Rusty leaned over the table until he came into her line of vision, which was stubbornly centered on the dough. His voice deepened as he demanded. “That was before he what, Lacy? What did Sheriff Logan do that's got you in such an all-fired tizzy?"
She couldn't stand it. She just couldn't stand him thinking what she knew he was thinking. “Nothing, Grandpa. He—he just kissed me, that's all.” Heat seared her face. She waited tensely for his reaction. It wasn't a problem either of them had dealt with before.
When her husband, David, had courted her, he'd been the perfect gentleman all the way up to the wedding. Not that he hadn't kissed her before the wedding, just never without her consent. It was not until later that she discovered David was not the man she had first believed him to be. Lacy shuddered at the memory. Not on her life would she take that chance again.
She had Grandpa, Takola, and Ben and they kept her plenty busy. Her life was full and she had the freedom to do as she pleased, when she pleased. Marrying again anytime soon just didn't appeal to her. Twenty-four wasn't so old; she had plenty of time, if she could ever bring herself to trust again.
Strange noises interrupted her train of thought. Alarmed, Lacy jerked her head up, her eyes flying in her grandfather's direction. Her jaw dropped, then snapped shut. She pursed her lips together so hard she feared they'd remain flat.
"What's so funny?"
Rusty burst into laughter, alternating between holding his head to holding his middle. Finally he managed to gasp the words out. “Your grandma got that mad the first time I ever kissed her.” He grabbed the edge of her apron to wipe his streaming eyes. “Can't believe I didn't catch it ‘afore now."
Lacy jerked the apron out of his hands, insulted without knowing why. “What are you jabbering about?"
"You, girl. I'm talking about you.” He pointed a finger at her, his silly smile looking out of place in the lined wisdom of his face. “You got a hankering for the new sheriff, Lacy Lynn Ross."
It was several moments before Lacy found her voice. “That's ridiculous, Grandpa. Absolutely ridiculous.” She took a deep breath. “In fact, I've never heard of anything so ridiculous in my life."
Rusty slapped his thigh and rocked back and forth, laughing. “That's exactly what your grandma said when I told her she had a hankerin’ for me. Damn near word for word."
The dough hit him squarely in the face, effectively smothering his grin. Lacy harrumphed in satisfaction and left him to his insane, totally ridiculous imaginings.
And they were ridiculous. Why, putting her and Adam Logan together was like trying to mix bacon fat with water. A person could shake and shake, but within no time the two elements would fight their way apart again.
* * * *
Adam awoke with a stiff neck. Groaning, he opened his heavy eyelids and found himself looking into Ben's fearful face on the other side of the desk.
They stared at each other in silence, until Adam's groggy mind realized he wasn't dreaming. How long had the boy been standing there, watching him sleep? Uncomfortable at the thought, he turned his head toward the window, blinking his gritty eyes. A red dawn speared a bar of scarlet light through the glass panes, signifying the barest beginning of a new day.
Adam stretched, massaging the tense muscles in his neck and shoulders, and vowed he would have his own bed tonight, come hell or high water.
Which reminded him. He focused on Ben again. “Palmer still here, boy?"
Ben jumped, eyes widening at his cranky tone. “Nope. He went on home.” Then, daringly, he added, “And the name's Ben, sir."
Despite his foul mood, Adam felt a smile tugging at his lips. The youth had spunk, just like his—but no, she wasn't his real mother. Yet Adam had a feeling she was that and more to this little stick of fire. His protector, definitely. “Okay, Ben. Do you always get up this early?"
Ben scraped the floor with his boots, dropping his agitated gaze to follow the nervous movement. “Nope. Just couldn't sleep. Thought I'd get this over with before I start my lessons."
"You mean, before you go to school?"
Ben shot a quick glance at Adam through curly lashes before dropping his gaze away again. His pale skin brightened the freckles dotting his entire face. He cleared his throat. “I don't go to school, sir."
"And why is that? You look old enough to me.” Adam waited curiously for the answer to his question, ignoring the chiding voice that reminded him of his decision not to get involved.
Just when he thought Ben wasn't going to talk, the boy mumbled, “I'm old enough, be ten in December. But I—I ain't so good at book learning, and the other kids poke fun at me. Lacy says it's best I learn at home until I get better at readin’ and writin'. Catch up with the others."
Once again, Adam mused, Lacy had come to Ben's rescue. But in this instance, he found himself agreeing with her. In fact, he felt sorry for the boy as he imagined the humiliation he must have suffered. Low self-esteem wasn't good for a growing child. He should know. His stepfather had gone out of his way to try to make certain Adam retained little confidence in himself.
Pushing those sorry thoughts from his mind, Adam tapped a contemplative finger against his beard-roughened chin. Maybe he had stumbled upon the reason behind Ben's stealing. The possibility chased the last of sleep from his brain.
"Ben ... does it make you feel smart when you steal something from someone?"
Ben lifted startled eyes to stare at Adam. “Sir?"
Ah, ha! Adam thought, homing in on his theory. “How many other boys do you know can steal a pie from the sheriff right beneath his nose?"
"But you caught me!” Ben blurted out in confusion.
"Yes, but you damn near got away with it. If I hadn't turned around when I did, I wouldn't have known what happened to the pie. How many times do you succeed? Without them catching you?” He already knew from Lacy that Ben stole frequently from the town folks. It was just a hunch, but one worth digging into.
Frowning in thought, Ben said slowly, “Well, I don't always get caught, if that's what you mean.” His chin came up a notch. “And I ain't never met anyone else who can steal like I can.” In the blink of an eye, his expression turned gloomy. “Ain't much else I am good at, though. Can't hardly read nor write. Most folks don't consider stealin’ such a smart thing to do, neither."
Adam nodded in silent satisfaction. There was still the unresolved question of why Ben stole only food items, but Adam felt he was definitely on the right track. Maybe there was hope for the boy yet.
Tactfully changing the subject, he said, “Let's go see if anyone else is up at this hour. That saddle's gonna crack if I don't get some oil on it."
"Okay, but I warned you, I ain't much good at nothin'.” Ben sounded disgusted with himself and Adam resisted the urge to squeeze the boy's shoulder. He didn't think a show of pity would be appreciated. Ben had a streak of pride in him that reminded Adam of himself, something that had gotten Adam his share of beatings.
"We'll see,” was all he said in response. Standing, he reached for his hat and set it down nice and easy on his head. The swelling had gone down, he noted, but the bump was still a little tender to the touch. In rueful remembrance, he shook his head and grabbed his gun belt from the desk, buckling it in place as he strode to the door with Ben in tow.
As they made their unhurried way to the livery stable down the street, Adam looked around him with a mixture of curiosity and astonishment. The town didn't awaken gradually, with a slow filtering of folks onto the streets. It seemed to happen all at once, as if there was a silent bell that told the townspeople it was time to be up and about.
Locks clicked open, windows were thrown wide to catch the cool early air before the afternoon heat arrived. The lamp lighter scurried up and down the street extinguishing the lamps with a snuffer, a long metal rod topped by a tiny, deep cup. A heavy wagon rumbled by, loaded with enormous logs destined for the lumber mill. Across the street, Adam caught the eyes of several curious ladies as they made their le
isurely way to the large general store on the corner of Main and Oakleaf.
They entered the cool, dim interior of the big, barn-like structure to the smell of horses, leather, and hay. As they passed between the rows of horse stalls, many of the animals snickered and thrust their heads over the doors of the stalls in greeting. Ben called a few by name and patted their noses before hurrying to catch up to Adam's long strides.
They found the stable master in the tack room, searching through a large bin filled with a collection of old horseshoes, broken bridles, and moldy blankets. He straightened at their approach and smiled as he recognized the new sheriff.
During the short time it had taken Adam to stable his horse and make arrangements for its upkeep, he discovered that Matt Johnson had seen his fiftieth year, lost a wife and three children to the smallpox epidemic of eighty-two, and had recently remarried.
"Your horse settled down right nicely, Sheriff. Sometimes they kick up a fuss being someplace new, but your ole’ Sandy didn't.” He wiped his hands on the corner of a saddle blanket, glancing curiously at Ben, who hovered behind Adam. “Ain't that the widow Ross's boy?"
Adam reached around and grabbed Ben's shoulder, pulling him to his side. “Yeah, this is Ben. Ben, you know Matt Johnson here, don't you?” To the stable master, he said, “He's gonna help work my saddle over for me.” He felt Ben tense beside him, probably wondering if he planned to tell the stable master why he was helping. Adam had no such intention. As far as he was concerned, that was between him and Ben.
If Matt was surprised by the information, he hid it well. He smiled at Ben. “Well, that sounds like a man's job, don't it? Tell you what, if you do a good job on the sheriff's saddle here, then I might pay you to do a few for me."
Ben glanced at Adam, then at Matt as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. “You might? Really?” His face creased into a familiar frown. “I ain't no good at oilin’ saddles, Mr. Johnson.” He studied his boots, his chin dropping onto his chest.
Adam suppressed an aggravated sigh. It was worse than he'd first thought. Ben seemed convinced he was worthless at everything. “You ever oiled a saddle, Ben?"
"No, sir. I haven't. That's why I'm tellin’ ya, I can't do it."
"Now, how can you possibly know you can't if you've never done it? I ain't never been a sheriff before, but I'm willing to give it a try."
"That's not the same thing,” Ben argued, but he sounded less sure of himself.
Adam exchanged an understanding look with Matt. “I'm gonna leave you here with Matt and he's gonna show you how it's done. Later, we'll look it over and I'll decide if you can or you can't.” Before Ben had time to protest, Adam took his leave.
He had an entire town to get to know before he could begin his investigation. But first he needed to shave and change into some clean clothes. He wanted to look his best for the boss—the mayor—when he met him for lunch. Maybe the mayor would be able to tell him who did the laundry in town. Adam made a mental note to ask him.
* * * *
"The buckboard's ready,” Rusty informed Lacy as he came through the back door. He took off his hat and swiped at his forehead. “Gonna be hotter ‘n Hell today."
Lacy spared him a cool glance before sweeping past him with a basket of neatly laundered clothes, calling over her shoulder, “Thank you, Grandpa. I'm running late, and Ellen'll be frantic if I don't get these pies to the restaurant before lunch starts. Can you help carry them out? You know what it's like on Friday, and laundry has to be delivered and collected, too.” Before he could respond, she hurried on, “Where's Ben?"
Rusty grumbled something she didn't quite catch, then said, “He's upstairs doin’ his lessons—just like you told him. Seems we're all doing just what we're told."
Surprised by his disgruntled statement, Lacy halted in the doorway and turned to face him. She supposed she had sounded a mite bossy, but she had so much to do today.... “I'm sorry, Grandpa. Would you please help me load the wagon? Takola's comin’ with the last basket of laundry, and since Ben got a late start on his lessons.... “She followed this with a pleading look she knew worked every time.
This time was no exception. Within minutes, everything was loaded and she and Takola were on their way to the restaurant. Normally Ben would ride along with her, but he'd returned late from helping Sheriff Logan and she needed someone to help. Some folks wouldn't be too pleased at the sight of Takola, but Lacy didn't see any other way around it. Rusty might help load the wagon, but he drew the line at coming along with her on her delivery route.
Besides, she thought darkly, it was plain old silly for folks to get upset over a little thing like Takola. She staunchly refused to think about how Sheriff Logan got the lump on his head. That was a fluke, a mistake that shouldn't have happened. Takola hadn't meant to hurt him, she'd just been frightened by his gun and the way he had chased Ben.
Lacy expertly guided the old mare through a narrow alley that ran alongside the three-story building which served as both hotel and restaurant. The eating area occupied most of the ground floor, along with the hotel office and the kitchen. She pulled the wagon around to the back door and set the brake. Before she could step down, Ellen came out to meet her, wiping her hands on a food-stained apron and wearing a sunny smile that never failed to make Lacy's own mouth curve upwards.
"Thought you was gonna be late, and I got the new sheriff asking for another blackberry pie,” Ellen said by way of greeting. She stepped up to the wagon and bent her tall frame over the side, peering hopefully around. “You did bring one, didn't you? I swear, that man must love blackberry pie. He bought the one you brought me yesterday before it had time to cool!"
Lacy's smile faltered. She exchanged a half-amused, half-dismayed look with Takola. “You ... you didn't tell him who baked the pie, did you?"
A hint of deviltry gleamed in Ellen's gray eyes. She shrugged. “He didn't ask, so I didn't see no reason to tell him. Might be bad for business for folks to know I can't bake a pie worth a hoot."
"I don't think anyone would believe you, the way you cook everything else,” Lacy said sincerely. It was true, too. Ellen was the best cook in the county and people came from miles around just to dig into a plate of her chicken ‘n dumplings.
Lacy and Takola stepped down from the wagon and began gathering up the pies. Takola took one, Ellen two, and Lacy balanced the last three on her arm. Together, they started inside to set them on the table in the kitchen. Lacy brought up the rear, and Takola, not accustomed to doors, let it slam behind her before Lacy could catch it with her foot.
The door slapped her full force. The pies began to slip from her arm. She caught two of them against her chest; the other fell to the ground with a plop. Dismayed, she stared at the blackberry filling covering her shoes and soaking the hem of her dress.
The only blackberry pie she'd made. Why did it have to be the one to fall?
Apparently realizing she hadn't followed, Ellen jerked the door open, took one look at Lacy's horrified face, then at the crumbled mess at her feet. Groaning, she said, “Looks like our new sheriff won't get a blackberry pie today."
Lacy bit her lip and grimaced. “He didn't get one yesterday, either, Ellen."
"What? Of course he did ... I ain't senile, you know. I sold it to him myself.” Bending, she scraped the pie from Lacy's shoes. “Looks to me like he would have satisfied his craving yesterday, what with a whole pie and all."
"Ellen."
"Maybe I can sweet-talk him into one of these apple—if they ain't squashed too bad.” She gently pried the pie from Lacy's chest, heaving a relieved sigh to find it still in one piece. A little crushed, but edible.
"Ellen—"
"See, it ain't too bad. Put a dab of thick sweet cream on it and they'll never know the difference. Now, let's get a gander at the other one."
That one had survived the disaster, too.
With her hands finally free, Lacy touched Ellen's shoulder to gain her attention. “Ellen, Ben stole the
pie Sheriff Logan bought yesterday."
Understanding finally dawned. Ellen's eyes went wide. “Oh. Guess he wanted this one pretty bad, then. Ain't never seen a man hanker for a pie as much as this new sheriff."
Lacy closed her eyes and swallowed hard. Didn't she know it. Suddenly, an idea came to her. She pushed Ellen inside the kitchen and waited for her to land the pies safely on the table. “Ellen, you stall him while I run home and bake him another one.” Frantically, she motioned for Takola to join her at the door.
"Lacy! How in the world can I stall him that long? It'll take you nigh an hour to bake that pie, and he's ordered his food already."
"Does he have it? The food, I mean? Is he already eating?” Lacy held her breath for the answer.
Ellen held up a finger and went to the door, pushing it open a crack to peer into the dining area. Lacy resisted the urge to tiptoe up behind her and look too. After a few seconds, Ellen let it close and said, “No, not yet. But like I said, he's ordered his meal."
"Stall him. Tell him you ran out and had to cook more. Anything, just take as long as you can."
With obvious reluctance, Ellen nodded. “All right, but I hope he doesn't get mad. Hate to lose a good customer, you know. Especially the sheriff. Never know when you might need him."
Tugging on Takola, Lacy backed out the door. “Thank you, Ellen. I'll make it up to you, I promise."
With a careless lift of her skirts, she jumped onto the wagon bench and waited impatiently for Takola to join her. Then she slapped the reins sharply, sending the mare into a startled trot down the narrow alley. Her mind raced ahead. She'd instruct Takola on preparing the blackberry filling while she rolled the pie crust. While the pie was baking, she'd make a few laundry deliveries, then rush back to the house to get the pie.
She could do it, she could. With determination, speed, and a lot of luck, Sheriff Logan would get his blasted pie. Maybe then he'd be in a better frame of mind and consider taking her grandpa on as his deputy. The way Grandpa had talked, they'd had a nice, friendly chat instead of the falling out Lacy had expected.
Secrets In The Shadows Page 6
