The Gunslinger's Untamed Bride. Stacey Kayne

You’d need to run it past the sheriff. He ought to be back later today. He has final say about such things. He put a stop to pay coming up the mountain a couple years back. Too many blind bends in these mountain roads for a man to be riding with cash in his pockets, that’s what he told McFarland.”

      “Then we’ll distribute wages in The Grove,” said Lily. “In order to do that, we’ll need to see your filing system.”

      Grimshaw poked a finger at the sweat-dampened hair beneath his hat, his tense expression unwavering. “Filing system?”

      Good gracious. Did she have to repeat everything? “You do manage this camp, do you not?”

      “I manage the workload. We used to have a site manager, but here lately, ain’t no one can manage this camp but the sheriff.”

      “Told you to sell,” Regi said beneath his breath.

      “I appreciate your situation, Mr. Grimshaw,” Lily said, ignoring her cousin’s gloating smile. “I assure you we can find all we need if you’ll just show us where to look.”

      “Time cards would do,” said Johnson. “Any documentation used to keep track of hours and pay rate.”

      “Oh, yeah. We got all that up in the office.”

      Irritation snapped at her nerves. Grimshaw was clearly the sort who only understood English spoken by a man. “Would you be so kind as to show us to the office?”

      His twisted expression suggested he’d rather not.

      “Cook sent your dinners.” A young boy darted in from outside. He held a tin plate covered by another in each hand.

      “Set ‘em over there on a bench and change the blades on table four.”

      “I’ll help you take out the dull blades,” said Mathews, rushing off to assist the boy.

      Lily watched the boy set the tin plates aside on a workbench and pull on a pair of heavy leather gloves. Cuts and scars covered his slender fingers.

      “The boy works here?” she said to Grimshaw.

      “A lot of our workers moved on to other lumber camps after the second pay hold. My oldest boy’s been helping to pick up the slack. Davy, say hello to Miss Carrington.”

      His young face glanced up. He touched a gloved hand to the brim of his hat. “Ma’am,” he said before turning back to his task.

      “Do we have an age limit for employees?”

      Grimshaw’s eyes narrowed in clear annoyance. “He’s thirteen, a smart boy and a hard worker. We’ve had boys as young as ten work the flumes and other odd jobs.”

      “I see,” she said, deciding to keep her disapproval to herself for now.

      Grimshaw turned away, clearly agitated. “Office is this way.”

      Lily motioned for Reginald and her men to follow him. As they filed up a set of stairs at the north end of the building, she glanced back at the boy lifting a circular saw from a spot on the wall. He seemed awfully young to be handling such dangerous equipment.

      “Oh, hey,” he said brightly, peering out a wide-open section of the millhouse, “Günter’s back.”

      “Who is Günter?” she asked, stepping toward him as she glanced through the thicket of trees.

      “The deputy. That big Swede right there,” he said, pointing toward the camp, which now teemed with workers. A giant of a man with pure white hair stood out from the other men. “If he’s back in camp, Sheriff must be back, too.”

      Just the man they needed. With the others already up in the mill office, this was her chance to ask the local lawman about any outlaws infiltrating her camp.

      She hurried toward the path.

      “Ma’am?” Davy called after her. “You like I should come with you?”

      “I can manage,” she called back, thinking he ought to be in school where he could learn to speak proper English.

      At the bottom of the hill, she discovered this was indeed a functioning camp. Hulking, sweaty men were everywhere, barking out orders, stacking boards, pulling chains, lifting crates—where had they all come from?

      She stepped around a pile of logs, seemingly unnoticed by the men milling about like work ants.

      Where had the deputy gone off to?

       “Lady! Heads up!”

      Lily turned toward the sharp call, just as something struck the side of her head. In a flash of pain and bright light, the world went dark.

       Chapter Two

      Juniper surveyed the growing circle of men as he tethered his horse outside the cabin serving as the Pine Ridge Lumber Camp jailhouse. Only two things drew such a crowd. There wasn’t enough rooting and shouting going on for it to be a fight.

      Someone had smuggled a woman into camp.

      Cursing beneath his breath, he started toward what could well turn into a riot. He didn’t get paid enough for this job. Hell, just like the rest of the camp, he hadn’t been paid in nearly two months. He needed to get down the mountain and check on John’s widow. His friend’s death was the most recent of fatalities in a lumber camp sliding downhill at an alarming pace.

      “Afternoon, Sheriff,” one of the men said as Juniper nudged his way past him and into a strum of murmuring voices.

      “What’s going on?” he asked, working through the crowd of men. Just as he’d suspected, he spotted pale skin and colorful ruffles through the shifting veil of bodies. Women weren’t allowed up at the lumber camp for one obvious reason—they tended to bring out the worst in lonely, rowdy timbermen. To his immediate alarm, she seemed to already be in a horizontal position.

       Good God.

      He shoved his way through, then drew to a hard stop.

       What the hell?

      A pretty lady lay unconscious on a spot of open ground. The woman’s peaceful expression and fancy prim attire shocked him far more than any display of indecency. The men surrounding her seemed just as stunned, none of them daring to go within a foot of her.

      Juniper knelt beside her and pressed his fingers to her slender neck where her pulse beat strong and steady. A sigh of relief broke from his chest.

      She sure didn’t look like a prostitute or a destitute wife who’d come up here to find out why her husband hadn’t brought home his much-needed earnings. Her green velvet waistcoat, matching leather gloves and colorful fancy skirt had a look of wealth about them. What was she doing way up here?

      “What happened?” he demanded, glaring up at the others.

      “I didn’t mean to hit her, Sheriff.” Slim, one of the log drivers, stepped forward. He twisted his hat in his hands, his eyes wide with fear as he stared at the woman. “I was moving a load.”

      “She ain’t dead, is she, Sheriff?” someone asked.

      “No,” he said, sliding his fingers into reddish-blond hair, knocking out hairpins as his fingers moved through the silken mass, searching her scalp for damage. He didn’t feel any fractures. A good-size lump protruded from the right side of her head.

      “Where’d she come from?” he asked, glancing around the circle.

      “I looked ‘round and there she was,” said Slim. “I shouted a warning, and she turned straight into the log.” He clucked his tongue. “Knocked her right out.”

      Dainty as she was, he was afraid to move her, unsure if the blow had jarred her spine.

      “I want to know what she’s doing here,” he shouted. “Who