At First Sight (The Sheriff's Daughters Book 2)

by Karen Sommers

  Then there was the woman who ran the boarding house. Widowed, with her children grown and gone, she made her living by getting an extra income from boarders. She was almost cliché. But that same woman was a volunteer at several charities and was active in the community, and even held meetings for some kind of betterment society on Thursday nights. He never would have guessed that.

  And then there was Amanda.

  How in the world did one begin to define his newest employee?

  A horse-crazy girl was nothing new. This too was cliché, even though she seemed to take obsession to a whole other level than what his twelve-year-old sister back home had. And yet, under that hat, her hair glowed. If she would take it out from that severe braid, it would probably flow out around her head like a soft, brown halo.

  She had dirt smudged on her cheek, showed up for work looking like she’d just groomed a horse. She probably had. But even a little mud and horse hair could not hide the high cheekbones, the perfect dainty angle of her chin, or the bright brown eyes that seemed to laugh at everything, including herself.

  She wasn’t anything like any girl he’d ever known. And that was what made her so fascinating. She was an enigma, a hoyden. Certainly not a lady. Or at least not what his mother would have classified as a lady. He shook his head and tried to focus on his steak, but oddly enough she refused to leave his thoughts, something that had been a recurring problem throughout the day.

  This afternoon, he’d really needed to think about work, or at the very least he should have figured out how to avoid the attentions of one Miss Eliza Davis. She’d been one of the first people to seek him out back when he’d first shown up to finalize the sale of the building and arrange for the necessary carpentry work to turn it into his offices. How she’d been able to discern not only his occupation but the date of his first actual day spent working in his office was entirely beyond him. Whatever means of spreading the news employed in a town this size was every bit as effective as a Pinkerton detective. Or perhaps that was all her.

  He sighed. He’s met her type before. She was exactly the sort of woman he’d had thrust upon him in Boston and Chicago both. A girl like that was not only vain and somewhat arrogant, but she was inevitably a social climber, concerned solely with prestige and her position in the world. Not that an ambitious creature of this sort didn’t have her place in society. A woman like that would someday make a fine senator’s wife, or even a First Lady. In fact, his parents would have heartily approved of the girl and urged him to pursue her.

  Thank you, but no. I’d just as soon stay a bachelor.

  He sopped up gravy with his bread and leaned back thoughtfully in his chair as he chewed. Now, Miss Addams, on the other hand. She was… she was real, in a way that a self-absorbed girl like Miss Davis would never be. Amanda was truth, without a mask or pretense. The things that mattered to her were important things. Real things. Like a good horse. And a job done well.

  He took a long pull of his beer, making a face as he swallowed, and vowing to not order the local stuff again. Still, it gave a warm feeling going down that loosened his thoughts a little and allowed him room for a little speculation. The fact of the matter was that Amanda Addams looked very good indeed in those trousers. They hugged her hips in a way that brought out her figure. And the fact that she wore a man’s shirt did little to disguise her form either.

  Yeah, and it’s probably a breach of professional ethics to get involved with the sheriff’s daughter, though I don’t think that particular question ever came up in law school.

  “Well, and hello…” a female voice purred in his ear, drawing him from a reverie that was fast going where he wasn’t comfortable going just yet. “Buy me something to eat?”

  He looked the intruder up and down. There was plenty to look at. Given the scarlet silk dress and the twitchy mannerism of one desperate for paying company, she was obviously one of the workers at this saloon. The dress she attempted to wear was attempting to evict her, a piece at a time. She looked as though she was getting squeezed free of the corset. It was terrifying to have her so close. If one of those stays gave, she could put out an eye.

  He leaned back in the chair, more to give himself distance from the woman than anything. If he gave the impression of relaxed confidence in the meantime, so much the better. Being new in town meant not alienating someone who might be a witness someday. Or someone who might point someone to him when needed some information.

  Given the looks of this crowd, there were plenty likely needing legal counsel in the foreseeable future, if he had a mind to embrace the defense part of the law. Maybe someday…

  In the meantime, this particular denizen of the place was waiting on his answer. “Don’t you mean, ‘buy you a drink’?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

  She smiled, and this time the curve to her lips was genuine enough to reach her eyes. “Usually, but I’m starving.” She threw him a saucy wink. She could have been anywhere from twenty to forty; it was difficult to tell with the layers of makeup she wore. However many years she’d been on this earth, they hadn’t been kind to her. She was still handsome enough, but there was a hardness in the eyes that belied the youth she tried to claim.

  “Tell you what, let me hire you.”

  “’Hire me’? Honey that’s a lot more than the price of a steak.” She threw back her head and laughed, long and loud, drawing a look from one of the men at the bar, who scowled. Whether the ill-tempered look was directed at the woman or at Phillip, was impossible to tell.

  He couldn’t help but smile in return. The man at the bar took to scowling into his beer, a move that might have been progress in Phillip’s tenuous relations with the people of this town. “No. I’ll buy you a steak, and you can fill me in on this town. I’m new here, and I would love to get an insider’s opinion on this place and its people.”

  “If I didn’t know better,” she said, a mischievous curl to her lips, “I would think you’re trying to hire me to gossip.” She leaned in as though imparting a secret. “I usually do that for free, but for a steak dinner and a beer, I’ll even tell the truth.”

  “Deal!” He slapped the table and called the barman over. “Another of these for the lady and two beers.” The barman gave a dirty look to the girl but said nothing and shuffled off to get someone to throw another steak on the fire.

  “What was that all about? I hired you, didn’t I?”

  She laughed. It was a genuine sound, light but with a great deal of irony in the sound. “The owner here, he wants us to hustle booze. They have a huge markup on the heavy liquor, and we’re supposed to keep the profits rolling.”

  “You’d get too drunk too fast to be of much use.”

  “I get a shot and bottle of beer. The bottle is empty, but he charges you for a full one. I take a shot, pretend to drink the beer and spit the shot into the bottle. You buy another and another until the bottle is full.”

  Phillip shook his head. What would they think of next? “That’s not a bad gimmick. Are you sure you should be telling me these things?”

  “I said the truth for a steak” She drew back, a certain defiance to the tilt of her head, the way she held her shoulders.

  He looked at her, really looked at her, and saw the tired woman behind the makeup, the girl she must have been before she’d been roped into a job she probably hated with a passion, along with the patrons that were her bread and butter. He hated this world that drove women into professions of this ilk, and thought again of the pants-wearing girl who was set on living life on her own terms. What must it have cost her to go her own way, when so many others would have taken the path of this saloon girl, seeing it as the easier option?

  His heart went out to the travesty of the woman waiting on him, a lean and hungry look in her eyes. At the very least he could give her a safe place tonight.

  “Barman!” Phillip shouted. “A shot and a bottle of beer for the lady!” He turned back to her, noting the surprise in her eyes. “I wouldn’t want you t
o get into any trouble on my account.”

  “I think I like you, mister.” She looked him up and down and gave a sharp nod as though deciding something. “So what dirt do you want dished?” She leaned forward, elbows on the table, head tucked in toward his conspiratorially.

  “Why don’t we head over to that table in the corner, where you can fill me in on the town without being overheard. I would like to find out just where I landed when the train stopped.”

  They headed to a table next to the front door, away from the card players, the wheezing, gasping piano and the other ladies who plied their trade in varying shades of desperation along the bar. The action of hiring her wasn’t all charity, he reminded himself. Truly he wanted nothing more than a fresh perspective of the town and its people. And if his questions centered around the sheriff’s family more than any other, she wasn’t likely to complain. She tucked into her steak with enthusiasm, stopping only to give her name, Marilla, along with the observation that there wasn’t anyone worth knowing in that two-bit saloon with the exception of himself.

  He didn’t rise to the flirtation, and it confused her. It took some time convincing her, but when she understood that she was to be only a source of information and nothing more, she made a moue of disappointment, but then she relaxed a bit more and began warming to her task. Marilla turned out to be a natural storyteller and had him laughing on more than one occasion as she regaled him with tales of the townspeople and their strange quirks. All in all, it turned out to be an enjoyable evening, which surprised him. And he found he rather liked Marilla by the night’s end. The woman had a good head on her shoulders and understood more about the world than most men or women he’d met.

  It was late before she had gone through the entire township, and his head was swimming with names and anecdotes and maybe a light buzz from too much liquor which he’d kept ordering all night to keep the boss man happy. Especially seeing as how he wasn’t paying for upstairs privileges. The lights were dim as the hour grew late, the twin lanterns on each side of the door giving a soft flickering glow that bathed them both in a soft golden light. Marilla could be said to be beautiful in this light, another fact that surprised him.

  Maybe he was just seeing her for who she was inside.

  They parted friends, him sliding her enough cash to hopefully ensure she could spend the remainder of the night alone. Not that the coin would change anything come tomorrow, but it made him feel good at any rate, to do something for once that might be just a shade noble.

  When he left, the streets were as silent as the schoolhouse in summer. If he hadn’t known better, he could have sworn the entire town was holding its breath.

  Chapter 8

  “I kinda feel bad there for Jasper,” Amanda said as she stacked the empty plates inside the tablecloth and tied the bundle shut for the journey home.

  “He’ll be alright,” the sheriff assured her with a glance back to the cell’s only occupant. Jasper lay sprawled on the cot, spread eagle, mouth gaping open to let loose a thunderous snore. “Just let him sleep it off. He’ll be just as happy in the morning, even if he does have a hangover.”

  “Not what I’m meaning,” Amanda said slowly, lifting her hair out of the way as her father tucked his big overcoat over her shoulders. She’d already protested his giving it to her, but it had been a losing battle. The night was chill, and her father would always be a gentleman. She dropped her voice, with a glance to Lester who was sitting reading a dime novel with his feet up on the desk. “I mean the way he was treated. When I think that could have been me or Linda or Sarah…What if you hadn’t come along when you did…?”

  “Well…” he drew the word out as he waved goodnight to old Lester. Lester wasn’t a deputy. For that matter, he wasn’t even on the payroll. Lester didn’t have a place anymore since his farm burned down six years ago. He’d lost his wife and daughter in the fire and hadn’t been quite the same since. He’d taken to scrounging his meals at the restaurant and had been doing odd jobs for anybody who would have him ever since. Sheriff Addams let him sleep in the jailhouse in exchange for keeping an eye on the place and making sure he was called in an emergency.

  “I tell you what, a lot of bad probably did happen to him. His pa was a mean old cuss. I know for a fact he was hard on the boy, as hard as he was on any man on the ranch, but Jasper’s a fair distance from there tonight. That had to be a whole lot of celebrating to get him near enough to a hundred miles from his ranch in a drunken stupor.”

  Amanda laughed. “I suppose so. I hadn’t thought to ask.”

  “A man like that? He holds on to his ways. From what you’ve said about him from that train, he’s known a lot of mean folks in his time. The streets of New York were a rough place for a boy his age. Maybe his folks were that mean to him. Maybe it’s been someone else. Taking on a hard man and having to call him Pa can’t have been an easy thing, but so long as he holds onto that rage, all those people that wronged him will never let go of him.”

  It was true enough. What if he’d had a chance to grow up proper. A home…an education. What if Jasper had been born to the advantages that Phillip Richman had obviously had? Given a solid home and good breeding, a man like that had no need for the wild, violent carousing. Drinking hard. Spending time with all…manner…of women…

  Amanda’s feet faltered. She wasn’t walking with her father anymore. In fact, she seemed to be rooted to the street as well as if she’d sprouted great gnarled hickory roots and clung deep into the ground. She stood in the darkness and stared with eyes that she no longer believed.

  They’re liars. Liars and worse.

  But what her gaze lit upon seemed to be rather solid for a mirage.

  Across the street, in the flickering lamplight of the oil lamps and the warm, welcoming lights of the saloon’s chandeliers sat one Phillip Richman Esq. and a woman who was nearly dressed in frippery and bows and lace along with bad intentions and very little else.

  It was as if the world had come to a screeching halt and waited for something that shouldn’t be happening to dissolve before time would restart again. Amanda waited through centuries without a breath, and yet, the impossible refused to fade away before her eyes.

  She felt a tug on her arm and suddenly realized she was standing in a dark street beside her father. “Are you alright?” She heard the words come from his mouth, but they were just so much noise. She couldn’t understand how it applied, how those words meant anything to her personally.

  She shook her head and forced her feet back into motion, that she might walk in the direction he was pulling her, trusting that he was leading her in the correct direction that she might go home and shut herself into her bedroom and never come out again.

  So instead Amanda smiled and nodded and tried to stall for time, to not answer questions she wasn’t ready to hear, let alone answer. “You were saying?” she asked, her steps taking on a firmer tread as she squared her shoulders and brushed past her father, setting the pace herself that they might get home before she did something utterly female and cry. She vaguely realized that he’d been talking and for the life of her couldn’t remember what he’d been talking about. It made no difference, of course, there was no topic that could matter when her own eyes lied to her in the night, but it seemed polite.

  Her father caught her sleeve and drew her back, to walk next to him, only narrowly missing getting hit with the plates swinging dangerously in their tablecloth cocoon that swung in her hand. “I was saying that sometimes a person has to change. They have to let go of old ideas and old habits and step out on faith.”

  Amanda shot a look at him. “What do you mean?”

  He frowned. The scowl he saved for children who didn’t listen fell over him. She’d seen that particular expression many times while growing up. “We were speaking of Jasper, were we not?”

  “Yes, sir,” Amanda said quickly, trying to retrace the thread of conversation and falling somewhat short. “We were. And you’re right he needs to g
ive up the hate.”

  “Yeah…” her father said slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “That…and the fear. You can’t let fear rule you, can’t let it keep you from changing, from growing. First time I ever set you on a horse, you about wet the saddle you were so scared.”

  “I was?” Amanda’s full attention flashed to him now. That sounded so unlikely, for a moment she thought that he was making it up just to rile her.

  “You were.” He nodded in the darkness. When did his hair get so white? It was like walking next to a ghost as they left the well-lit ways and traveled down more residential pathways. The shadows here were deeper, his beard a beacon in the moonlight. “And if you hadn’t stuck it out and rode that horse anyway, think where you would be now. Afraid to get on even the gentlest horse.”

  Amanda shuddered. It was a horrifying thought. “Yeah… I guess I was able to let go of the fear somehow.”

  “Yea-up. You grew and adapted, you became the kind of rider a horse wants. Jasper’s free now, he’s got a little money it seems. And I know it won’t be easy, but he has to be accountable now for his life, or he’ll never be truly free of the things he’s trying so hard to leave behind.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Amanda said as her father held open the gate to their own little yard.

  “Seems like a lot of fuss, don’t you think for someone with a fine horse?” He climbed the stairs to the porch. Amanda nodded and stopped, watching him go. He seemed tired, his steps were slow, heavy.

  “Are we still talking about Jasper?” she called to his retreating figure in the darkness.

  “No.,” he said and opened the door letting the warm, comforting light inside spill out onto the darkened porch. He stood silent, holding the door open for his daughter, patiently letting her decide her next move.

  “Thank you, Daddy,” she said in a whisper as she passed over the threshold.

  “You’re welcome, Lady Bee.”

  Amanda stumbled and just about dropped her bundle. She shot him a look as he shut the door behind them.