Loving a Lawman Read online

  Loving a Lawman

  Kristen Iten

  Contents

  Books in the Series

  Acknowledgments

  You’re Invited

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Loving a Toymaker Preview

  Chapter 1

  A Note to the Reader

  About the Author

  Books in the Series

  Loving an Outlaw

  Loving a Lawman

  Loving a Toymaker: A Lone Star Christmas

  Copyright © 2018 Kristen Iten

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please visit www.KristenIten.com to submit permission requests.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to say a special thank you to an amazing group of friends and fellow authors. Liwen H., Jocelynn F., and Patricia B., without your support and encouragement this book wouldn’t be what it is today.

  Dedicated to my sweet family. You inspire me daily.

  You’re Invited

  Do you love to read clean romance? Visit www.KristenIten.com and sign up for my newsletter. I work hard to find the best deals on new clean romance to share with you. I’ll also let you know when my next book comes out!

  Chapter 1

  Rosie stood on her front porch, fidgeting with the ruffled apron tied around her trim waist. Fine lines shown at the corners of her narrowed eyes as she struggled against the bright sunlight of a clear October afternoon. Her eyes darted down the street, searching for a particular long legged man who happened by this time every day.

  At the end of the porch, a lazy rocking chair sat on either side of an overturned barrel topped with a square of red gingham fabric. A pitcher of sweet mint tea flanked by two tall glasses sat next to a plate heaped with pecan tarts. Everything was ready.

  Business had been good at the boardinghouse since a distinguished guest had taken up residence a few months ago. There was plenty of money to go around these days—enough to splurge on sweet treats for her guests.

  Her stomach fluttered when she caught sight of Micah Lagrange’s long, lean frame heading her way. She secretly chided herself. Honestly, a forty-three-year-old woman acting like a schoolgirl. One final glance in the large picture window behind her revealed not a single curl out of place.

  “Miss Rosie,” he said, standing at the base of the steps leading to the porch.

  The deep bass timbre of the tall man’s voice caused Rosie’s pulse to quicken. He removed a sun-bleached hat and smoothed his palm over rust-colored hair. His unruly waves bounced right back into their unkempt place as soon as his hand returned to his side.

  “I was just fixin’ to have my afternoon tea. Would you care to join me, Sheriff?”

  The twinkle in Micah’s eyes told Rosie he knew she had prepared the afternoon snack for the two of them as usual. She glanced over at the table setting for two, and blushed ever so faintly at the silliness of her pretense.

  “I’d be happy to, ma’am. It’s been a long, thirsty afternoon on the trail.” His chiseled features melted into a gentle smile, deepening the creases that years of hard riding in the sun had created. It sent honey-like warmth into Rosie’s stomach that radiated throughout her body.

  The wood beneath his feet creaked as he crossed the porch, spurs jingling with each step he took toward his usual seat.

  Rosie pulled a handkerchief trimmed with delicate lace out of her sleeve, dabbing it down the length of her neck. A firm tug on the soft, pink bodice of her second-best dress straightened out the few wrinkles that had settled in. She took a deep breath and followed Micah to the end of the porch.

  “Just set yourself down, and I’ll pour the tea.” Rosie filled Micah’s glass with her famous brew and held the cup out to him. His fingertips brushed hers as he took hold of the glass, sending a wave of goose bumps up her arm. The large mustache overhanging his mouth shifted. Rosie could only imagine the smile that must have been on his hidden lips.

  Color found its way into Rosie’s cheeks again when their eyes met.

  “Miss Rosie …” He studied the contents of the glass in his hand.

  The husky sound of his voice filled Rosie’s heart with giddy anticipation. She watched with bated breath as Micah searched for words that seemed to be just out of his reach. Go on! I’ve been waiting on you to speak your intentions for nigh on to eight months now.

  Micah brought the glass to his lips, guzzling the liquid in one long series of gulps. He sat the empty glass firmly on the table and filled his lungs with a deep breath. “Miss Rosie, I—”

  Loud footsteps sounded from inside the house. Two men deep in conversation stepped onto the porch. A man of average height towered over his diminutive companion. Thick, jet-black hair tinged with white at the temples gave him a distinguished air. His brown eyes found Rosie. He acknowledged her with a bright smile and a nod of his head while continuing his conversation.

  “Don’t leave until you receive a reply,” the man said. He clapped the short man on the back, knocking his spectacles down the bridge of his shiny nose. The man righted his glasses and took off in the direction of the telegraph office without another word.

  “My dear, Rose.” The dark haired man’s voice was as rich and creamy as freshly churned butter. “You are an angel of mercy. How you always know just what I need is beyond my comprehension.” A few swift strides brought him to the empty rocking chair in front of Rosie. He plopped down opposite Micah, holding an empty glass out for Rosie to fill.

  She hesitated for a moment, eyes darting between the two men sitting in front of her. “I wasn’t expecting to see much of you today, Carson,” she said. Her sweet smile seemed to do the job of hiding her disappointment at the interruption. She filled what was now his cup. “I thought you had some important campaigning to do.”

  “I most certainly do, but not until later. Some of the most influential ranchers from miles around are riding in today.”

  “I remember you telling me about your big supper,” Rosie said.

  “Oh, it’s much more than that, my girl. If I can garner the support of these cattlemen, I’m practically guaranteed that seat in the senate.” He gave a long exhale, a satisfied smile across his lips. “It shouldn’t be too hard. I’m sure they look up to me—my ranch is the biggest one around.”

  Carson sat back in the rocking chair and looked over at Micah. “How I envy your simple life, Sheriff, wiling away each afternoon with this lovely creature.” He gestured toward Rosie with an outstretched hand.

  Micah shifted in his seat. His clenched fist knocked on the arm of his chair in sync with its rocking motion.

  “Well, we wouldn’t want to keep you from your preparations,” Rosie said.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ve set this afternoon aside as a time of rest and recuperation. You, my dear Rose, are just what the doctor ordered.” A confident smile spread across his face as he pinned her with his eyes.

  Rosie’s gaze fell to the planks of wood beneath her feet as heat crept up her neck. Carson Wagoner had a way about him that could charm the armor right off of an armadillo, though she never took his attentio
ns too seriously. It was a talent well suited to a politician.

  Micah cleared his throat and smacked at the dust clinging to his pant leg with his hat.

  Carson leaned his head against the back of the rocking chair. “You have no idea of the rigors of running for public office, Micah.”

  “How do you suppose I came to be the sheriff of Sweet Creek?”

  Carson continued as if Micah hadn’t spoken. “I need times like these to gather my thoughts before heading into the fray once again.”

  Micah, who had looked as if his britches were lined with prickly pear cacti ever since Carson had arrived, finally stood. “Miss Rosie, you really should take my seat.”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” she said. “I’m fine right here.” If there was one thing Rosie didn’t want, it was for Micah to take his leave because of Carson. That had been happening all too often in recent weeks.

  Micah took a step nearer and looked into her eyes once again. “It just don’t feel right for me to sit while you’re over there standin’.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at Carson who had finally stopped talking long enough to stuff an entire pecan tart into his mouth. Micah spoke in a hushed tone punctuated with a little wink. “Besides, I should probably be on my way. This simple life of mine has me pretty busy today.”

  Micah placed his hat back on his head, touching the brim with his index finger. “Thanks for the refreshments and the company, ma’am.”

  “Anytime, Sheriff.” Rosie’s eyes followed him down the stairs. She heard Carson’s voice rattling off behind her once again but wasn’t aware of what he said as she watched Micah walk down the street and disappear into the jailhouse. Her shoulders drooped when the door closed behind him. A familiar twinge of disappointment settled into her chest.

  “Rose, you look pale. I do wish you’d come and sit.”

  “I’ll sit a spell with you. I haven’t had my tea yet.” Rosie wiped Micah’s glass clean with her apron and poured herself a glass of sweet tea. She relaxed into the deep seat of her rocking chair and drank, a faraway look in her eyes. The October sun was nowhere near as punishing as a summer sun in August, but the day had heated up, and Rosie was glad for the refreshment.

  “I hope I won’t disturb you, but I’ll probably be getting in pretty late tonight. I don’t know how long the meeting will go. I can’t afford to leave any stone unturned at this stage.”

  Carson’s words roused her from her thoughts. “Yes, you’re less than a month away from the big day, aren’t you?” she said.

  Carson leaned so far forward that his chair rested on the tips of its rungs. “Rose, I do believe election day is going to change the course of my life forever.”

  As if on cue, Carson’s small companion approached the boarding house. “Here comes Titus,” Carson said. “His face looks pinched. It’s time to find out what news my campaign manager has brought from the telegraph office.”

  He stood and brushed at the wrinkles that had settled into his fine suit of clothes. “If you’ll excuse me?” Rosie was left to her thoughts as the influential rancher-turned-politician took his leave.

  Rosie fluffed the pillows on the settee in her front sitting room, enjoying the rare moments of solitude this evening had brought her. The house was empty except for her and Colonel, an old tomcat that frequented the house whenever he was looking for a meal. He flicked his crooked tail as he watched a beetle trudge across the floor with clumsy steps.

  Rosie closed the curtains for the night and ran her hand across the slick fur on the cat’s back. She settled into her favorite seat next to the picture window, ready to spend her remaining quiet time with her favorite book.

  She leaned back for a moment, closing her eyes and letting the peace soak into her. Her breathing matched the rhythm of Colonel’s purring as the nightly chorus of a thousand crickets soothed her soul. Rosie craved times like these like a fish craves water. She needed them to survive her daily life as the owner of a boarding house. Peace. Quiet. Privacy. This is how life is meant to be lived.

  As much as she enjoyed seeing to the needs of her guests, her home had never been intended to be a boardinghouse filled with strangers. Her father had built it years ago as a family home with hopes that the many bedrooms would one day be filled with the laughter of grandchildren. But that dream had died long ago, leaving behind a hole in her heart that still stung if she ventured to think of the life she longed for.

  Rosie opened her eyes again and thumbed through the pages of the book in her hand. She had just found her place when the sound of shattering glass filled her ears. She had no time to turn to see what had happened. A large rock sailed through the window and slammed into her head with such force it knocked her out of her seat. Everything went black.

  Chapter 2

  Micah leapt from his seat at the jailhouse desk, drawing his ivory-gripped revolver in one fluid motion. The unmistakable sound of gunfire had pierced the quiet of night. He pulled the hammer of his gun back and peered out the door.

  His stomach dropped when he saw two gunmen riding their mounts in a tight circle in front of Miss Rosie’s boardinghouse. They whooped and hollered like wild men, firing their weapons into the air with reckless abandon.

  Micah fired a warning shot over their heads. “Drop your weapons.” His voice boomed into the night. One of the lawless men took aim over his shoulder, shooting in Micah’s direction. The sheriff dove through the door and took cover behind the watering trough at the foot of the stairs, returning fire as he went.

  A bullet blew a hole in the side of the trough just as he flattened his body to the ground, dousing him with a continuous stream of water. Keeping a low profile, he rolled out from behind his cover and into the street. The palm of his left hand fanned the hammer of his six-gun until his ammunition was spent.

  The two men took off down the road while Micah reloaded his weapon of choice. By the time his revolver was ready for action again, the men were out of range. Thick darkness had hidden their identity, but that was the furthest thing from Micah’s mind. Rosie!

  Micah’s long strides brought him quickly to the boarding house. His chest tightened when he saw the glass from Miss Rosie’s picture window shattered and strewn beneath an empty frame. His momentum catapulted him onto the porch with one giant leap.

  “Rosie!” His voice called out, thick with emotion, but he received no reply. He burst through the front door and called out again. “Ros—” His knees buckled when his eyes landed on a slender woman lying on the floor, a book crumpled beneath her motionless figure. A wave of nausea crashed into him and settled into the pit of his stomach as he broke out into a cold sweat.

  Micah rushed to her and knelt beside her lifeless form. He reached out but hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. She looked so tiny, fragile as a China doll. He rested his rough hand lightly on her shoulder. “Miss Rosie, wake up.” There was no response.

  He gently rolled her over and into his arms. His throat constricted when he caught sight of her expressionless face stained with a trail of blood. He cradled Rosie’s head, her limp body resting in his arms, and placed his fingers on her throat, hoping to find a pulse.

  A single tear trickled down the hardened features of the lawman’s face when he felt the rhythmic throbbing of a heartbeat beneath his fingertips. He hugged her frail body close, burying his face in silky blonde curls tinged with a hint of silver. He inhaled the sweet scent of the woman who had come to mean so much to him since becoming the sheriff of Sweet Creek.

  Footsteps on the porch caught his attention. Micah instinctively drew his weapon. No one was going to hurt Rosie ever again. He would see to that.

  A tall man with thick arms and an even thicker waistline filled the doorway. He threw his hands into the air at the sight of Micah’s revolver, revealing a hole in the sweat soaked underarm of one of his sleeves. His nut-brown handlebar mustache twitched uncontrollably.

  “It’s just me, Sheriff. I heard all the ruckus from my shop and wa
nted to see if everything was all right over here.” He lowered his arms and wrung his leather apron in bear-like hands when his eyes shifted to Rosie. “Is she—”

  “Go get Pastor Holtz, Ben.” Micah holstered his gun and slid his free arm under Rosie’s legs. He lifted the small woman with ease and carried her toward one of the downstairs bedrooms.

  He inclined his head, so his lips nearly brushed her ear, and whispered. “Don’t worry, Miss Rosie. I got you now.”

  The bedroom door gave way to the sole of Micah’s boot, and he entered a room lit only by moonlight streaming in through lacy curtains on the windows. He laid the unconscious woman on the bed with great care. An oil lamp decorated the chest of drawers sitting against the wall opposite the bed. Micah lit it and returned to Rosie’s side.

  A pitcher of fresh water sat next to the wash basin. Micah moistened one of the rags from the shelf below and tenderly rearranged Rosie’s curls. He washed away the blood marring the side of her face.

  “You hang in there, Miss Rosie. Pastor Holtz is on the way. You always say he’s as good as any doctor around.” A weak chuckle escaped his tense lips. Every creak and sound of the night caused Micah to glance up at the door in expectation. Hurry up.

  A few minutes later, he heard Pastor David Holtz in the front room. “We’re back here,” Micah called.