Never Tempt a Lawman. Lauri Robinson
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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.
Chapter Two
If there ever was a woman Kirk wanted to shake some sense into, it was Bess Trundale. Eli Clancy was just a kid. Bess would eat him for breakfast and spit him out before lunch.
Although half the town claimed they couldn’t tell them apart, the Trundale sisters were complete opposites. Both were blonde and slender with blue eyes and high cheekbones, and cute, perfectly formed noses. But that’s where the similarities ended.
Some men, too busy taking note of the beauty of their faces and bodies, might get the girls confused, but he never had. Not since the first day he’d met them. Now, after living with them for going on six months, he knew their differences like the back of his hand.
Helen was all a man could ever hope for in a wife—and half the town was hoping—while Bess was a man’s worst nightmare.
She couldn’t cook, his sheets were as gritty as sand after she’d washed them, her attitude could curdle milk, and, worst of all, she was dead set on getting married.
Whereas Helen acted as if marriage never crossed her mind. She seemed more than happy to run their aunt’s boarding house and offer medical assistance to anyone who knocked upon her door. Women could change their minds, did it often enough, and he couldn’t understand why Doc Billings hadn’t tried to changed Helen’s. If anyone cared what Kirk thought, he’d say Wyatt Billings was blind. Helen Trundale was one fine woman. One who might tempt Kirk, if getting married was in his future.
It wasn’t.
He’d traveled down that road once, five years ago. Sharleen had been a lot like Helen. Sweet. Generous. Pretty. He’d never forget finding her dead in their cabin. The two years following that were a blur. Most likely always would be. He’d found the braves who’d killed her, but he couldn’t say it helped.
“She’s not here.”
Kirk spun around. Bess stood in the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen he’d entered while allowing his thoughts to drift to places they didn’t need to go. “Who?”
“Helen,” Bess said, gesturing toward the stove. “There’s pie and coffee for you as usual.”
The only reason he ended his day with pie and coffee with Helen in the kitchen was so he wouldn’t be alone with Bess. He knew himself well enough to know that could be dangerous. “Where is she?” he asked, growing concerned. Not just for himself. He’d become accustomed to taking care of the sisters.
“Out at the Arnold place. Mr. Arnold’s horse got spooked and pulled the plow over his leg. Wesley Arnold came for Helen after Mrs. Cummings told him Dr. Billings was out at the Baker place.” Shooting him one of her sarcastic little looks, Bess added, “Maybe when Beaver Creek has a real sheriff, one with his own house, he’ll be able to tell people where to find the doctor, rather than poor old Mrs. Cummings.”
Mrs. Cummings lived for the opportunities to tell others where the doctor had gone. It gave her something to do and feel needed. Kirk didn’t say that. He simply walked to the back door, but stalled upon opening it. Rain came down in a solid sheet.
“Walter VanCamp already rode out to the Bakers’, to tell Dr. Billings he was needed at the Arnold place,” Bess said. “Perhaps Walter should give up peddling his wears and become a lawman.”
Kirk didn’t need to turn around to know there was a snide grin on Bess’s face. He could imagine it, having seen it numerous times. Nor did he tell her he’d known where Doc Billings was, and could have told Wesley, but he’d been at the saloon, shooing men home so their wives and children would have money for food this week. He shut the door at the bolt of lightning hitting so close the hair on his arms stood. Giving Bess a solid stare, he said, “It appears my interrupting you and your beau has put you in a better mood than normal.” She and that scrawny Clancy kid had probably been planning their wedding, which should make him happy.
Bess huffed and spun around.
Not about to let her off that easy, not when another thought struck, Kirk marched across the room and caught her arm. “What were you doing having a man over here when Helen isn’t home?”
She wrenched her arm from his hold. “I can have Eli over whenever I want.” Stomping toward the stove, she spouted, “Good heavens, Helen and I live with men. You and Mr. VanCamp. The town has accepted that.”
That wasn’t saying much. The town had accepted him, too. Three years ago, when he’d ridden into Beaver Creek, smack dab in the middle of a gun fight. He’d wounded the man who’d shot the sheriff and apprehended the