Chapter One
August, 1879
Northeastern Kansas
Hannah Stewart shook like a prairie rabbit cornered by a coyote. She took a stabilizing breath, held it tight. The law was bound to catch up with her, but she really didn’t want it to happen today. Air locked into her lungs as she blinked against the shine of the polished, six-pointed star glistening on the leather vest before her eyes.
Her chest began to burn. Hot air seeped between her lips. With a flip of her wrist, she slammed the heavy ledger closed, trapping Sheriff Adam McBride’s hand between the long, yellowed pages.
“Who stays here, Sheriff, is none of your business.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mrs. Stewart,” Adam McBride responded in his slow, sensual voice.
Placing both hands on top of the worn, leather cover, Hannah rolled her shoulders against the shivers racing up her back. “Perhaps you’d care to speak to Miss Birdie, if you are so inclined to know who her guests are.”
The sheriff pulled his hand from between the pages. He settled it atop hers, trapping her quivering ones. “Perhaps I would,” he drawled.
His fingers were long and dark compared to the whiteness of her skin, and the heat of his palm set the backs of her hands on fire. She gulped, unsure whether for air or to swallow the lump in her throat. The prickle of sweat popping out on the back of her neck told her the sharp gaze of piercing, green eyes bore down on her. Without looking up, she answered, “S-she’s not here right now.”
“When will she be back?”
Hannah slipped her hands out from beneath his and pressed them against her rolling stomach. “I don’t believe that is any of your business either, Sheriff.” She held her jaw tight, hoping her voice didn’t reveal the jitters racing from her toes to the top of her head.
“Wrong again, Mrs. Stewart.” His finger and thumb grasped her chin, lifted it, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “Everything that happens in this town is my business, when are you going to figure that out?”
She opened her mouth, but closed it again, unable to come up with an answer. With another gulp, she swallowed around a lump the size of a potato dumpling.
Tiny lines formed near his eyes as a slow smile pulled the edges of his mustache-framed lips upward. “Just as you are my business, Mrs. Stewart.”
Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. “I—” She squared her shoulders, silently searching for self-fortification. “I am not your business, Sheriff McBride.”
He chuckled, a low, half-laugh that reverberated down her spine. His thumb caressed the skin below her chin. “You most certainly are. Have been since the moment you stepped off the stage, sporting that daffodil-covered hat.”
His fingers slipped away, leaving the tender skin beneath her chin tingling as if it had been singed by the steam of a boiling pot. She swallowed the moan in the back of her throat. He turned, slowly made his way to the door. The heels of his boots clicked a lazy rhythm against the hardwood floor.
He pushed the screen open, and she found her voice. “They are tulips.”
All six feet of Sheriff McBride hovered in the open doorway. Leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world, he turned. A thoughtful gaze roamed over her, leaving a trail of heat.
She locked her knees, praying her trembling legs wouldn’t collapse and make her slither to the floor behind the front desk of the boarding house in Blue Spring, Kansas.
He tipped the brim of his black hat up, allowed the gleam in his twinkling eyes to settle on her face. “Excuse me?”
She wobbled, had to press her heels onto the hard floor. “My hat has tulips on it, not daffodils.”
A wide smile covered his face, made the skin around his eyes crinkle again. “Tulips, you say?”
She gave a slight nod.
One of his dark brows rose. “I stand corrected, Mrs. Stewart.” He used two fingers to slightly tip his hat, then without another word, he turned and walked out the
August, 1879
Northeastern Kansas
Hannah Stewart shook like a prairie rabbit cornered by a coyote. She took a stabilizing breath, held it tight. The law was bound to catch up with her, but she really didn’t want it to happen today. Air locked into her lungs as she blinked against the shine of the polished, six-pointed star glistening on the leather vest before her eyes.
Her chest began to burn. Hot air seeped between her lips. With a flip of her wrist, she slammed the heavy ledger closed, trapping Sheriff Adam McBride’s hand between the long, yellowed pages.
“Who stays here, Sheriff, is none of your business.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mrs. Stewart,” Adam McBride responded in his slow, sensual voice.
Placing both hands on top of the worn, leather cover, Hannah rolled her shoulders against the shivers racing up her back. “Perhaps you’d care to speak to Miss Birdie, if you are so inclined to know who her guests are.”
The sheriff pulled his hand from between the pages. He settled it atop hers, trapping her quivering ones. “Perhaps I would,” he drawled.
His fingers were long and dark compared to the whiteness of her skin, and the heat of his palm set the backs of her hands on fire. She gulped, unsure whether for air or to swallow the lump in her throat. The prickle of sweat popping out on the back of her neck told her the sharp gaze of piercing, green eyes bore down on her. Without looking up, she answered, “S-she’s not here right now.”
“When will she be back?”
Hannah slipped her hands out from beneath his and pressed them against her rolling stomach. “I don’t believe that is any of your business either, Sheriff.” She held her jaw tight, hoping her voice didn’t reveal the jitters racing from her toes to the top of her head.
“Wrong again, Mrs. Stewart.” His finger and thumb grasped her chin, lifted it, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “Everything that happens in this town is my business, when are you going to figure that out?”
She opened her mouth, but closed it again, unable to come up with an answer. With another gulp, she swallowed around a lump the size of a potato dumpling.
Tiny lines formed near his eyes as a slow smile pulled the edges of his mustache-framed lips upward. “Just as you are my business, Mrs. Stewart.”
Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. “I—” She squared her shoulders, silently searching for self-fortification. “I am not your business, Sheriff McBride.”
He chuckled, a low, half-laugh that reverberated down her spine. His thumb caressed the skin below her chin. “You most certainly are. Have been since the moment you stepped off the stage, sporting that daffodil-covered hat.”
His fingers slipped away, leaving the tender skin beneath her chin tingling as if it had been singed by the steam of a boiling pot. She swallowed the moan in the back of her throat. He turned, slowly made his way to the door. The heels of his boots clicked a lazy rhythm against the hardwood floor.
He pushed the screen open, and she found her voice. “They are tulips.”
All six feet of Sheriff McBride hovered in the open doorway. Leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world, he turned. A thoughtful gaze roamed over her, leaving a trail of heat.
She locked her knees, praying her trembling legs wouldn’t collapse and make her slither to the floor behind the front desk of the boarding house in Blue Spring, Kansas.
He tipped the brim of his black hat up, allowed the gleam in his twinkling eyes to settle on her face. “Excuse me?”
She wobbled, had to press her heels onto the hard floor. “My hat has tulips on it, not daffodils.”
A wide smile covered his face, made the skin around his eyes crinkle again. “Tulips, you say?”
She gave a slight nod.
One of his dark brows rose. “I stand corrected, Mrs. Stewart.” He used two fingers to slightly tip his hat, then without another word, he turned and walked out the
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