Chapter Two

      Where am I?

      Carly closed her eyes, giving her head a little shake, and then opened them again, the scent of soap, leather and peppermint filling her nostrils. Shadows slowly came into focus.

      She peered into gray eyes. Gray eyes rimmed with charcoal and filled with concern.

      Intriguing eyes. Who was—?

      A small face popped into view. Henry. Tears spiking his lashes and running down his cheeks. Why was he crying?

      Her son’s lower lip trembled. “Mama.”

      “I’m all right, sweetie,” she said, though she had no idea what had happened.

      Then the memory came rushing back. Those eyes she’d gazed into, those eyes she’d found intriguing, belonged to Nate Sergeant. Max’s killer. A dangerous man out to seize her shop.

      And yet she lay nestled in the varmint’s arms, thinking how good he smelled. As if his touch burned her flesh, Carly jerked upright and gathered her son close.

      “You’re not dead!” Henry beamed up at her.

      She kissed her boy’s wet cheeks. “I’m fine, Henry,” she said. “Just fine.”

      But she wasn’t fine.

      Carly had poured her life’s blood into this shop. Found satisfaction in the work. Earned a living here. She’d made a life for herself and her child in the four small rooms at the back. Without this shop, how would she manage? Where would they go?

      “I won’t give up my business,” she said, her voice high, thin, almost a screech.

      “Don’t worry, Mama.” Henry pointed at Max’s killer. “The man said he’d help you. He promised.”

      Carly’s eyes darted to Nate Sergeant. Under the force of her gaze, he all but squirmed. He’d help her, all right. Help her lose her shop and everything in it.

      Still, she’d lashed out at the man, not a good example for her son. “Let me up, Henry.”

      Her son scooted out of the way.

      In one fluid motion, the bounty hunter sprang to his feet. Before she could stop him, he took her hand and helped her rise. The startling warmth and gentleness of his touch felt nothing like Max’s cold, hard grip.

      Chiding herself for falling for such trickery, Carly pulled herself erect and faced her enemy.

      Broad-shouldered, feet apart, he towered over her, expression closed, gaze firm, as if trying to squash her with a mere look. Well, she wasn’t some helpless bug.

      Not with her pistol buried in the deep pocket of her skirt. She’d bought the Smith and Wesson and learned to shoot, determined to do whatever she must to protect her son.

      She bit back a sigh. No matter how strong the temptation, she couldn’t shoot this sidewinder for claiming her business.

      Still, no one was going to take away that security. No one.

      “I want you to leave,” she said. “My son has had a scare. I won’t allow you to subject him to more.”

      His brow furrowed. “We have to talk.”

      “We have nothing to talk about. Come, Henry,” she said, guiding the boy toward the back. “Go to your room and close the door. I’ll be right there.”

      Henry complied with lagging steps and backward glances.

      She waited until she heard the door to their quarters click shut, then rounded on him. “The only person I will be speaking with is Sheriff Truitt. Max’s name may be on the deed, but as you well know, my husband is dead. As his widow, everything he owned is mine. He had no right to gamble his son’s future.”

      “I agree with you, Mrs. Richards, but the fact is he did.”

      “If you actually have the deed, you’d show it. I don’t believe a word you’ve said.”

      “I left the deed with my sister for safekeeping. Her husband hid it so carefully, took me a month to find it.”

      “So you claim.” She flung out a hand, pointing her forefinger at him. “I will fight you! This shop provides our living and our home. I’ll do whatever I must to protect that.”

      “Sorry to bring more trouble to your door, ma’am, but—”

      “I’ve faced trouble, Mr. Sergeant. All a man could throw at me.” She straightened her shoulders and slapped hands on hips. “I’m not intimidated.”

      “I’m not trying to intimidate you.” He exhaled. “I’m trying to make you understand the outcome is beyond your control. Your husband lost the deed to my brother-in-law before he died.”

      “How convenient he can’t deny your claim. And you—” she raised a hand and pointed a steady finger at him “—did the killing.”

      “I had no choice. It was either him or me.” Jaw jutting, face flushed, the bounty hunter clamped his hat on his head. “The law will decide who owns this property.”

      “Gnaw Bone doesn’t have a lawyer, much less a judge—”

      “At some point, a circuit judge will pass through. In the meantime, I’ll bring my sister—and the deed—to town. She’ll be the one running this shop. You might want to look for someplace else to live.”

      “I will do nothing of the sort.” She stalked to the door, opened it. “I suggest you make other arrangements for your sister, Mr. Sergeant. Good day, sir.”

      As the door closed behind him, Carly wilted into a chair. “Why, Lord?” She spoke aloud. “Why, after all we’ve been through, have You allowed a new threat? Do You even hear my prayers?”

      * * *

      Nate strode out, the widow’s sarcasm in the “sir” and the slamming door behind him ringing in his ears. He’d let his temper get the best of him. Still, the widow had all but called him a liar and had pointed that dainty finger at him like a gunslinger taking aim.

      He unwound the reins from the hitching post, swung into the saddle and rode toward the livery he’d seen earlier. Each clop of Maverick’s hooves thudded against his conscience. Why should the widow trust his word? He’d killed her husband. Claimed he had a deed he hadn’t produced. When he came back with that deed, she’d fight him tooth and nail. Carly Richards wasn’t a woman to take things lying down. No doubt life with that scoundrel of a husband had made her hard, tough.

      If a husband’s property belonged to his wife as much as to him, a judge might rule Richards had no right to gamble away shared property. But from what Nate had seen, even if that property belonged to his wife, a husband had the authority to do with marital assets as he saw fit.

      Once Carly Richards realized Nate had no intention of backing down, she’d give up the fight.

      Where would she and the boy live then? How would she earn an income? Who would look after them?

      Nate clamped his jaw. He couldn’t get soft about the widow’s plight. Anna had no other means to make a living. Carly Richards was able-bodied; a good housekeeper and cook from the tidy appearance of her shop and the robust look of her son. Surely she had numerous skills to find another job in Gnaw Bone. Perhaps she had family nearby.

      He had to focus on his sister, the one person he owed everything. Anna was depending on him to make things right, which he would do.

      Then