Page 101 of Charlotte's Reckoning
The driver pulled up in front of them. “Ma’am,” Sam said, tipping his hat to Charlotte. “Ready to go, Mrs. Jackson?”
“Yep,” the petite firecracker, even shorter than Charlotte, said as she effortlessly mounted her horse. “I’ll see you again soon, Charlotte. With my two-year-old tyrant.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” she said, a smile curving her lips.
She hoped no one asked Sam because she enjoyed Wisteria’s company.
George Gleason’s men arrived before Charlotte got back to the cabin. So soon, they had to have passed Wisteria and Jack on the road. Two unfamiliar faces made it a team of four, and they started working straightaway. By late afternoon, both the lane and the creek path had been cleared.
Chapter 24
All I Can Offer
As sheriff, Seth rarely made rounds himself, leaving the task to his deputies. Tonight, he volunteered, taking the west end of town, saving Charlotte’s secluded cabin for last.
The moon and stars shone brightly, but as he turned off the main road onto her narrow lane, the trees overhead blocked out the light, plunging him into near darkness. Visibility was next to nothing, but the mess of branches and thick undergrowth was gone.
When the cabin came into view, the soft glow of a lamp filtered through the tiny gaps in the walls and closed shutters. They wouldn’t keep out the wind and snow come winter.
“She’ll freeze in the first snowstorm that blows down from the Medicine Bow,” he predicted, increasingly determined that she be out of there by then.
The lamp burning meant Charlotte must still be awake. Perhaps she was in the tub like last time. He immediately envisioned how she looked that night in the tiny tin tub. Not made for lounging and soaking, she was trying to make it work. With her eyes closed, her dark-auburn hair piled on top of her head, and wet strands clinging to her delicate neck, her beauty took his breath away.
When they first met all those years ago, she’d been young and so frightened. Instead of her nudity, he noticed the terror in her eyes and the whip marks on her back. The other night, when he’d startled her, the glimpse he had of Charlotte was of a woman with pink-tipped breasts, creamy, flawless skin, and more pronounced curves. He’d been hard from wanting her ever since.
“Like now,” he muttered as he shifted in the saddle, trying to relieve the ache.
The memory of their kiss, soft and lingering, had stayed with him. Her curves pressed against him, the taste of her lips sweet and yielding, the warmth of her mouth welcoming, and the fragrant softness of her skin as his lips trailed down her neck. He had to have her. In a physical sense, yes, but his desire for her went far beyond that.
For years, she’d occupied his thoughts. During his travels, something or someone would remind him of her, and he’d wonder where she was and about her well-being. That their paths crossed in Omaha and again in Laramie had to mean something. As he got to know her better and learned of the heartache, injustice, and abuse she’d endured, her resilience amazed him. She’d earned the loyalty and respect of a diverse group of women, from saloon girls to the community’s elite. Those who took the time to get to know her saw what he did, her compassion, determination, and quiet strength.
Seth didn’t care what lengths she’d had to go to survive all these years. He also didn’t give a damn about what others thought or how being with her would affect his job. Now he had to figure out how to convince her not to give a damn, either.
As he climbed the two steps to the porch, the once-wobbly and spongy boards were sturdy beneath his feet. George Gleason and his men had been busy.
He rapped on the door. The roughness of the wood under his knuckles and how it still hung crooked told him it had yet to be replaced. He listened for footsteps or movement but only heard crickets and frogs.
Knocking once more, he also called out, “Charlotte. It’s Seth.”
“I’m here.”
He glanced to the left and saw her silhouette in the dim light from the cabin.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Just doing my nightly rounds, as I promised. But I also hoped we could talk.”
“You don’t give up easily, do you, Sheriff?”
“No,” he replied honestly. “It’s late. Why are you out here?”
“It’s warm inside the cabin, and I needed to feed Willow.”
He moved toward her and peered around the corner. A horse softly nickered from its shelter.
“The lane has been cleared, there are new boards on the porch, and you now have a stable. A lot has changed since I was here last night,” he remarked.
He saw a flash of white in the dark as she smiled. “It’s not much of a stable,” she remarked, “but I have kind friends and neighbors.”
