The Lone Sheriff. Lynna Banning

he hoisted her up. He kinda regretted that she didn’t need more of a boost to her posterior; he enjoyed laying his hand on that nicely rounded behind.

      His elbow gave a sharp twinge, which he ignored. The wrangler tossed him the lead rope and Jericho led the mare in a circle around the ring. Maddie kept a death grip on the saddle horn, but she made quite a picture in her pouffy hat and yellow shirtwaist, even with a black-rimmed bullet hole in one sleeve.

      She rode around him a dozen times. Every so often she freed one hand and leaned forward to tentatively pat the mare’s neck.

      “Good girl. Good horse. My, you are beautiful. You look like a big dish of coffee ice cream with caramel sauce.”

      Jericho laughed out loud. After her last circuit she drew back on the reins and the horse stopped. “How do I get down?”

      He dropped the lead rope and strode toward her, intending to hold out his arms. Oh, damn, he remembered he didn’t have two arms. Instead, he reached up and slid his good hand around her waist.

      “Bring your other leg over the saddle and then jump down.” He gave her a little tug.

      She went pale, but she lifted her leg over the saddle. Her skirt kicked up, revealing a froth of petticoats, and when she slid off she stumbled hard against him. For just an instant he felt her soft breasts brush against his chest.

      Lord in heaven.

      “Oh, that was wonderful,” she cried. “Wonderful.”

      Jericho groaned. He thought so, too, but it wasn’t the horse he admired. It was her.

      Maddie practically danced out of the corral. “Such a beautiful animal. You simply cannot imagine how happy riding her makes me!”

      Jericho blinked. “You’re that happy about a horse?”

      “Oh, yes. I sense a kindred spirit in the animal.”

      “That never happened before?”

      “No. Never. As I said, Papa never let me visit his fancy riding stable. I’m going to call her Sundae.”

      “Kinda odd to fall in love with a horse, Maddie.” He meant it as a joke, but her face immediately looked grave.

      “All my life I have felt different. Alone. Even when I was married.” She gave a little half sob. “Then,” she said in a voice so low he could scarcely hear her, “it was even worse.”

      Jericho nodded. He knew what she meant. In fact, he knew exactly what she meant, but he was sure surprised at her words. “Yeah, I can understand makin’ friends with a horse. Glad you enjoyed it.”

      Well, yes and no, Jericho admitted. He found himself a mite irritated at her feelings for the animal. Almost as if he was...

      Jealous? Of a horse? Get a grip, mister. This woman is not yours.

      He’d never been a fool about a woman and he wasn’t about to start now, especially with this one. Ever since he’d lost his friend Little Bear, he’d kept his heart protected inside a safe, sturdy iron cage.

      Maddie drifted to the fortune-teller’s tent, a red-and-gold India print with a hand-lettered sign pinned to one flap: Madame Sofia, Gypsy Fortune-Teller.

      Maddie was already seated at the scarf-draped table across from the wrinkled old woman and was stretching out her palm.

      He tried his darnedest not to listen, but one word sliced into his brain like a shard of glass. Chicago.

      Maddie rose from the table, an odd look on her face. “Your turn, Jericho. Let Madame Sofia tell your fortune.”

      “What for? I can pretty much see my life from here on out.” He’d be a good sheriff and he’d never get involved with a woman. At least, not until he was too old to care.

      Maddie sped across the grass to his side. “I dare you.”

      She tugged on his good arm.

      Damn, she was more persuasive than he’d bargained for. Finally, shamed into it, he seated himself before the gypsy woman, slid his right arm out of the sling, and opened his hand, palm up. The old woman bent over it, stroking the lines with her gnarled forefinger. After a moment she looked up into his face.

      “You have known great sorrow,” she said in her gravelly voice. Then she reached out and touched his face. “What comes will not be easy.”

      “What won’t?” he said without thinking.

      The gypsy smiled. “This.” She cut her gaze to where Maddie waited.

      His face set, Jericho paid the gypsy and propelled Maddie away from the tent. Twenty yards further, he stopped with a jerk and gazed upward.

      “What the hell is that?” He squinted to read the signboard. “Turkish Up-and-Down Wheel.”

      Directly in back of the sign stood the strangest contraption he had ever seen, a grid of steel bars with a bucket-type seat at each end. A man in baggy pants and a pointed red hat cranked on a gearlike arrangement; as the bars turned, the seats rose up and then came slowly down.

      “Oh, look! Could we...?”

      “Could we what? Ride that thing? Probably break both our necks.”

      “Oh, please? Just this once?” She sent him a pleading look.

      Damn, she was sure hard to refuse. Jericho shrugged and moved into the ticket line. A few minutes later they were side by side in the cushioned tublike seats, and the wheel began to rotate with squeaks and groans. Their seat swung high above the carnival grounds.