by Lisa Harris
His calm voice washed over her like a soothing balm. She stared into his toffee eyes and wished she could transport this moment to another place in time. He gazed back at her, and she wanted to believe that what he said was true. His lips curled into a smile, and her stomach flipped. She turned away, fiddling with one of the beads on her bag. How could she entertain thoughts of romance when any minute a bullet could ricochet off the brick wall, signaling the end to one or both of their lives?
Still crouched, she wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back on the heels of her lace-up boots. “How do you know everything’s going to be all right?”
“Trust me.”
The silence that followed was as loud as the screams and gunfire that had permeated the afternoon seconds before. Tara held her breath. No one moved. It was as if time hovered between them, not wanting to go forward and uncover the final dreadful moment of the standoff.
The lawman signaled her with his hand. “Come with me.”
He hurried her behind the counter of the post office, where three other women and two men sat huddled against the wall. One of the women cried silently, while another one simply stared straight ahead, her face void of expression.
He reached out and grasped Tara’s hand. “You’ll be all right here. I’ve got to stop him.”
“No!” Tara’s eyes widened. She tugged at his sleeve as he moved to leave. “He’ll kill you.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m a lawman, remember?” He squeezed her hand. “And besides, I’m hanging on to those words from Isaiah.”
Tara clenched her jaw together as he crept around the counter. God might be with them, but that certainly didn’t always stop bad things from happening. And if he got shot…
She tried to steady her rapid breathing, but instead her pulse raced even quicker. The whole situation was ridiculous. Here she was caught in the cross fire of some madman, terrified something was going to happen to a complete stranger. She didn’t even know his name. Pressing her back against the wall, she squeezed her eyes closed and tried to ignore the whispers of the others huddling beside her. How could it be that instead of a quiet town among the rolling hills, fruit trees, and cornfields of Iowa, she seemed to have landed in America’s treacherous frontier?
She chewed on the edge of her lip. The whole reason she’d left her parents’ home and moved here was to prove to herself that she could handle a challenge…that she wasn’t the spoiled rich girl some of her acquaintances had accused her of being…that she wasn’t the terrified individual who was right now sitting in a volatile situation about to faint from fear.
Someone shouted.
Her fingernails bit into her palms as she squeezed her hands shut. She had to know what was happening. He had saved her life. She wouldn’t let him die in some futile attempt to hold on to his honor.
Keeping her head below the top of the wooden counter, she gathered up the thick folds of her dress material in one hand and scooted across the floor. One of the older women reached out and tugged on the waist of her skirt.
“What in the world do you think you are doing, miss?”
Tara glanced back at the woman. “I’ve got to know what’s happening. He’s—”
“This is not a time for curiosity.” A scowl crossed the older woman’s face. “All you can do right now is pray that man of yours doesn’t do something foolish and get himself killed.”
Her man? Tara frowned. That certainly was far from the truth, but it didn’t matter at the moment. She knew exactly how high his chances were for getting killed, and she didn’t need to be reminded of the danger into which he’d put himself.
Ignoring the woman’s unmistakable gestures to stay put, Tara continued to ease her way across the floor until she could peek around the edge of the counter. His Stetson lay discarded on the floor. Her foot crunched on a piece of glass. With her skirts gathered in one hand and her other hand pressed against the wall to keep her balance, she quickly picked up the hat and placed it on her own bonnet before continuing carefully toward the broken window.
A splinter of glass pierced through the delicate material of her glove, leaving a crimson stain on the white surface. Ignoring the sting, she pulled out the offending fragment, determined to tread more carefully across the floor. She’d deal with the blemished article of clothing later.
Once she reached the corner, she pressed her back against the brick wall and strained her neck to make out what was going on. From her new vantage point, she could see out onto the street and to the other side of the boardwalk that had been abandoned by dozens of early afternoon shoppers.
A man dressed in black pointed his gun to the sky and took another shot. She scanned her limited view through the framed window for a sign of the lawman. There was movement to her left. Finally, she caught sight of him. He was crouching behind a display of vegetables out in front of the mercantile, waiting his next move. The gunman let out a string of profanities. Tara covered her ears, then froze as the lawman stealthily moved across the boardwalk toward the street. A plank of wood groaned beneath his weight. The gunman whirled around and aimed his weapon.
Tara screamed, then everything went black.
❧
Aaron flinched at the deafening scream that pierced the humid afternoon air. The barrel of the gun that had been aimed at him a moment ago jerked to the left as the man turned to find the source of the scream. Being convinced the gunman was as crazy as a loon and wouldn’t hear his approach had been Aaron’s first mistake. But the gunman’s last move had just sealed his fate. All Aaron had needed was a two-second distraction to be able to restrain the man from injuring any innocent bystander. The scream had given him just that.
In four quick strides, Aaron reached the man. He secured the gun first, throwing it out of arm’s reach, then tackled the felon to the ground before the man had the opportunity to react to what had hit him. The gunman twisted around and threw a punch, skimming his knuckles across Aaron’s jaw. But Aaron had a good six inches on the man as well as extra muscle, and in a matter of seconds he had the man subdued.
With his knee against the man’s back, Aaron pushed away the blue-eyed vision that appeared in front of him, wondering if it had been her ruse that had saved his life. Another second later, if the gunman had any sense of accuracy, the bullet would have hit its mark and gone straight through his heart.
“Why didn’t you just shoot him?”
Aaron turned and looked up at the rider behind him. The sheriff dismounted from his stallion and folded his arms across his chest.
Aaron rubbed his jaw, thankful the man hadn’t broken it. “I’m not the killing kind. Try to avoid it at all costs.”
“Even at the cost of your own life?” The lawman stepped forward and rolled the gunman over onto his back. “Either way, it looks as if I’m in your debt once again, Mr. Jefferson.”
“I just happened to be at the right place at the right time.”
“If I’m not mistaken, I’ve got a wanted poster for this rogue.” The man tried to sit up, but the sheriff pushed him back down with the heel of his boot. “I appreciate your quick thinking. Any chance you might be looking for a job as deputy? My new one just quit on me.”
Aaron shook his head. “Thanks kindly for the offer, but I believe I’ve got enough on my plate at the moment.”
“Working for the government, I suppose you would.”
Aaron hauled the gunman to his feet. “But I would be happy to escort this man to the jail for you.”
The front of Aaron’s plaid shirt and denim jeans were covered with dust, and he’d lost his Stetson somewhere in the process. Glancing at the wooden sign hanging above the jail across the street, he had to wonder what kind of sheriff ran such an unruly town.
If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought he’d missed his mark and showed up in the lawless town of Abilene. Not that gunfights were uncommon. In decades past, learned men might have been excused for taking part in duels, but he drew the line at ruffians s
hooting innocent citizens in the streets.
He turned back to the post office and caught a flash of gray material through the broken window. He wondered if it was her. He still smelled the soft fragrance of her perfume, remembered every detail of her face, and could, even now, feel the softness of her skin when he’d briefly touched her jawline. And he didn’t even know her name.
Part of him longed to go after her. To properly introduce himself and discover more about her. He had a dozen questions he wanted to ask… But now was not the time to go chasing after some beautiful woman who’d somehow managed to capture a corner of his heart. She’d be fine, and he’d be gone from this lawless town soon. There was no reason to concern himself over her anymore.
He picked up the prisoner’s gun, then shoved it under his belt. With the prisoner firmly in his grasp, he made his way toward the jail. Once inside, he waited for the sheriff to secure the offender in one of the cells while he sat down and caught his breath.
The sheriff returned with two cups of hot coffee in his hands and passed Aaron one. “Thought you might need some. Your face is going to be sore. That felon gave you quite a punch.”
Aaron rubbed his jaw and nodded. “I need to go and clean up, but before I go there is one thing you can help me with, Sheriff.”
“Of course.” The sheriff ripped the wanted poster off the wall and dropped it onto his desk. “The citizens of this town owe you our deepest gratitude, not to mention a hundred dollars in reward money for the capture of this Sean Roberts. What is it that I can do for you?”
Aaron leaned forward and decided to get right to the point. “Verified reports have been recovered that point to the fact that the gold stolen from the Union army is located in this area. I was sent to find it.”
“Whoa, slow down.” The sheriff shook his head as he slid into his chair. “You’re not the first person to come charging into town with some grandiose idea that they are going to find the government’s gold in these here parts and walk away with some hefty reward money.”
“This isn’t about the reward money. The government wants back what was stolen from them.”
The sheriff tapped his pencil against the desk. “You probably won’t believe this, but you’re the second person today to walk in and tell me that they have information on where to find the gold.”
Aaron sat up straight in his chair. “Who?”
“Another dreamer who thinks they can find fame and fortune by digging up some rumored pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.” The sheriff’s belly jiggled as he laughed. “I sent ’em to the land agent’s office on another wild goose chase.”
“What’s his name?”
The sheriff shook his head. “Oh no. I shouldn’t have even given you that much information. I thought it was bad enough to have one busybody poking around my town. Can’t you see? This rumor has been circulating for years, and there’s never been a sliver of proof that the gold even exists.”
Aaron slapped his hands against the desk. “But I told you, I have documented sources who claim—”
“Who’s making the claims, and what does that really mean? That someone’s grandmother’s cousin’s uncle thought he saw a chest of gold being transported across his farm back during the war? Things like this don’t just vanish. If there really was a trunk of the government’s gold lying around, you can be sure that it’s been spent by now.” The man took off his glasses and held them up. “Now that I think of it, there’s a man in Des Moines who recently built himself quite a house. It’s rumored to have ten bedrooms, seven fireplaces, and an entire wing for the servants. Of course, I ain’t never seen it, so I can’t say for sure. Maybe you should rush over there and see if he knows anything about the gold.”
Ten minutes later, Aaron unlocked the door to his hotel room and slipped inside the cramped space. He didn’t particularly like the sheriff, but he was glad for the tidbit of information he’d managed to procure from him. He might not have gotten a name, but one thing was certain. After cleaning up, he was going to pay a visit to the land agent, and find out just exactly who was after his gold.
Five
Tara’s head throbbed as she hurried down the boardwalk, leaving behind the embarrassing scene where she’d managed not only to slice her finger open, ruining one of her brand-new gloves, but also to faint dead away like some swooning female. When she’d come to, she’d managed to catch a glimpse of the sheriff and her lawman escorting the felon toward the jail.
Her lawman?
Her stomach tensed. The very thought was ridiculous. While she was relieved that the man had not been shot and killed, he wasn’t hers—nor did she want him. Not that she could have him or had any intentions of going after him, because, undoubtedly, he felt the same way. He hadn’t even come looking for her to make sure she was all right. No, the man had much better things to do than rescue her every time she managed to find herself in yet another embarrassing quandary.
Tara picked up her pace, determined to put an end to her rambling thoughts of a man she didn’t even know. She was here for one reason and one reason only. To follow her aunt’s leads and track down the government’s gold. Period. No handsome strangers, no thoughts of love and romance. Too much was at stake.
Passing the barbershop, she noted that, once again, the street was filled with shoppers and businessmen carrying out their affairs as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened on this particular sunny July day. There were, in fact, no signs of the life-and-death situation that had, only moments before, given rise to panic in a number of the townspeople—herself included.
She passed a group of young girls, all wearing similar calico-print dresses and broad straw hats to block the summer sun. They eyed her curiously as they strolled by. Tara frowned and smoothed the front of her dress. Certainly, she looked a bit rumpled after scooting along the floor of the post office, where shards of glass had scattered across the dusty flooring. Ignoring the gaping stares, she pulled her bag closer and held her head high.
On the other hand, perhaps their curiosity had more to do with the fact that her dress, with its duchesse lace at the sleeves and silk edging, offered a peek at the very latest style from back east. Something one certainly wouldn’t find in this part of the country.
A mother and child stepped out of the dry goods store in front of her. The child gave her a broad grin and waved before pointing at Tara and giggling. Suddenly, Tara wasn’t so sure that the stares and gawking had anything to do with her tastes in fashion. The mother quickly whisked the young girl past Tara and toward the mercantile.
Tara frowned and put a hand to her head, wondering what could be so bad that… A hot blush scorched her face as she quickly pulled off the Stetson that still perched on her head.
How she’d managed to make such an obvious social blunder she had no idea. Tara glanced around, but everyone else seemed more concerned with his or her business at hand than the fact that she’d actually donned a man’s hat in town. And a black Stetson at that. She felt her own hat to make certain it was still in place, then let out a deep breath as she continued on at a brisk pace for the land office. After taking care of her business there, she’d have to stop by the hotel and leave the offending article with Mrs. Meddler, assuming that was where the man was staying.
A bell jingled in the doorway of the land agent’s office as Tara stepped inside.
“Can I help you, miss?” A tall, thin man with spectacles and curly tufts of blond hair poking out above his ears appeared from behind a tall stack of ledgers.
She held the black Stetson behind her back and smiled. “I’m interested in a particular piece of land, and wondered if you could possibly help me.”
“Name’s Horst Lehrer. At your service, ma’am.” The man held out a bony hand and shook hers with more force than she expected.
“I’m Tara Young.”
“If you’re looking to buy a piece of property, Miss Young, then you’ve come to the right place.”
Tara shook her head. �
��Actually, I’m looking for a piece of land that once belonged to a Mr. Richart Schlosser. From what I understand, he doesn’t live in the area anymore, but I need to know which farm he owned. Possibly during the time of the War Between the States?”
“Mr. Schlosser. I recognize that name.” The man rested his forefinger against his chin. “Give me just one moment. My wife says I have a memory that rivals that of anyone in the state when it comes to names. Never forget a name, no siree. Never forget a name.”
The man began digging through the piles of ledgers while Tara stood patiently. Hopefully, there was some truth to the man’s claims at never forgetting a name, but it was going to take more than a good memory to sort through the jumble of papers in this office. The odds of actually finding information on Mr. Schlosser seemed, well…she had her doubts such a miracle was even possible.
“Schlosser…S…Richart…” He picked up another ledger. “Let’s see. Schlosser. It’s a German name. Did you know that?”
“Interesting.” Tara forced a smile. “I didn’t know that.”
“I like names.” He glanced up at her. “And you’re right, they are interesting. Take, for instance, my name. My last name is Lehrer, and it’s German, as well. Means my father’s grandfather, or perhaps his grandfather’s father, was a teacher. That’s where surnames originally come from, you know. Occupations, where one stays, or perhaps some unique physical characteristic. And my first name, Horst, means a thick grove. Always found that fascinating.”
“I suppose, but—”
“My wife and I are expecting our first child in three months’ time.” He moved on to another stack of ledgers and flipped through the unorganized pile. “Having a tough time, though, trying to agree on the child’s name. I want to pay close attention to the meaning behind the name, while my wife only cares about how the name sounds. You agree, don’t you? That the meaning behind a name is just as important as the actual name.”
Tara sneezed at the particles of dust that filled the room. “I…I suppose, though I can’t say that I ever thought about it.”
