A Disguised Bride for the Sheriff (Preview)

Prologue

Copper Town, Michigan, 1881

The bake sale had not gone well. Grace had assured everybody that, generally, her rock cakes were not so rock-like, but she wasn’t sure that they believed her.

It’s not my fault that all the bakers here in Copper Town are so talented, she thought, aggrieved. Still, there was nothing for it. Lights were on in the home she shared with her brother, and he’d want to hear all about what she’d done today. Ethan would determinedly munch his way through even the toughest of rock cakes and assure her that they were delicious. She smiled fondly to herself.

Placing the basket she’d brought with her down on the porch—it was still mostly full of the baked goods she’d bought for the sale—Grace began to unwind her layers of outer clothing. The snow hadn’t come yet, but the air was full of it even so. Despite the fact the sun had only just dipped below the horizon, already the fields were full of frost and ice, and her breath billowed out in front of her.

She was about to pull back the screen door and let herself in when she paused. Voices. There were voices.

Who’d be visiting at this time of night?

They were male voices, one being Ethan’s, the other one being a little less familiar. Were there two other voices, or just one? Grace hesitated, one hand hovering over the doorknob.

“Now just hold your horses, Ethan. You’re overreacting.”

Now, that voice she did recognize. It was Wyatt, their cousin, a lanky, bug-eyed man of about thirty who had to be told twice to do anything. Grace didn’t mind him—he was family, after all—but privately thought that Ethan let him get away with too much. This was a working ranch, after all. Sure, they were doing well—very well—but a lot of people worked for them, and that meant a lot of wages to pay and a lot of families relying on that wage. In Grace’s opinion, they owed it to their workers more than to themselves to do things properly. And Wyatt, family or not, did not do things properly.

Just go in. This is your house, isn’t it?

Some quiet instinct kept Grace standing at the door, her breath misting out in front of her. Abruptly, Ethan’s voice rose, high and angry.

“You think this’ll stick? It won’t! Just because our sheriff is a lazy old man who’d consider a bribe doesn’t mean that every lawman is the same way! I’m not going to let this slide. You two are in big trouble, I can tell you that.”

Grace heard Wyatt’s voice again, wavering and pleading, but couldn’t make out the words.

And then there was a bang.

A gunshot. Grace nearly jumped out of her skin, staggering backward. Her heart was suddenly pounding. Guns were for hunting and as a last resort in self-defense, or so Ethan had always said. There was a dusty old shotgun hanging over the mantelpiece, but that shot hadn’t sounded like that.

Heart pounding, bile clawing its way up her throat, Grace edged around the side of the house toward the window.

The parlor curtains were open. She opened them every morning to let in light and air and closed them in the evening for privacy and warmth. Ethan clearly hadn’t closed them yet, and she was late back to do it herself. That meant Grace could look straight into the parlor.

Ethan lay on the floor, on his back, eyes staring glassily up at the ceiling. Grace stared at the spreading red stain on his chest, not quite able to understand what she was seeing.

Dead, she thought dizzily. He’s dead. My brother’s dead.

Wyatt stood over him, white as a ghost. As she watched, he dropped to his knees by Ethan’s side, hands pressing over the bloody wound on his chest as if he could force the blood back into his body and get his heart pumping again.

Grace could have told him that it was already too late.

She backed away, feeling as though she were in a dream.

Thump.

Her heel hit the basket, and it turned over, the thud echoing. A few cakes tumbled out and rolled across the floorboards. In the absolute silence, it seemed deafening.

Wyatt heard it. He heard it. His head shot up, eyes wide, and his gaze locked with Grace’s as she looked through the window. He paled further.

Grace wasn’t sure what instinct made her turn tail and run without waiting another instant. She stumbled down the porch steps, abandoning the lantern she’d used to light her way home, and plunged into the dark woods. Behind her, there were shouts, and the front door opened, letting light spill out across the porch. She looked back only once, in time to see a tall, broad-shouldered figure stand in the rectangle of light, hands on his hips, the light illuminating the upset basket and escaped cakes.

Grace didn’t even know where she was going until she got there.

Amy and Gabriel Jenkins were both in their late thirties, having married later than most people thought was proper. Grace couldn’t remember a time when they weren’t her friends. Amy, a plain woman with round spectacles, a mild temper, and razor-sharp intelligence, was sitting beside Grace, one hand on top of hers, trying unsuccessfully to soothe her.

“Is there any chance you were mistaken?” she said, her voice calm. “Perhaps Ethan is only wounded.”

Grace shook her head numbly. “He’s dead, Amy. I saw him. He…he’s dead, and Wyatt killed him. I can’t believe it.”

Amy bit her lip, and Grace noticed for the first time that her friend’s chin was trembling, the most discomposed she’d ever been. She glanced up at her husband.

“Gabe? What do you think?”

Gabriel was a short man, fair-haired and remarkably handsome, prone to chattering and always with a ready joke. He’d been one of the sheriff’s deputies up until quite recently. At the moment, he was pacing up and down, up and down the kitchen.

“You say that Ethan said something about the sheriff being lazy and taking bribes?” he muttered, and when Grace nodded, he continued. “That’s why I left. I knew something was wrong. The man is corrupt. He’s not…not evil, but he wants an easy life, and he’s started to think that crime is inevitable and that he should be content with managing it. Grace, I think that Ethan’s gotten himself into some trouble. Or, more to the point, Wyatt has, and the sheriff’s going to help cover it up.”

“But why would he do that?” Grace shook her head. “Wyatt doesn’t have money for bribes.”

“I’d wager that this business, whatever it is, involves more than just Wyatt,” Gabriel muttered darkly. “Look, Grace, you’re in danger. Lots of danger.”

“We’ll protect her, though, won’t we?” Amy chipped in anxiously. “She can stay with us.”

Gabriel bit his lip. “I…I don’t know if we can protect her, Amy. I don’t know how serious this business is, or how deep it goes. All I know is that Ethan is dead, killed in his own home by somebody he trusted, and that Grace saw the crime. I know that Sheriff Woodrow can’t be relied upon to give out justice. I think that Grace needs to get out of here, Amy.”

There was a stunned silence after this.

“Get out of here?” Grace managed, her voice shaking. “But, where would I go? How would I live?”

“You can’t be serious,” Amy whispered.

Gabriel squatted down before Grace, taking her hands.

“Grace, I wouldn’t say this if I didn’t believe it to be true,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “I think somebody is going to come after you. Maybe tomorrow, maybe tonight. In any other town, I guess you could go to a sheriff and get justice, but not here. We don’t even know what’s going on, or why Ethan was murdered. You’ve got to run, Grace. Run far, and run fast.”

Grace felt as if she were falling.

“I’m twenty-two years old,” she whispered, “and I’ve never left this town. I’ve always had Ethan to take care of me. I…I don’t know what to do.”

Amy was watching her husband, her expression stark with fear.

“Grace, if…if this is what Gabriel thinks, then you must be in a great deal of danger,” she whispered.

“We’ve got savings, Amy and I,” Gabriel continued. “You can take all of it. Head west and stay in each town only long enough to send us a letter and get one back, so that we know you’re safe. I’ll investigate what’s going on here, and you concentrate on keeping yourself safe. Disguise yourself if you can and change your name.”

“Ch-change my name?” Grace stammered. It was a bad dream. It was a bad dream. It simply had to be a bad dream.

Amy got up and began to wordlessly move around the room, taking out a large leather bag and stuffing supplies into it. She carefully removed a loose brick from the fireplace, sticking her hand into the gap and withdrawing a dented tin. Inside the tin were rolls of dollars, which she began to count out.

“Think now about what name you can use,” Gabriel was saying, although his voice was coming from far away, and blurry as if Grace’s head was underwater. “Something-Smith is generally a good choice, or Black or Brown or Green. Do you have a middle name?”

She swallowed thickly. “Ruby. My middle name is Ruby, after my mother.”

“Then call yourself Ruby Smith. If you could disguise yourself as a boy, that would be best—you’re small enough to get away with it.”

Gabriel talked on, while Grace’s head spun. Amy collected more things, disappearing upstairs and returning with spare clothing—men’s clothing among them—as well as food, supplies, and more. She tucked the roll of dollars into the backpack, and glanced over at Grace.

“Keep that safe, Grace. Money will keep you safe out there, but the reverse will be true if you show it around too much. Do you understand?”

Grace nodded numbly. “And how will I…”

She broke off at the sound of a knock on the door. All three of them went still. For a moment, the silence was absolute, and then there was another knock, thumping and angry.

“Open up!” snarled an impatient voice. “Sheriff’s department.”

Gabriel blanched. “Get her out!” he whispered, shuffling toward the door. “Hold on a moment,” he called to whoever was behind the door. “I’m just searching for the key…”

Amy hustled Grace toward the back door, throwing a cloak around her shoulder and pushing the bag into her arms.

“Run, Grace,” she whispered, face twisted with anxiety. “Run.”

Chapter One

One Year Later, Tallow Hill, Kansas

The landlady squinted at her newest would-be guest.

“R. Smith,” she read aloud, peering at the guest book. “And what would the R stand for, I wonder? I don’t take in nameless guests.”

A boy smiled blandly back at her. “It’s Roy. Named for my father.”

The boy appeared to be in his mid-to-late teens, with grubby blond hair tucked under a threadbare cap. His clothes were loose and too large for him, travel worn and in good need of washing and pressing. A strip of rope served as a belt, cinching in too-large trousers.

The landlady sniffed. “I’ll want one night’s payment upfront, you know. And if you intend to stay another night, payment must be received before breakfast, or else I’ll give your room away.”

The boy rummaged in his pocket and withdrew a handful of coins. He set them down on the counter.

“Payment for three nights,” he said, the smile never wavering. “That’ll do, won’t it? And I assume breakfast and an evening meal is included?”

The landlady boggled slightly. She closed her mouth with a snap, eyeing the boy with something like respect.

“Certainly. Here’s your key, and your room is at the very top of the stairs, blue-painted. Room nineteen. Enjoy your stay.”

***

Enjoy your stay, Ruby mimicked inside her head. Enjoy your stay, R. Smith, whoever you are.

The room was a small and serviceable one, the paint peeling. She thought it was blue, and it was almost impossible to see the number carved into the wood. She’d been in countless hotels and boarding houses over the past year, and they were all roughly the same—a bed, a trunk, a washbasin (if she was lucky), and a grimy window. It had been a long time since Ruby had thought of her comfortable, warm, safe house back in Copper Town.

It had been a long time since she’d thought of herself as Grace Fletcher, either. The first year on the run had been hellish. Grace Fletcher, the kind, sweet girl who lived with her brother and had a privileged life, could not cope with it. How could she? The only hardships she’d really experienced were slight humiliations at bake sales.

So, Grace withdrew and allowed a new character to emerge.

Ruby Smith knew how to live on the run. She learned quickly, kept her wits about her, and was canny and sharp enough to dodge many different dangers. It was Ruby who decided that, for her safety, she needed to become Roy.

Once the curtains were safely closed, Ruby took off her cap, letting her strawberry-blonde hair tumble down over her shoulders. It made her scalp ache, keeping her hair tied up and pinned in place all day to make it look as though her hair was short. It would be eminently more practical to cut her hair short instead, but there was enough of Grace Fletcher left to staunchly refuse. She had compromised, instead cutting her waist-length hair to her shoulders, to make it easier to hide.

She double-checked the lock, reassuring herself the door was secure. The lock was a little wobbly, but nothing to worry about. She carefully removed the key, setting it away from the lock. A common trick was for people to use a wire to jiggle the key from the other side, turning it to unlock the door. Failing that, a clever lock-pick could simply push the key out, so it fell on the floor, and then they hooked it from underneath the door and would then pull it through. Then they had the key, and you might wake up to find yourself locked inside your own room.

Yes, she’d seen all the tricks and had often learned the hard way.

I’ll stay in town a week, she decided. That’s long enough to receive a letter from Amy and Gabriel. I told them where I’d be and signed the letter Roy Smith this time. I’ll write one back and move on.

The letters she received were carefully worded and more vague than she would have liked. Gabriel had fallen sharply from grace after leaving the sheriff’s deputy service, and his investigations were going nowhere. Amy was clearly living on the edge. Ruby’s heart ached when she thought about her friends, floundering and alone.

Save your pity for yourself, silly girl.

She knew that Ethan’s death had been discovered, but any gossip in town had been hushed up. Something was going on. Wyatt had disappeared, and it was commonly said that he had killed Ethan. There was a lot of talk about Ruby’s disappearance. Or Grace’s disappearance, rather. They were looking for her, she knew that much.

At least the right person is accused of it, Ruby considered, sitting carefully down on the bed. Part of me was afraid they’d blame me.

She thought about Ethan every day. What had her final words to him been? Something mundane, no doubt. I’m off to the bake sale now, Ethan. See you later!

Her chest ached at the thought of her lost brother, as it often did whenever the mad dash of her day-to-day life stopped for a moment and she had the chance to think.

Ruby was tired, bone tired, but she forced herself to get to her feet and limp around the room, checking for hidden intruders. Under the bed, behind the curtains, inside the wardrobe, inside the trunk. Once she’d assured herself that the door really was locked and there were no lingering dangers, she stripped out of her coat, toed off her boots, then rolled into bed. A minute later, she had fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Chapter Two

Austin barely managed to hold back a yawn. What was the time? Close to midnight, he imagined. He’d hoped to arrive in Tallow Hill much earlier, maybe even before dark, but his horse had thrown a shoe, and so they’d limped on until they found a small town where a blacksmith had charged an exorbitant rate to replace the shoe. And now, here he was, and most of the hotels resolutely had their doors closed for the night.

All except one, of course.

He had been knocking for at least five minutes by the time the lock finally clicked, and a mousy, sleepy young man peered through the crack.

“Can I help you?” he mumbled, smothering a yawn.

Austin bit back a sigh. “I want a room.”

“It’s late.”

“Yes. That’s why I want a room.”

The clerk knuckled his eyes and gestured for Austin to step inside.

“Ma generally manages all of this, but she’s asleep, so I guess I can give you a room,” he muttered, heading down a long, thin hallway to where an oversized counter waited at the end. He left Austin to close the door, shutting out the chill of the night.

“I’m much obliged for your help,” Austin replied. He tried to sound as though he meant it. “I went ahead and stabled my horse in the barn beside the house. Is that all right?”

The clerk grunted and shrugged, which Austin took as a yes. He gestured to a huge ledger with dog-eared pages lined with names and dates.

“Write your name, and then I’ll take payment for the room,” the clerk said, fumbling in a drawer beneath the counter. “Ma said that number nineteen was empty early today, so I’ll put you there. That way, you won’t disturb any of the other guests.”

“That sounds fine,” Austin responded, writing his name neatly on the first blank line.

“Austin Harding,” the clerk read aloud. “That sounds real.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Why would it not be real?”

The clerk shrugged. “Lots of folks sign in under false names.”

Austin straightened up, letting his jacket fall open just enough to reveal the shiny brass sheriff’s star on his chest. The clerk’s eyes widened, and he turned his yawn into a choking cough.

“You’re a lawman?”

“Sheriff of Boulder County,” Austin responded coolly. “I’m on my way home right now. And don’t worry, I’m not about to slap you with a fine for taking guests under false pretense. Although, for your own benefit, you might want to be a little more careful.”

The boy flushed and muttered, avoiding Austin’s eye. He had difficulty finding the key to the room, eventually snatching up what looked like a master key and pushing that toward him.

“No charge,” he said at once when Austin tried to pay for the room.

Austin went still. “You trying to bribe me?”

The boy went redder and redder. “N-no sir, I just…”

“Relax, kid. I know you weren’t bribing me. But for the record, lawmen pay their way just like any other man. I can’t imagine your business is so good you can afford to put folks up for free. And if you can, save it for someone who needs it, you hear?”

The clerk nodded frantically, and this time accepted Austin’s payment without another word. Austin took the key and headed toward the stairs, feeling the clerk’s stare boring into his back.

He had a feeling he’d sleep badly that night. He and Colt had parted ways that morning, having found no trace of the bandits they were tracking. It was a heavy disappointment and meant that the last week or so had been wasted. Both Austin and Marshall Colt had connections with a local Native tribe whose tracking abilities were far superior to theirs. However, the tribe had drawn back recently, mostly in response to violence from various towns and individual settlers. Austin couldn’t blame them.

He climbed the stairs, already looking forward to a night in a soft bed for once, instead of sleeping rough. The key stuck a little, but he managed to ease it open and stepped inside.

The room was dark, curtains drawn, but he could make out the blocky shapes of furniture and, most importantly, the bed pushed into a corner. He hadn’t been given a candle and stood there for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom.

Once his eyes had adjusted, he saw that the bed was a crumpled mess of sheets and pillows. He suppressed a sigh. It was annoying, but not too unexpected. Many places didn’t leave the rooms clean and tidy, and most weary travelers were too tired to complain. Besides, if they complained too much, they might be told to seek lodging elsewhere.

The room smelled clean enough, and that would have to do. Austin carefully made his way toward the bed, stripping off his coat as he went and hanging his hat on the bedpost. He sat down on the edge, ready to unlace his boots and collapse into the sweet oblivion of sleep.

Then the blankets erupted behind him, and a cold, sharp blade pressed itself against his throat.

“Don’t move,” came a strained, husky voice. “Or I’ll cut your throat. Just wait and see if I won’t.”

Austin froze, his tired mind waking up. He cursed himself for not taking precautions. The blade against his throat felt very sharp. It hadn’t broken the skin, not yet, but he felt that if he swallowed too thickly, it might. Was it a trap? Was this boy—it sounded like a boy—waiting for him? Was he, in particular, the target, or was the trap laid for just anyone who walked into room nineteen?

“Okay, son, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Austin said, his voice as cool and soothing as he could manage. “Let’s just take a moment to compose ourselves before you do anything rash. Nice deep breath, then we can talk about what it is you want from me.”

The boy sucked in a breath. “What I want from you? You’re the one that broke into my room! You came for me!”

Austin frowned. “What? I can assure you, this is my room. I just bought a room from the boy downstairs, and he gave me this key.”

“I have a key, too! I’m in the book, R. Smith! My room is number nineteen!”

The blade finally began to edge away from his neck. Austin heaved a sigh.

“I think you and I are having a misunderstanding, kid. Who did you buy the room from? That clerk or his ma?”

“A woman, so I guess, his ma.”

“Well, I bought it from him. They’ve obviously made a mistake. The room’s yours, and I shouldn’t have been sent here.”

Behind him, the boy edged away, eyes wide and wary as best Austin could tell in the darkness. For the first time, he noticed that the boy had shoulder-length hair, shining gold in the moonlight. He seemed young to be traveling alone, and Austin didn’t blame him for reacting so strongly to a stranger in his room.

“I’m sorry for the scare I gave you,” Austin said, trying to sound reassuring. “I’ll talk to the landlady about giving you some of your fee back by way of an apology.”

He spotted a candle beside the bed, and leaned forward to light it, since there was no sense sitting there and staring at each other in the dark.

“No, don’t!” the boy yelped, but it was too late. The candle caught, light flared, and Austin found himself looking, not at a boy, but unmistakably at a girl.

No, at a woman. Despite her slim, boyish build, the face that looked back at him was a woman’s face. She had freckles, a turned-up nose, and pointed chin, and strawberry-blonde hair hanging down to her shoulders, disheveled from sleep. Her eyes were large, blue, and clearly terrified.

Her reaction made even more sense now. Most boarding houses wouldn’t take in single women traveling alone, and the girl was almost fully dressed in what were clearly men’s clothes. That meant that she understood the danger and protected herself accordingly. And then a man had come strolling into her room in the middle of the night and sat down on the edge of the bed.

That man was still sitting on the edge of the bed, in fact, Austin realized, to his chagrin, and got uncertainly to his feet. He snatched up his coat and his hat, glad that he didn’t have to fumble with getting his boots back onto his feet.

She pointed the knife at him. “You’d better not tell anyone.”

He gestured to the brass star on his chest. “And you’d better not point that knife at me, lady. As for telling anyone, what you do is none of my business.”

“Get out,” she hissed, bouncing out of bed and standing up, keeping a sensible distance between them.

Austin opened his mouth to argue and point out that he had done nothing wrong, and she was the one who’d threatened to cut his throat and put a knife against his neck.

She was a beautiful woman, too, despite the ragged hair and grime on her face. A woman like that would be in serious danger as she traveled across the country.

She doesn’t need me to tell her that. She knows that men are dangerous, and I daresay she doesn’t have the time or the inclination to work out which ones mean her harm and which ones would like to help.

Really, I could set her mind at ease right away by simply leaving.

He lifted his hands. “I’m sorry. I can see I’ve upset you. I’ll leave at once and leave both keys with you, so you know that nobody else will come in and disturb you.” He began to back away toward the door. The girl advanced slowly, still watching him like a rabbit might watch a hungry fox, her blade shaking ever so slightly in her hand.

“I meant you no harm,” Austin said as a parting shot, then slipped out of the doorway and into the dark hallway. The door slammed closed behind him, the sound echoing through the silent house. He heard the lock click right away and the low scrape of something heavy being slowly pushed up against the door.

Austin let out a long, slow exhale.

Just wait till I get my hands on that stupid clerk, he thought, with a rush of anger. He wasn’t tired at all now.

***

Once she’d pushed the trunk in front of the door, Ruby crouched to peer through the keyhole. The man stood on the landing for a few moments, shaking his head, and then began to stamp downstairs. She waited, poised for action, for about half an hour after that, until her fingers began to cramp around the handle of the knife. The man didn’t reappear.

Finally, she let herself sink down onto the trunk, her breathing gradually returning to normal.

When she had first woken up and realized groggily that a dark figure stood in the doorway, Ruby had thought she would die of fright. And then he advanced, taking his time, and sat on the edge of her bed.

This is it, she remembered thinking, her mind blurry with terror. It’s Wyatt. He’s found me. He’s going to kill me, and nobody will ever know that I’m dead or where I’m buried. Amy and Gabriel will wait in vain for a letter from me. They’ll always wonder what happened to me. Nobody will be punished for Ethan’s death. Wyatt will probably get the ranch, the house, and the money.

Nobody will ever even remember that I existed.

She’d had the knife out and at the man’s throat before she knew what she was doing.

Letting the knife fall onto the floorboards with a clatter, Ruby dropped her head into her hands. He’d seen her. He’d seen her. He might be downstairs right now, telling the landlady that there was a woman dressed as a boy in one of the rooms. He was a sheriff.

She would never have guessed he was a sheriff without the badge, though. He was of average height, strong and lithe, with a too-long nose that somehow suited his face, large brown eyes, and ridiculously long lashes. His hair, as far as she’d been able to make out, was black or dark brown, sticking up from where his hat had sat on his head.

In short, he was handsome, and Ruby hated herself for noticing even when she was in so much danger.

There were no more footsteps on the stairs, and she began to relax, just a little. It was unlikely that she’d sleep again tonight, what with her pounding heart and racing nerves.

He said he’d get them to give me some money back as an apology for the misunderstanding. I doubt it, but if he could, that would…that would be appreciated.

The truth was, Amy and Gabriel’s money was very nearly gone. Ruby had been as frugal as she could, even occasionally sleeping under hedges, but the money had slowly but steadily depleted anyway.

What will I do if I can’t earn more money? What if they tell me to come home, but I can’t afford to travel back?

These were unsettling thoughts, but nothing Ruby wasn’t used to tackling. She picked up the knife and carefully replaced it in her boot. She began to pace back and forth across the floor.

It was going to be a long night.