Salvation in the Sheriff's Kiss(48)
Likely it was best she not even try.
Chapter Twelve
The luncheon went wonderfully. Brody, Rachel’s young brother, joined them and Meredith was shocked by how much he had grown. He’d been only a boy of seven when she’d left. Now here he was, almost a man. Bertram had filled her in on what Rachel and her family had been through in the past six months with Robert’s passing and Shamus Kirkpatrick’s attempt to steal Rachel’s land. The scandal that Shamus was Brody’s true father had only just begun to settle before she reached town. Meredith guessed Brody had earned his manhood the hard way. He seemed more weathered and serious than most boys his age. But despite the wonderful company and the chance to catch up with Rachel, Meredith could not stop thinking about the kiss.
What had she been thinking?
She hadn’t. That was the problem. She hadn’t thought at all. Her head tried to warn her, but her silly heart and complicit body conspired to silence it. Worse still was the humiliating realization that she wanted to do it again, making her a fool twice over.
The wagon wheel hit a bump and jostled them, bumping her body against Hunter’s hard, lean frame. They sat close together sharing the blanket Rachel had provided to keep them warm.
The comfortable silence they had shared on their trip up had been replaced with an awkward tension; the kiss stretched between them like an open wound both were too afraid to bandage. At this rate, they would reach town and she’d be no more the wiser about what information Foster had imparted to Hunter than when she first stopped him on the step to ask.
Hunter cleared his throat. It was about the third time in the past five minutes and it grated on her last nerve. Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer.
“If you have something to say, say it, but if you’re going to apologize for what happened, save your breath. I take full responsibility.”
From the corner of her eye she saw him turn to stare at her, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You do?”
She gave a curt nod. Pa had taught her to own up to her mistakes. “Of course. You said we should go inside and I didn’t listen. I just stood there and...and...” Her face flamed anew.
“Looked so damn beautiful I couldn’t help myself.”
“Yes. No! No, that’s not what I did.”
He grinned and turned to face forward. “Beg to differ on that account.”
She had no words to defend his claim. She cleared her throat that only made his grin grow wider. Tarnation, this isn’t what she wanted to talk about. “Maybe you could just tell me what Foster said.”
She chose to ignore the chuckle that echoed off the trees surrounding them. The thick forest cut out much of the fading afternoon light and shadows layered the path ahead. By the time they reached town, it would be dark. Hunter had rigged a lamp to the front of the wagon to help light the way.
Hunter relayed the conversation he’d had with Foster and as the tale unfolded Meredith’s belief that proving her father’s innocence would be a simple matter of finding a missing piece of evidence shriveled.
“You asked me about this Syndicate when I first arrived. What is it?”
“Some kind of outfit, near as I can piece together. McLaren knew about it. Or suspected, at least. And Yucton, too.”
“And Pa thought they would hurt me?”
Hunter nodded. “To get to him, yeah.”
Fear spoiled the delicious lunch Freedom had served them. “And you think they’re still a threat?”
“I’m not sure what to think. Whatever evidence your pa had against them is still out there. It’s what kept him safe and alive.”
“I thought your father speaking on his behalf is what kept him alive.” She hated feeling indebted to Vernon Donovan for anything, and she didn’t now. The way she saw it, it was the least he could do for all the grief he’d caused them.
“Maybe,” Hunter said, but she heard the doubt beneath it. “Bottom line is your pa was trying to protect you.”
“He shouldn’t have done that.” Impotent frustration filled her. “He should have taken whatever evidence he had and used it to prove his innocence and gain his freedom!”
Hunter looked across his shoulder at her, his expression a mixture of pity and finality. “Do you think he would have enjoyed his freedom if it had cost you your life? That he would have thought the price worth it?”
She didn’t respond. They both knew the answer. And the answer only made her more determined than ever to give something back to her father who had given up everything for her. No matter what the cost.
“Then you think the evidence is still out there.”