Chapter 8

T he man across the table from Jack made a little groan and flipped his cards onto the surface, face down.

A fold. Jack was the only one still betting, which meant he didn't have to reveal his cards. He pulled the small pile of coins from the center of the table and reached for the discarded cards and the deck so he could shuffle.

Movement behind the bar drew his eyes as his hands completed familiar motions.

It was the barkeep, a man who might be Jack's age, wiping down the bar.

Impatience flared, disappointment on its heels.

Jack had come to the saloon tonight to find out everything he could about Billy Burns. He'd settled in at the poker table, where men had come and gone as the night had worn on.

It was late now. He felt the pull of exhaustion as he dealt the cards once more. Tonight wasn't about his winnings, though he was up over a dollar.

Burns had been helping his barman behind the long counter earlier in the night, when things had been busy. But he'd disappeared into an office behind the bar an hour ago and hadn't returned.

Jack needed to get out of town. He couldn't forget Morris was looking for him. But it was the pull toward Merritt that was becoming too much of a temptation.

He liked her. Too much.

All Jack needed was one or two vital facts about Burns. Some kind of leverage, a way to get him to back off on his plans to take the land. Jack wouldn't get the information he needed sitting out here with the handful of patrons left in the place at this late hour.

He folded without a word, tossing his cards face down on the table.

"Another hand?" The man with salt-and-pepper hair, sitting across from him, shuffled this time.

Jack flipped his ante to the center of the table.

He needed to finish this.

Merritt would be unhappy if she knew he was here. She didn't condone gambling. Or saloons.

He had almost kissed her today.

The memory had popped into his mind at inopportune times all night.

The softness of her skin beneath his fingertips. The flutter of her lashes, the way she'd leaned in…

The warmth of her breath, right there on his own lips.

He'd wanted it so badly.

Only his conscience shouting at him had prevented the kiss.

He forced away the memory of the hurt in her brown eyes and had to take a second look at his cards. The man across the table was almost asleep, but the one sitting kitty-corner to Jack wore a sharp look.

Merritt was a distraction, even in his memories.

Especially on the heels of meeting with Mr. Carson, the preacher. The man hadn't preached fire and brimstone after all. He'd read Jack a story about one man on a journey, who'd been beaten and robbed, and another man who'd come along and helped him. Jack didn't understand. And not understanding bothered him.

Where was Burns?

Jack's emotions were tangled in knots, and it was all because of Merritt.

She wasn't like anyone he'd ever met before. And when he was with her, he started to forget that he wasn't worthy.

Jack lost the next game and realized he'd missed a tell from the man at his side. Frustrated, he tried to tear his thoughts from the woman he couldn't seem to stop thinking about.

Voices rose from the staircase at the back of the room, tucked behind one edge of the bar. Jack's gaze flicked that direction.

"I'm not doing this!" A young woman in the skimpy dress he associated with a saloon girl was blocked in between the bar and the room by an older man who was beefy and had a gut hanging over the edge of his pants.

The man said something Jack couldn't make out. He reached for the girl's arm, but she jerked it away.

"I won't?—"

The bartender moved that direction, having just served a pint to a man sitting at this end of the bar, and Jack felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. The barkeep would take care of it.

But instead of freeing the girl from the drunken patron, the bartender gestured toward the staircase. Jack only had a glimpse over the man's shoulder, but he saw the girl shake her head.

The drunken man said an expletive loud enough for Jack to hear. A glass mug was knocked off the back shelf and crashed to the ground, shattering.

The noise drew the attention of the other two men at Jack's table—but only for a second, and then they glanced back at their cards.

Didn't anyone else care that the girl might be in trouble?

"I said no!" she shouted now, struggling with the bartender, who had one of her arms in his grip.

The office door had come open about halfway. Jack sensed more than saw Burns's shadow listening behind the door.

Jack had laid low, stayed anonymous all evening while at the card table. Right now, he was just a face in the crowd.

If he intervened in the scuffle, he'd be visible. The barkeep would associate his face with this moment. Wouldn't share information he otherwise might. Jack would lose his chance at digging up leverage on Burns, lose his chance to help Merritt keep the school land.

But the woman was crying now, a wobble in her voice as she said, "Stop!"

And Jack heard a memory-echo of his thirteen-year-old voice saying the very same thing. Stop! Don't hurt him!

He was out of his chair, his winnings quickly scooped up and stuffed into his pocket, before he could think.

"'Scuse me!" He strode across the room, hailing the bartender, who turned toward him, still behind the bar.

Jack had a clear view of the lecherous, drunken man with one arm clasped around the young woman, holding her against his side. She was struggling against him, but she was slight and obviously didn't know how to fight someone so large.

"Why don't you leave her alone?" Jack asked. "She don't seem to want your company."

"I paid for hers," the man growled. "Stay out of it."

Hand still in his pocket, Jack closed his fist around the coins he'd just put there. "I'll refund your money." Quick as a rattlesnake strike, he ripped his hand out of his pocket and flung the coins at the man. Two struck him in the face, and he cried out, his hold on the girl loosening.

It was the opening Jack needed. He landed a right-handed jab on the man's nose, heard a satisfying crunch.

The bartender shouted something, but Jack wasn't waiting around for the man to jump over the bar.

Jack grabbed the girl's wrist and tugged her away from the paunchy man, pulling her toward the exit.

She was right on his heels.

He threw a look over his shoulder in time to see Burns in the doorway of his office, eyes narrowed on Jack as he made the exit.

Jack went out into the darkness, still clutching the girl's wrist.

He'd been seen. He'd known it would happen but still felt the beat of disappointment.

The girl immediately started shivering in the night air, and he shucked his coat to wrap it around her shoulders.

He could hear raised voices through the swinging doors.

"We can't stay here," he told her. He was already moving down the boardwalk, and she followed him, though hesitantly. The one clear thought in his mind was, Merritt…bring her to Merritt's .

"Who are you?" There was still the hiccup of a sob in her voice, a wariness he was thankful for. She'd gotten herself into trouble in that saloon and wasn't sure she was out of it yet. "Why'd you help me?"

"Because it was the right thing to do." Even though it'd ruined his chances of easily digging up dirt on Burns. "I'm Jack. A friend of Merritt Harding."

At his words, a bit of tension seeped out of her. She knew Merritt, if only by reputation. A cold wind bit through Jack's shirt as he urged her to hurry past the next alleyway and keep walking down the boardwalk.

"You got somewhere to go?" he asked. "Maybe some family you can stay with?" She wouldn't be able to go back to the bar now.

Her sniffles turned into full-blown sobs. "I've got a room—a rented room—but I'm getting thrown out. I was working at the café until the fire, and I—I?—"

She was so worked up she could barely speak.

"It's all right," he told her. "I'm taking you somewhere safe."

His adrenaline was fading now, leaving him exhausted. But the clarity that had hit him as they'd run out of the saloon hadn't faded.

His one thought in that moment had been to go to Merritt. That's where he wanted to be.

But the girl—he realized he didn't even know her name—turned worried eyes on him. "I have to go get him—my son."

* * *

Merritt was rousted from bed at the pounding on her door.

She'd been up late, copying more scripts, and it felt as if she'd barely slept at all. She was confused, discombobulated as she pushed up on her elbow. The room was dark around her. Dawn hadn't broken yet. What time was it?

Had she dreamed the knock?

But it came again, thud, thud, thud on her front door.

And Jack's voice, muffled and muted through the two doors between them, "Merritt, I need you."

Jack!

Her sluggish thoughts cleared as she got out of bed, shivering when her bare feet hit the plank floor. She grabbed her wrapper from the foot of the bed and then thought better of it.

If Jack was outside at this hour, she'd better get dressed. She pulled on her dress and frantically buttoned it.

"I'm coming!" she called out before he could barrage the door again. What if her neighbors heard? What was he thinking?

Was he in trouble?

She imagined she heard a baby's cry. What in the world was going on?

She was overly aware of her bare feet and the fact that her hair must be in disarray as she rushed to the front door and opened it.

Jack was there, but standing back from the door as if he was concerned he might scare her. His face was in shadow.

"What—"

There was movement behind him. A shuffling of feet. And Merritt realized there was a young woman standing in his shadow. She was holding a baby wrapped in a blanket.

"Come inside." Merritt opened the door and scooted backward into the room as the chill from outside wafted over her bare feet. "What's the matter? What's happened?"

She reached for a lamp on the side table and scrambled to light the wick. When the small flame lit the room, she turned back and saw Jack settling the young mother on a sofa.

He was in his shirtsleeves, and he was shivering. She saw it even though he tried to mask the motion.

She realized the young woman was wearing his coat.

"I'll put on some coffee," she said. "Jack, come with me."

"I'll be back in a minute," he told the young woman.

His tread on the floor was so much louder than the quiet shuffle of her bare feet, and she was aware of her barely dressed state and that it was the middle of the night—or was it coming on to morning?

She squinted out the kitchen window and saw the tiniest slice of silver light on the horizon. It was morning, but the late hour she'd gone to bed made it feel like she hadn't slept at all.

She moved to the stove, quickly bending to stir the coals and tuck kindling inside.

Jack stood at a respectful distance, but before she closed the door and plunged them into shadow again, she saw the red chapped skin of his hands.

"What is going on?" she demanded in a whisper.

Last night, she'd left her shawl lying over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, and she went to grab it. He stood still while she crossed the room back toward him, even as she tossed the knitted shawl around his shoulders.

It was dark and she was close, and she couldn't tell whether the twitch of his lips was bemusement or something else. He did look a little silly, but she noticed the way he tucked his hands under his arms, crossed across his chest.

"She was in trouble," he started. "The only place I could think to come was here."

There was something in his voice when he said the words. Consternation maybe, or another emotion she couldn't place.

It would help if she could see his face. She went to the shelf and pulled down another lamp.

"You'd better start at the beginning."

He sighed. "I was playing a hand of poker at the saloon."

She lost her hold on the lamp, and it thunked onto the table. "What in the world were you doing there?" She couldn't quite contain the sharpness in her tone. He was silent as she struck a match and lit the lamp.

When she turned to face him, he'd shut himself away again. She could see it in his expression. The openness from only moments ago was gone.

But then he exhaled a frustrated sigh and pushed both hands through his hair, nearly dislodging the shawl. "I will tell you everything." He didn't sound happy about that, his voice low and almost angry. "But for now, let me explain about Miss Bauer."

By the time he told her about the near-fight at the saloon, her heart was thrumming in her throat.

He could've been killed. She'd heard Danna talk plenty of times about how men who'd been drinking were quick to pull out a knife or gun.

Merritt didn't know whether to be angry or grateful that he'd helped Velora Bauer.

"She's new in town," he said. "Her husband passed just before the baby was born. She'd been working at the café before it closed for repairs."

He glanced into the sitting room, where the baby had begun crying again. "You got any porridge or…eggs, maybe? I think he's hungry. She probably is too."

Merritt moved to the basket of fresh eggs on the counter even as her mind clicked through all the information Jack had divulged.

"The lady she's renting from is throwing her out. She had nowhere to go with the baby and thought?—"

Merritt could guess what she'd thought. The young woman had been desperate to provide for her child. Thank God Velora hadn't been able to go through with it.

She sighed. "Of course I'll help, and I'm glad you were there."

Something sparked in his eyes.

The baby's cries grew louder, and he tipped his head toward the sitting room. "I'm gonna see if I can help."

Merritt's fork scraped the pan as she stirred the scrambled eggs. She had a little savings put away. Less now that she'd spent some money trying to resupply the classroom. How else might she help the young widow?

For one wild moment, she pictured sending the young woman to her cousins. The McGraw brothers desperately needed a woman's touch at the ranch. Tillie and Jo were running wild, and David hadn't had as much schooling as he needed. Drew hadn't been the same since Amanda had left him. The men were a little rough around the edges, but they were good stock.

But she knew Drew would kill her if she made the suggestion.

She'd enlist the help of her friend Penny's mother. Mrs. Castlerock's husband was a wealthy banker known for his stingy ways, but the older couple had plenty of room in their mansion and could possibly spare some funds to get Velora on her feet again.

The eggs done, she realized the baby had quieted. She put the eggs on a plate and crept to the doorway.

Jack stood at the window, staring outside with the baby at his shoulder. He was patting the babe's back while the one-year-old chewed on his fist.

Velora had fallen asleep on the sofa, one arm tucked beneath her head.

There was something about seeing the man holding a baby that twisted Merritt's insides in a way that was both pleasurable and painful. Jack was a natural with children. She'd seen it in the classroom.

She turned back to the kitchen, not so dark now with the sun coming over the horizon.

Jack might be good with children, but he'd been keeping secrets from her.

Did she want to live with a man she couldn't entirely trust? It felt so easy to succumb to his charm.

But if she married him, would she regret it?

An hour later, both baby and Velora had eaten and retired to Merritt's bedroom to rest with the door closed. Merritt would take them to visit Mrs. Castlerock later and see what could be done.

And Merritt was left with Jack in the sitting room. He'd moved to sit on a sofa and had his elbows on his knees with his head in his hands as she entered the room.

He looked up, dropped his hands as she set a mug of coffee in front of him on the low table.

He looked tired. Or haunted.

She stood against the bookcase, her hands behind her back. "Talk to me," she said.

Her stomach was twisted in knots. This moment felt fraught with tension, like she was standing on the edge of a cliff. One step, one shift, could change everything.

He sighed but held her gaze. "On my first night here—I suppose it was the second, after the night of the fire—I overheard a couple of men talking. About the school. About you."

She couldn't help but notice that he didn't say where he'd overheard the men.

But that detail was quickly forgotten as he explained what he'd heard and what he'd discovered since. That he'd enlisted Drew's help.

"Is that why you've been spending all your spare moments cleaning up the building site?"

He seemed surprised that she knew about that. Small-town gossip spread like wildfire.

"I can handle Mr. Polk," she told Jack, though it hurt to think about being replaced in the classroom before she was ready. She would think about that later. "You told Drew. Why didn't you tell me?"

He stood from the sofa, moving across the room toward the kitchen and then spinning back to face her. "I was trying to protect you, I guess." His hand had come up to rub the back of his neck.

He wanted to protect her. Even though she couldn't agree with keeping secrets or how he'd gone about parts of it, the thought warmed her.

This was the moment. The cliff's edge.

"There's a lot we're still discovering about each other," she said, "but I'm coming to know you."

He looked almost battered by her words.

Spurred on by the strength of her emotions, she took a step toward him. And another.

"I want to marry you." She hadn't said it quite like that since they'd met. Everything had been planned, and she'd kept following the plan, even through her misgivings. But the words she'd said were the truth. She wanted to be with the Jack who cuddled babies and protected her.

Another step toward him. "I don't want secrets between us. I want a life with you?—"

She'd come close enough to see the dark flecks in his color-shifting eyes. Hazel this morning and clouded with…hope?

Merritt had been planning to reach for him, but it was Jack whose hands spanned her waist first.

His head dipped and he groaned just before his lips crashed against hers. There was no finesse, simply a desperation behind the kiss that made her breathless. The feeling that he couldn't bear not to be kissing her.

Her hands came up to fist in the shoulders of his shirt.

He broke the kiss for a fractured moment, his breath warm on her lips and chin.

His eyes were stormy.

And then his hand came up to cup her jaw gently, and this time when he pressed his lips to hers, there was a reverence to it. It felt like a new beginning.

Like everything she wanted.

A tiny cry from the baby, the sound of a tread from the bedroom, and the door snicking open had Jack brushing a kiss at the spot where her nose met her forehead, then releasing her to take a step back.

The stormy look had cleared from his eyes, and she couldn't read them now.