A Sheriff's Fugitive Bride

by Blythe Carver

  “She hasn’t done anything wrong, Dennis. Believe me. But there was a bit of trouble in town several nights back…”

  “What’s she got to do with any of that? I heard about it, all right, and I never did trust those no-good saloon gals. Pardon, ma’am,” he murmured.

  If Sally was working for the saloon, he didn’t know about it. This made sense, naturally. A man such as the one standing before him, who would pull a shotgun on a man simply for driving a buggy onto his property, wouldn’t take to such a notion. “I’ve been asking everyone who has a job in town. She does have a job in town, doesn’t she?”

  “Certainly. Working at the dressmaker’s.” He all but glowed with pride. “She brings in enough money to help me quite a bit, and somehow finds time to keep house. She’s my treasure, no doubt about that. Her sainted mother would be proud of her.”

  Phoebe let out something between a strangled sob and a cough, which she managed to hide behind her handkerchief. Rance merely nodded with a smile. “I’m sure she would. Do you have any idea where I might find Sally? I only want to ask a few questions, as I said.”

  “She was just finishing up the breakfast dishes when you arrived. Sally!” he called out, turning toward the house. “Sally! Somebody here wants to speak to you!”

  If she’d looked out the window, she would’ve seen them by then. And she would’ve taken off somewhere. Phoebe seemed to understand this and alighted from the buggy without wasting a moment. “Would you mind if I took a drink at your well? It’s awfully warm out this morning.”

  “Not at all. You’ll find it around back.” Once she was out of earshot, Dennis leaned in. “Who is she, anyway? Not used to seeing you sportin’ around.”

  Rance chuckled, keeping one eye on the side of the house where Phoebe disappeared to. “A friend of Martha’s, new to town. Martha asked me to show her around, and I wanted to take care of this before I did.”

  “Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Waitin’ too long to marry. Thought I didn’t need it. I was wrong, and I was an old man before I finally settled down. Don’t do that.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiled, still waiting for Phoebe to return. “She’s taking a while, isn’t she? I’d better go make sure she’s all right. Maybe she… felt faint or something.”

  He hurried around the house, expecting to see her with Sally. The two of them might be talking, with Phoebe convincing the girl to give herself up and face whatever came her way.

  Instead, he found Phoebe lying on the ground with young Sally crouched over her.

  “Stop right there!” he shouted, one hand on his pistol. “Just stop whatever it is you’re doing and back away from her.”

  “Please, Sheriff!” The girl raised her hands into the air, and when she did a blood-stained handkerchief fell onto the grass. “I was only trying to help her!”

  “She’s telling the truth.” A rather dazed Phoebe worked her way onto one elbow. “I tripped and fell and scraped my forehead. Sally came out to help me.”

  “I was watching from upstairs,” Sally whispered, still with her hands raised. She began to tremble.

  “You can put your hands down,” he told her, feeling foolish as he went to Phoebe. “Can you stand?”

  “I’ll try,” she whispered, shaking her head. “So clumsy of me.” Sure enough, blood trickled down the side of her face in a thin line.

  “It’s a good thing Sally was watching,” he said, glancing at the girl.

  “Thank you for coming out to help me, though you were likely worried over why we came,” Phoebe murmured, reaching for the girl’s hand. “I knew you were a good person. Decent, honest. You only did what you did because you felt you had to, I imagine.”

  While Rance wasn’t overfond of her putting words in the girl’s mouth, the genuine emotion which all but crushed her face told him she’d struck home. “We need the money,” she whispered. “My pa thinks I work with the dressmaker. He would kill me if he knew where I really work. But we need the money. I thought it would help. I thought Mr. Nielsen wouldn’t miss it.”

  For the first time, Rance took her in. A pretty thing, to be certain, and very young. Sort of fragile, like a china doll. He could see as she wept and Phoebe comforted her why the woman he suspected he might be in love with would protect her. She needed protecting.

  Perhaps even from her father, with his shotgun-wielding ways.

  Phoebe looked at him over the girl’s trembling head, questioning with her eyes and maybe even saying she’d told him so. This girl needed help.

  Rance removed his hat, clearing his throat in discomfort. “It seems to me we don’t need to take this before the judge,” he decided in a low voice. “We’ll keep it here, now, and it won’t go any further than that.”

  “Truly?” the girl sniffled. “I promise I won’t ever do it again. That Mr. Nielsen frightens me. As soon as I took it, I knew I done wrong, but it was too late.”

  “We understand,” Phoebe murmured, patting the girl’s back. “You needn’t worry.”

  “If there’s anything you need to concern yourself with, it’s your position and what your father will think if he finds out.” A glance over his shoulder revealed Dennis Foster examining the horse and buggy with great interest, as though he’d forgotten why Rance left him there alone.

  “I don’t know what else to do,” she sniffed. “We need the money, goodness knows, and I can be here during the day with my pa.”

  “Does he really think you work at the dressmaker’s so late at night? Well, that matters not,” Phoebe decided. “Perhaps I can help find you something more suitable. My sister writes for the newspaper, perhaps she can help you find a position in the office? I’ll ask her. If that doesn’t work, we’ll find something else.”

  Rance could only watch and wonder. Did she truly believe things always worked out for the best in the end? And that she had some special ability to make things happen? Only someone with a great deal of confidence in themselves would speak with such easy authority.

  The thing was, as he listened and reflected, she did seem to have that ability, and it all started from a warm, caring heart. A good thing he’d been smart enough to see it. To see her.

  “We’d better be on our way before your pa starts wonderin’,” he said, waving Phoebe toward himself.

  “I can come by to visit you,” Phoebe offered, but the girl shook her head.

  “I’ll come to see you, if it’s all the same. I can’t speak freely here.”

  “That’s understandable.” Phoebe kissed her tear-stained cheek and patted her back once before joining him. “You’d better hurry in and wash your face now.”

  As they were walking back to the buggy, Rance looked against at her injury. “You’re still bleeding some,” he observed. She dabbed at the scrape with her handkerchief like it was nothing.

  It wasn’t until they were in the buggy and bidding farewell to Dennis that Phoebe came clean. “I didn’t really fall and hurt myself,” she whispered, though they were already well on their own as he drove down the road leading into town.

  “What do you mean? Why are you bleeding? Did she strike you?” He was prepared to turn around and arrest the sweet-faced girl. A sweet face could conceal a good many things going on in the heart.

  She waved her hands at this notion. “No, no, that’s not what I mean at all. I did trip, and I knew she was watching. I noticed her standing in the window looking down over the side of the house. I… may have scraped myself with a small stone and made a show of bleeding and being in pain.”

  It took a moment for this to sink in. “On purpose?” he gasped.

  “It’s nothing but a tiny scratch, but wounds of the head always bleed more.”

  “You cut yourself?”

  “Oh, you make it sound as though I took a knife to myself. I merely gave myself a scratch.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Because I knew she would come
to my aid. I knew she was a decent girl. And it was the only way to get her out of the house.” When he didn’t answer right off, because he knew nothing to say, she threw her hands into the air. “Do not bother thanking me. I only scarred myself for life for the sake of drawing a girl out of her home that we might speak to her.”

  “You only just said it was nothing but a scratch. Now you’re scarred for life. Which is it?”

  She shook her head with a sigh. “You’re welcome.”

  This was both infuriating and strangely touching all at once. That she would go to such lengths in order to speak to Sally quite impressed him, even if it struck him as not entirely the action of a clear-headed person. He burst out laughing at the utter improbability of it. “If you don’t beat all.”

  “Does that mean I did a good thing?”

  “I suppose it does.” He brought the buggy to a stop in front of the jailhouse and turned to her. “In fact, I suppose it means I love you.”

  Her face went slack, and for a moment he thought he shouldn’t have said it. What was he thinking? Right out there in the street? Only his heart was so full just then, with this woman seated beside him. Someone who was willing to do nearly anything for him, not to mention for anyone in need.

  “I know this isn’t the time or the place,” he continued as every part of his body trembled. “I’ve never exactly been one for doing things the right way. I should’ve waited until we were alone. I should’ve—”

  “No.” Her fingers were tentative as they touched his, winding around them. “No, this is right. This makes sense. It’s near where we first met, after all.”

  He chuckled as fear left his body and hope flooded it. “You’re not upset with me?”

  “Not at all,” she breathed before laughing shakily. “Not at all.”

  He leaned closer, wishing he could take her in his arms. If he could only hold her, whisper in her ear all the things he longed to say. He had to settle for asking, “Is there—could you--?”

  “Sheriff Connelly!”

  They both jumped, their heads snapping around in the direction of that voice. That very loud, very angry voice.

  Jake Nielsen sauntered down the sidewalk. “Well, well, you found her at last! Everyone, look! The sheriff finally did his job!” Jake hooked his thumbs into his suspenders. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  Phoebe went rigid, glaring at the man.

  “Stay here,” Rance warned. “I mean it. Just stay in the buggy.” He began to climb out.

  “Where are you going?” she hissed.

  “Remember. Stay, please.” He didn’t take his eyes off Jake as a crowd began to form around them.

  “What are you doin’, then?” Jake demanded. “You bringing her in? Takin’ her to see the judge?”

  “That’s not your concern, Jake. The lady did you no harm.” He glanced around at the wide-eyed, curious faces of those who’d surrounded them. “Why don’t you all go back about your business and allow me to do mine? This is nothing of any interest to you all.”

  “Why can’t they decide that for themselves, Sheriff Connelly?” The man’s voice fairly dripped with sarcasm. “Isn’t it their business when their sheriff decides to finally do his job?”

  “You don’t know the first thing about my job,” Rance murmured. Anyone who knew him knew he was far more dangerous when his voice went low than he was when he raised it.

  Jake Nielsen didn’t know him.

  He turned to Phoebe, still seated in the buggy and as still as a statue. Her icy glare did little to get Jake to back down.

  “And you! You have a lot of nerve, showing your face. Nothing but a common thief. Did you think I would forget you, girlie?”

  “You watch the way you speak to her,” Rance cautioned. He then raised his voice for the benefit of those who’d refused to obey his wishes and continued to stand about. “This was a simple mistake. This young lady didn’t steal anything. She came into possession of the wallet outside the saloon when the young lady who took it handed it over out of fear and guilt. The girl knew she’d done wrong and was afraid of this man—and of me, I suppose,” he added. “But that’s it. I know who the real thief was and have dealt with the situation. That’s all. There’s nothing more to be done. Nothing was lost here. Now all of you, go back about your business and allow me to go about my own.”

  This wasn’t enough for Jake. It would never be enough. “Is this your idea of justice, Sheriff?” he bellowed. “Letting a thief get away like that? You dealt with it. Doesn’t it matter that I want the girl jailed for what she did?”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Rance snarled. “There is no longer a reason to jail anyone, now get out of here and don’t tell me about the law. You have no right to cause a public scene like this.”

  “Wait, please.” To his horror, Phoebe stood and stepped out of the buggy.

  “Don’t,” he warned, but she ignored him. As was her nature when she got a mind to do something. She took a few tentative steps toward the threatening man.

  “Sir, the sheriff is right. This was only ever a mistake. The girl who stole from you knows she did wrong, and she’s terribly sorry. She needed the money—”

  “I don’t want to hear about it from you,” he snarled. “Or from anyone! I want the thief brought to me, and I wanna look her in the eye and spit in her face. She’s nothing but a trashy piece of baggage, whoever she is, and she doesn’t deserve sympathy! No thief deserves sympathy!”

  The man had all but lost his mind. Was it already gone before this happened? There was no way of knowing. All he knew was the increasing dread unfurling in his chest the longer Phoebe was in Jake Nielsen’s presence. In fact, looking at the man’s flushed face and wide, rolling eyes, Rance began to fear for the safety of all around him.

  “Everybody, go back about your business,” he ordered, staring at the man in front of him. “Phoebe, get back in the buggy and go.”

  “Phoebe?” Jake blinked, a smile beginning to form. “Phoebe, is it? It’s a pleasure to meet you, Phoebe. I can tell the sheriff thinks a great deal of you.”

  “Phoebe, go,” Rance hissed, but she remained stuck in place. Whether she was just being obstinate or fear had frozen her, he couldn’t say, though she did have the look of a frightened animal about her as she trembled before the large, imposing man.

  “He doesn’t seem to understand what it’s like to have something taken from him,” Jake mused, eyes red and bloodshot. The smell of whiskey about him. “To be a public laughingstock. Yes, that’s what the girl made me. A public laughingstock. A fool who let a pretty girl flatter him and ply him with drink until he was too intoxicated to protect himself. She made me that. And he doesn’t care.”

  Jake looked from Phoebe to him. “Maybe you’ll care now.”

  In an instant, the man drew a gun from the waistband of his trousers, hidden before then beneath his suit coat. A shrill scream cut through the air as bystanders ducked and ran.

  Phoebe stood still, eyes widening, as Jake leveled the gun at her.

  “No!” It was the only word Rance had the chance to shout before he threw himself at her, knocking her to the ground.

  Somewhere in there, a gunshot rang out.

  24

  Phoebe was in a daze, sprawled out on the ground where Rance had sent her. He was on top of her. There was a gunshot. She didn’t feel any pain except the pain of having a full-grown man knock her to the ground, then fall on top. Her bones ached. That was all.

  From her position, she saw two men run to Jake and take him by the arms. One of them took his gun. The men wore badges. Deputies. Where had they been when they were needed?

  There was so much noise. People crying, screaming, shouting, cursing Jake Nielsen while crouching beside her to ask if she was all right. She was fine, she wanted to tell them, she’d only had the wind knocked out of her, but she couldn’t seem to find her voice. She thought if she opened her mouth, she might scream.

  If Rance would only let her up.<
br />
  If Rance would only move.

  “Oh, no,” she breathed when reality caught up to her, and she finally understood why blood spread over her dress. It wasn’t her blood. “No, no, no.”

  He groaned, rolling onto his back. When his coat fell open, the blood which had poured from him and soaked into his clothing was evident.

  More screaming.

  “Rance! Please, speak to me.” She knelt over him, holding his face in her hands. “Please, darling, please. Speak to me. Be awake. Please.”

  “I’m… awake…” he muttered, gritting his teeth. “Wish I wasn’t…”

  “Don’t say that. I’m sorry it hurts, but don’t say that.” She looked up. “Fetch the doctor, somebody! Quick!”

  Feet took off running down the boardwalk, while she turned back to him.

  “You… all right?” He opened his eyes, looking up at her. “Did you get hurt?”

  “Not a bit.” She smoothed the hair from his forehead. “Not a bit, thanks to you. You saved my life.”

  “You were supposed to stay in the buggy.”

  “Isn’t that just like you? Chiding me now, when I was only trying to help and now… and now…” Tears overflowed.

  He took her hand, holding it tight. His fingers were coated in blood, but it didn’t matter then. “I only wanted to keep you safe.”

  “And you did! You did it. Thank you.” She leaned down, kissing him as if it were the last time. “Thank you, thank you. I love you, Rance.”

  He loosened his grip on her as his eyes started to close. Her heart clenched, her throat tightened, she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe without him.

  “Do you hear me?” she whispered, her face inches from his. “Tell me you hear me. Tell me you know I love you. Please, dear, please. I love you.”

  A soft chuckle. “I know… you do…” His eyes closed. His hand loosened.

  “No, no,” she wept. “No! Come back!”

  “Please, let me see him.” A man with a black bag knelt at Rance’s other side and pressed fingers to his throat. “He has a pulse, but it’s very weak. Someone help me get him into the station!”