by Judith Stacy
“I’d just as soon leave that boy locked up, teach him a lesson, but—”
“His mama?” Jared murmured. Ballard looked up sharply, and Jared nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I understand. You’ve got to keep his mama happy.”
Ballard ruminated silently for a few moments, then puffed out a big breath. “And you can’t have him shooting up the town. I’ll pay his fine and get him out of here.”
Jared pulled the ledger from the bottom drawer of his desk and flipped it to the page with Johnny Ballard’s name at the top.
“This isn’t the first time the boy’s been arrested,” he said. “I’ve got to tell you, Mr. Ballard, if he causes any more trouble in town, it’s going to take more than a five-dollar fine to get him out of jail.”
Wearily, Ballard dropped the money onto the desk. “I understand, Sheriff.”
Jared got the keys and went back to the cells. Johnny, in rumpled clothes, with a feeble beard darkening his chin, looked smug when he unlocked the door. The boy started whining before he made it into the office.
“Pa, that sheriff gave me nothing but beans to eat, and it stunk in there, smelled like—”
“Shut your mouth, boy.” Ballard yanked his collar and sent him out the door. He looked back at Jared. “He won’t give you any more trouble, Sheriff.”
“Glad to hear it,” Jared said.
After they left, he dropped the money in his cash box and made a notation in the ledger. Really, he should have released Mr. Hopkins this evening, too. But the man could surely use a decent bed to sleep in tonight, even if it was in a jail cell. He’d likely appreciate a hot meal in the morning, too. One that Mattie and her Cottonwood Café would provide.
After that, the cells would be empty. No more meals to buy from the Cottonwood, no one else to wash dishes for Mattie.
Jared pushed himself out of his chair. Hell, maybe he’d hang on to Mr. Hopkins for another day.
Mattie watched glumly as the last of her noon diners left the Cottonwood. Three of them. Only three. And they were strangers, probably passing through Stanford, not likely to come back again.
Mattie stacked their dishes, the remains of the food causing her already queasy stomach to roll anew, and mentally tallied the price of the food and her cost in preparing it. Not much profit.
The breakfast she’d taken to the jail this morning for Mr. Hopkins was a welcome addition.
The bell over the door jangled and Mayor Rayburn stepped inside. Mattie’s spirits lifted. He’d come for lunch. Oh, thank goodness, the mayor had come for lunch.
Would he bring the whole town council with him, as he used to? Would others follow? The reverend? The businessmen who used to make the Cottonwood their regular meeting place?
“Good afternoon, Mayor. Have a seat by the window. Mrs. Nance has outdone herself today. We have—”
“Oh, no.” The mayor rested his palm on his stomach. “No, no. Couldn’t eat another bite.”
“Oh.” He’d eaten at the Silver Bell. As usual.
“I need to have a word with you.” He stopped in front of her. “About that supper you proposed for our visiting investors.”
“Yes?” Mattie asked cautiously, daring to let her spirits rise again.
Mayor Rayburn tugged at his side whiskers. “I talked it over with the council this morning, and everybody liked your idea.”
“I was sure they would,” Mattie said.
“Yes, yes, you were right.” He cleared his throat. “And, well, we’ve decided to give you a chance to host the supper.”
Mattie’s knees nearly gave out. Her future—her secure future—sprang into her mind. “You have? Oh, Mayor Rayburn, thank you. I—”
“Hold on a minute.” He held up his palms and shifted his feet. “We’ve decided to let the Cottonwood and the Silver Bell, and all the other restaurants in town, present a proposal to the town council.”
“A proposal?”
He nodded. “Give us your ideas on how you think the supper should go. The kind of food you’d cook, anything special you’d do. Things like that. Then we’ll make a decision on which restaurant will host the investors.”
It wasn’t exactly what she needed—what she’d hoped for—but she’d certainly take it. At least now she’d have a chance at hosting the supper.
“That seems fair,” Mattie said.
“That’s what the council figured.”
“And it’s all right with the council if I participate?” Mattie asked. “I mean, with the baby coming and all?”
Mayor Rayburn shifted uncomfortably. “Well, you’ve been in this town a long time. You’ve always run a sound business. Well, almost always—but that’s understandable, what with your husband dying and a baby on the way.”
It took all of Mattie’s strength not to throw her arms around the mayor and plant a big kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you, Mayor. Thank you so much. I’m glad you and the council agree that I’m worthy of hosting that supper.”
Mayor Rayburn seemed put off by her gushing words of thanks. He studied the tips of his shoes for a moment, then the ceiling, and finally shoved his hands in his trouser pockets.
“To tell you the truth, Mattie, the council’s not crazy about the idea. And neither am I.”
Her soaring emotions plummeted. “But you said—”
“It was the sheriff who convinced us.”
“The sheriff?” A prickly tingle swept up Mattie’s spine. “Jared?”
“He said that showing favoritism by giving the supper to the Silver Bell might cause hard feelings in town. And we don’t want any problems when those investors are here.”
“Problems? What sort of problems?”
“Well, you know, a disagreement. Different factions of the town up in arms against one another. Like, say, maybe Mrs. Pomeroy and her committee taking offense to you being left out, or something like that.”
Anger bubbled deep inside Mattie. “Jared suggested that might happen? I might cause trouble?”
Mayor Rayburn waved his hand. “Now, don’t go getting all upset. It’s the sheriff’s job to look out for things like that. And the important thing to remember here is that you’re having a chance to host the supper. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but—”
“You can make your case for the Cottonwood at the next council meeting. We’ll be deciding then.” Mayor Rayburn hurried out of the restaurant.
Mattie curled her fingers around the back of a nearby chair, clenching her other fist at her side. So, it wasn’t her years of hard work that meant anything to the men of the town council. It wasn’t the strong business she ran. Nor was it her loyalty to the town, her desire to bring in new business or her idea to impress the Eastern investors.
It was merely the fact that they were afraid she’d cause trouble.
Thanks to what Jared had told them.
“Oh!” Mattie stormed out of the restaurant.
“Afternoon, ma’am…good day to you, ma’am. Howdy, ma’am…”
Jared smiled and nodded pleasantly as he strolled down the boardwalk, tipping his hat to the women who passed. Still, despite his ever-present smile, he hadn’t done much to improve his standing with the folks of Stanford, or dispel their initial impression of him. Most people continued to skirt around him, eyeing him warily.
Jared sighed resolutely and kept walking. Up ahead, outside the Stanford Mercantile, he spotted Ben and Abel playing checkers. Maybe he’d have better luck making up to these two old men.
“Afternoon, boys,” he called as he approached.
Both men looked up at him, then moved protectively closer to their checkerboard.
“How’s the game going?” Jared asked.
Ben pulled a sack from his pocket and scraped the checkers into it. Abel folded the board. Both men turned their chairs away from Jared, pointedly ignoring him.
Well, so much for being nice.
“Sheriff McQuaid?” Hayden Langston waved from the entr
ance to the Stanford Mercantile. “Can you come in here?”
Jared followed Hayden inside, glad for something to do, some official function to perform.
Tall and thin, Hayden wore a crisp white shirt, arm garters and a string tie. He owned the mercantile and served on the town council.
Across the aisle, Billy Weaver swept around a display of blue speckled dishes. He waved and went back to his chore.
“Got a problem, Hayden?” Jared asked, peering about the store.
The shopkeeper led him to the back counter, where he pulled out a ledger and opened it. He flipped through the pages. “I need you to ride out to the Bishop place,” Hayden said, “and collect his account.”
Jared stilled. “You want me to what?”
“Cecil Bishop hasn’t paid one thin dime on his account in nearly two months. I need you to go out to his place and get my money.”
Jared stifled a groan. “I guess Sheriff Hickert did this sort of thing for you?”
“Oh, sure. All the time.”
Jared’s first inclination was to tell Hayden Langston that if he was stupid enough to extend credit, he could go collect his own damn accounts. But since Langston was on the town council, and Jared wanted to keep his job, he kept his comment to himself.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said.
“Don’t let him give you some lame excuse why he can’t pay,” Langston insisted. “If he doesn’t pay, I’m swearing out a warrant against him. You tell him that. Then I want you to arrest him and lock him up.”
“A warrant?” Jared eyed the page in the ledger. “For a three dollar account?”
“Money’s money,” the merchant declared, and closed the ledger.
Jared ambled out onto the boardwalk again. Damn. Old Sheriff Hickert probably shot himself in the leg just to get out of this job.
A familiar scent tickled Jared’s nose. He turned, and a warm rush went through him at the sight of Mattie coming down the boardwalk. This morning when she’d brought breakfast to the jailhouse, she hadn’t felt very well. But now, hours later, the color was high in her cheek. She glided through the crowd easily.
No, wait. Jared’s brows drew together. Mattie wasn’t gliding, she was striding. And that pretty pink hue in her face wasn’t from good health, it was anger.
Her gaze locked with his. Jared gulped and fell back a step.
“How dare you?” she demanded, stopping in front of him. “How dare you?”
Jared worked his jaw, but no words came out. He spread his palms and finally uttered, “I don’t know what you’re—”
“Yes, you do!”
“Well, all right, if you say so.” Jared pushed his hat back on his head. “But maybe I could explain things to you if I knew what you were upset about.”
“There is no explanation for what you did!” Mattie clenched her fists at her sides.
“Mattie, please don’t get so worked up. It’s not good for the baby.”
She swatted at his hand. “I wanted to host that supper because I deserve the opportunity. Because I run a good business. Because my food is the best in town. Not because you convinced the town council that I’ll raise some kind of ruckus if they don’t give me a chance!”
Jared flung out both hands. “Look, you wanted them to consider you, and that’s what they’re doing. What difference does it make what I told them?”
“You convinced them I’m some kind of troublemaker.”
“That’s not what I told them…exactly.”
“I wanted to be accepted on my own merits.”
“You said you wanted help, Mattie. I just—”
“Not that kind of help.”
“Oh, well, pardon me all to hell if I don’t know exactly what kind of help you want.”
Mattie drew herself up straighter, and for a few dreadful seconds Jared thought she might burst out crying. He softened his voice. “Look, Mattie, I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just trying to help.”
She swallowed hard. “Del took over my business. He took it away from me and nearly ruined it. I won’t let that happen again.”
“I’m not trying to do that, Mattie. I just want to help you.”
“Don’t help me,” she told him. “Just leave me alone!”
Mattie spun around and disappeared down the boardwalk.
“Damn it…” Jared sank onto a crate stacked against the side of the mercantile and braced his palms on his knees, watching Mattie walk away.
“And you want to marry her?”
He glanced over and saw Ben and Abel sitting in their chairs; they’d had front row seats for the whole confrontation.
Jared sighed wearily. “Yeah, I want to marry her.”
“Still?” Ben asked.
He nodded. “Still.”
“Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you, Sheriff,” Abel offered.
Jared pulled off his hat, dragged his sleeve across his forehead and settled it in place again. He rose. “That’s for damn sure.”
Jared leaned inside the Stanford Mercantile. “Hey, Billy!”
He sprang onto the boardwalk. “Yes, sir?”
“Go get the horses. We’re getting out of town.”
Chapter Thirteen
“You sure it’s all right for us both to be gone like this, Sheriff? To leave the town unprotected?”
Jared took in a big breath, drawing in the sweet smells of the open trail as he and Billy rode away from Stanford at a leisurely pace.
“They’ll manage just fine without us for a few hours,” he declared.
“Well, okay. You’re the sheriff, Sheriff. And I’m just the deputy.” Billy’s brows rose hopefully. “I’m still your deputy—temporarily—right? You never undeputized me.”
“Sure thing, Billy.”
“The town council’s trying to find you a new deputy, aren’t they?”
“They’re pretty busy with these Eastern investors. I don’t think they’re working too hard on it.”
Billy nodded. “So, where are we going?”
Really, Jared didn’t much care where he was going at this particular moment, as long as it was away from Stanford. He’d had enough of the town, the people and their problems. As he gazed toward the Sierra Nevadas, the days when he’d ridden free through those mountains seemed dear to him.
“I guess we’re going out to the Bishop place, huh?” Billy said. “Mr. Langston at the mercantile was raising a fit about Mr. Bishop and his bill, wasn’t he? Well, my Aunt Frannie says that you ought not to buy on credit, and I think she’s right.”
Normally, Jared would have agreed with him. But today he couldn’t bring himself to criticize Cecil Bishop, since he’d provided Jared with the perfect opportunity to get out of Stanford.
“That’s Mr. Pitney’s place. He lives by himself,” Billy said, nodding to a little farm off the road. “He don’t come into town much, and when he does, he don’t talk to nobody. Sort of like Mr. Hopkins.”
“Why’s that?” Jared asked, content with Billy’s chatter.
He shrugged. “Aunt Frannie says it’s because he served in the war. Fought for the Union at Gettysburg. Made him sort of crazy in the head, she says. I don’t know myself, ’cause I never been in no war. You think that’s true, Sheriff? Can it make you crazy?”
Jared had been too young to serve in the War Between the States, but he’d heard the talk, the stories. “Yes, Billy, I surely believe it can.”
“You reckon that’s what’s wrong with Mr. Hopkins? He sure acts crazy in the head,” Billy said. “’Course, Aunt Frannie says she thinks Mr. Hopkins had his heart broke a long time ago. That’s why he turned out the way he did.”
Jared sighed. Would that be his own future? Spurned by Mattie, would he turn into the town drunk, wandering the streets aimlessly, speaking to no one?
“Mayor Rayburn hasn’t invited you to supper yet, has he?” Billy asked.
Jared shook his head, grateful for this change in the conversation. “No. He said he would
, though.”
“Well, if you don’t mind me saying so, you’d best better eat before you go.” Billy held his nose as if he’d smelled something bad. “That wife of his can’t cook for nothing. Aunt Frannie says it’s a disgrace. Watch yourself at church, too. If there’s a social afterward, you gotta scout out what Mrs. Rayburn brought. You’ll know because everybody puts a little bite of whatever it is on their plate, but don’t nobody eat it. Just watch. You’ll see.”
Jared nodded. “I’ll remember that.”
“And if you don’t mind a word of caution, you’d better keep an eye out for Mrs. Spencer.”
“Gil Spencer, the blacksmith? His wife?”
“Yes, sir. Now, most everybody in town knows that you’ve offered to marry Miss Mattie, so it’s not likely Mrs. Spencer would draw a bead on you, but the fact is that you’re not married.”
“Yeah? So?”
Billy rolled his eyes. “The Spencers’ got themselves nine daughters, three of marrying age, and Mr.
Spencer is pushing his wife to get them girls out of the house, if you get my meaning.”
“How come you don’t marry one of them?”
Billy’s face and neck turned a deep red. “Shoot, Sheriff, them Spencer girls are pretty. Real pretty. Mrs. Spencer’s got it in her head to marry them off to just a certain kind of man. Like the Ballard boys, maybe. Somebody important. See?”
Billy went on talking and Jared listened easily. The boy always had something to say, some information to pass on. He sure knew all there was to know about everyone in Stanford.
“Is it much farther to the Bishop place?” Jared asked.
“A few more miles,” he said, looking around, judging the terrain.
Jared nodded toward a farmhouse coming up on their left. “We’d better stop and water the horses.”
“That’s the McCafferty place. I don’t think it’s such a good idea to bother them.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I don’t know exactly,” Billy said, rubbing his chin. “My aunt Frannie, she says there’s something not right about that Mr. McCafferty. ‘Cause, see, he likes to keep to himself, and that’s all right, I reckon. He and his wife just moved here a little while ago, but she hardly ever comes to town. They don’t even come to services on Sunday. And, see? They live just a stone’s throw from the Pitney place, and they don’t even speak to each other like neighbors ought to, Aunt Frannie said.”
