Not in broad daylight on Main Street.
“Sheriff Wilson?”
He met her halfway then tipped his hat and looked down his nose at the prettiest sight that ever decorated the middle of Main Street. Her eyes were blue-green. Now how about that? He’d have sworn they were blue. And here in the sun her hair had the prettiest shades of honey mixed in with the brown. Her lips, now they were still pretty and pink just like he’d noticed back in the -
“Sheriff Wilson.”
Rafe shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Sir, you are the law in this town. Am I correct?”
He stared at the broom instead of the woman to keep his brain from running off and leaving him again. “You are.”
“And you work for the law-abiding citizens of Cut Creek?”
“I do.”
There he went looking at those eyes again. Rafe stared past her to the boarding house where Nellie stood on the porch jawing with Bob McLinn. When Nellie lifted her hand to wave, he responded with a nod.
Then he noticed the crowd gathering at the windows of Abigail’s place. It looked like half the town was watching them instead of eating. Of course, it was pot roast day and that alone could have kept the diners from raising their forks.
She shook her broom and narrowed her eyes. Goodness but she still looked pretty, even riled up like a banty rooster.
“Then as a citizen of Cut Creek I demand you end the lawlessness that seems to pervade this town.”
Rafe watched the crowd gathering on the sidewalk outside Jay Harris’s barber shop and frowned. Something had to be done about this menace to his peace and quiet.
“Do tell,” was all he could manage.
“Indeed. You are needed, sheriff. What will you do about it?”
A nagging voice reminded him that just this morning he’d prayed for the Lord to do something about the fact that he never seemed to be needed by the citizens of Cut Creek. When he uttered that prayer he’d thought he was asking God to give him clear rein to join up with the Rangers.
Now he had to wonder if the Heavenly Father didn’t have a sense of humor.
“Well, ma’am, a man doesn’t go into a fight unarmed, if you know what I mean.” She obviously didn’t but he pressed on anyway. “So what I’m going to do is, I’m going to go back to my office and I’m going to think on this. I’m going to get me a plan. How about that?”
She seemed to be chewing on the idea of complaining further. Finally she nodded. “I think that’s a good idea.”
“Well, praise the Lord. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
With that he turned tail and headed for the quiet confines of his office and the nap he planned to take just as soon as he calmed down. This afternoon he’d go see Eli. If the carpenter wouldn’t take him on for free, he’d just have to pay Eli to work there.
The extra work ought to keep him busy and out of reach of the dressmaker’s complaints. It would also serve to make the time pass quickly until he could make a trip to San Antonio.
If Peony Potter was putting down stakes in Cut Creek, it was time for him to pull his up.
Chapter Seven
The first day of November dawned bright and clear but Peony’s eyes were anything but. She’d spent half the evening and into the night clearing out reams of old paper and scrubbing down windows and walls. Today she planned to tackle the ink-streaked floor and the dusty shelves. By the time her supplies arrived from Dallas her shop would shine like a new penny.
Peony sipped gingerly from the steaming cup of coffee and gave thanks that Nellie Chamberlain, owner of the boardinghouse that had become her temporary home, made the best around.
“Miss Potter, might I join you?” A man of considerable stature stood beside the empty chair. “I’m Thaddeus Seymour. I’m the banker in these parts.”
She nodded and the fellow sank onto the chair. “Welcome to Cut Creek, Miss Potter.”
“Thank you,” she replied.
Rafe Wilson stepped into view and her heart jumped. What a handsome man. A pity he was such a grump.
“As I was saying, your monies are more than safe in our little bank, why just yesterday I was speaking to a fellow banker on the train back from Dallas and he said . . .”
The fellow’s mouth kept moving but Peony heard none of what he said. Instead, she watched the sheriff pour a cup of coffee then disappear into the kitchen. A few seconds later she heard the unmistakable laughter of Nellie Chamberlain followed by a deep rumble that could only belong to Sheriff Wilson.
“Miss Potter?”
Peony tore her attention away from the kitchen door and focused on her companion. “Yes, I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
Mr. Seymour let out a long breath and smiled. “I was explaining how our system of compounding your interest. . .”
Interest. Yes, that’s what she felt, but in anything the banker said. More than anything else, she was interested in what was so funny behind the kitchen door. Twice now she’d heard the sheriff’s laughter and more than that a giggle from Nellie Chamberlain.
Why, the woman was old enough to be that man’s mother. Surely the pair weren’t, well, a pair.
The objects of her thoughts spilled through the door with the sheriff in the lead. He stopped short when his gaze met Peony’s, causing Nellie to run into him. His glass of milk went flying and so did the pan of biscuits Nellie held. The end result was a mess that landed partly on the floor and mostly on the banker.
Mr. Seymour clamored to his feet, howling at the indignity of cold milk trickling down his back and decorating his expensive suit. Nellie rushed to placate the banker while Rafe winked at Peony. “Looks like we’re both out of luck for breakfast,” he said.
Peony nodded, stomach growling. With the biscuits a total ruin, the only alternative was the fare at Abigail’s place. If only she’d saved some of the jerky she’d purchased for her trip from Dallas. Unfortunately, she’d eaten the last of it yesterday evening. At the time it seemed sensible to continue her work without leaving to dine at the boardinghouse.
“Miss Potter, are you as hungry as I am?”
Peony jumped and clutched her napkin to her chest. For a large man, Sheriff Wilson certainly could move quietly. Of course, the banker’s howling would have drown out all but the most careless of patrons.
Meeting his gaze, Peony noted the lawman had a glorious smile. “Actually, I’m famished. Perhaps you could tell me whether Abigail is still serving breakfast.”
“Yes, she’s still got breakfast cooking but I have to warn you, good food’s as scarce as hen’s teeth over at Abigail’s place.” The sheriff cringed. “I love her like my own mother but what the woman does to biscuits ought to be illegal.”
Peony giggled. “I did find yesterday’s lunch quite interesting.”
“Ah, the Monday lunch special. Pork chops and apple dumplings.”
She nodded. “Funny, but I never knew a cook to put molasses in pork chops.”
“And onions in the apple dumplings?”
“Exactly.”
Rafe sighed. “Like I said, Abigail’s got a special place in my heart. It’s her food I can’t stomach. Pardon the pun.” Silence fell between them, broken only by the thud of the banker’s retreating footsteps and Nellie’s chuckle as she headed off to the kitchen promising more biscuits in half an hour.
“Half an hour’s a long time,” Rafe said. “How about I make up for ruining your breakfast by offering you a little something I’ve got over at my office? I keep a supply of jerky for emergencies.” He gave her a sheepish look. “I couldn’t help notice you like jerky.”
“How would you know that?”
“Well, you see, I happened to be strolling past your shop last evening around sundown and couldn’t help but notice you having a picnic amongst the rubble.” He looked pained at the admission. “I wasn’t spying. I’d actually thought I might. . .”
“Might what?”
The sheriff made frowned.
“Well, now, I thought I might apologize for my rude behavior yesterday. See, I’m the law in Cut Creek and as a citizen you had every right to complain about the goings-on on your sidewalk. I guess I didn’t do a very good job of explaining things.”
“Explaining things?” She gave him a sideways look. “What things?”
* * *
Warning bells went off in Rafe’s brain as the words he spoke dangled in the silence. He’d been smoothing out her ruffled feathers with his sweet talk and now this? With one sentence he’d set their relationship back to square one.
Not that they had a relationship, of course.
“What I mean is, I didn’t tell you that the fellows were harmless and that they just like to play dominos for fun. There isn’t any gambling going on, at least not that I know of, so you can leave your broom in the closet.”
Well that did it. The pretty girl’s smile went south and the bristle returned to her backbone. “I thank you for that apology, Sheriff Wilson, however backhanded it turned out.” She folded her napkin pretty as you please and set it on the table beside her coffee cup. “Now if you’ll excuse me I have work to do.”
Rising, she beat a quick path to the door.
“What?” he called after her. “What did I say? Can’t a man apologize?”
Nellie came to the door, her hands white with flour. “Rafe, if I didn’t know better I’d think you meant to get off on the wrong foot with that girl.”
“I did no such thing,” he said. “Besides I was just trying to tell her I was sorry.”
Without comment, she turned and headed back to the kitchen, leaving Rafe to contemplate the unfairness of it all. Then he spotted the biscuit under the table.
There it sat, perfectly preserved atop a napkin that had fallen under the banker’s chair. Neither milk nor humans had touched it, or at least it looked that way as he scooped it up and set before him.
He was hungry as a bear and had the growl in his gut to prove it. And there sat the butter and honey. Two minutes later the biscuit was in his hand and his boots were heading down Main Street.
“Miss Potter,” he called as he treaded lightly on her freshly mopped floor. “You in here?” A sound from the back of the building told him he wasn’t alone. “Miss Potter?”
He set the biscuit on the first clean shelf he could find and headed off in the direction of the noise. This time he crept softly, not caring to let whoever was hiding there know he headed their way.
To be safe, he palmed his revolver. As he felt the cold metal touch his palm, his heart kicked up a notch. The last time he used his gun, it had been for target practice. He hadn’t missed then, and he wouldn’t miss now.
Regulating his breath to cause the least amount of noise, Rafe hunkered down behind the counter and readied the weapon for firing. No common criminal would get away with trying to steal from Peony Potter.
Not with Rafe Wilson on duty.
Chapter Eight
Pulse racing, Rafe slowly moved toward the back of the store. Again he heard movement, this time just beyond a large stack of newsprint.
“One last chance to come out before I have to carry you out.”
“Sheriff, what are you doing?”
Rafe nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled around to see Peony Potter standing behind him. “Get down and be quiet,” he stated firmly.
To her credit, she complied without question.
A rustling sound preceded a loud crash, all taking place in the back of the store. Rafe touched his finger to Miss Potter’s lips to indicate he needed silence in order to rid the shop of its intruder.
The next series of events happened in a blur. Rafe rushed the back room, gun ready. A movement caught his attention and he aimed. Before he could fire, something – or someone – knocked the weapon out of his hand. He fell and a blur flew over him. His revolver skidded to a stop against the far wall, and Rafe scrambled after it.
By the time he retrieved his weapon and prepared to fire, he stood alone. Slowly he made his way through the debris into the main room. “Miss Potter?” he whispered.
No answer.
He clutched the weapon and strode toward the door. If the creep harmed Miss Potter, well, Rafe would not be responsible for what he did when he caught up with him.
Two steps from the sidewalk, Peony Potter raced in and slammed into his chest. The collision sent him reeling backward while the dressmaker fell forward. Rafe rolled out of the way just in time to miss being landed on.
His gaze met hers and, to his surprise, she began to giggle. “What’s so funny?”
Rather than respond, she pointed to a spot behind him. Rafe rolled over to see a fat orange cat with mismatched ears perched on a shelf.
“A cat?” The lop-eared feline looked about as happy as a woodpecker in a petrified forest. Miss Potter began to giggle and Rafe joined her. “I nearly shot a cat.”
“Actually, I think the cat won the battle.” She pointed to his face.
Rafe swept the back of his hand over his cheek and came away with a smear of blood. Peony offered him a lacy handkerchief, which he reluctantly accepted. Replacing his revolver in his holster, Rafe leaned back against the counter and dabbed at his cheek.
“Miss Potter,” he said as he exhaled, “this is by far the most exciting breakfast I think I’ve ever had.”
“Breakfast?” She shook her head. “We missed breakfast, remember?”
Rafe searched the room for signs of Nellie’s napkin, finally spying a glimpse of the fabric beneath the overturned stack of newsprint. He reached to reclaim the treasure, only to find it hadn’t survived the near-battle with the cat.
Inside the folded napkin, Nellie’s tasty biscuit had become a puddle of crumbs.
“Well, I tried,” he said with a shrug.
Miss Potter nodded. “I appreciate the effort, Sheriff. Remind me to call you if I need my breakfast smashed or my cats frightened to death.”
He waited to see if she was making a joke then laughed when her expression showed she was. “I wish I’d known you had a cat.”
Miss Potter shrugged. “I didn’t know I had one either.”
Silence fell between then, giving Rafe time to study his companion. Indeed she was prettier than a newborn calf. A fellow could get used to looking at a woman like her.
Sure, they’d hit a rough patch early on in their getting-to-know-you’s but she looked as though she’d forgotten all about the little run-in with Pop and his Ranger buddies.
Maybe it was time to let her know he’d felt something from the first time he laid eyes on her. He’d have to go slow, obviously, because a woman of Miss Potter’s breeding probably wouldn’t take kindly to a big oaf declaring his infatuation after such a short time.
No, he’d speak kindly of her first, greasing the path to her heart with a little flattery and a smile. He began with the smile. Obviously she liked what she saw because it seemed she leaned a bit closer. He did his part and scooted in her direction. Between the leaning and the scooting, they soon found themselves side by side.
And, oh, but she did smell good. A gentleman shouldn’t wonder what it would be like to kiss a total stranger. But then, he and Miss Potter had been properly introduced by Abigail and she’d been approved of by Nellie.
She told him so in the kitchen just a short while ago. He’d laughed then. He wasn’t laughing now.
Neither was she.
“Miss Potter, I want you to know that as sheriff of Cut Creek I’ve seen my share of-”
“I tell you, Creed, if you don’t pay attention you’re going to lose.”
Pop.
Rafe groaned and inched a bit closer to the dressmaker. “As I was saying, Miss Potter, I’ve noticed that when you-”
“Honestly, gentlemen, a meeting of the town council’s a serious matter. Why are you two worrying about the pickle barrel?”
Sully this time. Miss Potter’s face told Rafe she’d heard him too.
Rafe sucked in a deep breath and
let it out slowly then debated stealing a kiss right then and there. He decided to show his gentlemanly side instead. “Miss Potter, what I’m trying to say is-”
“Now there you go trying to cheat, Eb Wilson. Didn’t you think I’d notice?”
Swede.
No need to look at Miss Potter to know how cold the room had turned. He chanced a glance anyway. Any thoughts of stealing a kiss fled. Yep, better to make a quick exit than to sit here any longer and be thought a fool.
“I ought to be moseying on then,” he said as he climbed to his feet and cast about for his hat. He found it on the floor beside the ladder and jammed it on his head.
Rafe had nearly made his exit when Miss Potter called to him. She remained seated on the floor, leaning against the counter, and he had to backtrack his steps to see her properly. To his amazement, the orange menace had jumped down from its perch on the shelf and made itself at home in her lap. She sat there scratching its good ear, a blank look on her face.
“Sheriff,” she said as she met his stare, “thank you for breakfast.”
Relief flooded him. “You’re most welcome. I just wish I’d delivered it in one piece.”
She nodded. “Yes, well, I appreciate the thought anyway.”
Nodding, Rafe stood waiting for further praise, or a word of any kind. Instead the woman who’d set his heart to thumping remained quiet.
“Well then, I’ll just be going.”
Again, she nodded. This time he got all the way outside before he turned to see her standing a distance behind him. “Sheriff,” she said as she walked slowly toward him, “I’d appreciate it if you’d do me one favor.”
By now she was close enough to smell her, and she smelled like lilacs. “What’s that?” he asked.
“Seeing as how you take your job so seriously, I’d appreciate it if you’d do what you ought to and rid the streets of those four.”
He didn’t have to look over in the direction of where she pointed to know she referred to Pop and the boys. “Miss Potter, you’re a fine lady and I have thoroughly enjoyed most of the morning I’ve spent with you, but I believe you’re out of line in asking me to remove the founding fathers of Cut Creek while they’re holding a council meeting.” He tipped his hat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I’ll just go find some real law work to do. And to think I almost kissed you.”
Not the Marrying Kind Page 4