The Lonely Lawman and His Belle

by Lilly Inman

  But it was too much.

  Her heart heavy, she turned away abruptly and entered her room, climbing wearily into bed. The cool bedsheets against her skin soothed her busy thoughts and she hoped that she would be able to sleep.

  No luck.

  Isabelle tossed and turned in her bed all night, wondering why. Why was Joe so adverse to accepting her help? Couldn’t he see that his attitude was putting their union in peril? Was there no way to get through to him?

  Annoyed, Isabelle threw the sheets back and turned on her lamp. She opened her bedroom door and crept silently along the hall, avoiding the creaky floorboards. The faint light was still present under the study door. She raised her hand, poised to knock, but decided to press her ear to the wood and listen first. She could hear papers rustling and Joe tutting to himself.

  Still hard at work.

  Isabelle sighed, exasperated, and returned to her bedroom, leaning her back against the inside of the door. She took a deep breath, long in and slow out. Tomorrow would be a new day. She clicked the kerosene lamp off and the room vanished into the darkness.

  *

  Joseph paced angrily around his desk, his mind buzzing.

  Just what gave Isabelle the right to announce things like that? How did she find out? Was it the old man? Must have been.

  He threw himself into his chair and shuffled some documents around. He had work to do — now was not the time for more drama. He picked up a notebook and leafed through the pages. Isabelle’s words merged with witness statements in his head. Lines blurred. He couldn’t concentrate. The incident in the kitchen earlier bounced around his head.

  The look of hurt which had crossed Isabelle’s face as he laughed at her suggestion of helping track the gang of criminals. He told himself off for being so harsh.

  The way her face had fallen when she realised her words had hurt him. Joe wished he could go back in time and change the way he’d reacted. He didn’t want her to feel bad.

  If only they could start over.

  Thoughts of his parents came to the forefront of his mind. Thoughts that he'd tried to keep out.

  He remembered his mother’s long hair, mousey brown but blonde in the sunlight. He wondered if Isabelle’s hair would go blonde in the summer, too.

  He remembered his father’s twinkling brown eyes and thick dark beard. The way he twirled his moustache when lost in thought. Joe still couldn’t bring himself to let his beard grow out — too scared he’d see his father staring back at him in the mirror.

  Would his parents be proud of him now? He winced at the thought.

  Joseph got up and resumed his pacing around the study. He circled the armchair which had become Isabelle’s, running his fingers along the leather back. He missed her presence here. He missed watching her read, absorbed in another world.

  She had been so eager to help. But he was pushing her away.

  Joe turned and sat back down at his desk with a sour sigh. He’d promised to spend more time with Isabelle, but he’d let her down. He wanted to get closer to her. He’d felt that unmistakable feeling in his stomach when he saw her. And now she looked at him like she’d given up. Had he missed his chance?

  His eyes rested on the book he’d gifted to Isabelle. It hadn’t been enough. How could he tell her what he felt? He knew he had to do something.

  Joe’s eyes drifted towards the drawer to his left — the one he hadn’t opened since his mother’s funeral. He took a deep breath and dragged it open slowly, his jaw clenched.

  Inside, a tiny box. So familiar, and yet, so forgotten. His hand hovered over it. This was the right thing to do. He picked it up, delicately sliding off the lid. On a soft cut of white silk, a plain silver ring lay dormant.

  Joe imagined sliding the ring on Isabelle’s finger. He imagined his mother’s tender embrace, his father’s proud pat on the back. He imagined the Old Man’s musical laugh. Isabelle’s blazing brown eyes. The thought squeezed his heart.

  He replaced the lid on the box and pushed it to the back of the drawer. He had a plan.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Isabelle’s tired body ached as she rolled out of bed. She felt like she hadn’t rested in weeks.

  The morning outside was still dark. She splashed some cold water on her face and examined herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were puffy; her eyes rimmed with red. She’d cried all night again.

  She headed to the wardrobe and pulled out a simple dress. She moved in slow motion. Her mind was blank and she blinked sleepily. Pulling her hair back into a simple braid, she looked at herself in the full-length mirror. Isabelle felt empty.

  She didn’t notice the commotion downstairs until she opened her bedroom door. She heard frantic movement; banging, bumping. Someone was in the house.

  Isabelle stiffened, suddenly awake. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. She shot a look quickly down the hall, no light was on under Joe’s bedroom or study. He’d already left for work. Isabelle was alone with the Old Man. Annoyance flashed across her face. Joe should be here with them, but he was gone. She would need to fend for herself.

  Her ears pricked, Isabelle crept along the hallway towards the top of the stairs. From here, she made out a man’s voice, hissing, “Come on! Quickly!”

  Her heartbeat quickened. Burglars. Or worse.

  She slowly edged back to her room, her mind racing. What should she do? She imagined fleeing out the back door to the nearest house for help, but that would take too long. And besides, she risked being seen.

  No use waking the old man, he was too frail to protect them. It was up to Isabelle.

  Taking a deep breath, she decided to go downstairs and confront them. But she’d need a weapon.

  Isabelle snuck downstairs, taking care to avoid the particularly creaky steps. The sounds of agitation were coming from the kitchen. Isabelle headed towards the utility cupboard at the back of the house. Throwing another quick look over her shoulder, she opened the door silently and peered into the gloom inside.

  The iron? She picked it up, the cool metal object massive in her hand. No. Too heavy.

  The disruption in the kitchen burst nearer the door and a man whispered “Shhh!” frustratedly. Isabelle jumped. Panicking, she grabbed the first thing she laid her hand on.

  A flimsy wooden broom. That would have to do.

  She inched towards the kitchen door, her five senses tingling. Sounds of frantic rummaging filtered down the hall as she crept closer.

  Isabelle stood in front of the kitchen door. She was on high alert, but she was not afraid. Her grip tightened on the broom handle.

  In one swift movement, she kicked the door open and burst into the room, her face twisted into a fierce, terrifying scowl.

  A man jumped away from the door, cowering in fright.

  Joseph.

  Isabelle dropped the broom and leaned back against a wall, clutching her chest. “Joe? What on earth are you doing?” she sighed in relief.

  “I could say the same for you!” he laughed.

  Isabelle cast her eyes around the kitchen, taking in the scene. Drawers were left pulled out. Cabinet doors were hanging open. A couple of soiled dishtowels were strewn around the place. A basket lay in the centre of the table, its contents exploding around it as if struck by dynamite. A smell of something burnt hung in the air.

  And then there was Joe.

  Isabelle looked him up and down, amused. He was wearing her frilly pink apron, slung over his neck and hanging loose, untied at the back. His hair sprung up in all directions, his cheeks were red with effort, and he was dusted from head to toe in a fine layer of flour.

  “Making breakfast,” he said shyly, scratching the back of his head. The dimples in his cheeks appeared as he grinned. He tore Isabelle’s apron off over his head and blushed profusely.

  “You could have woken me if you were hungry…” Isabelle laughed, incredulous. She couldn’t believe Joe was standing her in front of her... baking. She glanced at the stove behind him. “I think so
mething’s burning.”

  Joe jumped into action and threw the pan into the sink. Isabelle opened the window, fanning the air with a tea towel.

  “So much for breakfast…” he muttered to himself. He turned to Isabelle, embarrassed. “I’m… not very good at this.”

  Isabelle laughed. “Don’t worry. Let’s get this cleaned up.” She examined the charcoal remains in the pan. Her eyes danced, amused. “Pancakes, was it?”

  Joe nodded. “It was meant to be a surprise. Wanted to take you out for breakfast out in the prairie. What do you think?” He looked away. His ears burned.

  Isabelle’s heart flipped in her chest. “I’d love to,” she replied, reaching up and brushing flour out of his hair.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Isabelle was buzzing with excitement as the cart trundled along the dirt road.

  She looked at the basket packed with goodies on the bench beside her and her heart warmed. Joseph sat on her left, his broad shoulders relaxed, his hands gripping the reins. Isabelle smiled brightly at him and he grinned back. He jiggled his leg up and down. Was he anxious? Isabelle puzzled. Why was he so nervous? She laughed to herself at the thought — even she couldn’t ignore the rapid beating of her own heart.

  Joseph drove the horse slowly along the path between the fields, bursting with delicate flowers. Despite his nerves, he was clearly enjoying the trip. A soft breeze tousled his hair and Isabelle was torn between watching Joe and taking in the scenery. Over the past few weeks she had grown to love the country. And, she finally admitted to herself, she had grown to love Joe.

  They arrived at a small clearing next to a wizened old tree. Joseph jumped from the cart excitedly and lifted Isabelle down. His hands lingered for a brief moment on her waist and she blushed. The air between them was electric. Joe turned away, shy, and got to work setting down the blanket.

  Isabelle couldn’t stop herself from grinning. Had Joseph finally realised? Was this the beginning of something new? Happiness filled her chest as she watched him. “I just want to sing!” she laughed, her heart light. She held her arms out wide and spun on the spot among the flowers. Joseph rolled his eyes.

  “If I’d known all you needed was some good old fresh air, I wouldn’t have spent a fortune on that book…” he teased. Isabelle collapsed into a heap of giggles beside him. What had come over her?

  They turned their attention to the spread of food before them, chatting and munching contentedly on bread, jam, cheese and ham. Isabelle had managed to salvage some of the pancake mixture, too, and they enjoyed some buttery biscuits the Old Man had taught her to bake.

  There was a lull in the conversation and Joe put his plate down and leaned back. It was a clear, sunny morning. He cleared his throat.

  “Isabelle, I…” he faltered.

  Isabelle turned to face him completely, sensing this was going to be important.

  “You know, what you said last night… about my parents…” He looked down, wiping crumbs off his lap. He seemed unsure how to continue. “I think you ought to know the truth.”

  Isabelle waited patiently.

  “My parents died when I was twelve. We were heading up the Missouri River, going to visit some old aunt somewhere up north. I was a rowdy kid back then, believe it or not,” he half-smiled at Isabelle’s surprise, “and I wasn’t too keen on spending hours in a crowded train cabin.” His smile faded and he paused.

  Isabelle offered him a biscuit but he declined.

  “My mother got fed up with my shenanigans, and she sent me out to cool off on the balcony at the end of the carriage. That’s when I saw them coming. Couldn’t stop them.” He swallowed hard and continued with difficulty. “Big group of guys rode up on horses and forced their way onto the train. Took money and jewellery from everyone that cooperated. Killed all them that didn’t.”

  “Oh, Joe, I’m so sorry… I didn’t know.” Tears brimmed in Isabelle’s eyes.

  “How could you? I’ve been so caught up in tracking those guys. I should’ve told you before.”

  Isabelle shook her head.

  “Now I brought you down here right to the heart of the danger,” Joe added quietly.

  Isabelle touched his arm lightly. “I came here for you.”

  He pulled away and looked towards the horizon. “But how can I keep you safe? I couldn’t protect my mother… and look at the miller’s boy…” His head fell into his hands. “I’m a lousy Sheriff.”

  Isabelle’s heart ached for him. Of course, she thought. That’s why he’d been so consumed by his work, tracking this particular criminal gang. It was personal.

  She cleared away some of the dishes and shimmied herself next to him. To her surprise, Joe didn't move away. Even in his sadness, Isabelle felt his warmth radiating. He turned to her.

  “I owe my life to Jim,” said Joseph. “He took me in when I was lost. Saved me. You know, I think he felt responsible… for their death. Even if it was my fault —”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Joe.” Isabelle interrupted him, shocked.

  “It’s because of me that they died. I didn’t protect them.”

  Isabelle shook her head. “No, Joseph. You were just a child,” she said gently.

  Joe sighed.

  Isabelle caressed his arm, unsure of what to say. She waited for Joseph to continue.

  After a long pause, Joe slowly started talking again. “Since that time, the Old Man’s been tracking those same criminals…” He peered into the distance again. “He wouldn’t retire. Couldn’t. Not ‘til he saw justice for my parents. For me. It was his life's work. And now it’s up to me to complete it.” Joe swallowed. “I have to do this before… before he passes away.”

  Isabelle nodded silently, her brow crinkled. The Old Man had been looking more infirm recently. Joe turned to face her, urgency in his voice.

  “I’m close, Isabelle. I can feel it. Every day I get one step nearer to catching up with them.” His eyes had turned hard, his expression serious, firm. A hunter’s stare. Joe grabbed her hand. "Isabelle, I know I have been terrible; a horror to live with.” His deep brown eyes glistened. “But I remember our letters. Our partnership. I respect the commitment you made to come down here.” Joseph looked away, fumbling nervously in his pocket. “And, if you want to, I…” he hesitated. “I would like to marry you.”

  Isabelle’s heart somersaulted. She clutched her chest.

  “I would, really,” he continued. “But I can’t right now.”

  Isabelle’s face fell.

  “I need to bring these criminals to justice. I can’t make you my wife while they’re still on the loose.” He paused. Isabelle felt his eyes on her, but she couldn’t look at him. Disappointment stung her eyes. “I guess I could use your help,” he added, watching her earnestly.

  "Oh, Joe. Of course. I'll do whatever I can for you." Isabelle did her best to smile, despite the burning lump at the back of her throat. She leaned towards him, her hand hovering around his back. He pulled her close. Isabelle breathed in the rich leather smell of his waistcoat.

  Joe sighed heavily. He needed her.

  And she needed him.

  They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s embrace, until the sky grew cloudy and the blanket almost flapped away in the wind.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The breeze picked up and they decided to head home to prepare the afternoon meal. The wind at their backs pushed the horse along the path faster than usual. Joseph’s mind raced, still on an adrenaline burst from the emotional highs and lows during their picnic under the tree.

  Isabelle had tried to hide her feelings as best she could, but the tremble in her hands as she’d held his hadn’t escaped Joe. He had pretended not to notice. He swallowed as he thought of the story of his parents’ murder, but took a deep breath and steadied his grip on the reins. Maybe he would soon be able to move forward, to move away from the trauma of his past and into a normal life. With Isabelle.

  Lost in thought, he allowed himself to accept th
at he’d been wrong.

  Wrong about his responsibility in the death of his parents, wrong about his non-stop work ethic, wrong about Isabelle. She could be a part of his force, pushing the case along. He felt a weight in his heart lifting. She would help him, not hinder him. If he could only trust himself not to worry about her.

  He cast his gaze down at Isabelle beside him. She was staring straight ahead, a look of steely determination on her face. She looked up at him and smiled peacefully.

  Joe scratched the stubble on his chin. Isabelle would certainly be a valuable addition to the team, but there was someone else that must be sought out first.

  Matthew.

  Joseph had to let Matthew take on his rightful role. The young man had been hoping to be sworn in as a deputy for months, now, but Joe had been using him just to run errands, unable to relinquish control. Joe silently commended Matthew’s trustworthiness. It was so important to have a loyal companion like him around.

  No doubt about it — Joseph would be more successful if he let other people in.

  The cart turned down the path towards the house and he admired it thoughtfully, dreaming about the future. The Old Man was sitting on the porch, reading a newspaper. He looked up brightly as they arrived. As he watched Joe lift Isabelle down from the cart, hearing her self-conscious giggle ring out, his eyes narrowed and he smirked at Joe, one eyebrow raised. He knew something had changed between them — he could sense the energy shift. Joseph walked up the steps into the house, winking as he passed.

  Chapter Twenty

  The sky was already turning orange when Isabelle woke up. She stretched out fully in her bed, her arms and legs pulling out any last tension in her body. She’d slept well. Despite getting up late, she was relaxed.

  Her step light, she danced around her room as she dressed. Isabelle hadn’t felt this much at peace in a long time. Joe had finally agreed to let her help him. Maybe they could finally go back to actually spending time with each other.