The Bounty Hunter’s Redemption. Janet Dean

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      Out front, a sign shot full of holes read Lillian’s Alterations and Dressmaking. Lillian Richards was dead. Who was this woman? “Do you work here?”

      She ignored his question and gathered the boy to her. As she ruffled her fingertips through his hair, dark like hers, her eyes softened like melted butter. “While you were in school, I made cookies. Go to the kitchen and have a couple while I talk with Mr. Sergeant.”

      The boy turned curiosity-filled eyes on Nate. A gentle nudge from his mother and he trudged toward the rear of the shop. At the doorway he stopped, his gaze traveling between Nate and his mother. As if he picked up on the tension in the room, his brow furrowed in a pint-size warning to treat his mother right.

      In that boy Nate saw himself as a youngster. Whether he believed it or not, Nate knew the lad was far too young to wear the breeches in the family.

      “Go on,” his mother murmured, then watched until he disappeared into the back. With her son out of earshot, Mrs. Richards’s gaze traveled to the pistol strapped on Nate’s thigh. “You’re the bounty hunter who killed my husband.”

      A chill slid through Nate, pebbling the skin on his forearms. When he’d shot Max Richards, he’d made this woman a widow and her young son fatherless. Nate had been fifteen when he’d lost his parents in a train holdup. The boy must be less than half that age.

      “I’m sorry it came to that, ma’am.” Nate rubbed a hand over his nape, taut as a stick of timber. “How’d you know me?”

      “I’m not likely to forget the name of Max’s killer.” Somehow this petite woman standing across from him managed to look formidable in a prim, high-necked shirtwaist with its wide collar and tiny waist. “Even if I had, Sheriff Truitt came by earlier to warn me that he’d seen you ride into town.”

      Truitt was looking out for the widow’s welfare. Someone needed to. As much as Nate wished things were different, that man wasn’t him. He was here to protect his sister’s interests, not this woman’s.

      How many women had suffered from actions taken by the men in their lives? Including his? He swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat, refusing to think about that now.

      “Max was known for his temper. Still, far as I know, he never shot at a complete stranger.” Her eyes narrowed, filling with suspicion. “Why would he fire at you?”

      “He killed my sister Anna’s husband. Shot Walt in the back. That made it personal.”

      She winced, as if seeing the cowardly act.

      “When I explained I’d be taking him back to Kentucky to stand trial for murder, he...”

      “He didn’t want to go.”

      “No, ma’am.”

      “So what happened then?”

      Why ask? Surely she didn’t want to hear the gruesome details. Still she waited for his answer. Unable to cope with a weepy female, Nate fought to keep his tone detached. “He grabbed his gun from his holster and fired. I reeled away, pulling my revolver, and answered before he got off the next round.”

      “Max wasn’t much of a shot, leastwise not with a moving target.”

      Nate clutched his hat, turning the rim ’round and ’round in his hands. “No, ma’am.”

      Not much of a man, either. No point grinding that truth into his widow. Perhaps she already knew. She wasn’t wearing widow’s weeds and appeared more somber than distraught. But then, everyone handled grief differently.

      Well, she’d be distraught soon enough, once he got to the point of his visit. Mrs. Richards seemed like a good woman, a good mother with a small boy depending on her. If only he could express regret for taking a life, perhaps do a chore or two and be on his way.

      But he couldn’t. Anna needed this chance. For once in her life she’d have a way to handle her future, set her own course.

      The widow considered him and then nodded, as if she’d accepted his lack of options. “I’m sorry about your sister’s husband.” Moisture welled in her eyes. “Please give her my condolences.”

      He shoved past the tightness in his throat. “I will.”

      “If that’s all, I need to check on my son.” Mrs. Richards turned away, as if finished with the conversation.

      “Ma’am.”

      She turned back, eyes wide, as if surprised to find him standing there instead of heading for the door. “Yes?”

      A gust of air escaped his lips. No decent man relished bringing a woman trouble. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”

      “Worse than killing my son’s father?”

      At a loss for words, Nate merely stared at her.

      “I’m sorry, Mr. Sergeant. That was uncalled-for, but I have a boy who needs my attention and a shop to run.” Her gaze traveled to the door, her desire for him to walk through it abundantly clear.

      No point in putting off what he’d come to say. “This shop is mine,” he said, settling his Stetson in place.

      The air stilled, caught in the heavy hush of surprise. She took a breath, then another; in, out. Her gaze hardened. “You’re mistaken. The deed to this shop is in my possession.”

      “My brother-in-law Walt won the deed in a poker game. Your husband killed him for it, and then terrorized my sister Anna, who had no idea where Walt had hidden it. Richards never found the deed before he rode off. But recently I did. As my sister’s representative, I’m here to take possession.”

      “That can’t be true!”

      She met his gaze. As if seeing the truth in his eyes, the blazing confidence in hers ebbed.

      With a gasp she whirled to a small wheeled safe on the back wall. The dial clicked right, left, right. Then, with the chink of moving tumblers and the clank of the latch, the thick door opened on quiet hinges. She knelt, reached inside, patted the interior. Came up empty.

      She staggered to her feet and crossed to him, her skin ashen, eyes dazed. “It’s...it’s...gone,” she said in a reedy, strangled voice.

      Then she wobbled, as if the starch had gone out of her. In one slow motion she crumpled, limp as a rag doll.

      Nate caught her before she hit the floor. With the pale woman in his arms, his mind zipped back and remembered another woman.

      “Mama!”

      Nate’s head snapped up, his vision cleared.

      Eyes wide with fear, the son ran toward them. “Is she dead?” he said.

      Rachel was dead. Not this woman.

      Poor tyke had lost his pa and now must believe he’d lost his mother, too. “Your ma’s fine. She’s fainted, that’s all.”

      “What’s fainted?”

      “It’s СКАЧАТЬ