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      MILLS & BOON

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      To guys in white hats.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter One

      West Texas, 1884

       T oday was the day and Josie Webster’s nerves were as twitchy as fat on a hot skillet. In the building September heat, she watched the jail of Whirlwind, Texas, and waited for her chance. Only a minute or so now, and she would have it.

      Covered by shadows, she stood across the street from the sheriff’s office. The alleyway between the livery stable and saloon was warm, but at least out of the sun. Main Street, wide enough for two wagons to travel at once, bustled as people made their way through town for supplies or business. On the east end of town toward Abilene, a church at the center point of Main and North Street served as the school and had opened its doors to students almost two hours ago. The telegraph and post office as well as the Whirlwind Hotel shared the same side of the street as the jail.

      Three doors to her left a thin, older man swept the porch in front of Haskell’s General Store. Directly across from her was the blacksmithy. No one paid a lick of attention to her.

      Heart hammering in her chest, she patted the scalpel tucked inside the special sleeve she’d sewn into her bodice. Her doctor father had taught her and her mother how to use the instrument as a weapon after an attack by an old beau had nearly gotten her mother raped. The blade was a reassuring reminder that Josie would never be at the mercy of a killer like the one who sat in the jailhouse across from her.

      Nearly two years ago, Ian McDougal had murdered her parents and fiancé in Galveston. Because of a corrupt judge, the outlaw had walked away without spending one night in jail. He and his brothers had resumed their killing spree throughout Texas. When the other three had been killed a few months ago in a shoot-out near Whirlwind, Ian had escaped. He had finally been captured near Austin by a U.S. Marshal. Now he awaited trial in this small town hundreds of miles from Josie’s home.

      She had arrived the end of August, and in the four days since she had reached this breezy dry town on the other side of the vast state, she constantly felt parched, her throat gravelly. The stark air was quite a contrast to the thick, liquid air of her home on the Gulf.

      So far, Whirlwind’s sheriff had followed the schedule Josie had observed the past few days. He had already finished his first cup of coffee, taken the prisoner out to relieve himself in the outhouse behind the jail and whittled something. Now it was time for the sheriff to leave his deputy in charge and go over to the Pearl Restaurant for the piece of pie he had every morning at nine-forty-five.

      After distracting the deputy, she would be in and out of that jail before the sheriff finished his pie. Then she would finally be able to rest easy for the first time since the cold-blooded murders of her parents and fiancé, William Hill.

      As the second hand on her watch clicked into place, the jail door opened and the sheriff stepped out. His fawn-colored cowboy hat didn’t hide the rugged lines of his face or the strong profile. He probably wasn’t more than eight or nine years older than Josie’s own twenty-one years and he looked like a man who could easily talk a girl out of her drawers. He was handsome in a powerful way with a disarming smile that might be able to tempt her to forget serious things and enjoy herself.

      Thank goodness she wasn’t tempted. All she cared about was the lower-than-snake-spit murderer inside Whirlwind’s jail. For the past four days, she had seethed as the sheriff took a leisurely stroll after his morning break before going back to his office. Impatience prodded at her, but she wanted to do this right. McDougal was in jail just waiting for her and he wouldn’t have to wait much longer.

      The lanky sheriff sauntered down the steps, his boots finally touching dirt. A breath eased out of Josie, releasing some of the pressure squeezing her chest. The man paused, one thumb hooked in the waistband of his denims, one resting on the butt end of a gun strapped to his lean hips.

      Go. Go on, she urged silently, her pulse spiking. She still had to get past the deputy, but that wouldn’t be hard.

      The sheriff adjusted