use, Titus was proud of his position. “You expectin’ anything in the mail?” he asked Brace.
“Doubt it.” And if he was, he’d have to spend an hour deciphering it. Reading was a problem. He’d about decided to contact the new schoolteacher and see if she’d be willing to take up his lessons where the last volunteer had left off. His lips formed a straight line as he thought of the woman he’d had in his sights and spent more than a year yearning for. Faith was gone, and with her his hopes for a home and family of his own.
Honesty made him recognize that she’d never been his, but he’d had dreams. His pace had slowed crossing the road, and now he turned the handle on his office door and stepped inside. Dust motes floated in the sunlight and he left the door open, allowing the warmth to invade the interior of the building.
“Here’s your water,” he said, keeping an eye out as he approached the cell. Sarah sat on the cot, right where he’d left her, and he placed the bucket on the floor while he opened the cell door. Setting it inside, he nodded at her. “Breakfast will be here in ten minutes or so. I’m going back right now for coffee. You want some?”
She nodded and rose to walk toward him. “Thanks for the warm water,” she said, a bit grudgingly, he thought. The woman was obviously unable to ignore the manners she’d been taught in her lifetime, and he smiled his acknowledgment of her words.
“My pack was tied on behind my saddle,” she told him. “Can I have it?”
“What’s in it?” he asked, then added as an afterthought, “Besides the gun.” Doggone. He’d forgotten the dratted thing last night, so besotted with the female in front of him he’d neglected his duty as a lawman.
“A change of clothes,” she told him. “Clean stockings and a few other items.”
He nodded. “I’ll get it for you, right after breakfast. Maybe Jamie will be here by then and he can walk over to the livery stable.”
Her eyes were shadowed as she met his gaze. “How long are you going to keep me here?” she asked. “My nephew is probably being carted off to the next town while we’re standing here talking. I know this isn’t important to you, but that child is my reason for living right now.”
Brace backed from the cell and locked the door. “I’ll check at the hotel and see if the fella’s still there,” he told her.
She nodded, and he thought he caught sight of the glitter of tears as she bent her head. It bothered him, touched him at his very core. Maybe because she was a woman alone—and yet it was more than that. Sarah Murphy was vulnerable, even given her possession of a gun and the small knife she carried. She was a woman—capable perhaps, but nevertheless a female, alone in a situation that threatened that essence of womanhood she possessed.
In less than an hour Brace had fed his prisoner and verified that the man she sought had checked out of the hotel, and was even now leaving town. A muscular fellow, tall and broad of shoulder, he stood in the doorway of the livery stable. Beside him was a child, a boy of about seven, Brace decided. Dark haired and slender almost to the point of being skinny, the boy shifted restlessly beside his father, and Brace could not help but stroll to where Lester Clark waited impatiently for his mount to be saddled.
“Mornin’, stranger,” Brace said mildly. “Anything I can help you with?”
A dark glance from beneath lowered brows was his reply, and then as if he’d caught sight of Brace’s badge, the man shook his head. “Just trying to get an early start. Once I get my horse I’ll be out of your way.”
“You headin’ west?” Brace asked. “The road is a pretty straight shot from here, but you’ll run into some rough spots. We’re kinda isolated here.”
“I’ll make it,” the man answered, his speech clipped and concise.
“Pa?” The boy looked at his father appealingly. “You said we was gonna look for Aunt Sarah. Is this where she is?”
The glare was a demand for silence and the boy appeared to shrivel before Brace’s eyes as he bent his head and considered the dirt at his feet. “I just wondered,” the child murmured, and was delivered a sound, open-handed blow to his shoulder for his trouble.
The narrow shoulders hunched, and a stifled sob reached Brace’s hearing. It was the opening he’d hoped for and he bent, one knee on the ground as he crouched beside the child. “You lookin’ for your aunt?” he asked quietly. And then with a quick glance at the child’s father, he continued. “Maybe I can help you find her.”
Better that this encounter take place within his jurisdiction, he decided, than on the road to Wichita Falls. If Sarah Murphy confronted this man on her own, she might not come out the winner. In fact, her chances of such a thing happening were next to nothing.
“We don’t need any help,” the stranger said. “The boy doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“But, Pa—” An upraised hand formed a fist and the boy was silent.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Brace said flatly.
“He’s my kid. I’ll do as I please.” The force of his anger reddened the man’s complexion, and his eyes shot darts of flaring rage in Brace’s direction.
“Not in my town, you won’t,” Brace told him, rising, one hand resting on the butt of his gun. He knew he presented an intimidating picture, dressed in black as was his usual custom, standing even taller and broader than the man who faced him.
“I’m leaving, Sheriff,” the stranger said, reaching for his horse’s reins as the mount was led toward him.
“That’ll be fifty cents,” Amos Montgomery said, his gaze moving quickly from one to the other of the men before him. And then he caught Brace’s eye. “Problems, Sheriff?”
Amos Montgomery was stalwart, muscular and had a body that reflected his line of work. Being a black smith seemed to go right along with running the livery stable, and Amos did both with strength and purpose. Now he allied himself with Brace in a manner that could not be mistaken.
“No, I don’t think so,” Brace said easily. “This young’un and I are going to pay a visit to the hotel and find us something to eat.”
“He’s my son,” Lester Clark said harshly. “You have no right to haul him away like this.”
“I have every right. This is my town,” Brace said, aware that he was infringing on parental rights, and found that he was uncaring as to Lester Clark’s rights, as a parent or a citizen. The man rubbed him the wrong way. Abuse of a child was about as low as a man could go. And unless Brace missed his guess, the man’s motives were not as pure as they might be. He certainly wasn’t showing any degree of love for the little boy right now, anyway.
The child’s small hand crept into Brace’s palm and nestled there, his fingers trembling as if they sought refuge. Looking upward, the lad bit his lip and then glanced with a sideways look at his father. Donning his lawman’s scowl, Brace looked at Lester Clark, daring the man to defy his edict.
“It may be your town,” the man said, “but as a citizen I have rights. Mainly as it pertains to my boy.”
“Well,” Brace said, his words slowing into a drawl, “let’s just
