The Lonely Lawman and His Belle
Page 6
She remembered his warm embrace during their picnic yesterday. She’d felt secure and safe, wrapped in his strong arms. Nothing could beat that feeling. Why was he so worried about not being able to protect her?
She thought of how his hand had rummaged in his pocket, under the tree. What had he been fumbling with? She had her own ideas. A secret smile grew on Isabelle’s face.
The weak sunlight filtered down the hallway as she peeked round the door into the Old Man’s room. His chest rumbled as he snored. She hesitated on waking him, but decided to let him rest a little longer. He’d enjoyed teasing them at the dinner table the previous evening. It had been a late night.
Humming softly to herself, she headed to the kitchen and hoped that Joe would be there at the table, smiling at her over his coffee. She opened the door and the room was empty.
“Early start at work, huh?” Isabelle mumbled under her breath. Her good mood evaporated. “Guess he took too much time off yesterday.”
Isabelle wanted desperately to keep her faith in him. Had she been foolish to believe that Joseph would be different now? That he would stop letting his work take over his life? She wondered suddenly if she’d been wrong about Joe’s capacity to change. She imagined him growing old, still persevering, in a never-ending pursuit of these ghostly outlaws. She asked herself, if it wasn’t them, would it be some other group?
She opened the door to the pantry and a piece of paper fluttered off a shelf in the draft. She stooped down to pick it up.
Belle Isabelle,
Her heart slipped a beat. She had to start over.
Belle Isabelle,
Waited around but had to go to the office eventually. Gotta work to buy more books for my lady while she sleeps in.
Left notes for you in the study. Read through them, but Don’t Mess Them Up. That’s an order.
Sheriff Joseph Cartwright
Isabelle couldn’t stop herself from grinning — he hadn’t been able to silence that inner control freak completely. She rolled her eyes at his official signature.
Isabelle grabbed the ingredients for the biscuits she’d planned to make and set them out on the table, but she couldn’t resist heading upstairs to the study. She wanted to see if Joe had been serious.
When she got to the top landing, she noted the study door was open. She stood in the doorway, gazing at the room, unable to step inside right away. It was too significant. She felt that Joseph, in leaving the office door open, had finally left the door to his heart unlocked, too. Goosebumps flew over Isabelle’s skin.
With a deep breath, Isabelle entered the room and went to his desk. She allowed herself to sit down in his chair. It was a simple wooden chair with armrests, much plainer than the soft leather armchair he’d allowed Isabelle to adopt. Isabelle thought of Joseph foregoing his own comfort. What did that say about him?
She picked up the paper file on his desk and flicked through. Cut-outs from newspaper articles were jumbled in with pages from Joe’s notebook, black with his thick handwriting scrawl. Each page was carefully dated. Everything was in chronological order. Isabelle raised her eyebrows, nodding. She was impressed.
The Old Man coughed in the next room. Isabelle hurried downstairs to prepare him some tea. He’d be awake soon.
As she went downstairs, her thoughts still awash with details she’d skimmed from Joe’s case file, movement outside drew her eyes to the front door. Someone knocked.
Isabelle’s mind flashed as she imagined Joe waiting on the doorstep, come home early to surprise her. Her face brightened instantly.
No, no, of course it wasn’t Joe. He’d gone out of town to speak with the district law office and wouldn’t be back until lunch.
She slapped her hand to her forehead — she’d completely forgotten. Matthew and Maureen were invited for tea… but she wasn’t expecting them until later that day. Her forehead creased as she glanced around the house. She hadn’t gotten around to cleaning it up yet. She scolded herself for not having things ready in time.
Isabelle faltered briefly as she saw the front door handle begin to move. Someone was opening the door from the other side.
“I’m coming, I’m coming… what’s all the hur—” she bustled towards the door, distracted by a glimpse of the untidy living room, but it swung open wide before she reached it. A stranger was on the porch. A stranger was entering her house.
“Excuse me, I —”
“Good morning, Miss.” The man’s raspy voice sounded familiar, but she wasn’t sure how. Isabelle racked her brains for any memory of where she’d seen this man before.
He reached out and took her hand, leaning down to press his lips to her skin. She shivered.
Robertson.
He pressed forward into the house, forcing Isabelle back into the hall.
“Mr. Robertson, am I correct? Can I, uh, can I help you?” Isabelle’s voice quivered a little and she hoped he hadn’t noticed. Her heart was racing. She backed into the kitchen.
“Come to say hello, Miss. Give you a proper welcome to Close Ridge.” He cast his eyes suspiciously around the room. Spying the pot of water boiling on the stove, he asked, “Won’t you offer me something to drink?” He spoke quietly.
Isabelle busied herself at the stove, taking care never to fully turn her back on the man. She prayed that Joe might somehow feel her distress and return home soon. She was alone and Robertson was creepy. She glanced around at him and caught his eyes devouring her silhouette. Her skin crawled.
She poured the tea into a mug and placed it on the table in front of him, keeping her distance. He grabbed her arm as she straightened up, examining her hand. Isabelle tried to speak, but no sound would escape from her mouth.
“No wedding ring, huh? So he hasn’t asked you to be his wife. Better hurry up, or I should like to take you myself.” Robertson’s mouth opened wide as he smiled a toothy grin. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. Isabelle snatched her hand away.
If only Joseph would come home. Isabelle felt scared — she would have to fend for herself. She thought about going upstairs to wake up the Old Man. Maybe just his presence would scare Robertson away. He had been Head Sheriff, after all. But she didn’t want to leave this man alone in the house.
She was trapped.
Robertson downed his tea in one swoop and stood up, inching towards her slowly. He seemed to be relishing in Isabelle’s discomfort, dragging out the moment for as long as he could.
Isabelle stood her ground, firm. She glared at him.
“Pretty girl, you are.” He raised a hand and caressed her cheek, but she batted it away sharply.
“Feisty, too.” He licked his lips.
“I would like you to leave, now, Mr. Robertson.” Anger boiled up in her chest. She had found her voice.
“So soon?” He feigned sadness.
Isabelle’s hand searched the counter behind her back. “I am not afraid of you.” She raised her voice, hoping that the Old Man might wake from his slumber. Robertson towered over her threateningly. His face was dark and serious. The stench of his breath wrinkled Isabelle’s nose.
Her hand made contact with a cool, smooth object. A mug. She knocked it off the counter swiftly, and the crash as it shattered made the man reel backwards. That would surely wake Jim, Isabelle prayed. Her eyes flitted to the ceiling.
Robertson laughed quietly, a laugh that chilled Isabelle to the bone. He swaggered around the kitchen, eyeing Isabelle’s chest as she breathed heavily.
“Feeling a little anxious, Miss?” He picked up objects as he came across them.
Isabelle thought she’d heard a noise upstairs. Please, Jim. Hurry.
The man picked up a kitchen knife from the counter, wiping the blade on his sleeve.
“You tell that Sheriff of yours to quit poking his nose around,” he paused, admiring his reflection on the blade of the knife. “Or my friends and I will just have to make sure he can’t.” He added simply.
Isabelle felt a horrifying chill come over h
er.
Movement in the hallway outside distracted her for a moment. When she turned back, Robertson had gone. Isabelle’s eyes frantically searched the room. The knife was nowhere to be seen.
The Old Man opened the kitchen door and Isabelle collapsed into a heap on the ground.
Chapter Twenty-One
Joseph knew something was wrong as soon as he entered the front door.
The house was quiet. There didn’t seem to be any movement. Strange, for an early afternoon. Isabelle hadn’t told him she’d be going out. And where was the Old Man?
“Isabelle?” he called out. No reply. “Jim?”
He had taken a few steps forward when the door to the sitting room opened and the Old Man poked his head round. He exited the room slowly, closing the door behind him. He didn’t look ill, but Joe noted the worried air on his face. The care he took not to make a sound.
“Joseph, you’ll need to sit down for a wee minute. You won’t like what I’m about to tell you.”
“What’s wrong? Where’s Isabelle? Is she alright?” Joe’s heart was pounding fiercely.
The Old Man beckoned him closer and they went into the sitting room together.
Joseph’s chest tightened when he saw her.
Isabelle was lying across the sofa, her head on a pillow, a thick blanket covering her trembling body. She was as white as a ghost. Her eyes were closed, but they flickered open at the movement. Her face registered no change in expression when she saw Joe.
“What happened?” Joe’s voice was flat. He knelt by Isabelle’s side and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “Is she ill? Have you sent for the doctor?”
“She is not ill, son. She received a nasty shock this morning. A visitor.”
Joe looked round at the old man, alarmed.
“Robertson.”
The rumbling of cart wheels on the dirt road interrupted his racing thoughts and he strode to the window. Matthew and his wife had arrived. Maureen waved merrily to him, but Joseph’s face remained immobile, like a block of stone.
“Let’s try to wake her up,” the Old Man suggested. He started to shake her shoulder gently, murmuring her name.
“Be careful!” Joe said sharply, crowding round her protectively like an animal.
Isabelle opened her eyes and took a deep breath.
Joe’s cousin knocked at the door.
“Don’t let him in,” Isabelle said softly.
The Old Man gave Joe a sad look and went to answer the door. Soft sounds of their discussion drifted through to the sitting room and Isabelle stirred.
“Joe…”
“I’m here.” He knelt by her side once more, stoic.
They heard the baby crying, and Maureen’s gentle shushing.
Isabelle lifted her head from the pillow. “Our guests are here?”
Joe nodded. “Jim is sending them away.”
“No,” she interrupted him. “Let them in.”
Joe examined her, puzzled.
She nodded. “I’m fine, really.” She sat up and tried to reassure him. “I’d like to see Maureen. And the baby.” She squeezed his hand.
When the guests made their way to the sitting room, Isabelle was staring weakly ahead and Joe was seated beside her, his arm round her frail shoulders.
“Robertson gave us a visit this morning. Unannounced.” He explained.
The colour drained from Maureen’s face and Matthew looked uneasy.
“Are you alright, Isabelle?” Maureen asked, jiggling the restless baby on her hip.
“I’m fine. He didn’t touch me.” She looked away to the side, avoiding Joe’s burning stare. “Just gave me a bit of a fright, is all,” she added. She held her arms out for the baby, seeming to retreat into herself when Maureen passed the child over.
Joe watched as Isabelle cradled the child, wishing he could comfort Isabelle as easily as she calmed the baby. She was so loving towards her. Joseph imagined how she might be as a mother and felt his heart pull. He was convinced she’d be perfect. But could Joe protect them?
The seriousness of what had happened came crashing down on him and his head fell into his hands.
He’d almost lost her.
Joe’s feelings became apparent to him in a sudden, almost frightening flash. He loved Isabelle. His whole body ached with the strength of his feelings. And because of his stupidity, because of his blinkered stubbornness, he’d left her at the hands of a merciless marauder and had almost lost her. His future.
Everything around Joe became painstakingly clear. The life he’d been living, the path he’d taken — everything was leading him down the same road as Jim. His fists balled up. Did he want to end up like his adoptive father, an old man, alone and childless? Loveless? On an endless pursuit of justice to protect his fellow citizens when he wasn’t even there to take care of the ones around him?
He listened as Isabelle sang softly to the baby, calming everyone down, and it was startlingly obvious. He loved her.
But could she forgive him?
The baby was still and Isabelle looked around at everyone. Maureen appeared to sense something in Isabelle’s regard, and she quickly offered to accompany her to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. The two women left the room.
“Joseph, something needs to be done,” Matthew said. The Old Man nodded and Joe took a deep breath, but Matthew continued. “Maybe it’s time for you to take a step back from work. I’ll be there to cover, but right now you need to spend more time at home with Isabelle. You can’t leave her like this.”
“Out of the question. You’ve got a young baby, Matthew, you’ll not put them in danger. I won’t accept it.”
“What do you expect her to do? I can’t protect her, not in my condition. She’s defenceless.” The Old Man’s voice broke.
The men sat quietly for a moment, deep in thought. The only sound was Joseph’s heel tapping the floor as his leg jiggled up and down anxiously.
“Not unless you teach her to shoot.” Matthew said, breaking the silence.
He looked up sharply. “What? No. Isabelle would never agree to that.”
“I’ll do it.” A solemn voice spoke from the doorway.
The men turned around. Isabelle stood tall, the baby on her hip, her eyes blazing fiercely.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Are you sure about this, Isabelle?”
Isabelle and Joseph stood outside on the porch listening to the last hoofbeats of the horse carrying Matthew and Maureen home. The light was fading and the sky had turned a deep shade of blue. Grey clouds lined with orange were streaking across, veiling a few early stars.
The breeze picked up and Isabelle pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders. Joe folded his arms and leaned against the wooden rail, facing Isabelle.
He repeated his question. “Do you really think it’s a good idea? Learning to shoot?”
Isabelle looked into the distance, her face crisp. “I do.”
“But what good would that do? Are you capable of shooting a man? Do you really want their blood on your hands?” Joe shook his head, uneasy. “I’m not sure, Isabelle.”
“I am.”
“It’s not even really necessary — I’ll be home.” Joe swallowed. “I’ll protect you,” he added quietly.
She turned to face him, her eyes sharp. “Will you?”
A look of hurt flashed across Joseph’s face and he straightened up. Isabelle immediately felt guilty.
“I’m sorry, Joe.” She reached out to him but started as Joe suddenly leaned forward over the rail, peering towards the horizon. He was watching something intently.
A tiny speck of movement became visible in the distance, growing larger as it approached. A horse came galloping down the path at full speed.
“Sir! Wilson County Sheriff’s looking for you in town!” A teenage boy bellowed, still panting from his sprint on horseback. He turned and bolted back the way he came, not needing to give any more details. The urgency in his voice said it all.
He looked down at his boots, then out towards the rapidly-disappearing teenage boy riding away. He felt bound to his duties.
“I’m sorry, Isabelle.”
*
Rain battered the windows and Isabelle rolled over, worried. Her legs were tangled in the bedsheets from tossing and turning. She sat up in bed and unfurled her legs from the covers, taking a wander over to the tall window, her bare feet cool on the wooden floorboards. She felt a draught from the window and hid behind the thick curtain. The moon, almost full, held her gaze.
Downstairs, hushed men’s voices were talking hurriedly. Her heart was struck with fear and a feeling of uneasiness grew in Isabelle’s stomach as her mind went back to the memory of Robertson’s intrusion that morning. Her hands instinctively balled into fists. She edged to the door.
Her heart slowed a little when she recognised Joe whispering urgently. The Old Man seemed to say something in protest and provoked a fit of chesty coughing.
Isabelle retreated back into her room and dressed quickly. She went downstairs to join them in the dim light of the kerosene lamp.
“It’s now or never, Jim. I need to do this.” Joe was gripping the Old Man’s arm in earnest. He looked up in surprise at Isabelle. He was already wearing his Stetson hat and a dark leather coat. A gun hung at his belt. Isabelle had never seen him wearing it at home before and it chilled her.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Wilson County Sheriff says one of his men got word about a break-in, meant to go down in about an hour. They’re going to target the saloon. We could catch them in the act. But I need to go now, or it’ll be too late — people are going to get hurt. The outlaws will get away…” Joe’s fist was balled up.
“But why do you have to go?” Isabelle’s eyes narrowed, but her chest was heavy with worry.