The Unlikely Groom. Wendy Douglas

on noon.”

      “Noon!”

      Her eyelids popped open and she stared between Lucas and the window. He didn’t seem to notice; he’d glanced down to replace his watch in the small pocket of his vest. When he looked up again, his smile appeared all too smug and he leaned his shoulder against the wall.

      How could he appear casual and relaxed and dangerous all at once?

      “What’s the matter, darlin’?” he asked. “Are you feeling a bit worse for the wear?”

      Dear Lord. Noon. She had never slept so late.

      She looked away, unable to hold his gaze, and stared down at the woolen cape in her lap. Somehow she’d managed to wad it into a wrinkled ball that seemed to represent the shambles of her entire life. Shame sent the blood racing up her neck to her face and her cheeks burned with fire.

      “I—I have to go!”

      Ashlynne tore at her cloak, shoved it from her legs and onto the floor. She stood, stumbling in her haste, and only then did she slow down. Careful, she reminded herself sharply. Now wasn’t the time to show Lucas how flustered she really was.

      She took a deep breath and did her best to ignore the renewed pounding in her head. Gingerly she controlled her movements as she brushed the wrinkles from her skirt and adjusted her waistband. Her blouse would simply have to remain somewhat untucked, her bodice wrinkled, but she smoothed loose wisps of hair away from her face.

      Finally, when she could avoid it no longer, she leveled a steady glare at Lucas. He stared back, just as she’d known he would.

      “Thank you for…” She paused, struggling with how best to phrase her appreciation and yet conceal the confusion and fear that wrangled for dominance within her. “Helping me last night,” she finished, knowing the words were inadequate but without anything better. “I don’t know how I would have managed otherwise.”

      “Where do you think you’re going?”

      “To find the sheriff and Reverend Dickey.” She didn’t mind when her tone came out a bit sulky. Lucas needn’t make such autocratic demands; it was none of his business where she went and what she did.

      But…he had been good enough to help her last night and she would always appreciate that. “Can you tell me where the sheriff’s office is located?” she asked in a more conciliatory tone.

      “We don’t have a sheriff.”

      “Well, there must be some law enforcement here.”

      “Deputy Marshal Taylor. But you don’t want to go to him.”

      “Of course I do!” Ashlynne pulled herself up to stand as tall and imposing as she could. Even at that, she was hardly a match for Lucas’s size and she knew it. She conjured up a deep scowl to help with the illusion of strength. “I didn’t see him last night and I have a number of questions—not the least of which is if he has any idea who murdered my brother!”

      “You won’t get answers from Taylor.”

      “Surely he must have begun to investigate the—” she paused, swallowing the sudden lump at the back of her throat “—shooting by now. He must know something, and he won’t know where to find me.”

      “You don’t want to see Taylor,” said Lucas again, his tone growing more insistent. He straightened from his casual pose and offered an answering scowl. “He won’t tell you anything. If you know what’s good for you, Ashlynne, you’ll just forget it.”

      “Forget it?” Ashlynne’s voice rose in octave and strength. “How can you suggest such a thing? I would never do something like that! Ian was my only brother, the last family I had left. I have no intention of forgetting what happened to him. I mean to make certain that justice is served, and I’m sure that Deputy Taylor feels the same way.”

      “Don’t be naive.”

      “Naive? I only expect the law to do its job.”

      “Listen, Ashlynne.” Lucas started in her direction, then he stopped and shook his head. “Deputy Taylor doesn’t give one good goddamn about the law. Or you. He’s Soapy’s man, and if you don’t want to end up like your brother, you’ll leave it alone.”

      “Soapy’s man? What are you talking about?”

      “Rumor has it that your brother got himself involved in a card game with one of Soapy Smith’s henchmen. It might have been crooked—hell, it probably was crooked. Doesn’t matter. Ian accused the man of cheating and you know what happened after that. Whichever of Soapy’s men it was, he’s long gone. And even if the shooter comes back to town, it won’t matter. Soapy’s word is law around here, and nobody’s going to take up for a cheechako they can’t remember.”

      Undisguised fury fired her blood. “I remember him.”

      “Fine.” He answered in a tone angry enough to match hers. “Remember him. Build a shrine to him. Do anything else you want. But for God’s sake, leave the law out of it. You’ll only draw Taylor’s—and Soapy’s—attention to yourself. And that’s the last thing you want to do.”