Love Finds You in Revenge, Ohio

by Lisa Harris

  Corbin’s brows arched. “Audrey told you that?”

  “Yes. She said he had some business for the farm to take care of, which isn’t anything out of the ordinary. He always seems to be going here and there for supplies.”

  “What kind of supplies?”

  “He’s adding on to the barn. It’s not unusual for him to go out of town for a day or two to pick up things for the construction.”

  Corbin tapped his fingers against the desk, complacent in his expression. “I had heard that he’s making a number of improvements on his farm. Have any idea how he’s able to pay for it?”

  “We all assumed it was from his grandfather’s estate. Norman Tucker didn’t have a fortune by any means, but most of us believe he had a bit of a nest egg under his mattress. Apparently, we were right.”

  Corbin reached up and ripped one of the wanted ads from the wall then slid it across the table at her. “This is William Marker. Wanted in four states and twice that many counties just here in Ohio. One of the witnesses from a previous robbery gave the details of this sketch before he died from a gunshot wound.”

  Catherine studied the pencil drawing then shook her head. “This man could be anyone. The town blacksmith, wheelwright…why, even the circuit rider Mr. Landon.”

  Corbin jabbed at the bottom of the poster. “Read the description, Catherine. Harrison has the same build, average height, dark hair color…. Even you have to admit that the resemblance is startling.”

  “But it’s still not enough, and you know it.”

  Corbin crossed the room and pulled a dime novel from the shelf. “You’ve heard Harrison’s stories of Alaska and the Wild West.”

  “Of course.”

  “Stories where he claims he saved a dozen men from a collapsed mine shaft, or when he—”

  “What’s your point, Sheriff?”

  “Everyone in town, I suppose, knows how Sheriff Lansing was a sucker for the adventures of a dime novel. He’s probably read every one written, or at least will die trying.” Corbin pointed to the dusty shelf. “I couldn’t sleep the other night and picked up one of these dusty covers and started reading. Now, I’m not well read when it comes to these fictional stories, but halfway through this gold-miner account in Alaska, I started to wonder. There was the odd story combined with details about the countryside, the towns, and even specific events. And some of them were details I heard Harrison recount the other night at his birthday party.”

  Catherine squirmed in her chair. “That’s not proof that Harrison is a murderer.”

  “It proves he might not be who he says he is. And with a bit more evidence, like placing him in Lancaster the day the bank was robbed, the time is coming when I’m going to have to arrest him.”

  Catherine’s stomach knotted. If Audrey knew she was here, she more than likely would never speak to her again, but while she still didn’t believe Harrison capable of murder, she was beginning to wonder if Corbin might be right about the man not being all he claimed to be. But no matter how convincing Corbin’s evidence, part of her wanted to justify her future brother-in-law’s actions. “All you’ve proven to me so far is that Harrison might have a habit of exaggerating the facts.”

  “Exaggerating?”

  “The fact that he was in Lancaster could very likely be nothing more than a coincidence, and you know it. And the same thing goes for these dime novels. He probably reads them to embellish his own experiences.”

  “Maybe, but you know I’m onto something, Catherine.” Corbin rested his hands against the desk and leaned forward. “And I will find out who’s behind these robberies. It’s just a matter of time until I’ve gathered enough evidence to bring the entire gang in.”

  Catherine matched his intense stare. Corbin Hunter was no less stubborn than he’d been all those years ago. “I have no doubt that you will, but before you go and break Audrey’s heart, I need you to promise me that you won’t arrest Harrison until you have solid evidence that he’s your man.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Because the fact that he reads dime novels or happened to be in Lancaster doesn’t prove anything. If that were true, you’d have to arrest every person who happened to be in Lancaster at the time of the robbery.”

  “I understand what you’re saying, but I thought you came to me because you want to know the truth.”

  “I came to you because I felt it my duty, as a citizen of this town, to tell you what I know.”

  “And I appreciate it.”

  “But you also need to remember that just because the man can tell a good story doesn’t mean you can hang him.”

  “Catherine…” Corbin rested his arms against the table and leaned forward. “You know I would never do anything to intentionally hurt your family, but I will find out the truth. And when I do, I personally will make sure the guilty party hangs.”

  Catherine shoved the wanted poster across the table. “Why does it matter to you what happens after he’s arrested?”

  His jaw tensed. “Five murders. Isn’t that enough?”

  She dipped her chin, hating the situation Corbin had unwittingly drawn her into. Because of some ridiculous need to prove to him she’d made something of herself, his arrival had her worrying more about what dress to wear and how to style her hair than the numerous business decisions she needed to make every day. But not coming to Corbin was taking a chance that Harrison really was a murderer and her sister was stepping into something they might all regret the rest of their lives. No matter how much she hated the situation, it was a chance she couldn’t take.

  Corbin stood to tack the poster back on the wall. “I need you to do something for me. You’re around Harrison. I need to know about anything that might point to who he really is.”

  Catherine rose to leave. Half a night of worry had put her in this position. She already felt as if she were betraying her sister. “I don’t know if I can do that, Corbin. Audrey’s my sister.”

  “You want to know the truth as much as I do, or you wouldn’t be here right now, would you? If I’m right, Audrey could end up marrying a criminal, and I know that’s not what you want.”

  “Of course not, but…”

  “You don’t have to do anything. Just listen and observe any discrepancies in his stories. Any trips out of town. Anything that seems suspicious.”

  “I’ll watch him, but don’t you dare break my sister’s heart unless you can prove without a shadow of a doubt that you’re right. And if you find proof that Harrison is involved, come to me first. I’ll be the one to tell Audrey.”

  “Okay.”

  She looked up and caught his gaze. “Promise me, Corbin.”

  He nodded his head. “I promise.”

  Chapter Eight

  Corbin stepped into Morgan’s General Store, praying he’d find Catherine before one of her sisters noticed him. Finding time to speak with her in private wasn’t going to be easy, but he had promised he’d tell her if there were any developments in the case. If he were lucky, Lily would be running the switchboard while Catherine dealt with the customers.

  He glanced quickly around the orderly mercantile, thankful there didn’t seem to be any other customers at the moment. He’d slept little the past three nights after his conversation with Catherine. It might have broken down part of the barrier between them, but in the end it simply seemed to have left them both feeling exposed.

  Still, he needed to speak to her in private, and the last thing he needed was someone like Mrs. McBride seeing them together and making things worse with a spoonful of the rumors she loved to spread. Not only did he not want anyone overhearing what he had to say, he knew Catherine wouldn’t appreciate further gossip regarding the two of them.

  It continued to amaze him how long some people’s memories were. No less than half a dozen middle-aged women had pulled him aside at church to ask him when he was going to marry Catherine. Apparently they’d forgotten how much time had passed between his proposal and today. Nor did they know t
he truth behind what had happened the day he’d left Revenge.

  Lily appeared at the front counter before he could vanish behind a display of men’s ready-made shirts. “Good morning, Sheriff Hunter. You’re up early.”

  Corbin cleared his throat, suddenly regretting his decision to drop by. He should have waited for a better opportunity. Not that his reasons for coming were personal. Besides the news he carried, he also felt the need to apologize. He regretted bringing up the subject of Harrison Tucker with Catherine, especially since he still lacked the solid evidence he needed to arrest the man. And knowing she’d just found out about the death of her father, his behavior had been insensitive and heartless.

  Lily didn’t seem to notice his solemn expression. “What can I help you find today? A bar of soap, perhaps?”

  “A bar of soap…” Corbin bit his tongue at her question. She didn’t have to say anything for him to know what she was thinking. But just because he’d bought three, maybe four, bars in the past week didn’t mean anything other than the fact that he liked to stay clean. It certainly had nothing to do with Catherine.

  “No soap today. Just a pound of…” Corbin searched the nearest barrel for something…“A quart of pickles, please.”

  “A quart of pickles?” Lily’s eyes widened.

  “And five cents’ worth of licorice.” Corbin winced. Like that would make things better.

  “I thought you liked lemon drops.”

  “I do.” Why did it suddenly feel as if his life were an open ledger?

  Lily began ringing up his order. “I never cared much for licorice myself, though Catherine loves it.”

  He hesitated. “I’d forgotten about her sweet tooth.”

  Liar.

  Corbin pressed his lips together. He simply needed a peace offering, and the fact that he’d always brought Catherine a pocketful of penny candy whenever he’d come calling had nothing to do with it. At least Lily would have been too young to remember that. Catherine had loved anything sweet, but her favorite had been licorice. And he’d been happy to keep her in a supply of the treat.

  “She’s out back if you’d like to speak with her.” Lily handed him his purchase, and he fished for the proper amount of change in his pocket before setting it on the counter.

  “Thank you, but I’ll just take my licorice and…pickles…and get back to work.” He turned to leave.

  “She’s working her garden, something she tends to do when she’s upset.”

  Corbin turned back around and planted his heels against the hardwood floor, irritated once again by his insensitivity. “I know the past couple days have been difficult, and I meant to express my condolences. I heard about your father’s passing and know how hard this must be for all four of you.”

  Her cheery expression faded. “Thank you. It was a shock to all of us, though I was young when he left. Thankfully, I have a few good memories.”

  “I’m sure you do. And if you will, please express my sentiments to your sisters as well, in case I don’t see them in the next few days.”

  “Of course. Thank you, Sheriff.”

  The bell jingled behind him as Corbin rushed out of the store and almost bumped into Mrs. McBride. Tipping his hat in greeting, he hurried down the boardwalk, stashed the pickles behind a wooden bench outside Johnnie Kirkland’s barbershop, and then shoved the sack of licorice into his jacket pocket. For a moment, he was tempted to simply forget the original errand, but as he turned the corner, a glimpse of Catherine behind the store made him hesitate.

  She knelt among a row of roses in the small garden plot nestled just beyond the back of the store. Beyond the colorful array of flowers lay a thriving vegetable garden, much of it ready for harvest. The wind blew loose fringes of hair around her face and framed her serious expression. He leaned against the whitewashed wall of the store and watched her work. Seeing her almost made him forget the reason he was here, and for a moment, Harrison, Isaiah Morgan, even his own father’s death faded into the background. He could almost believe he was eighteen again and coming to call on the girl he intended to marry.

  The look on her face intensified, and he wondered what she was thinking about. Her father? Harrison Tucker? Their past relationship?

  No. That last thought was ridiculous. He took a couple steps toward her then stopped again. His heart wanted to turn back and forget everything between them—something he thought he’d done years ago. The truth was, ignoring the issue wouldn’t make it disappear. And besides, he could control his past feelings for her, because that’s simply where they were going to stay. In the past.

  Catherine jammed the narrow spade into the ground and tugged out another weed. With all that had happened over the past few days, she’d neglected her garden. The vegetable patch, already laden with beans, corn, potatoes, and peas, needed to be weeded and some of the flowers cut back. And the garden wasn’t the only thing that had been neglected. So had her normal talks with her Heavenly Father. The last thirty minutes of praying had started to remedy that, and while it might not have changed her situation, it was already helping her spirit by putting things into perspective.

  She scooted down a few inches to another rose bush and breathed in the sweet scent of the red bloom. Out of respect for her father, she’d refrained from saying anything else negative about him, but the tension from that first night—when her words had flowed untamed—still loomed between her and her sisters.

  To make up for her impulsive words, she’d worked hard on the memorial they were planning for him. But how did one plan a funeral for a man none of them had seen for almost a decade? Or without a body to place in the grave beside her mother? With far more questions than answers, she’d slipped out of the house early this morning to work in her garden and pray for answers—answers that still seemed as elusive as her father’s pot of gold.

  Catherine stopped midway through her continual prayer and looked up. Corbin’s shadow hovered over her. “Miss Morgan?”

  “Sheriff?” She flipped up the brim of her straw hat. “Good morning.”

  “Your garden’s doing well. I’m quite impressed.”

  “Thank you.” She jumped up from the soft soil then brushed the specks of dirt from the front of her apron, immediately self-conscious of her untidy appearance. The last person she’d expected to see this morning was Corbin. She picked up the wooden basket full of potatoes to give her hands something to do, wondering if she should excuse herself and escape to the house.

  “Please, don’t stop working on my account.” He smiled down at her, bringing out the dimple in his right cheek. “Lily told me you would be out here.”

  She set the potatoes on the small, wrought iron table beside the back door then began picking up her tools and dropping them into the other basket she’d brought out. “I need to get back to tending to the store, but things were quiet this morning, and I needed a few minutes just to think and pray.” She waved her hand toward the garden. “And as you can see, I’ve neglected the garden the past few days.”

  “I can hardly blame you for needing some quiet. I know how difficult all of this has been for you.” He pulled something from his pocket and handed it to her.

  Her eyes widened at the gift. “Licorice?”

  “It’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I’m just surprised you remembered.” Not that she’d forgotten how he loved lemon drops, that his favorite meal was roast beef with potatoes and pumpkin pie for dessert, or that he loved peaches on homemade ice cream and lemonade in the summer—all things she should have forgotten years ago. She resolutely shoved aside the handful of memories. “Thank you.”

  He cleared his throat. “I heard you’re planning to hold a service for your father.”

  “I might not have agreed with how he spent the end of his life, but he deserves that. Especially since I can’t even give him a decent burial.”

  “I’m sure everyone will understand.”

  Catherine clenched the sack of licorice between her
fingers. “Pastor Landon promised to say a few things for those who attend. There are some of the old-timers around who were friends with him years ago who will appreciate the gesture.”

  “I’m sure they will.”

  “That’s not the real reason you’re here, though, is it?” Catherine’s stomach felt queasy. She dreaded news about Harrison, but from Corbin’s solemn expression, she knew that whatever he’d come to tell her wasn’t good news.

  “I came for two reasons. The first to apologize.”

  “To apologize?” His confession caught her off guard. “I don’t understand.”

  Corbin combed his fingers through his hair, looking as uncomfortable as when he’d seen her the first time out at Emily’s ranch. “I realize that I probably never should have brought up the subject of Mr. Tucker. Especially when I’ve yet to receive the solid proof I need. All I’ve managed to do is dump an extra burden on you, which is something you don’t deserve. I have to admit that I could be wrong. You were right that his being in Lancaster, for example, could be nothing more than a coincidence.”

  Catherine dropped her gaze. “You don’t have to apologize. As much as I hate to consider that he could be a criminal, the last thing I want is for Audrey to marry the wrong man.”

  “I felt that with the news of your father, the last thing you needed right now was another problem.”

  “I agree, but that won’t make the problem disappear.” Catherine put the last garden tool into the basket before setting it beside the potatoes. “You said there were two things you needed to speak to me about.”

  Corbin nodded. “In examining the last half-dozen shootings, we’ve picked up on an interesting common thread.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The leader of the gang uses .69 French Dragoon bullets. To put it simply, they have a triangular base instead of the typical round base, and they’re stamped with an M. For Marker, I’m guessing.”

  “Are they rare?”

  “They were used primarily in the War between the States.”