thing she wanted was for Boone Walker to think, as every other man did, that simply because she was a female she was not able to look out for herself.
Still, she could only admit that even Rebecca, her comrade in adventure, would agree that this pursuit had been a close call.
She would feel guilty forever if something happened to make Stanley Smythe feel that he had failed as her guardian.
Had it not been for him finally agreeing to let her come along, she might be at the ranch right now, counting cows. As much as she loved Moreland Ranch and everyone living there, it was isolated.
How would she ever meet the one man destined to be hers? In the time she had lived there she had entertained three possible suitors. One looking for his third wife, the next a good friend and contemporary of Grandfather Moreland’s and the last...well, to be frank, he was not at all interesting.
Someday she would like to return to the mountains, live near Rebecca and Lantree. She could not imagine raising her children any place but near her cousin.
But, if there were to be children, there needed to be a husband and she was not likely to find him milling around with the cattle.
With her breathing restored, she crossed the room to peer out the window. The men who had chased her were just now getting to their feet. The swifter of the two rubbed the back of his head. His drunken companion glanced around as if confused.
Well, all was well that ended well. And a close call was only that. Close. As it turned out, she had been quicker and luckier.
And the risk had been well worth it since she had been able to make the acquaintance of her new cousin, to let him know that he was an uncle and he had his family’s support.
Standing beside the window and protected by the darkness, she unbuttoned her dress and stepped out of it.
The men below shuffled back to the saloon and went inside.
Dry, gusty wind blew up clouds of dust. The streetlamp below her window illuminated the grains as they whirled and swirled.
She plucked the pins from her hair then reached for the hairbrush on the dresser beside the window. While she brushed the day’s tangles out, she thought about Boone.
How could she not? The man was a puzzle.
He was handsome, like his brother, and yet not at all like his brother. The features all added up to mirror images, but when she looked at Boone, there was a little flutter in her belly.
He made her feel edgy and uncomfortable—but at the same time fascinated.
That didn’t happen when she looked at Lantree. At least not after the first glance, because by the second glance she’d known that he was meant for Rebecca and the flutter had vanished and never returned.
Maybe the flutter would be gone for Boone, as well, once she thought things through. Once he was not so mysterious, her heart might settle back into place.
She stared at his transom window. From where she stood, it was just visible through the rising dust.
It ought to be that Boone was as different from his twin as dusk is to dawn. One a healer, one an outlaw. An angel and a devil.
Or that might not be true at all.
After the brief time she had spent with Boone, she wondered if in his heart of hearts he was more like Lantree than it first seemed. Perhaps he, too, might have been upstanding had his life not taken such an ugly turn.
Recalling their conversation, he had been concerned for her safety.
What sort of a soul lived inside Boone Walker? The hardened criminal that life had made him? Or had something of the boy survived the hard life...maybe that person would resurface once Stanley won him a new future.
She set her brush aside and plaited her hair all the while staring at the transom window down the alley.
What was he thinking about at this moment? She could not help but wonder. No doubt he wanted to know more about his family. She hadn’t had the time to tell him anything except that his brother was a father.
In the event that he wasn’t freed by tomorrow night, she’d go back and tell him the rest. About Moreland Ranch and how his brother had become a doctor, about how deliciously in love he was with his wife.
Melinda sighed. Where was the man who would be deliciously in love with her?
Oh, it was true that men were in adoration of her left and right. They put her on a pedestal, admired her but did not lift a foot to climb up after her. There must be a man somewhere who had hands big enough to yank her off, to love her even when she stood on solid ground.
Where was the man who would look past her face to really see her? The one who would love her down to her soul, who would want her with all her faults and virtues? The one who would never leave and still want her when she was old and her beauty faded?
Where was that man? She wanted to know.
A movement caught her eye. Boone’s face appeared between the transom bars. Moonlight reflected off his handsome features.
She thought he was gazing up at the stars but from this distance it was hard to tell.
Perhaps he was watching...her.
His hand lifted into view. He waved.
Feeling a flush from her hairline to her toes, she waved back.
A serious flutter that may or may not be gone by ten in the morning twisted her insides in a way they had never been twisted.
This was disturbing since she wanted that feeling to be for the man she married. It was unlikely that Boone, given his past, would even consider a wife and family.
And...who was he really? Maybe he was the dastardly outlaw of the broadsheets and not the hapless boy that Stanley presented him to be.
Quite honestly, she had no way of knowing for sure, even though she was very good at reading people. Was it possible that she felt a kinship to him because he looked like Lantree, whom she loved, or was she drawn to him because he was exceptionally handsome? If that were the case, she would be like her own hordes of suitors, infatuated with an image.
My word!
She backed away from the window, flung herself on the bed and waited for her nerves to settle or for morning to come.
Morning came first.
* * *
By ten o’clock the next day the wind had quieted. The courthouse door was left open to let in the sun-warmed air of an autumn morning.
The sounds of wagon wheels and commerce rolled past. Scents from a nearby bakery drifted in. Boot steps fell heavy on the boardwalk then faded into the distance.
Boone listened to the noise in an attempt to keep his heart from beating out of his chest and his shirt from becoming soaked with nervous sweat.
Apparently, Judge Mathers didn’t want to hear more formal testimony. First thing upon entering the courthouse he had ordered Smythe into his chambers and shut the door.
His lovely “cousin” had leaped from her chair when the slender lawyer disappeared.
Her pacing was putting him on edge. The swish of fabric feathering around her ankles made his insides itch. The sound of the guard’s boots tapping on the floor echoed from one wall to the other when he wearily shifted his weight.
Life was funny when one man in a room could be tied up in agitation waiting to see where his future would go and the other so bored he risked drifting into a doze.
Melinda Winston suddenly stopped pacing and approached Boone at a quick pace. She had her mouth open, apparently ready to say something, when all of a sudden the guard came to attention and blocked her way.
She blinked at him; she flashed dimples.
“I would take it as a kindness