she was in Whirlwind, he saw no reason to tell her that the sole survivor of the outlaw gang was locked up snug across the street.
“Your…diligence is reassuring,” she said without meeting his gaze. “I do like what I’ve seen of the town so far. If I decide to stay, I’d want to feel safe.”
“We all do, ma’am. Three of the McDougals are dead, but I heard the last one has been locked up somewhere.”
“That makes me feel better.”
He carefully searched her face for some sign that she knew the outlaw, that she had more than a passing interest in the man. “You said you were from Austin?”
“No, Galveston,” she replied easily.
She hadn’t said at all, but Davis Lee knew from the automatic way she’d responded that she was probably telling the truth. He also noticed the irritation that flared in her eyes when she gave the information.
“Thank you, Sheriff. You’ve put my mind at ease.”
Funny, he thought she acted a trifle vexed. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call on me. Like I said, Whirlwind could use a seamstress. Hope you stay.”
She nodded, her gaze flicking past him to the jail for just a moment.
Was she afraid? Or was she trying to figure out how she could get inside to see Ian McDougal? If she were, she’d have to go through Davis Lee first. “I don’t think you’ll have anything to worry about in Whirlwind.”
“Thank you.” She bid him good day and stepped up on the saloon’s landing, making her way down the walk toward Haskell’s General Store.
Watching the inviting sway of her hips, he stroked his chin. Maybe Miz Josie Webster’s only concern truly was about moving to Whirlwind. Maybe she had been watching the town to reassure herself about its safety.
His eyes narrowed. Yessir, and cows had wings.
Chapter Two
T he sheriff was going to be a problem, Josie fumed as she ducked inside Haskell’s General Store just to escape the hard gaze boring into her back. A thin man, only about six inches taller than her five-foot-three, was showing a customer to the boots in the far corner of the store. Although she took in the colorful bolts of fabric, barrels of nails and a stack of wooden tubs around her, her mind was on Davis Lee Holt.
She burned to march back to him and demand he give Ian McDougal over to her, but she knew that would be futile. In the past two years, her faith in the law had been shaken. Or perhaps she had simply had her eyes opened.
The fact that Ian McDougal had run out of her house and smack into her after killing her parents and fiancé had been dismissed out of hand. Despite the attorney and sheriff who knew she told the truth, Judge Shelton Horn had declared her testimony wasn’t enough to convene a trial for the murderer. But the real reason the judge had let McDougal walk away was because he had never gotten over the fact that Josie’s mother had chosen her father over him all those years ago.
The thought of the people Josie had loved and lost tightened her chest. And the prospect of having to deal with Whirlwind’s lawman settled a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Sheriff Holt threw her off balance. She had never planned on telling him about Galveston and yet she’d been so confounded when he walked right up to her that she had blurted out where she was from the instant he asked.
She certainly couldn’t watch the jail from that alley anymore so she had to find another place. And if Holt kept interfering, she would have to stay in Whirlwind a lot longer than she had planned.
She had to be extremely careful next time, but she had every intention of getting access to Ian McDougal.
Then killing him.
Up close Sheriff Holt was rugged and compelling and one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. It wasn’t hard to imagine that his blue eyes would go razor sharp if he were crossed. And the stubborn jaw told her that the man could intimidate if he chose, tin star or no tin star.
Surely the sheriff was gone by now. She edged between a wooden crate full of brooms and a barrel of pickles. The strong smell of brine reached her as she peeked out the wide front window of the general store. When she didn’t see the tall, lanky lawman, she left and started across the street for the Whirlwind Hotel. Another hotel, still under construction, stood at the other end of town, but Josie would’ve chosen the Whirlwind anyway because of its view of the jail.
Halting for a passing wagon, she mentally calculated the money stashed in her hidden skirt pocket. Being as good a seamstress as her mother, Josie had taken on Virginia Webster’s customers after her mother’s death so she had money to pay for her stay at the hotel. But she didn’t know how long she might need to stay. She had to keep back a good part of her money for when she finished with McDougal and fled town.
Sunlight glittered off the windows of the town’s businesses. Josie shaded her eyes as she continued across the street, angling away from the jail and toward the hotel three buildings away.
How was she going to keep an eye on the outlaw now that she knew the sheriff was keeping an eye on her? Her spot in the alley had been perfect, but thanks to Holt, she couldn’t go back there.
She had passed the telegraph and post office when an idea hit her. Stepping back a few feet into the street, she peered up at the hotel then shifted her gaze to the jail.
Smiling, her heels clicking against the planked porch, Josie hurried into the hotel and approached the long waxed wood counter.
Penn Wavers, the elderly clerk, slumped in a chair in the corner, snoring. Josie knew the gangly man was nearly deaf so she stomped on the floor, hoping the vibrations would wake him if her loud voice didn’t. “Mr. Wavers!”
“Huh?” His head drooped and he bolted upright, his long white hair flying. He blinked a couple of times as he stepped to the counter. “Oh, hello, miss.”
“It looks like I’ll be staying longer than I planned. I wonder if I might get a different room? Maybe one on the west side and closer to the front of the hotel?”
“Is there something wrong?” Age filmed his blue eyes, but they were kind. “If so, I’ll fix it.”
“No, sir. Nothing like that.” She smiled. “It’s just that I’m a dressmaker and since I have to sit for such long periods, I like to watch the sights. It relieves the tedium.”
“I’ve been told it’s louder in those front rooms. Wouldn’t you rather have something else?”
“I don’t mind the noise. I’m used to it, being from Galveston and all. I’m a little homesick.”
“Well, miss, I don’t mind moving you, but those rooms cost a little extra.”
“Even though they’re noisier?”
“They’re a mite bigger,” he explained apologetically.
More money? She had brought a few pieces of sewing from Galveston to finish up for some of her mother’s regular customers, but she wouldn’t be paid until she delivered the items. What would she do after that? She stared out the window, finally registering
