to look at, he decided, taking full advantage of the view of her rounded bottom, outlined nicely by the pants she wore. He leaned against the doorjamb and waited patiently until she reappeared.
“I’ll get you some warm water if you want to wash up while I’m gone,” he told her as she walked past him again, heading for the open cell door.
“I’d appreciate it,” she said politely. And then ruined the nicely spoken words with a glare from those brilliant eyes. “How long will it take for you to decide I’m not a threat to your community, Sheriff?”
“You in a hurry to go someplace?” He locked the cell door and stepped away from the bars.
“You know damn well I am,” she said bitterly. “You’re holding me without a valid reason, and you know it. Either charge me with a crime or let me go.”
“All right,” he said agreeably. “I’ll think of something while I go find you some breakfast.”
She settled on the edge of the cot and leaned her chin on her fist. “Don’t forget the warm water. I’d like to scrub the smell of your jailhouse off my skin.”
“Your skin smelled pretty clean to me,” he told her. “I took special note of it.”
Her glare would have melted wax, he thought, and smiled to himself as he strolled back into his office. A bucket from the closet clutched in one hand, he left the jailhouse and walked across the street to the hotel. The alley led to the kitchen door and he pushed it open and inhaled the scent of breakfast.
“You got some warm water I can use?” he asked.
Bess Casey looked up from the griddle where six round pancakes were browning and waved a hand at the reservoir attached to the side of the cookstove. “You know where it is. Same place it was last time you needed some for washin’ up.”
“It’s not for me,” he said. “I’ve got a prisoner over at the jail. I’ll need some breakfast right quick, too. And about four cups of coffee.”
“Bad night?” Bess asked with a questioning look. “You look a sight, mister.”
“Sleepin’ on a chair’ll do that to you,” he agreed.
“I suspect you’ve got a perfectly good bedroom in that house of yours,” she told him. “Why didn’t you use it?”
“My prisoner is a female,” he said, that explanation enough to make Bess nod her head.
“Good enough reason,” she said. “Does the lady want coffee, too?”
“I’ll find out,” Brace said, dipping water into his bucket. “I’ll take this to her and be right back.”
“You’ll have to wait a bit. Got four orders for breakfast lined up already,” Bess told him. “I’ll put more bacon on right away.”
He nodded and left the kitchen, the scent of hot coffee wafting behind him. If he’d brought his mug along he could have taken a cupful with him.
The storekeeper was out front, sweeping the sidewalk as if his very life depended on the cleanliness of the wide boards. “Mornin’, Sheriff Caulfield.”
Brace nodded a greeting. Mr. Metcalfe was not one of his favorite people, but he’d at least be civil. The flagpole in front of the newly built post office was still empty, but even as Brace glanced that way Titus Liberty came out the door with the spanking new flag in his arms. “Morning, Sheriff,” the gentleman said smartly. “You’re up early.”
“So are you, Titus,” he said.
“Almost time for the morning train. Got to meet it and pick up the mail.” Having graduated from a corner of the general store to a building constructed by the government for his use, Titus was proud of his position. “You expectin’ anything in the mail?” he asked Brace.
“Doubt it.” And if he was, he’d have to spend an hour deciphering it. Reading was a problem. He’d about decided to contact the new schoolteacher and see if she’d be willing to take up his lessons where the last volunteer had left off. His lips formed a straight line as he thought of the woman he’d had in his sights and spent more than a year yearning for. Faith was gone, and with her his hopes for a home and family of his own.
Honesty made him recognize that she’d never been his, but he’d had dreams. His pace had slowed crossing the road, and now he turned the handle on his office door and stepped inside. Dust motes floated in the sunlight and he left the door open, allowing the warmth to invade the interior of the building.
“Here’s your water,” he said, keeping an eye out as he approached the cell. Sarah sat on the cot, right where he’d left her, and he placed the bucket on the floor while he opened the cell door. Setting it inside, he nodded at her. “Breakfast will be here in ten minutes or so. I’m going back right now for coffee. You want some?”
She nodded and rose to walk toward him. “Thanks for the warm water,” she said, a bit grudgingly, he thought. The woman was obviously unable to ignore the manners she’d been taught in her lifetime, and he smiled his acknowledgment of her words.
“My pack was tied on behind my saddle,” she told him. “Can I have it?”
“What’s in it?” he asked, then added as an afterthought, “Besides the gun.” Doggone. He’d forgotten the dratted thing last night, so besotted with the female in front of him he’d neglected his duty as a lawman.
“A change of clothes,” she told him. “Clean stockings and a few other items.”
He nodded. “I’ll get it for you, right after breakfast. Maybe Jamie will be here by then and he can walk over to the livery stable.”
Her eyes were shadowed as she met his gaze. “How long are you going to keep me here?” she asked. “My nephew is probably being carted off to the next town while we’re standing here talking. I know this isn’t important to you, but that child is my reason for living right now.”
Brace backed from the cell and locked the door. “I’ll check at the hotel and see if the fella’s still there,” he told her.
She nodded, and he thought he caught sight of the glitter of tears as she bent her head. It bothered him, touched him at his very core. Maybe because she was a woman alone—and yet it was more than that. Sarah Murphy was vulnerable, even given her possession of a gun and the small knife she carried. She was a woman—capable perhaps, but nevertheless a female, alone in a situation that threatened that essence of womanhood she possessed.
In less than an hour Brace had fed his prisoner and verified that the man she sought had checked out of the hotel, and was even now leaving town. A muscular fellow, tall and broad of shoulder, he stood in the doorway of the livery stable. Beside him was a child, a boy of about seven, Brace decided. Dark haired and slender almost to the point of being skinny, the boy shifted restlessly beside his father, and Brace could not help but stroll to where Lester Clark waited impatiently for his mount to be saddled.
“Mornin’, stranger,” Brace said mildly. “Anything I can help you with?”
A dark glance from beneath lowered brows was his reply, and then as if he’d caught sight of Brace’s badge, the man shook his head. “Just trying to get an early start. Once I get my horse I’ll be out of your way.”
“You headin’ west?” Brace asked. “The road is a pretty straight shot from here, but you’ll run into some rough spots. We’re kinda isolated here.”
“I’ll make it,” the man answered, his speech clipped and concise.
“Pa?” The boy looked at his father appealingly. “You said we was gonna look for Aunt Sarah. Is this where she is?”
The glare was a demand for silence and the boy appeared to shrivel before Brace’s eyes as he bent his head and considered the dirt at his feet. “I just wondered,” the child murmured, and was delivered a sound, open-handed