reached inside, patted the interior. Came up empty.
She staggered to her feet and crossed to him, her skin ashen, eyes dazed. “It’s...it’s...gone,” she said in a reedy, strangled voice.
Then she wobbled, as if the starch had gone out of her. In one slow motion she crumpled, limp as a rag doll.
Nate caught her before she hit the floor. With the pale woman in his arms, his mind zipped back and remembered another woman.
“Mama!”
Nate’s head snapped up, his vision cleared.
Eyes wide with fear, the son ran toward them. “Is she dead?” he said.
Rachel was dead. Not this woman.
Poor tyke had lost his pa and now must believe he’d lost his mother, too. “Your ma’s fine. She’s fainted, that’s all.”
“What’s fainted?”
“It’s like falling asleep.” Nate forced a reassuring smile. “She’ll wake up soon.”
Beside Nate, the little boy settled on his haunches and patted his mother’s arm. “Mama, are you tired?”
Nate removed his hat and fanned the widow’s face. Smelling salts would bring her around. Not something Nate carried in his line of work.
He brushed a tendril of hair off the widow’s pale cheek. Under his fingertips, her skin was soft as silk.
The click of a clock’s pendulum echoed in the silence. With each passing tick, the boy’s bravado crumbled. “Mama, wake up! Please!” he said, tears spilling down his face.
In way over his head, Nate groped for words. He’d never been around children. How could he comfort this one?
The widow groaned, rolling her head from side to side.
Her son gazed up at him, panic sparking in his eyes. “Something’s wrong with my mama. Help her! Please, mister!”
“I’ll help her, I promise.” As soon as the words left his lips, Nate knew he’d made a hasty promise to stop the boy’s pleading. A promise he couldn’t keep.
Once again. Another failure. More lives ruined.
He tamped down the remorse swirling in his gut. This woman wasn’t his responsibility. How could Richards wager his family’s future on the turn of a card? His wife and son deserved better.
A temptation to give back the deed slid through him. Only for a moment. Nate couldn’t sacrifice his sister’s future. Not after what she’d sacrificed for him.
Once Mrs. Richards had time to think about it, she would know, as he did, she’d lost the shop. Though he didn’t relish the pain he would cause, Nate would not help the widow as he’d promised her son.
All he would bring Carly Richards was trouble.
Where am I?
Carly closed her eyes, giving her head a little shake, and then opened them again, the scent of soap, leather and peppermint filling her nostrils. Shadows slowly came into focus.
She peered into gray eyes. Gray eyes rimmed with charcoal and filled with concern.
Intriguing eyes. Who was—?
A small face popped into view. Henry. Tears spiking his lashes and running down his cheeks. Why was he crying?
Her son’s lower lip trembled. “Mama.”
“I’m all right, sweetie,” she said, though she had no idea what had happened.
Then the memory came rushing back. Those eyes she’d gazed into, those eyes she’d found intriguing, belonged to Nate Sergeant. Max’s killer. A dangerous man out to seize her shop.
And yet she lay nestled in the varmint’s arms, thinking how good he smelled. As if his touch burned her flesh, Carly jerked upright and gathered her son close.
“You’re not dead!” Henry beamed up at her.
She kissed her boy’s wet cheeks. “I’m fine, Henry,” she said. “Just fine.”
But she wasn’t fine.
Carly had poured her life’s blood into this shop. Found satisfaction in the work. Earned a living here. She’d made a life for herself and her child in the four small rooms at the back. Without this shop, how would she manage? Where would they go?
“I won’t give up my business,” she said, her voice high, thin, almost a screech.
“Don’t worry, Mama.” Henry pointed at Max’s killer. “The man said he’d help you. He promised.”
Carly’s eyes darted to Nate Sergeant. Under the force of her gaze, he all but squirmed. He’d help her, all right. Help her lose her shop and everything in it.
Still, she’d lashed out at the man, not a good example for her son. “Let me up, Henry.”
Her son scooted out of the way.
In one fluid motion, the bounty hunter sprang to his feet. Before she could stop him, he took her hand and helped her rise. The startling warmth and gentleness of his touch felt nothing like Max’s cold, hard grip.
Chiding herself for falling for such trickery, Carly pulled herself erect and faced her enemy.
Broad-shouldered, feet apart, he towered over her, expression closed, gaze firm, as if trying to squash her with a mere look. Well, she wasn’t some helpless bug.
Not with her pistol buried in the deep pocket of her skirt. She’d bought the Smith and Wesson and learned to shoot, determined to do whatever she must to protect her son.
She bit back a sigh. No matter how strong the temptation, she couldn’t shoot this sidewinder for claiming her business.
Still, no one was going to take away that security. No one.
“I want you to leave,” she said. “My son has had a scare. I won’t allow you to subject him to more.”
His brow furrowed. “We have to talk.”
“We have nothing to talk about. Come, Henry,” she said, guiding the boy toward the back. “Go to your room and close the door. I’ll be right there.”
Henry complied with lagging steps and backward glances.
She waited until she heard the door to their quarters click shut, then rounded on him. “The only person I will be speaking with is Sheriff Truitt. Max’s name may be on the deed, but as you well know, my husband is dead. As his widow, everything he owned is mine. He had no right to gamble his son’s future.”
“I
