The Legacy

by Beth Williamson

  He had beautiful teeth, straight and a nice shade of white. He focused on his food, seeming to allow her to peruse him and what he was doing. She started eating her pork chop, when her curiosity finally got the best of her.

  “You’re not from around here.”

  He glanced up. “No.”

  She took a bite before asking another question. “So where are you from?”

  “Curious about me, Rosalyn?” he teased.

  “Well, yes.”

  He laughed with that rich, deep sound that made her feel funny inside. She realized it was the urge to laugh with him. It shocked her enough that she dropped the pork chop right into the mashed potatoes, which splattered on her leg. It wasn’t hot enough to burn so she used her finger to scoop it up and stick it in her mouth.

  When she looked up at him, he was holding out a handkerchief. “This is a clean one, I swear.”

  The fabric was soft, certainly softer than her own pitiful handkerchief, which was likely a soggy mess in her pocket. His was not new, but it was a high quality piece of fabric.

  “Thank you,” she grudgingly said, recognizing he’d skirted the question about where he was from quite nicely.

  “You’re welcome.”

  He went back to eating his dinner as if they were sitting in a fancy restaurant instead of in a jail cell, although both of them still showed evidence of a dunking in the trough. Suddenly it all struck her as funny and a chuckle escaped like a burp.

  “Was it something I said?” His fork paused in midair.

  Another chuckle leaked out. She shook her head, afraid if she tried to speak she really would laugh. He shrugged and ate again. In ten minutes both of them had cleared their plates. The only things remaining were the remnants of the pork chops, gnawed and nibbled until nothing was left but the bones.

  He stood and held out his hand. She shrank back from him, knowing now he’d want his payment.

  “Your plate, Rosalyn. All I want is your plate. I have to bring them back to Elsa.”

  Rosalyn’s cheeks heated. No matter how nice the sheriff was, she would always be on her guard. That didn’t mean she couldn’t be embarrassed by her reactions. After she handed him the plate without a word, he stacked them together and stepped out of the cell. Rosalyn waited for the clang of the door and key turning in the lock.

  It didn’t happen.

  Instead, he reached down and set the brown-paper-wrapped package on the cot next to her.

  “You’re about the same size as my Aunt Lily so I got something that would fit her.”

  She looked at the package, her fingers itching to untie the twine bow at the top. It had been quite some time since Rosalyn had opened a package, even longer since someone had given her a gift. Somewhere deep inside her a tiny flame of hope lit against her wishes. If she wasn’t careful, Noah Calhoun could completely turn her life upside down.

  “I’m going to leave you alone so you can change. The towel, soap and water are there for you to use.”

  She finally turned her gaze to his and saw sincerity, honesty and a pulse from a kindred spirit. That’s when she knew Noah had not always been a well-taken-care-of man. She’d bet every penny she had, which totaled twenty-eight cents, that Noah was more like her, had experienced similar things. She didn’t know why she thought that, but it rang true.

  “I’m not going to lock you up, but I will offer you the use of the cell anytime you want. I’ll even let you hold the keys if that makes you feel safer. I just want to help you, Rosalyn. I hope you can believe that.”

  He turned and left her alone, leaving the cell door wide open, the keys dangling from the lock.

  “Wait,” Rosalyn called.

  Noah paused in mid-stride. “What’s the matter?”

  “I can’t take this.” She stepped out of the cell and thrust the brown paper package toward him. “I don’t take charity.”

  She’d almost accepted it without question, now he’d have to convince her to. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t help her.

  “Okay, so it’s not charity. You can work for it.” The moment the words left his mouth, he realized he chose the wrong ones.

  Her gaze narrowed. “I knew there’d be something like that in there.”

  “Not like that. I meant you could clean, keep the jail tidy.”

  She sniffed. “Smells like it’s already been cleaned.”

  “You’re right. It was cleaned today but it will get dirty again. It’s a jail, lots of folks tromping in and out of here, bringing in mud and dirt. I’m sure there’s going to be at least one or two drunks in the other cell. I’m offering you a job.”

  Another one of those bell-tinkling laughs popped out of her mouth, the ones that made his stomach clench and his blood thrum.

  “Is that funny?”

  She pulled the brown paper package to her chest and crossed her arms over it. “I was just thinking of myself as a deputy.”

  Noah smiled. “Then that’s what you’ll be.”

  Shock blazed across her face. “I was just fooling with you.”

  Noah knew Mayor Dickinson would not approve of a female deputy, much less the woman who lived in the streets of his fair town. However, he didn’t need to know.

  “Well, I’m not. That old fool sheriff left quite a mess here. I’m not just talking about dirt. There’s piles of papers and wanted posters. I don’t think he spent a whole lot of time taking care of the details.” He pointed at the package. “Why don’t you get changed, then you and I can talk about it.” He left her alone in the jail to think about the proposal.

  The longer he thought about Rosalyn being his deputy, the more the idea appealed to him. She reminded him a bit of his adopted mother, with her toughness, her savvy, her ability to land on her feet and come up swinging. Rosalyn was a beautiful, sexy woman, a force to be reckoned with. Maybe all she needed was a chance. Noah could give that to her.

  ———

  It was well past dark before he came back to the jail. As he tiptoed past the cell, he couldn’t help but glance in, hoping she’d be there. The moonlight streamed through the small window, bathing her body in its silvery glow. The keys were firmly clenched in her hand—no doubt the cell was locked up tight, protecting her. When his gaze arrived at her face, he wasn’t surprised to find her staring at him.

  “I’m only staying here because it’s late and I’m tired. I ain’t gonna be here when you wake up.”

  Noah nodded. “That’s your choice.” He took a deep breath, swallowing the rest of the words dancing on his tongue. What he really wanted to do was find out why she stayed, why she needed to lock herself in and why she couldn’t be there when he woke up.

  Her eyes were as dark as pitch in the shadowed cell. He wished he could see them so he’d know what she was thinking.

  “There ain’t no second set of keys is there?”

  He chuckled. “Not as far as I know. That’s the only set. So don’t lose them, okay?”

  “You can believe ain’t nobody taking these from me.” She shifted positions on the cot. “The ground is more comfortable than this thing. You ought to look into replacing these.”

  “I’ll do that. Believe me, I know the feeling of sleeping on an uncomfortable cot in a jail cell. Good night, Rosalyn.”

  “G’night, Sheriff.”

  As Noah walked up the stairs, her even breathing reminded him that for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t alone.

  ———

  The next morning the cell was empty, the door standing wide open. Noah combated his disappointment by stepping outside and walking around for half an hour, nodding and chatting with folks. It was just what he needed to feel at least a smidge better, if not less lonely. When he stopped in the General Store, the owner’s wife, a blonde, rotund, apple-cheeked woman named Helga Knudsen, greeted him warmly. He’d met her husband the day before when he’d purchased the dress for Rosalyn. It was the first time he’d ever purchased anything on credit— the urge
to pay off his account niggled at him. Just putting his name on the books made his skin jump. However, he’d done it, and he’d done it for someone he barely knew.

  “You are living at the jail, ya?” She handed him a slice of strudel wrapped in a piece of wax paper.

  He eyed the sweet apple-raisin concoction with no small amount of delight. “Yes, in the room above the jail.”

  She shook her head and tsked. “Too bad. You should find yourself a wife. My daughter, Josephine, is sixteen, and a lovely cook.”

  Noah smiled and thought about how he could escape without offending Mrs. Knudsen. “Thank you for the strudel, ma’am. Is there anything as sheriff I can do to help you or your husband?”

  “Such a nice boy.” She reached up and patted his cheek. “We have a couple people who don’t pay on their account, but no trouble. I will be sure to stop by with Josephine to say hello.”

  Noah thanked her again and politely took his leave. Outside, he marveled at a matchmaking mama after him in less than two days. He considered eating the strudel but his appetite had been absent, gone apparently with a violet-eyed waif.

  When he stepped back into the jail, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. In the short amount of time he was walking around and talking to Mrs. Knudsen, Rosalyn had come back to the jail. She’d taken each piece of paper from the sheriff’s piles on the desk and scattered them around the room. Every square inch of floor had a piece of paper on it. When he slammed the door, the force of the wind made them all flutter like a wild pack of moths.

  “What are you doing?” He dropped the wrapped strudel on the floor, forgetting the fact he was glad to see her.

  Rosalyn sat in the middle of all of it in the dark blue dress he’d bought for her. He was momentarily distracted by the sight of her wearing a form-fitting dress that cupped her full breasts and displayed her curves. They’d more than tempt a man.

  Then he remembered what she’d done. Anger pulsed through him. He’d offered to help her, even fed her and bought her a damn dress and how did she pay him back? By making an even bigger mess.

  “Don’t step on that one,” she scolded.

  “What are you doing?” he repeated, a little more loudly.

  “You don’t need to shout. I’m sitting two feet away from you.” She rubbed one ear and frowned. “I’m not a very good reader, but from what I can tell, there’s about twenty-seven kinds of papers here. Some of them are wanted posters. That’s one word I can read. I left those on the desk. The other twenty-six different kinds, I can’t rightly tell what a lot of them are. I spread them all out so I could sort them into piles for you.”

  His anger deflated. She was helping him?

  “I, uh…”

  Rosalyn stood, putting her hands on her hips, her black curls swinging. “You said you was gonna give me a job and that I could keep this place clean. Well, I started by cleaning up the papers.” She spread her arms wide. “I ain’t never had so much space to work with and it just made it easier to try to figure out what the papers were. Until you came in here and started shouting like a madman.”

  He stepped toward her. “I’m sorry.”

  She moved back. “You ought to be. You were rude.”

  Noah took another step and she frowned harder. For a moment there, he forgot what they were even arguing about. Her brows knitted together, and the crease between them begged for a kiss to smooth it away. She’d used the soap he’d left for her, and the smell of freshly scrubbed skin drifted past him, a clean scent that appealed to him. As a young man, he hadn’t taken many baths since there hadn’t been much of an option for a warm one. Now, he loved taking a bath. The hotter the better.

  Long, soaking baths were his favorite. The image of Rosalyn in the bathtub danced across his mind. He shut his eyes to block it out. This after she’d simply washed her face and hands. He wasn’t sure it was such a good idea to have her there all the time, if this was his reaction. However he’d made the offer and he wasn’t about to rescind it.

  When he opened his eyes, she was headed toward the door, her nose in the air. She scooped up the strudel and sniffed.

  “Rosalyn, wait, please.”

  She stopped, her hand on the doorknob. “You don’t want me here.”

  “That’s not true.” He took a deep breath. “I was just surprised, that’s all. It’s been an interesting first two days on the job.”

  “Two days? You’ve only been doing this two days?” Both dark eyebrows shot toward the ceiling.

  “Sheriff Boyton hired me yesterday morning. So today is my second day as sheriff.”

  She shrugged. “We all make mistakes when we try something for the first time. Ain’t never been a sheriff before, have you?”

  “No, I haven’t been a sheriff before.” He examined the calluses on his hands rather than look her in the eye. Noah had been many things over the course of his life. This was the first time he was doing something that could really make a difference in people’s lives. He’d been opposed to the idea when the sheriff suggested it, but now that he was here with the star on his chest and the power in his hands, he could make that difference. He’d have to use his other skills to handle the town’s problems and the mayor.

  “Will you stay?” He got those three words out, unaccountably hoping she’d say yes, stupidly wanting to add “always” to the question.

  “If you keep your hands to yourself, yes, I’ll stay, but just for a little while. I don’t know how long I’m going to be here. I guess it’s time I tried something new.” She held up the strudel. “Is this for me?”

  Noah smiled and wonder of wonders, Rosalyn smiled back. His fragile heart that he kept in a safe place quivered at the sight of that smile. He wondered just how much his new deputy would change his life.

  Chapter Four

  “I ain’t taking no bath.” Rosalyn stuck up her chin at the too-tall sheriff. “I already washed up good. You’ve been near me two days now, do I smell?”

  He loomed over her. “You washed your face and hands with a pitcher of water and a sliver of soap I gave you. That’s not washing up good.” He took hold of her arm and slid the sleeve back, pointing at the dirt beneath. “You need a bath.” Noah pronounced each word like he was talking to an idiot.

  She snatched her arm away. “I said I ain’t taking no bath and you can’t make me.”

  “No, you’re right, I can’t. But a sheriff’s deputy can’t go around with enough dirt stuck on her body to make an ant hill. No one is going to hurt you, Rosalyn, I promise. We’ll go down to that bathing house down the street. Marina said they were good. I’ll make sure you have privacy and that no one bothers you.”

  Her heart went clippity-clop at the thought that he’d be there watching over her, or perhaps watching her. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Her body and her mind were all mixed up about Noah Calhoun.

  “The lady who owns that bathing house don’t like me.” Her words were a little less forceful as she wavered on her decision to refuse a bath.

  “I don’t care if she doesn’t like you. I do.”

  That statement made every small hair on her body stand up.

  Rosalyn’s resolve weakened again. “I just can’t pour that cold water all over me.”

  “It won’t be cold. They heat the water.”

  The idea of a warm bath hadn’t occurred to her because when she did take a bath and wash up all over, she did it in the creek right outside town. That water was always cold, sometimes colder than cold. “A warm bath?”

  He grinned. “Possibly even hot.”

  “Well, if it’s warm enough for me, I might take a bath. I ain’t saying that I’m gonna do it, I’m just saying that I’ll walk down there with you.”

  “Sounds good. Thank you, Rosalyn.”

  He held out his arm and she stared at it, unsure and awkward. She didn’t know how to walk with a gentleman. Lord have mercy, she was no lady.

  “Take you arm and put it through mine like this.” Noah took hold
of her arm and tucked it around his until her hand rested on his forearm. “It’s not hard. Are you ready?”

  His scent, a combination of man, good old-fashioned sweat and something else she suspected was unique to Noah Calhoun, teased her nose. Not to mention, his presence next to her comforted her somehow. Her insides quivered and she hoped he didn’t notice. That would be really embarrassing.

  “It still don’t mean that I’m gonna lay on my back for you.”

  Noah’s eyes registered surprise, then disappointment. “I never expected that from you, Rosalyn, and I wouldn’t take it from you.”

  She’d mucked up the moment, the sweet moment of him treating her like a lady, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. This was all like a story, one of those tales parents told their young’uns. Only it probably wouldn’t have a happy ending.

  They walked down to the bathing house together, arm in arm. A few heads turned as they passed by. She’d hazard a guess that most folks noticed, and surprisingly some paid them no mind. The bathing house had a fancy sign out in front with swirly gold letters. Although she couldn’t read what it said, Rosalyn knew her ABCs. It was just a matter of putting them together to make words that she had trouble with. Still she knew this was the bathing house and that awful woman with the doughy face and the big flappy arms owned it. She’d chased Rosalyn away from behind the building lots of times. She must have trembled or shivered or something, because Noah laid his hand on top of hers and squeezed.

  “I won’t let her hurt you. It’ll be okay.”

  Stupid as it sounded, his reassurance actually made her feel better. It was odd and a little frightening. Rosalyn reminded herself that the sheriff was helping her because he wanted to feel good about himself, not because he cared about her.

  When they stepped into the bathing house, Rosalyn’s stomach got tight and she braced herself. It was a good thing too. The owner rose from her stool in the corner, planting fleshy fists on her ample hips.

  “That thing is not welcome in here.”

  To his credit, Noah took off his hat like a gentleman. “Ma’am. I’m Noah Calhoun, the new sheriff.”