A Kiss in the Sunlight Read online

  Teague was pleasantly surprised by her self-deprecating humor. It seemed so at odds with how she appeared, which was refined and genteel, despite the dust of the road on her clothing. She adjusted the glove on her hand, then made certain her drawstring purse was still properly attached to her wrist. “Perhaps you can help me.”

  Teague worried the brim of his hat between his fingers. “Of course, ma’am.”

  “I’m looking for the Prentice Hotel.”

  He liked the sound of her voice, too. It was low in pitch and throaty and settled in his gut much like her scent tickled his brain. “You’re standing right in front of it.”

  She drew in her breath as her gaze wandered toward the façade of the two-story building with its wraparound porch, wide open double doors, and multitude of windows. She blinked and brought her attention back to him then flashed a smile so brilliant, Teague felt as if the sun shined just on him, warming him from the inside out. “Thank you so much. I’ll be seeing you again, Sheriff.” Without another word, she took the valises Bill held out to her. “If you would be so kind as to bring my trunk inside, I would be grateful.”

  “O’ course, ma’am.” Bill touched his fingertips to the brim of his hat and moved to do her bidding while she turned toward the hotel. She trod upon the hem of her skirt going up the steps to the porch, faltered a bit, but didn’t lose her balance and kept right on going. Her hips and backside swayed gently, causing her skirts to sweep the wooden planks. She slipped through the open doors and sauntered toward the registration desk.

  Teague couldn’t quite take his eyes off her. She dropped her valises at her feet, rang the bell on the desk, then turned around. Their gazes met across the short distance. Teague took a deep breath as if his lungs had suddenly started functioning again.

  Hell, I didn’t get her name!

  “Well, that was mighty int’restin’, I’d say . . . ” Pete sidled up beside him and continued talking, but those were the only words he heard. The rest were drowned out by a low hum in his ears, like buzzing bees hovering around his head.

  Bill laughed and elbowed Teague in the ribs, his hands otherwise occupied by the medium-size trunk he carried. “You might wanna try closin’ your mouth, Sheriff.”

  “Huh?”

  “I said you might wanna close your mouth. Ain’t the first time you seen a pretty woman. Won’t be the last, neither.”

  Teague snapped his mouth shut with an audible click of his teeth, then grinned, his gaze drawn once more to the fascinating female who waited to be helped. He still smelled peaches, the scent lingering not only on his clothes but in his mind. He closed his eyes, gave himself a mental shake, and called the dog. “Come on, Shotgun.” The dog leaped from the porch and danced around his legs as Teague fitted his hat to his head, touched the brim briefly in salute to the stagecoach men, and began to stroll back to the sheriff’s office, whistling a merry tune.

  Chapter Two

  Ryleigh Steele rang the bell on the registration desk one more time and turned around to face the street while she waited for someone to check her into the hotel. The sheriff was walking away, passing in front of the doors then the windows, his stride leisurely and ambling―heading back to his office perhaps or to patrol the streets of this quiet, peaceful town. Disappointment fluttered within her. She would have loved another encounter with the handsome sheriff. As it was, she had to console herself by admiring how nicely his backside filled out his trousers, and how broad his shoulders were, which was unusual in itself―she wasn’t the type of woman who normally noticed things like that. The merry tune he whistled floated into the hotel’s comfortable lobby and made the corners of her mouth twitch upward.

  “So that’s Sheriff MacDermott,” she muttered to herself, and her smile widened. At least, she hoped the man she’d fallen on was him. He wore a Silver Star pinned to his vest, but he could have been someone other than the man she sought. She didn’t know what Teague MacDermott looked like or much about him except from what she’d read in the newspapers in the aftermath of the Logan Gang’s murderous rampage through this quaint little town.

  It didn’t matter what she didn’t know. She had been intrigued by what she had read. Nearly four years later, her curiosity had not dimmed. She wanted to learn more, not only about the events of that day long ago, but about the man himself, especially now that Jeff Logan would be released from prison in just about two months.

  She wanted an interview. An exclusive interview. To her knowledge, the sheriff had never spoken to a journalist except for one statement where he expressed his heartache over the loss of loved ones and friends and requested prayers for those who had survived.

  Falling on him, if it was him, was not the way she had intended to introduce herself, but she’d always been a little clumsy. Well, a lot clumsy. A walking calamity her mother called her, though she’d always said the words with affection. Her father, Magnus Steele, publisher of several newspapers, and one of the most highly respected men in San Francisco, hadn’t been so forgiving of her lack of grace, telling her she was a disaster waiting to happen. He insisted that, as his daughter, she needed to be socially competent in both words and action. In other words: perfect.

  She’d never be perfect. She was outspoken, and she had certain ideas when it came to what a woman could and could not do, most of which went against Magnus’s beliefs. Their arguments were legendary in the Steele’s San Francisco household―she believed in women’s rights and the suffragette movement and constantly challenged his choice of training her younger brother, Alexander, to run the Tribune. She had no doubt she could do the job as well or better than he could. After all, she was her father’s daughter. Ink was in her blood.

  Thinking about her father brought a frown to her face and a twist to her stomach. If he ever found out she was in Paradise Falls instead of with her friends on their Santa Barbara ranch, there would be consequences.

  She hoped he wouldn’t learn of her whereabouts, at least long enough for her to write her story and win the bet she had with Xander for the lead staff writer position on the Tribune they both sought. What better way to prove to Magnus she was a good journalist than to get an interview with the sheriff who refused to speak to any reporter, including her father’s, either now or in the past? And this time, there would be no doubt in Magnus’s mind who’d written the better story. She wouldn’t give Xander the chance to claim her story for his as he’d done before. That was, of course, depending on how angry her father would be when he found out where she was. There was always the possibility she wouldn’t get the position she wanted no matter how well written her article was.

  She should be authoring important pieces about politics and crime, not be relegated to writing obituaries, which is what Magnus had her doing after all the calamities she’d suffered while penning the society pages. It was the only job he would give her while she waited, as he said, for someone to marry her.

  She hated writing obituaries. Still, it was better than not writing at all.

  And as far as someone marrying her―well, she didn’t think that was going to happen. Ever.

  No man would want her, as Magnus claimed so often, because she was too outspoken. Too awkward and bold. Too opinionated. Too tall. It didn’t matter. She didn’t need marriage. Or romance. She’d never met a man she was interested in or one who made her heart beat faster. She had her writing. And not just her society pieces for the Tribune, either, or the dreaded obituaries. There were the short stories she’d published in several magazines, some fiction, some true.

  “May I help you?”

  Ryleigh jumped, her hand flying to her chest as she whirled to face the woman who stepped behind the registration desk.

  “Oh, dear, forgive me for startling you.”

  Ryleigh shook her head and chuckled. “Not necessary. My own fault for not paying attention.”

  The woman’s gaze turned toward the bank of windows. She smiled as she tilted her head. “Ah, I understand.” Her hazel eyes twin
kled as her focus shifted back to Ryleigh. “You were admiring the scenery. It’s quite a view.”

  Ryleigh recognized a kindred spirit when she saw one―a woman who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. She liked her instantly but did not comment on the statement. Instead, she pointed toward the man walking away and asked, “Can you tell me who that man is?”

  “Of course. That’s Teague MacDermott, our sheriff.”

  Her heart gave a curious little flutter in her chest. She had fallen on the man she sought. And he was a handsome one to be sure with his dark hair and square jaw. Perhaps it was a good sign.

  “Well, then,” the woman interrupted her thoughts, “now that we’ve admired some of the attractions of Paradise Falls, how may I help you?”

  “I’d like a room, please. Preferably one with lots of windows . . . ” She grinned. “So I may continue to enjoy the view.”

  “Of course.” The woman laughed, then introduced herself as Krissa Prentice, owner, along with her husband, Oscar, of the Prentice Hotel and Restaurant, and proceeded to ask the inevitable questions one is asked when checking into a hotel for a night or two or ten.

  “I have no idea how long I’ll need to stay.” Ryleigh shrugged as she opened her drawstring purse and withdrew a small clip of crisply folded bills. “Can we start with two weeks?”

  “Of course.” Krissa slid the registration book across the desk, followed by an inkwell. “I have the perfect room for you.” Lastly, the woman handed her a pen. “If you’ll just sign in, please.”

  Ryleigh pulled the glove from her hand, dipped the pen in the ink, and scrawled her name in her less-than-perfect penmanship. The good sisters at St. Mary of the Blessed Heart, who had spent countless hours practicing with her, would cringe to see how poorly she remembered their lessons.

  “Samuel, please take―” Mrs. Prentice addressed a strapping young man standing in the doorway then turned the ledger around and squinted at the signature, “―Miss Steele to room number 6.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Samuel nodded as he stepped away from the door and reached for the soft-sided valises at Ryleigh’s feet then gestured to the trunk pushed against the wall. “Is that yours?”

  Ryleigh glanced at the chest. She hadn’t even seen anyone bring it inside, although how she could have missed it, she didn’t know. The thing was certainly big enough. From where she stood, she could even see her initials prominently affixed to the surface. Then again, she hadn’t seen the young man, Samuel, either. She must have been too busy admiring Sheriff MacDermott to have noticed anything else about her surroundings. She gave the young man a nod. “Yes, it is.”

  “Here’s your key. The restaurant is open from six in the morning until eight at night, but I can always have a tray brought to your room if you’d like.”

  Ryleigh took the key Krissa held. “Thank you. Can you tell me where the sheriff’s office is?”

  Once again, the woman’s hazel eyes twinkled. “Of course. Straight down this street about three blocks. It’s across from The Calico Lady. Can’t miss it. There’s a sign over the door.”

  Ryleigh nodded her thanks, then followed Samuel upstairs. He turned right at the top of the stairs and led her down a long hallway, passing several rooms before he stopped at the door set at an angle in the corner. She fitted the key to the lock, swung the door open, and let out a satisfied sigh, pleased with the room Mrs. Prentice had chosen for her. Tucked into the corner of the hotel, it boasted several windows, affording her a view of the mountains in the near distance and the waterfall for which the town had been named. A huge brass bed dominated most of the space but looked inviting with its colorful patchwork quilt and plump pillows. French doors led out to the second-story wraparound porch.

  Samuel placed her valises on the floor beside a small desk pushed under one of the windows. “I’ll go get your trunk now.” He bobbed his head, then headed out the door.

  An hour later, her things unpacked and put away, including her typewriter, which had survived the week-long trip without incident, Ryleigh grabbed her small leather satchel filled with several pencils and two pads of paper, slipped it over her shoulder, and left her room, careful to lock the door behind her. She dropped the key in her pocket as she skipped down the stairs, waved to Krissa behind the registration desk, and headed outside.

  Paradise Falls was just as she imagined it, a picturesque, sleepy little town, where everyone knew everyone else, so different than San Francisco. Several men tipped their hats as she strode down the raised sidewalk toward the sheriff’s office. A few women nodded and smiled in greeting.

  The sign Krissa said would be there swung in the breeze, and Ryleigh crossed the street at the saloon. Dust from the road coated the hem of her purple skirt, and she lifted the material a little higher. The action didn’t help much. Her white shoes were quickly turning brown. She was thankful that it wasn’t raining, as she was certain all that dust and dirt would turn to thick, viscous, ankle-deep mud―the kind she would definitely get stuck in or fall face first into.

  She stepped up on the raised sidewalk and glanced in the window of the sheriff’s office but didn’t see him. Actually, she didn’t see anyone. The office appeared to be empty. Had she missed him? Was he off patrolling the streets? She paused with her hand on the doorknob, smoothed the fingers of her other hand over her hair to push the errant locks back in place, then twisted the knob and pushed.

  She was immediately pulled inside, the knob slipping from her grasp as the door swung open with such force, she lost her balance, her eyes almost as wide and startled as Sheriff MacDermott’s. This time, it wouldn’t be her fault if she fell on him.

  “Goodness gracious!” she breathed as he grabbed her, saving her from falling flat on her face, and led her into a quick twirl, sort of a two-step dance move. Wouldn’t he be surprised to learn she couldn’t dance, despite many lessons? Yet, for the first time in forever, she actually felt the tiniest bit graceful as he spun her in tight circles right there in the entrance to the office. And she didn’t fall, didn’t end up on her backside or worse―her face―despite the dizziness his spinning caused and the dog jumping and barking and running circles around them.

  “Shotgun! Enough.” The dog immediately sank to his haunches, his tongue hanging from the side of his mouth as Teague spun her one last time and finally came to a halt in front of one of two desks in the room. “I had hoped to run into you again, but this isn’t quite what I had in mind.” Humor tinged his voice, and the smile on his face was nothing less than utterly charming.

  Ryleigh took a deep breath and quickly stepped from his arms, although that was the last thing she wanted to do. She stumbled a bit and knocked her hip against the desk, but she didn’t fall, and that was a good thing.

  The deputy stepped from the back room and smiled in her direction.

  “Royal Travers, this is . . . ” Teague began the introduction.

  Once again, her heart skipped a beat. Why that should be, she had no clue. As far as she knew, there was no history in the Steele family of a heart condition, although her Aunt Eugenia did succumb to the vapors quite a bit, but that was to get attention.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know your name.”

  She held out her hand. “Miss Ryleigh Steele.”

  Teague took her hand, his grasp firm, yet still gentle, and she experienced that odd little flutter in her chest one more time. Perhaps she should ask for the whereabouts of the nearest doctor. Surely a town this size had at least one who could diagnose the sudden onset of the strange symptoms she was experiencing. She pulled her gaze away from him, though it required some effort on her part, and turned toward Royal.

  The deputy came forward and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, Miss Steele.” She didn’t feel the slightest flicker when they touched―her heartbeat remained slow and steady, completely normal. Hmmm. Maybe it was just a passing anomaly.

  “I think I’ll take my walk now, then head over to the Prentice and have myself an early supper.” Royal mo
ved away from them, grabbed his hat from the hook on the wall, and made a hasty retreat, closing the door softly behind him.

  Teague gestured to the chair beside his desk once they were alone. “May I get you a cup of coffee, Miss Steele?”

  “No, thank you. And please call me Ryleigh.”

  He gave a slight nod as he seated himself behind his desk. “All right then, Ryleigh, what can I do for you?”

  Now that she was here, the smile on his face welcoming, the glow in his soft gray eyes warm and inviting, she was suddenly tongue-tied. And nervous. She couldn’t just blurt out what she wanted. Or could she?

  Yes, she could. This story―his story―was important to her. And her future. If she wanted the lead staff writer position coming open with the retirement of her father’s star journalist, she had to write the best story she possibly could, win the bet with Xander, and prove to Magnus that she deserved the job. It was that simple. And that complicated.

  Taking a deep breath, she pulled a pad of paper and a pencil from her satchel, and placed them on his desk. “I’m a journalist for the San Francisco Tribune. I . . . uh . . . I’d like to interview you. Get your story.”

  He stiffened in his seat, his smile disappearing. The warmth in his gray eyes disappeared as well, replaced with suspicion that turned them silvery. “My story?”

  “About the day the Logan Gang rode into Paradise Falls. As far as I know, you’ve never spoken to a journalist about what happened, but from what I’ve read, you’re a hero.” She flipped a few pages of her pad to a clean sheet, licked the point of her pencil, and watched every vestige of friendliness fade from his face.

  He took a deep breath, his gaze flickering to the door, the jail cell, and the dog, who sprawled out on the rug in front of the metal bars, then finally to her. It took everything she had to remain seated and keep her attention on him, for although she saw no malice in his eyes, she saw sadness, deep pain, and a slew of other emotions she couldn’t define.