Whirlwind Groom. Debra Cowan
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his mouth and letting out a shrill whistle. The mare kept going; the man followed.
Josie checked the opposite direction then hurried up the steps and slipped inside the jail. Sheriff Holt’s office smelled faintly of soap and pine. Wood shavings littered the floor around the leg of a wide oak desk.
Her gaze paused on a creased Wanted poster boasting Ian McDougal’s face. The paper was tacked onto an otherwise-blank space of wall behind the desk. Three shotguns lined up behind the glass door of a tall gun cabinet. A door in the opposite corner led into a back room. The cells had to be back there.
Her heart hammering in her chest, she reached into her bodice for the scalpel. Knowing McDougal was only feet away had her throat closing up. Doubt slashed through her. Could she really do this?
She closed her eyes and conjured up the last images she had of her parents and William. Their sightless eyes had been trained on the ceiling of her home. Blood spattered the floor and the door. They had died horribly. Her family deserved justice. Yes, she could do this.
Taking a deep breath and sliding her sweaty palm down to a more comfortable position on the thin, ridged handle, she started toward the raspy whistling coming from the back room. It was McDougal. She knew it.
The murdering bastard was finally going to pay for killing everyone she had loved.
She gripped the scalpel so hard the steel gouged into her palm. All she had to do was get close to him.
She reached the door, her steps faltering at the thought of facing the worthless, no-account cur. She reminded herself of the nearly two years she had spent in the Galveston County sheriff’s office checking every day to see if McDougal had been captured.
Her heartbeat hammering in her ears, she gripped the doorknob.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
The now-familiar voice coming from behind her lashed her already-raw nerves and she nearly dropped the scalpel. No! She quickly slipped the blade into the hidden pocket of her bodice and turned with a bright smile on her face, praying Holt couldn’t see her heart banging against her ribs. “Hello, Sheriff. I was looking for you.”
“Is that so?” He pushed his hat back and planted his hands on lean hips. His eyes narrowed as he glanced about the empty room. “Where’s my deputy?”
“No one was here when I came in.” That wasn’t a lie, but still her pulse raced.
“There was a commotion outside so I went to check on it.” He closed the front door and moved toward her, his boots ominously soft on the pine floor. Worn denim sleeked down his long legs. The chambray shirt he wore looked brand-spanking new. “You must have heard it, too.”
“Yes. It sounded like someone was leaving town in a hurry.”
“Weren’t you just the tiniest bit curious about what was going on?”
Oh, dear. He looked fit to be tied. His eyes had turned a dark stormy blue, suspicious and hard. She refused to panic. She’d dealt with this man—this big man—before. And she was prepared this time. “Like I said, I was looking for you.”
“There’s a prisoner back there, Miz Webster.” He inclined his head toward the door behind her. “It’s not a good idea for you to be in here alone.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “I guess not.”
Despite the day’s heat, she wished she hadn’t forgotten her gloves. Her hands were clammy and shaking awfully.
“You said you were looking for me?” Holt stepped around her to check the door, once more between her and McDougal.
“Oh, yes.” She cleared her throat. “I wonder if you might know someone who can teach me to shoot?”
“To shoot?”
“Yes. You know, a gun.”
Irritation crossed his features as he moved to stand in front of her again. “I didn’t think you meant a slingshot.”
“Well?” She hoped he would believe she had come to the jail only for this reason.
He crossed his arms and studied her. “I just can’t figure you, Miz Webster.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think your being in my jail has something to do with Ian McDougal.”
“Sheriff!” the prisoner yelled. “What’s going on out there?”
Josie stiffened. She did not want the outlaw to see her. Or know she was here until she chose.
“Just talkin’ to a visitor.” Sheriff Holt edged closer, causing her to step away. “What do you say, Miz Webster?”
“About what?” She could barely get the words out through her tight throat.
“You seem fascinated with my prisoner,” he said softly. “Why is that?”
“I’m not.” She clenched one fist in the folds of her skirt and tried to look curious rather than nervous. “Are you saying your prisoner is one of the McDougal gang? You didn’t tell me that the other day.”
“Don’t recall you askin’, but I think you already know he is.” Holt advanced again, forcing her against the wall. “Are you his sweetheart?”
“No!” The thought made her stomach seize up. She scooted down the wall in front of him, but he shifted his large body, trapping her against the door.
“A relative? His sister maybe?”
“Absolutely not.” How could he think her related to that murdering criminal? “I’ve heard about the things he and his brothers have done. I don’t appreciate being referred to as part of their family.”
“Well, I don’t appreciate being lied to and I think that’s what you’re doing.”
“I never!”
“What were you hiding when I walked in?”
“Hiding? Nothing. I—”
He leaned in and she pressed her shoulder blades flat against the wood at her back. Holt planted a hand on either side of her. “Something up your sleeve? A derringer maybe? A file? Some kind of weapon?”
She struggled to keep her composure though the hard warmth of his body proved very distracting. “Do the ladies you know carry weapons, Sheriff?”
“We’re fixin’ to find out.”
His silky voice did things to her insides that she couldn’t recall having ever experienced with William. “Derringer? I don’t have a gun. I told you I want to learn how to shoot.”
His gaze slid down her body then back up to meet her eyes. “Do you want me to search you?”
She gasped. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“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