Nora Roberts: Lawless

She’d waited twelve years, she reminded herself, resisting the urge to loosen her collar. She could wait a little longer.

A buckboard passed, spewing up more dust, so that she was forced to lift a handkerchief to her mouth.

Her dark blue traveling skirt and her neat matching jacket with its fancy black braid were covered with dust. With a sigh, she glanced down at her blouse, which was drooping hopelessly and now seemed more yellow than white. It wasn’t really vanity. The sisters had never given her a chance to develop any. She was concerned that her father would see her for the first time when she was travel-stained and close to exhaustion. She’d wanted to look her best for him at this first meeting. All she could do now was retie the bow at her chin, then brush hopelessly at her skirts.

She looked a fright. But she’d make it up to him. She would wear her brand-new white muslin gown for dinner tonight, the one with the.charming rosebuds embroidered all over the skirt. Her kid slippers were dyed pink to match. He’d be proud of her.

If only he’d come, she thought, and take her away from here.

Jake crossed the street after losing the battle he’d waged with himself. It wasn’t his business, and it wasn’t his place to tell her. But for the past ten minutes he’d been watching her standing at the side of the road, waiting. He’d been able to see, too clearly, the look of hope that sprang into her eyes each time a horse or wagon approached. Somebody had to tell the woman that her father wasn’t going to meet her. Sarah saw him coming. He walked easily, despite the guns at his sides. As if they had always been there. As if they always would be. They rode low on his hips, shifting with his movements. And he kept his eyes on her in a way that she was certain a man shouldn’t keep his eyes on a woman-unless she was his own. When she felt her heart flutter, she automatically stiffened her backbone.

It was Lucilla who was always talking about fluttering hearts. It was Lucilla who painted romantic pictures of lawless men and lawless places. Sarah preferred a bit more reality in her dreams.

“Ma’am.” He was surprised that she hadn’t already swooned under the power of the afternoon sun. Maybe she was tougher than she looked, but he doubted it. “Mr. Redman.” Determined to be gracious, she allowed her lips to curve ever so slightly at the corners. He tucked his thumbs into the pockets of his pants.

“I got some news about your father.”

She smiled fully, beautifully, so that her whole face lit up with it. Her eyes turned to gold in the sunlight. Jake felt the punch, like a bullet in the chest. “Oh, did he leave word for me? Thank you for letting me know. I might have waited here for hours.”

“Ma’am-”

“Is there a note?”

“No.” He wanted to get this done, and done quickly. “Matt’s dead. There was an accident at his mine.” He was braced for weeping, for wild wailing, but her eyes filled with fury, not tears.

“How dare you? How dare you lie to me about something like that?” She would have brushed past him, but Jake clamped a hand over her arm. Sarah’s first reaction was simple indignation at being manhandled.

Then she looked up at him, really looked, and said nothing.

“He was buried two days ago.” He felt her recoil, then go still. The fury drained from her eyes, even as the color drained from her cheeks. “Don’t go fainting on me.”

It was true. She could see the truth on his face as clearly as she could see his distaste at being the one to tell her. “An accident?” she managed.

“A cave-in.” He was relieved that she wasn’t going to faint, but he didn’t care for the glassy look in her eyes. “You’ll want to talk to the sheriff.”

“The sheriff?” she repeated dully.

“His office is across the street.”

She just shook her head and stared at him. Her eyes were gold, Jake decided. The color of the brandy he sometimes drank at the Silver Star. Right now they were huge and full of hurt. He watched her bite down on her bottom lip in a gesture he knew meant she was fighting not to let go of the emotions he saw so clearly in her eyes.

If she’d fainted, he’d happily have left her on the road in the care of whatever woman happened to pass by. But she was hanging on, and it moved something in him.

Swearing, Jake shifted his grip from her arm to her elbow and guided her across the street. He was damned if he could figure out how he’d elected himself responsible.

Sheriff Barker was at his desk, bent over some paperwork and a cup of sweetened coffee. He was balding rapidly. Every morning he took the time to comb what hair he had left over the spreading bare spot on top of his head. He had the beginnings of a paunch brought on by his love of his wife’s baking. He kept the law in Lone Bluff, but he didn’t worry overmuch about the order. It wasn’t that he was corrupt, just lazy.

He glanced up as Jake entered. Then he sighed and sent tobacco juice streaming into the spittoon in the corner. When Jake Redman was around, there was usually work to be done.

“So you’re back.” The wad of tobacco gave Barker a permanently swollen jaw. “Thought you might take a fancy to New Mexico.” His brows lifted when Jake ushered Sarah inside. There was enough gentleman left in him to bring him to his feet. “Ma’am.”

“This is Matt Conway’s daughter.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. Begging your pardon, ma’am. I was just fixing to send you a letter.” “Sheriff.” She had to pause a moment to find her balance. She would not fall apart, not here, in front of strangers.

“Barker, ma’am.” He came around the desk to offer her a chair.

“Sheriff Barker.” Sarah sat, praying she’d be able to stand again. “Mr. Redman has just told me that my father…” She couldn’t say it. No matter how weak or cowardly it might be, she just couldn’t say the words. “Yes, ma’am. I’m mighty sorry. Couple of kids wandered on up by the mine playing games and found him. Appears he was working the mine when some of the beams gave way.” When she said nothing, Barker cleared his throat and opened the top drawer of his desk. “He had this watch on him, and his tobacco.”

He’d had his pipe, as well, but since it had been broken like most of Conway’s bones-Barker hadn’t thought anyone would want it. “We figured he’d want to be buried with his wedding ring on.”

“Thank you.” As if in a trance, she took the watch and the tobacco pouch from him. She remembered the watch. The tears almost won when she remembered how he’d taken it out to check the time before he’d left her in Mother Superior’s lemony-smelling office. “I want to see where he’s buried. My trunks will need to be taken out to his house.”

“Miss Conway, if you don’t mind me offering some advice, you don’t want to stay way out there. It’s no place for a young lady like you, all alone and all. My wife’ll be happy to have you stay with us for a few days. Until the stage heads east again.”

“It’s kind of you to offer.” She braced a hand on the chair and managed to stand again. “But I’d prefer to spend the night in my father’s house.” She swallowed and discovered that her throat was hurtfully dry. “Is there… Do I owe you anything for the burial?”

“No, ma’am. We take care of our own around here.”

“Thank you.” She needed air. With the watch clutched in her hand, she pushed through the door. Leaning against a post, she tried to catch her breath.

“You ought to take the sheriff up on his offer.” She turned her head to give Jake an even look. She could only be grateful that he made her angry enough to help her hold off her grief. He hadn’t offered a word of sympathy. Not one. Well, she was glad of it. “I’m going to stay in my father’s house. Will you take me?”