The Sheriff's Sweetheart

by Laurie Kingery

  She smiled at the thought of the handsome sheriff, though she surely had been confused by his “preliminary proposal.” Last night she had served as secretary at the council meeting and taken down the minutes, so she had gotten to watch Sam from under lowered lashes as he and the others discussed strategies to deal with the actions of the Ranchers’ Alliance. She had felt a rush of pride as it became clear that the other men respected his opinion. Only once had he stolen a glance at her and smiled, all while the others at the meeting were listening to something Dr. Walker was saying. She’d looked down, feeling the heat spread up her neck and face clear to the roots of her hair.

  Her father had appeared troubled at Sam’s mention of the harassment William Waters had experienced. As soon as Sam finished up by saying he was going to speak to Pennington about it, her father turned to Prissy.

  “Don’t you and the Spinsters have an outing planned for next week out that way? To visit Miss Milly and the new baby out at the Brookfields’ ranch?”

  “Yes, Papa. But I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Prissy had said, afraid her father meant to forbid the outing. “They have no reason to bother a wagonful of ladies.”

  “Still, I don’t like it,” her father said, steepling his fingers. “Perhaps—”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Gilmore, but I’d be happy to escort the ladies to and from the Brookfield ranch,” Sam said.

  Her father had looked at Sam, grateful. “Very well, then. Thanks, Sam. I surely would feel better about that.”

  So Sam would be escorting the wagon that carried the Spinsters out to the Brookfield Ranch. Sam had seen the need for their protection, and he would be riding with them to protect them. How impressed the ladies would be! Her heart nearly burst with pride. Of course, she hadn’t accepted Sam’s offer. She’d had so many questions she hadn’t known where to start.

  But she could be proud of him anyway, couldn’t she?

  At the end of the meeting, the council decided to call a town meeting after church, since most of the ranchers would already be in town for the church service. It would be quite interesting to see how that meeting went. She was looking forward to seeing what Sam had to say about it all.

  Actually, to be honest, she was just looking forward to seeing Sam, regardless of what he had to say about it.

  Perhaps she didn’t have so many questions about him that needed answering after all.

  She had just donned her bonnet, attached Houston’s leash to his collar and scooped up the napkin-covered pie when a knock sounded at the front door. Houston charged toward the sound, nearly yanking Prissy off her feet. Prissy lost hold of the leash, and it was all she could do to keep her balance and hold on to the pie so it wouldn’t fall facedown on the floor.

  Oh, bother—her fingers had gone right through the crust, marring its perfection. Who could it be at the door? She didn’t want to be delayed taking the pie to Sam—she needed to see him, to make sure that he…that he… Well, she wasn’t sure, but she just knew she needed to see him.

  Mariah Fairchild stood at the door, holding a parasol of lavender silk that exactly matched her dress. “Why, good morning, Priscilla dear! Is your papa home? I wonder if he’s forgotten about the walk we were going to take this morning? Mmm, whatever you’re carrying smells delicious!”

  Prissy reminded herself it wasn’t Mrs. Fairchild’s fault that the dog had nearly made her drop the pie. Still, her very presence was a reminder that the friendship between her papa and the widow was progressing.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Fairchild. I…I believe Papa’s in his study.” Papa has a right to happiness, she reminded herself sternly, and added, “There’s another pie cooling in the kitchen. You’re more than welcome to sample it.”

  “How sweet of you, dear. Now, don’t let me keep you—”

  But Prissy had already grabbed Houston’s leash and was sailing out the door, satisfied she’d done her duty of being courteous to the widow. She had not passed the gate when she heard the sound of carriage wheels slowing in the street.

  Houston was lunging in that direction, barking.

  She stopped and turned, for her bonnet impeded her sideward vision. The driver of the carriage wore livery; he tipped his hat to her even as a gentleman alighted from the victoria and did likewise.

  “Miss Gilmore, I believe?” The unknown gentleman possessed pale amber eyes that seemed to pierce right through her, and not in a pleasant way.

  “Yes,” she began uncertainly, controlling Houston with difficulty. “Quiet! No, I’m sorry, sir, I meant the dog. Y-you have the advantage of me…”

  “Garth Pennington, ma’am. I’m sorry to interrupt you—you’re obviously on the way to somewhere, but I’m happy to have found you before you left.”

  “Why? What can I do for you?” she asked bluntly, recognizing his name as that of one of the leaders of the Alliance whom Sam had visited yesterday.

  Antonio had emerged from the barn and came to Prissy’s side. Grateful for his presence, she handed him the pie, which left her hands free to pick up her agitated pet.

  “My, what a fierce little protector you have there,” Pennington said with a chuckle, but Prissy was not amused. Pennington apparently saw that, for he sobered. “Miss Gilmore, my intent is not to delay you on your errand, but to apologize for the distress my men reportedly caused you a couple of days ago.” He reached into the coach and brought forth a lush bouquet of blood-red roses, which he held out to her. “I pray you will accept these as a token of my humble and abject regret that you were subjected to such treatment—no doubt in an excess of high spirits on their part rather than any real malice, I assure you, Miss Gilmore.”

  Prissy stiffened. There was something too glib in the way the words of apology slid off the man’s lips for her to believe any real regret on his part.

  “That’s not necessary, Mr. Pennington, but I thank you.” She made no move to accept the flowers.

  “The men involved have been disciplined, Miss Pennington. You need not fear a repeat of such behavior.” Bending forward with a flourish, he added, “Please accept these lovely roses from the hothouse of La Alianza. They cannot be as lovely as you, if I may say so, but—”

  “Leave the lady alone.”

  Prissy had been so absorbed in what Pennington had been saying and in fending off the roses he offered that she hadn’t heard Sam approaching on his black gelding. Neither had Pennington, for he startled at the voice and straightened abruptly from his bow, gaping at Sam.

  “Sheriff, you mistake me. I was not offering any disrespect to Miss Gilmore, I assure you, but merely apologizing for my men’s behavior—the behavior you reported to me.”

  “Miss Prissy, please, go back inside the house,” Sam said, keeping his narrowed eyes on Pennington. The sun glinted off the tin star on his shirt.

  Prissy had never been so glad to see anyone in her life as she was to see Sam Bishop at that moment. But she took only a couple of steps backward, curious as to what he intended to say to Pennington.

  Sam half turned, his gaze locking with hers. “Please. I said go back inside the house. I’ll join you in a moment.” His tone was steely.

  She hesitated no more, lowering Houston to the ground and taking the pie back from Antonio. The dog dragged at the leash, clearly torn between wagging his tail at Sam and growling again at Pennington, but after she gave it a firm yank, he heeled at her side, carrying his tail stiff and straight.

  “Really, Sheriff, was that necessary?” Prissy heard Pennington protest. “I told you I meant no harm, only—”

  Sam interrupted, “Mr. Pennington, you’ve saved me another ride out to La Alianza. I have a bone to pick with you.”

  By then she was out of earshot, and knew she would have to wait until Sam finished with Pennington to hear what he’d said. She’d been planning to stand just inside the door and listen but she found her father and Mariah Fairchild there. Her father, cane in hand, was just taking his hat from the hook by the door.

  “Prissy,
what’s wrong?” her father said. “You look upset. What’s going on out there?”

  “It’s Pennington,” she said, and explained what had happened.

  “I’m going to give that sidewinder Pennington a piece of my mind,” her father growled, putting a hand on the doorknob. “You stay here, Mariah. I’ll just be a moment.”

  Prissy dashed forward and put a hand on her father’s arm. “Wait, Papa, please. I think Sam would prefer it if we all stayed here right now.”

  Her father raised an eyebrow and then turned to the window. Prissy followed, and she did not like what she saw.

  “That was churlish of you, Sheriff. Surely there can be nothing wrong with a heartfelt apology for my men’s actions, accompanied by a bouquet of La Alianza roses from the hothouse.”

  Sam was standing very close to Pennington with his hand resting on his holster. He very much doubted Pennington’s heart felt anything but self-interest. “The lady didn’t want your flowers. And she heard your apology, so there’s no further need for you to speak to her.”

  Pennington’s cold amber gaze locked with his for a moment, as if trying to find a chink in his armor, but when Sam did not look away he said, “Very well. You said you had something to speak to me about?”

  Sam nodded. “William Waters informed me your men have been trying to intimidate him into selling his land. He doesn’t want to, so leave him alone.”

  Pennington blinked, then gave a little chuckle. “My, my, you don’t beat around the bush, do you, Sheriff? Aren’t you the protective sort? First your lady, now the whiny little Yankee. We’ve done nothing illegal. We’re just businessmen, trying to conduct lawful business in a free country.”

  “If Waters doesn’t want to sell, he doesn’t want to sell—especially at a lower price than what you first offered him. That’s his choice. My job is to make sure he has that choice.”

  Pennington tsk-tsked. “Pity he feels that way. It’s a prime piece of land with good water, even with the derelict house. I figured he’d be happy to hightail it back East, now that he’s had a bitter taste of life in Texas. And I’m sorry you don’t want to work with us, instead of against us, Sheriff. You seem like a stalwart fellow to have on one’s side. But if we can’t work through you, I suppose we’ll just have to work around you.” He waited for a moment, but when Sam remained still and silent, he turned to his driver and said, “Tackett, my business is done here. We’ll be going back to La Alianza.”

  Sam waited until the carriage had rolled out of sight down the road before he turned and walked through the wrought-iron gate. He wasn’t surprised when Prissy opened the door before he could even knock, or that her father was waiting in the hallway, along with Mrs. Fairchild.

  Briefly, he told them the gist of his conversation with Pennington about the harassment of William Waters. “I’ve warned him, and now I don’t intend to tolerate any further shenanigans from him or any of the Alliance men.”

  “Quite right, Sheriff Bishop,” Mayor Gilmore said, extending his hand. “You have the full support of myself and the town council. I knew I was right to give you that badge.”

  Sam took his hand. “Thank you, sir.” The mayor’s approval of the way he was doing his job meant more to him than he could say. He hoped his approval of Sam wouldn’t diminish if and when Sam told him he wanted to marry his daughter, too, but there he was, getting ahead of himself again.

  “My daughter was just about to bring you something, Sheriff,” Mayor Gilmore said, nodding to a napkin-covered dish on the side table, the same one Sam had seen Prissy holding when she’d been accosted by Pennington. “Mrs. Fairchild, why don’t we adjourn to the kitchen and sample the one she left us?”

  “Pie before noon,” Mrs. Fairchild murmured, her voice amused. “Scandalous.”

  Mayor Gilmore chuckled, and the two left Sam alone with Prissy in the hallway.

  Prissy walked over to the table, lifted the dish and held it out to Sam.

  Even though the dish was covered by a napkin, he could smell the delicious odor of fresh-baked apples and brown sugar. He lifted a corner of the cloth and inhaled deeply, while his mind wondered what the present meant after her indecision the other night.

  He looked into her eyes, getting lost in the clear, blue, untroubled depths of them. At the very least, he thought he could read that she wasn’t angry at him for his “preliminary proposal.” But did that mean she was considering it favorably? If only he didn’t need to return to the jail, and could have a longer time alone with her.

  “Sam,” she said, “how did you know Pennington was coming to see me?”

  He shrugged, sure he shouldn’t admit he’d been lingering on the boardwalk outside the hotel, staring across the street at Gilmore House and thinking about Prissy. “I just had a feeling,” he said.

  “Well, I’m mighty glad you listened to that feeling,” she said, her eyes shining. “It was so wonderful that you were right there when I needed you.”

  I want to be right there when you need me always, Prissy, he wanted to say, but he’d learned his lesson the other night, and kept his thoughts to himself. He hoped he would recognize when she was ready to hear all that was in his heart.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Wednesday, the day of the Spinsters’ Club outing to visit Milly and her new baby, dawned bright and clear after a heavy rain during the night which did much to alleviate the summer heat. At the appointed hour, all eight of the other active Spinsters’ Club members assembled by the Gilmore stable. Laden with gifts and covered dishes, they climbed into the mayor’s victoria and an additional shay driven by Maude Harkey.

  “You ladies all ready to go?” inquired Sam, smiling down at Prissy sitting in the victoria. Prissy hadn’t seen Sam since the town meeting on Sunday when his suggested ordinance against more saloons or gambling halls had passed. Waters had aired his complaints about the pressure from the Alliance to sell, and Prissy had seen nods of confirmation from other ranchers who’d also been pressured. Her father exhorted everyone to resist, even pledging to loan money if anyone needed it to keep their property.

  The meeting had gone well, but they’d had no chance to talk.

  Now, she enjoyed the sight of him sitting tall in the saddle on his black horse. If there’d ever been a more handsome man than Sam Bishop, she’d never met him. She was aware of the admiring looks of her friends, but she realized she wasn’t feeling jealous or possessive as she had at church that day.

  Because they were looking at her like she was already his.

  The party had been a great success, Prissy judged, gazing around the parlor of the Brookfield ranch house. Milly beamed at each of them as they passed around her new son and made much of him, just as she had oohed and aahed at each gift, now piled high on the small table beside her—crocheted blankets, embroidered bibs, handsewn baby clothes, and the silver cup and rattle Prissy had bought at the mercantile. She could hear Sarah contentedly humming a hymn in the kitchen as she cleaned up the dishes from their potluck feast. Her husband would be coming to fetch her in his buggy soon, and she was no doubt looking forward to their reunion after the ten days she had spent helping her sister after the birth.

  Sam had gone off with Nick to see a newborn colt, which was really just an excuse, Prissy guessed, for the two men to escape the feminine chatter and squeals of delight at the opening of each gift. He’d smiled at her before he’d left, and after he’d gone, the ladies made almost as much of that as they were making of the baby. Prissy simply smiled and said nothing.

  Little Nicholas had made the rounds of the Spinsters and was once again cradled in his mother’s arms. How happy Milly Brookfield looked, how fulfilled, Prissy thought. Would it be that way someday when she had their first child? A sudden yearning struck Prissy. Looking around the circle of women, she saw that emotion mirrored in each face. A new baby had that effect on women.

  “What else is going on around town?” Milly asked. “Goodness, I’ve been cooped up for weeks on this ranch—may
be next Sunday I can return to church.”

  The Spinsters were happy to fill her in. “Mavis Hotchkiss is expecting again, she said in church last week,” Bess Lassiter said. “Didn’t she just have a baby a few months ago, right before the influenza hit?”

  “Goodness, she’s going to be a busy lady,” Faith Bennett said.

  “And you remember Emily’s getting married very soon,” Caroline said. The bride-to-be smiled radiantly.

  “But the most interesting news is that romance is blooming at Gilmore House,” Faith Bennet said, winking at Prissy. “Sheriff Bishop sure is smitten with you, Prissy.”

  “Yes, that was certainly nice of him to ride out here with us,” Maude Harkey said. “Seems he can’t bear to be parted from our Prissy.”

  Prissy blushed with pleasure. “I—”

  “Tell us,” asked Polly Shackleford, with a knowing look. “Is it official? Is our handsome sheriff courting you, Prissy?”

  “He is quite handsome, Prissy,” said Milly, smiling.

  “Prissy assured me that she’s considering her feelings about Sam very carefully. She’s not rushing into anything this time,” Sarah said, coming from the kitchen.

  “Is that so?” Milly said, raising an eyebrow. “Good for you, Prissy. I think that’s wise—”

  There was a sudden report of a gunshot off to the northeast. Everyone froze.

  “What was that?”

  Milly remained calm, for the shot had not been close enough to disturb her sleeping baby. “Probably just one of the hands shooting a snake,” she said. “I’ve learned not to worry about the occasional gunshot here or there, now that the Comanches have been leaving us alone for a—”

  Several other shots in rapid succession interrupted her words, and they all jumped up.

  “Oh dear heavens,” Milly said.

  Prissy saw the color drain from Milly’s face like water flowing out of a tap. The baby began to wail and she clutched him tightly to her.