Prisoners of Love Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Hutton , Callie

  The meal ended with large pieces of dried apple pie. Becky laid her fork down and groaned. “I think I ate enough to keep me for a week.”

  Miss Nellie grinned at her. “Wouldn’t that be a good thing. Unfortunately, we will all be ready to eat again tomorrow.”

  The sheriff stirred his coffee and took a sip. “To answer your question, there is a weekly dance at the community center every Thursday evening. The ladies of the community tried to hold it on Friday and then on Saturday nights, but it was too difficult to get the men away from the card games and saloons so they changed it to Thursday.”

  “A dance? That seems a perfect place to meet some men.” Miss Nellie beamed at her charges.

  Becky’s heart sank to her stomach. The thought of meeting men at a dance terrified her. This idea of finding a husband had been a “sometime in the future” thought, but now Marshal Jones’s plan seemed all too real. “Will you be there, Sheriff?”

  “I attend sometimes. Mostly to make sure everything is peaceful.”

  That calmed her a bit. At least she knew one man in town. Would he dance with her? With any of the ladies? Did he have a special lady he always danced with? That thought disturbed her more than it should have.

  * * *

  Once Mace paid the bill, he escorted them out of the café. They left, happy to see the rain had stopped. Already the clouds were breaking up, and sun shone through the spaces.

  “It appears you might be able to drag your things out tomorrow and dry them in the sun,” he said.

  As they made their way down the boardwalk, they gained more than a few curious glances in their direction.

  Of course, three beautiful women would garner a lot of attention, he thought. At one time, Mexican and Indian women were just about the only females to be found in the area. More white women, with their husbands, or young widows from the war, started to find their way to Santa Fe about ten years ago.

  All was quiet at the jailhouse. “Hey, Sheriff, when do we get to eat?” The annoying voice of the eldest Finnegan grated on him as they entered.

  “When I have the time,” he growled.

  Becky looked between him and the men. “I can fetch food for them.”

  He didn’t want her doing anything for these men. After the way Bobby had treated her, he expected she wouldn’t want to grant him any favors. Just one more way she showed him how caring she was.

  Glancing at the pile of paperwork sitting on his desk that he needed to get caught up on before he would be able to make his usual Saturday night rounds, he shrugged. “I don’t see why you’d want to, but since you do, you have to go now. Things will start to heat up in a couple of hours, and I don’t want you out on the streets.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bill. “Get them supper at the café. If I had thought about it, I could have brought it with us. Tell Aggie it’s for the prisoners. She knows what to send.”

  Once Becky left, Miss Nellie said, “Should we leave the wagon out front?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I’ll drive it around back, unhitch your animals, and get them fed and watered. Then you can go through your things and get settled in for the night. There’s a small lean-to where I keep my horse and a small space next to it where I can park the wagon.”

  Lord, he would never get his paperwork finished at this rate. Why had he ended up with these three women around his neck? He shoved his hat back on and headed outside. The mules looked ready to drop as he climbed up onto the wagon seat. He steered the animals through the narrow alleyway between the jail and the blacksmith.

  By the time he’d unhitched the animals, brushed them down, fed them, and returned to the jail through the back door, Becky was just returning from the café, a basket covered with a cloth napkin over her arm. His heart lifted at the sight. Then he frowned at his response to her.

  “Is this all right, Sheriff?” She held the basket out, concerned written on her pretty face. She must have taken his frown as displeasure toward her.

  “Yes, that is just fine, Becky.” He took the basket from her and walked to the cell where the Finnegan brothers were. “Here’s your supper, and I don’t want to hear from you for the rest of the night.” He spoke as he unlocked the cell and handed the basket through.

  “What about our hands? They’re still tied.” Bobby held out his hands.

  “And tied they will stay until the judge arrives for your trial.” He slammed the cell door, rattled the bars to make sure it was locked, and returned to the front of the jail.

  “Sheriff, don’t you think it would be a kindness to untie their hands?” Becky’s sweet upturned face was like a punch to the gut. He rubbed his palm over his short hair. “I guess I could do that. I’m just amazed at how you hold no grudges for what these scoundrels did to you.”

  After grudgingly untying their hands, he tossed his hat on the hook. “Ladies, you can fuss with your wagon, now.” He waved to the pile of papers on his desk. “I have a lot of work to do before I can start my Saturday night rounds.”

  “Thank you.” Miss Nellie linked her arm through Miss Miranda’s, and they headed toward the back door. Becky held back, eying his desk.

  “Um, Sheriff, I used to do a lot of paperwork for Dr. Snodgrass. You know, ordering supplies, keeping track of the cash coming in, and stuff. I could help you with that.” She pointed to the pile.

  The best way she could help him was to find herself a husband as quickly as possible and settle down on one of the ranches in the valley. After that, only coming to town with her husband and the passel of kids she would no doubt have one day. That way he could stop thinking about her and wouldn’t have to continue telling himself that being husband to her was not in the cards.

  Hell. He had a better chance of being dealt a royal flush. On the other hand, if she waded through the pile of wanted posters, telegrams, and other notices that had accumulated under Melvin’s watch, he could start his rounds. He’d had a running argument with his deputy that his job when he was in charge was more than just marching around town, looking important.

  “All right. That would be a help. Let me show you a few things.”

  The next half hour was spent making a pile of wanted posters, a pile of telegrams relating information on outlaws caught, and a pile of letters from lawyers and judges that needed to be answered. That he had to do, but Becky was certainly bright enough to match telegrams with posters and then hang up the still wanted posters, then file away the no longer wanted batch.

  Concentration was hard with their heads huddled together as he showed her what she had to do. With a great deal of relief, they finished up, and he left her sitting behind the desk. He made a hurried departure into the night air, taking a deep, cleansing breath. Dealing with brawlers and drunks would be easy after the mixed emotions he’d just been forced to deal with.

  * * *

  Becky enjoyed the work Sheriff Jensen had left her with. The sound of snoring came from the back of the jail. She thought about checking to see if the prisoners had finished their meal but decided to stay put. She certainly didn’t need to incur the sheriff’s wrath by getting into trouble again with the outlaws.

  The sun had set while she worked at the sheriff’s desk. She reached over and lit the oil lamp on his desk. The glow it cast over the desk and part of the room gave her a feeling of peace. While she worked, Miss Nellie and Miranda came in from the wagon, laying pieces of clothing over the chairs in the office.

  “We need to dry a few things before we can go to church tomorrow morning.” Miss Nellie laid a pair of drawers with lace trimming over the back of the sheriff’s chair.

  “Um, Miss Nellie, I don’t think this is the best place to dry your underthings.”

  She laughed. “You’re probably right, but I’ve run out of space in the sheriff’s room that I’m sleeping in tonight.”

  Becky just shook her head and went back to work. After about fifteen minutes, the front door of the jail opened, and Sheriff Jensen walked i
n, each hand gripping the shirt collar of a man. Based on the blood dripping from one man’s nose and the black eye the other one sported, they were probably two of the brawlers the sheriff had referred to.

  He shoved them into the room and came to an abrupt stop. “What the hell is this?” His eyes roamed the room, taking in the various pieces of clothing the women had draped over the furniture.

  “We have to have dry clothes for church in the morning, Sheriff.” Miss Nellie continued to add more clothing to any surface she could find.

  The sheriff tightened his lips. “Do. Not. Continue. I will be right back.” He marched the two men out of the room and down the hallway to where the jail cells sat. The sound of the cell door clanging shut had them all jumping. It appeared the sheriff had reached the limit of his patience with the three of them.

  Miss Nellie chewed her lip as the sheriff came back into the room. He looked around again, his eyes settling on Miss Nellie. “Madam, pick up all these clothes and take them somewhere else.”

  “But, Sheriff, everything in the wagon is wet.”

  “You have use of my room to dry clothes. Not out here.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed. “When I return, I expect to see all of this”—he swept his arm around the room—"gone.”

  Becky kept her head down during the exchange, working on the posters. She’d finished filing the captured or killed outlaws’ posters and was ready to hang the posters around the jail of the ones still on the run.

  Grumbling to herself, Miss Nellie picked up the articles of clothing decorating the room and marched to the back of the jail where the sheriff’s room was. Miranda followed behind with her own bundle.

  Once she had finished her work, she made her way out to the wagon to go through her belongings. She pulled out a dress that wasn’t too wet and a set of underwear that hadn’t gotten wet at all.

  After hanging them around the sheriff’s room to dry, she sat on a straight-backed chair against the wall in the bedroom. “We’ll need to wash up before we dress for church tomorrow.”

  Miss Nellie looked up from where she sat on the bed, resting against the wall. “What I wouldn’t give for a hot bath.” Suddenly, she sat up. “I have an idea.”

  She hoped the idea wasn’t something that would annoy the sheriff again. Most likely the man was mighty tired of the three of them. “What’s your idea?” She studied Miss Nellie with narrowed eyes.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like that. It’s nothing terrible.” She leaned forward. “I noticed a tub outside when we were rummaging through the wagon. We can drag it in here and take turns having a bath.”

  “And where would we get hot water?” Miranda yawned as she sat on the end of the bed.

  “Well, the sheriff looks like a pretty clean man to me. He must take baths. Where would he get the hot water?”

  The three of them turned as one and looked at the sink on the far wall in the little room. Nowhere was there a stove. “How about a cold bath, ladies?” Miss Nellie sighed.

  The sheriff made another trip and dropped three men into another cell. Becky, Miss Nellie and Miranda had cold baths, but at least they were clean. When it grew close to midnight and she was unable to keep her eyes open any longer, Becky stood and stretched. “I’m headed to bed.”

  “Me, too,” Miranda added.

  Miss Nellie nodded at the two of them. “Good night.” They left the sheriff’s bedroom and walked to the cell he’d given them. The cots weren’t exactly clean, but it was better than the floor or a wet wagon.

  Becky opted not to wear a nightgown but plopped down on her cot dressed in the clothes she’d taken off before her bath. At least she had on clean underwear. She fluffed up the bundle of clothes she was using for a pillow and laid her head down.

  “Miranda?” She tried to keep her voice down so as not to wake the prisoners. Even though they were locked in their cells, they still made her nervous.

  “What?” Miranda said in her very sleepy voice.

  “Don’t you find it funny that we started out in a jail cell and ended up in another one?”

  For a minute, there was no sound except the snoring of the men next to them. Then, Miranda said, “No. Not funny. Not funny at all.”

  7

  After an uncomfortable night spent sleeping on the floor of the jailhouse, Mace groaned as he rolled over and climbed to his feet. He’d spent many a night sleeping on the ground under the stars, but the soft earth made a better bed than the jail floor.

  Since Miss Nellie had commandeered his room at the back of the jail, he was plenty grateful that he kept his coffeepot and fixings in the office part of the jail. He rubbed his face as he lumbered over to the potbellied stove in the corner and started a fire. The sun was just making its appearance when he filled the pot with water from the pump around back, and within thirty minutes he had coffee brewing.

  He assumed it was expected that he would escort the ladies to church. Maybe he should take care that the roof of the church didn’t collapse on their heads when Miss Nellie entered. He chuckled, realizing they were all sinners and the Lord forgave all.

  “Good morning, Sheriff.” His daydreaming was interrupted by the sound of Becky’s soft voice.

  Lord, even in the morning she looked beautiful. She offered him a gentle smile, and at that very moment, he knew he was in trouble. Deep trouble. Not in the criminal sense, but trouble to his heart. Now that was something more frightening than any criminal he’d faced with the business part of a gun pointed at him. A quick death would be nothing compared to a lingering broken heart.

  “Good morning, Becky. I will have coffee ready in a bit.”

  “Oh, wonderful.” Her entire face lit up as she moved further into the room and took a seat. “I love my morning coffee.”

  “This is probably a foolish question, but did you sleep well?”

  She laughed softly, shaking her head. “It find it amusing that Marshal Jones went to so much trouble to get us all out of jail, and then the first night in our new town, we are back in jail.”

  Mace laughed. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

  His laugh faltered as their eyes linked. The jail was quiet; the only sound coming from outside was the rumble of the milk wagon, making its deliveries. They stared at each other, two people, alone in the early morning, sharing a laugh, coffee, and a bit of conspiracy. What would it be like to greet her every morning? To see the leftover sleep on her sweet face, to share coffee before he swept her into his arms, kissed her goodbye, and left for the jail?

  Thankfully, those thoughts came to an abrupt halt as Miss Miranda and Miss Nellie entered the room. Soon, all four of them were drinking coffee. Obviously thinking ahead, Miss Nellie had grabbed a couple of cups from the wagon before they joined him and Becky.

  “I want the young ladies to make a good impression on the members of the church.” Miss Nellie took a sip of her coffee and closed her eyes, making a humming sound. “What church do you belong to?”

  “I worship at the Baptist church, over on First Street.”

  Miss Nellie beamed at him. “Excellent. We shall all become Baptists.” As an afterthought, she turned to the girls. “Do either of you care which church we attend? I’m thinking a church would be a fine place to meet upstanding men.” She waved in Mace’s direction. “Someone like the sheriff here.”

  He tried to tell himself it was his imagination that Becky glanced at him then looked at her lap, a red flush crawling up her face.

  * * *

  The church ceiling did not cave in, and Mace felt Miss Nellie and the young ladies made a good impression on the congregation. They all gathered outside after the service, numerous members strolling in their direction to make acquaintances with the women. If their reception at church was any indication of how things would go for them, they should all be married quite quickly.

  For that he was happy. Yes, definitely happy. It would be best when they were all settled with good husbands and out of his hair. And it would
be better yet if he told himself that several times a day. Except it was hard when young Richard Dowling kept hanging around Becky. He had no right to consider being anyone’s husband. He needed years to grow into himself.

  On the other hand, Mr. Stevens, the owner of the newspaper, might be widowed and wealthy, but he was far too old for her. He’d get a couple of kids on her and then up and die, leaving her on her own to raise them. No, he wouldn’t do.

  However, nothing drew his ire more than the attention she was receiving from Carl Ledger. The man was a known philanderer with two wives in the ground and six children needing a mother. He was only looking for someone to warm his bed, take care of all those kids, and work herself into her own grave while he went along is merry way. No, he would never do.

  Frustrated at where his thoughts were wandering, he approached Miss Nellie. “I think it might be best to return to the jailhouse. I’m sure you want to finish putting your things to right, and we are due to visit Miss Priscilla this afternoon.”

  “Yes, I believe you’re right.” She waved at Miss Miranda and Becky. “We have work to do, ladies.” She smiled at the group of men still hanging around outside the church. “I understand there is a community dance next Thursday. The girls will be attending. Also, we will be moving into Miss Priscilla’s boarding house Tuesday, if any of you wish to call on them there.”

  Bright smiles and nods of approval followed her announcement, bringing irritation to Mace. As they started back to the jailhouse, he walked alongside Miss Nellie. “There are some men who are not suitable for Miss Becky. You want to watch out for Carl Ledger, especially. I can give you a list of unsuitable men.”

  She turned and regarded him with raised eyebrows. “Sheriff, I’m trying to find husbands for both Miss Becky and Miss Miranda. Did you forget there were two of them?”

  Damnation, he felt like a fool. “Of course,” he hurried on. “I meant both of them. Some men will not be good enough for the young ladies.”