“Now, close your eyes.”
Amy held her breath. In the shadows, she couldn’t see the sheriff’s face clearly, but she could feel his insistent gaze. Heart pounding in her chest, she found the strength to bring her eyelids down...and darkness swallowed her.
“Now...listen,” he whispered.
His voice seemed to hang in the air, soft and reassuring. Fighting to let go of her irrational fear, at least for a moment, she...listened. The owl hooted, announcing his new position. A man yelled ‘Lotto!’, and laughter from his friends or family playing the new board game drifted to her on the breeze. Bats chirped and chatted as they swooped somewhere over-head. A horse neighed and nickered off in the distance.
“Smell anything?”
She did. The scent of hickory and pine logs burning in fireplaces tickled her nose. She caught a whiff of leather and soap...his scent. She opened her eyes.
“Feel better?”
“Yes, I do, actually...a little, anyway.”
He started walking again and she hurried to catch up with him. “How did you know that would help?”
“Aw,” he shrugged, “something a U.S. Marshal told me once about getting your bearings. The familiar … grounds you.”
She could see that, but she could also still imagine someone hiding behind a tree up ahead. If she dwelt on it—the fear, the shortness of breath, the icy palms—it would all come back.
“How long have you been a U.S. Marshal?” Talking might distract her.
“This was my eighth year.”
“I guess it’s exciting and challenging, roaming all over the territory, capturing murderers and horse thieves.”
“Challenging, to say the least. I’ve been shot three times and stabbed five. I sleep too often on the ground, in the cold. Sometimes I go weeks without company. I’ve even nearly starved to death once.”
“Were you after someone? The time you starved, I mean.”
“Yep. And I got him.”
Amy heard the pride—or vengeance—in his voice and thought again of the Victor Hugo quote. Every blade has two edges … “You have a passion for what you do.”
“You could say that.”
Or might he say obsession? Not familiar enough with the man to press further, she changed the subject. “I understand you grew up here. Do you really dislike it as much as you say?”
“More.”
She exhaled and laced her fingers in front of her. “Oh. Well, I suppose it’s a good thing you’re only the interim sheriff then. Why is that; if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I was suspended from the marshals, pending the investigation into Ben’s death. This is...punishment.”
“Punishment? His death wasn’t your fault. That man shot the sheriff.”
“With my gun.”
Amy couldn’t argue that point, but it wasn’t fair that the sheriff took any of the blame for the shooting. Sometimes, things just happened. Although she didn’t suppose he wanted to hear that, as the observation was less than helpful. She stole a quick glance at him. Though he tried to hide it, the burden of all this—the death of a friend, the suspension—weighed on him. No wonder he was withdrawn and solemn.
“And the mayor prattled on about a pumpkin-carving contest as if it were life or death.”
“Which will be his misfortune, if he keeps it up.”
His warning for the mayor silenced her for a moment. She decided he was missing some positives about the situation. “It’s absurd to you, isn’t it? The simple, menial things a small-town sheriff has to do. But these things help build a community, engender trust, portray you as a man who is...a servant of the people,” she said gently.
His walk slowed a little and he shoved his hands into his pockets. He watched his feet for the next several steps, and Amy acknowledged she’d overstepped her bounds. “I’m sorry. It’s really none of my business. You can certainly handle the position of sheriff without my input.”
“Yes, I can.” He removed his hat, scratched his head, and dropped the hat back into place. “But I would rather hear advice from you than that smiling, conceited peacock.”
“Oh, the mayor,” her stomach rolled, and she placed a hand over it.
“I meant it when I said you should be concerned about him. A person can change, I suppose, but when he first came to Evergreen, he was a blue-ribbon troublemaker. He tried to run a couple of confidence games. That’s when Pa stepped in and threatened to arrest him.”
“Was your father the sheriff of Evergreen? I thought he was a U.S. Marshal.”
Sheriff Hernandez rubbed his neck, as if the memories added to his burdens. “He was both. He was leaving the Marshals and planned to stay here. The town wanted him as sheriff.” He kicked a rock out of his path as he meandered down the street. “Anyway, he threatened to arrest Coker if he didn’t leave town. Never had a chance to follow through. He was shot the next day.”
“I’m sorry.” And she was. A young boy needed a father. “Did anyone question the timing of the mayor’s arrival with your father’s death?”
“Ben followed up on the alibi. Said it checked out.”
“How did he ever become mayor?”
“Ah,” Sheriff Hernandez shrugged, “from a few, thin comments Doc’s made, I gather Coker doesn’t mind shmoozing folks, and he likes talking up the town. The way I see it, there’s not much distance between a con man and a politician anyway.”
“I can certainly see the similari—” A loud, inhuman screech or howl erupted from an alley between two homes, followed by great shattering, splintering sounds. Amy yelped and clutched the sheriff’s arm. He pulled her up against him, spun her away from whatever was in that alley, and then drew his gun. An instant later, a huge tomcat exploded from the shadows and streaked down the dirt road like a shooting star.
Sheriff Hernandez chuckled and dropped his side arm back into his holster. He looked down at Amy. Their eyes locked. His body tensed and her breath caught. Heat radiated from him like a furnace. She moved to push him away, but he was faster, stepping back as if she was on fire. “My apologies, ma’am,” he said quickly, almost breathlessly.
“No, that was entirely my fault.” She pulled and straightened her shirtwaist. “The scared little rabbit.” The feel of his arms around her left her befuddled and a little breathless, too.
He commenced to walking again, though faster now. “That’s a lie.”
“Excuse me?” She scrambled to catch up with him.
“You should quit saying things like that about yourself. You’ll start believing ’em. You got on a train all by yourself, and came West to a town you’d never seen before to take a job you haven’t done in years. No rabbit would do that.”
“No,” she mumbled, strangely pleased. “I suppose not.”
13
Against Miss Tate’s protests, Dent gave the pretty little log cabin a thorough inspection. Fingers laced in front of her, she waited in the kitchen as he surveyed the living room, peeked into her bedroom, and checked her windows. His knees kind of jittered a little when he approached her. He could still feel her in his arms, and it unnerved him. “All clear.”
“Thank you, but you didn’t have to.”
“Yes ma’am, I know, I just thought …” What? He wanted her to feel safe. Nothing wrong with that. “Well, I thought it might give you some peace of mind.”
Disarming blue eyes, only enhanced somehow by her round, metal rims and long lashes, caused a fluttery feeling in his gut. She smiled, barely a shaky little twitch of her lips. “Thank you, it does.”
He licked his lips, pondering hers. How perfect and soft—Alarmed at his train of thought, he backed away and nodded. “All right then, ma’am. Have a good evening.”
He dropped his hat back in place and hurried from that pretty little log cabin as fast as his feet could carry him, while trying not to appear rushed.
He stopped at an oak about a hundred feet away and leaned on it, allowing its dark, heavy branches to hide him. For t
he life of him, he couldn’t figure why he felt so unsettled. After a moment, he realized he had his hand pressed to the steel of his stomach...to quell those butterflies.
Nah, just a little indigestion. Susan’s steaks had been a touch greasy.
Liar, an inner voice scolded. Dent backed up and faced the truth.
Somehow, holding Miss Tate in his arms, protecting her from some unseen threat, had made him feel more alive in that brief instant than he had in the last eight years. She had sent fire racing through his veins. Worse, that one moment had made him sense an emptiness in his soul.
He snorted in disgust at the melodramatic, dime-novel thoughts running wild in his head, and folded his arms across his chest.
The glow in Miss Tate’s front window faded and then re-appeared in her bedroom window. His mind wandered back through the last several years. The gunfights and fistfights, bullet wounds and knife scars. The long hours in the saddle. The sound of the gallows. The cold. The hunger.
The loneliness.
Sometimes he did go without company for long stretches, and sometimes he visited a gal down in Lander, most often after a hanging. No commitments from either of them, just a little comfort. Dent wondered if watching a man swing made him need to feel the beat of his own heart...to assure himself he was still alive.
Miss Tate had done that with a single touch.
Exhaling wearily, he pushed himself off the tree and headed toward Main Street. He walked softly in the shadowy stillness, tugging on doors, peering in windows, listening for nefarious sounds. In the back of his mind, he knew he’d wind up again at that little cabin. One last check before he quit for the night.
14
Dent climbed out of the cot in cell number one and stretched the kinks out of his back. If he did much more sleeping here, he was replacing that mattress. He shuffled over to the basin and poured a splash of water. Washing the sleep from his face, pushing his hair back, he wished for a cup of coffee.
The telegram from Judge Lynch sat on the dresser beside the basin, now sprinkled with droplets of water. Dent wanted to growl at the message like a chained-up dog. Lynch did not mince words. Investigation on-going.
So, in other words, sit tight and do your job until you’re properly humbled.
But Dent wanted out of Evergreen, now more than ever. And the urgency had to do with Miss Tate. In the jarring light of day, he realized if he wasn’t careful, his goals might get fuzzy. He wouldn’t let that happen. He had a job to finish—with a badge or without.
A commotion at the front door brought him out of the small alcove, wiping his hands on a towel. Two men spied him and came rushing up to him, both talking at once, one shoving a dead chicken in his face.
“Sheriff, Baker’s dog went after my chickens again!”
“His chickens were on my property!”
“I told him last time if it happened again—”
“You two need to get ahold of yourselves,” Dent pushed the chicken down and shoved the men back, not even trying to hide his anger. “And quit waving that chicken in my face.”
Blinking, the men backed up, expressions wide and shocked. Then the man holding the carcass stepped forward again, but Dent cut him off with a raised hand. “I haven’t even had my coffee yet, and you come bustin’ in here, acting like the world’s coming to an end over what?” He glared at the lifeless bird. “A chicken.”
“Well, this is the third time—”
“His flock keeps wandering onto my property. It’s not my fault my dog—”
“Fence your property!”
Both men snapped their mouths shut at what Dent meant as an order, either because they’d never thought of it, or they truly expected him to do something about a chicken-killing dog. They recovered quickly from their shock and started hollering over each other again.
“I demand money for the dead chickens—”
“I ain’t payin’ one red cent—”
“Enough!” Dent hollered, his patience expired.
“Is there a problem here, Sheriff?”
Dent tried not to flinch at Mayor Coker’s slick, and clearly amused, tone. “No problem, unless you consider I haven’t had my coffee yet.”
The two men backed off a bit to allow the mayor to approach. He sized up the situation and laughed. “Baker, your dog running chickens again?”
“Wiler, here, won’t keep his flock penned. Cody does what comes natural.”
“Gentlemen,” Dent stepped in and pushed the two men to the door. “Either address the fencing suggestion, or file a formal complaint and I’ll get you a court date.” Resisting, they aimed pleading expressions at Coker, but Dent shoved a little harder and pushed the men right out the door. With a warning scowl, he shut the door on them.
Coker chuckled, and Dent wanted to punch the town’s highest elected official square in the face. He tamped the idea down, way down, and slowly spun around. “What can I do for you, Mayor?”
“The congressman.” Dent didn’t react and Coker regarded him with confusion. “The congressman’s train is coming in. He’ll be here at 10. You didn’t forget, did you? We have to make sure things are ready. Security, banners, a podium—”
“A podium?”
“Ben stores one here, since the Town Hall isn’t finished yet. I need it at the train station by 9:45.”
Silence settled between them. Dent wished for coffee, but didn’t believe a cup was in his immediate future. “It’ll be there.”
The crowd at the train station buzzed and hummed with excitement, like honey bees collecting pollen. Dent had never felt like such a lackey in his whole life, and tried to disappear behind the group of town officials. Congressman Carey, a hugely rotund man, stepped off the train onto the station platform. He eyed the red-white-and-blue banners hanging from the railroad office with an arrogant tilt to his brow, and then smiled condescendingly at Mayor Coker. “It’s all fine, Mayor. Thank you for having me.”
“The honor is ours, Congressman.”
Platitudes and insincere sentiments polluted the air as Coker took the congressman’s ample arm and led him toward the podium. Along the way, he introduced the gentleman from Cheyenne to the town council, and, then, almost as an afterthought, pulled the congressman to a halt and turned him toward Dent. “And this is our interim sheriff, former U.S. Marshal, Dent Hernandez.”
Abe Rotham, a dentist and town council member, stepped aside so the two men could meet. Dent tried not cringe over the politician’s sweaty grip. For the congressman, the greeting was a mere formality, and he quickly returned to the reason for the visit. Most of the town had shown up, primarily out of curiosity, Dent had been told. The crowd gathered below the platform, gazed up at the pompous congressman, and listened politely.
This nonsense would be over in another ten minutes, and he would go back to being a sheriff, not a podium-moving, banner-hanging greeter. A flash exploded from a camera, the glare blinding him. His scowl betrayed his thoughts. The expression alone could get him fired from this job.
When his vision cleared, he saw Miss Tate and her whole class standing off to the side. She smiled sweetly at him, and Dent acknowledged her with a subtle smile in return. But then he frowned, irritated that he was pleased to see her. Worse, he’d let it show. She must have seen the change. She looked away quickly, to watch the congressman instead.
Dent wanted to curse over the blunder, but refrained. Why did he even care if he’d inadvertently hurt her feelings?
He didn’t care and she would recover from the perceived slight, without any apology or explanation from him.
15
Dent hoisted the podium up onto his shoulder and marched through the dispersing crowd. A few folks nodded or tipped their hats to him, but he didn’t speak; just gave them a disinterested dip of his chin. Eventually, he’d run into someone he knew from when he was young, someone who would want to chat. Evergreen was a nice town full of nice, peaceable citizens, but Dent hadn’t missed the place. At all. He missed bein
g on the trail, chasing bandits...making a difference. Not getting caught up in… life.
He toyed for a moment with the idea of making his way over to Miss Tate, but she was scurrying off, her class in tow behind her. Should he have apologized? Maybe. Was he disappointed at missing her?
Nope.
He shook off the annoying confusion and changed direction back toward his office.
“Excuse me, ladies.” Stepping up on the boardwalk, he navigated around a group of elderly women, careful not to bean them on the head with the stand, and touched the brim of his hat. The women stared, a few gawked, they all moved.
A clatter up ahead snagged his attention. Brooms seemed to dance, and then nearly take flight as a young boy crashed through a display of them, tripped, and tumbled to the wood. A balding man in a black shirt and white apron was on his heels. Tall and lanky, he took two steps, and grabbed the boy by the nape of the neck. “Whoa, there, Davey Parker. Where do you think you’re going?”
“Hey now, hold on,” Dent quick-stepped up to the scene. “What’s going on here?”
The man surveyed Dent top to bottom with suspicion, but he didn’t miss the badge. “You the new sheriff?”
“For the time being.” The little boy, who barely came to their hips, was struggling against the hold, grunting, and swinging his fists. Dent lifted the lad’s chin and peered into a dirty, angry face. “What’s this all about?”
“Mr. McGyver says I ate some candy. I didn’t eat anything. See?” Davey Parker opened his mouth wide and stuck out his tongue. Dent leaned a little closer and had to agree; he didn’t see any obvious signs of candy theft.
He straightened and tagged McGyver on the shoulder. “If he stole anything, the evidence is gone.”
McGyver scowled at the boy, jerking on his collar. “If you didn’t take anything, why’d you run?”
The little boy’s face fell, and his fury melted away. Downcast, he whispered, “ ’Cause I was thinkin’ about it.”
The Brides of Evergreen Box Set Page 7
