by Cat Cahill
Deputy Wright sipped his coffee. “It’s what I’m supposed to do.”
Edie paused, curiosity catching her thoughts. She should tell the man the lunch offerings and check on her other tables. But with the family she’d had, where lawmen were considered something akin to the Devil himself, she was truly curious about what motivated one to follow the path Deputy Wright had. “May I ask you a question?”
He set his coffee down and gave her a slight smile. “Certainly.”
“What made you want to work for the county sheriff?” The moment it was out of her mouth, it felt much too intrusive. She searched for something to mitigate the bluntness of her question. “Considering how dangerous it is, I mean.”
He sat back and arranged the napkin in his lap. “It is dangerous, I suppose, although I don’t often think of it that way.” He looked her up and down, as if assessing whether she was worthy of knowing more about his motivations.
Edie held still, waiting for his response.
“My uncle Mark was a county sheriff back in Kansas. He was dedicated to his work, and very good at it too. My family were farmers; they never quite understood why my uncle would put himself in harm’s way the way he did.” He glanced down at the napkin again, as if thinking. “He was a good man—a great man. He often came around for supper, and we’d talk for hours. He understood me in a way no one else in my family did. So I suppose he’s the reason I came here, looking for work with whoever might take me on.”
Edie swallowed. It was a moving story, and she identified with how he felt about his parents. “He sounds wonderful.”
“He was.”
The past tense didn’t escape Edie’s notice. “I’m so sorry.”
Deputy Wright looked up at her, the ghost of a smile there to reassure her. “Don’t be. I was happy to have known him while I could.”
Beyond the table, the sun streamed in through the window as it did every day, not caring who was here to see it and who wasn’t. Edie wished with all her heart she had someone like Deputy Wright’s uncle, even if it meant she’d suffer a loss as deeply as he did. “I have no one like that,” she said softly.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Everyone deserves at least one person who understands them.”
She drew her gaze from the window back to him. He was watching her with curious eyes. She’d already said too much, lingered too long, and become far more involved than she’d ever intended. “I must attend to my other tables.” She whipped around, but before she could take a step, he spoke.
“May I at least place an order for my lunch?” His voice was teasing, but Edie closed her eyes in embarrassment. Some Gilbert Girl she was, taking plenty of time to inquire about personal matters that were none of her concern while neglecting her responsibilities.
She nodded mutely as he asked for beef and barley soup and bread, forcing herself to repeat the order in her head over and over because she felt certain she’d forget it otherwise. Then she bustled back to the kitchen to place the order and catch her breath. What had possessed her to demand so much from him?
It felt as if she’d crossed some dangerous line, and now she wasn’t certain she could return to the other side.
Chapter Nine
Early the next morning, James woke with a dull ache pressing against his brow. This was the third in only a few days. A flash of impatience raced through him, until he remembered the herbs Miss Dutton had left him. And so he dressed and found his way to the lunch counter where he retrieved a cup of hot water. While he waited for the herbs to steep, he tried to focus on penning a telegram to Sheriff Young, letting him know of the fight and asking for any news about the men from Kansas.
With the telegram written out, James held the steaming liquid under his nose. The peppermint scent overpowered any other potential odor the tea might have had. He took a tentative sip. It was bitter but not undrinkable, which was how he thought of most tea. He drank the remainder of it and gathered his things.
If Miss Dutton’s concoction worked, he’d owe her more than he could ever pay. His condition had cost him many a day’s work over the years, and if people knew of it, he’d never be elected to any office, much less that of a town marshal. Folks generally preferred their lawmen to be ready to act at any moment, not lying in bed, afflicted with debilitating headaches.
James returned the cup to the lunch counter—and accepted a small pastry from Miss Barnett—on his way out the door. He paused a moment in the lobby to put on his coat. There was no sign of Miss Dutton, and he found himself disappointed not to tell her he’d tried her herbs. He wondered how long it would be before they began to take effect. The pain was still dull, and it came and went, which meant he had at least a small window of time in which to send his telegram and—if he were lucky—venture down into the town.
Outside, the vibrant green of the spring grasses waved in a chill breeze. The sounds of hammers and an occasional shout echoed up from around the railroad tracks, indicating men had already gone to work on the new buildings. James strode down the path worn by daily carriage wheels from the hotel to the depot.
Behind the office window in the small depot, young Christopher Rennet stood ready to assist customers. Behind him, James spotted the depot clerk, Mr. Thomason, working at the telegraph machine. James unfolded the note he’d written Sheriff Young, and passed it to Christopher, along with payment.
“Is it urgent?” Christopher asked after glancing at the recipient of James’s note. “Mr. Thomason’s got a bunch of messages to send.”
James shook his head. “Not particularly. How about you bring me any response up to the hotel later on?”
“I will, sir. As fast as I can.”
James forced himself not to laugh at the boy’s sincerity. Instead, he gave him a serious nod and an extra coin. The boy’s eyes grew round, and James knew he’d have his reply as fast as Christopher’s legs could carry him.
As he stepped outside, he assessed his situation again. The pain remained slight, noticeable but not unmanageable. It hadn’t worsened. Miss Dutton’s herbs must be working.
James marveled at her knowledge. But it was more than that, considering she’d also had to gather the right plants in the correct amounts and pound them into the right size. It was a skill she had, and one that might allow him to do his job instead of hiding in his room all day.
James took his time strolling through the burgeoning town. He greeted the men he’d met already, and learned the names of a few new faces. In addition to the land office and the bank, a livery stable was going up on the other side of the smithy’s shack, and a boarding house—the owner of which proudly proclaimed to James that his rooms would be much cheaper than the hotel’s—and a small home (for the banker, one of the men building the place informed James) were also under construction. And seemingly overnight, the skeleton of yet another building had begun to take shape.
He was determined to meet the Hartley he’d heard of, and one of the men working on the banker’s home pointed him behind the mercantile. James walked in that direction, past the muddy area where Miss Dutton had taken a tumble. The memory brought a smile to his face, although he doubted it would to hers. Behind the barn that sat to the rear of the mercantile, he found two men standing in a seemingly empty space of grass and sage.
“Good morning,” he called. “I hear one of you is Monroe Hartley?”
The taller of the two men stepped forward and held out a hand. “I’m Hartley. And this is my foreman, Jim Daley.” He nodded toward the rounder man to his right.
James shook both their hands. “James Wright, county sheriff’s deputy.”
“You broke up that fight at the hotel yesterday,” Hartley said with an approving nod. “We’re glad to have you here. Will you be staying?”
“Only until the town can elect its own marshal,” James replied. “I’ve been told you’re the one in charge of most of this building.”
“You’d be correct. I did the hotel, and I’ve been hired on to do the land
office, the bank, and the banker’s house. I’ve got a few more folks interested in hiring me on.”
“Word about this place is spreading,” Daley added.
“I’d say.” James surveyed the land on which they stood. “You planning on putting something here?”
Hartley smiled. “Just a home for myself and my wife. She’s expecting our first child.”
“Congratulations. This is a good spot.”
Hartley’s eyes scanned the land around him with pride. “I thought so. And she approved of it. I already bought it from the railroad. All I have to do now is build it before the baby arrives.”
“You need any help, just say the word.”
“You might have just got yourself another job,” the foreman joked.
“I appreciate that, Deputy,” Hartley said. “I’ll let you know if we do.”
They talked a little longer about building and about the town. And when James left, he realized the headache was still nothing but a ghost of its usual cruel self. A smile crossed his face as he reached the mercantile. Miss Dutton was a miracle worker, and he couldn’t wait to tell her.
Chapter Ten
The sun hadn’t yet risen when Edie stood, huddled in her coat, near the hotel stables with the other Gilbert Company employees who had the day off and wished to attend Sunday services in Cañon City. Even though it was much earlier than most of the waitresses were used to rising, there was an air of anticipation among the group as many of them hadn’t been since before the snow began falling last autumn. The hotel couldn’t afford to let all its staff take each Sunday off, so among the Gilbert Girls, those with the most seniority received more Sundays off than the newer waitresses. Somewhere in the middle, Edie had two Sundays free each month.
McFarland, the stable hands, and several of the men worked to secure the horses to all four of the hotel’s wagons. Normally, they’d be used to transport goods from the depot or the mercantile, but today, they were to provide transportation for the ride to Cañon City. Boards had been laid across the wagon boxes to provide seating. Edie flexed her frozen fingers inside her gloves. As cold as it was, she was looking forward to the ride. She was likely the only woman waiting who didn’t wish the Colorado & New Mexico Railway Company would add another run—only on Sunday mornings—to allow them to travel more quickly.
When the horses were hitched, the girls around Edie began climbing into the nearest wagon. The last to join them, she found herself sitting in the front. It wasn’t such a bad seat. While it would be difficult to converse with the other girls on the long ride, she’d have a wonderful view of the scenery once the sun rose.
The driver swung himself onto the bench next to her, and before she had a moment to find out who it was, he called across to McFarland in a smooth, deep voice.
Edie’s face instantly went red in pre-dawn dark. Deputy Wright. What was he doing here? He didn’t work for the hotel. She couldn’t decide if she was annoyed or pleasantly surprised. She tucked her hands together and hoped he couldn’t sense anything she felt. He nudged the horses into motion, and their wagon fell in line behind the other two.
“Good morning,” he finally said.
“Good morning, Deputy,” she replied, happy that at least her voice sounded perfectly normal, even if her hands were jittery and her mind wouldn’t settle.
“Miss Dutton.” His smile was evident in his voice, and that, in turn, made Edie smile too. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
Edie couldn’t feel the chill of the morning anymore, not with those words. She told herself it was nothing but pleasantries, and that he might have said it sitting next to anyone, but that didn’t stop the wave of warm happiness that flooded her body. It was dangerous, being thankful for more time to speak with this man, but that old fear seemed so far away at the moment. “Thank you. How have you been?”
“I’m in excellent health, all because of your herbs.”
“They worked?” she exclaimed before she realized it might sound to him as if she hadn’t the slightest idea what she was doing. And, well, that might be right to a degree. She’d experimented some at home, but so many plants here were new to her.
“They did, thank you.” He tilted his head as he looked at her. “Should I be concerned?”
“Not at all,” she said, more confidently than she felt. “I spent many a day working with plants at home.” Different plants, of course, but he didn’t need to know that. After all, she’d consulted Mrs. McFarland’s books to ensure she’d chosen the correct herbs.
“I believe you may have a talent for healing,” he said.
Edie scoffed. “I’m happy as a Gilbert Girl. It’s more than I could have ever hoped for.”
They were quiet for a few moments while the wagon rolled through the darkness. Behind them, the girls chattered quietly, but as Edie peered out across the valley, the same old uneasiness came creeping back into her mind. “Deputy Wright, have you heard anything else about the men from Kansas?” she asked quietly, so as not to alarm any of the girls.
“I haven’t,” he replied. “I’ll check with the sheriff before we leave town today, but his last telegram indicated nothing new.”
Edie relaxed some. Perhaps it was nothing but an accidental foray into the Territory and they’d already returned to Kansas. She’d say extra prayers at services today, just in case.
It was funny how quickly such a thing as churchgoing could grow on a person. Before coming to the hotel, Edie had never set foot inside a church. She’d never had the opportunity. But when all the other girls seemed eager to go, Edie went too, mostly so as not to draw attention to herself for not attending. It was uncomfortable at first, not knowing the hymns and not understanding how it all worked. But after a few Sundays, she’d settled into the routine and found herself looking forward to the peaceful moments and the sermon. Somehow, the preacher always seemed to be speaking to her, even though he had no idea who she was.
“Miss Dutton?”
Edie started. “Yes, I’m sorry. I was lost in thought.”
Deputy Wright smiled at her. “I was only telling you that I heard yesterday that a minister might be on his way to Crest Stone. If that’s the truth, it won’t be long before a church is built and you’ll no longer need to travel to Cañon City on Sundays.”
“Oh.”
“You don’t sound particularly excited. One might think you actually enjoy this jostling, hours-long drive.” His voice was teasing, and it made Edie smile.
“Would you think me crazy if I said I do?”
“Not at all. Different, yes, but not crazy. It is a beautiful ride, and, I imagine, a change from your daily work.”
It was as if he could read her mind. That ought to make her worry, but instead it put Edie at ease. “I suppose you also enjoy this ride?”
“Is it terrible that I wished the railroad hadn’t come through here so I could’ve ridden down?”
“Quite terrible,” she said with a grin.
“I suppose I shouldn’t wish for such a thing. After all, it makes it easier for folks to do business, travel, and to visit friends and family.”
“Does your family come to visit you?” she asked.
Deputy Wright was quiet a moment, and Edie almost wished she hadn’t asked. He’d mentioned his family didn’t understand his choosing to become a lawman. Maybe he’d left them on unhappy terms.
“No,” he finally said. “They don’t much leave the farm and the little town nearby. Besides, they didn’t approve of my career choice.” He gave her a half-grin that she suspected was forced.
“I understand,” she said.
Deputy Wright raised his eyebrows. He looked as if he wanted to ask her why, but she turned away. Toward the east, the first light of dawn was just beginning to show over the tops of the smooth Wet Mountains. It wouldn’t be long before it filled the valley with soft rays.
“Bonnieville,” he said, out of nowhere.
“I’m sorry?” Edie turned back toward him.
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br /> “The town near my parents’ farm. It’s where I grew up. Are you familiar with it?”
Edie searched her memory but came up empty. “I’m not. Where is it?”
“Northeast of Topeka. How about you? Whereabouts did you grow up?” He asked the question as he shifted the lines in his hands.
Edie chewed on her lip, trying to decide how much truth to tell him. She settled on a story that was as close as she could get. “All around. We lived in several different areas.” Feeling as if she needed to explain why, she added, “My parents liked to try their luck with new ventures.”
“That must have been hard.” His voice was so full of empathy, Edie felt bad for not being entirely truthful. Which was a ridiculous thought. If she told him the honest truth, he’d likely never speak to her again—or worse, suspect she was just like her father, her uncle, and her brothers.
“It was,” she said carefully as she unnecessarily retied the ribbons from her hat that looped under her chin. When she snuck a glance at him, he was watching her with nothing but compassion written across his face. No one had ever looked at her that way. Pity, yes, but rarely compassion. When she’d gotten caught in Mr. Adkins’s plot, she’d seen a lot of pity. Which was better than anger, but if she could live the rest of her life without anyone pitying her ever again, she’d be happy. Dora had been compassionate toward her, but it was something different than what she saw now with Deputy Wright.
“How long has it been since you lost them?” he asked.
Edie wrapped her hands together. She’d almost forgotten she’d said such a thing to him. Except . . . She hadn’t really. She’d told him she had no family left in Kansas, which he understood to mean they’d died. She could let him continue to think that, but the thought of such a blatant lie made her insides feel as if they’d just ridden the wagon over a large rock. She glanced at him again and decided to go with as much truth as possible. “My family is alive. I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise. I meant only that I . . . that they no longer wish to speak to me. I suppose they didn’t approve of my choice either.” She kept her eyes on her hands, afraid that if she looked up, she might give away more of the story.
