by Gina Welborn
He tipped the front brim of his hat. His brow furrowed. “I’ve never seen it before. Several large ranches around here went belly up after the hard winter. Ranchers who wintered in California never returned, and others who’d endured the winter skedaddled as soon as the snow cleared. Only a fraction of cattle on this side of Montana survived.” He stepped forward to pet the dog. “This little feller looks mighty fancy to be a stray. Someone has been feeding it. Hey, Luci, come see—”
“No,” Emilia and Roch blurted out in unison.
Jakob’s bemused gaze shifted between them.
“She’s petrified of dogs,” whispered Roch. He tipped up his hat just like Jakob had. “One bit her arm when she was little. All animals make her wary.” He turned to Emilia, as if looking for approval that he hadn’t shared something he shouldn’t have.
She gave him a soft smile. While his words to her of late tended to be sparse and tense, they always found common ground with Luci. “What do you think we should do about the dog?” she asked Roch. “It can’t stay here.”
He shrugged.
They both looked to Jakob.
He laughed, holding up his hands. “Whoa. I’m not taking the critter,” he said and yet took the dog from Emilia; it immediately started licking his hand. He scratched under its chin. “I’ll wager someone from Helena felt sorry for you three being out here all alone. For all this one’s size, he”—he checked its belly—“she has a mean bark. No one could sneak up on you without Dog with Needles for Hair hearing it.”
Roch chuckled. “Dog with Needles for Hair. I like that.”
Emilia looked over at Luci, sitting on the cart bench, her silent pleas evident. Why did she feel the immediate need to go to Sheriff McCall? He could make all the promises in the world to keep them safe, but promises didn’t bolt the door at night. Promises couldn’t protect them against an attacker. Promises—
Someone from Helena felt sorry for you three being out here all alone.
“He did this,” she muttered.
“Who?” Jakob asked.
“Sheriff McCall.” And then, because she didn’t want Jakob to think she thought ill of a man he clearly admired, she added, “He wouldn’t have done it if he’d known about Luci’s fear. His intentions were honorable.”
Roch gave her a bemused look. “It could have been anyone.”
“You’re right. It could have been anyone,” she admitted. “I know it was him.”
“Do you?” he bit off. “Or do you want it to be him?”
Emilia tensed. What had she said or done to make her brother think she had feelings for the sheriff? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His eyes narrowed. “Your husband’s been dead a week. Stop, all right?” He untied Finn’s horse and led it to the barn.
Jakob sighed. “Emilia, Roch didn’t intend—”
“Yes, he did.”
Everything she’d done was to make sure her family had a better life. But Roch didn’t see it. After she’d started exchanging letters with Finn, Roch had pushed her out of his life. He’d built a wall between them, and no matter how many times she’d reminded him that she was doing this for him—for all of them—he was too angry to notice anything but how she no longer had the time to be his substitute mother.
Emilia turned to Jakob. “He thinks I’m on the hunt for another husband. I’m not, but Roch is happy to think the worst of me.”
They were silent for a moment.
She scratched the dog’s neck. “I’ll take this little one back to Sheriff McCall in the morning.”
“Why? It’s not his.” Jakob grimaced. “At least I’ve never known him to own a dog, but I wouldn’t put it past him to pick up a stray and bring it out . . .” He left the sentence unfinished, implying that Sheriff McCall’s kindness extended to both the dog and the Staneks.
“Regardless, the dog can’t stay here. Not when my sister is terrified of him.”
Jakob tipped his head, gazing over to where Luci sat. A crease deepened between his brows. “Emilia, go inside.” Said in a hard tone unlike anything she’d heard from him before.
“Why?” she asked.
“She’ll never learn to be brave with you hovering over her.”
She glanced from him to Luci and back again, realization of his intention dawning.
She opened her mouth to argue, but his jaw clenched. This was her sister they were talking about. Hers. In time, Luci would grow out of her fear, just as Emilia had grown out of hers of unfamiliar animals. What she needed to do was find Luci a book about dogs. Knowledge chased away fear. Forcing a child to confront her fear by petting a dog?
“I don’t think—”
Jakob turned to face her with such a don’t-argue-with-me expression, the rest of her argument died in her throat. She swiveled around and strolled, shoulders high, into the cabin. Regardless of what happened, tomorrow she was taking the dog back to Sheriff McCall and letting him know they didn’t need his interference in their lives.
Because she needed to.
She certainly had no interest in seeing him.
* * *
Say what she had to say and leave.
Emilia drew in a breath, yet the action did little to calm the butterflies in her stomach. Agitated butterflies. Not excited-about-seeing-the-sheriff ones. The last time she’d stood outside the door to City Hall, Sheriff McCall had opened it for her so she could enter and file the proxy. Five days ago. Things had ended peacefully between them. No reason to fret that he’d retained any anger at her for filing the proxy, for staying in Helena, for not doing what he’d wanted her to do. No man held his anger for five days. Sheriff McCall was like every other man she’d ever dealt with.
Except he made her feel jittery.
Just thinking about seeing him again made her feel jittery.
Knowing what she had to say to him made her even more jittery.
Oh dear, she hadn’t felt this inner turmoil when she’d resigned from Spiegel. What was wrong with her? No reason to feel nervous. No reason to dawdle either. Mr. Gunderson was expecting her back to work by one and she needed time to eat her lunch—not that she’d need more than a few minutes for a wedge of cheese and two pickles. She’d need another ten minutes minimum to walk back to The Resale Co. Better plan for fifteen in case another person stopped to welcome her to Helena, to ask if he could take her to dinner or lunch or the theater or—
Stop dawdling!
Emilia jerked open the door and stepped inside. For all that the building housed—city marshal, police court, fire department, jail, city council, and, temporarily until the new county jail was built, the office of the sheriff—it was quite unpretentious. The door closed behind her, causing an echo in the foyer, despite the dozen or so people milling about.
“Mrs. Collins,” the city clerk called out. “It’s so good to see you again.” Smiling, Mr. Dunfree motioned her over to his counter. “How can I help you today?”
Every person in the foyer looked her way.
Emilia hurried to the counter before anyone decided to engage her in conversation. “Good morning, Mr. Dunfree. I’m looking for the sheriff,” she said softly. “Is he busy?”
“Yes—no.” His face scrunched as he thought about it. “Come to think of it, I don’t know. Mac’s been in and out all morning. He’s got a hanging over in Marysville. I could take a message for you.”
“I’d prefer to speak in person.”
He looked offended, as if she’d insulted his ability to be discreet. “Then how about you come back tomorrow? Between nine and ten. After that, he has a trial. Could last all day.”
She glanced at the door to the office of the sheriff. “I can’t come back at that time. I have work.” At the sound of sudden laughter, she looked to her right.
A trio of firemen descended the stairs. They turned to their left and opened a door, revealing a water wagon. The door closed.
She looked back at the clerk. “Mr. Gunderson said this was Sheriff McCall’s l
unch hour. Surely this would be a convenient time, if he’s in the building.”
He stared at her, clearly knowing something she didn’t. He leaned on the counter. “I know everyone in this building. I’m sure I can find someone to help with your need.”
Emilia just smiled. “Thank you, but I need to speak with Sheriff McCall.”
The door to the city marshal’s office opened. A ginger-haired man leaned out, scowling. “Dunfree, I’m tired of waiting! Get me the d—” His gaze settled on Emilia, his face blanching. “Uh, I need those liquor licenses I asked for,” he said in a more genteel tone. “Ma’am.”
She tipped her head to acknowledge him.
He closed his door.
Leaving the clerk to find the forms the city marshal so desperately needed, Emilia maneuvered through the crowd to reach the door with Office of the Sheriff etched into the glass. She softly rapped on the glass pane, waited, and after deciding no one was going to answer, opened the door. Four men stood around a desk, all talking over one another. None looked like the steely-eyed gunslingers she’d expected to see, despite the guns strapped to their thighs. Each wore a vest over his white shirt, although Sheriff McCall’s gold damask was the fanciest. Considering the stuffiness of the room despite two windows being open, she wasn’t surprised all had discarded their coats and rolled up their sleeves.
She stepped inside, then gently closed the door, yet the moment it latched, all four turned her way. Their gazes shifted from noticing her bonnetless head to her gloveless hands, their disapproval evident. Sheriff McCall looked downright angry. Why? Because she stood before him in a tattered black dress with a white apron, a clear reminder she was a clerk and a cleaning woman all because of his friend’s debts?
Or because she was a visible reminder that his closest friend was dead?
Emilia raised her chin. “Sheriff McCall, I have a situation I’d like to discuss with you.”
His grip tightened on the papers he held.
“Is this a good time?” she said with all the confidence she could maintain under the intensity of his gaze. “Or should I come back later?”
He slapped the papers against the chest of the deputy next to him. “Keenan, get these juror summons delivered. We can talk about the trial when you get back. O’Mara, go with him. If you see Yin Sing, tell him to get in here and pay his taxes before Friday, or we’ll have no choice but to arrest him this time.”
“What about Timberline?” asked the third deputy, the shortest of the four men. “I have two eyewitness accounts that she’s selling opium out of her laundry shop.”
“Ask Forsythe for a search warrant.” Sheriff McCall snatched a file off the desk. “Mrs. Collins,” was all he said before walking into his office.
The two summons bearers grabbed their hats and suit coats, then left.
“Ma’am?”
Emilia looked to the third deputy. His shoulders were eye level with hers, a pleasant change from having to crank her neck backward to meet a man’s gaze. Now that he stood closer she could see his skin was a light toffee color; he had some mixed heritage.
“Yes?” she said with a smile.
He shook her hand. “I’m Deputy Nick Alderson.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“I’m sorry about your husband. Finn was a good man.”
Based on the number of people who had said the same, Finn had been mightily respected in this community. No wonder merchants had no qualms at extending him credit.
“Thank you,” she said before casting a nervous glance at the opened door to the sheriff ’s office. She swallowed. “I suppose I shouldn’t keep him waiting.”
Deputy Alderson’s voice lowered. “Be careful. Mac’s in a short temper. He’s always like this when we have to do a hanging.”
Emilia nodded, although she didn’t know why. She didn’t know Sheriff McCall well enough to understand his moods or why a hanging would anger him so. That she should be careful around him she understood.
“Duly noted,” she whispered back.
“If you will excuse me, I need to see the judge.”
“Oh, of course.” She started toward the sheriff’s office.
She stopped just over the threshold. The file Sheriff McCall had grabbed lay on his desk, the papers strewn from where they’d fallen when he’d clearly tossed the file down. He was standing at the window, his hand braced against the wall, staring outside, his expression stony. A man had to be strong—as much on the inside as the out—to enforce the law, especially when the consequences resulted in the loss of life. He shouldn’t have to bear the burden alone. No lawman should.
No man should.
She looked down at his desk. Where to begin?
Emilia clenched her hands together, then breathed deep.
“I’m not angry.” She cringed. That probably hadn’t been the best way to start this conversation. It might make him think she was angry . . . and she wasn’t. She was nervous.
He gave no indication he’d heard her. Or, more plausibly, that he needed to respond . . . yet. In the two days they’d spent together, she’d learned he was a man of few words. Was that by nature or by choice? Or did he merely not care enough about her feelings to be bothered if she was angry at him or not? She was a person. A woman who cared and loved and wanted to be loved. She had feelings.
She felt. She hurt. Regardless if he cared or didn’t. But why shouldn’t he be nonchalant toward her?
I think he thinks you’re awfully pretty. Luci clearly had favorably—and faultily—interpreted the man’s looks in Emilia’s direction.
She was nothing to him but Finn’s widow.
Emilia stepped farther into the office. “When I realized it was you, I wasn’t angry either. I know your intentions were honorable. You couldn’t have known about Luci. You were only with us for two days, and then we didn’t see you for another four.”
He continued to say nothing.
So she trudged on. “Jakob talked with Luci. She adores him, although not so much as she does you. It’s a different kind of adoration.” Emilia grimaced. A different kind of adoration? He was going to think she’d gone mad. “Jakob worked a miracle—well, maybe miracle is too strong a word. Luci needs time to be completely comfortable with Needles, but she’s less fearful now. What I’m trying to say is thank you for thinking of us, but . . . uh . . . please don’t do anything like that again without talking to me first.”
He turned and looked at her, a weary lavender under his narrowed eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“The dog. The stray,” she corrected.
He stared blankly.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know about it.”
“I’m not.”
She watched as his right hand rested on the hilt of his revolver, an action he often did. Consciously? She cocked her head, studying him. Some men would do it to intimidate. Could it be less about intimidation and more of a reminder of his duty to uphold the law? Surely he didn’t doubt he was an honorable man. A good man. A man any woman would be honored to love and cherish.
I’d take the one right there if I were you.
Emilia shook her head to rid it of Luci’s words. Yes, he was attractive. But for heaven’s sake, he was her husband’s closest friend. Dead husband but still . . . “I don’t know where you found the stray,” she said to break the awkward silence. When he still didn’t respond, she added, “Jakob says it isn’t yours. Is it?”
He shook his head.
“But it’s not wild. It’s been raised in a home. I was thinking about putting up flyers or buying an advertisement in the paper. Someone around here should know who the dog belongs to. Or, if not, maybe someone will want to take it.”
“You can’t afford flyers,” he snapped. “Or an advertisement.”
Emilia felt her jaw drop. Of course she couldn’t afford either. She couldn’t afford to feed a dog. Her husband was dead. She had two siblings to care for. She owed five creditors and was obligated by propriety
to do something nice in return for every person who’d brought condolence gifts—gifts she’d never asked for! The debts continue to pile up. Plus she never knew when to expect another embarrassing marriage proposal or request to court her. And now she had a dog she didn’t want, didn’t need, and couldn’t afford to feed or find its owner. To top it off, she was wasting her lunch break to listen to a man—a man who cared nothing about her feelings—impolitely point out her impoverished state.
She stomped over to him. “I know I can’t afford flyers.”
He gave her a look as if to say, Then what’s the problem?
“You.” She poked his arm. “The dog I can deal with. You, Mr. McCall, I can’t!”
He walked to his desk and returned the strewn papers to the folder. “Good day, Mrs. Collins.”
Emilia didn’t move. Surely this wasn’t the end of the conversation, yet the second the telephone on his desk rang, he snatched it up and responded. As the person on the other end of the line spoke, he sat at his desk, grabbed a notepad, and began to write.
Of all the inconsiderate, insufferable—
She whirled around. Three steps out of his office, she stopped.
Deputy Alderson stood next to the door to the hall, a look of disappointment on his face. She didn’t have to ask to know he’d heard everything. Not that she faulted him for listening.
She continued forward, taking care not to meet his gaze. “I could have handled that better,” she admitted.
“Finn was his friend.”
Instant tears blurred her vision. “Don’t you think I know? He’s done nothing but remind me since I arrived.” She reached for the door handle, but he blocked it with his hand. She looked up, fearing she’d see condemnation but finding nothing but pity instead. “Deputy Alderson, is this your way of telling me I should go back and apologize?”
He wiped the tear that trailed down her cheek. “Do you want to, ma’am?”
If she went back to Sheriff McCall’s office and apologized—well, she wouldn’t be able to do it without crying. The man did nothing but bring out the worst in her. If she apologized now, he would either sit there in stony silence, staring at her as if she were a broken spout, or, even worse, draw her into his arms and hold her as she cried. She couldn’t risk either happening. Her heart hurt enough as it was. Her brother wasn’t showing her any compassion, the man she’d pinned all her hopes and dreams on was dead, she had no friends, and Sheriff McCall? The man made her horribly uncomfortable.
