Sweet Justice Page 2

  Piper Sinclair was young, perhaps early twenties, and quite stunning. Her coloring was similar to mine - light hair and green eyes, but that was all. She had freckles across her petite nose and her hair looked soft and shiny. Her skin, well, it was peaches and cream and porcelain smooth. She was slight of build and trim of figure. Her breasts were high and well formed, most likely a tidy handful. I frowned at the very idea. I had no place being attracted to her. She was a member of the Sinclair family, and their daring, dangerous and murdering escapades were known all across the Territory. We just didn't know who or where they were until now.

  She seemed clearly surprised when the money box was found among her vegetables and all but forced her brother to clear her name. He'd admitted she was innocent, but I doubted it. If she were living with an outlaw gang, she'd had her entire life with her brothers and father, to learn the art of deception. She could easily be a skilled actress. She couldn't, however, fake her beauty or her pleasant scent. I inwardly groaned as her floral smell drifted up from her heated skin. A sheen of perspiration coated her nape and her pale hair clung there. I imagined her being damp with sweat, her hair wild across my pillow as I had my way with her.

  My interest in her was only because I'd been without a woman for some time. She was appealing, being so close and sweet scented. What conscious male could avoid getting a cock stand from such a situation? Perhaps the circuit judge who would rule her guilty or innocent. Could he be impartial, or would he take her curves into consideration?

  No, the idea of her swinging from a rope did not sit well. The pretty neck that I'd just observed did not need to be broken by a hanging. Was she innocent or intelligent and sly?

  ***

  Sheriff Perkins met us when we rode up to the small town jail and helped us lead the prisoners into the single cell. It was much cooler inside, the sun not penetrating the room's thick walls.

  "Looks like a big day for you and your men," the sheriff said as he led the recalcitrant prisoners toward the cell. They were a sorry trio. Kevin favored his arm, the father looked almost weary and Miss Sinclair's posture was ramrod straight.

  I nodded. The money we'd receive for all four members of the Sinclair family would be a tidy sum, well worth the months of hunting across half the Territory, as well as the long ride home. It would also bring justice to those killed, including my father. I wanted to know these culprits would swing for their disregard for innocent lives.

  "Know when the circuit judge will be coming by next?" I asked, hoping it was soon.

  "Tomorrow." He held up his hand stopping Miss Sinclair. "You don't have to sit in there with the others."

  She turned to face the sheriff, eyebrows raised.

  "Why not?" I asked.

  "Because she's free to go."

  "Free to go? Why the hell is she free to go?" I ran my hand over my beard.

  "Her brother said she was innocent. Isn't that right, Kevin?"

  I glanced at her brother, a man I didn't trust one lick.

  "Yes, Sheriff, she's innocent."

  "She had the money box in the wagon with her," I countered.

  "She had nothing to do with any of it," Harlan Sinclair said. In his fifties, he was weather worn and gray. He didn't seem to be an overly affectionate parent, his words less to save his daughter and more about fact.

  "Are you saying she was a patsy?" I asked, stunned.

  "Hey!" Miss Sinclair piped up.

  Harlan nodded. Yeah, no love lost there. The woman's father had used her to commit crimes. Whether she knew about it was the question. "Yup."

  "See?" the sheriff asked. "Look, I've known Piper all her life. She wasn't involved in this. Now those two," he pointed to the Sinclair men, "those two are guilty as charged. Just have to wait for the circuit judge to rule. As for Piper, she's free to go."

  Miss Sinclair smiled at the man's words.

  I held up a hand. "Now hold on here. You can't just let her go!" Miss Sinclair's smile faltered. "The witness said a woman was part of the group that not only robbed the stage, but murdered innocent people. I'm not letting her escape while we wait for the circuit judge."

  "Her family said she was innocent, and I'm a character witness." The sheriff closed and locked the cell door, Miss Sinclair on one side, her family on the other. "If you don't want her to escape, then you can keep her until morning when the judge arrives. I expect around ten."

  "You can't be serious," I said, my voice dark. I looked to the other three men in my group. All three shook their heads and stepped back, murmuring about I should just let her go, but I couldn't.

  I sighed. A prisoner was a prisoner, even if she wore a dress, and had pert breasts, and freckles. She might look innocent and the sheriff might think she's innocent, but I would wait for the circuit judge to decide tomorrow. I'd searched too hard and too long to let her get away now.

  How hard could it be to guard one woman overnight? I'd frisked her earlier so I wasn't in danger of her shooting me if she got the notion.

  The man put his hands on his hips and gave me his lawman stare. "I'm very serious."

  I sighed once again. "Fine. I'll watch her until the judge arrives tomorrow. Where the hell do you expect me to keep her? My hotel room?"

  PIPER

  The idea of spending the evening in the hotel was more appealing than the alternative of a lumpy, dirty mattress in a cell with my father and Kevin. However, spending the night in the hotel with the bounty hunter was something else entirely. I had been relieved when Kevin and my father had both proclaimed me innocent and the sheriff provided a solid character reference, but did Mr. Easton believe any of them? No!

  I was free to go, per the sheriff, but the bounty hunter intended to keep me hostage until the circuit judge came in the morning. He obviously didn't like me, which made me frown. I'd done nothing to the man and he'd made me out to be an accomplice to murder! Even the sheriff couldn't make him change his mind. He hadn't said so out loud, but it was more than obvious, by his job alone, that he did not stand for anyone on the wrong side of the law.

  I sat quietly in a tall backed chair with my arms crossed over my chest and watched Billy Michaels, the hotel owner's son, deliver bucket after bucket of water and filled a hip tub in the middle of the room. He gave me a questioning look each time he came into the room, but said nothing. The bounty hunter—I still didn't know his name—helped by carrying water as well, making the task go twice as fast; he was quite eager for a bath it seemed. I tried to leave once, making it as far as the top of the stairs. The man's large body blocked my path.

  "Going somewhere?" he asked. We were at eye level for once and I could see flecks of gold in his beard.

  "I do not have to stay here with you." I tried to squeeze past him, but he just shifted his weight one way, then the other, to block my path.

  "Actually, you do."

  I wanted to stomp my foot, but I would not stoop to his level of pettiness. "My brother and father said I had nothing to do with the crimes."

  He shook his head slowly. "Said two guilty men. We'll let the circuit judge decide tomorrow. I'm not letting you out of my sight until then."

  "You don't believe me?"

  He sat the bucket down, water sloshing over the top. "It's not my job to believe you or not." Coming up a step, he forced me to step back. Picking up his bucket, he practically herded me down the hall and into the room.

  I sat and watched as the men went about the task until the tub was filled halfway. The cool, clean water looked appealing to my sweaty, itchy skin.

  Once the bounty hunter gave Billy his tip and the door closed behind him, he started to unbutton his shirt. While I was curious as to whether he had chest hair and what its color was, I blushed at his task. "I beg your pardon," I said in my primmest tone, my spine straightening.

  His hands stopped mid-motion, then he sighed.

  "I appreciate your maidenly modesty, however, I've been on the trail for the past three months searching for you and your family an
d I want a bath."

  "I'll sit outside the door," I countered, crossing my hands over my chest.

  His sandy colored eyebrow went up. "Sure, you will. You have two choices. Sit and watch or turn your chair around and spare yourself the sight."

  I opened my mouth to tell him what I thought of his choices, but he pulled the tails of her shirt free of his pants, making it clear that he was taking a bath whether I turned around or not. I stood, picked up the chair and turned it the other way. Sitting down, I stared at the room's wall and counted the number of knots in the simple wood.

  The splashing was the only indication that he'd gotten in the tub. This was utterly ridiculous! I didn't have to sit here with a man taking a bath. I was innocent.

  I stood and began to skirt around the tub without looking at him, my eyes averted, but he stood to his full height in all his wet, naked glory and took hold of my arm. "You wanted to join me?"

  It was hard to keep my eyes on his, for in my periphery I could see broad shoulders, a solid chest that had a sprinkling of sandy colored hair. He had narrow hips and below...oh!

  My cheeks flushed remembering the feel of that hard chest against my back as we rode. I had lived with two brothers and a father, but none compared to the bounty hunter. His hands were quite large and he was quite strong. Would he be rough when he touched a woman or could he be gentle? Those whiskers...I thought once again about them and how they'd feel against my skin...everywhere.

  "I'm leaving."

  His grip tightened for just a moment as he shook his head, then angled it toward the empty chair. "Sit."

  I narrowed my eyes at him defiantly and didn't move. It was a battle of wills, but I knew that wouldn't be enough. He had size on his side. Nakedness, too, for he was just as intimidating, if not more so, undressed.

  I tugged my arm out of his grip and huffed back to the chair and sat facing the wall once again, yet the image of him with droplets of water on his tanned skin filled my mind.

  "You may turn around." His voice broke through my thoughts minutes later.

  "Are...are you decent?" I asked, before I did so.

  "Yes, Miss Sinclair, I'm decent."

  When I stood and turned, I took in his clean clothes, the dirty ones in a pile on the floor. Dark pants and a light shirt fit snugly across his solid physique. His hair was overly long and appeared finger combed, yet still wet.

  "Your turn, if you'd like."

  I licked my lips at the idea, for I was sticky and dusty, but was instantly appalled. "I couldn't with you in the same room!"

  He held up his hands in defense. "I'll empty the water from the tub and draw fresh for you. I'll wait outside in the hall."

  I eyed him skeptically. Why was he being so nice, so gentlemanly? I questioned his motives. "Why are you doing this? I'm just a prisoner to you," I said, my voice bitter, repeating my thoughts.

  "At first I thought you were ogling me in the tub, but I was wrong, you just wanted a bath."

  His words were mostly true, for I was longing for the water, but I was ogling him as well.

  "You'll give me your clothes to keep."

  My mouth fell open. "You're trading a bath for my clothes?"

  "You can't escape naked."

  "I shouldn't have anything to escape from," I grumbled.

  He shrugged. "Ma'am, you're under arrest for accessory to robbery and murder."

  "I'm not under arrest. I'm innocent. Everyone says so but you!" I tossed my hands up in the air.

  "The only person whose say-so I care about is the circuit judge. Until then—"

  "I know. I know." He didn't need to say the same thing again and again. The man was insufferable! I put my hands on my hips, then remembered my brothers. When riled, they only continued to escalate the fight rather than be bested by a woman. Perhaps the bounty hunter was of a similar ilk.

  I took a deep breath and tried to even my voice. I replied as sweetly as I could muster. "I don't even know your name."

  An eyebrow went up at the change of topic. "Wiley Easton, ma'am."

  "Well, Wiley Easton, I will thank you for the kindness, but surely people don't really care if a person's clean or dirty when they climb the gallows steps, even if they are innocent."

  Perhaps I could play on his sensitive nature, if he had one.

  Mr. Easton's jaw clenched. He hadn't shaved while bathing and although he looked cleaner with the dust washed away, he still looked wild and a little dangerous. I laughed to myself at the irony of that. He was the one guarding me and I was the dangerous one!

  "Bathing is a courtesy. Removing your clothes is a requirement until morning." He pointed to the bed. "Wrap the sheet about you for modesty's sake, but that's all you'll get. I won't have you escaping while I'm asleep."

  I felt my cheeks heat as his gaze raked over my body in a way that made me feel as if I were already naked. Sensitive nature? The man was the least sensitive person I'd ever met—and I was a Sinclair.

  "How do you know I won't shoot you with your own gun?"

  He grinned. "You can try, sweetheart, especially unclothed as it holds a certain appeal."

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, I was settled into the tub filled with fresh water. I knew that horrid man stood on the other side of the door with my clothes. While I felt confident he wouldn't barge in and see me in my bath—he might be contrary but he wasn't indecent—it was still disconcerting. Wiley Easton was all man and he could hear every bit of my splashing in the tub. Why should I even think about the man when he was so insufferable?

  I dunked down until just my face above the water, as if trying to wash off all my troubles. My hair swirled about me. At a knock on the door, I startled and sat up abruptly, wiping the water from my face with one hand while covering my breasts with the other. It was a silly reaction, for the door remained shut and one hand would not prevent the man from seeing me if he entered. All of me.

  "Miss Sinclair. Supper has been brought around. You should come out before it gets cold."

  "I will not eat naked, Mr. Easton," I called out.

  I heard him sigh even through the closed door. "The sheet, Miss Sinclair."

  Frustration at the man made me slap my hand against the water, sending a spray of it into the air. I grabbed the meager bar of soap and scrubbed myself clean with more vigor than usual. I dried myself then tugged the sheet off the bed and wrapped it about myself. While I was covered entirely except for my shoulders and arms, I had no underthings. I grumbled to myself about the various forms of impropriety. I would eat dinner with a strange man wearing a bed sheet without any corset or drawers! Not only was he insufferable, but he was no gentleman!

  Once darkness fell, I stood staring at the bed. It was a good size for one person, but not two. I'd never shared a bed with anyone before. "If I'm naked, then you get the floor." I pointed at the hard wood beneath my bare feet. He sighed, but said nothing more as he blew out the lantern.

  I tossed and turned, for the bed was strange, as was the hotel. Even sleeping naked was strange. It was the first night in my entire life I hadn't spent on the ranch—the first night I didn't lay awake listening to my family.

  A knock came early as the sun was just coming up over the horizon.

  Mr. Easton stood, stretched his back then opened the door. I sat up in bed and ensured the sheet was tucked securely about me.

  There stood a man who looked to Mr. Easton, then to me in bed. He stepped inside, forcing Mr. Easton to take a step back. He was in his fifties with graying hair, a portly belly, yet a very observant eye. "It's good to see you again, Wiley."

  "Sir."

  They shook hands.

  "I obviously arrived earlier than you expected," the older man's voice held censure.

  Mr. Easton looked to me, then back to the man and held up his hands in front of him. "It's not as it appears. She's my prisoner."

  The other man arched one dark brow. "Since when have you taken liberties with a prisoner?"

  "Libert
ies?" Mr. Easton pointed to my dress wadded up on the floor that he'd used as a pillow. "I slept on the damn floor."

  The man looked to me. "Ma'am, I'm Judge Appleby."

  I introduced myself as I held the sheet in a tight grip over my breasts. Mortification swept over me being caught like this. While Mr. Easton vowed nothing unseemly occurred and I could agree with that, I did feel caught as if we had.

  "I'll get this visit moving along. Miss Sinclair is innocent and free of all charges."

  "What?" Mr. Easton asked, running his hand across his beard. "There was a woman accomplice!"

  The judge nodded. "Yes, it is a woman by the name of Sheila Carter from Miles City. While she hasn't been caught, she's been named and have been given a solid clue as to her whereabouts."

  Mr. Easton pointed at me. "She's related to the men who did the crime."

  "She is, but Miss Carter was the...acquaintance of Mr. Kevin Sinclair and their time together was well documented by many witnesses in saloons not only in Miles City, but in Billings and Hardin as well. Kevin Sinclair confirmed this just a short time ago."

  "What about the money box? Clearly Miss Carter didn't have the money box in the bottom of her vegetable basket."

  That made the judge pause. "You are correct, but the Sinclair men say Miss Sinclair had no knowledge of the box. They were going to put the money in the bank. Mr. Gibbons at the bank was familiar with this arrangement, albeit an unusual one, to collect the money and deposit it for them."

  "He didn't think it odd that the money was hidden among a bunch of cucumbers?" Mr. Easton asked, his voice booming.

  "Poor judgment, to be sure, but they didn't want it to be discovered and stolen," the judge countered. "I'll remind you we are in a hotel with sleeping guests all around us."

  Mr. Easton sighed. "Then why didn't they tell Miss Sinclair? Why make it seem so illicit?" He glanced at me.

  I had no idea about the money box until Mr. Easton and his men uncovered it, so I couldn't even guess.