there.
Her heart banged in her chest. What was he doing here? Why had he come back? And why did it have to be now?
Did he know? Had he somehow found out?
Mattie touched her palm to her stomach. Flat, still. No outward sign of the baby—his baby.
No, he couldn’t know, she decided. He couldn’t possibly know.
What should she do? Mattie thought frantically. Tell him?
Weeks ago when she’d found out she was carrying his child, she’d decided not to contact him. His presence would only complicate things.
Mattie twisted her fingers together. But now he was here. Did that change things?
Drawing in a deep breath, Mattie fought off the nausea that had plagued her for weeks, her spirits lifting a little as she realized that, like before, Jared McQuaid would be in town for only a day or so to pick up prisoners, probably. Then he’d be gone. All she had to do was keep her condition a secret from him—which would be a snap, since she didn’t intend to speak to the man—and by tomorrow he’d be gone, none the wiser.
And her baby’s future would be safe again.
Mattie gulped a few times, fighting off another wave of nausea and an unsettling nudge from her conscience.
“Mattie?” Mrs. Nance called from outside.
Bless her, the dear woman had been such a comfort—her only comfort, really.
Slowly, Mattie opened the door to Mrs. Nance’s smile. The woman was stout, with a lifetime of lines on her face.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“Well, no…not really.”
Mrs. Nance patted her hand. “All perfectly normal. Come along, dear.”
Mattie didn’t move. “Is—is that man still out there?”
“The new sheriff, you mean?” Mrs. Nance asked.
“The—what?”
“Jared McQuaid. The new sheriff,” she explained. Mattie’s stomach heaved. She fought it down, along with a rising wave of panic. “We have a new sheriff?”
“You hadn’t heard?” Mrs. Nance nodded. “I guess not. You’ve had your mind on other things lately.”
Yes, that was certainly true. Her queasy stomach—on top of all her other problems.
“He’s the new sheriff? Stanford’s sheriff?” Mattie asked. “Here permanently?”
“Just arrived this morning, and here to stay, he says.”
Mattie clamped her lips together to hold in her groan.
“You need to get off your feet for a while,” Mrs. Nance said, and led her from the outhouse.
Mattie’s gaze fell on Jared McQuaid, standing across the yard. He was big, tall, sturdy. His sheriff’s badge glinted in the morning sun.
Her heart thumped in her chest and her stomach squeezed into a knot again, making her footsteps drag. She watched as Jared’s gaze touched her face, then dropped to her belly and hung there.
Mattie froze. He knew.
