snapping. She moved to the open door, not caring if she appeared rude. “If that’s all, I really have a lot of work to do.”
He started toward her, moving with a smooth grace for such a large man. His gaze swept the fabric that lay on the floor, then the bed. “It appears you’ll be busy for quite a while.”
“Yes,” she murmured, her hand tight on the doorknob.
He definitely unsettled her. She told herself it was because of the suspicion in his eyes. Not because they were alone in her room with only a deaf old man downstairs if she needed help.
Davis Lee stopped at the door, close enough that his shirtsleeve brushed hers. Her fresh scent teased him, bringing to mind the last time he’d purposely gone to a woman’s room. It had been over two years, but not long enough to make him forget how a pretty face and sultry eyes could hide betrayal and lies. “If you need anything, Miz Webster, you just holler out that window. I’m sure I’ll be able to hear you.”
“Yes, all right. Thank you.”
Tension bowed her shoulders and he could feel her urging him out the door. Even though he didn’t like the way his body tightened at her nearness, he grinned and tipped his hat. “Good day, ma’am.”
She mumbled goodbye and nearly closed the door on the heel of his boot.
He gave her door one last look. Yeah, she was definitely up to something.
Three days passed before Josie felt confident enough to make another try at McDougal. Since the sheriff had been to her room, she had been careful to do her spying as discreetly as she could, keeping to the corner of the window.
Holt had changed his schedule, but now that she had this view of the jail, she wasn’t concerned. She could usually tell how long he would stay somewhere depending on where he went. He was wont to linger at the Pearl Restaurant and Ef Gerard’s blacksmithy.
On Saturday afternoon, she stood at the window’s edge, drumming her sewing-sore fingers on the wall of her hotel room as she waited for the sheriff to leave the jail. She had worked from dawn until dark every day to finish the hotel’s curtains and they now hung one story below in the front windows. The length for one tablecloth had been cut, but her mind wasn’t on the task.
There! She saw the sheriff leave the jail and go into the restaurant. She hurried downstairs, wondering where he lived. He didn’t sleep every night at the jail, and on those nights his deputy stayed there. Once outside, she ducked around to the back of the hotel and made her way behind the telegraph and post office, then the Pearl. Rounding the corner of the restaurant, she sidled up the west wall and peered out at the street.
A few people milled about, but Josie didn’t see the sheriff.
She stepped into the open and tried to be casual as she walked to the hitching post in front of the jail where the deputy had left his horse. He had arrived a few minutes before Sheriff Holt left.
The air was pleasantly warm today, but that wasn’t the cause of the dampness forming between her breasts. Pausing as if to admire the bay mare who stood placidly, Josie slid her fingers into the looped reins and loosened the leather before she moved away. She passed two older women then ducked into the alley between the jail and the blacksmithy.
Making sure there was no one nearby, Josie threw a stone and hit the horse square on the hock of its left rear leg. The mare nickered and shied away, pulling the reins loose from the hitching post. Dancing into the street, she trotted off.
A second later, Josie heard the jail door open and bang against the wall. Boots thudded down the wooden steps.
“Dad burn it!”
The young, broad-shouldered deputy whom she’d seen with Whirlwind’s sheriff thundered past her, putting two fingers in 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
