Hot Lead and Cold Apple Pie

by Anne Garboczi Evans

  “Ginny! You can’t run in the sheriff election.” Cherry shook her shoulder, waking Ginny from her reverie.

  “Why not?” Had Cal ever raced a train? Jumped his horse down from a canyon onto a rail car like in the dime novels?

  “If you get that position, then Cal won’t, and he’ll leave for Texas, and you’ll be miserable.” Face stretched with the direness of her prediction, Cherry swept one hand down across the table as if revealing a path of bleak destruction.

  Ginny twisted in her seat. It would be rather strange to never see Cal again. Maybe. But he hadn’t been around Gilman for years before this summer, and she’d been just fine.

  Plopping back in Uncle Zak’s chair, Cherry tucked her feet underneath her and pushed a red square toward a yellow octagon. “Even if he stayed, I doubt he’d want a lawman, well, law-woman, for a wife. By the way, where am I supposed to put these squares when I’m done piecing them?”

  Ginny dropped her pen. It splattered on the floor and Fluffy crawled nearer, tongue extended toward the ink. “You’re saying he’s prejudiced? And who said anything about marriage?”

  With one perfectly shaped nail, Cherry tucked a wisp of her hair back. “You.”

  Ginny’s eyes grew big. “Me?” She’d never thought of marrying Cal. Never. Even when Peter’s lips swelled purple on the mountain and he’d shaken from fear, her affections had remained true. She’d certainly not thought any such thing when Cal touched his lips to hers on the mountain. It had been an evasion tactic aimed to confuse the gang. The reason her heart wouldn’t stop pounding after was because their lives were in danger.

  “That time you swooned in his arms.” Cherry’s voice stirred the air.

  Papers and quilting squares flying upward, Ginny’s chair crashed back as she leapt from the table. “I never swooned in his arms!” The posse hadn’t repeated anything about that kiss, had they? Law enforcement had to do that kind of thing all the time to distract criminals. It wasn’t anything special.

  Cherry covered a smirk with the back of her hand. “I just made that part up to see you jump. But it’s true that you can’t stop talking about him.”

  More quilting pieces wafted off the table as Ginny collapsed into her chair. “He’s interesting. Isn’t it normal to find people interesting?” And he was a Texas Ranger. If one was going to swoon for a man, which of course she wasn’t, a Texas Ranger would be the man to swoon for.

  Cherry smiled—knowingly!

  Ginny pressed her fingers against her lips. Did it show after one had been kissed? She certainly hoped not. Uncle Zak would have Cal’s hide, and Cherry would have a heyday with romantic predictions. Which was ludicrous. Cal had been deceiving Bloody Joe so that she and he could rescue all of Gilman together. That was all.

  “You couldn’t take your eyes off him at dinner the other night.”

  Hands on the table, Ginny scooted her application papers around in an uneasy motion. Had she been looking at him? He did look like a Texas Ranger. “He’s not hard on the eyes. But if you married everything that wasn’t hard on the eyes, you’d probably end up wedded to a mountain or a sunset.”

  “You wanted his opinion about capturing the gang. That was apparent every time you told me the story.” Cherry tried a truly atrocious purple paisley square with a cream triangle and then with a sage block. “Could Mrs. Clinton be color blind? I think that’s the most charitable excuse for some of these fabrics.”

  Leaning over the table, Ginny slapped both hands down and covered the pieces distracting Cherry’s attention. “That’s a ridiculous reason to think I’m in love. Normal people ask for other people’s opinions. There’s absolutely nothing out of the ordinary there.” Absolutely nothing. If she’d been acting charitably, she would have asked for his opinion right from the start rather than attempting to discredit him.

  Cherry flicked Ginny’s hand away with two fingers and tugged the quilting pieces back into perspective. “Yeah, normal people, not you. And especially not you with Cal, someone who is vying for the same position as you.” She shifted another piece toward the purple one and then craned her neck to peer at it.

  Scrunching back into her chair, Ginny crossed her arms. “Well, he has good opinions.”

  Cherry clicked her tongue in a knowing sound as she leaned over the quilting pieces. “See what I mean. You admire him.”

  Arms still crossed, Ginny let her gaze stray across the room. Out the back entrance, she saw the backroom where Cal stayed.

  Cherry moved another piece against the purple one. She fell back with a sigh. “What I would give to do important work like you do.”

  “You know you could do great detective work, Cherry. I mean with proper oversight and training, of course. Why you cracked the plum preserves case wide open.”

  “You connected it to the gang after I told you Widow Sullivan was gone.”

  “And the sheriff’s office didn’t do anything to figure out either scheme.” A frown crossed Ginny’s lips. “I think this town needs a detective agency.”

  “We have a sheriff…well, kind of in transition right now but we will have a sheriff.” Picking up the purple piece between two fingers, Cherry dropped it on Fluffy’s head.

  “Yes, but all the trained lawmen were so focused on the mine, they couldn’t see what was under their very noses.”

  “Men have a way of doing that. It’s why so many male-cooked dinners are charred.”

  Ginny nodded in silent agreement. She tapped her fingers against the table as she started to devise a plan.

  “Wait, you’re not thinking—”

  “Of course I am. We can start a detective agency. Use some Temperance League ladies as our eyes and ears when necessary, take on cases that the sheriff’s office has neglected.”

  Something like a smile crept to Cherry’s red lips even as she shifted a mite uncomfortably on her chair. “If we do, then will you not apply for the sheriff election?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I can do both.”

  “Really?” Cherry’s tone was strangely doubtful.

  “First thing we need is an office. I want somewhere with privacy, but a central location so clients can be easily reached.”

  Cherry nodded along for all of five minutes before turning back to the quilting pieces, a sign of true interest. “Have you ever dreamt about a handsome stranger coming into town, sweeping you off your feet, proposing to you the same day, and then riding off with you into the sunset?”

  “Not really. Now the detective agency—”

  “Not Cal, you know. He’d hardly qualify as a stranger now. Though, after he’s been gone a couple years, I guess he’ll be like a stranger again.” Cherry piled some white muslin squares next to lemon rectangles.

  Ginny blinked. That’s right, Cal was leaving. He wouldn’t be here every morning and evening like before. Wouldn’t sit in this dining room at every breakfast and supper. Over there by the book cabinet, she and Cal had discussed the strategy that had led to Uncle Zak’s rescue. Here at this table, Cal and she—

  “It would be terribly romantic, don’t you think?”

  Ginny brought her head up. “What would?”

  “The handsome stranger, immediate proposal.”

  “Oh.” Ginny looked back through the open kitchen door to where Cal and she had spent so many arguments. “Maybe, but the stranger could be a gang member for all you know.”

  “I know. I know. Marry in haste, repent at leisure, they say. Only my philosophy is, if you wait forever to get married, then you’ll have to repent really, really quickly because you’ll be almost dead.”

  Just behind Ginny stood the piano where Cal had—no, if she got that Irish ballad running through her head, she’d cry. It was bad enough he was leaving without having all of the Irish’s misery poured out on top of it. Her gaze drifted to Cherry. “You really think I’m in love?”

  White teeth pressed against her lip in concentration, Cherry shoved two triangles together. “Definitely.”

&nb
sp; Love? She’d never quite reached that stage with Peter Foote, but she assumed she would know what it felt like when she did. Ginny ran her tongue over her lips. “How does one know when one’s in love?”

  Flinging the pieces away from her, Cherry settled into her chair. “I wouldn’t exactly call myself an expert. After you’ve had the experience ten or fifteen times, it starts getting all muddled together and you can’t pick it out quite as well. But you’ve got the classic signs.”

  “Classic signs?”

  Cherry held up the fingers of one hand. “Admiration, pleasure in the man’s company, and distraction when his name is mentioned.”

  Those were the classic signs? For one moment, Ginny’s eyes grew big as she tried to sort out the tangled business of love. Then she dropped her elbows onto the table and slid her notice of application back into position. “Anyway, it likely doesn’t matter. He’s probably leaving for Houston. He hates this town.”

  “Have you tried to convince him to stay?”

  Ginny moved her hand to the hooligan uprising section of her list of achievements before she realized her pen was gone. Underneath her, Fluffy licked black lips and took another chew of the pen. Ginny sighed and looked back at Cherry. “How, in your opinion, does one convince a man to stay?”

  “Oh, the usual.”

  “The usual?”

  “Subtle hints, flurries of tears, expressions of undying devotion, whatever usually works for you.”

  Ginny coughed. “I don’t have a usual.”

  “Then invent one. You’re plenty smart enough. I mean just look at you. Last week you rescued your uncle and captured the Silverman gang. You have enough intelligence to get a man.”

  Ginny puckered her brow. Flirting took intelligence? Actually, some of the most famous female criminals built their reputation off their manipulative abilities, so perhaps Cherry had a point. “It’s inconsequential. I already have a plan.”

  “A plan that involves Cal Westwood?”

  “No.”

  Neglecting the quilting pieces again, Cherry dug further into Uncle Zak’s chair. “Go on. Tell all.”

  Heat rose across Ginny’s cheeks. “It’s kind of personal.”

  “Of course it’s personal. If it was public information, it wouldn’t be enjoyable to listen to, like trigonometry or the history of chemical compounds.”

  “All right.” Ginny dropped her voice several levels below hushed. “For several years now, I’ve planned to marry…”

  Cherry leaned in closer, pink ears stretched forward.

  “Peter Foote. After I become sheriff. It would be a very compatible relationship. All those grandnieces and nephews Uncle Zak wants could play in the general store aisles while I keep the town safe.”

  “Virginia Lane Thompson!” Cherry bounded out of her seat. “I’m going to put an end to this just to keep the public peace.”

  “Hush.” Heat spread across Ginny’s face down to her neck.

  “You would drive Peter Foote crazy. The general store is a hub of town activity, and the staple of life in Gilman. You can’t destroy that for the entire population of our town.” The girl motioned dramatically in gestures that would have made a pulpit-pounding reverend proud.

  “I wouldn’t drive anyone crazy.” Ginny crossed her arms

  “Can you say that again?”

  “I would not drive anyone crazy.” Ginny jutted her chin up too, matching the crossed arms.

  “Now with conviction.”

  Sitting was obviously not getting her point across. Hands on the table, Ginny rose to her feet. “I am absolutely positive—”

  “All right, now with an ounce of truth in the statement. Ginny, you’d be an absolutely horrible general store manager’s wife, and expecting Peter Foote to be a sheriff’s husband is completely unfair.”

  With a shrug, Ginny plopped back into her seat, pried her pen from Fluffy’s mouth, and, ignoring the two teeth holes, started back on the application.

  “Ginny, listen to me.”

  Instead, Ginny leaned over the application paper and pressed her pen down to outline solving the preserve case. “What do you want me to do? Run over to the reverend and vow to marry Cal Westwood on the spot?”

  “Technically, a justice of the peace like your uncle could also perform the ceremony.”

  “I don’t care. I’m not marrying Cal Westwood!” As the words left her mouth, she frowned. She tried to picture what it would be like married to Cal, a little house, Fluffy purring in the corner, Mother’s piano in the spot of honor across from the fireplace.

  “Even if he begs you on bended knee?”

  “I can’t imagine Cal begging for anything on bended knee.” Now Ginny tried putting Cal in the house, imagined talking to him on the front porch on a summer evening. It was a rather beautiful image.

  “But if he did?”

  “All right. If Cal Westwood begs me on bended knee, I will marry him. Satisfied?” Plopping both hands on the papers, she gave Cherry a lofty, conversation-ending glance.

  “Oh, perfectly.” Cherry swept the quilting pieces off the table into her apron and stood.

  “Wait! You can’t tell him that.”

  “Ugh.” Cherry sank back into her seat.

  “If anything from this conversation takes a single step out of this room, you’ll be the first in my jail. Get it?” If Ginny had possessed a pistol at that moment, she would have emphasized her words with it.

  “Fine, I’ll keep mum. Though it might be worth a day behind bars to see you walk down the aisle.”

  “A day? You’d be in jail as long as I was married.”

  Cherry sighed. “Calm yourself. I already said I’d keep the conversation private.”

  ~*~

  After walking back and forth between the preserves and the hardware section of the general store nine times, Cal finally stood in front of the leather case that stored valuables.

  A diamond ring sat next to a ruby necklace with a pair of pearl earrings bringing up the flank. On the higher ground, in the back of the case, a silver chain twisted under gold bands. Cal swallowed hard. Did he or did he not want to do this thing?

  “Can I help you find something? A piece of jewelry, perhaps?” Someone touched the shelf behind, and Peter stood beside Cal, the key to the case in his hand.

  Cal tried to jumped and rattled the whole rack of stud earrings on top of the case. “Um, no, just looking at this.” He grabbed the nearest article to the counter. It felt soft and fluffy.

  “A lady’s scarf? That’s an expensive one. Someone special you had in mind?”

  This time just Cal’s hand twitched and the stud earrings merely shifted. “No. Not at all.”

  “Anything else I can help you find?” Peter swept a cloth across the leather case, wiping off fingerprints.

  “Actually, I think I’ll just look at this case of jewelry a moment. Gangs tend to steal fine jewelry, so it’s always good to know what’s on the market.” Cal turned his gaze toward Peter, hoping he’d accept the explanation.

  “All right.” Stuffing the dust cloth into the hardware apron around his waist, Peter turned.

  Alone again after Peter left for other corners of the store, Cal shifted his gaze warily to the case. So many shapes, sizes, colors—gold, white-gold, silver; some cut flat on the bottom, others pointed—every fraction variant of a carat known to man. One would think a mathematician had been trying to teach a fraction lesson. Did women even care about these things?

  More importantly, would it matter? Did Ginny want him? There’d been that night planning gang strategy, but the stress of her uncle’s life hanging in the balance could have clouded her feelings.

  Leaning forward, Cal studied a gold ring with a diamond. The glow of the gem reminded him of Ginny.

  “Good morning.”

  Cal spun around.

  And collided with Cherry. Smoothing down her dress, she stepped back primly. “If you’re looking for a ring for Ginny, I know her size.”


  “Um…no, of course not. Just doing gang-related research here, preventing fine jewelry robberies and all.”

  “Oh, all right.” Giving her parasol a twirl that sent it bobbing around her wrist, Cherry spun away. Then, tilting her white chin back over her shoulders, “She wears a size five, by the way.”

  ~*~

  Why weren’t women allowed to vote? It was downright deplorable. Ginny paced the length of Main Street. A wooden ballot box sat out front of the school. Red and white bunting overhung the schoolhouse’s eaves. Gavel in hand, Mr. Clinton presided as the men of the town straggled in to cast their vote.

  She was a citizen of Gilman, and so were Cherry, Miss Lilac, and even Mrs. Clinton. Why couldn’t they march up to that bunting the Temperance League had sewn and cast their vote for whoever they desired to be sheriff ?

  She hadn’t even had time for campaigning. Uncle Zak had held the election too fast. She’d meant to go out last night and knock on each Gilman door asking for their vote, but Cherry had convinced her that a last minute effort like that would just make her seem desperate. The townsfolk knew her qualifications, and all had heard about her role in the Silverman gang’s capture.

  Now Silas stumbled his way up to the schoolhouse’s steps. Silas could vote and not her?

  Her high-heeled boots raised dust as she stomped toward the steps. Circling around the line of a half-dozen men, Ginny marched in front of Mr. Clinton. “I would like to see a ballot.”

  Mr. Clinton looked up from the dark wood of the ballot box. “My answer hasn’t changed from last year.” He held his fist up to his mouth and coughed.

  “I just want to read the ballot. I’m not asking to vote.”

  Tugging the stack of upturned ballots closer, Mr. Clinton clamped a spindly hand over them. “There will be no voter fraud in this election.”

  The sun glared off the shiny white of new ballot paper.

  “Good morning, Miss Ginny.” Behind her in line, Peter Foote raised his hat. “I know one name on that ballot is Cal Westwood. That’s who I’ll be voting for.”