“‘Sheets and pillows’?” Mama asked.

  Josie pulled her gaze away from Haley. “What? Oh, it’s not what you think. Brandon built an old folks’ home on lot eleven. Oh, Mama, you should see it. It’s beautiful. Brandon is doing a fantastic job.”

  Her mother clipped a stem and laid the blossom in the wicker basket. “Brandon?”

  “Mr. Wade.”

  Her mother’s mouth formed a perfect O. “But wasn’t that the lot you won?”

  “Not exactly,” Josie said and explained how she’d happened to end up with the property. “It was a mistake. I wasn’t even in the race.”

  Lips pursed, Mama resumed clipping flowers. “I see,” she said.

  “Brandon asked Haley and me to purchase bedding and pick out wallpaper.” When Mama failed to respond, Josie added, “Just think, Mama. Now poor Mr. Pendergrass and other people like him will be taken care of. I only wish Grandfather . . .”

  “I know,” Mama said, her voice strained. Mama still blamed herself for her father’s death, even though it hadn’t been her fault. The state-run old folks’ home had come highly recommended. “I must say, I’m surprised. That’s a very generous thing Mr. Wade has done.”

  Josie smiled. “Yes, it is, Mama. Very generous.”

  Mama gave her a funny look. “You and Mr. Wade aren’t—”

  “What? Oh, no, Mama. Of course not.” Josie moistened her lips as she studied her mother’s profile. “I don’t know that I could ever truly love another man.” There was no question that she was attracted to Brandon, but that was hardly enough on which to build a future. “Could you?”

  Mama’s back grew rigid. “My word, Josie. What a question!”

  “I don’t mean now.” Josie ran the back of her hand across her damp forehead. It was hot and getting hotter. “I mean—God forbid—should something happen to Papa.”

  Mama’s eyes softened as they always did whenever she talked about her husband. “No one could ever fill your father’s shoes.”

  “But if something happened.” Josie persisted. “You are still relatively young.” Her mother was also attractive, her figure as slim as a young girl’s. Her hair was the color of hay, except for a few silver strands at the temples.

  Mama’s sweet smile seemed to shave even more years off her age. “Thank you for saying that, but your father and I have been together for a very long time. I can’t imagine another man taking his place.” She tilted her head. “Only we’re not talking about Papa and me, are we?”

  Josie frowned. She reached for her locket. Just having this conversation filled her with such feelings of guilt and betrayal she could hardly breathe. “Ralph meant everything to me.”

  “Yes, but he wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life alone. You know that, don’t you?”

  Right now, Josie didn’t know what she knew. “I always believed that true love comes but once in a lifetime.”

  Mama’s steady gaze bored into her. “What I believe is that true love comes as many times as you want or need it to come. For some people, it may be only once. For others, it’s more. There’s really no right or wrong answer.”

  “I hope you’re right, Mama.”

  “Of course I’m right.” Mama tossed a nod at Haley. “I think your little friend wants to show you something.”

  Nodding, Josie, picked up her skirt and hastened along the garden path to Haley’s side.

  ***

  Josie was still thinking about the conversation with her mother that night as she sat at her desk pasting the last of the ads in place.

  “What I believe is that true love comes as many times as you want or need it to come.”

  She reached behind her neck to unfasten the gold chain. Holding the open locket in the palm of her hand, she stared down at the miniature photograph. A heavy feeling washed over her like a wave and settled in her chest. This time it wasn’t grief that weighed her down but regret. No matter how hard she tried holding on to Ralph, he kept slipping farther and farther away.

  Stuffing the locket into her pocket, she sat back and yawned. Time to call it a night.

  Just as she reached into the desk drawer for her purse, the door flew open, startling her. In walked Craig Gilbert.

  Her stomach knotted as a taste of metallic fear filled her mouth. What was he doing there? All she knew was that she didn’t want to be alone with him. Neither did she want him to know she was afraid.

  “I was just leaving,” she said. “It’s late.”

  He looked like he was having trouble focusing. Had he been drinking? “Anna-May said you paid her a visit,” he slurred. “Why?”

  “I’m sure she told you that we’re including her dress in our fashion column.”

  His face darkened, and his eyes looked like two black pools. Funny, he didn’t look so mousey now. He looked dark and menacing, and Josie’s finger tightened around the edge of her desk.

  “Anna-May said you asked about the cameo.”

  So, the cameo worried him, did it? Gulping, she dropped her hands to her lap and fought to remain calm. He was only one man, and she’d once stopped a small group of Indians from stealing her livestock. The thought gave her a measure of comfort—until she recalled that at the time she was brandishing a shotgun.

  “It’s a beautiful piece,” she hastened to say, hoping her calm voice and manner would have a similar effect on his demeanor.

  Visually inspecting her desk for weapons, she mentally measured the distance to a bronze paperweight. That’s when she noticed Ruby’s photograph laying face up . . . next to Haley’s drawing. Her mouth went dry. Oh, dear heaven.

  “You have marvelous taste,” she added. If she’d ever needed flattery to work, it was now. “Anna-May is very fortunate.”

  The compliment failed to soften his dark expression. “I don’t want any mention of the cameo in the paper.”

  Steady, steady. If she agreed to his wishes too quickly, he might grow suspicious. “I think the readers will enjoy reading about the beautiful gift you gave your wife.”

  His smile failed to reach his eyes. “That’s just it. It was a gift. A personal one.”

  What he said made sense. Maybe he felt as protective of the cameo as she was of her locket.

  She was just about to give him the benefit of the doubt when he leaned forward, palms on her desk, his fingers mere inches from Ruby’s photograph. “I said I don’t want it in the paper!” This time each word sounded like cracking ice.

  His menacing voice made Josie flinch. More than that, it made her even more nervous. “As you w-wish,” she stammered. “I-I’ll delete any references to the cameo.”

  He lowered his gaze and she abruptly stood, hoping to distract his attention away from Ruby’s image. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Instead of backing away and leaving as she’d hoped, he stayed rooted in place, his gaze riveted upon the photograph on her desk. Seconds stretched into what seemed like hours. The only sound was the pounding of her heart.

  Finally, he raised his head, his eyes dark with accusations. “You know, don’t you?” he said, his voice strangely calm. Lethally calm. “You know.” This time it wasn’t a question, but a statement.

  Willing her knees not to cave beneath her, she fought to find her voice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She tried for a lightness that she didn’t feel. “W-what do I know?”

  “You know that Anna-May’s cameo once belonged to Ruby. I didn’t think anyone would recognize it as the same one owned by my sis—” He stopped, but not soon enough.

  Josie’s mouth dropped. “Ruby was your sister?” When he failed to respond, a cold chill shot through her. She couldn’t help the next question that fell from her lips.

  “You killed your own sister?” she asked, the calmness of her voice belying the horror she felt inside.

  She expected him to deny it—prayed that he would. Instead, his eyes glittered with a look that turned her stomach.

  “I didn’t want to hurt her,” he said, his voice cold. “But when she threatened to tell Anna-May the truth, I snapped.”

  “Truth?” Her hands curled by her sides. “What truth?”

  “About my family. We were poorer than church mice.”

  At first she was confused. What he said made no sense. Many people grew up poor. That wasn’t a crime. But then she remembered something his wife had said, and the full implication of his words became clear.

  “There was no rich uncle, was there?”

  He scoffed. “My only uncle is serving time for killing a US marshal.”

  She stared at him. “Then how . . .” The image of him leaving the bank after hours came to mind, and the pieces suddenly fell into place. “Your sister knew you were embezzling from the bank, didn’t she?” She was guessing, but it was the only thing that made sense. When he failed to deny it, she continued, “What did she do? Threaten to turn you in?”

  His eyes flashed with hatred. “She had a nerve judging me after the life she led. I came to Two-Time to escape my family. Escape their crooked ways. Can you imagine my shock when I discovered her living here? She threatened to tell the sheriff what I was doing if I didn’t give her a cut of the money I’d stolen from the bank. Of all the towns she could have settled in, why did it have to be this one?”

  Josie was thinking like a reporter now, and a dozen questions came to mind. “Does Anna-May know that Ruby was your sister?”

  “No, and I mean to keep it that way.” He then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a revolver. “How about you and me taking a little walk?”

  No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Josie spotted a black bundle of movement. Suddenly appearing out of nowhere, Mr. Whiskers took a flying leap at the shiny weapon.

  Gilbert fell back with a startled look and his gun fired with a puff of smoke. A chunk of plaster the size of a quarter fell from the ceiling.

  With a cry of alarm, Josie reached for the paperweight. But before she could put it to good use, the door flew open and in ran Brandon.

  Chapter 27

  Renowned mountain climber Joseph Kinder, who successfully scaled some of the tallest mountains in the world, including the Matterhorn, is dead. He fell off a kitchen stool.

  —Two-Time Gazette

  Brandon stood motionless in the doorway, his gaze swinging from Gilbert’s pointed weapon to Josie and back again. “What’s going on?”

  “Your lady friend here got too nosey,” Gilbert said.

  “He k-killed Miss Ruby,” Josie stammered.

  Brandon stared at Gilbert with narrowed eyes, and a muscle twitched at his jaw. “In that case, I guess you could say we have a problem,” he drawled.

  Gilbert’s eyes glittered, and he drew attention back to his gun with a slight movement of his arm. “Looks like you have a bigger problem than I do.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Brandon said as calmly as if talking about the weather. “You see, I’m a big believer in keeping guns away from killers.”

  No sooner were the words out of Brandon’s mouth than he kicked the pistol clear out of Gilbert’s hand. The Colt flew up before landing with a thud next to the desk. Mr. Whiskers let out a wail and took off in a screeching black streak.

  Gilbert barreled into Brandon head first. The two men fell to the floor and proceeded to punch each other in deadly earnest.

  Josie dived for the gun and lifted it with shaking hands. Pointing the weapon at the two battling men, she didn’t dare pull the trigger for fear of hitting Brandon. A shiver of panic rushed through her. Dear God, where was Scooter, and why hadn’t he heard the shot?

  Panting in terror, she whirled about and slid the window open with her one free hand. Leaning over the sill, she pointed the gun upward and shot bullets into the sky—one, two, three—spacing them a few seconds apart so Scooter wouldn’t think it was just some cowboy letting off steam. She pulled the trigger a fourth time, but a hollow clicking sound signaled an empty chamber.

  A sudden silence made her spin around. She almost fainted with relief. Brandon was standing over Gilbert’s prone body

  Breath escaping in a whoosh, she dropped the empty gun on the floor. “Is he . . . is he dead?”

  Brandon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, ignoring a thin stream of blood trickling from his forehead. “No, but when he wakens, he’ll wish he was.”

  “You’re hurt,” she said in alarm.

  Brandon pulled out a handkerchief and gently dabbed his brow. “Not as much as he is.”

  The door flew open, and Scooter burst inside like a tornado. Tripping over Gilbert’s body, the sheriff fell flat on the floor, sprawled out like a discarded ragdoll.

  Brandon stared down at him with a wry smile. “Now that’s what I call laying down the law.”

  ***

  When the worse was over and Gilbert had been hauled off to jail, Josie insisted upon attending to Brandon’s wounds. He had a black eye and red chin, but it was the cut on his forehead that worried her.

  “You should have Doc Stybeck look at this.”

  “Maybe later.” Brandon flinched when she dabbed at the wound. “I still can’t believe Gilbert killed that woman. But why did he come to you? How did he know you were on to him?”

  Josie tossed the wet sponge into the basin of water. She was still trembling, but whether from the near brush with death or from the nearness of Brandon, she couldn’t say.

  Reaching for her scissors, she snipped a square of gauze and applied it to Brandon’s forehead. The gentle pressure of her fingers made him grimace in pain, and she quickly drew her hand away.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said in alarm.

  “I’m okay,” he said.

  She reapplied the soft fabric ever so gently and reached for the tape. As she worked, she explained how Haley’s drawing had helped the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. “Haley didn’t fill in the details of the cameo, but she got the shape right, and that got me to thinking about the portrait in the photographer’s shop.”

  “I can’t believe that all this happened because of something Haley drew.”

  Josie smiled at mention of his daughter’s name. “Thanks to Haley and her God-given talent, we caught a killer, I have a new office, and Mr. Pendergrass will soon have a new home.”

  Brandon shook his head. “Incredible. I can’t imagine what she’ll do next.”

  “Neither can I.” Josie said with a laugh and then grew serious. “It’s kind of ironic in a way. Gilbert tried distancing himself from a family he loathed. Instead, he ended up becoming as lawless as they were. Maybe even worse.”

  She opened a desk drawer to replace her medical supplies, but Brandon stopped her with a hand to her wrist. A moment ago his eyes had glazed over with pain. Now the deep-brown depths were filled with concern and something else. Something that took her breath away.

  “You could have been his next victim,” he said, his voice husky.

  The full impact of what happened hit her like a slap in the face. “You could have been shot,” she whispered back.

  Their gazes held, each second seeming to fill them with each other.

  Brandon was the first to break the silence. “After my wife died . . .” His voice was thick with emotion. “I didn’t think there could be anyone else.”

  Something intense flared inside her, matching the smoldering flames in his eyes. She felt like she had toed a line and either had to cross it or move back. “I felt the same way after losing Ralph,” she said, her voice choked.

  He studied her, a hopeful glint in his eyes. “But after what happened tonight . . .” His expression clouded for a moment before he continued. “The thought of what could have happened. That I might have lost you like I lost—” He stood and took hold of her hand. “Do you think . . . ? Josie, be honest with me. Is it too soon for us?”

  She lifted her free hand to his cheek, careful not to hurt him. His rough, manly skin felt oddly comforting next to her palm. “Too soon?”

  “I want us to be together. To build a life.” He drew in his breath as if trying to absorb her. “I want to marry you.”

  Her breath caught in her lungs, and her heart practically leaped out of her chest. She flung her arms around his neck before guilt or anything else could spoil the moment. “Oh, yes, yes, yes!”

  Hands at her waist, he pulled her closer. “That wasn’t a proposal,” he murmured in her ear. “I simply said I want to marry you. You deserve a proper courting and you’re only now coming out of your mourning period.” One hand explored the soft lines of her back as he spoke. “There’s also the problem of our newspapers. If word gets out that we’ve made peace, our readership will take a perilous dive and—”

  Gazing up at him, she touched a finger to his lips. “The stubborn, maddening editor of the so-called newspaper known as the Lone Star Press talks way too much.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Is that so? Well, what do you think about this?” And with that he crushed her to him, covering her mouth hungrily with his own.

  ***

  Word of Mr. Gilbert’s arrest traveled through Two-Time with the speed of lightning. It was all anyone could talk about. If traffic through town wasn’t bad enough before, it was nothing compared to that morning as knots of people gathered up and down the street to discuss the latest news or purchase the one-page extras that Brandon and Josie had each independently published.

  Josie arrived at the office later than usual and found Miss Bubbles waiting for her outside.

  “Oh, Josie!” She took both of Josie’s hands in her own. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am.” Dropping Josie’s hands, she dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “But . . . but you could have been killed.”

  “Let’s not think about that. The main thing is that justice will finally be served.”

  Miss Bubbles stared at her with tear-filled eyes. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  Josie placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “No need to,” she said.