trollop, some tramp—
Some saloon singer.
Lark gave an involuntary whimper.
Even now, at what should have been a safe distance, with Mrs. Porter and Mai Lee up and about, she wanted him.
Wanted his hands on her breasts, her hips, her thighs.
“Stop it!” she said aloud, squeezing her eyes shut.
After several minutes of deep, slow breathing, Lark regained some semblance of self-control.
A light rap sounded at her door. “Mai Lee has breakfast ready, dear,” Mrs. Porter called cheerfully. “And if you don’t hurry, you’ll be late for school.”
“Coming,” Lark called back, with an effort at equal good cheer. But her voice quavered a little.
The creaking of the front gate sent her scurrying to her window. She tugged aside the curtain and looked out.
Rowdy was just stepping onto the sidewalk, Pardner cavorting at his side.
She let out a long breath. At least she wouldn’t have to sit across the table from him, choking down her breakfast, pretending she hadn’t let him rub her feet the night before, hadn’t sat in his lap and felt so foolishly safe that she’d fallen asleep.
She watched from the window until she was sure Rowdy wouldn’t double back, then hurried downstairs with as much dignity as she could manage. Their two chairs, she was glad to see, were back in their usual places at the table, and there was no indication that either of them had been in the kitchen at all during the wee, scandalous hours of the morning.
Except for the two coffeecups sitting beside the sink.
Mai Lee looked at them curiously, then glanced at Lark, frowning a little.
Thankfully, Mrs. Porter didn’t seem to notice the stray cups. She took Lark’s cloak from the peg by the door, carried it over to the stove and draped it over a wooden rack alongside, so it would be warm when she wore it to the schoolhouse.
Lark’s eyes burned again.
“Rowdy suggested it,” Mrs. Porter explained brightly, smiling at Lark. “He said you’re uncommonly sensitive to the cold. He even said you might want to move into his room—once he’s gone to live in the new place, of course.” Here, she paused to blush girlishly. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before. There’s no reason you couldn’t use the best quarters when they’re not rented.”
Lark straightened her spine. “Th-thank you,” she said.
“No reason at all,” Mrs. Porter prattled on, still caught up in her musings. Then, with a pointed glance at the clock, she added, “Hurry up, now. You’ll have to gobble your food and practically run to the schoolhouse as it is, if you’re going to ring the bell at eight o’clock.”
Lark nodded gratefully. She consumed a fried egg and a slice of toasted bread and drank her coffee so quickly that she burned her tongue. Mai Lee had packed her lunch in a lard tin, as she did every weekday morning, and set it on the counter nearest the back door. Mrs. Porter had made special arrangements with the school board, soon after Lark’s arrival in Stone Creek, when she realized her boarder was going without food between breakfast and the evening meal.
“I’ll be having supper with Maddie and Sam O’Ballivan this Friday night,” Lark said, out of courtesy and because she was a little proud of the invitation.
Mrs. Porter went still.
So did Mai Lee.
“Is something wrong?” Lark asked, carrying her plate and silverware to the sink, setting them on the drain board next to the cups she and Rowdy had used earlier. She was putting on her cloak before either of them answered.
“It’s just that nobody’s been invited out there since Sam brought Maddie home as his bride,” Mrs. Porter said, trying to smile but not quite succeeding.
“I’m sure they mean to entertain more once they’ve settled in,” Lark was quick to offer.
“It’s been over a year since Maddie came,” Mrs. Porter said uncertainly.
Lark assumed a confidential tone. “Terran and Ben tried to skip school yesterday,” she said, as though imparting a secret that must be guarded at all costs. “Maddie probably wants to speak to me about—disciplinary measures.”
Mrs. Porter brightened immediately. “I’m sure that’s it,” she said.
“Of course it is,” Lark replied briskly, grabbing up her lunch pail and reaching for the doorknob. “Naturally, I’d like you to keep this in strictest confidence.”
“Naturally,” Mrs. Porter said eagerly.
By the time school let out for the day, Lark figured, the news would probably be all over town.
* * *
ROWDY STOPPED OFF at the mercantile to order supplies, like coffee and sugar, and then picked up the pinto, who’d come with the name Paint, and installed him in the barn behind the marshal’s house. A supply of hay had already been laid in; probably Sam and the major’s doing.
Polishing his badge with the sleeve of his trail coat, Rowdy surveyed the yard, enclosed by chicken-wire fencing, and the land beyond it. There was a house back there, if it could be called that, since it leaned to one side and probably didn’t measure more than eight-by-eight. A cardboard sign, crudely lettered and attached to the door frame, proclaimed the place was for sale, with some scribbling underneath.
Rowdy decided to investigate, and Pardner went along, like he always did. If Rowdy’d gone through the gates of hell itself, he figured the dog probably would have followed.
The inside of that shack looked even worse than the outside. The stone fireplace was crumbling, and half the floorboards were missing. Those that remained were probably rotten.
He paused on the threshold, stopped Pardner with a movement of his knee when he would have ventured inside.
Rowdy stepped back, walked around the perimeter of the place, noted the overgrown vegetable garden, the teetering privy and the well. Returning to examine the cardboard For Sale sign, he noted from a scribbled addition that the whole place, a little under an acre, could be had for fifty dollars in back taxes.
He rubbed his chin, thinking about becoming a landowner.
He’d saved most of his pay while he was in Haven, so he was flush, and he’d developed a penchant for carpentry, helping to rebuild the burned-out town. He liked the smell of freshly planed lumber and the release of swinging a hammer or wielding a saw.
It was a fool’s notion, of course.
What could he do with an acre of ground?
And, anyhow, he planned to move on, once he’d gotten the truth of the train-robbing situation and unraveled the secrets behind Lark Morgan’s brown eyes.
Still, with the railroad headed in that direction, the land might make a good investment. He’d need something to fill his free time, since Stone Creek didn’t appear to be a hotbed of crime or social activity, and putting that shack to rights seemed like a sensible occupation.
Resolved, he went back to the jailhouse and built a fire in the potbelly stove. By the time he’d adjusted the damper and shifted the chimney pipe to close the gaps issuing little scallops of dusty smoke, the supplies had arrived from the general store.
He put a pot of coffee on to brew.
Pardner, meanwhile, padded into the single jail cell, jumped up on the cot inside and settled himself for a snooze.
Jolene Bell showed up before the coffee was through perking.
“I hope you’ll be a better lawman than old Pete Quincy was,” she said.
“I guess that remains to be seen,” Rowdy replied. He’d have offered