Secrets In The Shadows Read online

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  The Wild Rose Press

  www.thewildrosepress.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Sherrie Kelley

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  She knocked his hand away, then drew her arm back and slapped him hard. His head rocked backward; her hand stung, but he didn't raise a hand to hit her back. Not that she had ever hit David. No, his rages had always been unprovoked, out of the blue. Shaking, she waited for his reaction, never doubting there would be one. But she never would have guessed what that reaction would be.

  Adam smiled.

  Lacy caught her breath at the beauty of his smile.

  "It didn't work,” Adam said softly, pulling her close. He nuzzled her nose with his own as if they were old lovers, as if he didn't have a red handprint burning his face. Lacy was too shocked to be outraged by the intimacy. She'd been so sure he would strike back.

  Their mouths met, parted, his in breathless anticipation; hers in disbelief that it was happening. Adam kissed her slowly, thoroughly. She was everything he thought she would be, right down to the soft little sounds of surprised pleasure gurgling in her throat. She tasted of honey, and sweet, creamy butter.

  Lacy felt her bones turn to water. She was weightless, floating in a sea of pleasure. He tasted of peppermint, and with a curious little sigh, she pressed fully against his hard length. For just a moment, she would enjoy this piece of heaven, pretend it was real.

  Adam pulled away slowly, reluctantly. Damn, he didn't want to, but this wasn't the place. There would never be a time or place for them, because in the end, he would leave and she would stay. He tipped her head back and stared down into her face, soft and dazed with passion.

  "Now you know what to expect when you make me mad, Miz Ross,” he said huskily.

  What people are saying about Sheridon Smythe...

  Mr. Complete

  "Sprinkled liberally with laugh-out-loud scenes, and not one but several yummy hunks, this fast-paced story will keep you engrossed to the last page."—Romantic Times

  "Humorous and hunk-heaven, Sheridon Smythe spins a delightful tale."—Midwest Book Review

  "MR. COMPLETE is absolutely, positively HOT. Sheridon Smythe has written another sexy, hilarious romance that will keep you laughing out loud and have the windows fogging up. From the sexy characters to a definitely unique plot, this book is a perfect 10 all the way around."—Romance Reviews Today

  "This will become many a fan's favourite ... it will make you a fan of her hot, steamy, and completely wonderful romances!"—A Romance Review

  Hot Number

  "HOT NUMBER is a fast-moving story with loads of sexual pressure and plenty of hot scenes ... a light and humorous tale."—RT BOOKclub

  "...An engaging romance ... For a thoroughly entertaining read, I recommend HOT NUMBER."—Romance Reviews Today

  "HOT NUMBER moves at a fast pace, and gives us lots of chuckles ... a great read that any fan of contemporary romance won't want to miss."—A Romance Review

  Those Baby Blues (Romantic Times Top Pick!)

  "A compelling, sexy romp that leaves you smiling!"—Christine Feehan, New York Times bestselling author

  "The interaction between the characters is first rate and highly entertaining ... a fast, fun, and tender story sure to touch the reader's heart."—Romance Reviews Today

  "Sheridon Smythe has created a warm and touching tale of love that just keeps expanding."—Romantic Times

  A Perfect Fit

  "Lots of good chuckles and a modern relationship that goes from zero to racing speed in seconds flat."—Romantic Times

  "Brooke and Alex's sexy interactions will keep you reading."—All About Romance

  Mr. Hyde's Assets

  "A warm-hearted and charming tale of secrets, lies, and true love."—Romantic Times

  Secrets in the Shadows

  by

  Sheridon Smythe

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  SECRETS IN THE SHADOWS

  COPYRIGHT ©

  2007 by Sherrie Kelley

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 706

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Crimson Rose Edition, 2007

  Print ISBN 1-60154-140-6

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  In loving memory of my own sheriff, my grandfather, Herbert Davidson. I know you're looking down from above and chuckling. This was my first book, but it remained your favorite. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about you, and smile.

  Prologue

  Callaway County

  Shadow City, Missouri

  1875

  Lacy placed her palm against the cold window pane, marveling at how quickly the weather could change. Yesterday, it had been warm and humid, with rain showers around supper time. Normal weather for May.

  Blackberry winter, Grandpa had told her when she raced downstairs to breakfast in the early morning chill. It was a time when the blackberries that thrived along the fence row in the backyard bloomed with beautiful white flowers.

  Grandma said it would only last a few days, then warmth and sunshine would return and she could once again shuck the heavy shoes and run barefoot through the grass.

  Grandma's voice drifted up the stairs. Lacy sighed and dropped her palm from the window. Just a few days....

  Gently, she laid the porcelain doll on the bed and covered its lumpy cloth body with a miniature patchwork quilt. She put a finger to her lips and spoke to the doll. “You sleep now, you hear? I'll be back soon as I see what Grandma wants.” She raced out of the room and downstairs in search of her grandmother. Lacy found her in the warm, fragrant kitchen preparing the evening meal.

  When her grandma spotted her in the doorway, she grabbed a cloth-covered plate from the stove top and handed it to Lacy. “Take this to Sheriff Murddock and be careful you don't spill it.” She sighed and pushed a damp wisp of hair from her brow. “Don't know where your Grandpa is. He's been full of himself ever since the sheriff gave him that deputy star. But I've got a pie in the oven and I can't leave it."

  "I'll be careful, Grandma. Don't you worry,” Lacy declared, proud Grandma trusted her. “I'm nine years old now, you know."

  Her grandmother smiled. “Yes, you are. And a beauty you're going to be, too.” She reached out and smoothed a loving hand along one shiny blonde braid. “Just like your mama was. Now, get along with you, but walk, don't run. The sheriff's probably as hungry as a bear by now, and if your Grandpa don't get here soon, he's gonna be eatin’ his supper on the back porch steps."

  Lacy giggled, knowing her grandma was only teasing. Holding the plate as if it was a basket of eggs, she walked slowly from the house out into the
chilly air. The jail was across the street and four buildings down, not far at all. She'd often helped Grandma, but she'd never been trusted to go alone.

  Grandma was nice to cook for the sheriff every day—breakfast and supper—because he didn't have a wife to cook for him. Lacy knew he tried to pay Grandma, but she wouldn't take his money. If it wasn't for Colt Murddock, Shadow City wouldn't be a town, Grandma said.

  Lacy stepped around a mud hole left from the rain showers of last evening and the plate in her hands wobbled precariously. She caught her breath, gripping the plate tighter before moving on, her thoughts on the town's history that had been taught to her from the time she could understand.

  Sheriff Murddock had started the town, made sure it was a peaceful place for decent folk to live and raise their families. He was the town hero. Nobody ever got shot in Shadow City because he didn't allow anyone to carry a gun. Why, even a fistfight warranted a night in jail.

  Of course, Grandpa said that wasn't really a punishment, because anyone who got put in jail also got to eat Grandma's cookin'. Lacy grinned to herself, remembering how Grandma had blushed at that.

  She passed the blacksmith's, then the small general store. Several of the townspeople she encountered greeted her by name. There were a few she didn't recognize, but all wore heavier clothing against the cold. Lacy nodded, her chin high with pride.

  When she drew abreast of the telegraph office, Mr. Hyatt waved at her through the window and she paused to wiggle her fingers at him. Someone brushed her elbow and Lacy juggled the plate once again, breathing a sigh of relief when she safely recaptured it. She turned and frowned at the retreating figure.

  Finally, she reached her destination. Stepping onto the boardwalk in front of the jail, she carefully balanced the plate on one palm and rapped politely on the door. After several seconds, she opened the door, then caught the plate securely again with both hands before going in.

  "Sheriff Murddock? It's Lacy, with your supper. Grandma sent me ‘cause Grandpa ain't home yet and she couldn't leave the pie.” She paused to draw a breath, then added earnestly, “But don't you worry none. I didn't spill a drop."

  Silence greeted her explanation. The office was dim, and Lacy frowned, looking around for the lamp. Her puzzled eyes landed on the sheriff's desk. There sat the lamp, cold as could be. Didn't he realize it was gettin’ dark outside? Well, she'd just have to light it for him. She set the plate down. The sheriff couldn't eat his food in the dark, now could he?

  Lacy carefully set the pie on the sheriff's desk. She found the matches in a small drawer, struck one, and held it over the wick. The flame caught and soft light chased the shadows into the far corners of the room. She sighed in satisfaction and perched her hands on her thin hips, her gaze automatically seeking the sheriff, thinking he might be taking what Grandpa called a little ‘shuteye'.

  A large jail cell took up one half of the room, furnished with two cots, a bucket, a small mirror, a wash pan and a chair. Lacy moved closer to the cell, peering into the shadows where the light didn't quite reach, at the darker shadow wavering there.

  "Sheriff Murddock? Is that you?” she called, beginning to feel a little frightened. Whoever it was, they weren't answering her.

  The sheriff didn't have any prisoners at the moment, or at least that's what Grandpa had said when he'd taken his noon break with her and Grandma. So the person moving in the cell had to be the sheriff, didn't it? He sure was tall, though, and she didn't remember Sheriff Murddock being that tall.

  Something funny fluttered in her stomach.

  She backed away until her rump met the desk. Reaching around, she fumbled for the wire handle on the lamp, grabbed it, and brought the light around to hold before her. She didn't think she wanted to get closer again.

  The lamp light spread swiftly into the cell, illuminating the murky interior. Lacy smothered a scream with the back of her hand.

  It was the sheriff all right, and now she understood why he didn't answer.

  Chapter One

  Ben leaped onto the porch and slammed his shoulder against the door, tearing at the knob with frantic hands. Tears formed muddy rivulets on his dusty face. A fat drop gathered dirt along the way, then hovered on the edge of his chin before tracking a muddy path down his neck. It tickled, but he made no move to wipe it away.

  There wasn't time.

  As the door gave way, he looked over his shoulder. A moan gurgled in his throat and panic widened his eyes, as terror took hold.

  Once across the threshold, he skidded to a halt, spun around and raced back, shutting the door against the bright afternoon sun and the man striding purposefully up the walk. For several frustrated seconds, he glared at the little used, heavy bolt inches beyond his reach. He swallowed hard, then turned to put as much distance as possible between himself and certain death.

  Gathering breath as he ran, he began to scream at the top of his lungs, “He's after me; he's after me! Don't let him get me, Lacy!"

  This time, maybe for the first time ever, his terror was beyond control.

  Hearing his shrill cry, Lacy emerged from the kitchen just in time to catch him by the shoulders as he thundered past. “Whoa there, Ben. Slow down before you break somethin'. What's all this screamin’ about?"

  The sudden stop nearly sent his feet flying out from under him. He scrambled to keep from falling backward, arms flailing the air, his boots slipping on the waxed hardwood floor. Finally, he planted his feet, gulped, and pleaded, “Hide me somewhere, Lacy. You gotta hide me!"

  Lacy turned him and frowned down at his frightened face. Dark purple stains circled his mouth and mapped a path down his chin, blending with the tears and dirt. He looked like a raccoon—a very guilty raccoon.

  Her eyes narrowed in sudden comprehension. “Have you been stealin’ food again?” That stain on his mouth looked suspiciously like blackberry juice, and she had made a blackberry pie this morning. But she had sold that pie to Ellen, who owned Shadow City's only restaurant. Lacy closed her eyes and silently counted to ten. Thunder! Why hadn't he taken the pie before she delivered it to Ellen?

  Ben sniffed and stared at his dusty boots. “Weren't stealin’ nuthin. He—he claims I did, but I weren't!” He craned his neck around her to look in the direction of the door, his face screwed into an anxious mask.

  "Wasn't. The word is wasn't, Ben. And that's not the whole truth, is it?” She straightened and sighed, but kept a restraining hand on his shoulder. No matter how much she fed him, no matter how much she assured him there was always more where that came from, she couldn't seem to convince him. Most of the townsfolk understood and rarely kicked up a fuss, other than to let her know about the theft. However, they did expect payment.

  They both jumped as someone pounded on the door with enough force to make the wood shudder and the hinges creak. Lacy lifted an eyebrow. Someone sounded a little more than annoyed, she thought, just before she realized Ben had said ‘he', instead of ‘she', which meant Ellen wasn't the one after him.

  "Benjamin, just who is chasing you this time?” Complaints on Ben were almost an everyday occurrence, and she was at her wit's end on how to correct the problem. She would have to do something, and soon, by the sound of it.

  Ben's small frame trembled beneath her hands. “He's—he's got a gun, Lacy! A real six-shooter. I seen it myself!"

  Tears threatened to overflow again, and Lacy stared at them, trying to recall a time when she'd seen Ben cry. She couldn't remember a single instance.

  "He said he was—was going to shoot me with it,” Ben finished in a strangled whisper.

  Lacy felt the first stirrings of genuine alarm. Unconsciously, her fingers tightened on Ben's shoulder until he whimpered a protest. Nobody but the sheriff carried a gun, and Shadow City didn't have a sheriff at the moment, thanks to that lying, rumor-spreading mayor of theirs. Her mouth tightened at the reminder.

  The door thundered again and Lacy imagined—at least, she hoped it was her imagination—that she heard wood sp
lintering. Her heart skipped a beat and she gave herself a stern mental shake—this was Shadow City, for cryin’ out loud, and the wild west was nothing more than Bill Hickok's traveling show in a covered wagon. Still, she supposed there were a few unsavory types out there who might not know how unpopular violence had become. Or care.

  Striving to keep the uncertainty from her voice, she asked, “Are you certain he has a gun, Ben? Absolutely certain?"

  Ben's head bobbed vigorously. “'Solutely certain.” He gulped on a sob, wiping his nose against a dirty sleeve. “He showed it to me. That's when I took off runnin'.” The memory set him off again. This time he buried his face in her apron and sobbed, “Don't let him shoot me, Lacy! Please don't let him shoot me. I promise to be good from now on. I'll never steal another pie, I swear it!"

  Her heart constricted at the sound of his cries. Through her apron and the thick folds of her gingham dress, she felt Ben's small hands clutch at her in desperation as he sought to grab hold of the one steady anchor in his life.

  Ben was depending on her to save him, to protect him.

  That decided it. Whoever it was, Lacy thought with mounting anger, they should be ashamed for frightening a helpless little boy. Ashamed and apologetic.

  "You stay put,” she ordered firmly, releasing him. “Nobody's going to shoot you."

  Ben obeyed, trembling and darting apprehensive glances at the shuddering door. He looked ready to bolt any second. With the pitiful sight spurring her on, Lacy marched to the fireplace mantel and removed her grandpa's shotgun from the hanger. It hadn't been used in ages and she didn't think it was loaded, which suited her purpose just fine. She just wanted to teach the man a lesson. Maybe he'd understand what it felt like to stand in Ben's shoes when he faced the other end of this shotgun. How dare he threaten a defenseless little boy!

  Hoisting the heavy gun onto her shoulder, Lacy squinted along the barrel and called, “Come in,” in a voice sweet enough to charm a snake—which she figured he was.