by West, Everly
Seen any interesting Wanted posters lately? Do you believe in head starts? I won’t tell, if you won’t tell.
Her daddy’s voice tickled across her mind’s ear. “Always keep your adversaries guessing.”
Inspiration struck. Suddenly, her fear melted away, replaced with the exciting challenge of her newest ruse.
A few teasing smiles, a feigned air of carefree openness and a couple of innocent touches thrown in for good measure and the poor man wouldn’t know what hit him. By the time he realized he’d been so side-tracked, he hadn’t gotten any answers to his questions, she’d be long gone.
Hannah leaned forward, winked then whispered, “The natives were getting restless. I saw no need for a lynching over a frying pan of tardy chicken.”
Sheriff Wiley laughed, “Thank you. I’ve got better things to see about than a dawdling cook’s lynching.”
His rich, deep laughter rained warmth and camaraderie over Hannah. Something she hadn’t felt in quite a while. She mentally shook herself, reminding herself of her goal. Get out of town while the getting was good.
With a playful gasp, she cocked an eyebrow. “What is so important you can’t fit in a little lynching?”
“Mrs. Potter’s petunias.”
Hannah straightened in her chair, allowing Mr. Olsen to place their lunches in front of them. With an over-exaggerated huff, she grinned up at the older man and winked. “You’d put petunias over the welfare of the best cook in town?”
“They’re very pretty petunias. Someone’s been pilfering them out of Mrs. Potter’s flower bed.”
Mr. Olsen barked a hardy laugh, slapping the Sheriff on the shoulder. “At least I know where I stand. Right below pretty flowers.”
“Nah, not if little Susie Barrow’s kitten gets stuck in a tree again.” Sheriff Wiley’s gaze shifted from Mr. Olsen to Hannah’s face. “I’m a sucker for a brown-eyed girl—with or without pigtails.”
Hannah blushed. Evidently, she and Susie Barrow shared the same eye coloring. Was he flirting? Or playing her, hoping she’d drop her guard and tell him all her secrets?
If he kept looking at her like that, she might.
A man burst into the café. “Sheriff! Trouble out at the Goldthwaite place.”
“Duty calls.” Sheriff Wiley sighed as he pushed away from the table. He placed his hat on his head. “Nice to meet you, Hannah. You be safe on the trail. It’s no place for a woman to be caught out alone.”
“Of course,” she answered.
He nodded and then he and the other man were gone.
Chapter 2
Mr. Olsen slid into the now-vacant chair across from Hannah. “Thank you for your help.”
“I enjoyed it,” she said. And she had. She didn’t realize how much she’d missed interacting with other people until this morning. “How do you do this alone?”
“Usually I don’t.” He paused to sip his water. “My wife and I run this place together. I cook and she takes care of the dining room. But Gertie took a nasty fall a couple days ago and Doc says she’ll be unable to work for a while.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Olsen.”
“Please call me Gunner.” He smiled, but there was sadness in his eyes.
“Only if you call me Hannah,” she agreed.
“After what you did for me today, I may call you Angel.”
“I assure you, I’m no Angel.” She laughed, remorse layered just beneath her laughter. She knew stealing was wrong, but after her father died and left her alone, she knew no other way to survive. She only stole from those who could afford it. Never taking from the working man trying to feed his family.
“You are to me.” Gunner glanced out the window at Ginger still tied to the hitching post. “Where you headed?”
“Nowhere in particular.” Hannah shrugged a shoulder. “Somewhere quiet and peaceful.”
Gunner turned his gaze back to her. “Laramie’s pretty quiet. Nathan makes sure of that.”
Hannah must have flinched at the mention of the Sheriff because Gunner reached over and patted her hand. “Most towns have a lawman or two. At least here, you’d know what you’re getting.”
“I’m not running from the law.” Liar, liar. Pants on fire!
“I don’t expect you are. But you’re running from something.”
Hannah opened her mouth to deny it, but he raised his hand to stop her. “It doesn’t matter to me. Everybody deserves a second chance.”
Humbled, Hannah only trusted herself to nod her thanks.
“If you stay, I’d protect you as best I can.”
Protection? She didn’t need someone to protect her. She’d been taking care of herself for years. She cocked an eyebrow in question. “If I stay?”
“I need help with the café. After watching you today, I know you can handle the job with one eye closed.”
“That’s sweet of you to say, but—”
Gunner interrupted, “There are rooms upstairs and I’ll provide your meals, of course.”
“Room and board?”
Gunner nodded and added a moderate salary to the offer.
An honest to goodness, paying job with room and board? Dang, that was tempting.
“It’s become very obvious I can’t run this place by myself. Without help I’m going to have to close until Gertie gets back on her feet. That could be months.” Gunner reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Please, Hannah.”
If she left town now, she’d feel guilty. And she carried enough guilt around as it was. Like he’d said, every town had some kind of law-keeper. Some of them not as upstanding as they should be. If she’d caught Sheriff Wiley’s attention just by riding into town, she’d probably do the same in another town as well.
It would only be for a few months at the most. It wasn’t like she couldn’t pick up and go if the law got too close.
“Yes, I’ll take the job.” Hannah smiled. “But only until your wife feels better and can return.”
* * *
At six o’clock the next morning, Nathan stepped into Olsen’s Café. Gunner made the best coffee in Laramie and threw in a beautiful view of a Wyoming sunrise for free. Now, if someone as pretty as Miss Hannah Anderson were to serve him, he’d be in hog-heaven.
Dang it, he sure would have liked to talked to Hannah one more time before she left. He hadn’t gotten around to asking his questions before he had to high-tail it to the Goldthwaite’s place. Blasted man was a hothead with an idiot for a neighbor who wasn’t smart enough to stay on his own land.
Nathan sat at a window table, turned to watch the sun peek above the Laramie Mountains. A mug of steaming hot coffee slid into his peripheral vision. Without taking his gaze from the sunrise, he mumbled his thanks.
“Will you be wanting some breakfast or just the coffee?”
Hannah? Nathan spun around. “What are you doing here?”
She grinned, a mischievous twinkle in her doe-brown eyes. “Serving you coffee. What are you doing here?”
Recovered from his initial shock of seeing her, he raised his mug in a silent salute. “Sharing a sunrise with a pretty lady.”
“Expecting company?”
“No, but I wouldn’t mind having some,” he quipped.
“Guess I could send for Mrs. Greenwell. She seemed a little lonely yesterday.” She tried to keep a straight face, but Nathan saw the corners of her lips twitch.
Nathan grinned. “The widow Greenwell is a sweetheart, but too old for me—by about forty years.”
Hannah shrugged. “Let me know if you change your mind. Now, how about that breakfast?”
“Tell Gunner to surprise me. Anything but hominy grits.”
Hannah turned to leave, but Nathan touched her hand to stop her. A stampede of tingles shot up his arm. “When you have a minute, could we talk?”
“S-sure,” she stammered then hurried to the kitchen to turn in his order.
Had she suffered with a sudden case of shyness that cause her nervousness? Or had she felt t
he same thrill of awareness as he had when they touched?
Nathan grinned. He’d bet his next month’s pay Hannah Anderson didn’t have a shy bone in her body.
Moments later, Hannah returned with a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs and fried potatoes. “I’ll be right back with more coffee and your biscuits. Gunner’s pulling them out of the oven now.”
When she returned with the rest of his meal and the coffee pot, Nathan had placed an empty mug on the table. He nodded to the chair opposite him. “Join me.”
Hannah glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “I can’t. I’m working.”
“We’re the only ones here. Gunner won’t mind.”
“If you’re sure,” she conceded, wiping her hands on her pristine apron and refilled his mug. “But only for a moment.”
“Hungry?” he asked as he filled her cup.
She shook her head. “Gunner and I ate earlier. But please enjoy your breakfast.”
He noticed her hand shook slightly when she waved toward his plate.
“Decided to stay, huh?” he asked as he stabbed a fried potato with his fork.
“Looks like, huh?”
Nathan chuckled around a mouthful of eggs. Obviously, Hannah like to play games. So be it. “How long are you planning on staying?”
She grinned and Nathan knew he wasn’t going to get a straight answer.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll leave on the next gust of wind or maybe I’ll stick around to watch my grandchildren grow up in Laramie.” She sipped her coffee. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Nathan noticed her mug shake ever so slightly in her hand. Before he could ask another question, the bell above the café’s door announced the arrival of a customer.
Hannah stood, thanked him for his company and picked up the coffee pot. He watched as she veered over to the shelf full of clean mugs, hooked three in the crook of her finger then moved toward to the newcomers’ table. She sneaked a sideward glance his direction. He was pretty sure she didn’t think he’d seen it, but he had.
Hannah Anderson was as skittish as an Indian brave in a barber shop. She just hid it well.
Oh yeah, Hannah played the part of a confident, got-life-by-the-horns strong woman, but there was something else—something mysterious—behind the mask she showed the world. It was that little extra something that intrigued him on both the professional and personal level.
Not for the first time, he wondered if her nervousness was because of him as a man or a Sheriff. Either way, he’d be keeping an eye on Laramie’s newest citizen.
* * *
After breakfast at the Café, Nathan returned to his office determined to attack the backlog of paperwork he’d been putting off for almost a month. Three hours later, he was halfway through the mound of reports when trouble stepped through his doorway.
The Ladies Club of Laramie. Actually, only four of them, but they were the most feared of the lot.
Why hadn’t he been paying closer attention? If he’d seen them coming, he could’ve slipped out the back. Now he’d have to listen to another lecture on the merits of matrimony.
Wonder who they’d offer up this time? Not a club member’s daughter, no doubt. A man like him, an orphan who grew up to be a lowly public servant, wasn’t worthy of one of their daughters.
He stood. “Good morning, Ladies. How may I help you?”
“Sheriff,” they said in near unison.
Fiona Quincy spoke first, “We’ve just come from the Olsen home.”
“How is Mrs. Olsen?”
“She’s in considerable pain, but she is in capable hands.” Minnie O’Brian answered.
“Her husband hired Edith Mercer to stay with her while he’s at the Café,” Earlene Farnsworth added. “Edith is a godsend. She has a kind heart and a compassionate touch.”
“Do you know Miss Mercer, Sheriff?” Meredith Collins asked.
Nathan thought about the dark-haired woman who did odd jobs around town. She lived a quiet, honest life. She’d arrived in Laramie a few years ago. During that time, she’d never given him one bit of trouble. “Yes, ma’am, I’ve spoken to her a couple of times.”
“We had the pleasure of speaking to Edith for several minutes before we left.” Minnie O’Brian said. “She’s quite the conservationist. Very intellect.”
“And an accomplished cook,” Earlene Farnsworth praised. “Her cake melts in your mouth.”
Nathan nodded. “I’m glad Gertie is in good hands. She’s a good friend.
“Edith would be good for you, too.” Minnie leaned forward slightly, “Why don’t you go courting, Sheriff?”
“Ladies, you know my heart belongs to Laramie.” He grinned. “The law, my mistress.”
Fiona huffed, “Neither one will keep you warm this winter or bear your children.”
“That’s a lonely life,” Meredith mumbled.
“Maybe for some.” He edged toward the open doorway. “If there’s nothing else, I need to make my morning rounds.”
The ladies filed out of the office. Once outside, the group turned as one.
“Mark my word, Sheriff. You’ll be married before the year’s end,” Fiona Quincy promised. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Chapter 3
What had she been thinking?
Hannah glanced around the Grand Union Hotel’s dining room. She looked at the white linen tablecloths, at the dark oak walls and the wait staff dressed in black skirts with crisp white blouses. Everywhere—anywhere—except at her dinner companion. Sheriff Nathan Wiley.
After five days of him coming into the Café—for both breakfast and lunch—he’d finally worn her down with his sweetly-veiled prying into her past. So, she’d accepted his invitation to dinner. At the time, she’d thought it’d be smarter to give him the story of her life rather than let his imagination run wild. Of course, it’d be a complete lie.
“Thank you for accepting my invitation,” Nathan said, pulling her attention back to him. “I was beginning to wonder if you would ever say yes.”
“I was beginning to wonder if I had a choice.” She smiled. How could his smile be so endearing and cocky at the same time?
“You like to play word games. Answer a question while not really answering the question.
“It passes the time.”
Their conversation paused as a waitress came by and refilled their wine glasses. When she left, Nathan asked, “So, you’re competitive.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “I like to win.”
“So do I.” He grinned. “Since we’re here to get to know each other, why don’t we see how good you really are at playing games?”
“Here?” she asked, wondering what he was up to.
“Sure. We take turns asking a question that both of us have to answer.”
So, he thought he could out maneuver her for information. Not likely, she learned at an early age how to keep her cards close to her vest. She was about to school her dinner date on the art of keeping secrets. “That sounds like fun.”
“Deal,” he raised his wine glass for a toast. “To getting to know each other better.”
“Not on your best day,” she replied as she touched her glass to his.
“We’ll see.” He chuckled. “You first.”
Drumming her fingers against the table, she grinned. “Do you play chess?”
“Yes,” he answered. “I enjoy the strategy of mentally playing three or four moves ahead of my opponent in chess—and other games.”
“As do I,” she agreed. “I also use that strategy in all walks of life. Your turn.”
He grinned. “How do you like living in Laramie?”
She swallowed a laugh. This was going to be easier than she thought. “The town is very nice. And the people are wonderful—except for their nosy Sheriff.” She paused and sipped her wine. “Your turn to answer.”
“It’s my home. It always has been. The citizens are generally hard-working, down to earth, friendly people. With the exception of an occ
asional tight-lipped newcomer.”
Hannah laughed at his taunt. “Very funny.”
She fidgeted with her place setting as she considered her next question. It needed to be something he couldn’t gleam any personal information. After a moment, she giggled and asked, “What’s your favorite color?”
Laughing, he complained, “You’re really going for the hard ones, aren’t you?”
She shrugged again. “Just trying to get to know you.”
“More like, trying to evade a personal question when it’s your turn to answer.” He leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Blue, like the summer sky. And you?”
“Yellow, like a field of sunflowers,” she practically echoed.
Shifting forward in his chair, he leaned against the table. Uh-oh, she thought. He was coming after details this time.
“Do you have any family? Parents, brothers, sisters?”
“Going for the throat now, huh?” she quipped.
“Someone had to break the ice. Now, answer the question.”
“Both my parents are dead and I was an only child.” She sighed, glad she could answer truthfully. She cocked an eyebrow as though telling him to respond.
“I don’t know.” He twirled his wine glass between his index finger and thumb. “I was left on the doorstep of the Laramie orphanage as a newborn.”
“Oh, that’s so sad.” She laid her hand over his wrist. His pulse beat strong and a bit too fast beneath for fingertips. “I’m so sorry.”
He pulled away as the waitress served them their dinner.
“This looks delicious,” Hannah said once the waitress left, giving him time to gather his thoughts. Or maybe it was her who needed a moment to reign in her emotions? No child should go unloved.
They ate in silence a few moments before he reminded her it was her turn to ask a question.
Hoping to regain their playful mood of moments ago, she asked, “What’s your favorite food?”
“Easy one,” he said as he stabbed a roasted potato onto his fork. “Gunner Olsen’s fried chicken.”
