A Lawman's Christmas_ A McKettricks of Texas Novel - Linda Lael Miller [11]
It made him look like a gunslinger, that long coat, and the round-brimmed hat only added to the rakish impression.
Already bristling, Dara Rose drew a deep breath and rustled up a smile. It wasn’t as if the man existed merely to irritate and inconvenience her, after all.
The marshal, swinging down out of the saddle and approaching the rickety side gate to stroll, bold as anything, into her yard, did not smile back.
Dara Rose’s high hopes shriveled instantly as the obvious finally struck her: Clay McKettrick had come to send her and the children packing. He’d want to move himself—and possibly a family—in, and soon. The fact that he had a fair claim to the house did nothing whatsoever to make her feel better.
“Mornin’,” he said, standing directly in front of her now, and pulling politely at the brim of his hat before taking it off.
“Good morning,” Dara Rose replied cautiously, still mindful of her rudeness the day before and the regret it had caused her. Her gaze moved to the polished star pinned to his coat, and she felt an achy twinge of loss, remembering Parnell.
Poor, well-meaning, chivalrous Parnell.
Greetings exchanged, both of them just stood there looking at each other, for what seemed like a long time.
Finally, Marshal McKettrick cleared his throat, holding his hat in both hands now, and the wintry sun caught in his dark hair. He looked as clean as could be, standing there, his clothes fresh, except for the coat, and his boots brushed to a shine.
Dara Rose felt a small, peculiar shift in a place behind her heart.
“I just wanted to say,” the man began awkwardly, inclining his head toward the house, “that there’s no need for you and the kids to clear out right away. I spent last night at the hotel, but there’s a cot and a stove at the jail house, and that will suit me fine for now.”
Dara Rose’s throat tightened, and the backs of her eyes burned. She didn’t quite dare to believe her own ears. “But you’re entitled to live here,” she reminded him, and then could have nipped off her tongue. “And surely your wife wouldn’t want to set up housekeeping in a—”
In that instant, the awkwardness was gone. The marshal’s mouth slanted in a grin, and mischief sparkled in his eyes. They were the color of new denim, those eyes.
“I don’t have a wife,” he said simply. “Not yet, any how.”
That grin. It did something unnerving to Dara Rose’s insides.
Her heartbeat quickened inexplicably, nearly racing, then fairly lurched to a stop. Did Clay McKettrick expect something in return for his kindness? If he was looking for favors, he was going to be disappointed, because she wasn’t that kind of woman.
Not anymore.
“It’s almost Christmas,” Clay said, assessing the sky briefly before meeting her gaze again.
Confused, Dara Rose squinted up at him. Christmas was important to Edrina and Harriet, as it was to most children, but it was the least of her own concerns.
“Do you need spectacles?” Clay asked.
Taken aback by the question, Dara Rose opened her mouth to speak, found herself at a complete loss for words and pressed her lips together. Then she shook her head.
Clay McKettrick chuckled and reached for the egg basket.
It wasn’t heavy, and the contents were precious, but Dara Rose offered no resistance. She let him take it.
“Where did Edrina learn to ride a horse?” he asked.
They were moving now, heading slowly toward the house, as though it were the least bit proper for the two of them to be behind closed doors together.
Dara Rose blinked, feeling as muddled as if he’d spoken to her in a foreign language instead of plain English. “I beg your pardon?”
They stepped into the small kitchen, with its slanted wall and iron cookstove, Dara Rose in the lead, and the marshal set the basket of eggs on the table, which was comprised of two barrels with a board nailed across their tops.
“Edrina was there to meet Outlaw and me when we