Wyoming Lawman. Victoria Bylin

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СКАЧАТЬ a hoot about a person’s past. Everyone in Cheyenne had a story, including him. But he cared very much about the here and now. He’d have to keep an eye on this woman.

      Still tense, she looked back at his face. “If you must, you can pay for the laundering.”

      “Fine.”

      He set Sarah on the boardwalk, dug in his pocket and extracted a handful of coins. Before he could sort through the silver, Sarah grabbed the woman’s skirt and looked up. “Would you braid my hair?”

      His daughter had caused enough trouble for one day. Matt gritted his teeth. “Sarah, don’t pester—”

      “Pleeese,” she whined to the woman. “My daddy can’t do it.”

      That was a fact. He could splice rope, shoot straight and smell trouble a mile away, but he couldn’t braid his little girl’s hair. The white strands slipped through his fingers just as Bettina had done a year ago. For Sarah’s sake, he wished he’d held on tighter. Instead of chasing Indians and outlaws with Captain Cain, and then dealing with the corruption of the Texas State Police, he should have stayed home and raised cattle. Maybe his wife wouldn’t have cheated on him, and they’d still be a family.

      He didn’t miss Bettina at all, but Sarah did. His daughter needed a mother, someone who could make proper braids and teach her about life. A better man would have married to meet that need, but Matt couldn’t stand the thought of repeating the mistakes he’d made with Bettina. Neither did he think a sham of a marriage would benefit his daughter. They were doing just fine, and he intended to keep things as they were…except his daughter was clinging to this woman’s skirt and she looked so hungry for female attention that it made his chest hurt.

      Pushing back old regrets, he touched Sarah’s shoulder. At the same instant, Miss No Name dropped to a crouch and clasped Sarah’s arms. Face to face, they looked like mother and daughter, mirror images separated only by time. Matt thought of Sarah’s book of fairy tales and wondered if a child’s dreams really could come true.

      The woman spoke in a voice just for Sarah. “I wish I could do it, but we don’t have a brush.”

      Sarah’s lower lip trembled.

      Matt didn’t want to owe this woman another favor, but he’d swallow fire for his little girl. He also had a comb in his pocket, a tortoiseshell trinket shipped to Cheyenne from Boston. He’d learned to neaten up before doing business with busybodies like Jasper Kling. He took out the comb and held it in front of the woman’s nose. “Here.”

      Looking both pleased and mistrustful, she plucked it from his fingers, straightened and clasped Sarah’s hand. “Let’s go in the hotel,” she said to his daughter. “We can sit in the corner of the lobby.”

      Where people won’t see us.

      She didn’t say the words, but Matt heard them. He glanced down the street, saw nothing suspicious and stepped in front of the females to open the heavy door to the hotel. As the woman guided Sarah inside, she skirted the desk and went to a group of chairs behind a pedestal holding a vase of dried flowers. Matt couldn’t stop his eyes from admiring the sway of her dress. The front of it was a mess, but the back looked brand-new. He didn’t know beans about fashion, but the bow at the small of her back made him think of tying knots…and untying them. Being a gentleman, he blocked the thought by silently whistling “Dixie,” especially the part about looking away.

      Miss No Name sat on a brocade chair, set the comb in her lap and removed her gloves. “Now,” she said to Sarah. “Stand right in front of me.”

      Looking solemn, Sarah squared her shoulders.

      Matt stayed by the pedestal, watching as the woman freed the disheveled braids from their ribbons and went to work with the comb. He couldn’t stop himself from watching her hands. Maybe he’d learn something about braiding hair…at least that’s the lie he told himself. In truth, he found Miss No Name attractive in a way he’d sworn to forget. He’d never marry again. Not even for his daughter’s sake.

      With a deft stroke, the woman parted Sarah’s hair down the middle, wrapped one half around her hand and pulled it tight. Matt made a mental note of her firm touch. He worried so much about hurting Sarah that he didn’t pull hard at all.

      Miss No Name looked up and frowned. No one liked being watched, but she had an air of worry that went beyond natural reserve. She looked scared and angry. As a deputy, he had an obligation to find out why. As a man, he had instincts that went beyond duty. Unless he’d lost his ability to read people, this woman had a weight on her shoulders, one she couldn’t put down.

      To put her at ease, he sat in the chair across from her and set his hat on the table. He indicated the growing braid. “You’re good at that.”

      “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

      Sarah tilted her face upward. “Do you have a little girl?”

      “No,” the woman replied. “But I know about braids.”

      As calm as she sounded, she’d blushed at the mention of having a child. Matt searched her hand for a wedding band, the cheap kind a woman bought for herself to hide an indiscretion. He saw nothing on her slender fingers, not even a hint of white where she might have worn a ring. The more he watched her with Sarah, the more curious he became. He wanted to ask her name, but he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Sarah, though, had no such qualms. She was chattering about her doll, hair ribbons, last night’s fairy tale and what they’d had for breakfast. Whatever crossed her mind came out of her mouth, including the question Matt had wanted to ask.

      “What’s your name?” the child asked.

      The woman took a breath. “I’m a teacher. You can call me Miss Pearl.”

      She sounded natural, but Matt figured she’d omitted her last name for a reason. Whatever secret she had, it concerned a lack of a husband. He draped a boot over one knee. “Is that your given name or your last?”

      She paused to stare at him. “It’s how I wish to be addressed.”

      He raised an eyebrow. “Even by strangers?”

      She shrugged as if she didn’t care, but her cheeks turned even pinker. Looking back at Sarah’s hair, she braided the last inch, wrapped the end with a ribbon and jerked it tight. Matt counted it as both a lesson in hair braiding and a glimpse of Miss Pearl’s character. She could be tough or tender. He liked that in a woman.

      Fool!

      He’d never marry again, not after the misery he’d known with Bettina. In Matt’s experience, there was no middle ground between companionship and craziness. Looking at Miss Pearl, he felt sure of it. When she smiled at Sarah, he felt soft inside. When she looked at him with her troubled eyes, he tensed with the instinct to protect her.

      The woman handed the comb to Sarah. “You’re all set.”

      “Thank you, Miss Pearl.”

      As the females hugged, Matt stood. He still owed her for the dress, so he reached in his pocket and held out the silver coins. “For the laundering.”

      “Use it for Sarah.” She touched his daughter’s silken head. “Buy her something pretty.”

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