A Sheriff's Fugitive Bride

by Blythe Carver

  He snickered. “I might have been talking to you that way. You’re right. My apologies.” When she tilted her head to the side, not believing a word of it, he insisted. “Truly. It’s a bad habit I sometimes fall into now that I’ve been living with him and Martha.”

  She was willing to let this go. “So be it. And yes, you are correct. I knew what it meant, having you here. There won’t be any forgetting me now. I can’t escape. But I can’t turn that girl in, either. I just can’t.” She turned away again, fists clenched, eyes watering to the point of overflow.

  “Did you know her? Is that why you won’t tell me who she is?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’d never seen her before.”

  “But you did see her.”

  “Yes.”

  “Carrying the wallet.”

  “Yes. Running from the saloon. She all but knocked me over, and she was so frightened, so panicked. Like a rabbit in a snare. And I felt for her. I thought someone might be hurting her. She was so young. So very young. She might have been my sister. I wanted to help her. I asked if she needed help, and she gave me the wallet and ran away. Mr. Nielsen was already on the chase. She was shaking so. Crying. I don’t know why she did it, I never got the chance to ask. It all happened so fast, I swear I didn’t realize she’d put a wallet in my hand until Mr. Nielsen had nearly caught up to me.”

  Her tongue had gotten away from her. She hadn’t intended to reveal so much. It was as though she’d stepped back into that night, there on the boardwalk. The pulse-pounding excitement, the fright, the confusion, and fear. She placed her hands on the windowsill to steady herself.

  He was quiet for a long time, still sitting behind her. Only the sound of his light, even breathing confirmed his presence. “And you’ve been protecting her all this time.”

  She nodded. There was a lump in her throat she couldn’t seem to get past, and she did not trust herself to speak.

  “Why? You didn’t know her, or so you claimed.”

  He didn’t understand. No great surprise there, she supposed. He was a man. He didn’t understand desperation.

  Or perhaps he did. “Is Martha a widow?” she asked of a sudden, turning her head just enough to catch him out of the corner of her eye.

  He sputtered. “Pardon me?”

  “Is your sister a widow? Is that why you live with her and Jesse?”

  “What has she got—”

  “Is she?”

  He sighed. “Yes. Six months now.”

  So much of what she’d guessed was true. The poor woman didn’t have it in her to raise a child and run a household while mourning her husband. Only half a year had passed. The pain must have been raw, still. “I’m sorry to hear that. Truly. For all of you. I suppose having you there with them, living in the house, is quite a comfort.”

  “I suppose it is.”

  “And I suppose it’s kept her from doing rather desperate things to keep a roof over their heads and food in their mouths. For I assume you support them.”

  “I don’t believe we ought to discuss this any further.”

  “Why not?” She turned to him, feeling stronger now, knowing she was correct. And knowing he knew it, too, which was what made him so reluctant to answer her questions. “This is a common fact of life. A woman loses her husband and thus loses the money he earned. If she has children, she now has to find a way to support both herself and them. She’s fortunate to have you—truly, I mean that, I wouldn’t say it just to get on your good side.”

  “I would never imagine you saying anything just to get on my good side,” he said with a snicker.

  She chose to ignore this in favor of pushing forward. “Imagine if she didn’t have you. If Jesse didn’t have you. The world is a cold place for a woman with no family to lean on. What might she be forced to do if she did not have you? Would pride not fall by the wayside in favor of keeping her boy warm and fed and clothed?”

  “Enough of this.” He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable.

  “I’m sorry if my speaking of this has made you unhappy. I am, really. I don’t like to think of my sisters being in such a terrible predicament, either. But that is exactly what came to mind when I met that girl. What if she were Cate? Or Rachel? Wouldn’t I want someone to protect them, so they wouldn’t go to jail and lose their position? It might not be an enviable position, but it’s a way to earn a living. If I turned her in, she would have nothing.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “What would happen if you went to jail and the judge decided you were the one to steal that wallet? Wouldn’t you want to protect yourself in that position?”

  “Of course.” She waved a hand. “I don’t guess I ever thought of it that way.”

  “I don’t guess you did, seeing as how you looked surprised when I mentioned the judge. You don’t spend much time on the wrong side of the law, I suppose.”

  “I try not to.”

  He let out a long breath. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “You could pretend none of this ever happened and the girl in question disappeared.”

  “And you’ll never be able to step foot in town again without the threat of Jake Nielsen finding you.”

  Right. Him. “I could go before the judge and swear to everything I’ve told you.”

  “I don’t know that he would believe it—especially with Jake screaming in his ear. Are you willing to risk that?”

  She barely refrained from stomping her foot in frustration. “What else is there to do?”

  “I can’t leave you here. That much is true. I’m going to have to bring you back with me, if only to appease the townfolk.”

  With that, the doors flew open, and into the room poured her sisters. Phoebe almost felt sorry for the sheriff as four outraged, indignant women tore into him. Their shouts and questions and accusations had the man’s head spinning.

  Molly thrust a finger in Phoebe’s direction. “My sister was a housekeeper in Baltimore. Did she tell you of this? I’m certain her former employer would send glowing reports of her honesty. Would that make a difference?”

  “Yes!” Rachel nodded, quick to jump on this. “She had all the opportunity in the world to steal something from a wealthy family, but she didn’t. That ought to speak for her character, yes?”

  “Y—yes,” Rance sputtered. “I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt.”

  “You can’t put my sister in jail!” Cate began weeping loudly, inconsolably.

  Holly embraced Cate while shooting daggers with her eyes at the sheriff. “Shame on you!” she hissed. “Talking of putting an innocent woman in jail when you know she’s innocent!”

  Rance tried several times to speak, holding up his hands and raising his voice to be heard over the cacophony. When this didn’t work, he put two fingers in his mouth and blew a sharp whistle which brought everything to a halt.

  “Thank you,” he gasped. “Now I see it runs in the family.” He threw his hands in the air. “How Lewis manages—never mind,” he was quick to amend when Molly drew a deep breath as if preparing to give him an earful. “I only want to remind you, all of you, that I didn’t say I would bring your sister with me in shackles. I didn’t say I would put her in jail. Now that I have her statement, what there is of it, I can say without a doubt that I know her to be innocent.”

  “Why would you take her back, then?” Molly demanded.

  “That’s for me to understand—and I would thank you to remember I’m Sheriff of Carson City, and I have a badge and a gun, and that’s enough for many people to accept my word without challenging me on it.”

  If Phoebe hadn’t been so beside herself, she might have found the sight of Molly’s mouth snapping shut rather amusing. At last, someone knew how to silence the indomitable Molly Reed Sutton.

  He looked at her from across the room, over the tops of her sisters’ heads. He wore an expression she’d seen before. When he was thinking about how to get her to talk. When h
e realized she would have to spend the night with two drunkards otherwise.

  Sure enough, the same slow, wry smile stretched his mouth. “I intend to take your sister back to my house, in fact. Until this is worked out and smoothed over, I need to be able to keep an eye on her.”

  “Your house!” This set off another round of tears and questions—yet Rance had only to insert his fingers into his mouth to stop it. No one wanted to hear him whistle again.

  “My house,” he confirmed. “My sister could use a housekeeper, and you tell me Phoebe has the experience.”

  The room fell completely silent as four nearly identical sets of grey eyes turned her way.

  13

  “You can’t be serious!” Molly Sutton gasped, one hand over her heart. She was just as big a piece of work as his own sister. He thought the two of them might have been friends if they ever had the chance.

  “I am. Very much,” he grimaced. This might have been the biggest mistake he’d ever made, but he’d never been one to back down from a decision once he’d made it. Especially when he’d made it while in the presence of several witnesses.

  Most especially when the witnesses were a group of screaming shrews who looked prepared to claw his eyes out if the situation called for it. He happened to like his eyes where they were.

  “This is outrageous.” The woman in question looked just exactly like Molly.

  He guessed they were twins. Two of them, he thought to himself, wincing inwardly.

  “It is rather,” he agreed. “But that’s the way it’s gonna be. I either bring her with me willingly, to my home, to act as housekeeper for my sister and nephew, or she comes with me in shackles, and she returns to the uncomfortable cell which I had her in two nights ago.”

  They exchanged a meaningful look then, one which made it seem as though everything around the fell away. Even the Reed sisters faded into the background in favor of her.

  She must have seen how needed she was. He would never admit it aloud, but he’d been concerned over whether Martha was recovering from her loss as well as she might. Tasks which were once the work of five minutes sometimes took hours, if they got done at all. Sometimes she simply stared at the wall.

  He understood how long it took some people to recover from loss, and he was well aware that he’d never loved anyone the way Martha and Charles had loved each other. A silly sort of love, the kind that had once made him roll his eyes and clear his throat loudly whenever he was in its presence.

  But he’d never once doubted their sincerity. Their devotion. She’d had no warning before he died. She’d sent him up to the roof one morning to check on a spot where the shingles had come loose, and by dinner he was dead.

  That was it. No chance to say goodbye, to offer words of love or comfort. Just… nothing. No wonder she hadn’t emerged from the fog of sorrow which hung around her except for in brief moments, few and far between.

  She needed help.

  He needed to provide proof that he was working on finding the thief.

  This was the ideal solution, whether or not she agreed.

  He couldn’t have been more surprised when she did. “You’re right,” she murmured with a firm nod. “I’ll go with you, willingly. No need for shackles or a scandal.”

  Her sisters surrounded her—good thing, since they were starting to make him uncomfortable.

  “Do you mean it?”

  “You can’t mean it.”

  “How long do you think it will be?”

  She went around, answering all the questions she could. He had to give her credit for handling the situation well. She showed no surprise, and almost none of the stubborn nature she’d displayed while under his care. In fact, it was almost too easy to bring her around.

  Which, of course, gave him reason to question her motives.

  Then again, she’d gone to great lengths to protect a girl she didn’t know. She’d revealed real depth of emotion earlier, describing what she’d seen that night and what went through her mind when she decided to deceive him. He believed her intentions were pure.

  He might even have respected her a good deal for it, against his better judgment.

  “When will you take her?” The dramatic one, the one who’d been weeping since he arrived. Her large eyes still swam with tears. How much could a woman possibly cry?

  He reflected on the question, as it was serious. “It might be best to wait until later in the day. We can arrive at night, under darkness, and there might be fewer questions that way. Fewer eyes to witness.”

  “Do you believe you can keep her presence a secret?” Molly asked.

  “I can at least spare her the indignity of arriving with hundreds of people watching,” he smiled. “Unless you’d like to see your names in the newspaper tomorrow. It seems to me you’ve written for the paper before now, haven’t you? They might like the idea of one of their writers being involved in a scandal such as this.”

  “Enough,” Phoebe warned, taking her sister’s hand. “Worry not. All will be well. Come, help me get my things together.” She herded her sisters out of the room, casting a glance over her shoulder before following them. Leaving him alone.

  But not for long. Lewis joined him moments later, grinning sheepishly. “Sounded quite loud in here for a while.”

  “You’re one to help a man in need,” Rance grumbled. “Five against one? I can’t say the odds were in my favor.”

  “I would’ve come in if it had gotten much worse. Come on.” Lewis waved him out of the room. “Join me in the study. You look like you could use a drink.”

  “Truer words have never been spoken.” Rance followed him across the hall, where a decanter of amber liquid waited. Lewis poured them both a drink before handing one of the tumblers over.

  “You’ll have to give me the secret,” Rance murmured before taking a sip, letting it run a slow trail down his throat. He wondered if this was Lewis’s or Richard Reed’s. Regardless, it was excellent.

  “The secret of what?” Lewis sat behind the desk, propping his feet up on its surface. A practiced gesture, one he’d performed many times.

  Rance stood by the fireplace, leaning one arm against the mantle. “The secret of how to deal with these women. How do you manage it?”

  Lewis laughed. “You should’ve been here when we announced they’d have to stay a year, all of them, or else they’d risk losing the ranch.”

  Rance frowned. “Will my bringing her on as a housekeeper ruin that?”

  “I doubt it. We can say she got a job. She’ll still be in town; it isn’t as if she went home. And it won’t last forever, will it?”

  “Doubtful. Especially seeing as how I can’t imagine how we’ll live under the same roof without one of us killing the other. Pardon my frankness.”

  Lewis shrugged. “I felt the same way at first, believe me.”

  “How did you manage it?”

  “I married her.”

  Rance choked, surprised, and was about to assure Lewis that nothing of the sort would ever happen—not for him, certainly not with her—when Molly entered. “I’m glad to see you two are enjoying a drink while my sister packs her things.”

  “The sheriff was in need of a little relaxing after the going-over you all gave him.” Lewis grinned. “He’s only doing his job, dear.”

  “I realize that, but I didn’t know that doing one’s job meant enjoying a drink.” She folded her arms, one eyebrow lifting in challenge.

  He met her gaze straight-on while emptying the tumbler. “You’re right about that, Mrs. Sutton, but this is hardly an everyday type of situation. I think we can agree on that.”

  “I suppose we can,” she allowed, though her voice was sour. She was about as prickly as a cactus, and he had to wonder how love had ever bloomed between the two of them.

  “You said you live with your sister?” she asked.

  “Yes. And her son. For the last six months or so. She was widowed quite suddenly.”

  Molly’s shoulders dro
pped. She let out a soft sigh. “I see. I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “She needs the help,” Rance shrugged. “I’ve been living there with them, doing what I can, but I can hardly be a housekeeper. I’ve been taking care of myself for years, of course, but I can’t manage the house and be a lawman. There’s never any telling how long I’ll be away—as today proves,” he added with a wry grin. “I certainly hadn’t planned on coming out all this way.”

  “I’m sure no one expects you to keep house.” Her tone had suddenly changed, and her demeanor. “How old is your nephew?”

  “Five, and every bit as cursedly mischievous as I was at that age. Now I understand why my sainted mama was always beside herself.”

  “Phoebe is good with children,” she mused.

  “Jesse took to her right off,” he assured her. “They’re already good friends. And Martha’s an easy one to get along with. So long as a person doesn’t happen to be me, of course.”

  She surprised him by chuckling. “I suspect they’ll have something in common, something to bring them together.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How easy it is to disagree with you.”

  He cringed. “You might be right, at that.”

  Hours later, after a rather uncomfortable dinner and a tour of the ranch, courtesy of Lewis—an impressive spread, to be sure—he deemed it an appropriate time to leave.

  “We’d best be going if we want to be finished with the bulk of the ride by nightfall,” he announced. His horse had already been hitched to their buggy, which he promised would return to them once the entire affair was over.

  Phoebe’s sisters clung to her. The weepy one, who he now knew was Cate, soaked Phoebe’s shoulder with her tears. “Don’t forget us.”

  “You know I never could.” Phoebe chuckled, kissing the top of her head before kissing the cheeks of her other sisters. She even stood on tiptoe and kissed Lewis’s cheek before ignoring Rance’s offered hand in favor of climbing into the buggy alone. Just to prove she didn’t need him, he figured.