A Sheriff's Fugitive Bride

by Blythe Carver

  He also supposed he had a lot of this coming his way and he’d better get used to it sooner rather than later.

  “Off we go,” he muttered, putting the reins to the horse’s back.

  Phoebe turned to wave a lace handkerchief at her family as the sun’s final rays painted the landscape a striking shade of amber. He supposed he would miss this, too, if he were on his way into town. There was not so much empty space there, not so much room for a person to draw a breath of fresh air.

  Once she’d turned to face forward, he cleared his throat. “Your father built an impressive ranch here. You should be proud.”

  “Why should I be proud of something I had no part of? I wasn’t here. He never even wrote to us, nor did he telegraph to say he was ill.”

  He made a mental note not to mention Richard Reed again. Maybe it would be better if they didn’t speak at all.

  So they didn’t, all the way into town.

  They didn’t say a word.

  14

  It was difficult to be in a sour mood when Jesse barreled at her the moment the door opened.

  “Peepsy!” he shrieked as he threw his arms about her knees and nearly knocked her to the floor. “I knew you’d come back!”

  “You did? That’s funny, since I didn’t know I was coming back until just this morning!” she laughed, ruffling his hair as she’d wanted to do since they first met. He had a delightfully thick mop of unruly curls. “I see you lost another tooth!”

  “I did!” He pointed proudly to the new gap. “I kept wigglin’ it, and Mama told me to stop and then she gave me an apple to eat with my dinner, and it popped right out!”

  “Clever Mama.” She giggled.

  The knees jutting out from beneath his short pants were hopelessly scabbed, and there was likely a permanent sunburn on his cheeks throughout summer, but he was the most charming thing she’d ever seen.

  Jesse’s clever mama emerged from the kitchen, brushing back her hair with distracted hands. “What are you doing here?” she gasped. “Rance, what have you done?”

  Rance patted the top of Jesse’s head. “Why don’t you entertain our guest for now, while I go in the kitchen to talk to your mama?”

  “Are you in trouble with Mama?”

  Rance glanced her way. “I’m afraid I might be, young man. Show Miss Phoebe your bedroom, maybe.”

  “Phoebe?” Jesse asked, taking her hand and leading the way.

  “That’s my name—but you can still call me Peepsy, since we’re such good friends.”

  “Are you good friends with Uncle Rance, too? How come he doesn’t call you Peepsy?”

  “I wouldn’t call us good friends, exactly.” This was becoming a rather treacherous conversation.

  “But he brought you home with him two times now.”

  Yes, treacherous indeed. They reached his bedroom, which Phoebe was glad to see as it meant a diversion. “You have such wonderful toys!” she exclaimed, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Which is your favorite?”

  The child was loved, no doubt. While he didn’t strike her as the spoiled type—he wasn’t selfish or temperamental, at least not that she’d seen thus far—he was an only child and had, therefore, received the bulk of his parents’ affection.

  Now, he received his uncle’s attention, and plenty of toys with which to occupy his time. She would have wagered he’d rather be outside making a mess and getting into trouble than playing with wooden blocks or a boat which she found was full of small, carved animal figures. “Noah’s ark?” she asked when he handed it to her.

  “Mm-hmm. And I have a yo-yo and a top that spins and…”

  “My goodness! You fairly take my breath away!” Before she knew it, she was surrounded by toys, and there were still more on shelves which lined one entire wall. There were books there, too, thin books with pictures and animals and bright colors.

  “Who bought you those books?” she asked.

  “Uncle Rance. He wants me to be a good reader.” Jesse, meanwhile, played with his yo-yo.

  “It’s important to know how to read, and to read well,” she advised. “You want to be a man someday, don’t you?”

  “I s’pose.”

  “And men need to know how to read, so they’ll be able to read letters and newspapers, and you will likely need to be able to read when you take a position somewhere.”

  “I’m gonna be a sheriff someday,” he informed her with great confidence. “I’m gonna be a good man, just like Uncle Rance.”

  “I believe you will.” She smiled, deciding it was better for the child not to know that his uncle wasn’t always such a good man.

  Suddenly, his charming, gap-toothed smile faded. “My papa went to heaven, and he was a grown-up man. A good man, too.”

  “I’m sure he was,” she whispered.

  “So maybe when I grow up to be a man, I’ll go to heaven, too.” His little chin quivered so, and her heart went out to him.

  She took a chance and reached for the boy, drawing him into her arms. He nestled there, as if she’d been hugging and comforting him all his life.

  “I’m very sorry your papa went to heaven,” she murmured. “My papa went there, too, not long ago.”

  “He did?” Jesse looked up at her with amazement.

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Did you cry?”

  Phoebe’s conscience plagued her, but only for a moment. A child did not understand such intricacies. He would never understand what it meant to have a disappointing father, as his only memories of the man would be warm, loving ones. Perhaps he was fortunate, at least in that.

  “I did,” she lied, thinking back to the day when they left the ranch for Baltimore. She’d cried then, though her tears were more the result of confusion at the suddenness of her life turning upside down than anything else.

  “I cried, but only a little. Boys aren’t s’posed to cry,” he informed her with great seriousness.

  “It’s all right to cry when you’re crying over somebody you loved, who you know you’re going to miss. It’s all right. You can cry if you need to.”

  The sound of a throat being cleared drew her attention, and she looked up to find Rance standing in the doorway. He’d been silent enough so as to avoid detection from either of them, and Jesse was still unaware of his presence.

  She couldn’t understand his expression. Was he gazing upon them with affection or resentment? Had she gone too far, been too affectionate with the child?

  He broke his silence, approaching them. “She’s right,” he agreed, crouching before his nephew. “It’s all right to miss your papa. He loved you very much, and he was a good man. I know he would want to be here with you right now if he could. How about when you feel sad about missing him, you come to me and talk to me about it?”

  Jesse’s eyes glimmered. “You mean it?”

  “Sure, I do.”

  “Because Mama gets so sad when I ask about him—”

  Phoebe winced, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken, and Rance seemed just as uncomfortable when he suddenly lifted the boy into the air and settled him on one hip. “We’ll just talk about him to each other, then,” he suggested with a wink, which Jesse returned.

  Phoebe looked up at him, expectant. He read the meaning in her look and nodded. “It’s all right. She’s a little… perturbed, but she sees it’s for the best. I know she could use the company, too—if you don’t mind,” he was quick to add, his glance toward his nephew speaking volumes. Martha sometimes got sad. Would she mind that?

  “I don’t mind at all,” she assured him. While she did not know what it meant to lose one she loved so deeply, she had lost her mother—the woman around whom all of their lives had revolved—and could still remember the searing, bitter pain. Grief which did not seem willing to leave, ever.

  She’d had her sisters to talk to, to cry with. Who did Martha have but her little boy? A sweet child, to be sure, but unable to understand.

  “This
young man has had his supper already, and his mama wants him to get ready to go to bed,” he said, bouncing Jesse.

  “Oh, gee. I wanted to visit with Peepsy.”

  “Well, Peepsy is going to be staying here with us for a while.” The way he grimaced when he said the name brought a smile to her face which she tried to hide behind her hand.

  Jesse’s gap-toothed smile shone. “You are?” he asked, as if he was afraid to believe it.

  “I am. I’ll be helping your mama around the house. And we’ll have some time to play, too, I promise—but, you have to obey your uncle and get ready for bed now. That’s the rule.”

  Jesse pouted, but it was a rather halfhearted pout. She could tell he was excited just the same. With a pat on the top of his curly head, she left the room in favor of visiting with Martha.

  “I’m sorry,” she said on entering the kitchen. “This wasn’t my idea.”

  “I know,” Martha sighed, her back to the doorway. “And I know my brother has good intentions. It’s only…”

  “No woman wants to be told she needs help,” Phoebe whispered. “She would rather ask for it.”

  “Yes.” Martha turned, wooden spoon still in hand. “That’s exactly it. I know I’ve… let things go…”

  Phoebe was quick to shake her head. She then crossed the room and took the spoon from Martha, then began stirring the stew. “Why don’t you sit down and rest your feet for a minute while I finish supper? I smell biscuits in the oven. When will they be finished?”

  Martha hesitated, but only for a moment. “Shortly. I’ll tell you when to check on them.”

  “You know,” Phoebe said, mindful of the silk dress which she should have changed out of before leaving home but stepping up to the stove regardless, “you’re doing me a tremendous good deed by allowing me into your home. It’s very generous of you.”

  “How do you reckon?” Martha asked as she sat at the kitchen table.

  She winced as she turned to her hostess. “Thanks to you, I don’t have to spend my time in jail!”

  “But now you have to toil at housework, which I can’t imagine is much better.”

  She shook her head. “Not at all. I was a housekeeper for nearly two years.”

  “You weren’t!”

  Phoebe imagined Martha examining her silk dress with skepticism, and again she wished she’d thought to change into a work dress. Her hair was a bit much, as well, all done up in curls and rolls, all with the intention of impressing Rance and gaining the upper hand.

  Now, standing in this modest kitchen, stirring a pot of stew, she looked downright ridiculous.

  “I was.” She turned away from the stove and picked up a folded towel with which to fetch the biscuits. “When our mama died, we sat down and had a talk—my sisters and me.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Martha murmured, clicking her tongue in sympathy.

  “Mama left us a nice bit of money, but we knew it wouldn’t last forever. My sister, Molly—she’s the oldest and prides herself on her good sense—decided those of us who were of-age ought to find employment. Cate might have. She was sixteen at the time, and plenty of girls work even earlier than that. But Molly wanted her to first finish her schooling, as the rest of us did.”

  “Educated, too!”

  “Yes, that was important to Mama. You see…” Phoebe put the biscuits to rest on the windowsill before sitting down. “Her marriage didn’t end well. I was too young to understand, and she never said much about it, but suffice it to say we were all born in Carson City before she took us to Baltimore. She could do that, you see, for her family was monied. She knew she could fall back on it, especially since her father all but threw a ball in her honor when she announced she was finally taking her leave of my scoundrel of a papa.”

  “Was he truly a scoundrel?”

  “Have you ever heard of Richard Reed?”

  Martha’s jaw dropped. “You’re one of Richard Reed’s daughters?”

  “Didn’t your brother tell you just now?”

  “Rance has a talent for leaving out the important parts of a story,” Martha informed her in a dry tone.

  “I suppose you can understand why my wealthy grandparents were against the marriage, then. He was rather rough. Surly. Difficult to get along with. And, of course, nothing but a rancher—in their estimation, of course,” she was quick to add. “Now that I’ve seen with my own eyes what it takes to build a ranch and see to its success, I know they were wrong. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. Education. Mama didn’t want to imagine any of us having nothing to fall back on should our lives not go the way we planned. While she left us a comfortable amount, as I said, there are five of us. It would not have lasted long. So, as we learned needlework and drawing and music and all the things a lady needs to learn, we were also educated in literature and mathematics. And we learned to keep house and budget the household money and cook and mend…”

  “My goodness,” Martha shook her head. “Did you ever have time to sleep?”

  “I’m sure it’s no different than what many people do.” Phoebe shrugged before returning to the stove. “I only wanted to assure you that I know how to do the work. I won’t burden you.”

  “I didn’t think you would, my dear.” Martha patted her hand. “You’ve already made it possible for me to take a seat for the first time in hours. I truly can’t remember the last time I sat before now.”

  Phoebe turned to find Martha smiling, really and truly, and her heavy heart lifted. “Then this is all for the best.”

  If only that would turn out to be true.

  15

  Living with one woman was bad enough.

  With two? Rance was hopelessly outmatched.

  He asked himself while walking to the jailhouse exactly what he’d expected. Had he imagined the girl behaving the way a prisoner ought to? Mild and meek, not speaking unless spoken to? Had he imagined she’d fade into the background, that she would simply be grateful for the chance to live outside a jail cell?

  What was he thinking?

  He’d already been treated to a tongue lashing from both her and his sister during the previous evening’s supper, when they’d presented him with plans for what he ought to do the next time Jake Nielsen came around. “Tell him there simply isn’t reason to hold her any longer,” Martha suggested. “With nothing permanently stolen and no cause to believe the thief will steal again. There’s no reason to continue on with this.”

  “Remind him what a fool he’s making himself out to be.” Phoebe had eaten sparingly, he noted, and he’d wondered at the time if she was doing so out of good manners. She hadn’t been a planned guest and didn’t want to take food out of their mouths, no matter how warm the welcome. There certainly couldn’t be a complaint about the quality of the food.

  “A sure way to earn his ire,” he’d groaned. “The last thing to do with a man like that is remind him he’s acting like a fool. He’d only double his efforts.”

  “Of all the men for that girl to choose.” Phoebe had rested her chin in her hand with a sigh. “I just wish I could have the chance to tell him myself.”

  “That is the last thing you ought to do, and I’d better not see you step foot anywhere near the jailhouse.”

  “Kindly take your finger out of my face,” she’d hissed when he shook it at her. “I’m not a child. You don’t need to tell me how to behave the way you would tell Jesse.”

  The mention of his nephew had brought to mind the scene from earlier in the evening, when he’d found her holding Jesse and speaking softly to him as he sniffled. How tender she’d been with him, how kind. Knowing the lad was only in need of someone to listen to him from time to time, that he needed to know there was no cause to forget his father. That it only hurt sometimes to talk about him.

  She had a good heart. If he’d suspected as much after her description of why she hadn’t turned over the true thief, he knew it for certain while standing in the doorway to his nephew’s bedroom.

  Still, good hea
rt or no, she also had a wicked temper that would cause a saint to swear and maybe even take to drinking.

  Then, over breakfast, they’d reminded him as if he’d needed reminding of the importance of keeping her presence a secret.

  “Have you forgotten which of us is the sheriff of Carson City?” he’d finally shouted, pushing himself away from the table though he’d had yet to eat his fill of the griddle cakes Martha had prepared. He’d finished his coffee, at least, before storming through the house to fetch his holster.

  A good thing he didn’t wear his six-shooter to the table, or the temptation to use it on certain meddlesome, quarrelsome women who weren’t related to him by blood might have been too much to ignore.

  Now he walked with fists clenched, jaw set firm, teeth grinding together. He’d be lucky to have any teeth left at all by the time this was over. He might grind them all down to nubs.

  Henry and Pete had already reported for work that morning, the two of them perched on the desk the three deputies shared among themselves as they discussed some business or another. They were both younger than himself and both eager to do well. Just as he’d been when he was a deputy, wanting to prove himself worthy.

  He’d done a good job of it. So good, he’d been named Sheriff when it should really have been Bill Davies, a man with many years more experience. Bill had seemed pleased enough to avoid the position, preferring the freedom to wrangle cattle rustlers outside city limits when extra men were needed.

  There were times when Rance envied him. Like at that moment.

  “Mornin’, Sheriff,” Henry grinned. “How’s the day treatin’ you so far?”

  Rance merely glanced at him with a sour expression which evidently said everything the young man needed to know. “How is your wife faring?”

  Henry beamed. “Much better, thank you. Doc thinks she’ll be up and about in another day or so.”

  “Tell her Martha and I have been thinking of her.” Rance sat down to review reports of activity in and around the area. He asked himself whether it was wrong to hope for a big dust-up somewhere, something to take the attention away from his runaway thief.