Kerrigan's Law: Welcome to Burr, #3

By Debra Mullins

When bounty hunter J.G. Kerrigan comes to Burr, Wyoming Territory, he's in for two big surprises. The first: his old back-stabbing nemesis Blade is in town, trying to pass himself off as a respectable citizen. Kerrigan is determined to bring him to justice, and becoming the sheriff of the small town Blade cares about seems the best way to do it.

The second surprise? A kind, pretty reverend's daughter...with a backbone of steel and blood hot enough to put the desert sun to shame.

Marianne Westerly has lived in Burr her whole life, and when her marriage abruptly ended in an embarrassing scandal, the entire town stood behind her in support. However, their well-meaning concern has turned to nearly smothering pity, and Marianne is determined to leave Burr and move to another city—anywhere else, really, as long as no one knows her story.

But the new sheriff arouses emotions in her she'd never thought to feel again, and she wonders if she should continue with her plan. If she throws caution to the wind, she could find out the attraction is mutual, or risk a second round of heartbreak. One thing's certain, though—in Burr, the trail to love is always bumpy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Debra Mullins
• Release date: Oct 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9780998949536

Debra Mullins

Debra Mullins is the author of several historical romances for Avon Books. Her work has been nominated for the Golden Heart and RITA® Awards from Romance Writers of America and the Holt Medallion from Virginia Romance Writers. In 2003, she won the Golden Leaf Award from NJ Romance Writers for her book A Necessary Bride. A native of the east coast, she now lives in California.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Burr, Wyoming Territory May 1886

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Everyone watched the stranger come through town.

He wasn’t the first stranger to pass through, not with the cattle trails so close and the newly built railroad bringing folks every day. No, Burr, Wyoming Territory, saw its share of drifters and cowpokes and riffraff and railroad men on a near daily basis. But this fellow…well, he was different.

He strode down the center of the road, heedless of the horses and wagons that might be passing, a long rifle in one hand and the end of a rope in the other. The rope might not have caused anyone to bat an eye, except for the fact that at the other end of it was a filthy, mean-eyed cuss with his hands trussed in front of him like a holiday turkey. He stumbled ahead of the stranger, glaring and muttering and in a foul mood all together.

The three old men playing checkers outside the Four Aces Saloon paused in their game as the newcomer and his prisoner passed by.

Tall feller, Johnny said, edging back his chair just an inch or so, as if to avoid the long shadow that nearly swept his toes. Desperado?

He’s a big’un, Gabriel agreed, seizing the moment to eyeball the checkerboard. Gunslinger?

Not with that rifle, Mort said, squinting in the sun to get a better look. But trouble for certain.

I’d go fetch the sheriff just from the looks of him, Johnny said, if we had one.

Amen, Gabriel said, then jumped two checkers.

The stranger continued down the road, apparently oblivious to the way traffic stopped when he walked by. Whispers hissed in his wake, but he meandered down the middle of Main Street as if one man walking another like a dog were an everyday occurrence.

Ellie Pearson stopped sweeping the wooden walkway outside her husband’s store and reached for her three-year-old son, never taking her eyes from the stranger. The child paused in his sweeping as well, gripping his tiny broom with both fists. She squeezed his shoulder in reassurance just as her husband Nate stepped outside. With a concerned glance at the stranger, he urged his family into the safety of the mercantile.

On the corner, Juliana Tremont and her sister, Emmaline Tremont Turner, stopped their gossiping with the mayor’s wife mid-sentence as the odd procession passed by. With wide-eyed glances at each other, they scattered in three different directions like startled hens, the better to spread the news across town.

The stranger paused by the locked sheriff’s office and regarded the sign on the wall before moving on to the office of the Burr Chronicle, the local newspaper. He dragged his prisoner to the door and opened it.

Marianne Westerly looked up from the article she was writing as the door to the newspaper office opened. A huge man filled the doorway, a black silhouette in the glare of the afternoon sun, his shoulders spanning the width of the doorframe and his hat nearly touching the top of it.

She reminded herself of the derringer in her reticule, of the rifle on the wall behind her, then stood, shading her eyes. May I help you?

I sure hope so. His voice was like gravel and rust, hard-used and rough. I’m looking for the sheriff.

The sheriff resigned a few weeks back. Marianne set down her pencil with outward calm, her pulse thundering through her veins, and gestured to the Help Wanted poster on the board near the door. We haven’t replaced him yet. Job’s open if you’re interested. She tried for a smile. Would you please step inside? That sun is quite strong today.

Sorry, ma’am. He stepped fully into the office, then gave a jerk on the rope he held. Another man stumbled in, tethered at the end of the line like a mule, skinny and sullen.

She swallowed her shock. A woman who lived on the frontier couldn’t be missish, not at the sight of a man all tied up. She dragged her gaze from the prisoner to his captor with what she hoped was calm aplomb—an aplomb that almost deserted her when she met those slate-blue eyes. No one would call him handsome, not with his hard jaw and slightly crooked nose, the lines in his face that hinted at more scowling than smiling, and those thick, black brows and broad forehead.

No, not handsome, but he would never be ignored, and his stare just took a lady’s breath. Direct and unapologetic, that’s what it was. Like he knew who he was and what he could do. He was dusty and unshaven, with a few days’ growth of beard, looking for all the world like an outlaw, yet her heart fluttered in her chest. She clenched her hand at her side to stop herself from pressing it to her bosom like some helpless heroine in a dime novel.

Don’t be foolish. You’re not some green girl, Marianne. He’s just a man, not some outlaw—not if he’s looking for the sheriff.

Please close the door, she said, amazed at the serenity of her tone.

He complied, kicking the portal shut and cutting off the blinding glare. Then he faced her, a single black brow raised as he slid his rifle one-handed into the holster strapped on his back. Anything else I can do for you?

She lifted her chin and ignored an utterly improper notion that flashed through her mind. Keep your wits, Marianne. That will be all for now, thank you. You were asking about the sheriff?

Yes, ma’am. He patted his long brown coat and came up with a crumpled piece of paper. Here.

She cast a wary glance at his prisoner.

He followed her gaze. Don’t worry about him. He jerked on the rope. You behave in front of the lady, Addison, you hear me?

I hear ya, Addison spat. You just wait ’til my brothers come for me, Kerrigan. You just wait.

Yeah, I’ll wait all right. The stranger rolled his eyes and grinned at Marianne, a lopsided quirk of the lips that transformed him from desperado to dashing in an instant.

She swallowed, her mouth completely dry at the change. Kerrigan, she repeated, coming around the counter to take the paper from his fingers.

Yes, ma’am. He tugged on his hat brim as she unfolded what proved to be a page of newspaper. J.G. Kerrigan, at your service.

Pleasure to meet you, she murmured, reading. "This is from the Chronicle. The story about that bank robbery in Timmonsville a few months back. The one the Addison gang…" She slid a glance at his prisoner. Addison. Is he one of the bank robbers?

Yes. Are you Sarah Donovan?

What? She met his unapologetic stare, then wished she hadn’t as her heart gave a huge thump in response. Oh. No, I’m not Sarah. I’m Marianne Westerly. She returned her attention to the safety of the newspaper.

When I saw the sheriff’s office was closed, I came looking for Sarah Donovan, as she’s the one who wrote the thing, he said. Thought a newspaper woman could tell me who acts as the law around here.

As I said, she’s not here right now—

The back door to the office opened, and Sarah appeared, stopping short at the tableau before her. What’s this?

Kerrigan looked over at the new speaker as Marianne turned her head to address her employer. Sarah, this is—

In a flash, Addison spun, jerking the rope out of Kerrigan’s grip and looping it around Marianne’s neck with his bound hands, cutting off her words. He dragged her backward toward the front door. You all stay put now, or I’ll snap her neck!

Hell. Kerrigan yanked his rifle from its holster.

Marianne clawed at the rope, trying unsuccessfully to ease the unrelenting pressure of the thick hemp around her throat. Already it was getting harder to breathe, and the world spun a little, black dots popping in and out of her vision. She could barely make out Sarah standing in the back of the room.

A prayer hovered on her lips, but she squelched it. Is this how you mean for me to die, God? After everything you’ve put me through?

She glanced at Kerrigan. He looked furious yet in control. He would probably make this Addison fellow regret the day he was born for this little exploit.

She wondered if she would live to see it.

Don’t be a damned fool, Joe. Kerrigan eyed the prisoner down the length of his rifle. Let the lady go. If you hurt her, no judge is going to let you live.

You put that Winchester down, Kerrigan, or she dies. Addison tightened the rope. And you back there—I see you inching toward that rifle, woman! You better stay put.

Sarah froze and glanced at Marianne, her face tense.

"Let go or you die, Kerrigan said. If you kill her, you really think you can take a single step before I drop you?"

The rope eased just a little, and Marianne gasped a grateful breath.

You won’t kill me, Addison sneered.

Don’t test me.

You said you need me to get my brothers, Addison said. You kill me, they’ll hunt you down and kill you dead.

See, now you’re just making a case for me to kill you right here, Kerrigan said. No one would blame me after you grabbed this lady, and your brothers would come out of hiding and save me the trouble of tracking them down.

But…no, I didn’t mean that! Addison sputtered.

Miss Westerly, Kerrigan said, please accept my apology in advance. When I shoot this bastard—excuse my language—you’re bound to get all messy with the blood and brains and whatnot.

"What? What?" The prisoner’s voice climbed an octave.

As much as I hate to mess up that pretty dress you’re wearing, Kerrigan continued, indicating her pale yellow cotton, I’m sure you would much prefer to lose a dress than your life.

"You’re talking about her dress? Addison shouted, spittle showering Marianne’s nape and cheek. What about me? I’m the one whose brains are gonna be all over!"

Kerrigan’s gaze hardened. Well, Joe, you started this whole thing by grabbing an innocent woman. How did you think it was going to end?

Well, I…my brothers…dang it.

Your brothers aren’t here, Kerrigan said. And like you told me, killing you will only flush them out sooner. One corner of his mouth lifted. So I kill you—and you’re a pain in the ass anyway with all your whining and wailing—and then the lady is safe, your brothers come out of hiding, and I get the bounty for the whole Addison gang. Good thing, too, since I’ll owe the lady a new dress. Like I said, sorry about that, ma’am, he repeated to Marianne.

Marianne managed to nod.

Don’t agree with him, Addison snapped. He’s crazy.

"I’m crazy? Kerrigan said. Now, which one of us grabbed a hostage with me not two feet away and armed? You would have been smarter to go for my rifle, Joe. Then you’d be in control."

"I am in control!"

Oh yeah? I’ll have a bullet in your brain before you can make a move, and then Miss Westerly and I will step over your body and head down to the mercantile so she can pick out some fabric for her new dress.

Will you shut up about the dress? Addison shouted.

Well, I can’t do that, Joe. If I ruin her dress with your brains and blood, I need to replace it. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.

You’re not a gentleman, you’re a goddamn bounty hunter!

Doesn’t mean I don’t have manners. Kerrigan gave Marianne a reassuring smile. So Miss Westerly, what kind of fabric should we get? And what color? I imagine pink looks really pretty on you.

Marianne held his gaze, taking comfort in the reassurance she saw there. J.G. Kerrigan would do whatever was necessary to get her out of this alive, and she would help wherever she could. Hate pink, she managed.

All right then, Kerrigan continued. How about blue? I bet blue would bring out those gray eyes of yours.

Never mind the dang dress! Addison shouted. Here! He freed Marianne, shoved her at Kerrigan, and darted out the door.

Kerrigan lowered his rifle and caught her with one strong arm around her waist. You all right, Miss Westerly?

Yes, Marianne rasped. She winced and fingered her throat. Surely her shortness of breath came from almost being strangled and not from being in the arms of the man who’d just saved her life.

He’s getting away! Sarah grabbed her rifle off the wall and charged from the back.

Kerrigan released Marianne. He won’t get far. I’ll track him down. Don’t you worry, ma’am.

No need. Sarah’s husband, Jack Donovan, appeared in the open doorway, dragging Addison along with a knife to his throat.

Kerrigan jerked up his rifle to point at Donovan. Well, hell. Finally caught up with you, you son of a bitch.

Kerrigan. Donovan shoved Joe through the door. Long time.

Kerrigan stared down the barrel at the man he knew as the bounty hunter Blade. For more than five years he’d been looking for that traitor, and here he was in this little nowhere town, just like that. As the years had passed and the trail had grown colder and colder, Kerrigan had hoped Blade had ended up at the bottom of a ravine somewhere, maybe mauled by bears or wolves, or food for the buzzards out in the middle of the desert. But no, here he was, as pretty as you please, looking more like a prosperous rancher than a backstabbing bounty hunter.

That alone seemed like a good reason to shoot him.

Now Kerrigan, Blade said. "I saw you come into town and I didn’t shoot you."

Always the smart aleck. Kerrigan caressed the trigger. So tempting. His gut still burned at what had happened when they’d last seen each other. Damn, but Blade had a lot to answer for.

You might want to take custody of your prisoner. Blade offered the rope. And lower that rifle. You’re scaring the ladies.

The tone was amiable, but Kerrigan heard the steel beneath it. Truth be told, he’d seen red for a moment and forgotten where he was and who was around him. A glance at Marianne’s pale face decided him. The lady had already had one scare today.

He shoved his rifle back in the holster and took the rope still attached to Addison. You’re lucky we’re in polite company.

I’d say we’re both lucky today. Blade lowered his knife as Kerrigan yanked his prisoner back to his side. Though he was dressed like a townie, Blade’s cold stare could still cut a man clear to the gizzard. What are you doing in these parts, Kerrigan?

Business.

You know this man, Jack? Sarah Donovan stepped to Marianne’s side.

She was smart enough to stay back from the prisoner, Kerrigan observed. Jack?

Jack Donovan, Blade confirmed. I live here. This is my town.

Jack Donovan. And Sarah Donovan. Well, well. So, Blade had himself a pretty wife, did he? That so?

That’s so, Blade—Donovan—said. Your prisoner almost got away, Kerrigan. You’re slipping.

Don’t you worry about that.

I have to worry. Donovan slid his knife into its sheath beneath his dark coat. A bounty hunter comes to town and lets a prisoner loose, endangering a couple of innocent women—

Thanks for the help, Kerrigan interrupted, but it’s under control.

Not from where I’m standing. Donovan kept his hand on the hilt of the sheathed blade. I expect Marianne told you there’s no sheriff in Burr. So why don’t you take your prisoner and move along to the next town? That would be best.

Best for who? For you?

For everyone.

I see. Kerrigan eyed his ex-comrade. He’d waited all these years to settle things with Blade, and there was no way he would give the slippery snake the chance to slither away again. "Actually, Donovan, I don’t think I can oblige you. I think I like it here."

What the hell are you talking about?

This seems like a nice town. Pretty women. He flicked a glance at the ladies. Seems like a good place for a trail-weary fellow like myself to settle. I’m thinking to stay a spell.

And just how do you expect to do that, Kerrigan? Tie your prisoner to the hitching post at night? Donovan gave a hard chuckle.

Nope. Kerrigan jerked his chin at the notice on the board. I think I’ll take this job as sheriff. Seems to me you need an experienced man, and I fit the bill.

Donovan scowled. They’ll never hire you, Kerrigan. I’ll see to that.

Oh, I think they would. I’m a hero, didn’t you hear?

You’re a lot of things. Hero isn’t one of them.

Ignoring Donovan, Kerrigan turned to Marianne. Miss Westerly, where might I find the mayor of this fine town?

Mr. Castor works at the bank, she said.

Marianne! Sarah hissed.

Marianne glanced at her. It’s no secret, Sarah. He could ask anyone on the street.

I don’t know that you’d want to bring your prisoner there anywhere near the bank, Donovan said.

That so? Are you saying you’ll fetch the mayor for me?

You should leave, Donovan suggested again. Go over to Timmonsville, collect your bounty, and be on your way.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were itching to see the back of me, old friend, Kerrigan said.

Donovan gave a humorless smile. And they said you weren’t very smart.

You shouldn’t listen to gossip. Kerrigan touched his hat brim to Sarah and Marianne. Ladies. I’m certain I’ll be seeing you again.

Marianne nodded to him. Mr. Kerrigan. Sarah just folded her arms.

Yanking the rope, Kerrigan led his prisoner out of the newspaper office. "Come on, Joe. We’re going to see the mayor. I’ll be seeing you around, Donovan!" he called back, and closed the door behind him.

My goodness. Marianne laid a hand over her heart as the rugged bounty hunter left with his prisoner. The man seemed tough and hard, but she’d glimpsed something in his eyes, an old pain of some sort that spoke to her. For all his road-worn, unwashed appearance, he’d saved her life. She wouldn’t forget that.

Jack, who is this Kerrigan? Sarah demanded. And why did he want to kill you?

A bounty hunter I worked with a while back, and it’s old business. Donovan came to Sarah and pulled her into his embrace, staring into her eyes. Are you all right?

Yes, I’m fine. It was Marianne who was held captive by that maniac.

Donovan turned to Marianne, and she fought the urge to drop her gaze. Sarah’s husband could be quite intimidating when he put on what Sarah called his Blade face. The vestiges of the legendary bounty hunter still lingered, though he’d settled down in tiny Burr after years of notoriety. Even now, old enemies occasionally showed up in town looking for Blade, but the townspeople closed ranks and kept Donovan’s secret.

However, Kerrigan was not one of the townspeople, and he seemed to know who Donovan had once been.

Are you all right, Marianne? Donovan gestured at her. You’ve got some rope burns on your neck. You might want to see Doc Mercer about that.

I’m fine. I have some salve at home. Marianne touched her throat, which had already started to sting. But what about you? Mr. Kerrigan knew you as Blade, didn’t he?

Donovan nodded. He did.

Marianne frowned. Do you suppose he’ll say anything to anyone about you being here? I mean, about Blade living in Burr?

You let me handle Kerrigan, he said. If he’s smart, he’s already headed towards Timmonsville.

What if he’s not? Sarah asked. He said he intends to take the sheriff’s job.

Donovan’s mouth thinned. He can try. The sheriff has to be approved by the entire town council, and I’ll have a few words to say about that.

I wish you could have taken the job, Sarah said. You’re as qualified as he is.

He caressed his wife’s cheek. We talked about this, sweetheart. It’s too high profile, and I can’t take the chance that one of these lowlifes would recognize me. Besides, I have a ranch to run, and you and our daughter to protect. He pressed a kiss to her lips.

Marianne glanced away, moved—as always—by their tender love for each other. And ashamed—as always—by that tiny pang of selfish envy for what they had together.

Once upon a time, she’d thought she’d found a love like theirs. She’d fallen for a man who’d seemed to be her mate, seemed to be a gift from Heaven above. Her father had approved of him, and her mother had welcomed him like a son. Marianne had believed every word he said, opened herself heart and soul to him, said vows with him before the Lord. Taken his name, shared his bed, longed for his children.

Only to be shattered less than a year later by his betrayal.

Jack, stop. Sarah giggled and pulled away from her husband. You’re embarrassing Marianne.

I wouldn’t want to do that. Donovan allowed his wife to escape and turned a smile on Marianne. Are you certain you won’t see Doc Mercer? I’m headed that way. I want to have a word with the mayor.

Thank you, but no.

Are you going to talk to him about Kerrigan? Sarah asked.

You bet I am. Maybe when he hears what I have to say, he won’t even consider him for the job.

Obviously you know him, Sarah pressed. Is he really such a bad man?

Donovan’s face darkened. I’d rather not talk about this now. He dropped another kiss on his wife’s lips and gave Marianne a nod. Ladies.

Sarah narrowed her eyes as he headed toward the door. I smell a story there, she murmured to Marianne.

Donovan stopped in the doorway and glanced back. You stay away from Kerrigan, Sarah Anne Donovan. Do you hear me?

Sarah lifted her chin. This is a newspaper, husband, and Mr. Kerrigan is news.

Not for you. Promise me, Sarah, that you won’t pursue this.

You can’t leave me in the dark, especially if he’s dangerous. She folded her arms. The people have a right to know.

"With any luck, he’ll leave town and there won’t be anything to know." He stared his wife down.

Sarah lifted her chin a bit higher, her expression mulish.

Donovan sighed and broke eye contact. Promise me, sassy girl, that you’ll stay away from Kerrigan. It’s important.

Her fierce expression softened. I want you to tell me about what’s going on between you two.

I will. But not for the paper, and not now. I want your promise that you won’t interview Kerrigan.

I promise I won’t interview Kerrigan, Sarah said.

Good. Donovan nodded and stepped out into the sunshine. The two women watched as he walked past the window and disappeared.

Sarah sighed and sat down at her desk. I can’t believe I’m letting a story like this slip through my fingers. Darn that man. He looks at me with those big brown eyes, and I promise him anything.

You’re lucky, Sarah. Most women would kill to have a man like that, who loves you so much and worries about you. Marianne took up the broom and began to sweep away the dust the men had tracked in.

Sarah winced. Oh, Marianne, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.

Don’t be sorry, Sarah. Marianne paused in her sweeping and regarded her friend. Am I envious of the marriage you have? I have to admit that I am. I should just be happy for you and not be wallowing in my own regrets. But that’s my shame, not yours. And I have to admit… She shrugged and gave a little smile. Seeing you and your husband gives me hope there may yet be someone out there for me.

Of course there is! Ever the staunch ally, Sarah got up from her desk and marched over to Marianne, grasping her in a quick hug. Elijah Bishop was not the right man for you, and what he did was abominable.

He was an opportunist, and I was a silly fool. Marianne shook her head as Sarah released her. Let’s not talk about this anymore. Your husband worries about you, and that’s a good thing.

Ha! Sarah threw up her hands. He’s going to worry me out of business at this rate. I’d love to be a fly on the wall when the two of them converge on Mayor Castor.

Marianne opened the door, swept the last of the dirt outside, and closed the door again. Paused. Do you suppose Mr. Kerrigan will succeed in talking the mayor into hiring him?

I don’t know. Jack is pretty convincing and carries a lot of weight in this town, and he’s against it.

But we need a sheriff, and Mr. Kerrigan has experience. Marianne leaned on the broom as an idea formed, and she couldn’t stop the grin that curved her lips. You know, I could have a chat with Mrs. Castor, see what she knows. I believe she’s at the planning meeting for the Founder’s Day Festival right now.

Sarah shook her head. I can’t ask you to do that.

You’re not asking me. I’m volunteering. Marianne set aside the broom and went to her desk to get her reticule. You know she’ll talk to me, and when I tell her what happened here, maybe she’ll talk to her husband, too. And to the Ladies’ Auxiliary.

Sarah’s eyes gleamed. That’s perfect! You know she won’t be able to resist getting involved.

And hopefully she’ll come right back to you with all the juicy details. Marianne tied on her simple straw bonnet and smiled. This way you get the story without breaking a promise to your husband.

Sarah grinned. You’re a devious woman, Marianne Westerly.

Well, it’s about time someone noticed. With a little wave, Marianne headed out of the office to find the mayor’s wife.

Chapter 2

Marianne headed over to Mrs. Castor’s home, where the planning committee met every Tuesday afternoon. The closer she got to the large house with its wraparound porch and white picket fence, the slower her steps became. Her mother was in there, along with most of the influential ladies of Burr. She’d known many of them since childhood, and every one of them treated her like their own daughter.

Which was the problem.

Growing up in Burr as the only child of the town pastor had gifted her with many surrogate parents. When she’d married Elijah, they’d all celebrated with her. When he’d died, they’d all mourned with her. And when she’d discovered that her husband had another wife, a woman he’d married three years before saying the vows with her, they’d all been outraged on her behalf. And kept being outraged, even though more than a year had passed.

Fourteen months, to be exact, since her husband had been struck by lightning mounting a new weather vane on the roof of the barn. Fourteen months since the real Mrs. Elijah Bishop had come to town to claim the body. Fourteen months since Marianne’s dreams of being a wife and mother had gone up in smoke, making her the tastiest tidbit of gossip over every fence and supper table in their tiny town.

It wasn’t that her neighbors mocked her. No, they were all very kind, very sincere in their expressions of sympathy. But their collective indignation and concern had risen to smothering heights. Wherever she walked, she heard the awful whispers behind her. Poor Marianne.

Which was why, after the Founder’s Day celebration next month, she was leaving Burr.

She longed to live in a place where no one knew her, where she could start over. She still dreamed of being a wife and mother, but the specter of Elijah and her fraudulent marriage would always linger if she stayed. And what man from Burr would subject himself to the gossip that would surely plague them, even if he had the fortitude to wed her? No, leaving was the best thing.

And the hardest.

She realized she was standing in front of the Castor house like a ninny. Pushing aside the grim thoughts, she started up the path. Today, she was on a mission. She squared her shoulders. A secret mission to aim Mrs. Castor like a cannon at the town council and get them to hire Mr. Kerrigan. A smile tugged at her lips as she marched toward the front door. The plan was brilliant. No one would ever expect such stealthy strategy from poor Marianne.

Mrs. Castor came out onto the porch, a plump, red-cheeked woman with sparkling brown eyes and a bloodhound’s nose for the tiniest whiff of scandal. Marianne! Come inside, dear, and have some tea.

Marianne waved and forced a smile. Mrs. Castor snagged her arm as she reached the porch and, regaling her with the latest gossip all the way, hustled her inside to the ladylike chaos that was the weekly meeting of the Ladies’ Auxiliary for the Betterment of Burr. Familiar faces and friendly greetings met Marianne as she paused in the doorway of the parlor. Then one voice rose above the rest.

Dear heavens, Marianne, what happened to your neck?

Marianne winced at her mother’s horrified tone. The chatter stopped, and everyone stared. She should have realized Honoria Westerly would home in on the rope burns on her neck before anyone else. Darn it all. Why hadn’t she gone home first to change into a high-necked blouse?

Because she’d been thrown off balance ever since that Kerrigan man had walked through the door.

Normally, Marianne would brush off the episode and try to change the subject—anything to direct attention away from