“Then she’s far off her mark, I’ll tell you that. I’m no farmer, but I ain’t sophisticated by any stretch of the mind.”
She closed her book but kept one finger to mark her place. “Fortunately for you, most women in these parts don’t have her requirements.”
“Do you?”
That surprised her into a moment’s silence. “Are you offering?” The question was just dry enough for humor, but just serious enough to tell him she wanted a straight answer.
“Only making conversation, darlin’. There are a lot of single men, as you’ve pointed out. And you’ve been here four years now but aren’t attached to anyone. I’m only wondering which of your requirements have played a role in that.”
Far from offended, she leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. “I can’t rightly say. I’ve not turned up my nose at anyone; I’ve simply not found the love of my life in any of them either.”
He sat on the tall stool. “Is that what you’re looking for, then? The love of your life?”
She laughed humorously. “At this point, I’d settle for someone who helped pay the bills and would look after Papa, and, if I’m really lucky, doesn’t fully expect to be miserable in my company.”
Gideon fit that bill nicely. Yet their relationship didn’t seem a solid thing by any means. What was getting in the way, he wondered.
“And what about you?” she asked. “What is it you’re looking for? A schoolteacher with the tenacity of a bulldog, perhaps?”
“Fighting off an attack is not my idea of a romantic tryst.”
She smiled the tiniest bit. “When you first arrived, I would never have believed you could have a lighthearted conversation. You were always in such a terrible mood.”
“You weren’t exactly a ray of sunshine yourself, darlin’.”
“And yet you keep coming back to my jail.” She stood and crossed to her father’s cell.
“Your jail?”
“I’m being optimistic,” she answered, looking in on each of the prisoners. “Someone needs to cheer for me.”
She always did seem to assume people were against her, or at least not on her side. Where did that doubt come from? She seemed so confident at first glance.
“I’m impressed with your handling of Dead Ned tonight,” he told her. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen anyone cuffed with a necktie before.”
The tiniest hint of a blush touched her face. “He will be overjoyed when he wakes in the morning and realizes he spent the night in jail; it’ll be a dream come true for him.”
It sounded more like a nightmare. “People long for strange things.”
She stood beside his stool, holding her book, but looking at him. An odd aura of contemplation entered her expression. “Do you?” she asked.
“Do I what?”
“Long for unusual things?”
He shrugged. “I’m a career lawman hoping to settle in a town quieter than a mountaintop. That’s near about as unusual as it comes.”
Her searching gaze seemed to see clear into him. “Is that why you chose to have a go in Savage Wells? Because it’s quiet?”
“Exactly.” A weary weight settled over him. “I’ve waded knee-deep in death and suffering for too many years.”
“During your time sheriffing or as a soldier?”
He let his posture slip, his shoulders rounding in a slump. “Both.”
“We fled the bloodstained battlefields of Missouri only to land in Abilene, Kansas.”
Her father had said something about Abilene, but Cade hadn’t realized the Bells had actually lived in that infamous town.
“It was out of the frying pan and into the most vicious fire I can possibly imagine,” she said. “What was it you said at Gideon’s dinner party? ‘There ain’t nothing fascinating about death and dying.’ Let’s just say I spent a lot of years not being fascinated.”
He reached out and took her hand. “Were you living in Abilene when the marshal was—”
“Decapitated by bank robbers? Yes.” Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. “My father ran the bank, which I’m sure you can imagine was a rather dangerous thing in a town like that.”
A town like that? There were few towns that equaled the villainy of Abilene. And Mr. Bell had been a banker in that cesspool.
“Sakes alive,” he muttered.
“He came here to open a new branch,” Paisley said, “and I felt like I could breathe for the first time in years.”
He knew that feeling well. Violence tended to suffocate a person.
“So,” Paisley went on, “despite being unsure of how I fit here—the town has been welcoming and kind; I don’t want you to think otherwise—and even though I feel like something of an oddity, I like living here more than any place I’ve lived before. There’s a happiness that comes from simply being safe.”
“And are you happy?” He suspected she wasn’t entirely.
“As much as can be expected under the circumstances.”
He rubbed her hand between his. “And which circumstances would those be?”
A mischievous smile tugged at her lips. “The circumstances of not having been asked to dance even once tonight. I’ve some right to be distraught, don’t you think?”
“You’ll get no argument from me there. Any woman who wants to dance ought to.” He slipped off the tall stool and took the book from her hands, setting it on the desk.
If looks could kill, he’d be a dead man. “If you are mocking me—”
“Nothing of the sort, love.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said.
“Believe this, then—I’d like very much to dance with you, you stubborn woman.”
He clasped her hand in his. She made no effort to tug free. He slipped one arm around her waist and pulled her close to him in a dancing position. She was tall for a woman and had only to tip her head to look him in the eye.
She fit nicely in his arms. It was a fine way to end a night. His pounding pulse certainly agreed. Brown eyes. He’d always been a bit mad for brown eyes.
“You smell nice,” he said. “For a sheriff, anyway.”
She laughed. “Perhaps that should be added to our list of challenges: who smells the best.”
“And who dances the best,” he added.
Her hand rested on his shoulder. “You would win that challenge, hands down. I have never been very graceful.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret.” He leaned in so his cheek brushed against hers and whispered. “I am not very graceful myself.”
She lowered her voice to the same level as his. “Perhaps we should skip the dance.”
“Do you want to skip it?” Gosh-a-mighty, he hoped she didn’t.
“Do you?” she asked, sounding nearly as breathless as he felt.
He slipped his hand higher on her back. Her breath tickled the side of his face. A tiny turn of his head would find their lips meeting, their breaths mingling. One slight adjustment. One small movement. It would be the easiest thing in all the world.
He let the corner of his mouth brush against hers. Not a kiss. Hardly even a touch. The breath she took shuddered through her, as unsteady as his own.
“This is probably a bad idea,” she whispered.
His mouth hovered over hers. “You’d rather I stopped?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“An ‘I don’t know’ is the same as a ‘no’ in my book.” He was trembling. Saints, he’d not been this upended by a woman in all his life. “Seems we’ll have to wait until another time.”
“You’re not missing much.” There she went again, assuming the worst in herself. What made her do that?
Her hands dropped away, as did his. They still stood close to one another but no longer touched. “I’m a bit out of practice,” she confess
ed. “I haven’t been kissed in years.”
“Any time you’re ready to end that drought, dear, you come find me.” He made the remark as a tease but couldn’t deny he meant it. And though he’d enjoy kissing her, he knew the idea was a bad one.
Gideon had fast become Cade’s closest friend, and there was no doubt in his mind Gideon had a tender spot for Paisley. That’d get sticky as molasses right quick. Beyond that, he and Paisley were rivals, candidates for the same job. Nothing about their situation could end in a way that kissing wouldn’t make worse.
“I’d say our dancing challenge was a draw,” he said.
“We both win, then?” she asked.
There was the rub. They couldn’t both win. In the end, someone had to lose.
Paisley was all turned around. She’d not been kissed in half a decade, and she missed it. She missed being held, missed hearing whispered words of adoration. She longed for companionship and tenderness. She missed the feeling of truly belonging with someone.
She’d lost so many people in her life. Her mother. Her brother. The man she would have married. And, slowly but surely, her father. Her loneliness often ate away at her.
The townspeople were kind. They smiled indulgently at her oddities, asked sincerely after her father. But there was no one in town she felt truly close to. Gideon was the truest friend she had and even he felt a step or two removed.
She made her way to the jailhouse the morning after the social, not at all sure what she’d find or how she’d feel seeing Cade again. He was just then handing the sheriff’s badge to Rice. She slipped quietly inside but not quietly enough.
“A fine good morning to you, Paisley,” Cade greeted.
“And to you.” She forced a smile despite her swirling thoughts. “Did Dead Ned wake up in good spirits?”
“I caught him doing a victory dance this morning just before I let him out.” Cade shook his head with a smile. “Of course, he acted surly and put out.”
“I would expect nothing else.” Paisley took up a position on the stool between the empty cells.
“And your pa?” Cade asked.
“He was confused,” she said. “But not overly so. He’s better this morning.”
He leaned against the wall near her stool. “Does it worry you to leave him alone?”
“A little.” Beyond simply worrying her, it weighed on her conscience. But what else was to be done? She needed a job if they were to keep eating and be able to heat the house during the winter. She hadn’t the money to pay someone to look after him during the day. The situation was moving from worrisome to downright frightening. Another month and they would be in dire straits indeed.
“If you’re so concerned about it,” Rice said, jumping into the conversation from his spot at the sheriff’s desk, “maybe you ought to be home watching out for him.”
She might have expected that from Rice. He reminded her of an ill-tempered dog, snapping at anyone he didn’t like.
“Don’t heed him,” Cade said. “He just figures now that Thackery’s dropped out of the competition he’d do well to convince you to as well. He’s threatened is all.”
“Thackery dropped out?” Paisley didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. She liked Thackery far better than she liked Rice, but one fewer competitor helped her chances. That was probably uncharitable of her.
“He was offered a position at the Billings Ranch and decided to accept it,” Cade said. “It seems he likes Savage Wells enough to stay even if he ain’t the sheriff.”
“You ought to borrow a page out of that particular book, Cade.” She couldn’t quite bite back her laughing grin. “Savage Wells would be a fine place for you, even when you aren’t the sheriff.”
His eyebrows shot up even as his mouth twisted to the side. “You certainly have experience in that area. Tell me how it works out for you in the long run, will you?”
Paisley shot him a dry look. “It would be a change, actually. I acted as sheriff even before Garrison left.”
“Acting as sheriff and being sheriff aren’t the same thing, darlin’.”
“And yet you’ve been acting as sheriff every fourth day since coming here,” she pointed out. “Should we not have thought of you as the sheriff on those days?”
“That wasn’t what I meant, and I think you know it.”
“But it is what you said.”
He held up his hands. “If you’re wanting to pick a fight, you’ll have to find another way of going about it.”
From across the room, Mrs. Wilhite laughed. “The two of you should give off the bickering and jump right to the courtship. You’d save yourselves a lot of time.”
Paisley let her disbelief show. “There’s no courtship,” she said firmly.
Mrs. Wilhite smiled as she always did. “The way the sparks fly between the two of you, I assumed—”
“These sparks ain’t nothin’ but a brush fire,” Cade said. “A quick moment of clearing out the weeds.”
“Ah.” Mrs. Wilhite’s voice rose with enthusiasm for the topic. “But a brush fire isn’t such a terrible thing.”
Paisley shook her head at the odd logic. “Tell that to the brush.”
Gideon entered the jailhouse with his usual aura of barely contained energy. “The town is all abuzz,” he said. “What is today’s Clash of the Sheriffs event?”
“Clash of the Sheriffs?” Paisley met Cade’s confused gaze.
Rice looked just as confused.
“Your feats of strength and skill,” Gideon explained. “The sewing contest caught everyone’s attention, but now they’re wanting something a bit more sheriffy. What is today’s task? You have a crowd assembled outside, including the entire town council.”
Cade folded his arms across his chest. “I had almost forgotten about that. What do you say, Rice, Paisley? Shall we take up another challenge?”
She was game if they were. “Which one do you have in mind?”
“We could pick one of the boring ones—paperwork or cleaning weapons. Or we could have a marksmanship match,” Cade said.
Ah, there was that smirk again. The man clearly thought he’d win a shooting contest without hardly trying. Had he chosen the weapon-cleaning race or a chess match or baking a pie, he likely could have made quite a fool of her. But shooting was one thing she could do.
“Marksmanship sounds just fine to me.”
“And me,” Rice said.
She’d never been outmatched in that area. She’d seldom even been challenged. This could be a lot of fun.
“So how shall we judge this competition of ours?” she asked. “Shooting bottles off a fence?”
Cade stood, his posture so confident it was almost cocky. “That’ll work.”
Rice beat them both to the door. Paisley grabbed her bonnet. It wouldn’t do to have the sun in her eyes.
Cade stopped in the doorway, forcing her to stop as well. “I’ll try not to be too distracting, love.”
“I’d promise to try,” she tossed back, “but I’m not sure I can help being a distraction.”
Mrs. Wilhite smiled amusedly. “Sparks and more sparks.”
Cade chuckled. Paisley wasn’t nearly so amused. She did feel sparks with him around, and she didn’t like it one bit.
Gideon had spoken true. Quite a crowd had gathered outside the jailhouse. Paisley pulled on her jacket, then tied her bonnet securely under her chin.
Eben, the blacksmith, hurried to the mercantile, intent on begging a few empty bottles. Everyone else followed Gideon to the Albertsons’ place at the south of town; it had the nearest fence that edged an open field.
Whispers followed them all the way there. A few people in town knew Paisley had exceptional aim, but Rice and Cade’s abilities were completely unknown. There were likely a few among them who were as curious as she was.
Gideon marked off twenty paces from the fence then dragged his foot across the dirt, making a line for them to shoot from. Paisley smiled at the excitement bubbling in Gideon’s eyes. Sometimes he was exactly like a little boy who’d been promised a shiny new toy.
Paisley scanned the crowd. How many of the townspeople were rooting for her? She hoped at least a few. Gideon, she knew, would at least not be rooting against her. She was nearly certain Cade was the favored candidate. Rice seemed confident enough, but he wasn’t as personable.
The town council was there, just as Gideon had said they’d be. Perfect. These results would likely be weighed in the final decision. At least in this, she knew she would make a good showing.
Eben joined them a moment later, a crate of bottles in his arms. Gideon all but skipped over to the fence, helping the blacksmith set up a row of bottles.
Cade slid up next to her. “There’s still time to forfeit,” he whispered in her ear.
“Is this you trying to distract me?”
He laughed quietly. “How’m I doing, love?”
“Better than you realize,” she muttered.
His gaze narrowed. “Truly?”
She might have admitted to herself that Cade was beginning to intertwine himself in her emotions, but she wasn’t at all ready to admit it to him.
Gideon sidled up to her on her other side. “Just pretend the bottles are the Grantland Gang, and you’ll do fine.”
“I mean to do more than fine,” she answered. “I mean to turn a few heads.”
“I look forward to it.”
The bottles were set up and ready. Rice was studying them. “Five bottles each, I’m guessing. Are we leaning toward hitting the most or hitting them the cleanest?”
Gideon conferred with the rest of the council. After a moment, the mayor made his declaration. “We’ll start with the number that are shot down. In case of a draw, then we’ll look at accuracy.”
That was good enough for Paisley. Rice announced he ought to go first, since he was acting as sheriff that day. He eyed the bottles, making quite a study of them.
Paisley took several steps back. Her ears rang with the memory of having stood too close when a gun was fired; it was an experience she didn’t mean to repeat.
The Sheriffs of Savage Wells Page 12
