The man she could never forget
Back in Salvation Falls after seven years in Boston, Meredith Connolly has transformed into a sophisticated businesswoman with two goals in mind:
1. Prove her father, who died in jail, was innocent and unmask the real culprits.
2. Avoid Hunter Donovan, who broke her heart and ran her out of town.
But to achieve her first objective, Meredith will have to sacrifice her second. Because Hunter is the town’s sheriff, and that means there’s no escaping him—or the way he makes her feel!
“Maybe you should think about going back to Boston,” Hunter said.
“This is my home.” Meredith fought to keep her voice steady. “And my father deserves to rest easy in his grave knowing his name has been cleared of any wrongdoing.”
His expression tightened. “Then you’re determined to stay?”
“I am staying and I’m proving my father’s innocence. Now, I would appreciate it if you would step aside and let me pass.”
He ignored her request. “I don’t see the point in what you’re doing. Your pa is gone. It isn’t going to matter to him what people think.”
“It matters to me. I don’t expect you to understand.” His family had wealth, privilege and a good name. What had he ever struggled for?
“It isn’t that I don’t understand.” His voice softened. “I know you loved your pa. I know you want to clear his name. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Chapter One
Colorado Territory, November 1876
“Hoo-wee! That was a tough one!”
“That’s one word for it,” Sheriff Hunter Donovan muttered, bending over to swipe his hat off the saloon floor. He brushed it against his leg then jammed it back onto his head, giving his deputy an exasperated glance. The way the kid was grinning from ear to ear, you’d think he’d lassoed a wayward bronco, not helped take down three brawling idiots too stupid to know when to quit.
It was hard to believe only five years separated their ages. Had he ever been that young and foolhardy? If so, he’d be sure and stop by old Sheriff McLaren’s grave and issue a most heartfelt apology.
“Aw, hell, Sheriff. It ain’t so bad. Beats sittin’ around all day staring at the walls.”
Hunter scowled. “Being a sheriff isn’t about having fun, Jenkins. It’s about keeping the peace, stopping these kinds of things before they happen. You need to be vigilant, because if not, people get hurt.” He’d learned that one the hard way. Unfortunately, it was Sheriff McLaren who had paid the price.
“I know, I know,” Jenkins said, his affable smile still in place. “I jus’ hate it when there’s nothin’ exciting to do is all.”
Hunter refrained from telling him there was always plenty to do—people to check in on, disputes to mediate, help to offer. He could stand a little idle time to try and bring Jenkins up to speed on what it meant to be a sheriff. It wasn’t all shoot-outs and saloon fights. Wearing the badge also meant the town’s safety and well-being would become his responsibility. That people would rely on him. It was a bit like a family in a way, not that Hunter’s own family, broken as it was, provided the best example in that regard.
And now, more than ever, it was important to be vigilant. Ever since the train station had been put in on the outskirts of town it seemed every piece of riffraff had found their way to Salvation Falls to try and pick up work at the lucrative ranches in the area. Although, in his estimation, they spent as much time drinking whiskey and beer in the three saloons dotting Main Street as they did actually working.
One of said riffraff rolled over onto his back and groaned. “We was jus’ havin’ a conversation about Yucton bein’ guilty or not. Didn’t mean no harm.”
Hunter gazed down at Roddy Lewis. He was a regular hand from Hunter’s father’s ranch, the Diamond D. “Perhaps you should try agreeing to disagree the next time. It’s up to the courts to decide Yucton’s fate. Not you.”
Bill Yucton had become another thorn in his side. Everyone in town had an opinion on his guilt or innocence and no one seemed shy about spouting off about it. Or about the events of seven years ago he was being tried for.
He glared over at Kincaid, the bounty hunter who had brought the outlaw to town. He’d said little about where he’d found Yucton, or why it was the man had arrived with his hands unbound, more than willing to ride into town despite knowing it could spell his doom. There was something fishy about the whole thing.
“You could have helped,” he said, addressing the bounty hunter. The man had turned in his stool at the bar and watched the fight without so much as lifting a hand.