Carson Tate.
He glared hard at her, then recognition registered in his features—but not pleasure at seeing her.
“You’re Willard’s niece,” he said. “I saw you this morning at the train station, then in the store.”
Oh, fabulous, Marlee thought. The two times she’d looked her worst—and he remembered them both.
He introduced himself, then frowned again.
“I know you’re new here,” he said, “but you shouldn’t be out on the street alone at this time of night. And don’t pretend you have a gun, when you don’t.”
“But I do,” she insisted.
A little snicker slipped from his lips and he yanked her handbag from her grasp. His grin froze as he held it, feeling its heft.
“What the hell?” he muttered. Carson reached inside and pulled out a Derringer pistol. “You’ve got a gun in here,” he declared.
“I told you I did,” she said.
“You’ve got a gun,” he repeated, more outraged this time. “What are you doing with a gun in your handbag? It’s dangerous. You might shoot somebody.”
“That was the plan,” she informed him.
“Is this thing loaded?” he demanded, and opened the chamber. “Empty. Did you really think you could scare somebody away with this thing?”
“Well, it hasn’t worked so far,” she admitted.
“Do you even know how to use this?” he asked.
Quincy, Mrs. Montgomery’s butler, had asked her the same question when he’d learned of her trip to Texas and offered the little gun.
“You just point it and pull the trigger.” It was the same answer she’d given Quincy. Carson didn’t seem as satisfied as the old butler had been.
“There’s a lot more to it than that,” he told her, and his tone lightened a little. “And it helps if you put the bullets in.”
Carson dropped the pistol into the pocket of his coat.
“It’s really not a good idea for you to be out here by yourself at night,” he said, then cupped her elbow and urged her through the alley.
Heat rushed up Marlee’s arm. Even through the fabric of her cloak she could feel the strength in his hand, his fingers. They walked to the rear entrance of the general store. Carson lingered near the door but didn’t open it. Instead he eased closer to Marlee.
A strange heat, deeper than would be expected on a cold winter’s night, wafted from him and, somehow, penetrated her cloak. It drew her nearer.
Carson leaned down and touched his lips to hers. She gasped but he didn’t stop and she couldn’t find the strength to pull away. His arms encircled her. She stood in his embrace, lost in his kiss.
He stepped back. Cold air rushed between them, bringing her back to reality. She hurried into the kitchen and closed the door behind her.
He’d kissed her—and he’d stolen her gun.
Marlee worked alongside Audrey and Becky the next morning, washing the breakfast dishes. She struggled to keep up with their well-practiced routine, but her cousins didn’t seem to notice. They chatted about most everything, but Marlee couldn’t keep her mind on the conversation as the events of last night played over and over in her mind.
When she’d awakened this morning, she’d wondered if she’d dreamed the whole thing—meeting Carson in the alley, the warmth he gave off, the kiss he’d given her. She’d never been kissed before, really kissed. It had all seemed like a fairy tale—until she looked in her handbag and saw that her pistol was gone.
Marlee picked up the cups Audrey had dried and took them to the cupboard.
She had to get her gun back. It belonged to Quincy, and he’d only loaned it to her for the trip. He’d expect it back when she returned in January. For a moment she considered reporting it to the sheriff, but then she’d have to explain why she was in the alley alone late at night, and eventually her account of the incident might lead to the kiss.
Oh, that kiss.
A wave of warmth rushed through Marlee at the memory. She grabbed a dry plate and rushed to the cupboard, sure her cheeks had flushed pink.
The nerve of that Carson Tate, she thought. He’d put her in a difficult position. Now she had to find him and demand her gun back. Only—
What if he kissed her again?
Memories of last night whipped through Marlee again, warming her cheeks anew. What if he tried to kiss her? Should she let him? She hadn’t exactly put up a struggle last night. Maybe that meant—
“Marlee? Marlee!” Becky shouted.
She spun and found her cousins by the back door putting on their cloaks and bonnets. They looked as if they’d both called her name several times.
“We can’t be late for the meeting,” Becky said.
Marlee didn’t dare ask questions, given that she suspected Becky had explained everything earlier when her thoughts had been occupied with Carson.
“We’ll stop by Flora’s place first,” Audrey said.
Marlee hung her apron on the peg, and grabbed her bonnet and cloak as she hurried out the door after them.
Flora’s Bake Shop smelled of cinnamon and vanilla and made Marlee’s mouth water as she walked through the door with her cousins. The display cases held cookies, cakes and pies.
“Everything’s ready,” called the young woman behind the counter. She was several years older than Marlee, with dark hair and wearing a blue dress and a crisp white apron. She placed a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string on the counter, then paused. “Oh, you must be Marlee. Welcome.”
“This is Lucy Hubbard,” Audrey said, taking the package and leaving coins on the counter. “She’s the best baker Flora has ever had in her shop.”
Lucy managed a tired smile. “I’m certainly the busiest.”
“Flora’s been in Papa’s store twice this week, stocking up on sugar,” Becky said. “She doesn’t want to run out, with the festival coming.”
“All the merchants in Harmony have their hopes pinned on Christmas this year,” Lucy agreed. “Hope it goes well this morning. Give my best of Mrs. Tuttle.”
Marlee and her cousins headed west through town. They’d gone no more than three steps when Becky reached for the package her sister held.
Audrey yanked it away. “These cookies are for the ladies. We can’t eat them. Mrs. Tuttle will smell it on your breath and you’ll never hear the end of it.”
“She’s the mayor’s wife,” Becky explained. “The festival was her idea.”
“Mayor Tuttle wasn’t excited about the idea,” Audrey said. “Nothing much excites the mayor.”
“Can you blame him? Being married to Mrs. Tuttle?” Becky blurted out.
Audrey and Marlee both gasped, then all of them broke into laughter.
Main Street was moderately busy this morning with shopkeepers sweeping the boardwalk and arranging crates and barrels of merchandise just outside their doors. Marlee was surprised to see that Harmony had so much commerce. She spotted a dress shop, a millinery store, two more mercantiles and several restaurants. The Bank of Harmony occupied a large space across the street, and beside it stood a building with Tate Enterprises written in gold letters on the front window.
Marlee’s breath caught. That must be Carson’s office. Was he inside now? Working? Or, perhaps, thinking of their kiss?