Only My Love by Jo Goodman

Author:Jo Goodman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ePublishing Works!
Published: 2014-10-11T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Ethan sat down slowly on the edge of the bed. He was frowning. "Did Houston say something to you this afternoon?"

Michael shook her head. "No," she said, glancing out the window again. "Nothing like that."

He let the lie pass, certain that's what it was. "So what did happen?"

She shrugged. "We rode out to the mines. He showed me around until Obie came with a message for him from Jake. Then Houston left and Obie completed the tour."

Ethan was damn well sure Obie wasn't at the root of whatever was troubling Michael. He began wiping lather off his jaw. "Michael, I think it would be best if you would tell—"

Her laughter was a trifle bitter. "Trust you, you mean. But when I tried that before you made sure you set me straight. No, Ethan, I don't think so. I'm not going to tru—" She looked at him then and what she saw made her stop. Ethan had finished wiping lather from his cheeks and along his jaw. His neck was clear. But he'd left a thick mustache of lather above his upper lip. The sense of familiarity that she hadn't experienced in a while returned. She stared at him hard, reaching for the elusive memory and knowing she was closer to grasping it than ever before.

Ethan didn't know what had triggered her attempt at recollection, but knew the precise moment she remembered. Her lips parted a fraction as her jaw went slightly slack. The struggle that had played out in her expressive green eyes came to a halt. It was replaced for a moment by blankness, then denial, then a sudden start, an almost imperceptible widening of her pupils, as complete recognition filled them.

Michael stubbed out what remained of her cigarette and laid it on the sill. She pulled the window shut. "I know you," she said.

Ethan said nothing, waiting. He wiped away the lather mustache, realized then what had helped her remember, and sighed. "I don't think you know me," he said. "You may have seen me before, but you don't know me." He got up and latched the door to make sure there were no interruptions.

"You're wrong. I know you. You're a Marshall."

"Keep your voice down." He stopped at the bureau on his way back to the bed and washed the last vestiges of lather from his face. Hanging onto the ends of the towel around his neck, he sat down and pulled alternately with each hand, trying to massage out the sudden tension. He was about to point out that Houston was a sheriff, so being a marshal didn't necessarily make him honorable, when Michael continued recounting her memory.

"I was trying to get in to see Logan that day," she said slowly, drawing on the past. "God, it must have been six months ago at least. I was still answering letters then, writing occasional columns for the society pages. There was a special assignment I wanted to work on, a murder trial. I'd been giving a lot of thought to an aspect of the story no one else had used.

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