“I don’t care beans about the vote.” Her father’s voice rose. “I don’t want my daughter hobnobbing with criminals!”
Hobnobbing? Amanda raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Papa made it sound like she planned on inviting outlaws to tea or something. If she took on this job, she would do it right or not at all.
The mayor stepped into the house. “Sorry, Lockwood,” he said grimly. “It’s outta your hands. Outta my hands too. Least,” he added with a pointed look at Amanda, “for now.”
Moments later, Mama and Papa stood on either side of Amanda like two bookends. Papa didn’t move a muscle, and Mama wept softly. They couldn’t have looked more miserable had this been her funeral.
Judge Lynch stood directly in front of her, holding a hearing trumpet shaped like a ram’s horn to his ear. The man was deaf as a doorknob but refused to retire. Practically every lawyer in town was hoarse from shouting to be heard in court.
“Raise your right hand and repeat after me.” The judge spoke in a loud voice as if the rest of them were deaf instead of him.
Amanda did as she was told but had to be reminded to speak up. “I, Amanda Lockwood, do solemnly affirm…” Even though she shouted, it was still necessary to repeat herself several times for the judge’s benefit.
Lynch shouted back. “…that I will faithfully execute the duties of the office of sheriff of Two-Time, Texas…”
Her mother’s sobs grew louder. Papa’s shoulders slumped, and his face twisted in anguish. The wall of ticking clocks sounded like a death knell.
Amanda hesitated. Suddenly, her earlier bravado deserted her. “M-maybe we should go over my duties again.”
The judge thrust his hearing horn practically in her face. “Aye? What did you say?”
“I said—”
Mayor Troutman interrupted with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry about it. You won’t be sheriff long enough to execute duties, let alone criminals.” His heavy jowls quivered. “So take the blasted oath.”
After she had been sworn in, the mayor thrust a tin badge into her hand. The silver star seemed to wink in the dim light as if enjoying a joke on her.
“Here’s your weapon.” The mayor handed her a gun belt. The Colt pistol was similar to Mr. Rennick’s. “You have the right to appoint a deputy,” he added. “I suggest you do so immediately. You’ll need all the help you can get. Any questions?”
She blinked. Questions? She was pretty sure she had plenty, but right now, her mind was blank as an unpapered wall. She shook her head.
“You better get to work then. A vigilante hanging’s not gonna look good on your record.” He started for the door. “Hurry. You don’t want to keep the posse waitin’ any longer.” With that, the mayor stormed out of the house, followed by Judge Lynch.
Mama dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “Oh, mercy.”
“Forgive me, Mama…” Amanda glanced at Papa. His face was dark, remote, grim as a wintry storm.
Knowing it would do no good to argue with him, she turned. Taking the stairs two at a time, she then fled down the hall to her room. She lowered her shaking hands into the porcelain basin on the dry sink and splashed cold water on her face. Reaching for a towel, she dried herself and tried to breathe.
She was all thumbs as she pulled on a dark skirt and shirtwaist. “Sheriff Amanda Lockwood,” she murmured. Gasping in disbelief, she covered her mouth with her hand. It didn’t seem possible. She glanced at the rumpled bed and willed herself to wake from what surely must be a dream.
Her only hope was that the posse waiting for her outside knew what they were doing, because she sure didn’t.
Not bothering to pin up the single night braid that fell down her back, she buckled on the gun belt. It was too large for her small waist, and the Colt fell to her knee. She unbuckled the belt and slid the gun in her waistband. The badge, she pinned to her shirtwaist.
Out of habit, she reached for one of her feathered hats but caught herself. None of her carefully designed headgear was up to the task of sheriff. In one of the many hat boxes stacked on top of her wardrobe was a Stetson, but she didn’t have time to look for it. Tonight, she would go hatless.
Just before leaving the room, she glanced at the framed daguerreotype of her grandmother. Right now, she could use some cheering on. “If only you were here…”
* * *
The mayor greeted her outside with a solemn nod. She was surprised to find her pony already saddled and ready to go.
“Thank you.” She took the reins from him and mounted. At least a dozen or more horsemen were gathered on the street in front of her house. Even in the dim light, she recognized the men. They were mostly business owners, but a few were farmers and one a railroad worker.
Most were built solid and strong, and that gave her a small measure of comfort. She felt no qualms about letting men handle the hard physical stuff.
“This isn’t right, Amanda,” her papa shouted from the porch. All that was visible was his dark bulk outlined in the doorway, but his harsh voice cut through the silence of the night like a hard-edged knife. “It’s a job for a man. No woman should be sheriff.”
“Whatcha talkin’ about, Sheriff?” yelled a voice she recognized as belonging to farmer Kellerman. “I thought we were here to gather more posse members.”
“Miss Lockwood is our new sheriff,” the mayor said, sounding like he was announcing the end of the world.
The news was met with an outcry of protests.
“You didn’t tell us that a dang female won the vote,” shouted another.
“There’s no time to deal with that right now,” Mayor Troutman said, bellowing to be heard. “A man’s life is on the line.”
His shouts brought a loud objection from the neighbor across the street, whose head popped out of an upstairs window. “For the love of Henry, can’t a man get any sleep around here?”
Lowering his voice, the mayor continued, “She’s the sheriff, and I’m counting on you all to see that she does no harm. We’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.”
The men didn’t take kindly to this news, and much dissent followed. Amanda expected opposition, but these men were downright hostile. One man even accused her of stuffing the ballot box.
Amanda tried to get a word in edgewise. “I wouldn’t do such a—”
The heated argument grew in volume, bringing more complaints from farther down the road. For once, Mr. Crawford, who lived three houses away, wasn’t hollering at his bagpipe-playing neighbor. Instead, he stood in the middle of the street yelling curses at the loudmouthed mayor.
The Double Bar Ranch owner’s voice rose above the rest. “I ain’t takin’ orders from no woman sheriff, and that’s final!”
“I didn’t tell you to take orders from her,” the mayor’s voice boomed. “I just want you to make sure she comes back alive. Right now, we’re wasting time. A man’s about to be hung…”
“I’m not wasting time,” shouted one of the men. “I’m going home to bed.”
“You’re part of the posse,” the mayor snapped. “You can’t go home.”
“Wanna bet?” With that, the man whirled his steed toward town and took off helter-skelter, his horse’s hooves pounding the road like a hammer on a blacksmith’s anvil. His departure spurred others to do likewise. Soon, only the mayor and judge were left behind, plus a bunch of disgruntled neighbors hanging out of second-story windows.
Papa had moved to the edge of the porch. “Do you see how foolish this is? Now will you listen to reason?”
“Papa, please…”
Their gazes locked, hers pleading for understanding, his begging her to put a stop to this madness. Neither gave an inch. Out of his three daughters, she was most like him in temperament and stubbornness. The two of them had been at loggerheads nearly all her life…but never more so than tonight.
Papa ste
pped off the porch. “I’m going with you!”
“No, Papa. Your heart…” He hated being reminded of the restrictions the doctor placed on him following his health scare, but it couldn’t be helped. Even riding a horse could put his life at risk.
Mama grabbed his arm, her face pale in the moonlight. “She’s right.”
A tortured look crossed Papa’s face as he directed his next comments to the mayor with a pointed finger. “If anything happens to her, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”
With his threat still hanging in the air, he swung around and stomped up the porch steps and into the house, Mama by his side. The slamming of the door echoed in Amanda’s head as she snapped the reins of her horse and raced out of town—alone.
Ten
“Sheriff! Sheriff!”
Amanda circled her horse around to face the direction of the horsemen galloping toward her. In the light of a full moon, the landscape with its gentle rolling hills looked like an unmade bed—one she wished she could slip into.
“Scooter, is that you? What are you doing out at this time of night? And how did you know I was the sheriff?”
He reined in his horse next to hers, and his white teeth flashed. “My pa helped count the ballots.” His grin practically reached his ears. “I made my brothers all vote for you. Cousins too.”
She blinked. That was no small number. “You…you did that? But…but why?”
He grinned. “Cost me a whole month’s salary, but you said if you became sheriff, I could be your deputy.”
“You paid them to vote for me?” she gasped. Was that even legal?
“I can still be your deputy, right?”
She sighed. If only he were ten years older and a hundred pounds heavier. “Can you fire a gun?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He pulled out a Colt and brandished it. “Sometimes, I even hit something.”
It was no more than she expected from a baker’s son. Great thunder. Could things get any worse? “Okay, follow me.” Two was better than one, right? Had to be. “We’re looking for a lynch mob.” She had no idea how to stop a hanging. All she knew was that she had to try.
“Aren’t you supposed to deputize me or something?”
She pressed her legs against her mount’s side. “You’re deputized!” she shouted.
* * *
Fifteen minutes down the road, they spotted pinpoints of light ahead. She reined in her horse and rose from her saddle for a better look.
“That must be them,” her deputy called by her side.
Suddenly, the reality of what she was doing, or was about to do, hit her full force, and panic threatened to cut off her breathing. She had to be out of her mind to accept such a job. A man’s life was at stake, and saving him had now fallen onto her shoulders. One impetuous moment, and look what happened! The tin badge on her chest suddenly felt heavy as a brick.
What if she was too late, and he’d already been hung? Worse yet, what if she reached him in time and still couldn’t stop the lynching? A shudder of horror ran through her.
“You okay, Sheriff?” Scooter asked.
No, she wasn’t okay. She was scared to the gills. Her hands were shaking so hard, she could hardly hold on to the reins. “’Course I am,” she managed. “I’m just planning my attack.”
“I say we surprise them.” He tilted his head. “Worked for Sam.”
“Sam?”
“Yeah, you know, that Houston fellow. His surprise attack led to the state’s ind’pendence.”
She stared at him. He had to be kidding. “You do know that he had an entire army, and there’s but two of us.”
He grinned. “Guess we just have to plan a bigger surprise.”
She heaved a sigh. Though they were close in age, his youthful exuberance suddenly made her feel very old. “I don’t reckon there’s a surprise big enough to get the jump on that mob.” If the torch lights were any indication, there had to be at least a dozen men. Not good odds.
He shrugged. “Grandpappy always said that the longer you stare at trouble, the bigger it grows. I say what are we waitin’ fer?” He took off at a fast gallop, waving his hat and shouting “Remember the Alamo!”
Chasing after him, Amanda muttered beneath her breath. As if she didn’t have enough troubles, she now had to worry about Scooter’s safety. Either he was a brave soul or had no clear understanding of the dangers. Whichever, she felt responsible for him. She would never forgive herself if something happened to him…
She rode her pony fast, shouting, “Wait!”
She caught up to Scooter just before they reached the group of vigilantes, but there was no stopping her enthusiastic sidekick.
Riding side by side—a terrified woman and a kid still caught between hay and grass—they galloped into the center of the circle. Men scrambled out of their way, cursing a blue streak.
Someone held up a lantern. Blinking against the sudden brightness, she brought her horse to a halt.
A gruff male voice shouted, “What’s the matter with you? You came chargin’ in here like the brigade. Have you gone crazy or somethin’?”
“No,” she cried. “I’m the sheriff!”
Her exclamation was met with brittle silence.
Next to her, Scooter pulled out his gun. “Shall I shoot, shall I shoot?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
“Certainly not!” she whispered back.
“Sheriff?” She recognized the speaker as farmer Tom Steckle. “Ya jokin’, right?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” She gazed straight at Ken Kerrigan, who appeared to be the ringleader. His hot temper had earned him the name of Pepper for short. He wore what he called “store boughten” clothes that were too small, his trousers stopping above his ankles. In contrast, his wide-brimmed hat extended way beyond his shoulders.
Amanda and Pepper had a history together and none of it good. After trying to get him to close his saloon on the Sabbath, she was ordered to stay away from him and his ilk.
“What’s the meaning of this?” she demanded, suddenly aware of the troublemaker Buck Coldwell, a rail-thin man who resembled a telegraph pole. Everyone called him Gopher because of his nervous habit of digging holes in the ground with the toe of his boot.
Their animosity toward each other dated all the way back to third grade, when he purposely tripped her during a foot race and she retaliated by feeding him the wrong answers during a test.
Pulling her gaze away from Gopher, she focused on Pepper. “What gives you the right to take the law into your own hands?”
Fingers resting on the grip of his gun, Pepper glared at her from above a broken nose. “This man here’s a bloody murderer.”
She stirred uneasily in her saddle. Why couldn’t her first duty as sheriff be something simple like rescuing a treed cat? It was just her luck that it involved a killer.
With a nudge of his head, Pepper drew her attention to the large cottonwood tree. Beneath it in the shadows sat a man astride a horse, hands tied behind his back. The rope around his neck hung from a branch above his head. The light from the burning torches failed to reach his face, but it was enough to know he was still alive. The rest was up to her.
“Found him at the scene of the crime goin’ through the dead man’s pockets,” Pepper added.
She placed her hand on the firearm at her waist. It wasn’t the first time Pepper tried taking the law into his own hands. “Who’d he kill?”
“A man named Cooper. Mike Cooper.”
She didn’t recognize the name. “If what you say is true, the suspect’s entitled to a fair trial.”
“We already had a trial. Fair and otherwise. Ya just missed it.” Pepper spit out a stream of tobacco juice, which hit the ground with a plop. “The man has five minutes left to make peace with his Maker, and then we’re gonna string him up good and high so they ca
n meet face-to-face.”
“Your kangaroo court has no jurisdiction here,” she said.
“Oh yeah? Well, I’ve got news for you. Neither do you. Now git outta the way!”
One man made a move, and Scooter did some fancy maneuverings with his gun. He’d been reading too many dime novels.
“Shall I shoot now?” he whispered.
“No!” she said beneath her breath. Louder, she addressed the others. “I suggest you all leave or…or I’m running you in.”
Pepper laughed as did his men. “You and what army?”
He had her there, but if she backed down now, her stint as sheriff would end in disaster before she even got started. She nudged her horse to the prisoner’s side.
“I’m taking him in and plan on doing it peacefully.” Oh, how brave she sounded. How absolutely official. Little did anyone know her knees were knocking to beat the band and her mouth felt dry as the desert sands. “So if you would kindly let me do my job, it would save us all a peck of trouble.”
Next to her, the prisoner spoke, his whispered voice directed to her ears only. “Been my experience that politeness is more effective when backed by a gun.”
His voice resonated in some way. Did she know him?
Pepper looked about to call her bluff but stopped midstep when she pulled the Colt from her waist and pointed it at him.
His eyes rounded in surprise. “You don’t mean that.”
“Oh, I mean it all right,” she said. “I’ll shoot anyone who tries to stop me.” Great thunder, did she actually say that?
“Better listen to her,” called the prisoner. “The last time the lady fired a gun, she hit her target straight on the chest.”
The deep baritone voice almost made her drop her weapon. Mr. Rennick? He was the murderer? She forced herself to breathe and gripped her gun tighter. Could this night get any wilder?
Eleven
Rennick’s threat did the trick: Pepper’s men were no longer laughing. They weren’t moving either. Even Gopher had stopped digging with the toe of his boot. Instead, they gaped at her as if she had fangs and was ready to bite. Good thing they didn’t know that the only chest she’d shot was a hope chest, and she wasn’t about to enlighten them.
A Match Made in Texas Page 6
