face. Her dark eyes sparked with fire.
Jess shook his head. What was he thinking? She was the schoolmarm, for God’s sake.
“The boy was shooting off his mouth. I wasn’t going to stand there and put up with it.”
She folded her arms under her breasts. “I will handle situations like that, Mr. Logan.”
“I didn’t see you handling anything, Mrs. Wakefield.”
“Perhaps if you hadn’t interfered, you would have.”
He rolled his eyes. “Well, pardon me all to hell.”
Color rose in her cheeks and he saw the quick intake of her breath as she clamped her mouth closed. But instead of feeling pleased that he’d shut her up, he was embarrassed by his foul language.
“Look, Mrs. Wakefield, I—”
She turned on her heels but stopped at the door and looked back at him. “You have jam on your face.”
Jess felt his cheeks pinken as she disappeared into the school. He dragged his hand over his chin and looked down at Jimmy. “Thanks a lot, partner.”
The boy just stared up at him.
“Come on.” They headed home.
After getting cleaned up and having breakfast, Jess headed for town, Jimmy at his side. He’d put it off as long as he could, but now his shelves were too bare to delay another day.
The late morning sun shone brightly on the hills in the distance, turning them greener than expected, thanks to the spring rains. Jess tried to look at them, tried looking at the sky too, but eventually had to turn his attention to the houses they passed.
His heart rose in his throat. God, it had been a long time since he’d walked down this road.
Cassie came into his mind, and recollections of the two of them running, playing with friends filled his head. Growing up here—the early years, at least—had been magical. He’d done most of his mourning on the trail getting here, but still it hurt, being here, thinking of her. Cassie, gone. His only relative in the world.
Except now for these two kids. Jess looked down at Jimmy skipping along beside him and he forced down the swell of emotion. He’d gotten over the other deaths. He’d get over this one, too.
They passed the schoolhouse as the road curved slowly toward the west. Across from the school squatted a tumble-down shack and Jess wondered why somebody didn’t just tear the thing down; it didn’t look inhabitable. On the other side of the road stood the church and a nice house, both with tended lawns.
“They’re new,” Jess said to Jimmy. “In fact, all of this is new. It was all farmland back when I lived here.”
Jimmy looked up at him for a second, then gazed off at the house.
“That was a long time ago. Before you were born. Me and your mama used to play here.”
Jimmy stopped suddenly and his bottom lip poked out. Jess knelt and pushed his Stetson back on his head.
“It’s okay if we talk about her. I know you miss her.”
Jimmy jerked away and ran ahead of him. Slowly, Jess got to his feet. His heart ached, sharing the pain the boy felt. He just wished he knew how to help him.
Jess pulled his Stetson lower on his forehead and followed the boy into town.
The place had grown, Jess realized as he stepped up onto the boardwalk. Lots of new businesses had cropped up. The streets were full of horses, wagons and people, all looking prosperous. He gazed around until he finally spotted something familiar. Jess crossed the street to the Walker Mercantile.
The bell jingled over the door as he stepped inside. Jimmy ran in ahead of him. All sorts of merchandise filled the shelves, the pickle barrel stood by the door, and cane-bottom chairs that had seen better days surrounded the potbellied stove in the corner. Behind the counter was an array of teas, coffees and tins.
Cautiously, Jess surveyed the store. The merchant was tallying an order for another customer, and Jess’s tension eased a bit when he recognized the customer as Rory Garrette. At least he knew one friendly face in Walker.
“Morning, Mr. Garrette.”
The older man leaned on his cane and squinted up at him. “Jess, where you been, boy? I thought you’d left town again already.”
Before he could answer, the merchant looked up.
“Jess Logan?”
A moment ticked by before Jess recognized the man in the apron. Years had creased his face and peppered his dark hair with gray, but there was no mistaking that distinctive voice, deep and strong.
“Leo Turner.” Jess said, and nodded, unsure of the welcome he’d get here—or anywhere in Walker. “Good to see you again.” He offered his hand and they shook.
“Last I heard, you’d died in a Mexican prison. Good to see you, too. Sorry to hear about your sister.”
“Thank you.”
“Jimmy?” Leo took a licorice from the glass jar beside him and held it up. “Want one?”
The boy scampered over and Jess lifted him onto the counter. He took the candy and bit into it.
Leo chuckled. “That boy loves sweets.”
Rory offered a gap-tooth smile. “Who don’t?”
“Cassie used to bring him in with her every Saturday, you know, give him licorice if he was quiet while she shopped.”
“He’s not talking much these days,” Jess said. “Maybe this will do the trick.”
“Bribing the child into talking? I should hope not.” A woman breezed in through the curtain from the back room and stared disapprovingly at the men. “Leo, I think you’d know better.”
“Now, Emma, honey,” Leo said, “we’re not hurting anything.”
Efficiently she straightened the counter beside Leo and gave Jess a glance. “You’ve certainly got your work cut out for you, young man.”
Memories stabbed him like a knife, Leo’s wife looking at him in that way, using that tone of voice, those exact words so many years ago. Years had changed her looks, but that was all.
Jess nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Your sister was a treasure in this town. We’ll miss her.” Emma brushed the countertop with a linen cloth.
Rory coughed and sagged against his cane. “What about you coming over to the house and sit a spell, boy? Have supper with us?”
He could imagine the look on Alma Garrette’s face, seeing him walk into her parlor and sit down at her dining-room table. “Can’t today. Some other time.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that, boy.”
The bell jingled as . the door opened again. Leo waved. “Morning, Sheriff.”
Rory’s lip curled down. “Horse’s ass,” he muttered.
“Morning Leo, Emma.” The sheriff sauntered to the counter, hung his thumbs in his gun belt and reared back, giving Jess the once-over. His lips curled down. “I know who you are, Logan.” .
Jess’s back stiffened. He hadn’t especially liked Sheriff Buck Neville when he’d first arrived in town and asked about his sister’s children. Now, looking at the stocky, muscular man with the tin badge pinned to his vest, he liked him even less. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, that’s so.” Sheriff Neville leaned forward, crowding Jess. “I know about you. I know about what you did over in Kingston.”
Jess felt every gaze in the room bore into him; apparently