“Yes, ma’am.” Isleen’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you, ma’am.”
The sheriff nodded and turned back to Patrick and Rory. “Must have been a crime of opportunity. Perhaps they simply were after your money and valuables.”
Patrick didn’t believe that for a moment. And even if those two only meant to steal from a chance traveler, once they set eyes on my stud, they’d have gone for bigger stakes.
“Or for some reason, they were in the area and heard about your fine horse or perhaps saw the stud for themselves.”
“Could be,” Patrick agreed, thinking. “I only rode Thunder to the Thompson ranch, and then from there directly here. But I don’t usually stay so long in one place. I ride to a ranch, give the owner a chance to check on Thunder while I look over his mares. Stay a couple of days before moving on, returning when the mare’s in season. I’ve been in Sweetwater Springs a month, and word could have gone out to whatever local outlaws you have around here.”
The sheriff frowned. “That’s just it. I’ve been told there are no local outlaws, and I’ve done a lot of casual questioning of all types of people—nosing out their concerns, so to speak. So I don’t know if someone who lives here got a bug up his—” Glancing at the children, she cleared her throat. “Or if those two men came from elsewhere on purpose to steal your stud.”
Henrietta gestured to the bedroom. “Sheriff Granger, let me take you to wash up. Isleen, bring some hot water, and, Alana, if you’ll get a bowl for our guest and dish her up some soup?”
The two hurried to obey.
Charlie bounced up from his seat. “I’ll see to your horse while you eat, Sheriff.”
She gave the boy a nod. “Much obliged, Charlie.”
A few minutes later, they all resumed eating. Out of respect, no one pestered the law woman to talk until she’d obviously sated the worst of her hunger.
Then, from both politeness and curiosity, they asked the sheriff several questions about her life before she came to Sweetwater Springs, and she told a few humorous stories that made them laugh.
When everyone had finished, the sheriff smiled at Henrietta. “Sure was good to eat a home-cooked meal. The food at the saloon is adequate, but it’s not the same.”
Henrietta’s thin cheeks pinked. “I didn’t expect company, or the meal would be more than soup and bread. Please return sometime, perhaps dinner after church, when I can feed you a fine meal.”
Sheriff Granger nodded. “I’d like that.” She folded her napkin and set it next to the plate, let out a tired breath, and glanced from Rory to Henrietta. “If you’d be willing to put me up for the night, I’d be obliged.”
“Of course!” Henrietta stood. She looked to the area in front of fireplace where Patrick had slept on his bedroll the night before. From her thoughtful expression, she was wrestling with the dilemma of propriety.
As a female, Sheriff Granger shouldn’t be bedding down on the floor next to Patrick, but instead should sleep in the loft near Alana and the children. Then again, she was the sheriff in a role in which her behavior was masculine, and she obviously expected to be treated like a man. “You can sleep in one of the girl’s beds. The twins can bunk together.”
Patrick raised a hand to stop Henrietta. “No need. I plan to bed down in the barn anyway.” He saw Isleen’s sudden look of fear and caught himself from adding—so I can nab the outlaws if they return. Not that he expected they would. His gut told him Thunder was safe. But just in case, he’d sleep light tonight. “Thunder’s had quite a day, and so have I. We should be together, don’t you think, Isleen?”
Her eyes brightened. “Can I bunk in the barn, too, Mr. Gallagher? I love lying on the hay in the loft.”
“Certainly not.” Henrietta shook her head. “But—” She laid a finger on her daughter’s pout. “—to give you something to look forward to, you children can have one night this summer in the hayloft.”
“Take my rifle with you, Patrick,” Rory offered with a wave toward the Winchester. “The sheriff probably has enough guns to hold off an army. So we won’t need it.”
“Just about.” The sheriff smirked. “And, if you’re keeping watch in the barn. I’d rather stay warm in the house. I’ll have a long, cold ride tomorrow, backtracking those hoofprints to see where they came from.”
“Let’s hope the weather stays dry.” Patrick squirmed, trying to find a position on the hard bench that didn’t hurt, but to no avail, for the effects of the willow bark tea had worn off.
Silence followed the comment. They all knew how often snow came at this time of year.
Sheriff Granger covered a yawn. “I need to hit the hay.”
“No, that’s me hitting the hay,” Patrick quipped with a grin.
She winked at him.
Tonight, they didn’t linger at the table after Henrietta and Alana had cleared away the dishes.
Patrick’s body had stiffened, and, as he slowly rose from the table, he suppressed a grunt of pain.
Alana must have spotted his discomfort, for without him asking, she pressed him to drink more of the willow bark tea she’d made.
Patrick was sore enough to comply. He sipped the bitter drink and grimaced. Even though she’d sweetened the brew with some honey, the taste was still nasty.
Later, bedded snuggly with extra quilts in the hay in the barn, with the tea having taken away enough of the pain, he fell asleep.
During the night, the sharp sound of sleet on the barn roof woke him. With dismay, Patrick listened to the drumming sound and knew there’d be no way the sheriff could backtrack and find the outlaw’s lair.
CHAPTER NINE
The next morning after breakfast, Patrick sat on a straw bale near the front of Thunder’s stall and waited for Sheriff Granger to finish saddling her chestnut gelding so he could have a private talk with her. The women were in the house washing the breakfast dishes, and the children had already left for school.
Sian sat beside him, the dog’s head on Patrick’s leg.
A single lantern, hanging from a low beam in the center, cast a fuzzy yellow light. Across the barn, Rory tended to the mules.
Patrick rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. The storm had passed, leaving a clear dawn. The barn, redolent with the smell of horse manure and hay, was cold, but warmer than waiting outside in the wind.
Thunder leaned his head over the door and chuffed Patrick’s left shoulder, the closest part of him the horse could touch.
Without opening his eyes, he reached up and curled his hand around the Thoroughbred’s nose. Raising his left arm hurt less than raising his right. Earlier, Thunder had given Patrick a puzzled glance when he didn’t performed the usual morning feeding. But the horse settled in to eat as soon as Charlie had poured a measure of grain into the feed bin and added a flake of hay.
Alana had made Patrick promise to do nothing but greet Thunder and allow Charlie to do all the work. He didn’t like idleness, but his body had stiffened up worse than yesterday, and every movement hurt. So he’d only put up a token protest about her bossing him around before he gave in.
“Ready, Big Red?” Sheriff Granger patted the neck of her gelding.
Before she could lead the horse from the stall, Patrick rose, wobbling like a creaky old man, and caught the woman’s eye. He beckoned her to follow him to the shadowed corner of the barn. He hoped Rory wouldn’t overhear their quiet conversation. The bulldog trailed him, taking a seat at Patrick’s feet.
Wearing a bulky black coat, with a scarf wrapped high around her neck, and her braids tucked under her hat, the woman could, indeed, pass for a man. She turned to face him and waited.
“I, um…I had something else stolen,” Patrick said in a quiet voice. “A necklace with a gold pendent in the shape of a shamrock.”
She cocked a feathered eyebrow. “And you’re telling me this privately because…?”
“I bought the jewelry at the mercantile in town to give to Alana.”
“I wasn’t a
ware you’d met her before.”
Heat burned across his neck.
The eyebrow didn’t lower. She squared her shoulders. “You seemed rather attentive to Miss Bridget O’Donnell when I saw you at church. Yet I heard yesterday the young lady is now engaged to James Whitson. Did you decide to court the other twin, sight unseen?”
Patrick mentally cursed the speed of the Sweetwater Springs grapevine. “I met Miss Alana when she first arrived,” he said smoothly. “She stayed for a night with her cousin on the Thompson ranch before leaving to come here.”
“One twin is as good as the other, ah?” The sheriff’s gray eyes gleamed, although she remained straight-faced.
“The situation wasn’t like that,” he protested. Well, it was. But I’m not about to admit the truth, even if she threatens to string me up. “I’ve become fond of Miss Alana. More than fond. They’re fine folks, the O’Donnells.
“Sounds like you had marriage in mind.”
“I thought a ring might be a bit much to offer on such short acquaintance,” he said stiffly, and then realized he’d answered a question that was none of her business. Guess the sheriff’s a woman at heart, after all—nosing into matchmaking matters.
Her mouth quivered as if she tried to hold in a chuckle. “I ’spect you’re right about that. Although, if it’s a convenient wife you’re wanting, I could point you in the direction of women who’d grab a ring from you, and you’d barely have to say hello.”
Narrowing his gaze, Patrick started to cross his arms over his chest, winced at the pull from his sore ribs, and lowered his hands. “When you’re done amusing yourself at my expense….”
“In my job, I have to take humor where I can get it.”
“Glad to provide the opportunity,” he said with a sarcastic bite.
Her expression sobered. “Actually, you might have just given me a good clue. Unlike money, a necklace is distinct. If I come across it again, your shamrock might lead me to the men who assaulted you. I’ll ask the Cobbs to keep an eye out, too. They’d recognize the piece if someone tried to sell it to them.”
“That’s true.” He felt a little better. “I have a favor to ask.” He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a piece of paper. Last night before falling asleep, he’d itemized what he needed from the mercantile. Luckily, the outlaws hadn’t valued his stud services notebook, maybe because they’d had a hard time reading his cryptic notes—if they could read at all. “I need to ask a favor.” He handed her the list. “Unless I miss my guess, Miss Alana will take a firm stand against my riding any distance until I’m in much better shape. So I can’t get to town the way I’d like.”
“Maybe you’re not in a hurry to leave.”
“Maybe not.” Patrick wanted to maneuver the conversation away from his feelings for Alana and back to his topic. “As you know, the robbers took all my cash. I’m forced to buy on credit. If need be, I’m sure Wyatt Thompson would vouch for me. I’m certainly good for the money. Once I can get to town, I’ll go straight to the bank.”
The sheriff waited, her expression unchanging.
Bet she has a great poker face. “Under those circumstances, do you think the Cobbs would extend me credit? I need a gun—several guns, in fact—and a few supplies, so my staying here will be a help, not a hindrance, to the O’Donnells.”
“I’ll make it happen.” The sheriff glanced down to read the paper, and a smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.
Patrick knew what she saw—a list far beyond basic necessities. He’d included fabric dress lengths for the women and girls, flannel shirts for Rory and Charlie, a petticoat for Alana, trimmings and lace, four new shawls, a pocketknife for the boy, exotic fruits such as oranges and lemons, a jar of honey, maple syrup, sausages, popcorn, more flour, sugar, and other staples. Perhaps the sheriff would think he’d gone overboard, and Patrick knew he probably had. But not too much so—not as much as he wanted—for he sensed the O’Donnells would be too proud to accept any gifts of larger value, such as a cow.
Sheriff Granger looked up with a humorous glint in her eyes. “Quite a list you have here. A few supplies, eh?”
“I owe them everything!” Patrick fired back, keeping the volume in check so Rory didn’t notice. My life, for who knows how long I’d have laid there unconscious…if I’d even been able to find shelter by nightfall moving on my own tottery legs. And my horse—anything could have happened to Thunder roaming around loose.” The thought made his stomach clench. His fingers curled against his palms. “I want, need, to show my gratitude.”
“I think you’ll succeed.”
Her quiet tone went a ways to settling him. Patrick took a deep breath to be able to speak calmly. “If you don’t mind picking out a Colt and bullets, a gunbelt and holster. And a Winchester with a saddle sheath.”
His shoulders tightened, waiting for her to quip about the guns—maybe saying, “That’s a lot of firepower,” or “Too late to do any good.”
“I’ll choose well.”
Patrick relaxed. “Also any supplies Mrs. Cobb might add to the list. She would know more than I what the family usually orders. Money is no object—provided, of course, I have that credit.”
“Knowing Mrs. Cobb, you could find yourself in possession of considerably more.”
Henrietta entered the barn, carrying what looked like a bundle of rags. She glanced around, spotted them, and headed over.
The dog greeted his mistress by sniffing her legs.
“Here’s a jar of piping hot coffee for you, Sheriff.” She extended the bundle. “Won’t stay that way long, I know. But I thought you’d like to have something to drink along the way. And I rolled up the leftover buckwheat pancakes and filled them with applesauce. In case you have stops to make before you reached town.”
The sheriff tucked the paper into her pocket. “Mighty fine of you, Mrs. O’Donnell.” She reached out to take the bundle.
Henrietta handed over the provisions. Her curious gaze rested on the sheriff’s pocket.
Now is a good time to somewhat prepare my hostess for the arrival of the supplies and such. “I’ve asked Sheriff Granger to pick up a few things from the mercantile.”
A shamed look crossed Henrietta’s face, as if she were too embarrassed to admit that the family didn’t have enough food on hand for the kind of hospitality she’d like to extend. “You’ve already brought plenty,” she said hurriedly. “We’ll make do.”
Patrick shook his head. “Don’t make me feel beholden,” he chided, knowing he was manipulating her into agreeing. “I’m already in your debt as it is.”
By the expression crossing her face, his hostess obviously struggled with not wanting him to feel obligated, but also wanting to preserve her pride. Henrietta’s concern for his feelings won. She nodded. “Very well.”
Patrick smiled, pleased he’d surmounted the first hurdle. “Since I’m not riding into town, I just need to figure out how to get them from the mercantile to here.”
“Mr. Muth will pick up everything on his next milk run. He does such for us from time to time. I’d often had him over for Sunday dinner in return.” Henrietta’s brow wrinkled. “Now that he’s married, though, we don’t see him as much. Daisy Muth is quite a good cook.”
“What would be a good gift to thank him for lugging everything I ordered to your house?”
“There’s no need to repay him. We all help our neighbors whenever we can.”
“I’m a stranger, not one of your neighbors,” he pointed out. “I’d rather not feel beholden.” Patrick wondered if she’d notice he’d twice played the obligation card.
“Well…Daisy Muth is partial to peaches. A can of them would be a fine treat.”
I’m sure the O’Donnells would also like peaches. He glanced at the sheriff. “Add canned peaches to the list.” He turned his head so Henrietta wouldn’t see his face and winked. From her slight nod, he could tell the sheriff had caught his message.
Sheriff Granger tilted her head
toward the horse. “I’d best be going. Unless they’ve already hitched a ride with Mr. Muth and his dairy wagon, I’ll catch up with your children and escort them.”
Smiling, Henrietta placed a hand on her chest. “I’d appreciate that, Sheriff Granger.”
“Thanks for your hospitality.” The sheriff moved toward the stall, opened the door, and led out her horse.
Seeing her about to leave, Rory propped his rake against the wall and walked over to join them. Once outside the barn, they all said quiet good-byes.
The sheriff mounted, pulled her scarf higher about her face, and flicked a hand in farewell. She nudged the chestnut gelding down the track.
Sian trotted after the horse, only stopping when Sheriff Granger headed right onto the main road. Then, his duty done, the dog turned and loped back to join them.
Henrietta shivered. She pulled the ends of her scarf tighter and hurried back into the house.
Rory returned to his work in the barn, the dog at his heels.
But Patrick stayed and watched the sheriff ride in the direction of town. She had an easy way in the saddle. Mounted astride, hat tipped low to shield her face from the wind, she appeared like any man. But something about her posture called to mind loneliness.
Patrick wondered if he looked the same when he headed out from places where he’d briefly stayed. His isolation had never bothered him before. He had a full and busy life, and his decision to go wife-hunting had only sprung to mind when he’d met the O’Donnell twins. I’m not courting because I’m lonely. But he didn’t quite believe his protestation.
The figure on the horse dwindled, until she faded into the distance and became lost over the horizon.
An Irish Blessing: The Irish Sisters Trilogy (Montana Sky Series) Page 11
