The Lawman (Historical Western Romance)

Chapter 6

The walk to the jail was for once, done with a whistle and a lively step. Morgan couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so—alive. He'd woken to the feel of warm lips wrapped around his cock, soft hands running laps over his chest and belly and hadn't wanted to leave the bed all day. He wouldn't have either if his stomach hadn't started growling. Abigail had laughed, kissed him until he was ready to take her again and crawled from his bed. He'd watched her walk away, her heart shaped naked bottom swaying from side to side, with a smile on his face.

That smile vanished at breakfast. When he engaged Abigail into a discussion about where she was from, she fed him a line about being an orphan. He'd believed her until those funny little splotches broke out on her neck and she refused to look at him. He knew then she was hiding something.

When he reached the jail, he shut the door behind him, walked to the desk and pulled the drawer open, grabbing the stack of old wanted posters he kept inside. He studied each one, reading the description of every person listed and the crime they'd committed. Of the few women pictured, none of them even came close to resembling Abigail and he had to wonder if that was even her name. He remembered asking her in the saloon the day the brawl broke out, and her hesitating when giving him her last name came back to him in an instant. Thornton wasn't her last name. He'd bet his badge on it. If she wasn't who she said she was, then who was she and what was she running from?

Placing the posters back in his desk, he leaned back and stared across the jail, his gaze landing on the cell he'd locked her in. A brief thought of putting her back in there washed over him before he dismissed it. He'd left her in his kitchen, kissed so completely she'd been breathless when he turned to leave. She'd looked happy for the first time since he'd met her. Putting her back in that cell would accomplish nothing. Well, nothing other than making her mad at him again and he was enjoying her company too much at the moment to do that.

He sighed, leaned forward and propped his elbows on the desk. If Abigail was in trouble, he needed to find out from what. Or who, he suddenly thought. Was that why she was so adamant on finding a husband? Was she running from something? Or someone?

Shaking his head as the questions kept piling up, he stood, repositioned his hat on his head and left the jail, walking the length of town to the new telegraph office at the end of the street.

Fergus McDonald greeted him with a toothy smile. "Morning, marshal. What can I do for you today?"

Morgan walked to the counter, leaned against it and studied the man. He was tall, lean and had more hair on his arms than he did his head. He was new to town, setting up the telegraph service just the year before. It had been a time saver for many since the lines came through, especially him. Not having to ride to Missoula every time he needed information from the sheriff there was a blessing. "Need to get a message to Sheriff Bower over in Missoula."

"All right then." Fergus handed him a slip of paper and a pencil. "Just write it all down for me and I'll get it sent off for you."

Morgan wrote the message, paid Fergus and waited until the message had been sent. When he turned to leave, Fergus wished him good luck on the day and happy blessings to boot. He wasn't sure what the hell that was supposed to mean and his confusion grew as the day wore on. Every person he met seemed to be in a good mood. Well wishes from people he rarely spoke to came unbidden but the girls in the saloon weren't so welcoming. They were acting funny. They shunned him, tossed their noses in the air and wouldn't even come down to talk to him. Ungrateful, the whole lot of 'em. He'd tossed his drink back and left without another word. He didn't need them anyway. Not with Abigail taking up residence in his house. Lord knows having her in his bed was a damn sight more enjoyable than those whores were.