‘This is our town now’ a note said, attached to the limp, lifeless body of the sheriff as his horse returned to town. At that moment her father, Wayne Parker, took the sheriff's badge and tried a different tack. There was barely anyone in the world who knew the surrounding territory like her father, so in the dead of night he crept out and before the bandits knew anything he had already killed two of them. The rest followed in swift order. He struck with deadly force and not a single bullet was wasted.
After a few more attacks like that, word spread about the fearsome sheriff and no-one had dared to attack their town again. He was lauded as a hero and such praise was also bestowed upon his family as well, so Mary-Jane was held in high regard, even though she did not think she deserved it. But she was proud of her father, and never tired of hearing of the story of the night when he had become sheriff.
He set his hat on the arm of his chair and kissed Mary-Jane on the cheek, then went to his wife and did the same, but this time on her lips.
“Smells good,” he said.
“It won't be long,” Annabelle replied.
“I wasn't talking about the food,” he quickly said with a teasing look in his eyes and a wicked smile across his face. Mary-Jane cringed, hating to think of her parents as frolicking teenagers.
“What am I going to do with you?” Annabelle said.
“I don't know, but please keep it a secret until I'm not here,” Mary-Jane interrupted, moving between them to get some cutlery out of the drawer and placing it around the table. The two parents grinned at each other.
“You should be glad that your parents still have a healthy appreciation for each other! One day you'll understand,” Wayne said, with a hint of laughter in his voice.
“I'm not sure about that,” Mary-Jane muttered.
“I didn't quite catch that.”
“It's nothing.”
“No, what did you say?”
“It's nothing, honestly, it doesn't mean a thing.”
“Mary-Jane, tell me what you said. Now.”
Her father's mood turned from jovial to stern in an instant. Annabelle tried to quell his mood, but he ignored her. Mary-Jane rolled her eyes and blew out her cheeks.
“I said that I wasn't so sure I would know what it's like one day.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You know what I mean.” It felt as though the two of them had had the same argument so many times before, and now they were saying the same things to each other over and over again without either of them coming to some middle ground.
“I have told you that I shall arrange a marriage with a suitable party when one becomes available. You have seen the other girls move on in life, I want to make sure that you have the perfect husband.”
“But who would be the perfect husband? Do you have someone in mind? Is anyone ever going to be able to meet your lofty standards? Because the way it's going I am going to grow old, and by the time you do find someone you think is worthy of me I shall be as dried up as a prune and he will turn away in disgust!” Her blood boiled and her voice rose to a shrill peak.
“I am your father and I shall decide who best suits you. You need someone who is going to take care of you and protect you from the world, just as I have done all these years, and until that man comes along I will not let you leave this house.”
“You and mother are both the same! What are you so afraid of? Both of you have lived here all your lives. What do you know of the world? Only things you have read in books. You like to think of yourself as a brave hero, and the rest of the town have only fed that delusion, really you're a coward, both of you are, so afraid of the world that you'd suffocate your own daughter!”
With that, she spun on her heels and stormed out of the kitchen, stamping her feet up the stairs and slamming her door. She flung herself on her hard mattress and beat her fists in frustration against the pillow. Angry tears streamed down her cheeks but it was an impotent rage, for she knew that nothing would change, and all her pleading would only fall on deaf ears.
Chapter 3
The hours dwindled, and eventually Mary-Jane calmed down. Throwing a tantrum before dinner was never a good idea, and that was a lesson she should have learned when she was younger. She had been blessed with the spirit of her father, which often explained why the two of them clashed. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, and she was doubled over in her bed.
The sun had set and now, outside her window, the moon had taken its place on the celestial throne. It hung and bathed the world in a silvery glow. The night had a certain intimate feeling about it. The stars twinkled and winked down at the earth, the long shadows hid all manner of secrets that lurked within them, and the animals that only came out at night sang and squawked. Mary-Jane wanted to sneak downstairs and satiate her hunger, but she was afraid of bumping into her parents. The shame of seeing them without the break of sleep in between her thundering argument was too much to bear, so she decided to remain in her room until the small hours of the night.
When she finally thought that her parents had gone to sleep, she carefully opened her room and gingerly stepped outside, avoiding the creaking floorboards. Her light feet ensured that she reached downstairs without any problems and found that her mother had made her a plate. She tore into the food with her fingers, shoveling the meat and vegetables into her mouth like a ravenous animal.
In a blitz, it was over and she breathed heavily, licking her lips and picking up the crumbs of food that had been left behind. It reminded her that her parents were not all bad, it was just that living with them for so long had brought about a great deal of frustration. When she made her way upstairs it was with the thought that the following day she would make amends with her parents and try to talk about the problem rationally, rather than letting it devolve into another argument. However, as she made her way to her bedroom she heard muffled voices, and although she knew that it was rude to eavesdrop, her curiosity was piqued and she moved closer to the door.
“We need to tell her at some point,” her mother said.
“It's too dangerous. We decided a long time ago that we were going to protect her from the world.”
“He was her uncle. She has just as much right as anyone to know what really happened.”
“Wouldn't you rather her remember him as the man that he was, not the one he turned into? I'm telling you Annabelle, no good will come of this.”
“She's my daughter too. You have to admit that you have been harsh with her. It would be good for her to find a husband and raise a family of her own. She was never meant to stay here for her entire life, she inherited his spirit of adventure. She needs more than what we can give her, but we've done our jobs well. She's a good girl. We have to trust in her to make the right decisions.”
“I do trust in her. I just do not trust in the rest of the world.”
“You know that if you keep her here she's only going to resent you, and everything good between you will be washed away. I don't want to see that happen. Sometimes if you love something you have to let it go, just like I had to do all those years ago.”
And then there was silence. Mary-Jane's breath was stifled and it caught in her throat. Her mind whirled with wild thoughts and ideas. She knew there was something about her uncle, but she had no idea how it tied in with her father's over-protectiveness. She remained at the door, hoping that her parents would say something more, but she could only hear the gentle rhythms of their breathing. When she returned to her own room she crawled into bed, but sleep would not come, for her mind was alive with the possibilities of the following day.
When the morning sun rose and the golden tendrils of its light reached into Mary-Jane's room, she awoke with a mighty yawn and stretched her limbs. The conversation she overhead was still fresh in her mind and she craved answers. She threw on some clothes and made her way to the kitchen, where her mother was preparing her some breakfast, but to her disappointment her father was nowhere to be seen.
“Good
morning dear,” Annabelle said.
“Morning. I'm...I'm sorry about last night.”
“It's fine,” Annabelle said, and slid a sizzling egg onto a plate, handing it to Mary-Jane, who took it and then sat at the table. “An argument between you two is nothing new,” she continued in a lighter tone, throwing Mary-Jane a playful glance.
“I just get so frustrated sometimes. Everyone I went to school with has moved on with their lives but I'm still stuck here. I just wish father would let me experience life for once. I feel as though there is so much I'm missing out on.”
“I know it's difficult to understand, but he only has your best interests at heart. He... he worries about you, you know. You are the love of his life after all, he loves you even more than me.”
“I don't believe that for a second.”
“If you saw the look in his eyes when he first held you, you would understand. It was a look of complete and utter devotion. Do not be too hard on him. I know sometimes he is not easy, but then again no man is.”
“I was hoping to speak with him before he left.”
“I'm sure he won't mind you popping into the station. I have a few errands for you to run in town as well.” Mary-Jane idly scooped her egg up onto the fork and ate it, until the plate was empty. She handed it back to her mother and picked up her boots, lacing them around her shins.
“Are you going now?” her mother asked.
“I don't have anything else to do,” she replied, and Annabelle shrugged. The questions inside her burned and almost made her explode. She wanted to ask her mother all about her uncle but she was afraid that if she did then her mother would know that she had been eavesdropping the previous night. It required some tact, which wasn't always Mary-Jane's strong suit, but she put all her effort into thinking of a way to bring up her uncle without revealing her indiscretion, and then, as she was staring at one of his paintings, she thought of the natural way.
“How did uncle Lee paint these?” she asked. Annabelle stiffened.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean what made him become a painter? Did it run in the family? I haven't seen you paint anything, and I haven't ever had the urge.”
“No, it didn't run in the family. He was one of a kind. Always was. Never felt like he belonged anywhere, not even with us, even though he had a family.”
“What made him think like that?”
Her mother shrugged and returned to cleaning the dishes. “I don't know, it's just the way he was.”
“I don't remember him that much. I wish I did.”
“You used to be close. He used to be your favorite, and you used to be his. He would take you out riding and he'd tell you all kind of stories. I never knew him to be happier than when he was with you. He even painted you, do you remember that? Other than you, he only ever painted landscapes.”
This was news to Mary-Jane and she looked excitedly at her mother.
“He did?! Where are they?”
“He... he took them with him when he left.”
“Oh,” she said, and the flame of excitement was snuffed out as quickly as it had been sparked. “Has he never tried to write to you in all this time? If he loved me so much then why hasn't he tried to come back?”
“I... I don't know. Your uncle was a strange man in some ways. He was a lost soul. All you need to know is that when he left it was the right decision for everyone. I miss him a lot and I'm sure that wherever he is he will misses you too.” There was a sad tone in her mother's voice, and Mary-Jane felt guilty for bringing up the painful memories. But there was still so much to be learned, and if she wasn't going to get it from her mother then she would have to go to her father... unless there was another source.
The town was busy as usual, and just as they did every time she went into town, people greeted her warmly. Her mother had written her a small shopping list and given her a handful of money to pick up some supplies for the pantry, and she decided to get those out of the way before she saw her father, as talking to him required her to summon some courage. While she picked out the items she needed in the shop she was speaking with Old Man Logan, who was the gruff owner. Despite his outwardly rude manner he had always been sweet and friendly to her, and often sneaked some free items into her bag. He had been in the town for as long as she could remember, and had a good memory despite his old age.
“Logan, can you tell me something about the past?” she began, hoping to glean some more information before she went to her father.
“Anything in particular, or shall I just give you a random story?”
“About my uncle...” she said. Old Man Logan looked at her through narrowed eyes. He gulped and his jaw clenched.
“I'm sure your parents are better placed to tell you about him,” he said, and then turned away to stack some things on the shelves. He coughed and walked through the store. Mary-Jane remained undeterred, and followed him.
“I'd just like to know anything you could tell me. I don't remember him much, you see and my mother, well, talking about him always takes her to the verge of tears.”
“Why do you want to know more about him, anyway? What's past is past and should be left there.”
“I don't know, I guess I just wonder about him sometimes. Ma said that he loved me and it just seems a shame that he would leave us when he had family here.”
“He had a different definition of family to you or I.”
“So you do know about him?”
“I see things. I hear things. But it's not my place to say.”
“Ma says that he just left because he got bored here. There's more to it than that, isn't there?”
“I can't say Mary-Jane. I think it's best if you just leave it. Your parents know more than me. What they've told you is the truth.”
“But is it the whole truth?”
Old Man Logan had never been able to lie to her. Even when he had taught her poker when she was little she had always known when he was bluffing, and this time was no different. There was a tilt of the head and a glimmer in the eyes that told her he had a secret that he was unwilling to share. But at least she knew there was a mystery to her uncle's leaving, and it made her all the more determined to figure out what was going on, ignoring Old Man Logan's advice to leave the past in the past.
Carrying the bags of groceries, Mary-Jane waddled across town to the jail. The clopping of horses' hooves could be heard in the background, and James the barber's hearty laugh swept out of his shop and into the middle of the street, but the jail was quiet. When she entered her father was sitting at his desk, filling out some paperwork. There was a man in the cell, Tom the drunk, who was often caught acting disorderly after one too many drinks, and was taken to the cell to sleep it off. He looked the worse for wear and Mary-Jane thought it to be pitiful. She placed the groceries on the desk, and her father looked up at her, surprise etched over his face.
“I wanted to come and talk to you,” she said, preempting his question of what she was doing there.
“Have a seat,” he said, and gestured to the empty chair. He placed his pencil down and leaned back, leaving one arm draped across the desk. Mary-Jane knew that in order to get the information she needed she would have to make most of the effort in the conversation, so as hard as it was she had to admit that she had been wrong.
“I'm sorry about yesterday. I shouldn't have shouted at you like that. I know you're only trying to do the best for me and I should know my place,” she said meekly, bowing her head. Wayne remained silent for a few moments before he spoke.
“I accept your apology and I admit that sometimes I can be rather headstrong as well, which makes for a good sheriff but isn't always the best way to be a father. I know that you are looking for something more from life and I promise you that you will find it, just that you may need to be a little more patient than you would like.”
“I understand that. I told mother about it this morning, and I'd just like you to know that the reason why it matters so much
to me is because I see everyone that I grew up with moving on with their lives, and I feel as though I am being left behind. I suppose I simply do not understand why you are so worried about me going into the world when nothing bad has ever happened to me.”
“I cannot offer you a rational explanation for that, only that I am your father and it is my job to worry about you.”
“Is it... does it have something to do with why uncle Lee left?”
“Why do you say that?” Wayne said. His poker face had always been better than Old Man Logan's.
“Ma mentioned something this morning when I was talking to her about it,” she said, hoping that lie would go unnoticed.
“What did she say?”
“Just that there was something more to him leaving. But she wouldn't tell me what, and I just put two and two together. Is he alright? What did he do?”
ROMANCE: Badass Boss (Billionaire Alpha Bad Boy Romance) (Western Mail Order Bride Calendar Contemporary) Page 62