“Yes, well, the person he borrowed money from is none other than…”
“Fergus Johnson,” he finished instead of her.
“Correct. And after my father disappeared he came to our ranch and demanded his money back.”
“From you?” Sheriff Bradway was flabbergasted.
“Yes, and since we didn't have it, he threatened to take our ranch from us as compensation.”
“That is appalling.”
Geraldine agreed. “That is not all.”
“I'm starting to dislike the man myself, and if you continue, my conversation with Mr. Fergus Johnson will not be pleasant.”
Despite the fact Geraldine knew it was wrong, Sheriff Bradway's words cheered her immensely. She liked having someone on her side for a change.
“He accused us that my father's disappearance was just a ruse, an elaborate scheme just so we could rob Mr. Johnson of his money,” Geraldine tried to remain calm while she spoke. Her blood still boiled remembering that part of her life and the fear she experienced they would lose everything while she was trying to process what happened with her father in the first place.
And I was only twelve years old! She was just a frightened little girl whose father vanished and whose mother chose to live in isolation. Then this man—a true creature of horror—came out of nowhere and threatened to change her life even further. “It was a complete nightmare.” She buried both hands in Whitey's fur, taking comfort from this contact with her beloved animal.
“That soulless scoundrel,” Sheriff Bradway snapped in outrage, surprising her a bit. “To not use something even fouler in your presence.”
“Oh, please do,” Geraldine replied without holding back. “I always use something along those same lines to describe him, although it is only inside my head.”
“Good,” he replied approvingly.
A small part of her debated if she should mention his only daughter and the way she made her life's mission to torment Geraldine. She refrained; Geraldine did not want to appear petty.
“What happened afterward?” He inquired, returning her to the present.
“I promised him I would pay everything back,” Geraldine replied with a shrug. That was the only thing she could do, after all. “We sold all the cattle we owned and that paid off a substantial part of the debt. After that, Mr. Johnson agreed to monthly payments, with interest, of course.”
“How generous of him,” Sheriff Bradway grumbled. “I've never heard anything so scandalous. He completely took advantage of a twelve-year-old with an ailed mother.”
“It is what it is, besides, it beats losing the farm.” The Sheriff looked like he wanted to disagree yet held his tongue. “I'm almost done, anyway.” After ten years of struggling, always saving every penny, she would finally be free.
And then what? A voice inside of her wondered. She was so used to living a certain way—everyday revolving around that debt her family owed—that she could not see the future when the money owed was no longer an issue. That's sad. She was not going to dwell on that. She had a few more installments to deliver, and then, she would reconsider her future. I will cross that bridge when I get to it.
Sheriff Bradway was frowning deeply by the time she finished her tale. “That's it,” he suddenly snapped, making Whitey protest in return—the horse hated sudden movements or sounds. “It's all right, boy,” she whispered only to him, and he calmed immediately while the Sheriff continued to speak.
“I will not go to Johnsons estate without you.”
Geraldine frowned, failing to see the connection between her story and his decision. Luckily, he explained his reasoning shorty after. “Even if Mr. Johnson has nothing to do with Miss Elsa's murder, it would be highly entertaining for you to see him sweating a little in front of someone who is more powerful than he is. The only way to deal with a bully is to give him a taste of his own medicine,” he winked at her, and instantly brightened her mood.
She couldn't deny the prospect of seeing something like that had its appeal. “You are a wicked one, Sheriff,” she pretended to be scandalized by his offer, chastising him even though she loved it.
And he knew it. Sheriff Bradway inclined his head. “A small gift, from me to you.”
Geraldine placed a hand over her heart. “A gift? That is the sweetest thing ever, and it's not even my birthday,” and they both laughed.
Chapter Eighteen
Robert watched Geraldine ride away, and he didn't like the way it made him feel one bit. The rickety old thing didn't look safe to ride, and the cart didn't inspire confidence either.
Robert planned on visiting Mrs. Potter's attorney; he promised Geraldine he wouldn't go to the other writers of Elsa's letters without her. And why? Because he was trying to act all cavalier when he was actually enraged by Mr. Johnson's behavior.
Does that make me an idiot? Most definitely.
Thinking about that “well respected” businessman only made his previously sour mood return. What could he say? When it came to Geraldine, his mind got clouded. So, here he was looking for an attorney's office, all in hopes allowing her to accompany him as he confronted Johnson might give her some retaliation. He wanted to do everything to make her happy. Also when she was near him he could focus more easily on his job and not waste time on daydreaming about where she was or what she was doing, like right now.
Probably still on her way home. If that thing manages to not break down on her.
Stop it, Robert. Naturally, having her beside him pulled a whole new set of troubles with it, allowing him to fantasize about something different. Like, how it would feel to pet that unruly hair of hers, or if her skin was as soft as it looked? How her smart mouth would taste...
Here we are, Mr. Blake's office, Robert spotted the small sign. Robert climbed a set of wooden stairs to reach the first floor, where the office was located.
Mr. Blake, Elsa Potter's attorney, was a rather nervous man, all jumpy and wide-eyed. He kept sweating profusely, wiping his forehead with an embroidered handkerchief, as if he was the guiltiest man in Oatman. When Robert asked him if he had something to do with Elsa's murder, the other man almost had a heart attack. He had to drink some sweetened water to revive himself so he could resume speaking with Robert.
“Elsa Potter was a very dear client of mine, and I wouldn't do anything to harm her. Or anybody else for that matter.”
And Robert believed him. He also knew that some people were naturally timid, and at times, Robert used that to his advantage. That was not the card he wished to play here. He didn't want to kill the man. There was honestly no need to frighten the poor man further since he was very cooperative from the start.
Unfortunately, the attorney confirmed what Robert already knew, that Elsa Potter did not have any kin who would be squabbling over her ranch, or more accurately put since she was an orphan, raised in an orphanage, all possible relatives or even parents were long lost for her. Everything she did own in life would go to Oatman's church for them to use as they see fit. Robert was surprised to learn that a substantial amount of money would go to Geraldine.
With that, she can certainly pay off her debt to Fergus Johnson in total. Did she know about that? He had to wonder.
Mr. Blake assured him that the content of the will was confidential and would be revealed during the reading. Since Robert was the law and was conducting an ongoing investigation regarding his client, he relayed some of these details.
So, in theory, that would mean Geraldine did not know about the inheritance. He already wrote her off from his list of suspects, and nothing in her behavior suggested she knew about the will. Robert was certain she would be pleased her aunt loved her that much and wanted to help her in her own way. However, he was intrigued about why Miss Potter chose to leave everything to the church. Is that the work of a guilty conscience? He couldn't help but wonder. During the course of her life, she certainly made some bad decisions, seeing all these married men clearly suggested as such. Some of her bad decis
ions cost her own life. The question is, which one?
“Thank you, Mr. Blake, this was most helpful,” Robert said, getting up once he determined the attorney told him everything he knew.
“My pleasure, Sheriff,” he managed to stammer back. Despite Robert's effort to be nothing but polite and calm, the other man was still pretty intimidated by him.
“Good day,” Robert said his farewell and left the office not wanting to torment the poor man any further.
He was very happy he learned such good news, and a part of him really wished he could share it with Geraldine. That would be highly unprofessional so he would hold his tongue. I was tempting to tell Geraldine she didn't have to worry so much about her future because Elsa Potter made sure she had one, and a good, secured one at that.
Next, Robert visited a few of Elsa's associates. She owned the local Saloon, so he planned on speaking with all the people working there. Maybe they could offer further insight in who Elsa Potter really was.
It was way past midnight when he returned to Laurel's farm. Robert had to wait for the bartender that worked only at night to appear so he could talk with him as well. All the while the manager tried to coax him to have a drink which Robert wouldn't do, of course. He wasn't much of a drinker, to begin with and he never drank while conducting an investigation. Overall, he didn't learn anything helpful.
The house was quiet and dark upon his arrival and Robert did his best not to disturb that. Unfortunately, since he wasn't that familiar with the layout, he stumbled the way to his room. At least I didn't break anything.
Shortly after finally getting to bed he realized he was far too restless to sleep. Maybe a cup of tea will help. Putting his pants back on he slowly found his way to the kitchen, only to discover it was already in use.
Geraldine jumped seeing him by the door. “We really have to stop meeting like this,” he said in a hushed voice.
“Troubles sleeping?” She guessed.
Robert nodded. “You as well?” Geraldine simply sighed in return. “Would you care for some tea?
“You read my mind,” he replied settling on the chair.
Geraldine moved toward the shelves that were filled with all kinds of jars and metal containers. She went on her tiptoes trying to reach one particular jar that held tea leaves.
“Let me get that for you,” Robert offered getting back up. She started to protest but he was already next to her, reaching for the same thing. That was when their hands touched. He gripped her more securely, needing to prolong the contact.
Robert looked down on her but didn't let go. Geraldine looked at him with those beautiful eyes and he felt completely lost. His heart started to go faster and by the way her bodice moved, she was having some difficulties breathing as well. That pleased him. Robert felt like kissing her. Just one soft touch. Just to see how it feels. He started to lean down toward her ever so slightly, giving her all the time in the world to move away. She didn't, his heart soared.
Suddenly there was a loud bang coming from upstairs. Geraldine moved out of his reach. “Mother must be having nightmares. I must go check up on her,” without waiting for a reply she dashed out of the room.
Robert felt like banging his head against the wall. Maybe that will clear it a bit. He completely lost control for a moment, and if he was feeling restless before it was nothing compared to what he was feeling now.
Not knowing what else to do he started preparing tea for them. She didn't return.
* * *
The next morning, Robert collected Geraldine and together they rode to Elsa Potter's funeral. He tried really hard not to think about last night. He was not particularly successful.
“I tried bringing mother, but she refused,” Geraldine confided quite saddened by that turn of events.
“We all grieve differently, maybe this is for the best,” he offered, trying to comfort her, and she simply nodded in return.
Once they arrived at the graveyard Robert decided to linger at the back while Geraldine went to speak with Father Mathew. Not many people showed up. Robert recognized some of them, though. The attorney and a few workers from the Saloon were there.
Robert noticed something else. Apart from Geraldine who looked deeply stricken by sorrow and Father Mathew who was not only a true man of the cloth but a compassionate man, the rest of the assembled people looked as if they wished to be someplace else at the moment. And that disappointed him.
Of course, nobody wished or was happy to attend a funeral, some might find it quite disturbing, but funerals were the final goodbye to someone, and Robert realized not many people felt the need to say goodbye to Elsa.
The service was quite lovely nevertheless. Father Mathew read a few passages from the Holy Bible “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light...” Robert found the passage quite appropriate.
Geraldine shed a few tears, but she wiped them off rather quickly. Apparently, she did not like showing any kind of weakness. Robert could relate to that since he was the same way.
The priest continued reading through psalms. “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me....”
That part reminded him of the funeral that was held for his father and brother. He never met his mother since she died at childbirth, but he was certain that the same passage was read for her soul as well. “Let us pray now for the soul of Elsa Potter,” Father Mathew called his congregation, and all lowered their heads in contemplation, Robert included. Shortly after, the service was over with the casket being placed into the ground. Geraldine was the only one that stayed behind while the graveyard workers covered it with earth.
“I am terribly sorry for your loss,” Robert said to her.
“Thank you, Sheriff,” she replied a little absentminded. They parted ways after the funeral. She returned to the farm, claiming she had a great deal of work to do, and Robert stayed in Oatman.
While he walked Main street, thinking about the service and Geraldine, someone started calling out for him. Robert turned and was surprised to see a young clerk from the post office running toward him. “Sheriff,” he managed to say despite the fact he looked out of breath. “I am so glad I caught you.”
“What is the matter?” Robert asked in all seriousness, guessing the other man needed some kind of assistance.
“You received a telegram,” the clerk informed him, handing him a piece of paper.
“Thank you,” Robert replied dismissively, already starting to read the words he received, and then cursed. He read them again as if hoping the meaning would change if he did that. I can't believe this! He fumed. Sadly, he would have to leave Oatman for a short period of time.
His deputy Ross sent words that there were problems regarding the McConelly trial, and that judge Michaelson demanded his presence at once. He was probably anticipating some disturbance regarding his ruling. Well, damn. He really did not want to leave, but Robert couldn't refuse a judge's request either.
Reluctantly, Robert collected Duke from the corral and rode to the Laurel farm. He couldn't just leave without a word. He had to inform his landlord of his sudden departure. Yes, that is the reason you are making a detour. Shut up, he snapped at himself.
“Miss Geraldine?” He started calling out for her once he reached the house. He went inside since no one answered him back. “Mrs. Laurel?” He tried to see if her mother would speak with him. There was no reply so she either ignored him or was probably sleeping in her room.
Geraldine is not here, his heart sank a little. Maybe it is for the best, he tried to tell himself, but he di
dn’t believe his thoughts.
Seeing no other way, Robert started writing Geraldine a letter when she entered the kitchen through the back door carrying a large basket of various vegetables. Her hair was bound and messy, and her face slightly dirty clearly from working in the garden. Robert's heart stopped beating for a second or two at the sight of her.
“Oh, you are here,” she said instead of a more formal greeting, with a small smile. “I didn't expect you until supper.” He pretended not to see how puffy and red her eyes were. She was crying. This was a challenging day for her, and Robert hated he had to add to it.
Robert started to reply but she continued speaking. “I was planning on making a stew tonight. You do like stew?”
“Ah, yes, thank you, that sounds lovely. Unfortunately, I have to go.”
The Sheriff's Rebellious Bride (Historical Western Romance) Page 18
