Good Guy Heroes Boxed Set

by Julie Ortolon

  Faith’s stomach tingled with awareness, and she jerked her hands away as if his skin scalded her fingertips.

  “You’ve successfully survived your first treatment, Sheriff,” she said.

  He stood and faced her. The linen hung at his waist, and her gaze riveted on his broad chest. Curly dark hair swept over bulging muscle that bunched and flexed as he reached for his shirt. He slipped it over his sore left arm then his right then shrugged it into place.

  “What time would you like me to come by this evening?” He tugged the linen from his waist and tossed it on the table. “I can’t stretch without your help,” he reminded her.

  She picked up the towel and scrubbed the balm and oils off her hands. “Nine o’clock would be best for me, if it’s not too late for you. I like to put Cora to bed myself, and I’d rather do this when she’s not here.”

  “I have plenty of chores to keep me busy until then, so nine o’clock is fine—unless I’m needed somewhere. A sheriff is never officially unavailable. If I’m not here by quarter after, I won’t be coming.”

  “All right.” She fiddled with the linen to divert her eyes while he buttoned his shirt. The sight of him should not leave her as breathless as an innocent girl; she was far from innocent. She and Iris had massaged men’s bare torsos at the brothel, but not one of them was as handsome or intriguing as the sheriff. She had quickly culled out the nasty, groping men, and gained a small group of regular and somewhat respectful customers. That’s how she’d met Jarvis Powell, and though he’d paid her a small fortune, he’d left her soul impoverished.

  Still, Faith hadn’t worked as a prostitute. She’d lived out back in a one-room, one-bed shack with Adam and Cora. Faith’s mother had lived there, too, but spent most of her time sleeping, or in the brothel earning money. And except for buying books and plants, Faith had saved every dime she earned, vowing to help her mother escape the place and buy their dream house with a porch and a rose garden.

  But her mother’s death had left Faith to pursue that dream alone. Now it seemed the only way she could give Adam and Cora a comfortable home was to use the skills she learned at the brothel. So here she was, this time treating women—and one man—who would appreciate her skill, but not understand the value of it.

  She could accept that, if she had to. What she couldn’t accept was her natural but foolish attraction to the sheriff. He was too smart, too curious about her business and her past. A man like him would dig until he got to the truth. And when he found it, she was afraid he would evict her and her family from his town faster than she could open her mouth to beg for mercy.

  Chapter Eight

  *

  “WHY ARE WE going to church?” Cora asked, as Faith stopped in the sun-washed Common.

  Adam flicked his fingers across the top of her head. “Because we want people to like us.”

  Faith exchanged a glance with her aunts, who had altered their old dresses to appear respectful enough for church. They had even donned bonnets, but their usually vivacious faces were pinched with discomfort. Faith suspected it had been years since any of them set foot in a church. She had been herself once, and it was the worst moment of her life. But Adam was right. If they didn’t attend church, they would be ostracized from the community.

  It sure seemed like every person in Fredonia was gathered in town this morning. The streets surrounding the Common were lined with carriages and nickering horses. Large families gathered and greeted friends as each made their way inside one of the three churches near the twin parks. Faith eyed the brick buildings with their arched windows and tall spires, and had no idea which church to enter.

  “Look, Mama!” Cora pointed. “There’s the sheriff!”

  There he was indeed, his tall, broad-shouldered body clothed in a well-cut black suit that enhanced his dark good looks.

  Last night he hadn’t shown up for his shoulder treatment. Faith didn’t know if his job had called him away, or if he’d changed his mind about having her restore his shoulder. Whatever his reason for not visiting, she didn’t want to discover the answer in front of his family or his admiring lady friends.

  Several young women were twirling their parasols, vying for his attention, but he only nodded pleasantly and strode toward the church. How could he be so unaffected by those pretty women? Even from where she was standing, Faith could see that some of them were lovely. Was the man immune to a woman’s charms?

  “It could benefit us to go to the same church the Grayson family attends,” Iris said, her cheeks flushed from all the stares she was receiving. Tansy, Aster, and Dahlia nodded in agreement.

  They were right, but Faith waited for the sheriff to enter the church before she led them across the Common and followed him inside.

  After being in the bright morning sunshine, she found the interior of the church depressingly dim. The building smelled of musty books and beeswax and a cloying mix of colognes. Why worship God in a dark building when he’d given them this beautiful morning to enjoy? Why not stand in the fresh air beneath the maple trees in the Common to sing praises?

  Faith stood at the back of the church, scanning the full pews, wondering where they would sit. Would they be asked to leave if there wasn’t room for them?

  “Good morning, Mrs. Wilkins.”

  The sheriff’s voice startled her, and she glanced up into his warm brown eyes. A flock of flutter-birds took flight inside her stomach. Her mother had told her when she was a small child that her stomach was a world of its own, complete with sky and sea and tiny flutter-birds that were upset by any nervous shift in the wind; and Faith had believed it for the longest time. Even now she couldn’t shake the appropriate image of birds beating their wings in her stomach, because that was exactly how it felt.

  “Good morning, Sheriff Grayson!” Cora said brightly.

  Faith laid her fingers over the child’s mouth. “Hush, sweetie.”

  “Good morning,” he whispered then reached up and pulled the cap off Adam’s head, revealing Adam’s new haircut. “No hats in church,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” Adam agreed quietly then tucked his brown cap under his arm.

  The sheriff looked less threatening without his gun, but he was too handsome and far more dangerous to her heart in his suit and tie. He gestured with his chin. “My mother is making room in her pew for you ladies.”

  Faith looked over a sea of people to where Nancy Grayson waved her glove-encased hand at them. The sheriff escorted them to her pew, but didn’t sit with them. He guided Adam to the back of the church to stand with a large group of men, three of whom shared a remarkable resemblance to the sheriff.

  “Those are my sons,” Nancy whispered, stepping aside so Faith could enter the pew.

  Faith lifted Cora onto her hip then stepped in behind Iris. As she sat, she nodded to Evelyn and Claire and another woman about their age with hair the color of a burnished chestnut.

  “That’s my daughter-in-law Amelia,” Nancy whispered, settling beside Faith. “She married my son Kyle, who’s in back with Duke.”

  Faith looked toward the sheriff and the men beside him. There was no doubt those four tall, handsome men were brothers. She turned to greet Amelia, and received a warm smile in return. Amelia was as pretty as Evelyn and Claire, but the three women were as different in looks as each season. Amelia was autumn at its peak color, with her brown eyes and gorgeous hair of reds, golds, and browns. Evelyn’s sable hair was black as a winter night, and her gemstone eyes sparkled like holiday ornaments. Blond-haired, blue-eyed Claire reminded Faith of a summer field of wheat under an endless blue sky.

  Nancy Grayson was no season at all. She was mother earth, and this family drew their sustenance from her.

  “This is my granddaughter Rebecca.” Nancy slipped her arm around a cute, dark-haired girl about Adam’s age. “She’s Radford and Evelyn’s oldest.”

  The girl nodded politely, but a blast from a pipe organ buried her soft greeting. The sound filled the church and vibrated in
Faith’s chest. The congregation surged to its feet en masse. Faith and her aunts hurried to follow suit.

  Cora put her hands over her ears. “What’s that noise?”

  Faith lifted the child onto her hip. “It’s an organ,” she whispered quickly, hoping no one realized Cora didn’t recognize the sound. Faith had only heard it once herself, but she would never forget that powerful blast that had swept the breath from her.

  Six weeks ago on a chilly Sunday morning Judge Stone had shown up at the brothel and demanded the deed to the property. Her mother had argued fiercely and tried to push him out of her home, but that had caused her own fall over the second floor railing. Stone had walked out, leaving them to get a doctor, but they hadn’t known any doctors. So Faith and Dahlia had rushed into a church several blocks away, their cries for help buried in the blast of the church organ and impassioned singing. When the song ended and their pleas could be heard, a kind doctor in the congregation had gone to the brothel with them, but the fall had injured her mother’s head too severely, and she died twelve hours later.

  Faith had known few acts of kindness from strangers, and she would forever remember the bespectacled doctor and his sincere sorrow that he couldn’t save her mother.

  Thinking back, she’d assumed she would now hate the sound of the organ, but the vibrating pipes filled the church with such majesty, her lips parted on a sigh. Awestruck, Faith listened, captivated by the impassioned people around her lifting and blending their voices in song. The glorious music flooded her with a sense of rightness. They would come to church on Sunday mornings just like the other respectable residents of Fredonia. And someday, she might even have a husband who would love her, who would stand at the back of the church with their sons, waiting to escort her to their safe, love-filled home.

  When the song ended, Faith sat in the pew with Cora on her lap, vowing she wouldn’t be weak like her mother, a woman condemned for her tawdry profession. Her mother had provided food and a dry place to sleep for Faith and the children, but precious little of her time. She’d dreamed of a better life, of marrying a man she loved, of giving her children a real home, but she’d spent thirty years as a prostitute and died in her brothel.

  The sad truth was that Faith’s mother could have moved to a new town and kept her past a secret like Faith was doing. Men would have lined up to propose marriage to the unequaled beauty. But Rose had lacked the courage, or the desire, to change her life. And that’s why Faith hated her.

  But she loved her for so many other reasons, it wrung her heart.

  That conflict gnawed at Faith’s conscience each day of her life, feeding her anger, increasing her guilt. Some days she wanted to forget everything—the brothel, Jarvis, even her mother. Other days she ached for one of her mother’s hard, apologetic hugs.

  Cora’s breathing slowed, and Faith held her close as the little girl fell asleep. They would build a good life here, she vowed. They would plant their dreams in this rich farming soil of upstate New York and nourish them with firm conviction, courage, and love. Here, in the ashes of her mother’s life, she would plant her dreams and they would bloom like fireweed.

  Certainty swept through her, and the church no longer felt dim and airless. The space felt sacred, the pastor’s words inspiring and uplifting. Faith listened with her eyes closed and her heart open, drinking in the nourishing words she’d been so long denied.

  When the service ended, her heart overflowed with hope as she followed the Graysons outside into the bright June sunshine. She wanted to linger in the Common, to deepen her acquaintance with the people who would become part of her garden, but an outraged shout from across the park drew everyone’s attention toward Main Street.

  “That man’s stealing my horse!”

  Before Faith could understand what was happening, Sheriff Grayson sprinted past her, jaw set, suit coat flapping as he raced across the small park, followed by his brothers and several other men.

  The accused man leapt onto the horse and dug his spurred heels into its flanks. A collective gasp burst from the crowd as he wheeled the horse toward the sheriff and tried to run him down. Instead, the sheriff sidestepped the mare, reached up with one hand, and hauled the rider off the horse. The man hit the ground hard and rolled away from the rearing animal.

  Faith held her breath, fearing those sharp hooves would crash down on the thief, or worse yet, slash the sheriff’s head and shoulders. But one of the sheriff’s brothers caught the reins and led the frightened horse away from the tussle.

  As the man on the ground pushed to his knees, the sheriff planted his boot against the seat of thief’s pants and shoved him face down on the grass. And before the man could push himself to his elbows, Sheriff Grayson pinned him to the ground with a knee to his back.

  “Stay put, Covey.”

  “Go to hell.”

  The man called Covey struggled and cursed, but the sheriff braced one hand on the back of Covey’s head, pressing his face into the spring grass. “You’re under arrest,” he said.

  With his free hand, the sheriff fumbled beneath his suit coat, but Covey surprised him, slamming his elbow into the sheriff’s ribs.

  A husky man pushed through the crowd and headed toward the scuffle, and Faith willed him to hurry.

  “Archer!” Another of the sheriff’s brothers stepped forward and blocked the man’s way. “Stay out of it.”

  Faith gaped in disbelief. Covey was thrashing like a rabid dog, kicking his boot heels up and using his spurs like small knives. She couldn’t tell if he was hitting his mark, but the sheriff’s suit coat was ripped in several places and he’d lost his hold on the man.

  Covey leapt to his feet and bolted into the crowd. Several women screamed as the sheriff tore after the thief.

  Archer pushed forward, but the sheriff’s brother grabbed his arm and stopped him. “Duke will handle this.”

  “Damn it, Boyd, unhand me!” Archer struggled against Boyd Grayson’s unrelenting grip. “That thief is getting away!”

  The sheriff tackled Covey near the huge water fountain.

  Boyd grinned. “No, he’s not.”

  The sheriff and Covey were so tangled up that Faith couldn’t tell who was winning the fight, but she was on Archer’s side; somebody needed to step in and lend a hand.

  Covey reared up and slammed his elbow into the sheriff’s sore shoulder. The sheriff’s pain-filled grunt could be heard across the Common, but unbelievably, no one moved to help him. Faith’s jaw dropped. What was wrong with these people? Why on earth weren’t his brothers helping? There had to be forty men in the park, but they were just standing there watching while that horrid thief swung his elbows and fists like hammers.

  With a low growl, the sheriff grabbed Covey’s wrist and wrenched the man’s arm behind his back. Covey cursed and struggled, but the sheriff out-muscled the horse thief and bound his hands with a pair of black suspenders he’d pulled from beneath his coat. Only then did Faith realize the sheriff was without his gun and handcuffs.

  When he finally pulled the man to his feet, the sheriff was breathing hard and dripping sweat. Faith knew the extent of his shoulder injury and could imagine the wrenching pain he must be in. But he kept his jaw clenched and propelled the horse thief through the crowd. Nobody said a word until the sheriff pushed Covey inside the brick building on the corner of Temple Street.

  “He’s taking him to jail,” Adam said, his face lit with excitement as he pointed to the building that Faith hoped to never visit. “Did you see the sheriff pull that man off that horse?”

  She sure had seen it, and it scared her sideways. Even injured, the sheriff wasn’t a man to cross.

  Everyone began speaking at once, filling the Common with enough noise to startle the birds out of the maple trees.

  “He did it with one hand,” Adam continued with awe. “Those men didn’t even have to help him.”

  Faith was trembling so badly she couldn’t bear Cora’s weight another moment. She set the child dow
n on the bright green lawn then led her and Adam to where their aunts and the sheriff’s sisters-in-law were gathered around Nancy.

  “Of course these things terrify me,” Nancy was saying. “Duke says it’s senseless for me to worry about him, but a mother will worry to her grave.”

  “Surely his brothers or one of those other men could have helped him,” Tansy insisted, apparently as appalled over their lack of action as Faith was.

  “They know Duke can do his job, and they respected him by not getting in his way.”

  “But that man was beating him!” Faith said, her outrage revealing two things she did not want to know: The sheriff’s job was too dangerous, and she was far too concerned about him for her own good.

  “I know,” Nancy said, the tremor in her voice belying her brave front. “Believe me, if the situation had turned ugly, his brothers were right there ready to step in.”

  If it turned ugly? Faith’s heart was still banging in her chest. How much uglier would it need to get before the man’s own brothers would step in and help?

  Chapter Nine

  *

  IT TOOK DUKE two hours to get Covey settled and the horse owner calmed down, and by the time his deputy Sam Wade arrived to guard the prisoner, Duke’s shoulder hurt, the pain almost beyond bearing. And doubt tormented him.

  If he hadn’t yanked Covey to the ground and stunned the man, Covey would have thrown him off like a bothersome blanket. When he’d broken loose and bolted into the crowd, Duke feared his brothers and the townsmen would have to bring down the horse thief. This was his responsibility. He’d taken an oath to protect the area residents, and he couldn’t do that with only one healthy arm.