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Justin’s Bride

Susan Mallery

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE
Landing, Kansas—1878

Justin Kincaid was back.

Between the rustling petticoats of the ladies looking at the current issue of Godey’s and the rattling of nails being weighed on their scale in the back corner, Megan Bartlett heard talk in her general store. The nearby farmers, in town to buy their spring supplies, mentioned the news to one another. The old-timers said it couldn’t be the same boy. He wouldn’t dare show his face back in Landing after what had happened to him. The newer settlers wanted to know what exactly this Justin Kincaid was supposed to have done. Vague talk about boyhood pranks and no one’s ever having seen his father made them shrug. The town needed a sheriff, they said. If this Kincaid fellow could protect them and keep peace, they didn’t much care about his past.

The women, clustering by the bolts of fabric and the new shipment of fashion books, whispered that he’d been as handsome as sin.

“And sin makes its own kind of trouble,” Widow Dobson said, shaking her head as she walked away from the group of women toward the front of the store and her small table and dresser that served as the United States Post Office. She maneuvered her considerable bulk around the furniture and plopped down in her chair.

Megan looked up from the inventory papers in front of her. The first big shipment from the East had arrived. Spring was always a busy time. Settlers and farmers came into town more often. They needed seed and new tools, clothes and whatever supplies they’d run out of during the cold Kansas winter.

“Who’s making trouble?” Megan asked, even though she knew the answer. Like everyone else, she wanted to talk about Justin. Had he really come back? Did he remember her? She shook her head. She was being silly. Of course he remembered. How could he have forgotten the way they’d parted seven years ago? Megan drew in a deep breath. Who could have known he would come back?

Mrs. Dobson stopped counting her small inventory of stamps and raised her head. She tugged at the bodice of her jet black gown. Ten years after Farmer Dobson’s passing, she still wore mourning. From her perky feather hat set at an angle, clear down to her shoes, she wore black. Privately, Megan thought it was because the buxom widow, with her fading red hair, knew she looked especially striking in that color.

“Those women.” The widow jerked her head toward the small group clustered at the far counter. “They’re jawing on about Justin Kincaid. Saying he’s handsome. Well, the boy was always more handsome than a body had a right to be, but he was always trouble, too. That kind never wants for female attention.”

Megan set down the papers she’d been examining and smoothed her suddenly damp hands over her full skirt. “Maybe he’s changed.”

Widow Dobson turned in her chair. Her bright green eyes narrowed as she looked across the dresser, pinning Megan with her stare. “You weren’t one of those harebrained misses who was sweet on that Kincaid boy, were you?”

Megan raised her chin and met the other woman’s gaze. Her light laugh sounded confident, even to her own ears. “Did you ever once see me with him? Can you imagine him coming courting at my house?”

The older woman leaned back in her chair and smiled. “Of course not, Megan. You always were the right kind of girl. Respectable.” She turned to her stamps. “Not that I would have blamed you for noticing him. Hard not to. And he wasn’t all bad. I’m willing to admit that. Still, he’s going to be trouble. You mark my words.”

Megan gathered her papers together and escaped to the back of the store. Behind the calico curtain was a short hallway. To the left was the large room holding her inventory. To the right, a tiny cubbyhole that served as her office. She closed the door behind her and leaned against the desk.

Like the rest of the store, this small space was clean and tidy, with everything in its proper place. Even as she struggled to still her pounding heart, Megan placed the inventory papers in the right pile on her desk, and slipped around her chair to the little table in the corner. After pouring some water from the pitcher into the basin, she rolled up her cuffs and washed her face.

It didn’t help. The oval mirror above the basin showed her that the flush she’d felt on her cheeks was still visible. Her eyes glowed, although whether from panic or excitement, she couldn’t say. Her mouth quivered. She touched her finger to her lips but couldn’t still the trembling.

Justin Kincaid had come back.

Maybe it wasn’t him, she thought as she refastened her cuffs. It could well be another Justin Kincaid. Both names were common enough. She’d met a family of Kincaids two springs ago when a wagon train had camped close to Landing. She’d asked a couple of the women settlers, but they’d never heard of Justin.

She smoothed her hair, then made her way back into her store. Andrew, her assistant, was wrapping up a purchase of bleached muslin for one of the young women in town. No doubt she would be making a pretty dress for the Fourth of July dance. The celebration was months away, but people started preparing well in advance. Thinking about that dance didn’t ease her mind nor make her forget Justin. In fact, it made her think of other dances when she’d been held by proper young men but had watched Justin out of the corner of her eye. He’d danced with almost everyone but her. He’d made those girls laugh with his easy humor and flirtatious winks.

Once, at one of the dances, on a magical night filled with stars, he’d found her out walking through a grove of trees. No one had been around, although they could still hear the music of the fiddler. Without saying a word, Justin had taken her into his arms. He’d pulled her closer than the other boys did. Close enough that she’d felt the heat of his body, his warm breath on her face. Close enough that her heart had pounded harder in her chest. They’d danced for what felt like a lifetime, circling, staring into each other’s eyes. His fingers had burned into her back. For a moment, while they’d waited between songs, his head had dipped low and he’d brushed his mouth against her cheek. Then he’d looked at her and—

“Oh, Megan,” she heard someone say. “I need to order a few yards of silk.”

Megan blinked several times and found herself standing in her general store. The woman in front of her went on about her daughter’s upcoming wedding and the need for the young woman to have something pretty to wear her first night married.

Megan flushed. She’d never had a wedding night. Had never had a wedding. At twenty-four, she was an old maid. And a businesswoman, she reminded herself as she hurried forward to help the customer. So what if Justin had come back? She didn’t care. She didn’t have time to care. But as she continued to work that afternoon, she could hear the faint sounds of the fiddle from that long-ago night and her cheek tingled with the soft echo of Justin’s kiss.

* * *

By three-thirty, Megan couldn’t stand it anymore. If one more person came into the store and asked if it was true that Justin Kincaid had come back, she was going to scream. Everyone wanted to talk about the possibility, but no one was willing to find out the truth.

Widow Dobson talked on and on about what a mistake it was going to be, and how someone born to trouble usually died from trouble. Even if it wasn’t his fault.

“You mark my words,” the older woman said for at least the fortieth time that day. “It’s easy to hope a boy like that will turn out right. But a body never knows for sure. I can just see—”

Not willing to listen to the widow for one more minute, Megan marched to the rear of the store and slipped behind the curtain. In her tiny office, she picked up her hat and set it on her head. She paused in front of the oval mirror long enough to make sure the hat was straight and that no stray hairs had escaped from her morning coiffure, then she picked up her cloak and drew it over her shoulders. After closing the fasteners at her throat, she reached for her gloves and reticule, and headed back into the store.

“Andrew, watch things for me, please,” she called as she sailed down the center aisle.

“Where are you going?” the widow asked.

Megan paused by the door and pulled on her gloves. “To find out the truth.”

The older woman gasped. “You mean—”

“I’m going to the sheriff’s office.”

“But you can’t. My dear girl, if it is him, well, he’s one of those kind of men. What will people think?”

The question made her hesitate. Megan knew the power of what other people thought. She lived her life by what other people would or would not think of her actions. Between her late father’s rules and having a minister for a brother-in-law, she always had to think about other people’s opinions.

But she also had to know. She would go mad if she didn’t find out the truth. If it wasn’t the Justin Kincaid she knew, then she would simply introduce herself and come back. And if it was him...well, she would figure that out when she saw him.

“It’s the middle of the day,” she said, and opened the door. “The sheriff’s office is a place of business. It’s not as if I’m going to a man’s hotel room, Mrs. Dobson. Why would anyone say anything?”

Before she lost the little courage she had, she stepped out into the afternoon and turned right.

Her ankle-high buttoned shoes clicked on the wooden planking in front of her store. The boardwalk continued to the stage office, then came to an abrupt end ten feet from the butcher shop. From there it was a wide river of mud until the planking started again in front of the sheriff’s office.

Spring was almost here, she thought as she took a firm grip on her skirts and pulled them up several inches. She eyed the moist muck, planning out her path to avoid the worst of the puddles and a still-steaming pile of manure left by the stagecoach horses. With a quick prayer for the state of her shoes, she stepped daintily across to the planking several feet away.

A couple of farmers nodded as she passed them. A lady she knew said hello. Megan smiled and kept on moving, hoping no one would ask where she was off to.

When she reached the safety of the wooden sidewalk, she stamped her feet to get rid of the loose mud, then dropped her skirts to the ground. Her heart thundered loudly. She raised her chin slightly, trying to ignore the fear that fueled the pounding in her chest and made her palms damp against the kid leather of her gloves.

She approached the one-story wooden building. Two windows flanked the door. They hadn’t been washed in weeks, so she couldn’t just peek inside and find out if the man in question was the Justin Kincaid she had known. Besides, she scolded herself, it wasn’t seemly for her to go around spying on others. She would simply open the door and step inside, as any good citizen could. She would see for herself, then leave.

“Afternoon, Megan.”

She spun toward the voice. Mrs. Greeley, the butcher’s wife, strolled by her.

“Good afternoon.” Megan almost choked on the words. She’d forgotten that guilt made her throat dry. “Fine weather we’re having.”

The older woman hiked up her skirts to almost her knees and waded through the mud. “If you don’t mind a little mess,” she called over her shoulder.

Megan stared at the front door. Indecision gripped her. Oh, just get it over with, she told herself firmly. She had to do it now before someone else she knew came along. What was the worst that could happen?

She gripped the door handle and turned it. The door swung open silently, and she stepped inside. Until that moment, Megan hadn’t realized she’d never been inside the sheriff’s office before. She’d had no reason to come here. She’d never sworn out a warrant against another or been accused of a crime. Her father had conducted his business with the sheriff in the small office in the back of the general store.

Standing by the door, she slowly studied the room. The walls hadn’t been papered. Posters of wanted men hung on the bare wood. Dappled sunshine highlighted the floor scarred by boot heels, spurs and tobacco burns. Three desks, two smaller ones on each side and a larger one in the center of the room, took up most of the space. There were two doors leading into the back. Both of them were closed. Except for the furniture and herself, the room was empty.

She stepped inside and breathed a sigh of relief. There was no one to witness her potential humiliation at the hands of Justin Kincaid. Of course, there wasn’t any Justin Kincaid, either.

She moved closer to the large desk. A box sat on top. The cover had been pushed aside and she could see pencils and papers, along with a pair of handcuffs. She saw the edge of a pocketknife at the bottom of the box. Initials had been carved into the side, but she couldn’t read them. She didn’t have to. Justin had always put his initials on his pocketknife. No doubt the JK carved on this knife would match the one she kept in the bottom drawer of her jewelry box.

It was him. He’d come back.

“This is a surprise.”

She jumped when she heard the man’s voice, and her head jerked up. He stood by the back door, beyond the afternoon light filtering through the windows behind her. She had trouble making out his individual features. Even so, she knew the man. She recognized the broadness of his shoulders, the tilt of his head and the easy grace of his stride.

As he walked toward her, he moved in and out of the shadows. For a second, his face was clear to her, then hidden, then clear again. She hadn’t realized she was backing up until the desk was between them. It should have made her feel safer, but it didn’t. She took one more step to the side and the sun illuminated him fully. She wished she’d left him in shade.

His hair was as dark as she remembered, and as long as ever. The dark brown layered lengths reached to the bottom of his white shirt collar. Equally dark eyes flickered over her face and body with all the impersonal appraisal of a horse buyer inspecting a brood mare. But she was too intent on her own study to take much offense. The lines by his eyes had deepened. Was it from the weather or had he had reason to laugh and smile these last seven years? The hollows of his cheeks made his mouth look fuller than she remembered. His square chin and angular jaw were still thrust forward in stubborn defiance. She’d told him that once. He’d asked what other kind of defiance was there.

She’d laughed then, and he’d joined in. Their laughter had led to kisses, and then he’d touched her waist. His hand had slipped higher and—

“So. You’ve come to welcome me back,” he said, taking the straight-backed chair in his hands. He turned it neatly and straddled the seat, folding his arms along the top of the back. “I’m honored. Is it me, or do you welcome all newcomers to town?”

She stared, not quite able to believe that he’d actually taken a seat without offering her one. She shook her head. Why was she shocked? He was behaving exactly like the Justin she remembered.

“Come now, Megan, are you here simply to stare at me? Has it been that long since the carnival came through town? I don’t remember your being this quiet.”

She gave him her best glare. “Welcome back, Justin. No, thank you for the kind offer of a chair, but I prefer to stand.”

He raised his dark eyebrows. “Oh, a temper. I don’t remember that, either. Did you want me to get you a seat? You’ll have to forgive me. Being the town bastard, I tend to forget my manners.”

She flinched as if he’d struck her. Before she could gather herself together enough to think about leaving, he rose to his feet and grabbed a chair from behind the desk on his right. He carried it over and placed it next to her.

“Please.” He motioned to the chair, giving her a mocking half bow.

They stood close, now. Close enough for her to see the pure color of his eyes. No flecks of gold or green marred the deep brown irises. She’d never been able to see what he was thinking, and today was no exception. She was close enough to count the individual whiskers on his cheeks. Close enough to study the scar on his chin. Her fingers curled tightly against her palms as she remembered what it was like to touch that chin. The contrast of textures. The rasp of the stubble, the hard line of the scar, then the damp heat of his lower lip.

His scent surrounded her. The fragrance of his body, a unique blend of man and temptation, filled her lungs and made her knees tremble. It had been so long, she thought as she swayed toward him. So very long. His eyes locked on hers. She felt her fear fade as a fiery weakness invaded her. Her breath caught in her throat and she exhaled his name.

“Sit down, Megan,” he growled, holding the chair in one hand and pushing her shoulder with the other. “Sit down and tell me what the hell you’re doing in my office.”

His anger completed the job his nearness had already begun. Her knees gave way and she sank onto the seat.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Embarrassment flooded her, making her duck her head in shame. How could she have reacted to him that way? She stared at her hands, twisting them together on her lap.

She didn’t hear him move, but when she finally gathered the courage to look up, he was back behind his desk, straddling his chair. Nothing in his expression gave away his feelings, but his anger lingered in the room. She could smell it when she breathed.

“This was a mistake,” she said. “I should never have come here.”

“Why did you?” he asked and folded his arms on the back of the chair.

He wore a black vest over a white shirt. Convention required that all the buttons be fastened, even on the warmest of days. There was still a bite of winter in the air, but Justin wore his shirt open at his throat. She could see the hollow there, his tanned skin and the hint of the dark hairs on his chest. Once, when they’d sat on the edge of the creek on a summer night, once, when she’d sipped from his flask and felt the heat in her belly and the languor in her limbs, she’d kissed that spot. She’d tasted his skin and felt his heat. Once, he’d moaned in her arms.

Foolish memories best forgotten, she told herself. He was angry at her. She couldn’t blame him, of course. He had every right to be angry, more than angry. He should hate her.

“I came to find out if you were really back.” Megan reached up and unfastened her cloak. It slid off her shoulders and onto the chair back. “And you are.”

His gaze narrowed. “Don’t play your games with me, Megan. You could have asked any number of people if I was back,” he said. “Why are you here? What do you want from me?”

“Oh, I couldn’t have asked about you. People would have wanted to know why. I couldn’t have them think—”

She bit back the rest of her sentence, but it was too late. For the second time, he rose from his seat. He didn’t bother concealing his anger. It flared out from him, tightening the line of his jaw and pulling his mouth into a straight line. His arms hung loosely at his sides, but his hands were balled into fists. She shrank back as he approached.

“What couldn’t you have them think?” he asked. He came to a stop in front of the desk.

“I—I didn’t mean to say that, exactly.”

“What did you mean? Exactly.”

She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t bear to see the censure in his eyes. He did hate her. She saw it as clearly as she saw the man before her.

She buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry for all the things I said.”

“But not for what you did.”

He spoke so softly that at first she thought she’d imagined the words. She looked up. He sat on the corner of the desk in front of her.

“You’re sorry you called me the town bastard, but you’re not sorry you didn’t come with me.”

He said the words flatly, as if they had no meaning. She searched his eyes, hoping for a clue to his feelings. Nothing. The brown depths offered nothing except tiny twin reflections of herself.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” she said, hoping her apology would be enough.

“Oh, no, Megan. It’s not that simple.” He moved quickly, stepping in front of her and crouching down. He stared at her face. “It’s the words you used that bother you. Not the deed.”

“Stop it,” she commanded, but her voice was weak, and she had no power to make him stop. She couldn’t even escape. She would have to push him away. To do that would require her touching him, and as surely as she knew her name, she knew if she touched him, all would be lost. “What do you want from me?”

“The truth, Megan. For once in your sorry life, tell me the truth. I’ll accept that instead of your apology.”

Now her temper flared, quarreling with the confusion inside of her. She didn’t know this angry stranger. He wasn’t the Justin Kincaid she remembered from her childhood, or the young man who had made her fall in love with him seven summers ago. He was hard and frightening, mocking and cold. She wanted to run away and forget she’d ever been here. She wanted to forget the heat of his stare and the scent of his body and the way his hands reached for hers, holding them tight.

“The truth,” he growled. “Say it.”

His fingers squeezed hers. His hands had always been hard from his long hours working in the livery stable. Time hadn’t changed that. He pressed until her fingers dug into her own palms. The sharp pain shocked her into action. She jerked free of his touch and sprang to her feet. Stalking across the room, she drew in deep cleansing breaths.

“Yes,” she said loudly, turning to face him. “Yes, I’m sorry I said those things, but I’m not sorry I stayed here. I’m not sorry I didn’t go with you.”

He stood and smiled at her. There was no humor or kindness in the curve of his lips or the flash of his white teeth. She felt chilled and folded her arms over her chest.

“Are you satisfied?” she asked.

His smiled faded. He returned to his seat. “No,” he said without looking at her. “But you told me the truth. At last. Does your husband know about your habit of avoiding the unpleasant?”

“Husband?” Oh, Lord, he thought she was married. Megan was glad her gloves hid her bare left hand from him. Married. When he found out she wasn’t, was he going to assume she’d waited for him? Oh, he couldn’t. She hadn’t, of course. There were plenty of reasons she hadn’t married, and none of them had anything to do with Justin Kincaid.

“I don’t avoid the unpleasant,” she said, staying well away from him. “What about your wife? Does she know you accost strange women in your office?”

This time his smile was genuine. She’d forgotten about the dimple in his left cheek, and the way his eyes crinkled when he was amused. Against her will, her own lips turned up at the corners. Justin had always had the ability to charm her, no matter how hard she tried to hold on to her anger, or her sensibilities.

“You were hardly accosted, Megan.”

“You know what I mean.” Cautiously, she approached the chair he’d given her. She sank onto the edge of the seat, prepared to spring up at the least provocation.

“No, she doesn’t know I accost women in my office.”

His words shouldn’t have surprised her, but she felt as punctured as a pincushion. Who would have thought he had married? She recalled her worries of that morning. How she’d wondered what she would do when she came face-to-face with him. She’d been torn between hoping he would remember what had gone on between them, and fearing that he would want to continue the relationship. Now there was no question of that. Married.

“Who is she?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t notice that her smile had faded.

He folded his arms over the chair back. “Who?”

“Your wife.”

He gave her a lazy wink. “What wife?”

She sighed. “Justin, even you cannot treat your wife with such disrespect. Who is the woman you married?”

She could see his humor fade, and with it the man that she remembered. The cold, angry stranger returned. “You mean, even the town bastard should know how to treat a lady? What makes you think I married a lady?”

“Your time away has taught you a quickness I cannot match.” She picked up her cloak and drew it over her shoulders. “I apologize for any insult I may have spoken. It was, I assure you, unintentional. I wish you and your good wife well.”

“There is no wife, Megan. A widow woman tempted me once, but I managed to escape.”

Her anger was gone, battered by his overwhelming presence. She wasn’t afraid, what with half a room and his desk between them. Her knees still trembled from his handsomeness, but she would be able to overcome that weakness. Which left only confusion. Why did he toy with her? Was this his punishment for her actions seven years ago?

No. If he sought punishment, that would mean he still cared for her. It couldn’t be true. Even if it was, nothing had changed. He was still Justin Kincaid and she was—

The door flew open. “Megan Bartlett, what on earth are you doing here with that...that man?”

Her sister, Colleen, swept into the room with all the fiery determination of an angel entering the devil’s domain. Megan wanted to crawl under the desk but there wasn’t time. Or room, she thought practically, knowing she would never be able to slip past Justin, even if Colleen hadn’t seen her.

“Ah, Miss Bartlett,” Justin said, approaching her and smiling. “How good to see you again.”

“It’s Mrs. Estes, sir. What do you think you’re doing here with my sister?”

“Why we were just...talking.”

Megan groaned and sank lower into her chair. There had been enough of a pause between the words just and talking to give Colleen reason for concern. When combined with Justin’s suggestive smile and the wink he shot her, she knew her fate was sealed. Colleen would lecture her for the next three weeks. Megan had always regretted being the sister-in-law to the town minister, but never more than right now.

Just when Megan was telling herself it couldn’t get any worse, Justin reached for Colleen’s gloved hand and brought it to his mouth. Before the woman could snatch her hand back, he kissed it. Colleen squealed.

“Unhand me, sir. Do you know who I am? Megan, tell this...this creature who I am.”

Megan looked up at him. Behind the mocking facade, behind the quick smile and easy charm lurked anger. She saw it in the stiffness of his body and the lines around his mouth. Like a wolf sunning himself on a warm day, Justin would revert back to the wild at any moment. No one would be given any warning, least of all her.

Justin Kincaid was back in town. The tingling in her fingertips told her nothing was ever going to be the same again.

CHAPTER TWO

Justin glanced from Megan to her sister and back. There was a time when the Bartlett girls had looked so much alike strangers had trouble telling them apart. Time had changed that. Colleen had grown matronly. Her once-pretty smiling face seemed pinched, her expression sour, as if the fragrance of life was more than she cared to smell.

As for Megan, she’d grown more beautiful. Justin should hate her for it. Instead, he hated himself for giving a damn. Why couldn’t she have become old and ugly in the seven years he’d been gone? Or at the very least, why couldn’t she have married and moved away?

He looked at her and caught her staring at him. With his left eye, he gave her a wink.

She flushed and bit her lower lip.

He knew Megan was wondering if he’d caught her sister’s salutation. He saw it in the panicked expression in her eyes. She was hoping he hadn’t noticed Colleen had called her Megan Bartlett, instead of by another man’s name. He’d noticed. She hadn’t married while he’d been gone. He moved his gaze down to her full bosom, then back to her heart-shaped face. It wasn’t her looks that had kept the suitors away. He remembered the taste of her mouth and the passion she hadn’t been able to control. That wouldn’t have contributed to her unmarried state, either. Seven years ago she hadn’t known exactly what went on between a man and a woman but she’d been eager to experience as much as convention allowed an unmarried couple. She’d even been willing to experience a little more, he remembered, then cursed the heat that flowed to his loins. So why hadn’t she married?

“I say, do you know who I am?” Colleen demanded a second time.

Justin had grown bored with the game. He walked back to his desk, turned the chair around and sat in it. He moved the box to one side and picked up a sheet of paper.

“I remember everything about you, Colleen, including the Sunday you went running out of church so fast that you didn’t see the pile of horse manure right below the steps. You slipped and got green muck all over your dress. You cried because you smelled, and no one would sit next to you.”

Colleen flushed an unbecoming shade of red. From the corner of his eye, he saw Megan’s shocked look. Justin sighed. Maybe he had gone too far with the story, but he didn’t care. Colleen had been younger than most of the other children Justin had gone to school with, but her tender years hadn’t gentled her spirit. He recalled how, during recess, she’d stood with the older children and taunted him. At five, when her soft voice had still lisped like a baby’s, she’d sung the singsongy school yard refrain of “Justin is a bastard.” Megan had been one of the few who hadn’t joined in. She’d turned away from the taunting children.

The mocking song had continued until he was strong enough to beat up any boy too dumb to shut his mouth and until he’d become good-looking enough to distract the girls. But he’d never forgotten.

Colleen tugged at her cloak and approached his desk. Rage radiated from her. He wasn’t impressed, although Megan seemed bothered by her.

“My husband is an influential man in this town,” Colleen said.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Justin leaned back in his chair and smiled.

“You’ll never be sheriff here, Justin Kincaid. I’ll see to that.” She pointed at the box on his desk. “Don’t bother unpacking. You’ll be gone before sundown.” She turned to glare at Megan. “I’m glad Papa’s dead and not here to see you shame the family this way.”

With that, Colleen spun on her heel and marched out of the room. Justin stared after her. When he’d first seen Landing on his return to town, he’d realized there had been a lot of changes in the time he’d been gone. New buildings had sprung up along Main Street. Most of the people he’d seen were strangers to him. But he counted on some things to be the same. He’d expected trouble and had assumed old man Bartlett would still be around to give him hell. He’d spent his whole life trying to hate that man, but found he couldn’t even dislike him. The man was Megan’s father. Justin knew that if he had a daughter like her, he wouldn’t have wanted a boy like him around her, either. He’d always understood Mr. Bartlett’s feelings, even though he’d never let on.

“I’m sorry about your father,” he said. “I didn’t know he was gone.”

Megan looked surprised. “Thank you,” she said cautiously, as if she wondered if he was going to say something else. “He passed on about five years ago.”

“Who runs the store? Colleen and her husband?”

Megan laughed. The sound hit him square in the chest, like an unexpected blow. Her laughter always made him think of summer. He didn’t know why, but even now he pictured the two of them on the banks of that stream east of town. Her blond hair streaming around her shoulders, her hazel eyes gazing up at him in adoration. He shook his head to banish the memory. He had no time or interest in the past and if he remembered anything, he would do better to recall their last hour together before he left town. That would be enough to cure any man of dreams.

“Colleen married a minister.” She leaned forward in her seat and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Mr. Estes. I think he was here before you left. He’s a few inches taller than you, but he has no hair.” She giggled. “He did have hair then, I think. Or parts of it.”

Justin smiled in return. “A minister? Figures. I’m surprised you didn’t marry one, yourself. Megan Bartlett.”

She swallowed. The blush climbed rapidly from the collar of her dark blue dress up her pale throat to her cheeks. Unlike the flush of rage that had made Colleen look harder, this pink hue made Megan more beautiful. He studied her mouth. It was uneven, with the bottom lip fuller than the top. He’d teased by telling her that it made her look as if she was always pouting. When she’d become self-conscious, he’d whispered all the things her pout made him think about doing with her.

Stop! he commanded himself. He couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t keep going into the past and finding the good memories. He had to hold on to his anger until he could come to grips with seeing Megan again.

“I never said I was married,” she said, smoothing her hands over her full skirt. “You assumed.”

“So neither of us married.”

“I didn’t wait for you,” she said hastily, as she raised her chin higher. “Don’t think I did.”

Her words brought another revelation. After all this time, Megan still had the power to hurt him. Of course she hadn’t waited. She’d made it very clear what she thought of him and his marriage proposal. He gripped his hands so tightly, he thought he would split the skin over his knuckles. He forced himself to relax. Eventually, he wouldn’t care anymore. Time away from Landing had taught him that.

“I never thought you waited for me,” he said mildly and rested one ankle on the opposite knee. “Until you mentioned it.”

“Justin.” Megan shook her head. “You haven’t changed at all.”

“Oh, but I have, sweet Megan. I’m a different man. Much more dangerous.”

“I suppose you’re right. There are parts of you that seem the same, but other things are different.” She studied him. He liked the way her gaze lingered on his face, focusing on his mouth. It was almost like being touched by her. The steady glance, the sudden panic as she realized she was staring. The careful looking away, only to have her eyes flicker back again and again.

“What has changed?” he asked, liking the way he flustered her. She might not have waited for him, but she hadn’t forgotten what they’d been to each other.

“You used to be nicer.”

He’d expected many comparisons but not that one. He threw back his head and laughed. “Nicer? I was never nice.”

“You were to me.”

His humor fled and with it his desire to continue this conversation. “Are you surprised? After what happened?”

“You’re still angry with me.”

He wanted to deny it, but what was the point? They both knew the truth. “Yes. I am still angry. It’s been seven years, and I figure I should have forgotten it by now, but I haven’t. If nothing else, Megan, you were supposed to be my friend.”

“I was.” But her actions then belied her words. She dropped her gaze to her lap, where her fingers twisted together nervously.

“Then why didn’t you believe me?” he asked.

“I wasn’t sure. Everyone said you did it.”

“I said I didn’t.”

She looked up at him. Sadness widened her eyes, darkening the hazel color to gray. “I know. Later, when I knew you were innocent, I didn’t know where you were. I wanted to write and tell you I was sorry.”

He stood, walked over to where she was sitting and held out his hand. She stared at his outstretched palm for several seconds, then placed her gloved fingers on his and let him help her rise.

She was tall for a woman, but the top of her head only came to his chin. She smelled of some forbidden flower. With her blond hair pulled away from her face, there was nothing to hide the pure beauty of her skin, the large almond-shaped eyes, or her trembling mouth. How many nights had he lain awake picturing this face, trying to forget...desperate to remember? How many times had he begged God to let him hear the words she’d just spoken? The statement of his innocence.

“It’s too late,” he said. “It doesn’t matter now.”

She blinked. “Oh, Justin, it has to matter. As you said, whatever happened, we were friends.”

“Not anymore.” He wouldn’t forgive her, couldn’t trust her. “You don’t want to be friends with me, Megan. I’m still the town bastard.”

“I’m sorry I said that. You frightened me that day. I didn’t know what to do.”

“You could have said you’d changed your mind.”

“I was afraid you would persuade me.” She bit her lower lip. “You always had the power to persuade me.”

Did he still? The thought tempted him. No, it didn’t matter. None of this mattered. He’d come back to Landing to make his peace with the town. To prove to them, and himself, that he was more than a troublemaker. When his year was up, he would move on and find a place to put down roots. Until then, he would stay as far away from Megan Bartlett as possible. She had always been his greatest weakness. Chances are, that hadn’t changed.

“Go home, Megan,” he said. “Go back to your respectable life. I’m not here to make trouble.”

“You’ve made it already, and you know it. Did you think that you could just come back here and be sheriff? Did you think people wouldn’t notice...or remember?”

“I’m counting on them remembering.”

Her delicate eyebrows drew together. He loved her frowns. They made him want to kiss away the lines in her forehead and hold her close until her worries faded. He drew back a step, putting more distance between them. He’d been right to want to avoid her. She was more trouble than he had ever been.

“Then why are you here?” she asked.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“I would.” She stepped closer, close enough for her to touch his arm. Even through her gloves, the brief contact seared though his shirt to his bare skin. Instantly, his body reacted to the heat as his blood flowed quicker. “Explain it to me.”

The fire of need ignited his anger. He jerked his arm loose and walked over to the desk. After picking up a single sheet of paper, he waved it at her. “This is all you have to know, Miss Bartlett. The town council of Landing has signed a contract with me. Unless I commit a criminal offense, I will be your sheriff for the next year. I don’t need your friendship, or anything else from you.”

“Fine.” She reached for her cloak and drew it over her shoulders. The heavy fabric swirled around her, brushing against his legs, taunting him like a too-brief caress. “Keep your secrets and your friendship. I’ll be sure to tell everyone you’re back in town and that you’ve only changed for the worse.”

“Why don’t you tell them the rest?” he asked, knowing he was pushing, trying to hurt her the way he’d been hurt. “Why don’t you tell them the real reason you’re so afraid?”

She picked up her reticule. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She started toward the door, but he moved quicker and slammed his hand against the wood, preventing her from leaving. “Tell them your dirty little secret. No one knows, do they? No one knows about our times by the stream.”

“Stop it.”

She reached for the door handle and pulled, but the door didn’t budge. He leaned against it and folded his arms over his chest.

“Tell them about how you liked my kisses, Megan. How you liked me touching you.”

“Justin, no.”

She raised her head to him. Tears glistened in her eyes. But the visual proof of her pain didn’t ease his anger. If anything, it made him want to her hurt her more.

“I was good enough to sneak around with, but not good enough to bring home to your father.”

“You don’t understand. You never understood.” She raised her hands in front of her, palms up. “There are things you don’t know. I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t tell anyone.”

“That’s you, Megan. You’ve always kept your dirty little secrets. Does anyone know you promised to marry me?”

She choked on a sob. “Let me g-go.” She pulled frantically at the door handle. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry you agreed to marry me, or sorry you threw it back in my face? Are you sorry you couldn’t marry the town bastard?”

He stepped back and she jerked the door open. She gave him one last glance. He saw the tears on her cheeks and the hurt in her eyes. Suddenly, his anger died, snuffed out by a wave of shame.

“I’m sorry you’re back,” she said and escaped onto the boardwalk. “That’s what you wanted to hear, isn’t it? You wanted me to be sorry. I am. I truly am.” With that, she slammed the door shut behind her.

He thought about going after her, then shook his head. It was too late. He made a fist and hit the wall beside the door. The sharp pain wasn’t enough to distract him. Megan was right. He wasn’t nice anymore. He sure as hell hadn’t been nice to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, staring out the window at her retreating back. She walked quickly, not greeting the people on the street. He saw her hand rise toward her face and wondered if she was wiping away the tears.

“Come back to Landing and set the past right,” he muttered. “You just made a hell of a start.”

He owed her an apology. Whatever had gone on between them seven years ago had nothing to do with the fact that he was the new sheriff. He had no right to treat one of his citizens so rudely. Williams would be damned disappointed.

Of course, it was Williams’s fault he was here in the first place. “Meddling old goat,” he said affectionately. His friend and former employer had been the one to come up with the idea that Justin needed to make peace with the past. He’d been the one to find the notice soliciting applications for a sheriff in Landing. Then he’d bullied Justin into applying. And here he was.

He turned away from the window and stared at his small office. Maybe this had been a mistake. It would have been better to take another job. After all, small-town sheriffs weren’t that easy to come by. Especially in Kansas. He could have gone further west, or maybe south to Texas. But no. He had to come back to Landing and prove them all wrong. It was a great plan with only one flaw.

What if they hadn’t been wrong? What if he was the one who was wrong? Maybe he wasn’t better than a born troublemaker. He picked up the signed contract and stared at it. He had a whole year to find out the truth.

* * *

An hour later, he grabbed his coat and hat from a hook on the wall and left. Suddenly, the office had seemed too confining. He crossed the street, jogging to avoid an oncoming wagon pulled by six horses.

It was late afternoon. The sun was already sinking behind the buildings, leaving half the street in shade. A stiff breeze tugged at his open jacket and hat. If it rained, there could be snow, but the skies were clear in all directions.

He stopped and stared at the livery stable. Someone had told him it had burned down three years ago. The new building was larger. He’d worked there from the time he was thirteen, until he’d left Landing at twenty. He liked being a deputy and he was fairly sure he was going to enjoy being sheriff, but he missed working with horses. Maybe when he left here, he would find a bit of land and raise them. He shrugged, then kept walking. Any plans for the future were a waste of time. He still had to get through his year here.

Next to the livery stable stood a small brick building. The bottom floor belonged to the town doctor, the top to a lawyer. As he walked by, the front door opened and an older woman stepped out, wrestling with an oversize basket. Her mud-caked shoes slipped on the stone steps. She spun to regain her balance and cried out.

Justin ran up the steps, and grabbed the basket with one hand and the woman with the other. He held on to her arm until she was steady. She clutched at him, her small black straw-and-feather hat shaking in the late-afternoon breeze.

“Thank you, sir. I just about tumbled down those stairs. At my age, that would be enough to send me to meet my maker.” She straightened and looked up at him. Small green eyes focused on his face. She let out her breath with an audible whoosh. “Well, well. If it isn’t Justin Kincaid.”

Justin stared down at Widow Dobson and groaned silently. Of all the people to run into. He gave her a forced smile. “Afternoon, ma’am. If you’re steady on your feet, I’d best be—”

“You just stand there and let me look you over, young man.” Her tone said she wasn’t willing to be argued with. “I’d heard it was you, but I couldn’t believe you’d come back to town.”

Mrs. Dobson had never had any trouble speaking her mind. Looks as if that hadn’t changed. She’d also been the only person in town who had cared when his mother had taken sick. She’d brought soup and home remedies to their small, dark room, and sat up with his mother until she died. Justin wanted to hand her back her basket and walk away. He couldn’t. The widow had never wanted to hear a word of thanks, nor had she accepted the money he’d tried to give her. Listening to her berate him was a small price to pay for such a large debt.

She looked exactly as he remembered. Small and plump, with a generous bosom, and dressed entirely in black. The thick wool cape that fell from her shoulders gaped slightly, exposing a dark dress underneath. He didn’t recall her caring about Mr. Dobson as much in life as she seemed to in death.

“I’m back here, ma’am,” he said politely. “For the next year. I’m the new sheriff.”

“I’d heard that.” She pointed at him. “Take off your hat. Let me get a look at your face.” He let go of her and did as she requested. She shook her head. “The women always said you’re handsome as sin. You know what I say?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Sin makes its own kind of trouble. Are you here to cause trouble?”

“I’m here to keep trouble from happening. I enforce the law, Mrs. Dobson.”

“I hope you’re right. It’s my recollection that trouble seems to find you whether you want it to or not.” She gave a little cackle. “Tongues are wagging over you. Guess you’ve set everyone on their ear. Now, help me down these stairs and be quick about it.” She softened her words with a smile.

He’d always thought of the old lady as one of the judgmental old guard. But after she’d tended his dying mother, he’d realized her gruff words hid a tender heart.

He held out his hand. She placed hers on top and he backed down the stairs, making sure she stayed balanced.

When they reached the planked boardwalk, she shook her head again. The black feather on her hat danced with the movement. “There’s folks who aren’t going to be happy to see you back here.”

“I kind of figured that. I aim to win them over to my side of things.”

“Is that why you came back?”

He handed her back her basket. “You be careful, ma’am. I wouldn’t want you to take a tumble. I might not be there next time.”

As she grabbed the basket, it shifted suddenly. A soft sound drifted out.

“Now, you girls hush,” Mrs. Dobson said. “We’ll be home soon. I’ve got some cream for you.” She looked up at him. “Kittens. Doc Ramsey told me their mother is a good mouser.”

She drew back the red-and-white-checkered cloth that covered the basket. He bent down. Three kittens were curled up together, feet and tails overlapping. Two were black-and-white with bits of marmalade color on their faces, the third was a small calico with big green eyes.

“I only wanted the two, but old Doc Ramsey snuck the third one inside with the others.” She glanced down and patted the kittens. “Silly thing is too small to be much good. But he said if I didn’t take it, he’d drown it.” She pulled the cover over the basket. “I’ve never had cats before. My dog always took care of the mice, but he didn’t make it through the winter. And with my fence in need of mending, another dog seemed like too much trouble.” She shifted her burden to her other hand. “So now I’ve got three cats. We’ll see if we like one another.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

She glanced around as if suddenly realizing how long they’d been talking. “Mercy, I’ve got to get on home. It wouldn’t do for me to be seen talking to a handsome young man. What would people say?” She gave him a quick smile, then turned away. “Thank you for helping me.”

“You’re welcome.” He watched her walk by the public water pump. Her basket bounced wildly as if the kittens had decided to start playing. They sure were cute, especially the little calico one.

He got the thought about the same time his feet started moving. It was a silly idea. Then he grinned. Why not?

“Mrs. Dobson,” he called as he hurried after her.

She stopped, turned and looked at him.

“If you don’t want the little cat, could I have her?”

She couldn’t have looked more shocked if he’d tried to steal a kiss. “You want a kitten? They’re not going to let you keep it in your room at the hotel.”

He didn’t bother asking how she knew where he was staying. The widow had always known everything about everybody. The only secret he’d ever kept in this town was the one about him and Megan. No one had known they’d been spending time together. No one had known that he’d asked her to marry him and she’d said yes. No one knew what she’d said to him that last day when he’d asked her to come away with him.

He pushed away those memories, knowing he would have to face them sometime but not wanting it to be today. “It’s a gift for someone.”

“A girl you’re bringing in from wherever you used to live?”

“There’s no girl coming, and no, I didn’t go and get married, either.”

Mrs. Dobson didn’t even have the grace to flush. She tilted her head. “You trust this person to take care of the cat?”

“Yes.”

“All right.” She reached in the basket and pulled out the little calico. “Here. She’s probably hungry, so don’t dawdle.”

He hadn’t been accused of dawdling since he’d been about eight, but there was no point in correcting her. He thanked her, tipped his hat and hurried toward the Bartlett General Store.

The kitten curled against his chest, then shivered. The wind was picking up in force and the temperature had dropped. He pulled open his coat and set the kitten into an inner pocket. After making sure the animal was comfortable, he carefully held the edges of his coat together tight enough to keep out the chill, but not so tight that she couldn’t breathe. He could feel the tiny vibration of her purring.

When he crossed the street in front of the general store, he stepped carefully so as not to jar the kitten, then shook his head in disgust. The little creature had probably received plenty of jostling in Mrs. Dobson’s basket. Still, he moved with care.

He was so intent on his passenger, he didn’t realize he was close to the store until he stopped in front of it. The big windows, ordered special from the East, gleamed. The painted name looked freshly touched up. Lace curtains hung over the glass in the door, and between the glass and lace was a sign saying Closed.

He swore under his breath. He should have remembered that the town kept winter hours until well after the spring thaw. Blizzards could crop up without warning, trapping the unwary for the night. Everything closed up early so that the shopkeepers had time to get home in the light. He shouldn’t have taken so long with Mrs. Dobson. No, he shouldn’t have taunted Megan in the beginning. Then he wouldn’t have to waste his time apologizing.

He was about to turn back toward his office, when he heard a door close. He looked around the side of the building and saw Megan walking briskly away from the back of the store. She was heading home. Justin started after her. If her sister had gone and married the town minister and Megan’s father had passed away, Megan most likely still lived in the Bartlett place on the edge of town. With her long dress and ladylike shoes, she would have to keep to the path. If he hurried, he could cut through the grove of trees behind the land office and beat her there.

“Hold on,” he told the kitten and circled around the front of the general store. He nearly bumped into a large man wearing a bloodied apron under his coat. “Evening, Mr. Greeley.”

“Evening. Justin Kincaid? Is that you?”

Justin didn’t bother to stop and chat. He tipped his hat and hurried along the boardwalk. Once past the land office, he headed directly into the trees. Without green leaves to hide the path, the way was easy to spot. He cupped one hand under the kitten and jogged through the grove.

When he came out the other side, he could see the Bartlett house sitting at the top of a small rise. It stood three stories tall, looking like a graceful old lady. Bare oak trees reached past the peaked roof. The setting sun reflected off the front windows. A wide porch circled the house, but all the outdoor furniture had been pushed to one side and covered with oilcloth. Bare patches of dirt showed where the garden would be, come spring.

He moved closer, fighting the memories. How many times had he stood just inside the grove of trees and stared at this house? He’d often willed Megan to come out and join him. Many afternoons, she had. One night, she’d crept out the back door and met him by the creek. They’d laughed and talked almost until dawn. Until he’d sent her inside because he’d wanted her so badly. Even as a young man, he’d known that Megan Bartlett wasn’t the kind of girl a man had his way with. She was the kind of girl a man married. That was why he’d proposed.

The familiar ache in his chest made him push the memories aside. He didn’t want to remember any of it. He wanted to apologize and be on his way.

He walked over to the front steps and sat down. Megan would be along any moment. The path she’d taken was longer, but only by about five minutes. He checked on the kitten. She’d fallen asleep in his pocket. He stroked the soft fur on her head. She stirred, blinked sleepily at him and yawned. Her tiny teeth made him smile. She sniffed his finger, then closed her eyes. Her soft purr faded as she went back to sleep.

The sound of footsteps on gravel made him look up. He could see Megan approaching. She carried a wrapped parcel under one arm. The other swung freely at her side. She looked up at the house and came to a complete stop.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I came to apologize.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“I don’t know. It’s the truth.”

She started walking again, this time moving quickly toward him, then up the stairs. “Nothing is ever simple with you, Justin. Do you know the kind of gossip there would be if someone spotted you here?” She opened the front door and ducked inside. “Hurry. Get in here before someone sees you. You might not care about the talk, but I do.”

He rose slowly and stepped onto the porch. For the first time in his life, he was going in through the front door. He should have been pleased, but he wasn’t. He’d been a fool to come back. Nothing had changed. Megan Bartlett still cared about her reputation more than anything in the world. And he was still just that bastard Justin Kincaid.