“I just overheard something I think you should know about.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Greenly kiss another baby, did he?”
Obnoxious man. “No. This is important. I heard a man selling his vote for a dollar.” He didn’t flinch or look surprised or even interested.
“And?”
“And? Don’t you understand someone is going around buying votes for your opponent? You need to do something.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Arrest him. Put the guilty ones in jail. I heard Mr. Cosgrove say he kept a list of them.”
He stood and moved to the front of his desk perching on the edge. “I admire your indignation and your sense of civic responsibility, but there’s no law against selling your vote.”
“Then pass one. Today.”
“I’m the sheriff, Miss Davis. Not the town council. They decide what’s lawful in Riverton.”
“Then tell them what’s going on. Tell them to make it a crime. Find out who’s behind it and bring them to justice like you did the Rankin gang. That’s what you’re good at.” The pleasant look on his face darkened suddenly. The thought skittered through her mind that this must be what he looked like to the criminals he captured. She hoped she was never on the wrong side of him.
“Oh, I see now. You read the article that no-count writer did last year.” Bracing his hands on his gun belt, he stared her down. “Let me set you straight. There was no Rankin gang. There was no single-handed capture and no shoot-out in the middle of town.”
“But the Nolan boys that were trying to tear up the town. That part was true, right?”
“No. They were drunk and starting to bust up the saloon. I went in and arrested them. End of story. As for the other,” he rubbed his forehead. “The gang was me and my brothers. Three cattle rustlers killed our father in cold blood. My brothers and I set out to track them down. Hank found them holed up near Rankin, Texas. By the time Clay and I showed up, only the oldest boy was still alive. Their wild living had caught up with them. I brought him in to the marshal at Holcomb. Hank and Clay went back to their families. I stayed on in Holcomb as a deputy. When Riverton was looking for a new sheriff, the marshal suggested I look into it. I did. End of story.”
“So you’re not a hero? You didn’t kill a dozen men and capture a ruthless gang single-handedly?”
“Is that what you think makes a hero? Do you think killing a man is exciting? Watching a man twitch and draw his last breath gives a man any kind of satisfaction? I saw my father die. There was nothing heroic about it.”
Hot, scalding humiliation burned through every nerve in Hannah’s body. She’d never thought about the reality of killing, of bringing men to justice. How could she have been so ignorant? Thoughtless. She looked at Mitch, who had taken a seat behind his desk again. She wanted to cry, to beg his forgiveness, but she knew he wouldn’t welcome the gesture. He was a proud man and more heroic than she’d ever imagined, far exceeding her childish ideas of what it meant to be a hero.
She searched for words, but none surfaced so she quietly turned and left. There was nothing she could say that would repair the damage she’d done.
Chapter 6
Mitch’s revelation about his father and his brothers nagged at Hannah for the next couple of days and interfered with her rest at night. If the news article about him had been embellished, then what else had been twisted to make a better story? And if the real truth about Mitch wasn’t accurate, then what about Willard Greenly? Was he what he seemed?
There was only one way to find out. Her spirits lifted at the thought of doing research and the expectation of what she might discover. She’d been relieved when she’d learned the sheriff had been called out of town for a few days to testify in a case. It gave her time to sort through things in her mind.
She’d written her first report of the historical society, and the grateful ladies had arranged for all the women in Riverton to meet at the church to share their stories about the beginning of Riverton. Hannah had become a special friend to the women, most of whom were wives of prominent businessmen in town. She hadn’t had a chance to bring up the question of vote buying, but she’d learned Cosgrove had become wealthy overnight. Some of the talk around town was that he’d called in loans and undervalued mortgages because he knew about the railroad coming through town long before it was announced. One of those properties had belonged to Chester Goodman. Looking into the banker’s practices was next up on her list of things to investigate right after the election. What fueled her excitement today, however, was her new project. She’d decided to write a series of articles in support of the sheriff. Anonymously. If Mitch wouldn’t advocate for himself, she’d do it for him.
Dressing quickly in a simple skirt and jacket, she hurried from her aunt’s house and walked quickly toward the paper. Halfway there she saw Mitch. Her heart beat triple time. He was back and strolling along in that laconic way of his, making his presence known and letting people know he was on the job.
She fought off the urge to stop and watch him and quickened her steps more. Watching him could become a habit she might not want to break. After a stop at the telegraph office, she continued on. Donald, the young apprentice who worked for her aunt, looked up and smiled as she entered. “Morning, Donald.”
“Miss Hannah, I want to apologize again for putting up those posters for the sheriff. I thought I was helping.”
Hannah waved him off. “That’s all right. Where’s my aunt?” He gestured toward the office. The older woman was hunched over her desk and glanced up when she entered. “Hannah, come look at this. It was shoved under the door this morning.”
Hannah assumed her most bland expression. She’d slipped the article under the door of the newspaper office early this morning so Polly would find it first thing when she opened up. Crafting the articles about Mitch to disguise her writing style from her aunt had been difficult. Pretending to be ignorant of the posts would be even more so. Hannah perused the post. “Who wrote it?”
“At first I thought you might have, but the style is all wrong.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“It’s good, and the people of this town need to be reminded of what Mitch has done. I’m going to print it. Someone has to campaign for the sheriff. Might as well be the Chronicle. After all, that’s what we do.”
Hannah managed a sweet smile, but her insides were all jittery with excitement. Now she could proceed with the other articles. The Chronicle was a twice-weekly paper, and there were two weeks until the election. That would allow her to write four pieces about Mitch. Hopefully she could make the townsfolk see what she saw—a man of honor and integrity who truly cared for the town and its security. A man who would dedicate his life and even sacrifice it for them if necessary. She prayed the people would see the light and cast their vote for him.
Now she had to start her investigation.
“Aunt Polly, do you keep back issues of the paper?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I need to do some research. How far back and what about the papers from before you took over?”
“The past issues of the Chronicle are in the storeroom. The old copies of the Post should be there, too, though I have no idea where to start looking. Those go back seven or eight years. What are you looking for?”
“The truth.” Pulling off her jacket, she laid it and her reticule on the side table before pushing through to the storeroom. The air was thick with dust and the smell of old paper and dry rot. She hoped her aunt had taken precautions to preserve the back issues. Her father always stored his in metal boxes and paid a special storage service to keep them in a cool location.
It took nearly an hour, but she finally located the box with the papers from five years ago. Spreading the issues out on the table she started to scan the contents. The truth was here someplace, and once she found it she knew exactly what she was going to do to make sure Mitch was elected sheriff again.
Hanna
h awoke on Wednesday morning filled with bubbling excitement. Her first article on Mitch had come out today, and her stomach fluttered at the thought of how he would react. Not well if she had to guess. She managed to keep her secret even though she felt badly about deceiving her aunt, but it was the only way to ensure it got published. She’d encouraged her aunt to put it on the front page. Time was running out, and Greenly gained ground every day. There was no guarantee her plan would work, but she had to try. Mitch deserved to remain as sheriff.
A quick glance at her lavalier watch showed she would have to hurry to meet with the women today. They were organizing an ice cream social on the church grounds for this weekend, and Hannah had volunteered to help. Having all the townsfolk in one location for an afternoon would give her an opportunity to ask questions under the guise of being new and curious.
But first she had to pick up a copy of the newspaper.
Riverton Chronicle
September 14, 1881
Election for Sheriff
Riverton’s first election for sheriff is under way. Speeches are being given, promises made, and qualifications presented. Change is the theme of the day. A more qualified man is required for the office. We need a sheriff who sees into the future, who will polish our image and attract more settlers so Riverton will become a beacon of decency.
What is the most important requirement for sheriff? Experience.
Candidate Greenly made his qualifications known. But what about the other candidate? He’s remained silent during this election, choosing to devote his time and energy toward doing his job—protecting Riverton and its citizens. Sheriff Kincaid has served our town faithfully for five-and-a-half years. He held the position of deputy in another county before coming to Riverton. In that time he has maintained the peace, protected the citizens and their property, and fostered goodwill among the people. He has conducted himself with honesty and dedication, and a deep sense of appreciation for the laws he’s sworn to uphold and the people he’s chosen to protect. I believe that experience should be rewarded.
The Advocate
Chapter 7
Leroy shuffled into the office, pulling Mitch’s attention from the telegram he’d been reading. The bank over in Stanleyville had been robbed, and the sheriff there thought they might be heading in the direction of Riverton. Mitch had mentally filed away their description just in case.
“Morning, Mitch. I brought you a newspaper. Thought you might be in the mood to do some reading.”
Mitch leaned back in his chair, the wood and old spring mechanism protesting at the pressure. “I have plenty to read right here.”
“Well, the kind of reading I’m talking about is more personal in nature.”
He laid the paper down, bottom of the front page facing up so Mitch couldn’t miss what he was referring to. Mitch leaned forward, scooping up the paper and quickly reading the text. The headline read simply ELECTION FOR SHERIFF. His gaze zoomed to the byline. The Advocate. “Who wrote this?”
Leroy shrugged and tugged at his beard. “Makes you sound real honorable-like, don’t it?”
“It’s putting my private life out there for everyone to see.” Mitch clenched his jaw.
Leroy tapped the paper. “Any of that untrue?”
“No, but I didn’t approve this, and the paper has no right to print things about me unless I do.”
“That so? Well, then, I guess you’d better go see Miss Polly.”
That’s exactly what he intended to do. Fisting the paper, he grabbed his hat and stormed out. If he wanted the whole world to know his business, he would have stood on the street corners like Greenly and blurted it out for them to hear.
“Sheriff Kincaid.”
He slowed and touched the brim of his hat as Mrs. Cosgrove approached. He hoped she wasn’t in a talkative mood. It was all he could do to appear calm and pleasant. “How are you today?”
“Fine. I just wanted to let you know that I, for one, appreciate all you’ve done for the town over the years. You’ve conducted yourself with dignity and kindness. And a firm hand.”
Stunned, he nodded before he could find his voice. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Mrs. Cosgrove’s smile broadened. “I was hoping I could prevail upon you to help us set up for the ice cream social after church this Sunday. We can always use an extra pair of strong shoulders.”
“I’d be happy to help.”
“Wonderful. Good day.”
With some of his indignation siphoned away by the woman’s surprise attack, Mitch resumed his steps toward the Chronicle. Mrs. Cosgrove rarely gave him the time of day unless it was to complain about how he wasn’t doing his job. What had changed her mind? He glanced down at the paper in his fist. Had she read the article by The Advocate?
A rush of heat flooded his body and he tilted his hat a little lower, feeling as if he was exposed to the entire town. This had to end. Today.
Inside the paper office, he looked for Hannah first. Had she seen it? Was she involved somehow?
Donald came toward him, wiping his hands on a rag. “Hello, Sheriff. Can I help you?”
He glared at the boy, ignoring the sting of remorse that pricked him. The boy had nothing to do with this. “Where’s Polly?”
“In her office.”
Mitch lunged forward, entering the small room unannounced and waving the paper when she looked up. “What is this? Since when does the Chronicle start revealing private information?”
She glanced up, pen in hand. “You read the article, I see.”
“Everyone has. I want a retraction.”
“We only do that when an error is made or the information has been revealed as false. What part did you object to?”
“All of it.”
“Are you saying it’s all a lie?” She took the paper and looked at the article. “It says you have been sheriff here for five-and-a-half years. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“And it says you were a deputy up in Holcomb, Texas, for a short while before taking the job here in Riverton.”
“True. It’s the other things.”
“The part where you’re called honest and dedicated, or is it the line about maintaining the peace in our town that angers you?”
“I don’t want an article published about me without my say-so. Who’s behind this?”
“I don’t know. The article was shoved under my door one morning when I came in.”
“And you printed it without knowing who wrote it?”
“Sheriff, I know you think it’s somehow demeaning for you to go about town asking folks to vote for you. But you can’t win an election by burying your head in the sand. This is a reminder of what you’ve contributed to the town during your time here. I can’t see any harm in publishing something that casts you in a very favorable light.”
“So you’re not going to remove it?”
“No. Willard Greenly takes out space in the Chronicle every day singing his own praises. You’re getting the same exposure for free. Consider it a blessing.”
Mitch never felt so out of control. “I don’t like this one bit.”
“That’s unfortunate, but my job is to inform the public and keep them apprised of what’s going on in town. There’s an election and, like it or not, you’re involved. Unless you would like to acknowledge that Greenly will win and withdraw from the race?”
It was clear he was getting nowhere. A new thought surfaced. “Is Hannah behind this?”
“My niece? Hardly. I had the impression you two weren’t even speaking these days.”
“Where is she?”
“I believe she had a meeting with the ladies historical society. They’re at the church if you’d like to speak with her.”
Defeated, Mitch settled his hat on his head, spun on his boot heel, and stomped out. He wasn’t used to losing battles.
Chapter 8
Riverton Chronicle
September 17, 1881
The Value of Words
&nb
sp; Being informed about a candidate’s qualifications for office is crucial if we’re to cast our vote wisely. Each man will try to convince you he is the right man for the job. We must weigh carefully the words that are put forth. Promises are easy to make and easily forgotten once the voting is over. A man can claim to be many things, but how do we know the claims are true? Look to the actions of the man and his past behavior.
Sheriff Kincaid goes quietly about his business, with humility and kindness, keeping a watchful eye on the town and its citizens. His experience was earned here in Riverton under your observation. Contrast that with the claims of his opponent, who cites several years with the Pinkerton Detectives and intense study of the law. How do we know? We must trust that the stranger is honest and that he sincerely wants to be our sheriff. This reporter intends to find the truth about the credentials of both men.
The Advocate
Hannah bit the bottom of her lip. The second article had been published yesterday. Had Mitch read it? She’d seen him around town but managed to avoid getting too close. Her main motivation for keeping her distance was her irrational fear that if he looked into her eyes he’d know right away she was the one writing the articles about him. The other reason, one she kept trying to deny, was that he might also see how much she cared for him. She wasn’t sure when she’d realized she was in love with Mitch. Maybe she had been since she’d first read the article about him. All she knew for sure was that winning his heart was her dream. Accomplishing that, however, was impossible. Secretly she’d hoped the articles would be like anonymous love letters and would show him how she felt, but after the first one had been printed, his reaction and his anger had told her that he would always see her as that girl from back east who refused to mind her own business.
She’d considered ending the articles, but ensuring he won the election was more important than winning his heart. It was her own foolishness that had trapped her affections for him. He was not at fault in that regard.
Shaking off her melancholy, she slipped her arms into her white lace blouse and buttoned it up. It was the coolest thing she owned, and today’s social on the church lawn would be warm. Next she gathered her lavender skirt and lifted it over her head, letting it drop over her petticoats then fastening the clasp in the back. She’d volunteered to help and she wanted to be comfortable. Today was no place for one of her fussy gowns. After tying a matching lavender ribbon around her hair she stared into the mirror, frowning at the direction of her thoughts. What would Mitch think of her attire?
The Secret Admirer Romance Collection Page 10
