Rustler's Moon. Jodi Thomas

letting his body brush against her. One hand moved along her waist. She wasn’t sure if he was steadying her, or himself, as the kiss deepened.

      She accepted his gift, hungry for a passion she’d never tasted. She had no idea how to kiss him back like this, but for one wild moment in her life, she wanted to learn.

      Just as she wondered if crazy was contagious, someone hollered, “Wilkes!” so loud it echoed through the walls.

      Wagner straightened and pulled his hat down over his still-bleeding forehead. He was pulling away, straightening to the stranger he’d been moments before, but for one second, she felt his fingers press into her side as if letting go didn’t come easy.

      She stumbled as she stepped around him and felt his hand rest against her back once more, steadying her after his gentle assault.

      An old man limped into the room. “How long do you expect me to wait for you, boy? I got things to do back at the ranch.”

      She glanced at the man beside her. He definitely wasn’t a boy and hadn’t been for years, but he didn’t seem offended by the old man’s tone.

      “Angie Jones,” Wagner said as if, now that they’d kissed, they were old friends, “I’d like you to meet my uncle, Vern Wagner.”

      The older man took off his hat and smoothed his palm over the few hairs left on his head. “Nice to meet you, miss.”

      The man beside her leaned close to her ear. “I’m Wilkes Wagner, Angie. My uncle has been proposing to women for years and none have taken him up on it yet. I’m not sure, but I think he made up the part about leaving a few brides at the altar that everyone believes.”

      He shook his head. “I’m sorry for frightening you. I thought you were in on a joke my uncle was playing on me.”

      She thought over the odd encounter. She might not know how to fight off a man who wanted to kiss her, but she knew how to be professional. “And what was your question, Mr. Wagner?”

      Wilkes glanced at his uncle. “I’ll have to come back another time. I’d like you to help me with some research on an old house.”

      “I will be happy to,” she managed. “Only, please call before you come. I’m going to be very busy learning the museum.”

      “I’ll try.” He smiled, and she knew he was laughing at her. “Good day, Angie.”

      She straightened, trying to hold her ground. “My name’s not Angie, Mr. Wagner.” Only her father called her Angie.

      To her surprise Wilkes Wagner grinned. “It’s not Jones, either, Miss Harold, and there’s no ring on your finger. If you didn’t keep the man, don’t keep his name.”

       CHAPTER FIVE

      Angela

      Ransom Canyon Museum

      ANGELA PLOPPED DOWN in her office chair and swiveled around to face her huge window. The beautiful canyon welcomed her, calmed her. She felt the freedom of this place pounding through her blood.

      She’d been at work less than three hours and already she’d survived a party in her honor, injured a man she thought was attacking her and had a marriage proposal. Well, the proposal part was a joke, but still he had asked. Maybe living in this little town wasn’t going to be as boring as she’d hoped. Maybe she’d be different here. Braver.

      “Miss Harold?” Dan Brigman’s voice sounded from the hallway. “May I come in?”

      She turned toward the office door. Since the sheriff’s head was already in her office, she figured the rest of his body might as well be. “Of course.” She motioned to the chair in front of her desk, but he walked around to stand at the floor-to-ceiling window.

      Brigman looked exactly like what she imagined a county sheriff would look like. They should cast him in a series. He was tall, but not too tall. Brown hair in need of a cut. Boots well-worn and polished, and a weapon strapped to his leg as if it were simply a part of him and nothing more. She’d known the moment she saw him that he was a man she could trust.

      “If I had this great a view in my office, I’d never leave.” Leaning against the edge of the glass, Dan added, “The town gave you a nice welcome, I thought.”

      “It was wonderful! The president of the museum board—Staten Kirkland?—said if there is anything I want around the place to just tell one of the volunteers and it will get back to his grandmother, who’ll pester him until he gets it done. Strange chain of command, but maybe it works.”

      Dan smiled. “That sounds about right. Staten can move mountains it seems. The Kirklands are about as close to royalty in these parts as it comes. Legend is Staten’s great-great-grandfather bought his wife at kind of a swap meet the outlaws used to have down in this very canyon. The Kirklands come from rough stock, but they’re solid.”

      “Rough stock?”

      “Sorry, I forget you’re not from around here. Rough stock is mostly a rodeo term these days. Bulls and horses that have never been tamed or broke to ride.”

      “What about the Wagners? Are they rough stock, too?” She could still feel the tingle of Wilkes Wagner’s lips on hers. No man had ever kissed her like that—all out and wild.

      “No. The Wagners come from a German family who were carpenters. Very civilized. The first Mrs. Wagner was a midwife who delivered half the babies born in the county back in the late 1800s. Somewhere along the way, a few of the sons or grandsons started farming. The Wagner you met owns the Devil’s Fork Ranch. Farms mostly to raise crops for winter as feed. Supplies several of the ranches around.

      “Wilkes runs a few head of cattle along with farming over eight hundred acres, but nothing like the Collins and Kirkland spreads. I’ve never seen a Wagner who couldn’t fix anything that broke. They’re good with their hands.”

      Angela blushed. She could still feel the imprint of Wilkes’s hand at her side.

      The sheriff pushed away from the window. He seemed to have stretched his skills at conversation to the max. “Well, I’d better get back to work. Call me if you need anything.”

      He was halfway to the door when she asked, “Where’s my staff?”

      “Staff?” Dan asked.

      “You know, the people who work here?” She’d hoped to meet them first, not last.

      “Oh, I thought you understood. You’re it. That’s why we had to close the place when the old curator left.”

      “You’re kidding.” She could not run the entire place by herself.

      Brigman must have seen her panic. “Of course. You got help. Nigel Walls comes in twice a week to clean the floors and bathrooms. He also works at the courthouse, so if you need him, I can send him over early.

      “The ladies auxiliary holds a brunch here the first of every month and their president assigns two members to the front desk every hour you’re open. I think they work in two-hour shifts, but sometimes the ladies get to talking and there will be four to six women at the desk. The county keeps up with donations and bills. We don’t charge for our time, but the volunteers keep a count of attendance and give tours. The building is open from nine to five, six days a week. If you take a day off, all you have to do is call one of the board members to step in.”

      “That’s it? That’s all the staff?” Angela listed in her mind all the duties that didn’t include greeting or cleaning. Kirkland had probably explained it to her during the phone interview but she’d been so excited and tired she must have missed the details.

      “Of course we have others. Anyone doing community service is sent here to do yard work. The judge tends to make the hours longer around mid-November to help put up Christmas lights. But don’t worry about