Hang Your Heart on Christmas: A Clean & Inspirational Western Historical Romance (The Brides of Evergreen Book 1)

by Heather Blanton

  The concern in her face changed to fear, and she withdrew her hand. Dent flinched. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. That was a bad joke. Truth is I hardly drink at all.”

  She clutched her reticule in front of her like a shield. “Hardly?”

  Oh, how did I get myself into this mess? The surly attitude replaced his mortification. He wasn’t about to explain his drinking habits to anyone, much less this tee-totaling librarian. He motioned to the dirt walkway. “Uh, you ready, ma’am?”

  She cast around for a moment. “We’re walking?”

  Dent froze the expression on his face, determined not to betray his irritation. “Nice evening for a walk, and it’s not far at all to Doc’s.”

  “But it will be dark on our return?”

  “Yes ma’am, that usually happens when the sun sets.”

  Her face tightened into outright indignation. Her little chin came up, and she marched past Dent like he was a rude drunk. Scratching his nose, he replaced his hat and caught up with her. “That was impertinent of me, Miss Tate. My apologies.”

  She didn’t deign to respond. He sighed and drummed his fingers on his thigh as they came to the boardwalk in front of the deed office. She stopped abruptly and spun on him. “Do you know why I’m here, Sheriff?”

  He blinked at her, feeling like a raccoon caught breaking into the root cellar. “To teach?”

  “Is that all you’ve been told? Doctor Woodruff, Susan, they haven’t told you anything else?”

  Clearly, there was more, as he’d suspected, but it was her secret to keep. “No ma’am.”

  She stared down at the reticule in her hands, hands busy squeezing the life out of the little silk bag. “I was attacked by two men back in Swanton as I was walking home one night.”

  Dent held his face still, but inside he grimaced. No wonder ...

  “An off-duty police officer chased them away before ...” She sniffed and rolled a shoulder. “I’m afraid of everything now. Strangers. The dark. The idea of a moonlit walk with a handsome gentleman absolutely terrifies me.” She met his gaze then, and the pain he saw behind those wire frames moved him. “I’m sorry to be such a delicate flower. I’m sure that’s most annoying to a man like you.”

  Dent opened his mouth, but snapped it shut. Did she think he was handsome? But what did she mean by that last? “A man like me, ma’am?”

  “Strong, self-assured, busy with justice, bored by the inconsequential. My issues must seem very silly to you. After all, I was unharmed ... mostly.”

  Truly, she did have much to be thankful for. She had her life, even if a part of her soul had been taken. “I guess that’s one of the good things about Evergreen then, ma’am. A body can take life slow and easy here. For what it’s worth, I think you’re in the right place. And I’m sorry.” Her mouth formed a shocked, little ‘o’ and he reached his hand out, trying to snatch back the comment. “No ma’am, I meant I’m sorry you need to be in a place like Evergreen.” That wasn’t right either. “I mean, I’m sorry you even—” he rid his voice of the embarrassment and offered a simple condolence, “that you even went through anything like that.”

  A blush rose in her cheeks as she pursed her lips and worked on a more stern expression. “I certainly hope you don’t have to do much public speaking in your new position, Sheriff. It’s not your gift.”

  Miss Tate sat down at the Woodruffs’ table, and smiled stiffly up at Mayor Coker as he pushed her chair in. Dent thought the man lingered a hair too long above her. Was he actually trying to peer down her dress? His hand squeezed into a fist.

  Politicians.

  Puzzled that he was so annoyed by the man’s behavior toward Miss Tate, Dent grabbed a biscuit and tossed it onto his plate.

  The mayor had talked the poor girl’s ear off from the moment she’d walked in the door, his questions verging on intrusive. Now, he sat down opposite her as they settled in for dinner, his bold gaze warning he wasn’t finished. Small talk circulated for a few moments, along with the fried steak, mashed taters, and green peas, but Mayor Coker, like a bloodhound, stayed on the scent. Dent peeked during grace and saw the man tapping his fingers. Then, after waiting a few moments, to seem respectable, Dent assumed, the mayor jumped back on the trail again.

  “I’m quite impressed with your library background,” Coker said as he chased some green beans around his plate. “But since I was not on the search committee, I don’t know specifically why you left your job. And why did you choose to come to Evergreen?”

  Miss Tate reminded Dent of a deer caught in rifle sights. While she could probably take care of herself, he saw a chance to needle the swaggering buffoon that passed for an elected official.

  “Mayor, I’m surprised you even have to ask that question. I hear you never let anyone forget what a spectacularly friendly and peaceful town this is. Why, we’re all blessed beyond measure to be here.” Dent nailed Doc across the table with a glare. “Isn’t that right, Doc?” Then he pointed at Amy with his fork. “Why, a smart young lady like Miss Tate probably never even considered another town.”

  Doc raised a disapproving eyebrow at Dent. The mayor scowled and picked up the argument. “Dent, it is a wonderful town ... but it’s not a perfect town.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen the rampant crime problem here. Ben wrote a lengthy report about Sam Wiles’ prize stallion getting loose and destroying Bodie Trace’s fence. Oh, and there was a report about a merciless gang of ruffians setting fire to some outhouses. Evergreen has its share of low-class criminals.”

  “Speaking of low-class,” the mayor sliced into his steak, ignoring the comment. “Are you ready to handle that eviction if the Packetts aren’t ready to go?”

  Amy gasped. “You’re going to evict the Packetts?” Her pleading gaze bounced between Dent and the mayor. “Are you talking about Israel Packett and his father?” Back to Dent with shimmering blue eyes full of hope. “You won’t evict them, will you?”

  “Well, I ...” Ambushed. Coker had ambushed him, and the victory glowed on the man’s face. “I don’t know any of the facts yet, Miss Tate.” He tilted his jaw toward the mayor. “Mayor Coker sprang this on me tonight. I’ll study over the case and make my own determination.”

  “It’s no stretch,” the mayor assured them. “They’ve got a small spread on the edge of town. Packett’s wife died three years ago and the family’s fallen apart.”

  “That’s true,” Doc leaned back in his chair at the head of the table and draped an arm over the spire. “Tom has been in and out of jail since Julie’s death. He’s keeping some bad company over in Rawlins, and is gone a lot. It’s a shame. Israel’s a good boy and he deserves better.”

  The mayor wiped his mouth and tossed his napkin on to a cleaned plate. “Packett Sr., made his mortgage payments sporadically, Dent, but now he’s a hundred and forty days past due. The bank’s had enough. Ben served him with three notices.”

  Dent leaned forward. “A hundred and forty? Then why didn’t he evict ’em?” The mayor’s silence answered the question. “Oh. Because he didn’t want to.”

  “That’s right,” Coker slapped the table. “He wouldn’t. It was his duty to enforce the law and he kept coming up with excuses, putting the eviction on the back burner.”

  “Mayor,” Susan interjected in a conciliatory tone, “why don’t we talk about the fall festival?”

  Doc unhooked his arm and came back to the table, resting his elbows on each side of his plate. “That’s a good idea.” Sounding relieved at the change in subject, he dished himself a second serving of potatoes. “There are still a lot of details to work out.”

  Fall festivals ranked right up there with pie-judging contests, in Dent’s opinion. Not making any effort to hide his boredom, he plucked another steak from the platter. Slicing off a bite, he pondered things. What was Mayor Coker really after with that jab about the eviction? Maybe he was trying to prove Dent wasn’t capable of this job, as—judging by the politician’s attitude
—Ben hadn’t been either. Or maybe he just wanted the new lawman to look bad in front of Miss Tate.

  Either way, it didn’t matter. Once the investigation was settled, Dent would return to the U.S. Marshal’s office, or turn out and become a bounty hunter. What he did in Evergreen, how well he served the office, wouldn’t affect Judge Lynch’s decision ...

  Or would it? Maybe Lynch needed to see Dent doing the job by the book, making a real effort at being a lawman, not a supposed vigilante with a badge. If he had to evict a family, then he had to evict them. Tom Packett didn’t sound like an upstanding citizen anyway.

  Dent’s gaze grudgingly drifted over to Miss Tate. She clearly cared for the boy. Making the Packetts homeless wasn’t going to sit easy with her. That gave him pause.

  “I assume our new sheriff won’t break with tradition?” The flinty humor in the mayor’s voice brought Dent back to the conversation. He discovered the whole table staring at him, and Miss Tate’s eyes were wider and rounder than those wire frames of hers.

  He swallowed his mouthful of steak. “I’m sorry, what’d I miss?”

  The mayor grinned, but there was nothing friendly in the expression. “Why, Sheriff Hernandez, it is a tradition, twelve years running. The pumpkin-carving contest. The town council forms two teams, and you and the schoolteacher form another. We compete against each other. It’s all in fun.” A slick smile tipped his mouth. “Silly, pointless fun.”

  Dent set out to hold his face perfectly still, perfectly frozen, but against his will, the slightest quiver lifted his lip into a tiny sneer. “Pumpkin carving?” He laced his fingers together. “Well ...” The mayor was working hard to get a rise out of him by bringing up these menial, frivolous duties. Surely, it wouldn’t take Judge Lynch a month to conduct the investigation. Then, one way or the other, Dent was gone. That hope gave him the strength to suck up Coker’s jabs. “We’ll just see how things play out. I am the interim sheriff, Mayor. I doubt I’ll be here in October.”

  Mayor Coker’s face relaxed a little, like he was relieved. “Well, I hate to hear that you don’t want to stick around in your hometown, Dent.”

  And Dent hated hearing a bald-faced lie.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Amy pulled her knife through her steak, and tried to ignore the distaste that had raced across the sheriff’s face. He did not care for carving pumpkins, or perhaps he didn’t care for carving one with her.

  She knew she shouldn’t have confessed her ... her incident. She was a weakling in his estimation now. A burdensome citizen who might call him if there was a strange noise or spider in her kitchen. Well, she would get out of the contest, tradition notwithstanding. Someone else could carve with the man, someone more to his liking. A strong, hearty pioneer woman—that was his type; a woman who feared nothing and could shoot a shotgun with one hand and roll a cigar with the other.

  The gathering moved to the parlor for coffee and dessert, but Amy’s mood didn’t improve, and the time passed like a snail climbing uphill. She actually found herself wishing for the quiet solitude of her cottage. Anywhere Mayor Coker was not. Tension, for whatever reason, clearly brewed between him and Sheriff Hernandez, adding to her discomfort. She endured the official’s ceaseless chatter and roving gaze until 8:30.

  When the clock chimed the half-hour, she jumped on a break in the conversation. “Sheriff Hernandez, could I impose upon you to escort me home now? It’s late, and I’ve grown quite tired.”

  He practically leaped to his feet. “Absolutely, Miss Tate.”

  “Aw, now, Miss Tate,” Mayor Coker rose, filling the room with his overbearing stature. “I would be happy to escort you home. We could finish this delightful discussion on Poe’s works.”

  “I’ve got rounds to do, Mayor,” Sheriff Hernandez cut in before Amy could answer. “I start at that end of town.” His lips flattened into an unfriendly line. “No sense in both of us going down there.”

  The two men stared at each other, a subtle challenge in their gazes, but the mayor relented with a nod and tight smile. Not a true surrender, Amy suspected. More like a pause in the battle. The two men had avoided revealing the source of their hostility. She wished she knew. The tension made her nervous and knowledge often dispelled fear. However, it was not her place to ask.

  Thankfully done with the evening, she hugged Susan good night. “Thank you so very much for the lovely meal tonight.” Doc rose to stand beside Susan, and Amy squeezed his hand. “The evening was wonderful. Thank you both.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Susan asked cautiously.

  “Truly,” Doc said, returning the gentle squeeze, “You are more than welcome if you’re not ... comfortable in your new accommodations.”

  Amy felt both Sheriff Hernandez and the mayor watching her, and shook her head. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

  “We’ll still expect you every night for supper now.” Susan clutched her hands to her bosom. “I do so love cooking, and you and Dent are such lovely company.”

  The sheriff set his empty cup down on the coffee table with a loud clink, and touched Amy’s elbow. “Miss Tate.” She and the sheriff backed out of the room, saying their goodnights, the mayor sticking with them to the front door.

  Amy breathed a sigh of relief when the door shut behind them. “Does he ever stop talking?” she muttered aloud as they crossed the Woodruffs’ yard to the street.

  A rhetorical question, she didn’t expect an answer, but the sheriff had apparently also been pondering the man. “The mayor is attracted to you, Miss Tate. The fact he has a wife doesn’t seem to present him with any problem.”

  The remark so shocked Amy that she and the sheriff were several yards down the dark street before she realized it. Quickly, her horror over one situation changed to horror over the shadows surrounding her. She inched closer to the sheriff and folded her arms against the chill. While the sheriff instilled confidence, even trust, her surroundings were a different matter. “I can honestly say, at this moment, the thought of him having designs on me is only slightly less frightening than this dark street.”

  Sheriff Hernandez drew up instantly and turned to her. Taken aback, Amy stopped as well, all but forgetting her racing heart and sweaty palms.

  “I think you should be more worried about the mayor, but …” he tilted his head, “look around you.”

  “What?”

  “Look around.”

  Obediently, she cast her glance about. The little neighborhood of sweet, gingerbread homes on their right was brushed in silver moonlight. Amber lights glowed in the windows of several of them. Two hundred feet off to their left, the backside of a dozen Main Street stores sat silent and dark. Ahead of them, an owl left his seat in an oak and glided silently to a branch higher up in a cedar.

  “Now, close your eyes.”

  Amy held her breath. In the shadows, she couldn’t see the sheriff’s face clearly, but she could feel his insistent gaze. Heart pounding in her chest, she found the strength to bring her eyelids down ... and darkness swallowed her.

  “Now ... listen,” he whispered.

  His voice seemed to hang in the air, soft and reassuring. Fighting to let go of her irrational fear, at least for a moment, she ... listened. The owl hooted, announcing his new position. A man yelled ‘Lotto!’, and laughter from his friends or family playing the new board game drifted to her on the breeze. Bats chirped and chatted as they swooped somewhere over-head. A horse neighed and nickered off in the distance.

  “Smell anything?”

  She did. The scent of hickory and pine logs burning in fireplaces tickled her nose. She caught a whiff of leather and soap ... his scent. She opened her eyes.

  “Feel better?”

  “Yes, I do, actually ... a little, anyway.”

  He started walking again and she hurried to catch up with him. “How did you know that would help?”

  “Aw,” he shrugged, “something a U.S. Marshal told me
once about getting your bearings. The familiar … grounds you.”

  She could see that, but she could also still imagine someone hiding behind a tree up ahead. If she dwelt on it—the fear, the shortness of breath, the icy palms—it would all come back.

  “How long have you been a U.S. Marshal?” Talking might distract her.

  “This was my eighth year.”

  “I guess it’s exciting and challenging, roaming all over the territory, capturing murderers and horse thieves.”

  “Challenging, to say the least. I’ve been shot three times and stabbed five. I sleep too often on the ground, in the cold. Sometimes I go weeks without company. I’ve even nearly starved to death once.”

  “Were you after someone? The time you starved, I mean.”

  “Yep. And I got him.”

  Amy heard the pride—or vengeance—in his voice and thought again of the Victor Hugo quote. Every blade has two edges … “You have a passion for what you do.”

  “You could say that.”

  Or might he say obsession? Not familiar enough with the man to press further, she changed the subject. “I understand you grew up here. Do you really dislike it as much as you say?”

  “More.”

  She exhaled and laced her fingers in front of her. “Oh. Well, I suppose it’s a good thing you’re only the interim sheriff then. Why is that; if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I was suspended from the marshals, pending the investigation into Ben’s death. This is ... punishment.”

  “Punishment? His death wasn’t your fault. That man shot the sheriff.”

  “With my gun.”

  Amy couldn’t argue that point, but it wasn’t fair that the sheriff took any of the blame for the shooting. Sometimes, things just happened. Although she didn’t suppose he wanted to hear that, as the observation was less than helpful. She stole a quick glance at him. Though he tried to hide it, the burden of all this—the death of a friend, the suspension—weighed on him. No wonder he was withdrawn and solemn.