The Legacy Page 8

  A pair of tears made their way down his cheeks.

  “Jesus Christ, Rosalyn. Why did you do that? I didn’t want… God, I didn’t want to turn this into something it wasn’t.” He wiped his face. “I keep telling people you’re not a whore and here we are having sex.”

  Rosalyn frowned. “I wanted to. That doesn’t make me a whore.”

  “No, it doesn’t, but that’s not what other people will think.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe this just happened.”

  She climbed off, leaving him alone on the cot with their mingled essence on his skin. He started buttoning his pants, avoiding her gaze.

  “You didn’t it like it then? Didn’t seem that way to me.” Hurt mixed with confusion made her sound angry.

  “That’s not what I meant.” He stood and finished correcting his clothes.

  Rosalyn noted his hands shook and fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. She looked up into his eyes and saw more than she expected— pain, pleasure, confusion—and didn’t know what to do. Her experiences with men had been limited to Noah and one other and she hadn’t even wanted to think about him.

  “Don’t worry about it, Sheriff. I was just scratching an itch.” She forced a smile to her lips. “You were a good scratching post.”

  “Stop it.” He took her by the shoulders. “Don’t cheapen this. It was amazing and incredible.” He swiped a hand down his face. “I don’t even know what to say here. Rosalyn, we can’t do this again.”

  An arrow of hurt slammed into her. “Fine, I won’t. Now if you don’t mind, I’m tired and need to get some sleep. I need to go.” She hoped her shaking legs would carry her away. Rosalyn stepped toward him, grateful when he backed out of the cell so she didn’t have to touch him. She wasn’t sure she could’ve stopped herself from hitting him right about then.

  Noah left the cell with a bow, then trudged up the stairs, his boot heels dragging. As the sound echoed through the jail, Rosalyn focused on breathing.

  Rosalyn sat on the bed and wrapped her arms around her chest, trying to get her breath and her sense back. Giving Noah pleasure had seemed like a good idea, but obviously it wasn’t. He said he shouldn’t have done it. Maybe he was one of those men who liked other men. It didn’t matter.

  She wasn’t about to touch him again.

  Noah put his head between his knees and took deep breaths. The dizziness finally passed and he could sit up straight without needing to pass out.

  Shit.

  He’d known he was attracted to Rosalyn, but had it under control, or so he thought. Then she’d thrown herself at him and turned him into a blithering idiot with one swipe of her tongue.

  His passions had been running high after the afternoon’s intensity. He had lost himself in the feeling of Rosalyn, her scent, her touch, her black hair like a curtain blocking everything and everyone out. Her mouth had seemed inexperienced, that is until it closed around his dick.

  He still throbbed and pulsed with the aftermath of the most intense orgasm of his life. Noah wasn’t a ladies’ man, but he’d had a woman seduce him before.

  But not like that.

  Not enough to make him lose his mind.

  Noah took off his clothes and lay in bed confused, swirling with emotions he thought he had locked up tight. Rosalyn had turned him completely in circles. He’d never meant to have sex with her, certainly not on a jailhouse cot where anyone could have walked in on them. However he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He might tell himself that he just went along with Rosalyn’s seduction, but that was a bald-faced lie. His body buzzed, his mind tumbled thoughts around and he barely slept a wink.

  When dawn arrived, Noah got up immediately, wanting and needing to talk to her. When he got downstairs, Rosalyn was gone.

  The blue dress lay on the cot, folded in a neat square.

  Rosalyn sat beneath the stairs behind Marina’s saloon, willing herself not to grind her teeth anymore. Confusion and anger outweighed any hurt she’d felt at Noah’s rejection. She hugged her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth, wishing Whiskers were there to give her furry comfort. She’d made a choice, a choice to see where a physical relationship with Noah would go. He was handsome, strong, kind— everything a woman could want in a man.

  However, Rosalyn had wanted a temporary bed partner, not a life partner. The experience of seducing Noah had left her confused. The aftermath of what she thought had been a good idea had forced Rosalyn to run. Noah made it clear he didn’t want to be with her because he was the sheriff. Rosalyn wasn’t going to stay where she wasn’t wanted. A man should only have to kick a dog once before it learns to protect itself.

  She hadn’t taken his gift though—she couldn’t take anything from him. With any luck, he wouldn’t find her. She couldn’t risk staying with him any longer, and it wasn’t as if she didn’t warn him. She’d told him she would only stay as long as she wanted to. She wasn’t beholden to him—he was just a stranger. So why did her heart ache?

  For just a brief moment in time, Rosalyn had felt what everyday married folks do. A sense of belonging, of rightness, of knowing there was someone next to her she could touch and taste.

  Now it was gone. She sighed and put her forehead on her knees.

  The brown dress felt coarse against her skin. After having experienced the softness of the blue cotton dress, the brown fabric smelled and made her itch.

  The difference between the dresses mirrored the ones between her and Noah. She might pretend for a while to live in his world, but in the end, Rosalyn had to return to the coarse brown dress and leave the soft, cotton world of Noah Calhoun behind. Chancetown wasn’t enormous by any means, but it was big enough and Rosalyn knew it well. She could hide so he’d never find her. With any luck, he wouldn’t try.

  The smells of the alley weren’t even the same. The rancidness of rotting food mixed with dirt, piss and shit all assaulted her nose. When had all of this changed? It had only been days, what was different now?

  Rosalyn knew the answer. It wasn’t the alley. It was her. Being with Noah had altered her. She only hoped she could reverse it or she might never survive. Living the way she did required wits and skills, not to mention good reflexes.

  Rosalyn would just have to forget Noah. Of course, she might also try to stop the sun from rising or the moon from shining in the night sky.

  ———

  After a fruitless day of searching, Noah realized Rosalyn didn’t want to be found. He got a few odd looks from townspeople, but nobody asked him what he was doing. By the time the sun had set, he was filthy, hungry and frustrated.

  A solitary dinner brought home the realization that she was gone and likely intended to stay that way. The chicken that had looked so good sat like a rock in his stomach.

  Two days later he swore he could still smell Rosalyn in the jail. If she hadn’t left the dress behind, he might think that something bad had happened to her. The dress had been a message, a goodbye note. Noah hadn’t found a trace of Rosalyn anywhere and he was growing worried. Unfortunately there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

  Telling himself he wasn’t going to search for Rosalyn again, Noah readied himself to walk the length of the main street when unexpected visitors arrived at the jail.

  Mrs. Knudsen bustled in with a young lady who could only be her daughter. A smaller, younger version of the apple-cheeked blonde, the girl kept her gaze on the floor the first five minutes they were in the jail.

  “Sheriff Calhoun,” Mrs. Knudsen practically sang. “I’ve brought you some more strudel.” She handed him a paper-wrapped package with a wide grin.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Knudsen. That’s very kind of you.” He took the package, noting the weight of the strudel, which meant she’d used a precious supply to make it. Apples were not in season in May.

  “It was no bother for our sheriff.” She pushed the young woman forward. “This is my daughter Josephine. Say hello, Josephine.”

  “Hello.” Barely a
udible, Josephine looked as though she wanted a hole to open up and swallow her.

  Noah took pity on the girl. He’d been in that situation himself. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss. Mrs. Knudsen, I was about to go make my afternoon rounds.”

  “Oh, but you have to stay for a few moments, ya? I wanted Josephine to have a chance to get to know you.”

  Noah tried to concentrate on Mrs. Knudsen and her quiet, demure daughter Josephine. In his mind’s eye, he couldn’t help but compare her to Rosalyn. Whereas Rosalyn was thin to the point of being gaunt, with jet black hair and the wild passion that couldn’t be matched, Josephine was all soft gentility, with gentle curves and clean fingernails. Josephine was a nice girl, a perfect candidate if someone was looking for a wife. Noah was not that someone.

  “So you will come to the dance in two weeks?” Mrs. Knudsen was saying. The hope in her face was a clear sign of exactly what she wanted from Noah.

  He had a moment of panic when he tried to remember what she had said. “I’m not sure. I’ll probably need to work that night, to keep the townsfolk safe for the dance.”

  It must’ve been the right thing to say because Mrs. Knudsen grinned.

  “That’s good. We will see you there.”

  With a final nod, she ushered Josephine out the door. The younger woman threw him an apologetic glance before the two of them disappeared. Noah sighed. Things were getting complicated in Chancetown and he was right in the middle of it. Hopefully not standing in front of a preacher with a surprised look on his face.

  Chapter Seven

  The next week, Noah sent out telegrams to dig deeper into the rancher’s feud. There had to be something going on other than a sheep and cattle argument that had escalated to genuine violence. He contacted a few people in Houston and one in the county seat for information.

  Until they got back to him, there was nothing to do but wait. The quiet man who ran the telegraph office and train station hadn’t been nosy about what was in the telegram. However, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t share the information with Seeger. A powerful man like him had a lot of influence in a small town.

  After he sent the telegrams, he felt a little bit more like the sheriff. Over the last two weeks, it had been a strange adjustment to go from aimless wanderer to responsible lawman. He’d tried too hard to be the old sheriff with a new pair of boots. Now, he needed to do the job as if he wasn’t filling Sheriff Boyton’s shoes, but rather adding his own pair.

  While some folks still complained he didn’t do things like Johnny, others now greeted him with a smile or a wave. He felt comfortable for the first time in many years. The next step was making the jail his own.

  Noah spent hours organizing the sheriff’s office and hanging the most recent wanted posters on the wall. At the bottom of the pile, Noah found one for Nicky Malloy. A jolt of homesickness hit him square between the eyes. His adopted mother had been close to his age when she’d gone on the run a dozen years ago, making the choice to leave home. He’d known that she’d had a bounty on her head, but finding it here seemed to be too much of a coincidence.

  Obviously Sheriff Boyton had kept almost a library of wanted posters to have one at least ten years old. As Noah stared at the pencil sketch of his adopted mother, the ache of missing his family grew to enormous proportions. He hadn’t contacted them in more than six months. With the ranchers’ issues facing him in Chancetown, he could have used someone from his family to talk to, to sort it out in his head.

  Noah talked to Elsa and Marina almost every day, but after having a brief taste of companionship with Rosalyn, he was lonely. He missed her. One of the things he liked about her was the fact that she spoke her mind, no matter what. No silly conversation just for the sake of it. Her forthrightness made her unique in a world of deception.

  He folded the wanted poster and tucked it in his pocket. Some time ago, he’d lost the photograph of his family. This would have to suffice for a while.

  ———

  Rosalyn smelled fried chicken being cooked at Elsa’s. The scent made her stomach howl louder than a coyote. She hoped the slops would include chicken legs. Lord how she loved those.

  As she waited behind the crates, Rosalyn thought about the ache in her heart. It had been over a week since she’d seen Noah, or at least since he’d seen her. She’d spotted him a few days earlier behind the general store, peering beneath the back porch. As yet he hadn’t discovered her spot under Marina’s stairs, lucky for her. Since the building next door about blocked the view, it was the perfect hiding spot.

  However, Rosalyn wasn’t hiding. She was keeping to herself and staying out of the sheriff’s way. It wasn’t as if she needed him, but only that, well, she missed him.

  Noah was a gentleman—a word Rosalyn hadn’t known the meaning of until she’d met him. He’d treated her as a lady—if that wasn’t laughable.

  “What are you doing here, missy?”

  Elsa’s harsh words made Rosalyn jump a country mile. The diminutive restaurant owner stood over her, fists on hips and a frown on her face.

  “Nothing. Just waiting for my cat.” Rosalyn’s voice trembled and she pinched her thigh to stop.

  “Now I know you’re fibbing. Come on out of there and come into the kitchen. I need to have a talk with you.” Elsa turned and stomped up the three steps to the back door of the kitchen.

  Rosalyn didn’t know what to do, run from or to the woman. It seemed she didn’t have much of a choice.

  Elsa glared at Rosalyn. “Move it. I don’t have but an hour before I have to start on supper.”

  With more than a few butterflies in her stomach, Rosalyn entered the kitchen of the restaurant. She hadn’t been inside before, not that she could recall anyway. The smells from the bread, potatoes and meat surrounded her. She closed her eyes, reveling in the warm, homey air. Two large black cookstoves stood on the left side. A coffeepot and a kettle sat on one of them. A huge table sat in the middle, covered with all kinds of stuff, including pans, rolling pin, tins of flour and a bowl of eggs. On the right was a big sink with a faucet. Running water was something Rosalyn hadn’t expected.

  “Sit.” Elsa pointed at the chair beside the stoves.

  Rosalyn settled on the wooden seat, content to be in such a sweet-smelling place.

  Elsa thrust a glass of milk at her. “You look like a stiff wind would blow you away, girl. Drink.”

  On a normal day Rosalyn wouldn’t even be in the kitchen, much less drinking milk with the intimidating Elsa. Yet there she was, meekly taking the glass.

  “What are you doing? I thought you were with the sheriff.” Elsa went back to the table and rolled out biscuit dough.

  Rosalyn swallowed the milk before she could choke on it. “What do you mean?”

  Elsa waved a floury hand in the air. “I see things. I know things. You were there with him and he smiled every day. Now he frowns and scowls.” She leveled an accusatory glare at Rosalyn. “Noah Calhoun is a good man. Don’t let your pride get in the way.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “My pride? He didn’t want me.”

  “Pshaw. I don’t believe that for a second. The darkness in his eyes had lightened after he found you. Now the shadows are back.” Elsa picked up a glass and cut out the biscuits with it. “Go see him.”

  Rosalyn’s heart warred with her head. Was it true? Had Noah changed after meeting her? It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d be affected by her. Elsa was right—Noah was a good man, the best. Someone had raised him right. He deserved better than a damaged woman like Rosalyn.

  “Don’t even start telling me that you’re not worthy of him.” Elsa seemed to be able to read Rosalyn’s thoughts. “I knew your mama. She did all right by you until she died. She was a good person no matter what folks say about her. I don’t think she could have raised a bad child.”

  Rosalyn’s head spun with memories she’d blocked for so long. The men holding her back as the rope went around Mama’s neck, the screaming, the crowd cheering. Sh
e dropped the glass and clapped her hands over her ears to block the sounds.

  Small, firm hands pulled her wrists away. “You didn’t have to break my glass, Rosie.”

  Rosie.

  It was a fist to her gut. Her mother had called her that. It was one of those memories she’d buried beneath mounds of loneliness that had become her life.

  She stared down at the broken glass glittering amidst the frothy white milk and wanted to vomit. Elsa put a hand on the back of her neck and pushed her forward.

  “Put your head a’tween your knees before you add your breakfast to that mess.” She rubbed Rosalyn’s back.

  After a few minutes the panic subsided and Rosalyn was able to take a deep breath. It had been quite a long time since she’d even thought about her mother or the way she’d died. Folks in town had never forgiven Marilyn Benedict for murdering her husband, however most had deliberately forgotten the girl left behind.

  Rosalyn looked up at Elsa. “I haven’t been to her grave since they buried her.”

  Elsa cupped her cheek. “It’s okay, Rosie. She understands and so does God. You’re doing what you can to survive.” She pushed a rag in Rosalyn’s hand. “Now clean up that mess and then we can talk.”

  With a nod, Rosalyn kneeled on the floor and wiped up the milk and glass, emptying it into a bucket Elsa set on the floor. The simple act of cleaning helped Rosalyn focus and get her breath back. She’d had no idea that Elsa had known her mother and the shock had knocked her sideways.

  “Now sit down and listen to me.” Elsa gave her another glass of milk.

  “And don’t drop this one.”

  Rosalyn took the glass with shaking hands and drank half of it right away. The sweet liquid tasted wonderful. She glanced up at Elsa who stood with her arms crossed and a frown marring her small face.