The Lawman (Historical Western Romance)

Chapter 2

Abigail was too stunned to do more than hang there, upside down, while the marshal carried her to jail. Jail! He was arresting her for what amounted to nothing more than a misunderstanding but the pig-headed man didn't want to hear her side of the story. Not that she'd really tried very hard to tell him. Getting away from him seemed like the best course of action back at the saloon. If she'd only walked faster, she may have avoided this entire embarrassment.

Reaching the jail, Abigail lifted her head and noticed a line of people filling the wooden sidewalk staring at them. She groaned and let her head drop again. The floor of the jail came into view. It was covered in dried mud, much like the marshal's pants and boots, she noticed, and the stench inside the building took her breath.

The marshal stood her on her feet and she glared at him before looking around her. She was inside what was apparently the jail's one and only cell. The barred prison was bare except for a cot that sat under a small, open window. The blanket lying at the foot of the bed was threadbare and filthy. It also contributed greatly to the foul smell in the air. Turning back to face the marshal, Abigail crossed her arms under her breasts. "These accommodations aren't suitable for a woman. You can't keep me here."

He had the gall to laugh at her before walking out of the cell and slamming the door hard enough to make her jump before he locked it behind him. "A jail isn't a hotel, Miss Thornton. You'll get used to it."

She watched him cross the room to a stove in the corner, filling it with wood before starting a fire. He rattled a coffee pot, making as much noise as possible before abandoning the stove and walking to a small desk sitting by the door. He unhooked the gun belt she just now noticed hanging around his hips, hanging it on the back of the chair. His back was to her and even though he was covered from head to toe in dirt, she had to admit he was an impressive sight.

His shoulders were wide; his waist tapered to slim hips and strong, firm looking thighs. His pants fit snug in places she shouldn't be looking but with a backside like that, it was hard not to stare. Lord knew the men in Atlanta certainly looked nothing like the marshal did. They acted nothing like him either. They had manners. This man did not.

He turned and sat down in the chair, tossed his hat onto the desk and propped his booted feet up on the edge. His hair was dark and in need of barbering. The ends hung nearly to his shoulders. The indentions from his hat caused it to lay slick to his head. For a town marshal, he apparently wasn't too concerned about his personal grooming. Not that she cared.

When he clasped his hands behind his head and stared at her, Abigail raised an eyebrow at him. His returning smile rankled her nerves. The scraggly beard covering his face didn't hide the fact he was probably very attractive. From across the room she could see the mischief in his green eyes. Well, the one that wasn't swollen shut, that is. The purple bruising on his face didn't conceal the warm hue of his tanned skin and looking at his forearms below the cuffs of his rolled up shirt sleeves let her know he spent more hours outdoors than most.

The fact she found him attractive, as scruffy as he was, galled her. "Are you comfortable now?"

"Absolutely. I can finally put my feet up and I have the best view a man in my position can ask for. A prisoner."

He was enjoying the fact he locked her up. The pig.

Unwilling to let him see how worried she actually was, she turned her back to him and walked to the cot. The smell was worse close up. She gingerly picked up the offending blanket with two fingers and tossed it to the other side of the cell. The mattress underneath was stained with heaven knew what. She shook her head in disgust. "I'll need clean linens, marshal. This bed isn't fit for a dog let alone a human."