Kitabı oku: «The Gunslinger's Untamed Bride», sayfa 2

Realizing he was quite serious, Lily couldn’t fight her smile. She was Lily Palmer Carrington, and she did as she pleased.

Lily breathed in the strong, nostalgic scent of spruce and pine as their carriage rounded the mountainside. Her gaze moved across a green canopy of giant pines rising up from a canyon below. She had to wonder why she’d waited so long to venture beyond the crowded parlors, tight streets and stifling buildings of San Francisco.

They’d left the valley at daybreak, and the moment they’d gone beyond the rolling green hills and into the forest of pines, she’d felt a sense of homecoming. Every bend in the road and new stretch of scenery had brought heartache and beauty … a longing for the life she’d lost.

A few hours back they’d stopped to rest the horses. She had stepped from the carriage into a grass-filled meadow bursting with wildflowers—clusters of orange, lavender and white. Granite mountains spiked up beyond the perimeter of towering pines. It was like stepping into her childhood, surrounded by the sights and scents of home, awakening memories she hadn’t realized she’d forgotten. Her eyes had burned at the vision of her mother standing in a similar meadow … the closest she’d come to crying since her mother’s death. Perhaps this was why she’d waited so long to leave the city. It had taken this long to let go, to find her place in the confines of the Carrington family.

A tree branch scratched across the window as the road cut inland again, and Lily sat back in her seat. Their armed guard had the best view. In front of the carriage, he rode his own mount, a beautiful black stallion. She’d been tempted to ask to sit atop the carriage with the driver, which would have been utterly inappropriate and would likely have given Reginald heart failure.

“Would you please close that shade?” he snipped. Huddled against his side of the coach, he held one of his scented handkerchiefs over his mouth and nose. He’d been sulking beside her for the past three days. “The carriage is filling with dust.”

She pulled down the heavy flap. Regi fanned his kerchief, wafting them with his pungent cologne.

“Honestly, Reginald, a little dust won’t kill you.”

“No, love, that’s your job. You may have been raised in the wild, but I was not. You heard the driver, these roads are frequented by bandits.”

She glanced at the men seated across from them, all dressed in tailored suits and bowler hats. Her accountants watched her cousin in mild amusement. Brilliant advisors and established family men in their late thirties and early forties, Johnson, Brown and Allen didn’t seem to share Reginald’s distress.

“We’re nearly to Pine Ridge, Regi, and we haven’t had a single altercation.” Other than his incessant complaints. “I didn’t force you to come along,” she said, settling back against the velvet seat.

“No, your uncle did. My grandfather clearly hates me.”

Lily wasn’t sure her uncle Alder liked anyone.

“I want to get in and out, Lily. Just grab your files and perhaps we can make it back to that valley inn by nightfall.”

“It’s going to take a couple of days, Reginald.” She was counting on it. While she had a company agenda, her main interest centered on one employee.

Her chest tightened at the thought of facing her father’s killer. She slid her hand into a pocket sewn into the thick folds of her skirt. Her fingers brushed the wooden grip and cold metal of her father’s revolver. She’d loaded the gun just as he’d taught her, leaving the first chamber empty.

“Miss Carrington is quite right,” said Mr. Allen, removing his spectacles. He tucked the wire frames into the valise on his lap, along with his newspaper. “We have a payroll to disperse. Today will likely be spent simply organizing paperwork, and then we still have the task of tallying wages.”

Reginald shook his head. “Utter suicide,” he murmured. “All of this could have been done at the office.”

“Hush,” Lily said, growing annoyed with his constant pessimism. “We’ve taken the necessary safety precautions and no one knows we have the funds or has reason to suspect we’re bringing them. Surely our employees have waited long enough for their pay. Once we have the proper documentation, I’m sure they’ll be grateful for their wages and we can move on to establishing some new order.”

Reginald glared at her over his silk hankie as he took another strong whiff of perfume.

The carriage slowed before rocking to a stop.

A rush of nerves and anticipation swirled through Lily. The driver’s seat creaked as he stepped down. Light spilled into the dim cab as Mr. Dobbs, her armed guard, swung the door wide. He was a rather large and brooding fellow, but the hint of a smile twitched beneath the curve of his black mustache.

“Miss Carrington,” he said, holding his hand out to assist her onto the step. “We’ve reached the lumber mill at Pine Ridge.”

She placed her gloved hand over his palm and emerged from the carriage into the cool mountain air. She was glad she’d dressed warmly. Her full skirt belled out, wedges of a heavy tapestry in green, blue and brown paisleys tucked into folds of dark green velvet. As her accountants followed her, Lily brushed heavy wrinkles from her green velvet waistcoat and fluffed the layered bustle crushed by hours of travel. The sound of rushing water drew her gaze to a breathtaking sight.

She walked to the edge of the high cliff overlooking a wide stream. Clear, sparkling water rushed over rocks and giant boulders. On the other side of the river the land had been stripped bare, giving a clear view of miles of green ripples, a weaving of forest valleys and tree-topped mountains.

“Oh, my goodness. It’s like standing on the edge of the world. And knowing I own it.”

“Be sure they put that on our matching headstones.” Reginald stepped beside her, his frown firmly in place.

“How can you look at such beauty with a scowl?”

“Perhaps you should glance behind you, sweets.”

Lily turned, glancing past the carriage, and her good spirits plummeted. What a complete and utter mess.

Pine Ridge appeared to be no more than a maze of logs, piles of planks, and poles with cables strung in all directions. Splintered wood and shavings littered the rutted ground. For all the piles of planks and logs, the dozen or so small cabins spaced across the yard seemed rather flimsily constructed, pieced together of mismatched boards and spare wood.

Aside from thin trails of smoke rising from stovepipes on two of the cabins, the cluttered camp appeared to be abandoned.

“Oh, my.”

“Hmm. I’ll be expecting that apology by the end of the day.”

“Did they know we were coming, Miss Carrington?” asked Mr. Dobbs.

“No.” She drew a deep breath and went to stand with her men. “I didn’t think it wise to announce our arrival while carrying such delicate cargo.”

Dobbs nodded in agreement.

A screeching whine echoed from downstream.

“The mill seems to be running,” she said, unable to see beyond the bend in the river and a thicket of pines. “Shall we make our way through the camp?”

Brown and Johnson each lifted an end of the lockbox holding the payroll. Mr. Allen gripped the handles of three leather cases containing their ledgers and accounting files.

“What should I do with the luggage?” asked the driver, standing near his team of horses. Their trunks were still strapped to the top of the carriage.

“Leave them for now,” she said, setting off across the grounds. “And wait here for us.” If no one was around to collect their pay, they may indeed be traveling back to the valley as Regi had hoped.

Lily carefully picked her way across the rutted dirt, stepping over splintered wood and chunks of tree bark. The scent of freshly baked bread grew strong as they passed a few cabins, none of them appearing to be more than common living quarters. The distant sound of a cow echoed across the yard, along with the cluck of chickens—all good signs of inhabitants.

The squeak of hinges drew them to a stop. A man stepped out from one of the ramshackle cabins to their right. His hat hid all but the shaggy brown beard of his face as he fumbled with the closure of his trousers. His other hand gripped an ax. Finished with his pants, he tucked his hands and the ax through red suspenders, then froze at the sight of them.

“Good afternoon,” said Dobbs.

The lumberjack quickly shrugged his suspenders into place, his hand taking a rather firm hold on his ax.

Dobbs stepped in front of Lily, blocking her view. “Who’s in charge of this camp?” he asked.

“You the new owner who’s holdin’ our pay?”

“I’m a representative of L. P. Carrington,” he answered as Lily moved beside him.

“I wouldn’t be shouting that to the treetops,” the man advised. “Ever since that ‘Frisco bigwig put the stop on our pay, Sheriff’s been a mite busy. He’ll be wanting to see you when he returns.”

“A sheriff?” Lily glanced at Reginald.

Regi shrugged his shoulders as Dobbs continued his inquiry.

“Where do I find the man in charge here?”

The lumberjack scratched at his whiskery jaw. “Depends on where you’re standin’ and the time of day. Bein’ that it’s noon, Cook’s in charge. Elsewise, Grimshaw runs the mill and assigns the bullheads. The Swede carries some weight, but he mostly brings down the heavy for the sheriff.”

Lily wasn’t sure the man was speaking English, having understood very little of what he’d said. “Where is the sheriff?” she asked.

“Ma’am,” he said, quickly pulling off his battered hat. “Ruckus on the mountain.” He motioned his ax toward the rise of trees beyond the river. “I suppose Grimshaw is who you’d want to see,” he said to Dobbs. “Follow that path.” He pressed his hat over matted brown hair and pointed his ax toward a dirt path leading through the thicket of pines on the far side of camp. “The whine of the saw or Jim’s swearing will lead you to the millhouse.”

“Lovely.” Reginald motioned for Lily to go ahead of him.

“The lady might choose to stay in the carriage,” the timberman advised before setting off across the grounds.

“Not likely,” Reginald muttered.

“Come along,” she said to the others.

Reaching the far side of camp, she ducked beneath chains and stepped over steel tracks as she started up the hillside leading to the millhouse. The wide path cut through a patch of tall timbers. Tracks for rail cars ran along one side. She wondered why this thicket of trees hadn’t been cleared. Perhaps to cut down on noise, she thought, hearing the whine of a saw through the tall timbers. Lifting her skirt, she trudged up the hillside.

Up ahead stood a giant open-ended barn. As she reached the top of the hill, the piercing whine of the saw fell silent. The sound of rushing water and the chirping of birds was as loud as steady traffic moving through San Francisco streets. Much like those busy streets, flatbed rail cars piled with cut wood were lined along the tracks leading to smaller open-frame buildings farther down the embankment of the river.

“Watch your footing,” she said to Johnson and Brown as they carried the heavy lockbox across a wide grid of steel tracks. Cautiously she stepped into the millhouse, a massive structure filled with machinery and oval tables surrounded by flat hand saws. Other tables supported circular blades in a variety of sizes. The strong scent of sawdust coated her senses. In a place she’d expect to find covered in bark and shavings, the floor was swept surprisingly clean. At the far end, ramps led down to what appeared to be a giant pond filled with logs.

“I think we got it working, Jim.”

Two men huddled over one of the tables near the center of the room.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she called out.

Both men jumped as though she’d raged at them. Two clean-shaven jaws dropped open as they met her gaze. Both men wore ivory hats tugged low on their brows, blue denims and ivory shirts.

“I’m looking for Mr. Grimshaw.”

“That’s me,” said the taller of the two, wiping a red handkerchief over the black grease on his fingers. “Who are you?”

“We’re representatives of L. P. Carrington Industries,” said Reginald. “I’m Reginald Carrington. This is Miss Carrington and our accountants, Mr. Johnson, Allen and Brown.” Each man tipped his hat with the introduction. “Our man, Mr. Dobbs,” Regi added, motioning to their menacing guard whose presence was title enough. “Are you the manager here?”

“I run the place,” Grimshaw said with a nod. “This is Ted Mathews, one of our tree fellers.” He jammed his thumb toward the man beside him.

“Delighted,” Reginald said, flashing a rather patronizing smile, which wasn’t missed by the two men and annoyed Lily.

“We’d like to have a look at your payroll files,” he continued.

“Did the sheriff know you was coming?” asked Grimshaw, slowly strolling toward them.

“I wasn’t even aware that we had a sheriff,” said Lily. “We’ve come to retrieve the payroll files. Where is your office?”

The two men stared at her for a moment before looking at each other then glancing at Regi.

“Miss Carrington has asked you a question.”

“I, uh.” Again, Grimshaw turned toward the equally vacant expression of his co-worker.

“Surely you have employee files,” said Lily.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We would like to see them.”

“I’ll be truthful with you. Those files aren’t as sharp as they ought to be.”

“We’ll be able to straighten them out,” said Reginald. He pulled a stack of papers from his briefcase and held it out to Grimshaw. “Our estimated payout is listed on top. Beneath you’ll find a cross-reference for employees. We’ll need you to confirm positions and pay rates.”

Grimshaw glanced at the papers. The man beside him leaned in. “You brought the payroll up here?” Grimshaw said, alarm tightening his features.

“This is the Pine Ridge Lumber Camp, is it not?” asked Mr. Dobbs.

“Yeah, but pay’s usually passed out in The Grove. Sheriff set that up right off when he took over.”

“The grove?” said Lily

“It ain’t really a grove, just a spot in the lower hills where some of the family types put down stakes and planted some fruit trees. It’s got all the particulars of a township, banking office, church, brothel and general store. A man wants his pay, he goes to The Grove office.”

“‘Cept for here lately,” said Mathews. The mill worker’s mouth slanted with a frown.

“What are you suggesting?” asked Reginald. “That we distribute payroll down in The Grove?”

“I reckon. You’d need to run it past the sheriff. He ought to be back later today. He has final say about such things. He put a stop to pay coming up the mountain a couple years back. Too many blind bends in these mountain roads for a man to be riding with cash in his pockets, that’s what he told McFarland.”

“Then we’ll distribute wages in The Grove,” said Lily. “In order to do that, we’ll need to see your filing system.”

Grimshaw poked a finger at the sweat-dampened hair beneath his hat, his tense expression unwavering. “Filing system?”

Good gracious. Did she have to repeat everything? “You do manage this camp, do you not?”

“I manage the workload. We used to have a site manager, but here lately, ain’t no one can manage this camp but the sheriff.”

“Told you to sell,” Regi said beneath his breath.

“I appreciate your situation, Mr. Grimshaw,” Lily said, ignoring her cousin’s gloating smile. “I assure you we can find all we need if you’ll just show us where to look.”

“Time cards would do,” said Johnson. “Any documentation used to keep track of hours and pay rate.”

“Oh, yeah. We got all that up in the office.”

Irritation snapped at her nerves. Grimshaw was clearly the sort who only understood English spoken by a man. “Would you be so kind as to show us to the office?”

His twisted expression suggested he’d rather not.

“Cook sent your dinners.” A young boy darted in from outside. He held a tin plate covered by another in each hand.

“Set ‘em over there on a bench and change the blades on table four.”

“I’ll help you take out the dull blades,” said Mathews, rushing off to assist the boy.

Lily watched the boy set the tin plates aside on a workbench and pull on a pair of heavy leather gloves. Cuts and scars covered his slender fingers.

“The boy works here?” she said to Grimshaw.

“A lot of our workers moved on to other lumber camps after the second pay hold. My oldest boy’s been helping to pick up the slack. Davy, say hello to Miss Carrington.”

His young face glanced up. He touched a gloved hand to the brim of his hat. “Ma’am,” he said before turning back to his task.

“Do we have an age limit for employees?”

Grimshaw’s eyes narrowed in clear annoyance. “He’s thirteen, a smart boy and a hard worker. We’ve had boys as young as ten work the flumes and other odd jobs.”

“I see,” she said, deciding to keep her disapproval to herself for now.

Grimshaw turned away, clearly agitated. “Office is this way.”

Lily motioned for Reginald and her men to follow him. As they filed up a set of stairs at the north end of the building, she glanced back at the boy lifting a circular saw from a spot on the wall. He seemed awfully young to be handling such dangerous equipment.

“Oh, hey,” he said brightly, peering out a wide-open section of the millhouse, “Günter’s back.”

“Who is Günter?” she asked, stepping toward him as she glanced through the thicket of trees.

“The deputy. That big Swede right there,” he said, pointing toward the camp, which now teemed with workers. A giant of a man with pure white hair stood out from the other men. “If he’s back in camp, Sheriff must be back, too.”

Just the man they needed. With the others already up in the mill office, this was her chance to ask the local lawman about any outlaws infiltrating her camp.

She hurried toward the path.

“Ma’am?” Davy called after her. “You like I should come with you?”

“I can manage,” she called back, thinking he ought to be in school where he could learn to speak proper English.

At the bottom of the hill, she discovered this was indeed a functioning camp. Hulking, sweaty men were everywhere, barking out orders, stacking boards, pulling chains, lifting crates—where had they all come from?

She stepped around a pile of logs, seemingly unnoticed by the men milling about like work ants.

Where had the deputy gone off to?

“Lady! Heads up!”

Lily turned toward the sharp call, just as something struck the side of her head. In a flash of pain and bright light, the world went dark.

Chapter Two

Juniper surveyed the growing circle of men as he tethered his horse outside the cabin serving as the Pine Ridge Lumber Camp jailhouse. Only two things drew such a crowd. There wasn’t enough rooting and shouting going on for it to be a fight.

Someone had smuggled a woman into camp.

Cursing beneath his breath, he started toward what could well turn into a riot. He didn’t get paid enough for this job. Hell, just like the rest of the camp, he hadn’t been paid in nearly two months. He needed to get down the mountain and check on John’s widow. His friend’s death was the most recent of fatalities in a lumber camp sliding downhill at an alarming pace.

“Afternoon, Sheriff,” one of the men said as Juniper nudged his way past him and into a strum of murmuring voices.

“What’s going on?” he asked, working through the crowd of men. Just as he’d suspected, he spotted pale skin and colorful ruffles through the shifting veil of bodies. Women weren’t allowed up at the lumber camp for one obvious reason—they tended to bring out the worst in lonely, rowdy timbermen. To his immediate alarm, she seemed to already be in a horizontal position.

Good God.

He shoved his way through, then drew to a hard stop.

What the hell?

A pretty lady lay unconscious on a spot of open ground. The woman’s peaceful expression and fancy prim attire shocked him far more than any display of indecency. The men surrounding her seemed just as stunned, none of them daring to go within a foot of her.

Juniper knelt beside her and pressed his fingers to her slender neck where her pulse beat strong and steady. A sigh of relief broke from his chest.

She sure didn’t look like a prostitute or a destitute wife who’d come up here to find out why her husband hadn’t brought home his much-needed earnings. Her green velvet waistcoat, matching leather gloves and colorful fancy skirt had a look of wealth about them. What was she doing way up here?

“What happened?” he demanded, glaring up at the others.

“I didn’t mean to hit her, Sheriff.” Slim, one of the log drivers, stepped forward. He twisted his hat in his hands, his eyes wide with fear as he stared at the woman. “I was moving a load.”

“She ain’t dead, is she, Sheriff?” someone asked.

“No,” he said, sliding his fingers into reddish-blond hair, knocking out hairpins as his fingers moved through the silken mass, searching her scalp for damage. He didn’t feel any fractures. A good-size lump protruded from the right side of her head.

“Where’d she come from?” he asked, glancing around the circle.

“I looked ‘round and there she was,” said Slim. “I shouted a warning, and she turned straight into the log.” He clucked his tongue. “Knocked her right out.”

Dainty as she was, he was afraid to move her, unsure if the blow had jarred her spine.

“I want to know what she’s doing here,” he shouted. “Who does she belong to?”

Murmurs went through the crowd, every man looking to another.

“No one was with her?” he said to Slim.

“Not so far as I could see, but I wasn’t lookin’ beyond the path of that log.”

She moaned, and the group fell silent. The circle around Juniper drew tighter as the men leaned in.

“Miss?” Juniper brushed a finger across her petal-soft cheek. Long auburn lashes fluttered. She opened her eyes. The smallest rim of green lined the dilated centers.

She shifted, pushing her elbows up beneath her as she started to sit up. Long shiny hair tumbled to her shoulders in a shimmer of russet and gold. “I …” She winced, her eyes pinching shut. “My …”

Juniper quickly slid his hand beneath her head as she dropped back down.

“Easy, sweetheart.”

She blinked up at him. Her lips tipped with a smile.

Juniper’s mouth went dry. She sure was pretty.

“Oh my,” she said, sounding breathless.

“You’ve taken a swift hit to the head.”

“I must have.” Her eyelids drooped.

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Lily.”

Lily. What was this sweet, delicate flower doing way up here? Her weight relaxed against his palm.

“Lily? Can you hear me? Lily?”

She didn’t stir.

Definitely a concussion. She’d moved enough to assure him nothing was broken. Needing to get her out of the sun and away from all the onlookers, he slid his arms beneath her shoulders and the bulk of her skirt. As he straightened, something solid jabbed against his ribs. He shifted her against him, firming his hold on her, and was pretty damn sure he felt the outline of a revolver packed into the green and blue folds of her skirt.

At least she had enough sense to travel armed.

He glanced up at the crowd of woodsmen. “Anyone willing to claim her?”

The eager expressions of the men told him that was about the stupidest question he could have asked.

“I will!” shouted one.

“I’ll take her off your hands, Sheriff,” called another.

He shook his head and carried her toward his office. Whatever her reasons for coming up here, riling the interest of a bunch of salivating lumberjacks was only going to get her into more trouble than she could handle.

“Find Marty and Günter,” he said to no one in particular. “Tell them to hightail it to my office.”

“You arresting her?” someone shouted after him.

“I sure am! She’s breaking Pine Ridge law by being here. When I find out who’s responsible for bringing her up here, he’ll be packing his gear.”

“Juniper?” His deputy hurried toward him. “She hurt?” Günter rushed ahead to open the door of the sheriff’s office.

“Most likely a concussion,” he said, hoping that was the worst of her injuries. He carried her inside and carefully stepped into one of the two jail cells.

“Who is she?”

“Hell if I know. Go see if you can find Marty,” he said, placing her on a fairly clean cot. “I’d feel better if he had a look at her head before we send her down the mountain.”

As the door shut behind his deputy, Juniper slid his hand into Lily’s skirt pocket. Just as he’d suspected, his fingers closed over a gun. Expecting a dainty Derringer or stylish Colt, the .44 Smith & Wesson surprised him. A right decent weapon by his standards and any man’s whose life depended on speed and accuracy. The plain wooden grip showed signs of heavy use, some of the varnish having worn through. He opened the cylinder, noting the empty first chamber and clean barrel. To his relief, the use hadn’t been recent.

He glanced again at the woman. She seemed far too delicate to be carrying such a thing. Not that he blamed her for packing iron in such rough country, but why in creation would she have come all the way up here with nothing but a hard-used pistol in her pocket?

Leaving her in the cell, he tugged off his hat and tossed the brown Stetson onto his desk. He set the lady’s revolver on a stack of reports. Crouching before the cabinet that held a pitcher and washbasin, he took out a clean towel. After pouring some water into the white basin, he dunked in the cloth, wrung it out and went back to Lily.

Such a tiny little thing, he thought as he knelt beside her. Not much over five feet, and he’d bet ten pounds of her slight weight was sheer clothing, her full skirt fluffed up by a stack of petticoats. He laid the cool wet cloth over the bump hidden beneath her hair and stepped back.

She seemed comfortable enough, though her fitted jacket did look rather constrictive. He wondered if he should open the high collar. He reached for the pearl buttons, then decided against it.

“Wake up, pretty lady.”

Günter stomped into the cabin. “Marty went up to check a bad-tempered ox. I sent a man after him.”

Juniper released a sigh of disappointment. “All right. As soon as he gets back, send him over.”

“Da.” Günter poked his head inside the jail cell, taking a closer look at Lily. “Pretty, ya?”

“Yeah. A regular sleeping beauty. Go on and get some chow before Cook closes the kitchen.”

Günter didn’t hesitate. Once Cook locked his doors there’d be no chance of getting a hot meal. “I’ll bring you a plate.”

Juniper wasn’t sure when they expected him to eat—he’d hardly slept in a week. Between gun-toting damsels, renegade lumberjacks, crazed oxen and L. P. Carrington’s latest notice starting riots all over this mountain, he had more trouble than he could handle. The sheriff’s office had somehow become the headquarters for company complaints. Much more of this and he’d be making a trip to ‘Frisco for a little one-on-one with L. P. Carrington. The man clearly had more money than smarts.

Work had been rendered, timber cut and hauled off the mountain. These men needed their wages, not letters asking for patience while some overstuffed suit polished his coins.

He leaned down and stroked a few strands of reddish-blond hair away from Lily’s face. Her long auburn lashes rested peacefully against her fair skin.

He had a hunch he wasn’t the only one on the warpath. This wouldn’t be the first time a scorned lover had shown up at the lumber camp with a pistol in her pocket. If that was the case, one of their lumberjacks had been a right lucky man.

Lily woke with a dull headache.

She didn’t bother to open her eyes, not wanting to increase the throbbing in her skull. She needed hot chocolate. Reaching out, she blindly searched for the servant bell on her night table, yet the table eluded her.

“Emily?” she called.

“Whoever Emily is,” said a low, smooth voice, “it’s fair to say she ain’t comin’.”

Lily sat bolt upright. She barely caught a glimpse of the man moving toward her before her brain seemed to slam forward, pounding stars into her eyes.

She swayed. “Oh, my goodness.”

“Easy, now.” Warm hands closed over her shoulders and eased her back down. “You took a swift blow to the head.”

Eyes of the palest blue gazed down at her. She had a vague recollection of peering up into those cerulean depths once before.

“How’s the eyesight?” he asked.

Her gaze moved over his tanned features, sharp jawline and wavy blond hair with startling clarity. He held one hand up, two of his long fingers creating a vee.

“How many fingers do you see?”

“Two,” she said, smiling despite her headache. She sat up, slowly this time, and leaned back against the wall.

His swift smile didn’t help her wooziness. The handsome stranger eased back. Light glinted off the silver star pinned to his dark leather vest.

The sheriff. She glanced past him and noticed the metal bars.

“Am I in jail?”

Warm throaty laugher drew her gaze back to sparkling blue eyes. Flutters erupted low in her belly. She definitely remembered him, and was quite certain she’d found him just as striking the first time she’d looked into those sky-blue eyes.

A sudden heat flooded her face, and Lily averted her gaze.

“You’re getting some color back in your cheeks,” he said, which only increased the heat flaring into her face.

Good gracious. Lily Carrington did not swoon over men!

Glancing back at the sheriff, she now knew why. Lily Carrington had never been in the presence of a man like the sheriff of the Pine Ridge Lumber Camp.

He took a step back, his broad shoulders seeming to block out the rest of the world as he leaned against the metal door frame. He crossed his law-enforcing arms over his strong chest, creating a formidable barrier between her and the open doorway of the cell.