Just West of Heaven Read online

  To my husband Mark, for thirty years of love and laughter. As steady as the Vega, you’ve always been there, ready to lend me a hand or provide a shoulder for me to cry on. You believe in me even when I don’t believe in myself and make me laugh when I take myself too seriously.

  And now, thirty years and two kids later, you’re still my best friend.

  I love you.

  CHAPTER One

  ALBANY, NEW YORK, MAY 1880

  “I won’t let you take her from me,” Sophie Dolan said, staring at the man seated behind a gleaming mahogany desk.

  “Your mother’s will says I can.” Charles Vinson shrugged, tugged at the cuffs of his white linen shirt then adjusted the lapels of his black broadcloth coat. “But we don’t have to be at odds, Sophie.”

  “Of course we do,” she snapped, nodding her head so hard, her straw bonnet tipped precariously over one eye. “You’re trying to steal my little sister.”

  “Steal?” he repeated and stood up. Adjusting the hang of his well-tailored coat, he walked around the edge of the desk and gave her a look usually reserved for a spoiled child. “I’m Jenna’s legal guardian,” he reminded her.

  “I’m her sister,” Sophie said and heard the strain in her voice. She wished she could swear at him. She wished she knew the right words to curl his toes and singe his eyebrows. She wished... it didn’t matter what she wished. Wishing wouldn’t change anything.

  “And a spinster,” he added with a sympathetic shake of his head. “Hardly able to look after yourself, let alone a child.”

  She felt the jab hit home, but disregarded it. At twenty-four years old, after all, she was a spinster. No point in fighting the obvious. Not when there were so many other things to be fought. Sophie stood up and pushed her hat back into place. “I’m perfectly able to take care of myself and Jenna—”

  “However,” Charles said, interrupting her as he let his gaze move up and down her body like a man considering whether or not to buy a particular horse. “Perhaps there’s a way we could both have what we want.”

  She imagined that was just what the snake in the Garden of Eden’s voice had sounded like. Smooth, slow, tempting.

  “And what’s that?” she forced herself to ask.

  “Marry me and we can both have her.”

  So much for temptation. Sophie sucked in a breath. Just the thought of marrying Charles Vinson was enough to make her skin crawl. And not even for the sake of the little sister she loved, could Sophie imagine sleeping beside the man—not to mention doing other things.

  “Don’t you find me attractive?” he asked, giving her a smile that told her he knew exactly what she thought.

  “Oh, you’re handsome enough,” she muttered, “but so’s a diamondback, until it rattles.”

  “That razor-sharp tongue of yours is the reason you can’t find a man,” he said tightly, taking a step closer.

  She wanted to move back, but she stood her ground, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Spinsters are supposed to be outspoken,” she said. “We’re eccentric.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Then why would you want to marry me?”

  “It would make life easier for Jenna.”

  “And you’re very concerned with Jenna, aren’t you, Charles?” Sarcasm colored her words, but she doubted it would have any impact.

  “As a matter of fact,” he said, laying both hands on her shoulders, “I am.”

  The instant he touched her, Sophie’s mind swam. Fog swirled across her brain and a familiar, throbbing ache settled behind her eyes. No, she thought, not now. She fought for air, fought to battle back the images before they could form, but it was too late and her mind spun with fragments, snatches of scenes. Jenna, locked in a room, crying. Charles, counting his money and laughing. Jenna, forced to use her “gift” to fill this man’s pockets. And finally, an image of Sophie herself, outside Charles’s home, desperately beating on the door, trying to get in. To get to her sister.

  She dragged in an unsteady breath, and despite the numbing pain in her head that only worsened when she fought the visions that plagued the females in her family, Sophie shut them down. Blocked the mental spout that poured these and other unwanted images into her mind.

  She didn’t need a “gift” to know that Charles meant Jenna harm. She only needed eyes. “I won’t let you do this,” she finally said, stepping out from under his touch.

  “You can’t stop me,” he said, smiling. He’d worked too hard for this, Charles told himself. Spent months cozying up to the Widow Dolan. Insinuating himself into her good graces, playing on her fears for her youngest daughter, until at last, she’d given him guardianship over the child. And now that he had it, he wouldn’t surrender the girl to a crazy old maid. Charles smiled inwardly. He’d been willing to marry her. After all, it would have made handling Jenna so much easier. But truth to tell, he wasn’t anxious to tie himself to a redheaded viper with a tongue like barbed wire.

  Especially when he knew her “sight” was only a fraction as strong as the child’s.

  But there was no point in alienating her completely. Not yet. “This is how your mother wanted it, Sophie. She named me Jenna’s guardian. She trusted me. You should too.”

  “Trust a fox to look after the henhouse?” she laughed shortly and shook her head.

  Gaze narrowed, he looked at her. “It’s done, Sophie.”

  No. There was a way out of this. And she’d find it. Sophie wasn’t about to leave Jenna to this man’s tender mercies.

  “I’ll collect Jenna at the end of the month,” he was saying, and she forced herself to pay attention. “That should give you enough time to say goodbye to the girl. Naturally, since you’ve refused to marry me, I can’t have you staying in my house with us. An unmarried woman...” He smiled. “Gossip. I’m sure you know how vicious it can be.”

  “Yes,” she said, unwillingly remembering years of being the target of more gossip and rumors than anyone should be forced to endure. “I do.”

  “Then we understand each other,” Charles said, walking back to the leather chair behind his desk. Taking a seat, he picked up a pencil and began going over the papers in front of him. “You know the way out, don’t you, Sophie?”

  A moment or two later, she was outside and drawing in deep gulps of the cool afternoon air in an effort to ease the anger bubbling inside her. It didn’t help. Blast it! How had things come to this? Leaning back against the plank wall, she stared off down the street and only half listened to the train whistle echoing in the distance.

  Pain still pulsed inside her head and she ignored it, as she was used to doing. Pain was a small price to pay for peace, after all. Yet, how much peace would she have if she lost her sister to a man who wanted nothing more than to use her for his own gain?

  The train whistle sounded again, interrupting her thoughts with a long, mournful howl on the afternoon air. She and Jenna should be on that train right now, she thought. Going somewhere. Anywhere. And as that notion settled into her mind, she remembered the small ad she’d seen in the paper only that morning. Like leaves caught in a whirlwind, plans and ideas suddenly swept through her mind, tumbling over each other in their attempt to be recognized and acknowledged. Of course, she told herself as she straightened up from the wall and half turned in the direction of the station.

  Like a light shining at the end of a long tunnel, Sophie saw a possible solution to her problems. All she needed to do was send a telegram and wait for an answer. Determinedly, she started walking toward the station and the telegrapher’s office, her steps quickening as hope bubbled inside. And slowly, Sophie
smiled.

  ●

  TANGLEWOOD, NEVADA THREE WEEKS LATER . . .

  “It ain’t right, Sheriff,” Joe Markham complained from his jail cell.

  “Maybe not, Joe,” Ridge Hawkins said and turned the key in the lock, securing his prisoner in one of two small cells, “but it’s the law.”

  And that was enough for Ridge. Hell, he didn’t enjoy locking up his friends, but damn it, Joe shouldn’t have gone after Parker Shoals that way. “If you’d come to me, I maybe could have talked to Parker for you.”

  “There’s no talkin’ to Parker and you damn well know it.”

  Ridge sighed, reached up and yanked off his hat. Warm for May, he told himself absently as he wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Joe, just settle down and get comfortable. You’re gonna be sitting there until Judge Stevens comes through town Monday next.”

  Jumping up from the narrow cot, Joe stalked to the iron door, grabbed a bar in each fist and shoved his face closer. “And while I’m here bein’ comfortable, who the hell’s gonna fix the hole in my roof? Maggie and the baby are out there all alone, and if it rains it’s gonna get mighty damn cold in that house. Not to mention damp.”

  Ridge studied his friend’s face for a long minute. No need to punish the man’s wife and baby because he’d been a damn fool. “Don’t worry about Maggie. I’ll send Tall out there tomorrow. He’ll have the roof fixed by nightfall.”

  Joe eased back, ran one hand over his face and nodded. “’preciate it. That deputy of yours is a fair hand with a hammer.”

  Ridge grinned. “Who do ya think keeps this place from fallin’ down?”

  “Not you,” Joe said and turned back for the cot, clearly easier in his mind now that he knew his home and family would be taken care of. “Not unless you figure out a way to pound nails home with a six-gun.”

  Ridge shook his head and turned back for his office. True enough, he reasoned. He didn’t have much talent for anything besides wielding a gun. But then, that’s all a sheriff really needed, wasn’t it? That and a respect for the law.

  He walked to the stove in the corner of the room, picked up a battered tin pot and poured himself a cup of coffee. The hot, black liquid was thick enough to plow and strong enough to fight back if you tried it. Taking a sip, he walked across the room to the dirty front window and stared out at his town.

  Tanglewood wasn’t much of a town, but it was his. The first real home he’d had in more years than he cared to count. He’d arrived three years before, walking into a hellhole of a place where cowboys and outlaws had free rein.

  But within a few months of Ridge’s arrival, things had changed. Locking up the real bad ones and running the rest out of the territory had been enough to ease Tanglewood into respectability. Now the little town at the foot of a range of snow-capped mountains was blossoming. They had a bank, a half-dozen new stores, a church, and come this afternoon, a new schoolteacher.

  Yep, he thought, taking another sip of the powerful coffee. Tanglewood had become so damned civilized, pretty soon, he wouldn’t belong here any more than the outlaws had.

  Hell, he knew men who would laugh themselves sick at the thought of Ridge Hawkins being a pillar of respectability. He’d spent far more years on the wrong side of the law than he had on the right. And though he’d been honest with the town fathers when he’d applied for the job as sheriff, his past wasn’t something he liked talking about. It was dead and gone as far as he was concerned.

  Wisps of foglike memories drifted through his mind now and he saw himself just a few years back, riding at night, hiding from posses, until finally, he’d tried to steal from the wrong man.

  Or the right one, he thought with a chuckle. It all depended on your point of view.

  The front door stood open in hopes that a stray breeze might drift in, but instead Tall Slater raced through the doorway and, in his hurry, forgot to duck. He slammed his forehead into the door sash with a solid smack and instantly clapped one hand to his probably aching head.

  Ridge winced in sympathy, took another sip, and walked toward his deputy, now bent over and shaking his head as if testing to see whether it would fall off his shoulders or not. There wasn’t a doorway in town high enough to let the six-foot-five deputy enter in anything but a stooped-over crouch. You’d think the man would remember. But more times than not, Tall had knocked himself near senseless and probably had a permanent knot dead center of his forehead.

  “A couple more hits like that one,” Ridge commented, “and we’ll be sweeping what’s left of your brains up off the floor.”

  Slowly, tentatively, six feet five inches of smile straightened up and, still wincing, shrugged. “Durn town was built for children.”

  Ridge shook his head and grinned. “What’s your hurry, anyway?”

  Tall frowned to himself, then suddenly he remembered. “The train. It’s comin’ in now.”

  “Three days a week it usually does, about this time.”

  “Yeah,” Tall said and carefully let his hand drop from his aching forehead. “But today, the new schoolmarm’s on it.”

  “So?”

  “So, I figured if you didn’t have anything else for me to do, I’d go down and meet her for you.”

  “Kind of you,” Ridge said, noting the new shirt Tall was wearing, not to mention the shine on his boots and the crease in his new black pants. Apparently, his deputy’d been planning on making an impression on the new schoolteacher. Too bad.

  Moving to put his coffee cup down on the corner of his desk, Ridge picked up his hat and put it on, settling the, battered dirt-blown brim low over his eyes.

  “Well,” Tall was saying, “I am the deputy and I thought—”

  “Sorry, ‘Deputy,”’ Ridge said, walking back to the door. “But you’ve got other duties. I want you to ride out to Joe Markham’s place and let Maggie know he’s locked up safe and sound.”

  “Ah, Sheriff—”

  Ridge cut him off. “And then you can tell her you’ll be back out there tomorrow to fix her roof.”

  Clearly disgusted, Tall ran one huge hand across his slicked-down, witch-hazeled hair and tossed an angry look in the direction of the cells. “Blast you, Joe!”

  “I’ll meet the schoolmarm and take her to the boardinghouse,” Ridge said, acknowledging that he wasn’t really looking forward to it. In his experience, schoolmarms were terrifying creatures. All sharp angles, beady eyes, and mean, straight-lipped mouths. Spinsters usually, they were the kind of women that men instinctively stayed clear of and children had nightmares about.

  Nope, he was in no hurry to meet the woman, but Miss Hattie had asked him specifically to greet the new teacher and steer her toward the boardinghouse, so that’s just what he’d do.

  “Don’t see why you can’t ride out to Joe’s place instead of me.”

  Ridge slapped the other man on the back as he passed him on his way out the door. “’Cause I’m the sheriff and you’re not.”

  Scowling, Tall grumbled something about the shame of being all slicked up with no one to appreciate it, then headed off to the livery to fetch his horse.

  ●

  Through the train’s dirty windows, Sophie took her first look at her new home and tried not to shudder. They’d really come to the back end of beyond, she thought.

  Tanglewood.

  What wood they were speaking of, she had no idea. There didn’t seem to be a decent-sized tree anywhere. The tiny collection of sun- and wind-weathered buildings crouched at the foot of a range of mountains that seemed to be standing sentry even as it dwarfed the town she would now call home.

  Home.

  The word echoed inside her head and seemed to make Tanglewood just a bit more appealing. After more than two weeks of traveling on trains, laying down a purposely crooked trail, she was more than ready to take up her new job, under her assumed name, and b
egin the life she’d promised her sister.

  Hard to believe that only three weeks ago, she had been in Albany, reading the answer to her telegram. She’d read the brief missive so many times, she knew it by heart. You’re hired, it had said. Room and board plus twenty dollars a month. end See Hattie McCoy on arrival Tanglewood. end

  The job of schoolteacher had come like a gift from God, she thought, and silently thanked her late mother again for insisting she get an education beyond painting decent watercolors. Thanks to her tutors, she was prepared to earn her own living. Right here in this squalid little town.

  Here, in this place, she’d be simply Sophie Ryan, widow and mother of a four-year-old girl. They’d be safe. Even if Charles came searching for them, he would be looking for sisters. Not a widow with her only child.

  Everything would be fine, she thought, fighting back another cringe as she looked out at the tiny Western town. Good Lord, what had she done?

  The only thing she could do, she reminded herself sternly.

  Turning to the little girl sleeping curled up on the seat beside her, Sophie whispered, “Jenna? Jenna, wake up, honey. We’re here.”

  Eyelashes fluttered and two big green eyes opened and fixed on Sophie. Her long blond hair was only slightly tinged with red, giving her a golden look, and her pale skin didn’t have a single freckle. Silently, Sophie admitted to envying the little girl that. Especially when she thought about all the hours over the years she’d spent rubbing lemon juice over her own freckle-dusted complexion. To no avail. Her freckles remained, just as did her wild tangle of deep red curls. Ah, well.

  Jenna’s coloring had been muted by her father’s blond hair and fair complexion. While Sophie’s father, her mother’s first husband, had been as redheaded as his wife. For years, her mother had mourned the man Sophie barely remembered. Until she’d met the man who became Sophie’s stepfather. Theirs was a happy house and when, after years of disappointment, her mother had discovered she was once again with child, their happiness was complete.

  Hard to believe that so much could change in just a few short years. First a carriage accident had claimed her stepfather, and then her mother became ill. Now both of them were gone and Sophie was on the run with a little girl looking to her for protection. She found herself wishing again that things were different