The Lawman. Patricia Potter

ran down her back.

      Dawg brushed by her. He placed his big head on the bed and growled. He sensed conflict, and he didn’t like it.

      The marshal’s eyes went to the dog. “Who…is that?”

      “Dawg,” she replied, and for the briefest of moments she thought she might have seen a flash of humor.

      He went up a notch in her estimation. He hadn’t asked what but who. Dawg usually intimidated everyone he met. He was big and considered ugly by most. But to her he was intensely loyal and brave.

      Now he inspected the wounded marshal more closely, baring his teeth as he usually did with strangers.

      The marshal stared back at him. Not the slightest flinch. Everyone flinched when they first saw Dawg. Then he said something so softly that she couldn’t make it out.

      Dawg inexplicably relaxed. Made a funny noise in his throat. Blue blazes, an accepting noise.

      Perplexed, she studied the man in the bed. “He’s not real fond of strangers,” she warned.

      “Neither…are you,” he observed. “Apparently…it’s epidemic in Gideon’s Hope.” His mouth twisted in a wry smile.

      The marshal’s body suddenly seized again, and his lips clamped down. She found the bottle of whiskey she’d used earlier and quickly filled the cup he’d just emptied. She had to hold his head up again as he drank. When he finished, he turned his gaze to Dawg, trying, she figured, to distract himself from the pain. “Dawg?” His voice was ragged.

      “I found him when he was little more than a pup,” Sam continued. “He’d been abandoned and got caught in a beaver trap. Archie saved his paw. Archie always called him the danged dawg. Then everyone did.”

      “And me… What do you plan…now?” Every word seemed an effort, but she knew what he was asking.

      “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I didn’t think that far ahead.”

      The side of his lips turned up in a wry half smile, as if he were surprised by her admission.

      She was surprised, too. She hadn’t meant to show that vulnerability.

      The words had just popped out when he fixed his dark eyes on her.

      “You ever shoot anyone before?” he asked suddenly.

      But before she could figure how to answer, she saw him tense in pain. The cauterized leg must be agonizing. Sweat covered his brow. She quickly filled the cup again. His fingers reached for it and touched hers. Heat flowed from him to her. Their eyes met, engaged in a silent but oddly intimate battle. Every bone and nerve in her body was excruciatingly aware of him.

      She was so startled she nearly dropped the cup, and he was the one who steadied it. He took a few sips, then sank back against the rough pillow.

      Had he felt that same awareness? Or was it only her imagination, stirred by books?

      Flustered, she shifted her feet. “I’ll look after your horse. You should get as much sleep as…”

      As someone she’d just shot could.

      4

      WHAT WAS HAPPENING to her?

      Tremors were running up and down her spine as she left the room. And her breathing? It was coming in short little blasts.

      She should be afraid of the marshal, of what he could do. But what frightened her even more was something other than fear. It was the unexpected longing that clawed at her, striking a wild, lonely chord deep inside.

      The constriction in her chest grew tighter. She didn’t want to be anyone’s enemy. Especially his, a secret voice whispered.

      Sam took a deep breath. Think of something else. Anything else.

      The marshal’s horse, she reminded herself. Animals always soothed her, and the horse probably needed water and feed.

      The roan waited in front of the livery.

      She concentrated on the animal. Archie and Mac had both told her you could tell a lot about a man by the way he treated his horse, and she knew immediately this one had been treated well. She remembered how the marshal had said only a soft word and Dawg had practically slobbered all over him. She’d never seen the animal do anything like that before.

      But the marshal was a hunter. A hunter of men. And, from everything she’d heard, a ruthless one.

      She went over all his words, then stopped as she recalled one fevered utterance. “There will be others.”

      A shiver of fear ran down her back as she grabbed the horse’s reins and led him inside the stable.

      Burley met her at the door.

      “Is he dead?” Burley asked.

      “No. If anyone else comes looking for the marshal or Mac, you haven’t seen them.” Her eyes bored into Burley and she tried to make her voice as coldly resolute as Mac’s. “Understand? Because if you don’t, Archie will take his whip to you.”

      From the way his eyes widened at the last threat, Burley obviously had more respect for Archie’s wrath than her own.

      “Didn’t mean to tell him nothin’, Sam,” he groveled. “Honest.”

      She felt a second of guilt. Burley had dived into a bottle years ago after he lost his claim in a poker game. She had no idea how old he was, but he stayed in Gideon’s Hope because she and Mac and Archie looked out for him. Although his help wasn’t needed, he cared for the animals in return for food and an occasional drink of whiskey. Burley had pride.

      “You told him where Mac was,” she accused.

      “No, I swear. He came in and asked ’bout feed for his horse. When he saw Mac’s pinto, he asked about buying it. I said he wouldn’t be for sale, that Mac thought he was something special. That’s all I said. I swear.”

      “You mentioned Mac’s name?”

      He hung his head.

      She sighed.

      Probably didn’t make any difference, anyway. The marshal evidently knew that Mac rode a pinto and, even worse, had discovered where Mac was hiding. She took pity on Burley. “Maybe you should put Mac’s horse in the last stall.”

      “He gonna live? That lawman?”

      She nodded. “He lost a lot of blood, but Archie worked on him.”

      “You shot him,” Burley said admiringly.

      She didn’t reply right away. The agony on the marshal’s face as Archie dug for the bullet flashed in her mind. “Rub his horse down and give him some oats.”

      He nodded, eager to redeem himself. “I’ve been saving some,” he said. “Mr. Reese…he said he would be bringing more.” He looked at her wistfully. “You think he’ll be back soon?”

      Sam fervently hoped so. She and Mac and Archie never knew when Reese would return from his travels. If he was on a winning streak, it could be several more weeks. He knew, though, that Mac wanted to leave for Montana as soon as possible. Now they would have to wait until he was stronger.

      She had been the one who kept looking for delays. Her mother and father were buried here and she couldn’t imagine life anywhere else.

      But now was time to give back. Archie needed her. So did Mac. He was no longer safe here. Maybe never had been. Maybe one of his old outlaw friends had gotten drunk and said something. Or, more likely, he’d been recognized while in Denver. If only the marshal hadn’t kept the hunt alive. Maybe then everyone would have forgotten about Mac.

      She remembered his long strides when he returned from a trip, the way he took steps two at a time to see her mother. She’d seen the joy on her mother’s face when he arrived after a long absence,