that instant a woman stepped out of the alley that ran next to the White Dove. Faint light caught her face.
It was her.
Jared’s breath caught and he took a step toward her just as gunshots rang out. From the corner of his eye he saw several men rush out of the saloon firing pistols.
Jared ran for the woman.
The gunfire registered in Kinsey’s mind just seconds before a man barreled at her from nowhere. He threw his arms around her and pulled her into the alley, pressing her back to the side of the restaurant. He held her tight against his chest, locked in his arms, shielding her, her nose buried against his throat.
Her mind raced. Was she being attacked? Or rescued?
She wasn’t going to linger to find out.
Kinsey struggled against the man but she was held prisoner, sandwiched between the wall of the restaurant and the man’s hard chest and encircling arms. She couldn’t get away, could barely move. All she could manage was to lean her head away far enough to look up at him.
Recognition stilled her. It was the man from the stage depot. The one who’d stolen her attention, made her heart beat fast. The one she’d thought so handsome. And now here he was, holding her.
He gazed down at her, still not releasing her from his firm grasp.
“There’s shooting down at the saloon,” he said softly. “I didn’t want you to get hit.”
Kinsey looked into his eyes, lost for a moment in the effects of the soft light from the street playing about his face. She saw the hard jut of his jaw, and his clean, cotton scent washed over her. Her heart banged harder now, but not from fear. It was from—well, she didn’t know what it was from.
Still holding her in his arms, the man touched his finger to her cheek, spreading a line of fire down her jaw.
“Are you…are you all right?” he asked.
No. No, she wasn’t all right. Her breasts were pressed against his hard chest, and his legs were brushing hers. He held her in a way that sent her heart racing.
“Yes…yes, I’m fine,” she managed to say. “Are you all—”
Jared kissed her. He couldn’t stop himself. As if some unknown force had claimed him, robbed him of his good sense and free will.
His mouth covered hers, soft and moist. Slowly he worked his lips over hers, blending them together.
But it wasn’t some unknown force making him do this, he realized, as a rational thought coasted through his mind. It was this woman. There was something about her….
Kinsey hung in his embrace for a stunned second, then rose on her toes and leaned her head back a little. He groaned and deepened their kiss until—
“What’s going on here?” a man demanded.
Kinsey gasped at the familiar voice. It was the sheriff.
The man whirled, keeping himself in front of Kinsey, shielding her. Humiliation burned in her. What in the world had she been doing?
She stepped from behind the stranger, anxious to put some distance between the two of them.
“It’s nothing, Sheriff Vaughn,” she said, and cringed inwardly at her own shaky voice. Kinsey pointed lamely down the street, realizing that all was quiet now. “The shooting at the Wild Cat…this—this gentleman was just protecting me.”
Sheriff Vaughn studied them for a moment, his gaze bouncing between the two of them.
“You all right?” he asked, his voice a little gentler.
“Yes, Sheriff, I’m fine.”
“Run on ahead,” he said, nodding in the direction of the boardinghouse. “I’ll catch up in a minute. See you safely home.”
Kinsey hurried away, thankful for the darkness that hid her hot cheeks.
Jared watched her go, heat still coursing through him. He couldn’t take his gaze off her, until from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the sheriff and the shotgun he pointed at Jared’s gut.
Sheriff Vaughn was a big man, probably not any older than Jared, but with a hard look and sturdy countenance that surely helped keep him alive in his chosen profession.
The sheriff asked his name and, after Jared provided it, asked, “Where are you from? What are you doing in Crystal Springs?”
“I’m from back east,” Jared said. “Here on business.”
The lawman still didn’t back off, which surprised Jared a little. Small towns like Crystal Springs went to great lengths to lure new business and usually went out of their way to accommodate newcomers. Apparently Sheriff Vaughn didn’t feel that way.
Or maybe he just didn’t like Jared.
“We watch after our women in this town,” Sheriff Vaughn said, hefting the shotgun a little higher. “Even the widows. So don’t go getting any ideas. Mrs. Templeton is well thought of around here.”
Jared’s heart lurched. “Templeton? Kinsey Templeton?”
The sheriff narrowed his gaze at him. “You best watch yourself, Mason. I’m keeping an eye on you.”
Jared stepped up onto the boardwalk as the sheriff strode away. Down the street he caught sight of a skirt swishing in the dim light.
Kinsey Templeton. The woman who’d stolen the first Mason grandchild. He’d found her.
Jared swore under his breath. He’d found his brother’s wife, all right.
And he’d kissed her.
Chapter Three
The towering shade trees that had once sheltered the church lay ahead and Kinsey was never more anxious in her life to get to Sunday service. She had more than her share of sins to atone for this morning.
Already a crowd had gathered. Folks huddled in small circles catching up on news, sharing concern about the sick and shut-ins in Crystal Springs. Children in their Sunday best tugged at their mothers’ hands, anxious to play with friends.
Sam did that now. Kinsey held tight, not wanting him to start roughhousing with the other boys and get dirty before services started.
The church had burned completely to the ground—thankfully no one had been injured—and everyone felt lucky that Reverend Battenfield had agreed to move to Crystal Springs to tend to their spiritual needs, especially under the circumstances. The reverend and his wife, an older couple, were a welcome addition to the town.
With the charred remains as a backdrop, the reverend preached his sermon every Sunday to the townsfolk whowere seated on makeshift benches some of the men in town had built. Kinsey suspected he hoped the difficult circumstances under which he ministered to his flock would be noticed and might loosen purse strings when the building-fund collection plate made its rounds.
Nell
