“Where’d she come from?” he asked, glancing around the circle.
“I looked ‘round and there she was,” said Slim. “I shouted a warning, and she turned straight into the log.” He clucked his tongue. “Knocked her right out.”
Dainty as she was, he was afraid to move her, unsure if the blow had jarred her spine.
“I want to know what she’s doing here,” he shouted. “Who does she belong to?”
Murmurs went through the crowd, every man looking to another.
“No one was with her?” he said to Slim.
“Not so far as I could see, but I wasn’t lookin’ beyond the path of that log.”
She moaned, and the group fell silent. The circle around Juniper drew tighter as the men leaned in.
“Miss?” Juniper brushed a finger across her petal-soft cheek. Long auburn lashes fluttered. She opened her eyes. The smallest rim of green lined the dilated centers.
She shifted, pushing her elbows up beneath her as she started to sit up. Long shiny hair tumbled to her shoulders in a shimmer of russet and gold. “I …” She winced, her eyes pinching shut. “My …”
Juniper quickly slid his hand beneath her head as she dropped back down.
“Easy, sweetheart.”
She blinked up at him. Her lips tipped with a smile.
Juniper’s mouth went dry. She sure was pretty.
“Oh my,” she said, sounding breathless.
“You’ve taken a swift hit to the head.”
“I must have.” Her eyelids drooped.
“Can you tell me your name?”
“Lily.”
Lily. What was this sweet, delicate flower doing way up here? Her weight relaxed against his palm.
“Lily? Can you hear me? Lily?”
She didn’t stir.
Definitely a concussion. She’d moved enough to assure him nothing was broken. Needing to get her out of the sun and away from all the onlookers, he slid his arms beneath her shoulders and the bulk of her skirt. As he straightened, something solid jabbed against his ribs. He shifted her against him, firming his hold on her, and was pretty damn sure he felt the outline of a revolver packed into the green and blue folds of her skirt.
At least she had enough sense to travel armed.
He glanced up at the crowd of woodsmen. “Anyone willing to claim her?”
The eager expressions of the men told him that was about the stupidest question he could have asked.
“I will!” shouted one.
“I’ll take her off your hands, Sheriff,” called another.
He shook his head and carried her toward his office. Whatever her reasons for coming up here, riling the interest of a bunch of salivating lumberjacks was only going to get her into more trouble than she could handle.
“Find Marty and Günter,” he said to no one in particular. “Tell them to hightail it to my office.”
“You arresting her?” someone shouted after him.
“I sure am! She’s breaking Pine Ridge law by being here. When I find out who’s responsible for bringing her up here, he’ll be packing his gear.”
“Juniper?” His deputy hurried toward him. “She hurt?” Günter rushed ahead to open the door of the sheriff’s office.
“Most likely a concussion,” he said, hoping that was the worst of her injuries. He carried her inside and carefully stepped into one of the two jail cells.
“Who is she?”
“Hell if I know. Go see if you can find Marty,” he said, placing her on a fairly clean cot. “I’d feel better if he had a look at her head before we send her down the mountain.”
As the door shut behind his deputy, Juniper slid his hand into Lily’s skirt pocket. Just as he’d suspected, his fingers closed over a gun. Expecting a dainty Derringer or stylish Colt, the .44 Smith & Wesson surprised him. A right decent weapon by his standards and any man’s whose life depended on speed and accuracy. The plain wooden grip showed signs of heavy use, some of the varnish having worn through. He opened the cylinder, noting the empty first chamber and clean barrel. To his relief, the use hadn’t been recent.
He glanced again at the woman. She seemed far too delicate to be carrying such a thing. Not that he blamed her for packing iron in such rough country, but why in creation would she have come all the way up here with nothing but a hard-used pistol in her pocket?
Leaving her in the cell, he tugged off his hat and tossed the brown Stetson onto his desk. He set the lady’s revolver on a stack of reports. Crouching before the cabinet that held a pitcher and washbasin, he took out a clean towel. After pouring some water into the white basin, he dunked in the cloth, wrung it out and went back to Lily.
Such a tiny little thing, he thought as he knelt beside her. Not much over five feet, and he’d bet ten pounds of her slight weight was sheer clothing, her full skirt fluffed up by a stack of petticoats. He laid the cool wet cloth over the bump hidden beneath her hair and stepped back.
She seemed comfortable enough, though her fitted jacket did look rather constrictive. He wondered if he should open the high collar. He reached for the pearl buttons, then decided against it.
“Wake up, pretty lady.”
Günter stomped into the cabin. “Marty went up to check a bad-tempered ox. I sent a man after him.”
Juniper released a sigh of disappointment. “All right. As soon as he gets back, send him over.”
“Da.” Günter poked his head inside the jail cell, taking a closer look at Lily. “Pretty, ya?”
“Yeah. A regular sleeping beauty. Go on and get some chow before Cook closes the kitchen.”
Günter didn’t hesitate. Once Cook locked his doors there’d be no chance of getting a hot meal. “I’ll bring you a plate.”
Juniper wasn’t sure when they expected him to eat—he’d hardly slept in a week. Between gun-toting damsels, renegade lumberjacks, crazed oxen and L. P. Carrington’s latest notice starting riots all over this mountain, he had more trouble than he could handle. The sheriff’s office had somehow become the headquarters for company complaints. Much more of this and he’d be making a trip to ‘Frisco for a little one-on-one with L. P. Carrington. The man clearly had more money than smarts.
Work had been rendered, timber cut and hauled off the mountain. These men needed their wages, not letters asking for patience while some overstuffed suit polished his coins.
He leaned down and stroked a few strands of reddish-blond hair away from Lily’s face. Her long auburn lashes rested peacefully against her fair skin.
He had a hunch he wasn’t the only one on the warpath. This wouldn’t be the first time a scorned lover had shown up at the lumber camp with a pistol in her pocket. If that was the case, one of their lumberjacks had been a right lucky man.
Lily woke with a dull headache.
She didn’t bother to open her eyes, not wanting to increase the throbbing in her skull. She needed hot chocolate. Reaching out, she blindly searched for the servant bell on her night table, yet the table eluded her.
“Emily?” she called.
“Whoever Emily is,” said a low, smooth voice, “it’s fair to say she ain’t comin’.”