Sam?
He stood with his back to her, but she knew him by the impossible length of his back and breadth of his shoulders and the way he stood legs shoulder-width apart, one hand tucked against the small of his back. Any true military brat like Maggie would recognise the stance, if not the man.
But she recognised the man. She’d admired him from this angle before, watched him when he didn’t know it. She’d hoped he didn’t. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who would take advantage, but seeming and being were worlds apart. She’d learned the hard way, and now she had a child to consider.
By now he surely knew she was watching him. He allowed her the time. In spite of the light, he waited until the door opened before making his about-face. He nodded, unsmiling, as though she’d sent for him.
She smiled wordlessly.
Like it or not, Sam, it’s your move.
Available in May 2010 from Mills & Boon® Special Moments™
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In Care of Sam Beaudry
by
Kathleen Eagle
Kathleen Eagle published her first book, an RWA Golden Heart Award winner, in 1984. Since then she has published more than forty books, including historical and contemporary, series and single title, earning her nearly every award in the industry, including a Lifetime Achievement Award from Romantic Times BOOKreviews and RWA’s RITA® Award. Her books have consistently appeared on regional and national bestseller lists, including the New York Times extended bestseller list.
Ms Eagle lives in Minnesota with her husband, who is Lakota Sioux and a public school teacher. They have three children.
For my grandchildren
Chapter One
Sheriff Sam Beaudry knew when he was being watched. He could feel it on his skin, surpassing the threat of an itch from his overstarched brown and khaki shirt. Some people called it the creeps. For Sam it was the eyeball crawl, and it was taking place on the back of his neck, causing an increase in the pain his paperwork always caused him. This was what he got for sitting with his back to a window. But the square footage of the Bear Root County sheriff’s office permitted only two ways to arrange a desk, and putting his back to the door was never an option. That was how Wild Bill had gotten himself plugged, as every fan of Western lore knew well.
The chair’s casters squealed as Sam pushed back from the dependable old typewriter, reached for his brown stoneware mug and rose with deceptive ease. The stiffness in his left knee would be walked off by the time he caught up with the eyeball’s owner. Never let ’em see you limp. One corner of his mouth twitched as he took a moment to will the joint’s battered ball to cozy up to its warped socket. Or smile.
The mug was another deception. Coffee wasn’t what he was going for. It was bug-eyed surprise. He went out the front door, peered around the corner of the two-story brick building and silently drew an imaginary bead.
“Freeze!”
The boy sprang to attention, lost his grimy grip on the windowsill, his rubber-soled footing on the ledge, and tumbled backward into Sam’s waiting arms.
“That means don’t move, Jim.” Sam lowered the sandy-haired spy to the ground and turned him around by his bony shoulders. “’Fraid I’m gonna have to take you in.”
“How could I freeze?” Jimmy Whiteside looked up, tipping his head way back. He squinted one eye, even though Sam’s shadow shielded him from the sun. “You ’bout scared the crap out of me.”
“You keep that much under control, I might go easy on you.” Sam checked his watch. “School ain’t out yet. You’re breakin’ the law, boy.”
“I didn’t feel like going back inside after recess. It’s hot in there.”
“It’s gonna be a lot hotter this afternoon when you’re sittin’ in detention.”
The boy frowned. “What’s detention?”
“What do they call it these days when you stay after school for punishment?”
“Staying after school. But mostly I get time out in the principal’s office.” Jimmy grinned. “I’m only in fourth grade.”
“So you’re what, nine?” Sam laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder again. “In another year you’ll be old enough to do hard time in Miles City, you keep on peekin’ in people’s windows. Especially when you’re supposed to be in school.” He squeezed slightly, gave the small shoulder a friendly shake. “Hard time, Jim. You know what that means?”
Jim rolled his shoulder and backed away. “It means you’re trying to scare me.”
Sam chuckled. He’d learned the art from his father’s side. An Indian kid would know Sam’s line for what it was—teasing with a blunt edge—and wouldn’t have such a quick comeback. “Don’t look now, but your mom’s comin’.”
The boy had ball bearings in his neck. Sam wanted to laugh, but with both of them watching the little woman in white take a little hop-skip across a curbside puddle and hit the Main Street pavement with pure purpose, he worked against it. “I warned you, Jim. Talk about scary.”
Jim’s head swiveled again, sporting a scowl this time, all for Sam. “What do you mean by that?”
“That woman means business. If I were you, I’d go quietly.”
“Where?”
“Wherever she says.” Sam nodded, keeping it serious. “Hey, Maggie. We were just—”
“Sam, I’m so sorry.” She tucked a damp strand of honey-blond hair—which had escaped from her bobbing ponytail—behind her pixie ear. Her face was coated with a fine sheen, a testament to the workout her boy was given to putting her through. “Jimmy, I’m so upset. I thought we had an agreement.” She drew a deep breath and treated Sam to an apologetic smile. “He’s really interested in what you do. Everything you do.” Hair secured, she planted small hand on sweet hip and drew down on the smile. “Mr. Cochran called me at work again, Jimmy. You can’t just wander off the school grounds like that. Now you’re in trouble with him and with me. And the sheriff, too.” She glanced up with that uncomfortable smile. “I’m sorry, Sam.”
“What about you, Jim?” he asked.
“Sorry.” His face went down all hangdog, but it bobbed right back up guilt-free. “Carla Taylor said you shot a burglar in the shed behind the Emporium this morning. She saw you from the bus, and Lucky was barking like crazy.”
“Yep. That dog comes by his name honestly.