There it was again. The hurt in her beautiful eyes. Which was probably why his mouth became disengaged from his brain, and he blurted out, “So marry me.”
Chapter Three
Julia merely stared at the sheriff, not believing her ears. Had he proposed to her again? Just how pathetic had she become in his eyes? The last time she was sure it had been out of pity. Now she wasn’t quite so sure. He actually looked like he meant it.
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why? Why does any man offer marriage to a lady?”
“Well, most times because they’d been courting and fallen in love and want to make a permanent arrangement.”
“And when you accepted Johnson’s offer of marriage it was because of all those things?”
She flushed, both from embarrassment as well as anger, at what that man had done to her. “Of course not. You know I came here as a mail order bride.”
“Then why would my proposal be any different?”
Conversation ceased as the waitress brought them dinner. They thanked her, remarked to each other on the lovely smell coming from their dinner plates, and then dug in. No further discussion on marriage. Which only convinced Julia that he had made the offer for the same reason as he had earlier. Because he felt sorry for her.
Not a good enough reason. At this point she had the hotel temporarily paid for by the town and a sort of job at the jailhouse. As pleasant as everyone had been to her today, there were no jobs to be had that she’d encountered. Although she still hadn’t tried the saloons. As confident as she was in her ability to perform a job and do it well, the thought of wearing a skimpy costume and being on her feet all night wasn’t something she relished. But something she would do if she had to.
They both finished off their meal with a piece of apple pie and coffee. The sheriff stirred milk and sugar into his cup. “I take it you are not going to answer my question, then?”
Julia smiled. The man looked almost sheepish, as if she knew the reason he’d asked again and was caught at it. She would relieve his mind by turning him down. Again.
“No, Sheriff. I will not marry you, but thank you for the offer. I accepted Mr. Johnson’s proposal because all the girls in the factory were doing the same thing, and my two roommates, who I love dearly, had already accepted their gentleman.”
He took the bill from the waitress’s hand and nodded his thanks.
“I’ll reimburse you once I get paid from my job at the jail.”
“About that…”
Julia drew herself up. She was not going to let him weasel out of the job. Right now it was the only one in town and she intended to earn her keep. Unsure whether the town was actually paying her way or if it was coming out of the sheriff’s pocket, she needed to stand on her own two feet. Even if they weren’t as sturdy as some.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yesssss?”
“It’s just not proper for a lady to be working at the jailhouse. I’m concerned about what the town council will say about it.”
“Nonsense. A job is a job. I can clean, sweep, organize, fetch the prisoners’ meals, and even clean their slop buckets.”
“No!” He turned a bit green under his sun-kissed skin. “I will not have you do that job.”
She gave him a slight smile “Well, I honestly can’t say I would fight you on that one.”
The sheriff stood and pulled out her chair. “All right, Miss Benson. If you insist on working at the jail, then I best get you back to your room so you can get a good night’s sleep.”
Once they reached her door, he leaned on the doorframe with his forearm, towering over her. Goodness, she hadn’t realized how very large and assuming the man was. Were she a criminal on the run, she would certainly stay as far away from Sheriff Adams as she could.
As she looked up into his piercing gaze, she got the uncomfortable feeling he was about to kiss her. What in heaven’s name was that all about? No man had ever been this close to her, and certainly no man had ever looked at her the way the sheriff was looking at her now.
No sooner had the thoughts raced through her brain, giving her heart a solid jolt, then he backed up, tugged on the brim of his hat, and said, “Good night, Miss Benson.” As if a pack of hounds were on his tail, he strode down the corridor, the vibration of his footsteps echoing in the hallway. Once he reached the top of the stairs, he turned. “Get in your room and lock the door.”
Brought up short by his comment, she whipped around and entered her room. As she closed the door, an overwhelming sense of fatigue washed over her. She barely got her clothes off and into her blue flannel nightgown before she crawled under the covers and fell sound asleep.
Fletcher stopped in at the saloons and made sure all was peaceful before he headed to his small house behind the jail. The cottage had come with the job, and he’d had some happy times there. It was where he’d brought his young bride, where Patty Ann had been born, and where he and Laura had made a good life for themselves and their daughter. Before tragedy struck and he lost his son and wife in one fell swoop. Never again.
If he were to take another wife, it would be with the understanding that there would be no children. He couldn’t put himself through that again. The agony of watching his wife’s body twisted in pain, her eyes glazed over with suffering. Then the stillness in the air when the midwife gazed at him with pity as she held his dead son. She handed the small body to him and then leaned over to close his wife’s eyes for the last time
He shuddered at the memories. No, if he married again, there would be no children.
Fletcher tossed his hat on a chair and began to remove his clothes, thinking again about the woman he’d just left at the hotel. A grin came unbidden as he remembered the spit and fire in her when he did something to rankle her. And he seemed to do that quite a bit. It surprised him to realize he’d only known her since that morning when she’d disembarked from the train, looking for Johnson.
He scowled, once again thinking about how the man behaved toward Miss Benson. She’d mentioned a wagon accident, which was how she’d gotten the limp. He remembered watching her walk away from him, and the limp certainly accented the sway of her lovely hips.
Crawling into bed in his usual naked manner, he lay on his back, his hands tucked behind his head. Miss Julia Benson. Small, pretty, feisty, and with a spine of steel. He grinned. Life at the jailhouse was about to change.
The next morning, he began his day with a smile, thinking about Miss Benson and him in the jailhouse all day. Somehow he didn’t think this would be just another day of sheriffing.
He whistled while he fixed coffee and washed and dressed. He tightened his gun belt, grabbed his hat from the chair where he’d left it, and headed out. His house was mere steps from the jailhouse. At one time it had been a cozy home. Laura had planted flowers in the front of the place, and she’d cajoled him into buying two rocking chairs from the Sears Roebuck catalog for the front porch. Luckily, whoever had built the house had set the place so the front of the house faced away from the jail. Many nights they’d sat there, watching the sun go down, speaking about the future.
He had plans at one time to save enough money to give up his sheriff job and buy a piece of land where he could breed horses. That had always been his love. Both of his brothers owned horse farms, one in Kentucky, one in Virginia. They had done well for themselves.
All of those dreams died right alongside Laura and Patrick, the name he’d give his baby son. Funny how meeting Miss Benson had resurrected all those memories. He hadn’t thought about the idea of a horse farm in a long time.
The woman in his thoughts since yesterday morning stood in front of the jailhouse. Dressed in a light-blue and white calico dress, with a short dark-blue jacket and a matching bonnet that just didn’t seem to go with a jailhouse employee, she beamed at him, clutching her reticule in her hands. “Good morning, Sheriff.”
He nodded, annoyed at the wave of joy that hit him at her presence. The woman had alre
ady turned him down twice, so there was no reason to feel such happiness. For now she was merely his employee. One he had absolutely no idea what to do with.
“Good morning, Miss Benson. You are looking quite chipper today.”
“I had a good night’s rest, and I’m anxious to start work.”
He fumbled with the keys and swung the door open, gesturing for her to enter before him.
She unbuttoned her jacket as she looked around. “This place could use some cleaning up.”
His rumbling stomach reminded him she probably hadn’t had any breakfast either since she’d thrown Johnson’s money back at him. He had to find a way to keep her fed until he could reasonably give her some pay for her work.
“I have your first assignment.”
She smiled at him and nodded.
“You need to go down to the café and get breakfast for the two of us.”
Miss Benson frowned. “That doesn’t sound like sheriff work.”
“That’s true, because you are not the sheriff and don’t do sheriff work. I am, and I do. The assistant does what the sheriff tells him—er, her—to do.”
“Well I can see getting your breakfast, but I don’t see why my assignment is getting breakfast for me.”
Lord, the woman was stubborn. After the supper she’d put away last night, he knew she had a healthy appetite. Did she really think she would be able to survive without food until her first payday? Hadn’t they gone over this already?
“It’s a benefit of the job. The town is paying for your hotel until you can get your own place, and the sheriff’s budget pays for the employees’ meals.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Now hurry on down there and tell Marvel at the café to put it on my bill.”
“Your bill? I thought the sheriff’s budget paid for it.”
He sighed. The woman had more pride than ten men. While he admired that in her, it also made trying to help her almost impossible. “The town gives me the money for the sheriff’s budget and I report to them how I spend it.”
“I would like to see the accounting. It’s probably a job I should be doing, anyway, as your assistant.” She re-buttoned her jacket, her eyes wide. “By the way. Does that mean I’m a deputy? Do I get a gun?”
He made a choking sound. “No, Miss Benson. You are not a deputy. And God help us, you don’t get a gun.” Lord save him from feisty women. He shuddered at the thought of her running around town with a badge and gun strapped to her… Never mind. It was best not to think of her body parts.
“One thing.” She stopped with her hand on the doorknob “Since we will be working together, sort of like partners, I think you should call me Julia.” She sailed out the door, leaving him wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.
Julia enjoyed the walk in the pleasant morning air. Since she’d applied at just about every business lining the boardwalk with the exception of the undertaker—she shuddered—she was greeted with warm smiles and cheerful hellos. Wickerton was a friendly town. Nice people, tidy homes, thriving businesses. A place where she could be happy.
She’d never cared for Lawrence. The factory dominated the town, and she often wondered how the businesses that had catered to the employees would survive since the factory had burned down.
But Wickerton was pleasant. Coming from a small town, she preferred small-town living. If she had accepted the sheriff’s offer of marriage, this could be her town. Perhaps she was being foolish in turning him down twice, since right now her very existence depended on the man, anyway.
But she felt she deserved more than just an “Oh, I know you need a roof over your head and food for your stomach, so let’s get married.” She wasn’t silly enough to think holding out for love was wise. Women in her predicament didn’t have that luxury, hence her debacle as a mail order bride. She just wanted more than what the sheriff had offered.
Not that she didn’t think he would be a good husband. He’d certainly taken her under his wing. He was thoughtful, generous, and certainly not hard to look at. Her heart did another little pitter-patter when she thought of marriage to such a good-looking, strong man. Like most unmarried ladies, she’d heard horror stories about the marriage bed. With all the children her parents had produced, there must be more to it than just lying there like a dead fish.
She pushed open the door to the café. Everything smelled wonderful, reminding her she was, indeed, very hungry, and how stupid she’d been to try to talk the sheriff out of buying her breakfast. She just hated being in debt to someone. Hopefully, she could find a real job, not one made up just to keep her off the streets. Then maybe she could rent a room in a boarding house and take care of herself.
The restaurant was almost full, mostly men eating breakfast before going about their business. She walked up to the counter. “The sheriff sent me for breakfast.”
“Aren’t you the gal who came in yesterday looking for work?” A large man with a handlebar mustache to match his size wiped his hands on the apron he wore.
“Yep. That’s me.”
“Sorry I couldn’t help ya out, little lady, but I just don’t need anyone right now.”
“That’s all right. Right now I’m working for the sheriff. He sent me for breakfast.”
The man’s eyebrows rose to where he would have had hair at one time. “You don’t say? Are you a deputy?”
“No, I’m just there to organize and clean up. And get breakfast.” She gave him a measured look.
“Oh, yeah, sure. Coming right up. Breakfast for two, right?”
“Yes.”
He lumbered away, back to the kitchen. She looked around at the crowded dining room. One man sitting at a table in the back of the restaurant kept staring at her. She shifted a couple of times, ignoring him. Each time she glanced back, he was still watching her.
He picked up the check on his table, took one last sip of coffee, and stood. As he drew closer, she realized it was Mr. Johnson. She’d only seen him from a distance at the train station when he talked to the sheriff, and then in the darkened hallway of the hotel when he shoved money at her. Now, when she took in his overall appearance, she breathed a sigh of relief that he’d rejected her. Something about his fixed stare, the sweat beading his forehead, and his wrinkled clothing told her she would not have been happy as the man’s wife. Add to that his brutal rejection of her. If she were forced to choose between marriage to this man and starvation, she’d go hungry.
“Whatcha doin’ in here? I thought you’d go back home.”
Her lips tightened at the gall of the man to even speak to her. “No, Mr. Johnson. I am not going back home. In fact, I am gainfully employed.”
“Is that right?” He handed the check and a few coins to the cashier. “Where ya working?”
“I am working as the sheriff’s assistant. Now if you will excuse me, I have to deliver this.” She took the box of food from the large man and headed toward the door.
“Wait a minute.” Mr. Johnson followed her out of the restaurant. “If you’re working for the sheriff, why did he make me give you money?”
The man had gone beyond a nuisance. At this point she wanted to hit him over the head with the breakfasts she’d just gotten. She smiled at the thought of eggs running down his sweaty face. “I returned the money to the sheriff, Mr. Johnson. I don’t want anything from you.”
“Well, I’ll just walk along with you then, and get my money back.”
She ignored him and continued on her way.
“How’d ya get crippled? Were ya born that way?”
She whirled on him, almost losing her balance. “Mr. Johnson. This is a public street, so I cannot tell you not to walk it. However, I do not wish to speak with you, walk beside you, or have anything to do with you. Is that clear?”
He clamped his lips shut as they made their way the distance to the jailhouse. Mr. Johnson opened the door for her, and she passed through. The sheriff turned from where he’d been looking through papers in the file c
abinet. “Ah, breakfast.”
His expression changed from a smile to a frown. “What brings you here, Johnson?”
“I want my money back. You made me give you money so Miss Benson could eat, but now she tells me she’s working for you.”
“I also told you I gave the money back to the sheriff.” She drew her bonnet off and removed her jacket. Mr. Johnson looked at her in a strange, very uncomfortable way, his eyes drifting up and down her body, a smirk on his face.
“You know, close up you ain’t so bad looking. Maybe I made a mistake. I can ignore that limp of yours. I think I’ll go ahead and marry you anyway.”
Julia gasped and glanced at the sheriff.
“She can’t marry you, Johnson,” he said.
“Oh, yeah. Why not? I sent for her. I paid the bridal agency and her fare here. I’m entitled to marry her.”
Julia’s hand fisted at her throat. Lord above, she couldn’t marry this man. She’d rather try her hand at serving drinks in a skimpy costume at one of the saloons.
The sheriff got toe-to-toe with the man. “She can’t marry you, Johnson,” he growled, “because she’s going to marry me.”
Chapter Four
Johnson reared back as if Fletcher struck him. “What? I paid for her. She belongs to me.”
If he hadn’t thoroughly disliked the man before, he could barely tolerate him now. “In case you didn’t know it, Johnson, you cannot ‘buy’ a human being. It’s against the law. And I’m the law here.”
The man waved his finger in Fletcher’s face. “Then I’ll sue you. You stole my bride.”
“You gave her up.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Stop!” Julia moved between the two men and, with one hand on each chest, pushed them apart. “Mr. Johnson, if I have to work my fingers to the bone for the rest of my life I will pay you whatever it was you spent from you pockets to get me here. But I will not marry you.”
Julia: Bride of New York (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 11) Page 3