Never Love A Lawman. Jo Goodman

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      Rachel slowed her steps as she passed the bank. She entertained the notion that she could ask Mr. Reston to show her the contract without Wyatt Cooper’s permission or presence, but what reasons she could offer did not occur to her, especially since Wyatt was reclining in front of his office in his familiar, sublimely restful pose.

      Sighing, Rachel moved on. She’d chosen her dress with some particular attention today, wanting to appear as a woman who was both careful in her deliberations and confident in her decisions. With that in mind, she’d picked out a brightly colored batiste handkerchief dress, vaguely masculine in its tailoring with its double-breasted jacket and deep pleats. When she had critically regarded herself in the mirror, she was satisfied to see that she looked striking and not alluring. It was the first order of business for a woman who wanted to be taken seriously.

      She nodded or spoke to everyone who greeted her, and even risked a proposal from Abe Dishman by acknowledging him first. Ned tipped his hat at her, laughed gleefully, then jumped two of Abe’s red checkers and palmed them. Johnny Winslow offered a cheery hello when she passed him coming out of Morrison’s on an errand for Mrs. Longabach. Rudy Martin stopped sweeping the sidewalk in front of his saloon when she passed, and Mr. Caldwell wandered outside his apothecary shop just as she was going by and bid her good day.

      By the time she reached the sheriff’s office she estimated that she’d acknowledged the compliments of some fourteen men and one from that no-account Beatty boy. She stopped at the gate that Wyatt had erected with his long legs and waited for him to move aside or in some other way indicate that he knew she was there.

      After a moment he nudged the brim of his hat back and looked her over—slowly—from her ribbon-adorned bonnet to her soft kid boots. “Are you planning to dress every woman in town in that fashion?”

      “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

      “Nothing, as far as I can tell, but you were accosted upwards of a dozen times once you turned the corner from Aspen Street until you got here. I can’t say that I see Gracie Showalter or Ann Marie Easter putting up with that sort of attention.”

      “I was hardly accosted,” she said. “People are friendly here. At least most of them. And this dress wouldn’t suit Mrs. Showalter or Mrs. Easter, so I won’t be suggesting the design to either of them.”

      “There’s a relief.” He dropped his legs so that his chair fell hard on all fours, and rose easily to his feet. “Let’s go. Jake’s expecting us.”

      “I could have met you at the bank.”

      “Sure you could’ve.” He didn’t add what he was thinking, namely that he’d have missed her gliding toward him if she had. The mannish cut of the dress she was wearing shouldn’t have lent itself to her floating walk, but somehow it was emphasized, not diminished.

      Wyatt stepped to the outside of the sidewalk, giving Rachel the inside track, and gestured toward the bank. “Are you anxious?”

      “A little,” she admitted as they began walking.

      “Do you think I’ve been lying to you about it?”

      “No. It was just unexpected, that’s all.”

      He nodded. “When we get to the bank, you’ll have to read it with me there. I only have the one contract. I can’t risk something happening to it.”

      “You hardly have to be concerned that I’ll destroy it. What would be the point? You seem dead set on living up to the terms of the agreement whether or not there’s a paper that says you have to.”

      “Glad you see it that way, Miss Bailey.”

      They fell quiet until they reached the bank; then Wyatt opened the door for her and ushered her inside. “Here we go,” he said softly, a bit resignedly, and Rachel was moved to wonder if he was speaking to her or himself.

      Jacob Reston was the sort of man that medium was meant to describe. He came in at average for height, weight, and the length of his sideburns. He spoke in carefully modulated tones and was never passionate on any subject. He was genial, unaffected, and comfortable to be around. In matters of finance, he was the agreed-upon expert, and he managed the bank efficiently and with integrity because it was not in his nature to manage it in any other manner.

      Mr. Reston engaged in precisely one minute of small talk, then showed them to the back room where the bank’s safe was located. The words HAMMER & SCHINDLER were set in bold gold-leaf typeface on the door and sides. The brass lock was as big as Rachel’s fist. Mr. Reston stepped in front of the safe and used his body to conceal the combination. It took him mere seconds to find what he was looking for; then he closed the safe and spun the dial.

      He handed an envelope to Wyatt. “You’ll have privacy here,” he said. “Take your time.”

      Wyatt waited until Reston closed the door upon exiting before he gave the envelope over. СКАЧАТЬ