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

by Karen Sommers

  Halfway down the street, a farmer’s cart trundled past him. The driver wasn’t looking at where he was going, the old swayback horse was doing the steering, the driver was focused on a different sight entirely, his head turned to the side of the road not visible to Phillip as the body of the cart blocked his view. Whatever the man saw, it about twisted the head off his neck as he rattled past. He near fell from his perch on the high seat in front before he caught himself and somehow managed to get set upright again.

  Phillip, in an effort to be friendly, tried to wave, but the man was by far too preoccupied to notice. Phillip craned his neck, trying to see. But the only thing in his view was the sheriff. He was standing in the middle of the road staring back Phillip’s way. Again, Phillip tried to wave hello, but the sheriff only dropped his head and shook it slowly. When he looked up again, he shuddered, turned, and half-ran into the jailhouse.

  People up and down the street were staring, and Phillip’s curiosity finally got the better of him. If the man with the wagon wasn’t going to move anytime soon, he’d just have to hike around it and see for himself what all the fuss was about.

  Every eye in town was focused on a single female figure coming up the street.

  The girl looked an awful lot like Amanda Addams. In fact, there were considerable similarities. Only this girl wore a bright dress, with white gloves, and had her face partially covered with a frilly bonnet of lace. Phillip tried desperately to affix that face to this new person, not Amanda… but whoever it was spotted him and picked up her skirts to run over.

  Good lord, he knew those boots.

  “’Morning!” she said with a wild grin on her face.

  “Good…” He got that far on habit, the rest caught in his throat as he got a good look at her face. What in the world was she wearing on her cheeks? She looked like a fever victim.

  “It’s a pretty morning, ain’t it?”

  “Very… uh… pretty,” he agreed, though he wasn’t sure what it was he was agreeing to. “You’re… is everything…” He waved at her dress. He supposed it was a beautiful dress, but on her, it looked… it looked like… his mind went back to the year he’d been abroad with his family. To keep the dust off the furniture, everything was covered with sheets. If the sheets had been made of tasteful, expensive cloth, it probably would have looked like this.

  She didn’t actually wear the dress so much as carried it around on her back. There was no single thing that he could point to where it wasn’t pretty, classy, and tasteful, but it was like putting finery on a cutting horse. It wasn’t her.

  “Oh, the dress?” Amanda smiled and absently scratched a rib. “I had this old thing just laying around. I figured that” she shrugged negligently, “I should probably dress up a bit now that I’m a working woman. Maybe start looking more professional-like.”

  She smiled. That smile caught his breath, and for a moment, the same girl that grabbed two boxes of paper and walked off with them like they weighed nothing was back. The grin was open and honest and even, in its own way – pure. This was the smile that he’d been coming to look forward to every day when he went to work. He’d gone out of his way to talk to her, just to see if he could coax out that smile again, just for him.

  Then she smoothed out the gown. That action twisted the impossibly long glove she was wearing. She tried to straighten that out, and it tore at the seam. He cringed a little. Whatever she was trying to prove by dressing up this way, he was utterly baffled by it.

  “Well…” she said, putting the arm behind her when the seam of the glove unraveled further. “Shall we get to work, then?”

  It took a long moment to realize that she was waiting for him. “Oh. Yes. Of course!” He bowed and caught himself and then completed it. He couldn’t decide if he should wave her on first or offer his arm, or exactly what to do at this point, so he took two steps and turned to see if she followed.

  “Oh, goodness!” Amanda said with a hearty laugh. “You are feeling off today, ain’t you?” She took his arm as genteel as any lady at a church dance and half dragged him into the office.

  The men in the office had the same reaction as he did, but they were able to stand secure in their bewilderment and so were able to sit and stare. Admittedly, it was very disconcerting when it was Irving staring at you through the thick lenses and the metronome blinking, but Phillip was still rudderless as they entered the building.

  “Hey, Joe!” Amanda called to the young intern. “Let’s get that fresh pile done, huh? It looks like goggles there has added all kinds of folders to it, hasn’t he?”

  Joseph looked from one man to the other and then pointed to his chest and mouthed the word “Me?”

  “Ok!” Phillip called out. This, at least, was in his element. This part he could do. “Let’s get this done today, we officially begin serving the community next Monday, and we need to finish getting moved in! The rest of those boxes that arrived two days ago…where are they? We need to get those unpacked too.”

  The two older men nodded, and still somewhat bewildered, wandered off to their respective areas leaving Joseph looking like he’d just been offered for a sacrifice.

  Amanda, on the other hand, seemed her usual self. Meaning she bent over and lifted one of those fresh boxes to take back to the file room like she’d been doing all week. Only this time she stepped firmly on the hem of her dress in doing so, ripping a good-sized piece of lace off the bottom that trailed after her as she led a somewhat horrified Joseph back to where they were working.

  Smoothly. Everything was running smoothly, just as it had the rest of the week.

  Until the clock struck 10:00. Then the day fell apart at the feet of one Cynthia Davis.

  Chapter 11

  Amanda could not for the life of her figure out how anyone was supposed to grasp anything with gloves. Rawhide protected hands against barbed wire and hemp rope. They made sense. Long silk gloves did absolutely no good at all and, in fact, made things worse.

  There was nothing to grip onto. She pulled a sheaf of papers from the box and watched as the stack slid back in, falling from the center, and mixing up the pages as thoroughly as shuffling cards. They landed with an audible smack, and she was left with two pages in her fist. Trying to pull them back out again was an exercise in futility.

  I think I’m supposed to take them off when I work. Or at least I’m gonna have to. This makes no sense.

  She struggled to remember what Sarah did when she wore gloves, but it occurred to her that maybe she’d started out wrong. Sarah wore kid gloves while shopping, with a nicer pair for church. The silk was for social functions, like a dance.

  What does Sarah think I do over here anyway?

  Seeing as how working and dancing didn’t exactly equate, then maybe she could be forgiven for taking the dratted things off. Besides, she’d already torn one of them and wasn’t altogether sure it could be repaired. No, she’d just have to accept the loss. She rolled the long gloves down her arm, as being more expedient than trying to take them off nicely. She balled them up and tried to shove them under her belt were a decent pair of rawhides would go. There wasn’t a belt. Nor pockets. She looked at the balled silk and tossed them onto a side table.

  Then, because she had work to do, she pulled the sleeves of the dress up to her elbows and dug in. She’d emptied the second of the three boxes, and Joseph was busily filing them away when she heard the front door open. Right on cue, Miss Davis walked in, just as she had every other day this week about this time. Amanda peered curiously out the door, wondering what kind of excuse she’d have today for showing up.

  The day before, she’d chatted, albeit perfunctorily with Mr. Summit before making a beeline to Phillip’s… that is Mr. Richman’s office. Today, however, Miss Davis entered the office and ignored everyone who was standing there, saying nothing at all as Mr. Summit tried to greet her.

  She walked in with the look of a woman who was searching for something. Someone. She saw Amanda leaning at the table, one
hip cocked to rest on the tabletop, and Miss Davis’s hand flew over her mouth to suppress a giggle, her eyes grew wide as if they didn’t have room to take in the spectacle before her.

  Amanda stood and let the papers in her hand scatter, feather-like to the floor at her feet. She leaned against the table, feeling like a deer caught in the sights of a rifle.

  Why now? For a week she’s ignored me. Why today does she choose to corner me with her eyes? Angry and defiant, Amanda met her gaze boldly. Daring her to say something.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” Miss Davis said, trying unsuccessfully to squelch a smile. She cleared her throat, not once, but twice. “I’m Cynthia Davis,” she said and gave the briefest of curtsies. “I have heard a great deal about you, Miss Addams, but I must admit that you exceed my expectations. I understand your father is the local sheriff?”

  Amanda nodded dumbly, not altogether sure where this conversation to going, but mistrusting it as much as she did Mr. Weston’s mustang that he rode to town only half-tamed, on a snaffle bit. That was an animal worth avoiding.

  Funny how she put this girl in the same category after only a handful of words.

  Yet the woman held herself erect and glided when she walked. Ladylike. She was demure, cute and she wore her dress as though it were a natural part of her. Suddenly it came together in her mind. She didn’t mind so much not knowing the right things to say or do. Conversation had always just kind of happened around her and her own commentary went where it would, normally with a directness that may have made other people feel a little awkward. Amanda had always found that to be more their problem than hers.

  No, it was how she felt about herself that changed when this woman was around, when she dragged her eyes up and down her form as though cataloging and her finding faults at every turn. In a matter of moments, Amanda ran the gamut of emotions, feeling silly, awkward, and foolish all at the same time. Compared to this girl, she felt thick and clumsy and stupid.

  And she’d never felt that way about herself in her entire life.

  It was a new sensation, realizing that no matter what she did from this point she’d been found wanting. She’d been getting dregs of such emotion all week long in the wake of these visits. It was this emotion that had led her to put on this dress today, even though she knew, knew that it didn’t suit her in the least, despite everything that Sarah had said.

  All because this was the kind of girl that Phillip wanted. This was the sort he went for. Put a dress on a cow and it’s still a cow. The phrase occurred to her as she watched Miss Davis preen and… and well vamp. She was trying to be something she could never be, in order to try and turn the head of a man who would never want a tough, unladylike woman like her.

  Miss Davis was an alien creature, far beyond her understanding and too far removed for her to emulate. And under that calculating gaze, she’d seen Amanda wholly, all her motivations laid out in front of her and found wanting. Worse. Been found…amusing.

  “I must say, that is a lovely dress,” Cynthia said with a sparkle in her eye that belied her words. “I saw that very same dress when I was in Boston. My that had to have been, four, maybe five years ago? But the fashion has held up well enough. I’ve noticed that out here no one seems to mind if things are a little…well…dated.”

  Amanda nodded because she was expected to reply and not just stand there like a poleaxed steer. She simply couldn’t think of any words to say. It was all she could do to keep her hands smoothed straight at her sides and not bunched into fists. Whatever she was, even she knew that punching Miss Davis in the nose was not acceptable behavior from a lady or even a hoyden such as herself.

  Besides she had more self-control than that.

  “If I can be of assistance to you in the future, say for lengthening a dress that’s too short for you? Please, do let me know. I am an able seamstress and would be happy to take you under my wing or assist in any way possible.” Miss Davis smiled. Amanda had to admit that rows of even, white teeth were a rarity and added to her beauty. It was like looking into the jaws of a wolf.

  “Excuse me,” Amanda murmured under her breath and brushed past her, intent on escaping though if you’d asked her she couldn’t have said where she was going, or even exactly why. She only needed to leave…now. Unfortunately, Phillip came out of his office just in time to run into her. His arms wrapped around her automatically to keep them both from falling, but Amanda broke free of his grasp and bolted out of the front door, only just barely holding back the humiliation she felt.

  Just get home.

  She stopped on the street, and it registered to her. The looks she’d gotten on the way into town. The stares, the wide-eyed looks of bewilderment and repressed amusement. Even now it seemed every eye in the place was on her. Mary Lynn walked out of Willy Morgan’s Dry Goods and erupted into laughter. Old Mrs. Olson placed a hand on her heart and leaned over to whisper into Mrs. Tanner’s ear. The sisters looked back at her, and both broke into suppressed laughter as they carried their shopping home, tucked under their arms.

  It felt like the entire town was jeering, laughing, and even guffawing at her. It was all so obvious now. She’d made a fool of herself to impress a fellow that was so far out of her league as to be downright laughable. He was as different to her as a thoroughbred was to a mule, as different from her as… well as Miss Davis was.

  People like them, Phillip and Miss Davis, were obviously meant for each other, and she had been fool enough to enter their world. Now she stood in the street, the object of ridicule. She stared, white-faced at the passersby, noting each and every one, thankful that the street wasn’t near so busy as before, that maybe she could escape without special notice. She walked carefully as though she hadn’t a care to the end of the block, then ran down the street as soon as she was safely past the shops, bolting between the stables and the turnout Mr. Miller used for the horses he boarded for the townsfolk.

  She threw herself into the stables through the back door and leaned against the battered wood, letting the smell of horse and manure and dirt fill her nostrils and remind her of who she was. She looked down at the dress and saw for the first time the clear mark around the hem where Sarah had let the dress down.

  “It’s no wonder…”

  Half in tears she found the stall where Champion stood chewing on bits of grass left over from breakfast. The sunlight through the boards seemed to make his mane glow. Mr. Miller had recently trimmed his hooves, and he was a picture of perfect health. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered to the horse. “You’re a dream come true on four legs and everything I always thought that I would want.” She shook her head at the soft nose that whuffled in her direction, reveling in the feel and the smell of his breath. She leaned into the soft cushion of his nose, the fine hairs tickling her face.

  “But you’re too fancy of a horse for me,” she told him, her voice catching as she spoke. “I’m not a fancy horse kind of person.” She shrugged and wished she could pull the stupid dress off right here and be done with it. She wanted her own clothes. Real clothes. The kind that real kinds of people wore.

  She patted Champion’s head, scratched his ears and let him lean into the caress, “You are a beautiful dream though,” she told him, her voice catching a little. Just like your owner. Maybe it’s just time to wake up.

  With a sigh, Amanda turned away and made her way over to Oliver’s stall. She was able to hold out until she found her grooming kit at least. Only there, in the safety of his stall, with currycomb in hand did the tears finally escape her tight control. Here she stopped fighting them. They ran down her face in a silent, steady flow as she ran the brush down Oliver’s sides and neck. They threatened to choke her as she brushed his belly and pulled at the tangles in his mane.

  Oliver turned to lean his great head against her shoulder, one soft, brown eye looking at her as if she were the most important thing in the world. Oliver didn’t even move when her father walked through the stables calling her name, and she t
ook refuge behind her horse, safe out of sight until even he gave up and left. It wasn’t too often she could hide from him, it was less often that she wanted to, but today, he didn’t look behind Oliver, to see his daughter crouching in the dappled darkness. She waited until she heard his voice outside talking to someone else before finally moving, to stand on legs made shaky by too long crouching.

  “I’m sorry, Oliver,” she whispered to the horse when she was finally alone again. “I should never have tried to ride anyone else. You’re my horse. We were meant for each other.” She rummaged in the tack kit until she found a comb she could pull through his mane. “That’s not so bad, is it?” She scratched his ear. “Not too disappointed?”

  He only whickered in reply.

  Chapter 12

  “Miss Davis,” Phillip Richman spoke with his jaw clenched. It would be ill-conceived to alienate the new head of the military fort by slapping the man’s only daughter, but the thought did occur. “You have come every day to this office but have yet to explain any reason for your visits. You obviously do not need legal advice, and frankly, you are interfering with the operation of our efforts.”

  The sound of the front door banging closed still seemed to echo in the cavernous space. ‘Interfering’ had been putting it mildly. Right now, he was mad as blazes and bound and determined to put an end to this entire little game of hers once and for all. He’d exercised great patience thus far, but that was over, he was no longer babysitting.

  “Well,” Cynthia snapped, her face turning red. “I am sure that no longer has to be a problem, MISTER Richman.”

  “I should hope not. While I have no idea what exactly just transpired, it is clear to me that today you have cost me the efforts of someone who has not only been productive, but even instrumental in establishing this office as a viable workplace. Not only that, you have put us even further behind schedule, and STILL, I have no idea WHY you are here!” He stared at her, he could feel the anger in him, knew it suffused his face and his entire body had gone rigid, but this much he couldn’t help. He’d never slapped anyone before and wasn’t about to now, but the feeling was there, the desire to punish, to shame someone for needlessly hurting another. It was hard to swallow that back down sometimes, to remind himself that not only was he a man, but he was also a gentleman, and better than this.