Good Guy Heroes Boxed Set

by Julie Ortolon

  “I would have done the same for any boy.”

  “But you did it for my brother, and that’s what matters to me. Please, take the balm.”

  “What other treatments do you offer?”

  He seemed sincere, but she sensed he was digging for something. The pleasantly warm day suddenly felt close and hot with this giant of a man leaning on her counter asking too many questions.

  “It would depend on the severity of your problem. But I would first suggest that you see a doctor.” She closed the jar of balm and placed it back on the self.

  “I’ve seen the doctor. He says there’s nothing to be done for my shoulder but to rest it.”

  “Then it is more than a sore muscle?”

  His lip quirked up again. “You have a knack for recalling details. I could use your help when questioning suspects.”

  She’d hoped to put him off with her nosy question, but instead of urging him out the door, she’d invited his closer observation. “Forgive me for taking up your time.” She stepped around the counter and called toward the back of the greenhouse, “Adam! Come up here, and bring Cora and the handcuffs with you.”

  Adam swept Cora into his arms, pushed through a maze of plants, and deposited the girl a few feet from the sheriff.

  “Cora, give the sheriff his handcuffs,” Faith said then frowned as Cora duck-walked across the plank floor. “Why are you walking so oddly?”

  Cora leaned back on her heels, pressed her brown gingham dress to her knees, and lifted the toes of her tiny brown shoes. “I hooked ‘em on my own self.”

  The metal handcuffs were locked around Cora’s skinny ankles. A quiet chuckle rumbled in the sheriff’s chest, his thick-lashed eyes crinkling at the outside edges as he looked down at her.

  Cora squatted, grabbed the chain between her ankles, and grinned up at him. “Aunt Iris says to keep these on me until I get married.”

  With her hands between her ankles, and her knobby knees jutting upward, Cora looked like a little brown frog. Her stockings were twisted around her ankles, her hair in wild disarray, but Faith could not have adored her more.

  Nor could the sheriff, if the tender look in his eyes meant anything.

  “She reminds me of my niece Rebecca at that age,” he said. “Too smart, too curious, and a smile so bright she could melt a heart of ice.” He sighed and shook his head. “Rebecca turned thirteen last week.”

  With Cora’s rosy face beaming up at them, Faith understood the sheriff’s melancholy. She wanted Cora to stay an innocent, if precocious, little girl forever.

  Faith spied her Aunt Iris around the corner, and cringed as Iris lunged from behind a cluster of lemongrass to tickle Cora’s ribs.

  “There you are, you little imp!”

  Cora screeched with laughter and threw herself against the sheriff’s legs.

  Iris, who had crouched to grab Cora’s ribs, took her time looking up the long length of the sheriff’s body. By the time her frank, appraising eyes lifted to his face, Faith’s own cheeks were burning with embarrassment.

  “Mercy…” Iris said, rising to her feet with a fluid grace Faith envied. Iris carried her mother’s Japanese blood in her veins, and men paid exorbitant amounts of money to bed the rare onyx-haired beauty. Faith knew little about Iris or how she had come to be in America. She was seven months older than Faith, but Iris had seen too much to pretend an innocence she’d shed long ago.

  “Is there a woman waiting at home for you, Sheriff?” Iris asked, extending her hand to him.

  Faith’s jaw dropped, but the sheriff smiled and lifted Iris’s hand to his lips as if too-bold women propositioned him every day. “I’m afraid so, ma’am. My mother is expecting me home for supper.” His gaze lingered on her silky black hair and the pretty Oriental tilt of her eyes, and Faith knew Iris was as novel to the sheriff as she’d been to Faith when first arriving at the brothel eleven years ago. Iris said a small colony of Japanese people had come to America in 1869, but Faith still hadn’t seen another man or woman like her. Apparently, the sheriff hadn’t either.

  Iris laughed the way she talked, without reservation. Her exotic eyes sparkled like black diamonds as she assessed the sheriff. “Not only handsome but charming.” She winked a thick-lashed eye at Faith. “Marry this man.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Aunt Iris!” Novel or not, Faith wanted to shoo the woman out the door. They couldn’t afford to have their reputations questioned. Drawing a breath to calm herself, Faith gave the sheriff a wobbly smile. “This is my aunt, Iris… um…” Dear God, she hadn’t given thought to a last name for her aunts. They had never used last names at the brothel, and they had flown from that life in such a rush of terror, they had never discussed taking last names.

  “Wilde with an ‘e’,” Iris said, mischief twinkling in her eyes. “Miss Iris Wilde, not to be confused with a wild Iris.”

  The sheriff laughed.

  “Are you getting married, Mama?” Cora asked, looking up at Faith with hopeful eyes.

  Faith wanted to turn green and disappear among the plants. “See what you’ve started?” she said to Iris.

  Iris gave the sheriff a friendly wink. “My niece is so shy she’ll never get herself a suitor or a marriage proposal. I’m just letting you know she’s looking for a husband.”

  Faith choked on her outrage.

  Iris ignored her warning look and pouted her lips at the sheriff. “I was hoping to beg your assistance for a few minutes. Adam is our man about the place, but he doesn’t know about gas lines yet.”

  Faith tried again to convey a message with her eyes, silently warning Iris to clamp her red lips shut. “As soon as the sheriff removes these cuffs from Cora’s legs, he and Adam have business in town. I’ll hire a man to take care of the gas line.” She lifted Cora into her arms and forced herself to face the sheriff. “I apologize for wasting so much of your time.”

  “It’s not a waste of time to welcome new residents,” he said. “I’ll look at that gas line as soon as I free this little frog girl from her chain.”

  Cora giggled and lifted her feet, asking six questions in the time it took him to unlock the cuffs.

  “The cuffs are made of steel,” he said, answering her first question. “Because steel is strong. I put them on bad people so they can’t get away. Yes, my shoulder hurts. Yes, I’ll come play again. And no, I’m not marrying your mother today”

  For the first time since the sheriff arrived, Faith willingly met his eyes. “I’m impressed.”

  He shrugged his wide shoulders. “Lots of practice. I have six nephews and two nieces.”

  “Any unmarried brothers?” Iris asked.

  “Two older, one younger, all married,” he said. “I’m the last man standing.”

  “Not for long, Sheriff.” Iris linked her arm with his and turned him toward the back of the greenhouse.

  Faith stared openmouthed at her aunt’s swinging backside, wondering if Iris was matchmaking for her, or worse yet, if the ex-prostitute was angling for the handsome sheriff herself.

  Chapter Three

  *

  DUKE ROLLED UP his shirtsleeves then showed Adam how to hook the gas pipe to the old boiler. The boy seemed interested in learning, but there wasn’t room for him to help connect the gas line to the burner beneath the metal tub. Colburn had tried using natural gas eight years earlier, but the supply from his gas well on Mill Street was insufficient to power the grist mill. So, like other business owners, he’d diverted a feeder stream from the creek and used water and steam for power.

  Colburn must have needed the water reservoir for his grist mill, but Duke couldn’t understand why Faith would want to heat this enormous bin of water. The deep, rectangular vessel had to be nearly eight feet long and four feet wide, and the copper had aged to an ugly greenish black.

  Puzzled, Duke squeezed his aching shoulders between the cold stone wall and the tub. By the time he finished the back-wrenching work, his shoulder throbbed so painfully he wanted to knock back a
quart of whiskey and sleep until the dang thing healed.

  After Adam fetched a cake of soap, Duke rubbed water on it then applied a soapy lather to the gas pipe connections to see if any bubbles developed.

  “How often should I check for leaks?” the boy asked, like a man, even as he shoved his mop of hair out of his eyes like a school boy.

  “A couple times a day for the next day or two. If you can’t see any bubbles in the soap, you can assume the connections are secure.” Adam nodded, and Duke struggled to his feet, realizing the boy was missing school. “Why aren’t you in school today?”

  “There’s only two weeks left of the year, sir.”

  “Well, if you were in school, Adam, you wouldn’t have been in Mrs. Brown’s store, and you wouldn’t have gotten yourself in trouble.”

  “I was running an errand for Faith. She needed some cheesecloth.”

  “I want you to go to school next week.”

  Adam lowered his chin. “Yes, sir.”

  Iris strode into the stone room and flirtatiously brushed dust off Duke’s shirtsleeve. “Finished already?” she asked.

  Her boldness surprised him as much as her appearance had, and it seemed to fluster Faith who had followed her into the room. “I just need to light the burner and I’ll be done here.” He’d traveled some during his years as sheriff, but had never seen anyone like Iris, or any woman as beautiful as Faith.

  Iris clasped her hands in front of her. “Let us repay you by sending a few herbs home to your mother. Or perhaps you’d rather choose a few for yourself? We grow special herbs for men,” she said with a saucy wink. “Ginseng and passionflower—”

  “Basil!” Faith blurted, crowding Iris away from him. “We grow basil and valerian and aconite.” Pink stained her cheeks, but she didn’t spare Iris a glance. “We grow healing herbs like comfrey, chamomile, feverfew; that sort of thing. But your mother would probably prefer cooking herbs like chives, basil, or bay leaf.”

  “I wouldn’t know one from the other,” Duke said, looking through the doorway at the rows of flats covering the greenhouse, “but I’d like to look around.” And he would enjoy the pretty widow’s fetching blushes while he found out a little more about her unusual business.

  “Clean your hands and wait out front, Adam,” Faith said. “We’ll be out in a moment.”

  After Duke lit the burners for the tub and boiler, he stepped into the greenhouse with Faith.

  “This is comfrey,” she said, lifting a large, hairy leaf on a plant about three feet tall. She stroked her fingertip over a purple bell-shaped flower adorning the plant, and it sent a ripple of warmth down Duke’s spine. He hadn’t felt the stroke of a woman’s fingers across his flesh in a very long time. His choice. He had friends who would welcome an intimate visit from him; but after years of watching his brothers flirt and joke with their wives, he just couldn’t stomach the hollow feeling that followed him home after a late-night visit to one of his lady friends.

  “We use the root in tea to help reduce inflammation and to heal broken bones,” Faith said. She moved to a neighboring plant about a foot tall with strap-like leaves that she didn’t touch. “This is autumn crocus. The seeds are used to treat gout and rheumatism, but all parts of the plant are poisonous.”

  Alarm bells went off in his head. “Then why would you give it to a person? Aren’t you afraid of accidentally killing somebody?”

  She faced him squarely. “I know my herbs, Sheriff Grayson. I have over one hundred varieties in my greenhouse, thirty of which are highly toxic but of immense value. I know how to use them for safe and effective treatments of minor ailments, but I don’t pretend to be a doctor.”

  He watched Cora dump a bucket of soil into a mound on the greenhouse floor, and his gut tightened with worry. “Aren’t you afraid to have these poisonous plants around your daughter?”

  Instead of answering, she lifted her slender fingers and beckoned Cora. The child leapt to her feet and ran to her side.

  “Sheriff Grayson wants to see our dangerous plants, Cora. Will you show him which herbs are poisonous?”

  “That’s aloe,” the child said, pointing to a green plant with long, tapering stems that reached up from the soil like grasping fingers.

  Duke reached out to touch the fleshy stems, but Cora pushed his hand away.

  “Don’t ever touch them!” she said dramatically. “You could get poison on your fingers and rub it in your eyes and go blind. Or you could get it in your mouth and die.”

  “I didn’t realize aloe was poisonous.”

  “It’s good for healing burns and minor wounds,” Faith said, “but it’s a violent purge if you ingest it. To Cora, anything that could hurt her is off limits. That means no touching.”

  Duke nodded then gave Cora a little bow. “Thank you for protecting me.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, so sincerely that Duke bit his lip to stop a grin. “I’ll show you more, but you can’t touch them.”

  “I won’t,” he promised then followed the little imp as she dashed from one dangerous plant to the next. “How do you know which ones are bad?”

  She pointed to a red ribbon tied to a stick in the corner of the flat where the herb was planted. “Mama marks them with a bright cloth. That’s foxglove, and it’s very bad because it’s marked with red.”

  “What if somebody came in here and stole all your ribbons?” he asked, hoping his question wouldn’t offend Faith, who stood protectively beside her daughter. “How would you know the good plants from the bad plants?”

  Cora wrinkled her nose as if he were a pitifully stupid man. “I would look at their leaves or their flowers.”

  “What if someone like me came in and got confused? I don’t know much about plants. What if I can’t tell if it’s foxglove or a snapdragon?”

  “Then don’t touch it.”

  He laughed at her refreshingly honest and simple answer. Faith’s lips twitched, but she didn’t gloat. “Since you’re such a smart lady,” he said to Cora, “perhaps you can tell me the name of that plant over there with the blue eyes and brown handkerchief that’s watching us.”

  The little girl pivoted on her heels and looked behind her. “That’s not a plant!” she said with a giggle. “That’s my aunt Tansy hiding behind the fennel.”

  “Oh,” he said in a whisper. “Why is she hiding from us?”

  “Because she don’t like you.”

  “Cora!” Faith gasped and laughed at the same time, blushing dark pink as she spoke to Duke. “I believe your badge has made Aunt Tansy wary.” She turned and gestured for the woman to come out.

  Tansy stepped into the row and offered a nervous smile. Her hands flitted to her throat, and Duke thought of a butterfly. She’d tied her kerchief on her head, leaving the tail ends sticking up like antennae, and she seemed breathless and alert, as if the slightest move would make her fly away.

  “Good morning,” he said with a polite nod.

  Her vivid blue gaze flitted from him to Cora to Faith as if searching for a place to land.

  “Aunt Tansy, this is Sheriff Grayson,” Faith said, but he sensed her reservation in introducing them.

  “G-good mornin’, Sheriff.”

  Her soft southern drawl surprised him. He would guess the blonde to be in her forties, but he could never tell with women because they were sneaky about concealing their age with face creams and hair dyes. But no herb or balm could change Tansy’s demure southern drawl or camouflage Iris’s dramatic Oriental looks.

  Faith’s aunts could not be related.

  Faith tapped her palm against a bushy green plant that looked like a weed to him. “You may as well come out, too, Aunt Dahlia.”

  To his surprise, another woman with red pouty lips stepped from behind the bush. She looked Tansy’s age, but was shorter and more buxom, her hair and eyes dark brown. Maybe this one was related to Faith, but not the other two.

  “Hello, Sheriff.” Dahlia bobbed her head. “Iris was right about you being ha
ndsome,” she said then surprised him further by reaching behind the bush and tugging a fourth woman into sight. “This is Aster,” she said.

  There was no doubt that Aster was the oldest, and she had the air of one in charge. Though she was Faith’s height, she had white hair, a solid build, and wide shoulders.

  She stood like a soldier and met his eyes without a shred of shame that she’d been caught peeking at him. “We’re glad you stopped by, Sheriff. It’s good to know our niece has a man to depend on.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake!” Faith scowled at the women and slipped her hand into the crook of Duke’s elbow. “My aunts will take up your entire day if you don’t escape now.” She pressed her lips together and steered him to the front corner of the greenhouse, where she’d set up a counter and shelves to make a small store of sorts. “Don’t forget your balm,” she said, snagging the jar off the counter as they passed. She thrust it into his hand then hurried them outside to where Adam waited in the warm sunshine.

  “How can those women be your aunts?” Duke asked, wanting to hear her explain it to his satisfaction.

  “I used to ask my mother the same thing,” Faith replied brightly, “but she assured me they were.” She pushed the hair out of Adam’s eyes, putting an end to the discussion if not Duke’s suspicion. “Come straight home from the store,” she said to the boy. “You need a haircut. And don’t forget my cheesecloth this time.”

  He lowered his chin. “I won’t.”

  Faith turned a warm smile on Duke that made him wish they were spending the evening together. But she’d dodged his question and he wanted an answer.

  She spoke before he could pursue it, however. “Thank you for your kindness today, Sheriff. Please let me know how else I can repay you.”

  He hooked his thumb in his gun belt. “If this balm relieves the ache in my shoulder, I’ll be in your debt, Mrs. Wilkins. I’ll let you know how well it works.” He wanted her to know that he would be back, that he would be watching her, and that he was interested in more than her business.

  “Consider it an even exchange, Sheriff.” She kept her smile in place, but his gut insisted there was something secretive about her, something odd about her business and her aunts.