LITMIR.BIZ

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He’d invited her to stay, and he’d best be thinking about providing her with a bed. Of her own.

      “Good. I was hoping you’d remember the milk,” Sarah told him when he entered the kitchen bearing a full jug from his nearest neighbor. His bundles were deposited on the round kitchen table quickly—a loaf of bread from the neighbor’s wife and a dozen eggs from her white leghorn hens. A small crock held a round of butter, and Brace looked down at his offerings with satisfaction.

      “I brought some coffee from the general store, too,” he said. “You know how to make it?”

      “I suspect I can try,” Sarah said, amusement in every syllable. She brought a blue speckled bowl from the pantry and filled it with the eggs, then unwrapped the loaf of bread, lifting it to sniff with appreciation. “This is wonderful,” she said. “I’ll have some supper ready in no time flat.”

      He settled at the table, watching as she moved around his kitchen. It was strangely satisfying, he thought, to have a woman here. For a year or so he’d believed this might never come to pass. Silently he cautioned himself not to get too excited about Sarah Murphy’s presence in his kitchen. She’d probably not be sticking around for long. She had things to do, and he was merely offering his hospitality until her life was in order.

      “I can’t thank you enough for taking us in,” Sarah said, turning from the stove to face him. “Stephen found a litter of kittens in the shed, and he’s out there playing with them. I hope you don’t mind.”

      “No. Old Tabby manages to keep our rodent population under control with her offspring,” he said easily. “I’ve got the only feed barrels hereabouts that aren’t on the menu for those pesky mice.”

      “There’re mice out there?” Sarah asked, her eyes flitting to the back door and beyond it to the large shed. “They won’t bite, will they?”

      Brace laughed. “I can’t believe a woman like you would be afraid of a mouse.”

      Her chin rose a bit and her eyes flashed a dark message in his direction. “I’m not afraid of them. I just don’t like them.”

      “They’re a fact of life, Sarah. If you have a farm, you have mice. If you have a cat like Tabby, you can keep them pretty much under control.”

      “You don’t have them in the house, do you?” she asked, darting a glance toward the pantry.

      He couldn’t believe her. His amusement spilled over into laughter again. “A woman who managed to follow a rascal like Lester Clark across the country, toting a gun and keeping track of her prey for who knows how long, shouldn’t blink an eye at whopping a mouse with a broom,” he said cheerfully.

      “I’d rather shoot Lester,” she said sharply. “And where is he, anyway? Has he left town yet, or are we going to be hidden here till kingdom come?”

      “Till it’s safe,” he said firmly.

      “It’s not going to be safe for you, once the folks hereabouts realize I’m parked in your house,” she said bluntly. “Don’t you know what sort of stories people will start spreading? You’re asking for trouble, mister.”

      “You’d rather be in jail?” he asked mildly.

      “Of course not. I’d rather be bundling up my nephew and heading back home.”

      “And what happens if Lester Clark chases you down?” he asked. “He’s bigger than you are, sweetheart. He carries a bigger gun. And I don’t think he’s a very nice fella.”

      “Well, that’s the understatement of the year,” she said quickly. “I know all about Lester. He’s not going to shoot me.”

      “And how do you know that?” Brace asked.

      “He has other plans for me.”

      Brace was silent, his mind reckoning the truth of her words, and finding them to be logical. “What’s his problem?”

      Sarah turned toward the stove and stirred the contents of a kettle. Her movements were vigorous, her back stiff and straight, and he’d warrant her cheeks were flushed. Either with anger or embarrassment. Maybe both.

      “You ready to eat?” she asked. And then, without waiting for his answer, she dished up into a bowl the meal she’d concocted from his supplies and carried it to the table.

      “What’s that?” Brace asked, peering into the savory mixture.

      “Beef stew,” she answered. “You didn’t have any decent flour, so I couldn’t make biscuits. It’s a good thing you brought bread home.” She reached into the kitchen cupboard, brought forth three smaller bowls and placed them on the table, then looked at him.

      “Would you mind calling Stephen in? He’s inside the shed. I told him not to venture outside.”

      Brace rose, ambled to the back door and stepped out onto the porch. “Stephen,” he called, pitching his voice to carry the fifty feet or so to the outbuilding. He was rewarded by the sight of a grinning child, a kitten cuddled in each arm as he stood in the open doorway. The look of pleasure on the boy’s face made this whole mess worth it all, Brace decided.

      “Come on in, son,” he said. “Your aunt has supper ready for us.”

      “I think we need to talk,” Brace said, aware that this conversation was overdue. “I want to know just what your plans are, Sarah. And don’t tell me you’re ready to trot back where you came from when you know damn well that your brother-in-law will be hot on your trail the minute you leave town.”

      “I thought you said he took his horse and left.” She hesitated, then offered her opinion. “Probably heading for his family’s place west of here.”

      “And you really think that’s the end of it?” Brace asked. “He didn’t bring the boy this far just so he could walk away and forget the whole thing. Though it doesn’t make sense to me that he’d let you find him so easily. He could have lost you if he’d had a mind to, don’t you think?”

      She nodded. Reluctantly, he thought without surprise. “It isn’t Stephen he really wants,” she said quietly. “It’s me.”

      “That’s about what I figured.” He leaned back in his chair and watched as Sarah’s cheeks turned pink. She lowered her eyelids, as if she could not face his scrutiny, and she seemed to concentrate on the design in the oilcloth. Her index finger traced a yellow flower, and then she found an errant crumb from supper and brushed it to the floor.

      “My sister was also my twin,” she said after the silence had stretched to several minutes. “Lester wanted to marry me eight years ago, but I wouldn’t accept his proposal. I was too young, just sixteen, and deathly afraid of him, to tell the truth. He has a violent temper.” She looked up at him then. “I already told you that, didn’t I?”

      He nodded encouragingly and waited for the rest of the story, aware already that the ending would not be to his liking. “You told me,” he said. “The same time you told me he’d killed your sister.”

      “Sierra was timid,” she said. And then her smile twisted her lips in a grimace. “We weren’t much alike. Not like two peas in a pod, as my mama used to say.” She sighed. “We looked alike, but I use my right hand and Sierra used her left. It was the one way my father could tell us apart sometimes, except for when I lost my temper.”

      And that was something Brace could well imagine. Sarah was a spitfire. His thoughts spun, snagged by one statement she’d made. “Could Lester Clark tell you apart?” he asked. “Or was it you he really wanted, but had to settle for your sister?”

      “You’re a pretty smart fella for a lawman,” Sarah said with a wry glance in his direction. “I think you’re way ahead of me.”

      “I’m assuming you figured Lester out first thing, Sarah. So why didn’t you warn your sister about him? She was sixteen, too—far too young

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