The Bounty Hunter’s Redemption - Janet Dean Mills & Boon Love Inspired Historical

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for horses. “Yes, sir.” Nate tied Maverick to the rear of the wagon. “Once we’re settled in, I’ll start making repairs.”

      “Your coming proves the Good Lord is watching over me and Betsy, that’s sure.”

      Mood wouldn’t believe Nate was the answer to his prayer if he knew the trouble he was bringing Widow Richards.

      With a nod, Nate climbed into the wagon, released the brake, and drove down the alley behind the livery, passing the cabin where he and Anna would live.

      Across the alley, what had to be the backside of the seamstress shop, a female dashed out the door and across the yard as if chased by a pack of rabid dogs.

      Ah, Mrs. Richards. Where was she going in such an all-fire hurry? She caught sight of him, slowed and dropped her skirts, then strode on, her mouth set in a grim line.

      He hauled back on the reins. “Is something wrong?”

      She gored him with her gaze. “Perhaps. I’m on my way to speak with Sheriff Truitt. About you.”

      “I have nothing to hide.”

      “So you say.” She motioned to the wagon. “Glad to see you’re leaving town. Don’t let me hold you up.”

      “Only be gone long enough to bring my sister and her possessions back to Gnaw Bone.”

      Mrs. Richards’s cheeks paled. “Morris wouldn’t rent you that wagon if he knew your intentions.”

      “Mr. Mood has hired me to make improvements to the livery. Anna and I will be staying in his vacant house.”

      Chest heaving, she plopped dainty hands on her hips. A female version of David pitted against Goliath. The stones in her sling of the verbal variety. Yet the fire in her eyes made her a formidable foe. She’d stop at nothing to protect her child’s future.

      Nate had dealt with violent men, cagey men, the vilest of men, but he had no idea how to handle this tiny woman’s colossal loathing. Of him.

      What did she despise him for most? Killing her trigger-happy, back-shooting husband? Or threatening ownership of the shop? Well, he wasn’t here to win anyone’s approval, especially a woman trying to stand in the way of his sister’s new beginning.

      “If you think by working and living under my nose, you’ll bully me into giving up what’s rightfully mine, you’re wrong.”

      “The judge will decide who’s entitled to the shop. Until then, my sister and I need a place to live.”

      “In that case, I suggest you keep your distance.”

      She hustled off. A woman on a mission, no doubt hoping Sheriff Truitt would ride him out of town, tarred and feathered.

      Well, he had no desire to remain longer than necessary. The life of a bounty hunter suited him. He had two purposes; locking up violent men who preyed on the innocent and seeing Stogsdill pay for his crimes.

      “Move on, Mark, Matthew.” As he turned onto Main Street, a strange, unsettling awareness sank to his gut. In the livery, for the first time in ages, he’d felt at home, at peace. The prospect of staying put dredged up a long-buried desire to belong somewhere, filling him with a yearning he didn’t understand.

      He shook his head, trying to dislodge the foolish notion. To stay meant settling down, letting others in. The mere idea tightened an invisible band around his neck.

      Once he’d been complacent. Had believed he could be a small-town sheriff and have a wife and children. Whenever he got close and cared about others, people got hurt or...died. He’d never again take that risk.

       Chapter Three

      Carly gave a shove and the door rattled shut behind her. The desk was cluttered with stacks of paper, a pair of shiny handcuffs and a coiled rope, but the office chair sat empty.

      “Sheriff Truitt?”

      The lawman stepped from the back, a holster riding his hips, a tray in his hand. “Why, howdy, Mrs. Richards.” His gaze landed on the spotless dishes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say a dog lapped these plates clean. Reckon the Harders brothers appreciated the stew, Miss Sarah’s special today.”

      Max used to say food was good at Sarah Harvey’s café, but one look at the cook gave a man heartburn. Max had a jab for every man and woman in town.

      “Shore did, Sheriff,” a voice called.

      Through the open door, Carly caught sight of the Harders twins peering at her from a cell. Even as they sat side by side on the bunk, Carly couldn’t tell Lloyd and Lester apart from here. The two went everywhere together, getting into one scrape after another. Their latest escapade—using the sign outside her shop for target practice.

      “Food’s way better’n Ma’s, but don’t you be telling her I said so, ma’am.”

      Carly had tasted Mrs. Harders’s cooking at church potlucks and couldn’t disagree. “I’d never hurt your mother’s feelings.”

      “We’re right sorry for shooting up your sign, Miz Richards.”

      “Yep, plumb ashamed of ourselves.”

      “I sometimes suspect you two get into trouble just to get some decent victuals,” Sheriff Truitt grumbled. “Well, your feet will be under your ma’s table by suppertime.”

      “Aw, can’t you keep us another night, Sheriff?”

      “This ain’t no hotel. I aim to make your lives so miserable you’ll think twice about another drunken shooting spree.”

      The sheriff closed the door to the brothers’ groans and turned toward Carly. “They’ll spend the month doing chores for you, Mrs. Richards. Work ’em hard. The nastier the job the better.”

      Carly gave a nod. But had no idea what they could do. The Harders brothers didn’t appear to be good at much except carousing.

      “They should pay for a new sign, but money’s scarce and their ma—”

      “Sheriff, I’m here on another matter.”

      “What’s that?”

      Carly met the sheriff’s inquisitive gaze. “That bounty hunter paid me a visit.”

      “From the look on your face, I’d say he didn’t come to apologize for killing your husband.”

      Anyone who hunted down outlaws for the bounty was surely driven by greed. “Could he have gone after Max for the reward?”

      “Nope, no time for Max to make the wanted posters.”

      “Well, he’s looking to make money from Max’s death.”

      “How so?”

      “He claims his sister’s husband—the man Max killed in Kentucky—won the deed to my shop in a poker game. He says his sister has the deed and that makes her the owner.”

      The sheriff frowned. “Do you believe him?”

      “No! I don’t trust the word of a killer.” Carly sighed. “But I checked. The deed’s not in my safe.”

      “Then he could be speaking the truth.”

      “Well, yes. But Max could’ve moved the deed.” She paced the room, then turned to the lawman. “Sheriff, I want you to do something. You can’t let some stranger ride into town and take my property,” she said, unable to keep her voice from trembling.

      “No need to get worked up, Mrs. Richards. No one is taking anything while I’m around, leastwise not illegally.”

      Carly breathed in. Out. In. Out. Until her racing pulse returned to a steady rhythm. “If the bounty hunter has the deed, he could’ve stolen

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