slid slender fingers into her side pocket and withdrew a small penknife, placing it onto his palm with a slap. “There you are. Did you feel threatened?”
“Any weapon is dangerous if its user is intent on causing bodily harm,” he answered quietly. “This little knife could do a lot of damage.”
“Well, all it’s been used for up until now is cutting branches to use for bedding and for a spit over my fire.”
Brace slid it into his pocket. “For tonight, it’ll be safe with me,” he told her. “Now, have you decided about the trip out back?”
“I suppose you’re coming along.” Her words were a statement of fact, he decided, and he answered in like form.
“You’d better believe it, ma’am.”
He lifted a hand toward the back door of the jail, and she led the way past two empty cells and then opened the door to the outside. The darkness was almost solid before them, the moon hidden behind a cloud, the stars barely seen. The faint outline of a small building gave notice of her destination, and Sarah walked toward it.
“Do I get to go in alone?” she asked, her hand on the latch.
“Now, Miss Sarah, you should know better than to ask that. I’m not a man given to looking where I’ve not been invited. I’ll just wait right here.”
She pulled the door closed behind her and he grinned into the darkness. Damn, she was a handful. He’d give much to keep her around for a while, but overnight was probably as far as he could go without causing an uproar, should the ladies in town hear of it. Turning his back on the outhouse, he folded his arms across his chest and waited.
Standing with her hand on the latch wasn’t getting her anywhere, Sarah decided. The knowledge that the lawman waited outside, just six feet away, was daunting, the presence of a jail cell with her name on it even more so. She’d never been in jail. Indeed, had never had a run-in with the law in any way, shape or form. Unless she counted the sheriff who’d checked out Sierra’s death and uttered bland words of sympathy.
The door opened silently, but the sheriff turned to face her without hesitation. His face was a blurred shadow in the night, the shine of the silver star on his shirt allowing her to spot his form before her. Walking beside him, she headed for the jailhouse and reached for the door. The light from the lawman’s office cast a gleam before her and she stepped inside the hallway and waited for him.
“I’ll get you a bucket of water and a towel,” he offered, gripping her elbow and crossing to the first cell. Using the largest key on his ring, he opened the door and swung it wide, ushering her inside.
Without protest she obeyed his unspoken order and stepped into the small cubicle. Just large enough for a simple cot, a chair and the aforementioned slop pail in one corner, it was barren of any comforts, and she scanned the bed she would use for the night.
“I’ll get a blanket and see if I can scout up a pillow for you,” the sheriff said.
“Don’t you have many prisoners, Sheriff?” she asked. “I’d think these lovely rooms would come complete with furnishings.”
“Nope. Benning is a pretty quiet town. Not much doing usually.”
“No wonder you were so thrilled with finding a lawbreaker like me on the premises,” she said caustically. The cot beckoned, and she made a deliberate effort to appear nonchalant as she walked across the cell and sat down.
He stood in the open door of her accommodations and slid one hand into his pocket. “I’ll be right back with all the comforts of home,” he told her, then closed the metal portal with a clang and walked toward his office.
Sarah watched him go, finally allowing her trembling hands permission to entwine in her lap. Her breath was rasping in her lungs, and she felt a deluge of tears threatening. Not for the world would she succumb to their flow until the dratted lawman was far, far away, she decided. No doubt he’d settle her for the night and then go on home, where he probably had a nice comfortable bed.
And then in less than five minutes she discovered how wrong she was.
“My name’s Brace Caulfield,” the lawman told her as he approached with one arm full of blanket and pillow, a white towel balanced atop the pile. His other hand held a bucket of water, and he deposited it on the floor while he unlocked the cell.
Ungraciously she sat on the bunk while he carried his bundle inside and placed the bedding on the chair, then lowered the bucket to the floor at the foot of her cot. Only her good upbringing forced her to utter a grudging thanks for his efforts, and she was answered with a brief nod.
From his back pocket he withdrew a candle and several matches and in less than a minute had lit the taper, then allowed the wax to drip onto the floor. The candle was set in place, and its glow illuminated the cell around her, providing comfort she hadn’t expected. She hoped it would last at least until she went to sleep, although that might be a long time from now.
“I’ll be in my office all night,” he told her. “If you need anything, just call out.”
“You’re not going home?” she asked disbelievingly. Surely the man had a home to call his own.
“Not with a female in my jail,” he told her forcefully. “There’s not much chance of danger to you, but I don’t think it’s wise to ask for trouble. That saloon down the street is full of fellas who’d give their eyeteeth for a chance to touch your pretty face.”
“I doubt they know I’m here,” she protested, unwilling to face the thought of him in the next room.
“Well, we’re not gonna give them a chance to come looking, are we?” Locking the door with a quick twist of the key, he stuffed the ring into his pocket and watched her for a moment through the bars. “You’re safe, Miss Murphy. If you’re thinking I’m gonna come in here and bother you, don’t give it another thought. My mama raised me to be a gentleman.”
And somehow Sarah knew he spoke the truth. In the light of her candle, his eyes were dark and shadowed, yet compelling, as if he looked into her very depths and knew the fears she held within her.
The candle indeed lasted, longer than she’d expected, and her gaze focused on it for long minutes as she coaxed her body to relax on the hard cot. It still burned as her eyes finally shut.
She awoke in the dark, aware of another presence nearby, and sat up with a start.
“It’s all right, Sarah. It’s me, Sheriff Caulfield.” The voice came from outside her cell, and as she focused on its source she was able to see the tall, shadowed figure of the man who spoke.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, her voice husky with sleep.
“No. Just making sure you’re all right. Do you want another candle?”
It would not be wise to give in to her natural inclination, she decided, and refused his offer. Inviting the man into her cell was the last thing she wanted to do in the middle of the night, given her trembling hands and fearful thoughts. He was too inviting, his calm, sure voice offering security and safekeeping. And she needed every bit of independence she could muster for the days ahead.
“No,
