A Match for Sarah

by Marlene Bierworth

  “It’s my experience that a man’s better to be upfront with his little lady.”

  “Now you sound like her. I’ll figure it out. Send someone out if you hear anything new.” Nick slapped the sheriff’s arm in passing and walked into the bright sunlight. Trouble was heading his way, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

  Genevieve and Sarah were right—bounty hunting was not a good line of work for a married man.

  Chapter Seven

  Sarah sat quietly on the bench next to Nick on the way home, hoping he would confess without her badgering him as to what was clearly on his mind. She suspected it had something to do with his chat with the sheriff after she’d left them alone in the store. He’d been all too eager to skip the meal at Pearl’s Diner when she’d suggested it. He seemed in a rush to leave town. It was probably better anyway. After he’d paid the bill, despite her saying the day before that she would, Sarah did not feel comfortable picking up the few frivolous things she wanted for the cabin.

  The budding landscape grew bountiful under the sun’s nurturing glow as it spread across spring’s awakening vegetation like a warm blanket of plenty. Through misty eyes, Sarah worried about the gulf that separated them, and hated it. Had she imagined that life would go as smoothly as her wedding day? That youthful optimism that had no place in the everyday world. It was Nick’s move, and she’d wait for her husband to lead.

  “Dagnabbit, Sarah,” he said. “I really want to make this marriage thing work. This is our home now, and it’ll give me pleasure to see your face morning, noon, and night. But truth is, I’ve made enemies, and there’s no turning back.”

  “What’s stopping you besides a brother who, with a little help from your wife and the Lord, will see the light?”

  “Bounty hunting is in my blood. I can’t just sit here and watch the rascals roam free without getting the justice they deserve.”

  “I always figured it was a lawman’s job to chase the scoundrels of the world. Suppose the role of a bounty hunter is much the same—for a dedicated man, which I hope is the category you fall into,” Sarah said. “Most I’ve heard tell of are difficult to distinguish from the criminals they chase, justifying their dirty work by riding the fence-line on the right side of the law.”

  “That’s a mighty poor opinion you have of my occupation.”

  “I married a farmer,” Sarah said. “I refuse to see you any other way.”

  “When we’re begging food from my brother, and he spits on our doorstep, you’ll see the need for us to earn a living.” Nick searched Sarah’s face, and she saw fear nestled behind his eyes. “Surely, you don’t want that for us?”

  “It’s not about a job at all or the stand-off with your brother,” Sarah said. “You’re holding something back.”

  Confusion crossed his face before it hardened. “You’re my wife, and I swore to look out for you. I will handle this my way, and that’s all I’m going to say on the matter.”

  “I can be equally stubborn, Mr. Trafton,” Sarah said. “Let’s see whose way the Lord will bless, and that’s all I’ll say on the matter.”

  Nick hit the lines hard on the backs of the team, the animals jerked the wagon forward and the trip home suddenly became a race.

  He jumped down at the cabin door, ignoring her and carrying all the crates into the house before releasing the brake and bolting for the barn.

  She stood in the middle of the yard, watching after him. Her husband was a complicated man, but she’d seen the tender kindness in him and knew that would win over in the end.

  Sarah sighed and headed for the house. There were supplies to put away and a meal to prepare.

  One entire day had passed and the discussion simmered on the couple’s back burners. Neither of them uttered any words about bounty hunting.

  She heard a rider coming down the lane and moved the curtains aside to see who the caller was. Perhaps it was the stubborn brother coming to make amends. Then she wouldn’t be forced to grovel or put the back-up plan festering in her mind into play.

  No such luck. It was the sheriff, and he was not part of the day’s plan at all. Why did he hound Nick so? If her husband genuinely wanted to quit this job of hunting people to settle down, surely the lawman should respect that and leave him alone. The only conclusion that made sense was that Nick had not voiced any such interest in switching jobs to the sheriff.

  Sarah sighed. Had she actually married a bounty hunter? All she wanted was a family that worked and lived on the farm till their dying days; a legacy to leave the next generation.

  When she saw the sheriff ride out, she wiped her hands on her apron and went to the door to ring the triangle gong that Nick had hung on the porch to get his attention so he would come to the house. She rang it over and over again. Even when she saw his head peek out from the barn door and wave that he’d heard, she continued to ring as if hypnotized by the sound.

  He finally came running.

  When he reached the porch she said, “Dinner’s ready. Wash up.”

  She knew that Nick’s careful study of her continued as he made his way inside the kitchen. “What was all the banging about? You know I heard you.”

  “I like the sound.” That was not entirely true; but it did somehow calm her fears to bang the dinner bell, even though it changed nothing regarding the lawman’s short visit with her husband.

  “Smells terrific in here,” Nick said. “Did you bake us an apple pie?”

  “I did. Bought some in town,” Sarah said. “Are there any fruit trees in the area?”

  “There is, and come fall, we’ll pick them clean for winter feasting.”

  “Perhaps you should show me just in case the sheriff has you run off to some god-forsaken hole in the wall to do his job for him.”

  “Now, don’t go bad-mouthing Pike Bewdley,” Nick said, defending the sheriff. “He serves Denver with a strong hand. The place needs a full-time man sticking close to home to keep the streets safe.”

  “Surely he has deputies. Are they not qualified to go out and drag the bad guys into jail?”

  “They lead a posse when necessary to settle short skirmishes, but hunting an outlaw takes strategizing and lots of time.”

  “Time that a farmer can spare, no doubt. Not to worry, I can learn how to walk behind a plow and turn up my own garden.”

  Nick kicked the leg of the table. “I’m sorry, Sarah, I forgot all about that.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll have lots of time after you leave. It’ll give me something to do since I won’t have no one to cook for except me.”

  “Your meddling comments aren’t going to work,” Nick said in a raised voice. “The only thing I can promise you is that this is the last time. If I have to hire myself out to make a living, I won’t be chasing outlaws after this job.”

  “If that’s true, why do this final one?”

  “Just because I have to, and that’s all you need to know.” He plunked down in his chair at the table. After a minute’s silence, he lifted up the table centerpiece and waved it in the air. “If you ever need to give me a warning that something is wrong in the house, throw these pretty flowers in the window over there. If it’s nighttime, you can put a lantern over there to signal.”

  “Why would there be trouble in the house?”

  “I don’t know,” Nick said, frustration tainting his voice. “Maybe my brother is sitting here with a shotgun waiting to blow my head off when I walk through the door. Do you have to ask so many lousy questions? I’m just saying in case. You moved to the wild country, and you can’t predict one day from the next.”

  “I’ll remember,” Sarah said calmly. “You don’t have to get all fired up about it.”

  “I’ll be pulling out in the morning. Be gone maybe a week, no more,” Nick said. “I’ll start the garden this afternoon and finish it up when I get back. Still early enough in the season. It’ll grow.”

  She turned her back to him, not in defiance, but to hide the tears. “Just make sure you c
ome back.”

  Sarah scooped mashed potatoes, two large sausages, and carrots onto a plate and started on a second.

  He came up behind her, and she felt his hot breath on her neck as he picked up the dish. “I’m sorry,” Nick whispered, and in those two simple words, she identified a groan in his soul as the downcast man returned to the table.

  Her heart wanted to chase him, to shake some sense into him. She was falling in love, and she supposed it was a good thing since he was her husband, but too many unknowns hung between them for her to surrender. Maybe, when he returned, when she knew he was a man of his word and stayed home for good, maybe that would be the time to start their lives fresh with a clean slate moving forward. Hopefully, by then, she’d have mended some fences within the Trafton household.

  After lunch, Sarah followed Nick and watched him hook up the workhorse to the wooden plow, memorizing every action. They’d purchased seed, and her eagerness to get her hands into the rich Colorado soil would not wait a week for his return. When he wasn’t looking, she mimicked the way he leaned and held the lines between his fingers to keep the animal on the straight path.

  Nick worked a big patch, managing to go over it once before nightfall. Would they need a second time through to grind the chunks of dirt down to size? There was so much she didn’t know, but asking would give it away that she planned to continue the job herself. Oh, well, what would it hurt to give it another go around anyway—the second time through would take less effort.

  The straight rows were clearly defined, and she marveled at Nick’s skill with a horse and plow. In the end, their garden would appear professional, not like a snake had crawled over it if she had completed the first cut.

  Sarah hurried inside the house and stirred the soup she’d thrown together. The finely chopped vegetables, leftover chicken, and broth would make a hearty meal for her hardworking husband. That day’s bread had cooled on the rack, and she sliced it thick before putting it on a plate. From the cellar, she found carrots, and put them out raw to gnaw on. A man needed to bite on something firm to feel as if he’d eaten a substantial meal. She couldn’t wait for the early produce to grow in her garden so she could garnish her table with fresh offerings produced by their own hands.

  A wonderful feeling swelled up within her, causing her to nearly burst with a level of contentment she’d never experienced before. It made her almost forget that Nick was leaving in the morning.

  They spent the evening in a lighthearted discussion about the layout of the seeds. Nick was knowledgeable about what should go where and close to which plant—so many points she’d never considered went into organizing a garden. Sarah felt a sense of relief with this new knowledge, for she’d have definitely messed up the arrangement if she’d gone ahead with the planting on her own.

  Sarah’s mind was still racing with ideas when she retired that night. She went to her room. Nick’s eyes lingered on her when she eased the door closed for privacy, leaving the man standing alone by the table. Sarah felt sure he liked her to some degree, but how much she could only guess by the kindness he’d shown and the way his eyes smoldered when he thought she hadn’t noticed he was staring at her.

  The next morning, she was up before the sun and in the kitchen. If her husband had to leave, hunger would be the least of his worries, if she could help it. Anything transportable in the pantry that would not spoil, she wrapped and put in a satchel. Then, she set about cooking a breakfast of bacon, eggs, fried potatoes, toast, and jelly preserves. When Nick came out of his room, he stared at the feast set out on the table.

  “Thank you for doing this, Sarah. I know you’re not happy with my going.”

  “The faster you go, the faster you’ll be back, and the faster we can get to living again.”

  “I’ve enjoyed these days we’ve been together,” Nick said. “I think we have the possibility for lasting happiness.”

  Sarah watched him while he gathered his pack at the door, not wanting to bring up any disagreeable subjects. Anger and goodbye were not a healthy combination. She did want him to return, his wandering issue settled. She wanted more than anything for him to want to stay home with her forever.

  After breakfast, Sarah passed him the food she’d packed and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “Some food for the road. I’ll be watching out the window for Bossy to come down the lane, carrying my husband on his back.”

  “Dagnabbit, woman. You’re making this parting powerful hard.”

  “Maybe it was my plan all along.” She grinned and shook her head. “Not to worry. I don’t work that way.”

  Nick studied her, looking for answers, and her candid expression laid it bare for him to examine. He dropped the bag he held to the floor, and his fingers gripped her arms as he pulled her close to him. This time, his kiss was not on the cheek. He stretched it out long, fed by a great need, and her response managed to satisfy the sudden flame between them.

  “I’ll be home as fast as I can. I promise,” he said when they separated.

  Sarah placed her finger over his lips and smiled. “Don’t make promises, Nick. I tend to take people at their word, and I hate disappointments.”

  “I will try not to disappoint.”

  “That sounds good.”

  He picked up his pack, and after opening the door, he turned back. “You remember our signal, right?”

  “I remember.”

  “And you know where I keep the house gun, right?”

  “I do—whether I can hit my target or not remains to be seen.”

  “I never thought of that,” he said, his expression turning anxious.

  “You can give me lessons when you get home,” Sarah said. “Now get going, and hurry home, Mr. Trafton.”

  “Certainly will, Mrs. Trafton.”

  And then Nick was gone. Sarah was still standing at the door when he rode out the laneway, and she waved enthusiastically to show hope for his return. Chasing bad guys with guns was not a healthy venture, and she prayed that by the time he’d return, a plan would be in place to build a bridge for family reconciliation.

  One hour later, Sarah was tying Bess to the hitching post in front of the Trafton homestead. She balanced the basket in front of her and decided to trust the horse to reach her destination safely. Pleased at the success of her first ride alone, she marched to the door with a rejuvenated air of self-confidence.

  Sandy answered her knock. “Sarah—I am thrilled you came, especially when we heard about Nick’s leaving.” She hugged Sarah fiercely. “If you hadn’t come, I’d have come over first thing tomorrow.”

  “I appreciate that, Sandy, but how did you hear about Nick’s leaving?”

  “My goodness, the whole town is talking about it. I think Nick is brave.”

  A voice coming from the kitchen announced, “Whereas I think my brother is being his normal, painful self, but no one here seems to care what I think. Sandy, don’t leave your guest standing at the door.”

  Sarah passed the basket to Sandy. “Just a small treat I whipped up.” She didn’t wait for her lead but marched to where she’d heard the voice and found a young man, the spitting image of Nick, slouched in a chair, drinking from a cup. She thrust out her hand. “I missed meeting you at the wedding. I’m Sarah, your sister-in-law, and I am very pleased to meet you.”

  “You are?” he said in a mocking tone, then he appeared to remember his manners and rose to his feet. “My brother sure landed a pretty wife, and if you are even half the woman my wife brags you up to be, then he is luckier than he deserves.”

  “Nick deserves the best life can give him. We all do, Jethro,” Sarah said.

  “Can I pour you a cup of tea?” Jethro asked, grabbing the pot that sat on the table, “while Sandy puts out some of those treats you brought?”

  “I’d love that. Thank you, Jethro.” Sarah sat on a chair opposite him, watching the man as he filled the cup Sandy passed to him before returning to the counter to fill a plate with the lukewarm cinnamon rolls.
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  Sarah began chatting. “I’ve settled in good at the cabin. Thank you for providing it for us.”

  Jethro lifted his brows, and after glancing at his wife, he nodded his agreement in Sarah’s direction.

  Whatever the “look” had implied, Sandy answered, “It’s our pleasure, Sarah. We haven’t used that old cabin in years. It’s nice to see it all fixed up.” She glared at her husband, sending another silent message.

  Aloud she said to him, “You should drop by and take a look for yourself, Jethro. Your brother is quite the handyman. It’s nice to have him around the farm.”

  Sarah took that introduction as her cue to enlarge on the subject at hand. When Sandy joined them—and after exclamations of delight at the rolls dripping with honey that she’d placed between them—Sarah barged in, for better or worse.

  “Jethro, I was hoping to speak to you at some point, so, if you’ll indulge a new bride for a moment, I’d like to voice my observations.”

  He rolled his eyes, and Sandy slapped the back of his hand. “Jethro Trafton, that is a childish response. We are grownups around this table. Try to act like one.”

  Jethro smiled at Sarah. “I apologize. Please, continue.”

  “I have known Nick a short time but have witnessed a troubled man who is trying to put his past behind him and move forward.”

  “Like he did today when he ran off, leaving his wife to fend for herself?”

  “It probably looks like a step backward, but I believe it’s the perfect time for him to put his priorities in perspective. And I’m hoping he will miss me terribly and never leave again.” Sarah laughed to lighten the mood. She caught the slight upturn of Jethro’s lips. Perhaps his bark was worse than his bite, contrary to Nick’s claim.

  “Nick always had trouble with priorities,” Jethro said. “That’s what makes him a drifter. One no one will tame.”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t like a tame man, Jethro,” Sarah said, laughing. “He is spontaneous, kind, and far from a cookie-cutter personality.” She zeroed in on Jethro’s business sense. “Is that not a valuable attribute to exhibit within a growing enterprise? Farming and ranching make significant contributions when serving a changing population. You don’t want to be left behind.”