by Beverly Long
Bart seemed to accept that. He took off his hat and put it on the corner of Jed’s desk. “Patience was sorely disappointed when I told her you couldn’t take Madeline. The only thing that saved me was that Madeline found someone else to take her to the dance.” He looked over his shoulder, towards the door, as if he was making sure it was shut. “You know, Jed, I do have one little problem.”
Bart’s little problems had a way of turning into big headaches for Jed. “What now?” Jed asked.
“I ain’t much of a dancer.”
“You’ll do fine,” Jed said. He pushed back his chair. He needed to walk—hard and fast enough that he’d have to take suck in breaths of the fresh, cold air. Maybe that would finally clear his head of Bella Wainwright.
Bart put his hand on Jed’s arm. “Jed, I mean it. I can’t dance. My parents never danced because of my pa’s bad leg and I didn’t have no sisters. I need you to help me.”
“But—”
“Please. I don’t want to disappoint Patience again.”
Well it couldn’t get much clearer than that. Jed had already done more than enough to make sure that Bart had had to disappoint his girl once. “What is it that you want me to do?” Jed asked.
“Dance with me, Jed. Let me step all over your feet so that I don’t do the same with my girl.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Jed, no one will know. Fifteen minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
Jed rubbed his forehead and wondered what the good folks of Mantosa would say if the Sheriff were to be seen having a drink at the saloon shortly after breakfast time. “Ten minutes,” he said. “Not a minute more. And we never speak of this again.”
Bart’s pale face split open in a wide grin. He stood up and held out his arms. “Come here, darling.”
Jed gritted his teeth. “Shut up,” he said, his lips barely moving. He moved in front of his deputy. “Dumbest idea, ever,” he mumbled, loud enough for his friend to hear. Then he pointed to Bart’s left hand. “That goes here,” he said, pointing to his left side, right above his wide leather holster.
Bart nodded earnestly and did as instructed. “You gonna put your hand on my shoulder, Jed? That’s what the girl does, right?”
Resigned to just get it over with, Jed put his left hand on Bart’s shoulder and held out his right hand. Bart grabbed it and squeezed, as if he were trying to hang on to a slippery pig. “Ease up,” Jed ordered. Christ. Bart’s girl was going to be spending her Saturday night at Doc Winder’s place, getting her bones set.
“Sorry,” Bart said, his cheeks turning pink. “I’m no good at any of this. I’m going to make a fool out of myself, ain’t I?” he asked, sounding truly miserable.
Jed actually felt sorry for the man. “You’ll do fine. Just make a box with your feet. It’s easy. Look, just follow me.”
They managed to make boxes all across the room and back again. Jed could feel some of the tension leave his friend’s body. “See, you’re doing fine,” Jed said.
“Shouldn’t I be complimenting her or something?” Bart asked.
In Jed’s opinion, Bart trying to dance and talk at the same time was a little like a man trying to rub his stomach and pat his head at the same time. “I suppose you could try,” Jed said.
They made another series of boxes as they crossed the width of the room. Bart pretended to study Jed’s face. “Your eyes look especially lovely tonight, Patience,” he said.
The man was an idiot. But a good friend, too. “Why thank you, Bart,” Jed said, forcing his voice high.
Bart grinned at him. “And you smell especially sweet, like a new rose in a spring garden.”
Jed ducked his head. “Do go on, Mr. Schneider.”
Bart’s chest puffed up. “You’d look especially fetching if you were naked—”
The door of the jail flew open. Bella Wainwright stood in the doorway, her cheeks pink, her long hair wild from the wind. She stared at the two of them.
Jed pushed away from Bart so quickly that he stumbled backwards and knocked his shin on the wheel of his chair. Even through his boot, it hurt.
“Why, hello, Mrs. Wainwright,” Bart said agreeably, like they hadn’t been caught in a most unusual situation.
“Just Bella,” she said. “I’m sorry,” she added, “I didn’t mean to interrupt your…”
“Dancing,” Bart supplied.
She raised an eyebrow. Hers were dark and finely shaped. “I see.”
He was going to kill Bart. Slowly. Painfully. But first he needed to get rid of this woman. “What can I do for you?” he asked, making sure she heard the impatience in his voice.
“Practicing for tomorrow night?” she asked. Her tone was cool.
He could smell her scent across the small room. It was something spicy and rich and full of promise. But he supposed he shouldn’t hold that against her. Anymore than he should hold it against her that he’d been a fool and volunteered to take her to the dance. He was just about to apologize when Bart stepped forward.
“Jed don’t need no practice, Bella. He’s a—”
“I’m sure she doesn’t have time to chat, Bart,” Jed interrupted.
She frowned at him. “Aunt Freida thought you might want this,” she said, holding up the shovel that she carried in her left hand. “You know, she can smell snow a-coming.”
She’d done a better-than-fair imitation of Freida with the last part. “I imagine she’s right,” he said. He crossed the room and reached for the shovel.
Their fingers brushed. And he jerked his hand back. The skin on her hands was warm, almost hot. It should have been cold. The woman was a fool to be out without gloves.
He was a fool to care. He took a breath, hoping to steady himself and was immediately sorry. Now he had her scent in his lungs, where it would linger, and threaten to overtake him.
He reached again, more careful this time to grab only the handle. “Good day,” he said. Go. Now. Before I do something else foolish.
She didn’t move. “Aunt Freida wanted to know if you could stop by the store later?” She raised a hand to her head and twirled a lock of her hair around her first finger.
He looked at the floor. There was no need to be looking at all that hair and wondering what it would feel like to have a bunch of it wrapped around his hand. Or God forbid, tickling his bare chest in bed.
“Well?” she prodded, like he was simple.
Oh hell. Any minute he’d prove her right. He was acting like some old man who needed help remembering where he was or how to get home. She had to go. Now. “I reckon I could,” he said. And then, because he was feeling hot and bothered and more than a little off center, he added, “I suppose there is some other social obligation that I need to attend to?”
She narrowed her eyes. “There’s nothing stopping you from changing your mind about the dance.”
“I don’t go back on my word,” he said.
She stared at him. “And I don’t like being referred to as an obligation.”
He counted to ten. Twice. “Fine.”
She rubbed her hands together, like she was rubbing off sand. “Great. Now can we talk about something important? Aunt Freida thinks someone tried to break into the store last night.”
“What?” He forgot about being irritated with her.
“The back door was damaged. She found it when she was putting away stock this morning. After you’d come and gone.”
Bart raised a finger. “Jed, I’d be happy to walk back with Bella and have a look-see.”
It would be easier to let Bart handle it. He could wash his hands of this woman. For the time being anyway. But Freida was his friend. And Mantosa was his town. He doubted that someone had actually tried to break into the store—everybody in town liked and respected Freida—but if his friend was worried, then he’d go assure her it was nothing to fret about. “I’ll do it.”
He grabbed his coat and hat from where they hung near the door and put them on. He opened the door and m
otioned for Bella to go first. Once they were both outside, he closed the door behind them. He turned to walk toward the Mercantile and she turned the other direction.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
She frowned at him. “If you must know, I’m spying on the competition.”
“What?”
“Aunt Freida wants me to check out the prices at Saul’s.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know why she even worries about him. They don’t carry the same items. Freida carries the things a person needs. Saul carries the things a person with fancy notions might believe they want.”
“Well, it’s my mission and I’ve decided to accept it.”
“What?” That was the oddest thing he’d heard anyone say in some time.
“Never mind,” she said. “You should probably get to Aunt Freida’s.”
“Oh, I will,” he said. And he intended to—right after he shopped at Saul’s. He fell into step next to her. “Who knows? Maybe Saul has something I can’t live without.”
They walked side by side, like a man and a woman did when they were sweet on each other. He glanced at her to see if she saw it as odd or too forward, but she didn’t seem to be bothered.
She didn’t say anything about the cold but he noticed that she slipped her hands in the pockets of her cloak. “I believe Freida sells gloves,” he said.
She just raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t let it go. “Most people enjoy wearing something on their head in this kind of weather, too.”
No response this time.
“I think if we get much snow,” he said, “those shoes of yours won’t do you much good.”
She stopped, so abruptly that he was two feet ahead of her before he realized it. He turned around and his first thought was that if Bart had been impressed with her flashing eyes before, he’d probably expire from looking at her right now.
Lord, she was beautiful. And mad.
“I was just trying to be helpful,” he said, knowing the comment was like heaping a log onto a dying fire—the heat was going to increase and burn longer. But he couldn’t seem to help himself. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d enjoyed goading a woman but suddenly, it was like he couldn’t poke enough.
“Sheriff McNeil, you’re extraordinarily helpful,” she said, her tone so polite that any fool could see that what she really meant was Sheriff McNeil, you’re like a burr under a saddle. “You protect the town and give fashion advice,” she added. “How very…useful.”
He wanted to laugh and that startled him. He was not the type who went on about nothing with a woman and then laughed at his own stupidity. Before his tongue could get him in more trouble, he settled for tipping his hat. “Think nothing of it, Mrs. Wainwright.”
They continued on in silence and he assumed she was grateful for that. When they reached Saul’s, she hesitated for just a second as she scanned the merchandise that Saul had sitting near the window. Her black eyes were bright, alert, and it dawned on him that Bella Wainwright might not be woman to underestimate.
She opened the door and a bell that was rigged to the door jingled. She stepped inside. He followed. Saul’s store was smaller than Freida’s and didn’t carry nearly as much merchandise. That made it easier to get around.
“I’m in the back,” a voice called out. Jed recognized it as Saul’s. “I’ll be right there.”
Bella smiled. “Take your time,” she said. “I’m in no hurry.”
She’d made it to every aisle but one before Saul emerged from the back. He was a small, dark haired man who never went without oil in his hair. His shirts were too bright for Jed’s taste and he always smelled of spicy foods. He’d arrived in Mantosa without a wife or children but he hadn’t caused any trouble.
“Morning, Saul,” Jed said. Across the store, he saw Bella fold the paper she’d been making notes on and slip it into the pocket of her cloak.
“Sheriff,” Saul said. He looked pleased to have him in the store and Jed felt sorry about his part of the ruse. Granted, Freida was his friend but as sheriff, he had a responsibility to all the merchants in Mantosa.
“What can I interest you in this morning?” Saul asked.
Jedidiah picked up the closest thing. It was a small wooden box, with a glass top. He didn’t realize it was a music box until he sat it down on the counter. “I’ll take this.”
“Oh, that’s an excellent choice.” Saul turned the box over and wound the small crank. Music began and Saul closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Beautiful. Do you know it?”
Jed shook his head.
Bella took a couple steps toward them. “The Blue Danube,” she said. Her voice had a catch in it and Jed wondered if she was feeling badly about coming to Saul’s.
Saul beamed. “Yes. Yes, indeed. It’s a new piece by Johann Straus.” Saul hummed along for a few notes and then glanced in Bella’s direction. “Have you studied music?”
She shook her head. “No. This piece was…uh…is one of my mother’s favorites.”
Saul wrote out the receipt. “It’s eight dollars, Sheriff.”
Jed pulled the money out of his pocket. He hadn’t expected this little venture to cost him a week’s worth of pay.
“What can I assist you with, Miss?” Saul asked.
“Nothing today, thank you,” Bella said. She smiled at Saul, turned, and walked out the door. Jed followed her, carrying the music box in his hand.
Once they were several feet from Saul’s door, he turned towards Bella. “Well?” he asked. “Did you accomplish what you set out to?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Aunt Freida has so much stuff in her store that I probably only saw a fraction of it this morning. I looked for similar things at Saul’s and wrote down the prices. He really has some lovely things.” She looked at the music box. “May I?” she asked.
He handed her the music box. She wound the crank and the music began. Bella had a faraway look in her eyes, as if she were imagining that she was suddenly somewhere other than Mantosa. She walked and he accompanied her in silence. When the music ended, they were just steps from the Mercantile.
“Thank you,” she said. “I hadn’t heard that in a long time.” She handed him back the music box. “It’ll probably come in handy the next time you and Bart decide to dance.”
Even though it was cold outside, he could feel heat flood his face. She was teasing him. It made him realize that it had been a long time since somebody had teased him.
“I imagine it will,” he said. He tucked it into the pocket of his coat. It wouldn’t do for the townspeople to see the sheriff carrying a music box around with him in the middle of the day.
When they entered the Mercantile, Jed walked directly to the back of the store. He expected Bella to follow him but when Freida joined him, he realized that Bella had taken over waiting on the customers at the counter.
The door didn’t show any damage from the inside but once they opened it and stepped through the doorway, it was easy to see that someone had done a fair job of trying to pry the door open. The wood frame was bent and splintered. Fortunately, Freida’s sturdy lock had held. He looked at the ground. The morning sun had melted the snow that had fallen during the night so there were no footprints to examine.
He felt bad about his earlier inclination to dismiss Freida’s concern. He was angry too. Freida went out of her way to help people, many times giving them credit when she had no business doing so. “Any idea who might have an interest in getting inside your building?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I did tell Warren Partridge to clean up before he came in again. The old fool smelled; he stood next to Vera May and her knees buckled. She practically cracked her head on my candy case.”
Warren Partridge was close to seventy and given that the man barely weighed a hundred pounds, it didn’t seem likely that he’d have wielded this much damage with a crow bar. But Jed would have a conversation with the man, just in case. “If you think of anybody else, let me know
,” he said. “Bart and I’ll keep an eye out when we’re doing our night rounds.”
Freida reached into her skirt pocket. “I’ve got an extra key here, Jedidiah. Why don’t you keep it? Then, if for some reason, you need to check inside the store, you’ll be able to get in.”
He took the key and dropped it into his vest pocket. “It’s probably dark at night when you’re leaving. You should go out the front door,” he added. “And…uh…tell your niece to do the same.”
“She’s really lovely, isn’t she?” Freida asked. “I have to admit, I never thought any of Herbert’s family was all that attractive.”
“She’s got a lot of hair,” Jed said.
Freida nodded. “Ain’t that something? And she just wads it all up and puts a rubber band around it, like that’s supposed to be some style. Didn’t even put it in a braid or nothing.”
“We sort of had words,” Jed admitted, digging the toe of his boot into the wet dirt.
“About?”
“I said something that made her think I wasn’t happy about going to the dance tomorrow night.”
“You don’t have to take her,” Freida said.
“I want you to go,” Jed said. “I didn’t know about you and Thomas but now that I do, I sure as hell don’t want to be the reason the two of you can’t spend a Saturday night together. He’s a good man, Freida. You could do worse.”
Her eyes warmed. “I know that. He stopped in this morning, with his brother. Earl said he was hoping that he could take Bella to the dance. I told him she was already spoken for but if you’re having second thoughts, I know he’d be willing.”
It was that easy. He could step out the way and clear a path for Earl Bean. Bella Wainwright would become Earl’s problem. There’d be no more opportunity for the woman to make him do or say silly things. He wasn’t a silly man and didn’t want to be thought of as one.
Freida was giving him the chance to forget about Bella Wainwright with her flashing black eyes and her unruly black hair.
