Lydia squared her shoulders and refused to comment.
Chapter 6
Caleb had already reached the porch when he thought to go back inside and make his apologies to the landlady. He found her clearing the last of the honey from the floor with a mop. The room smelled of cleaning fluid and pie crust.
“I’d be obliged if you’d let me help,” he said.
“It’s nothing but a little spill.” She shook her head and leaned up to give him an appraising look. “Now don’t you look sportin’?”
“I suppose.” He glanced down at his suit, then back at the Widow Sykes. “Let me pay for the dry goods I ruined.”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t think of it.” The widow climbed to her feet and gestured toward the stairs with her cleaning rag. “What with the answer to my prayers staying right under my roof, nothing bothers me today.”
“The answer to your prayers?” Caleb chuckled. “That feisty gal?”
“Let me tell you something about feisty gals.” She slung the rag over her shoulder, then crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m of the opinion that behind most feisty gals is a little girl crying for attention. I figure once she settles down, so will her temper.”
Caleb laughed out loud. “For the sake of her poor husband, I certainly hope so.”
He chuckled all the way to the sheriff ’s office, then sobered his expression when he walked through the door. The room had been cleared of the tools they’d left last night, and someone had put a pie on the corner of the desk. Upon closer inspection, he decided it was a Jeff Davis pie.
“Just like Mama used to make,” he said as he inhaled one more time.
Situated between close buildings, the office was darker than it seemed it ought to be. An old Regulator clock chimed, and he took note of the time. Fifteen minutes early. At least no one could accuse him of procrastination.
He gave the jail cell a wide berth, searching instead for some way to light the kerosene lamps in the dark corner of the office. A search produced a match, and soon enough he had sufficient light to see the wanted posters stuck up on the wall.
Right off he recognized three fellows he and his brothers had ridden with. Two were back home in Missouri, having retired to become gentleman farmers, and the third owned a dry goods store in Kansas City. Last he heard, Reuben made the place his favorite hideout when the law got too close.
Reuben.
The reminder of his brothers sliced like a knife to his gut, so he squared his shoulders and stepped away from the posters. Last thing he wanted was to see one of them up there.
Not that it would have surprised him.
“You’re early.” Ed stood just behind him, proof positive that Caleb’s outlaw instincts were rusty.
“No sense putting off what I can’t change.” He walked over to the desk and removed his pistol, then set it and his holster on the desk. Without a word, he walked over to the cell and placed his hands on the bars.
“I’d be much obliged if you’d let the Widow Sykes know I appreciate her hospitality. I know I won’t be takin’ my meals at her place for a spell, but I left her some money in my room just the same.” He turned to look Ed square in the eye. “I wonder if I might have her good home cooking carted over here every once in a while. I’d pay, of course.”
“Well, I don’t see as how that would be a problem. Although you could just as easily go fetch it.”
Caleb shook his head. “But, Ed, I’ll be—”
“There’s the man of the hour.” A burly redhead lumbered in and parked himself behind the desk. “What say we get this started?”
“Are you the judge?” Caleb asked.
“Judge?” The man slapped the surface of the desk with his open palm, then laughed. “I like that idea, Ed. Since you’re the mayor, why don’t you make me the judge?”
“Wouldn’t that be like putting the wolf in charge of the henhouse, Elmer?”
The men shared another laugh while Caleb stood and watched. It was all well and fine that the fellows enjoyed one another, but did they have to do it while he waited to hear his crime and receive his sentence? He was about to ask them when Ed held up his hands and stopped his chuckling.
“Elmer, I don’t believe you and Cal have been formally introduced. Cal Wilson, meet Elmer Wiggins. He’s the barber and the undertaker. Guess you could say Elmer gets you comin’ and goin’.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Wiggins.” Caleb rubbed his chin. “I got a fine shave and haircut over to your place. Wasn’t you who did the job, though.”
Elmer shook his head. “No, that was my brother-in-law Pete. He generally only works on the corpses, but I let him try out his skills on live folks every once in a while.”
Ed clapped his hands, then rubbed them together as if he actually looked forward to what was about to happen. Elmer looked more interested in the pie than anything else.
Neither of them seemed to give a second thought to the prospective inmate.
Caleb felt his temper rise, then reminded himself he was no longer that sort of man. “Let’s get on with it then.”
Elmer rose and pushed away from the desk, giving the pie one last look. “That from your wife?” he asked Ed.
“The Widow Sykes, actually.” Ed gestured to the door. “I got a surprise for you, Cal.”
A surprise? Outside?
That’s when he heard it. The sound of people. Caleb leaned toward the window and lifted the red-checked curtain. Sure enough, half the town was waiting for him in the middle of Main Street.
If the good folks of Dime Box, Arizona, wanted to lynch him, they’d have to find him first. His gaze darted around the room in search of a back exit.
Finding none, he contemplated a different means of escape. In the old days, he would have shot his way out, risking any number of innocent lives in the process.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder, and Caleb looked around to find Ed had joined him at the window. “Cal, as mayor, I want to be the one to—”
The door burst open, allowing the sound of cheering to drift in from outside. Miss Bertrand practically fell into the room, followed by the same dark-skinned maid he’d noticed with her earlier.
Oblivious to Caleb’s presence, Miss Bertrand addressed Elmer. “I need to speak to the sheriff.”
Her voice sounded as if she’d run all the way from the boardinghouse. Under her arm she carried a tin of what he hoped were more of her biscuits. While the feisty gal irritated him to no end, she sure could cook.
“Hold on there, girlie,” Elmer said. “The menfolk are carrying on important business here. Is this here an emergency?”
“Emergency? You could call it that.” She set the tin on the desk beside the pie, then caught sight of Caleb. “What are you doing here?”
Ed released his grasp on Caleb’s shoulder to slap him on the back. “Haven’t you heard? Cal here’s the new—”
The Widow Sykes came bustling in. “Ed Thompson, what’s taking so long? You got everyone in town out there waiting. If you’re not gonna make the announcement, then leastwise go and tell them so.” She shifted her attention from Ed to Caleb. “Hello there, Mr. Wilson. What’re you doing here?”
“That’s what I asked.” Miss Bertrand inched forward and swiped at the spot on her cheek where butter and honey had been only an hour ago. “Did the law finally catch up with you?”
A few responses came to mind, none of which was particularly nice. He settled for ignoring the question.
“In a manner of speaking,” Elmer said with a chuckle. “You might say he’s gonna make the jailhouse his home now.”
“Hush, Elmer, you old fool.” Ed pressed past the ladies to reach for the door knob. “Come on, Cal. Let’s get this over with.”
Irritation turned to white-hot anger. Now both of them were grinning. Meeting his Maker was one thing, but enduring ridicule was another.
“Now hold on a minute, Ed,” Caleb said. “I got some rights here, and before I go out there, I’d like to k
now exactly what you’re charging me with.”
“What we’re chargin’ you with?” Elmer guffawed. “We’re chargin’ you with being the new sheriff.”
“Sheriff? Hold on.” Caleb shook his head. “You got the wrong man, Ed. I’m Caleb Wilson.”
Ed slapped Caleb on the back and pushed him toward the open door. “That’s right. You’re Sheriff Caleb Wilson.”
“I’m who?” He shook his head. “Is this a joke?”
While Elmer guffawed, Caleb took a step backward to try to make some sense of the situation. Somehow he’d obviously been mistaken for a man whose name was similar to his. In nothing flat, he’d gone from inmate to jailer.
Caleb took a deep breath. He ought to set them straight, ought to say right out that he was Caleb Wilson, not Cal Wilson, and that six months ago he’d been cooling his heels at the Huntsville prison. Then he had another thought. Had God heard his prayer and given him a chance at a new life?
“He’s the sheriff?” Miss Bertrand looked as if she might fall down right where she stood. “You’re the man I’m supposed to marry?”
“Sheriff Wilson, I knowed it, I did.” The dark-skinned maid waved a paper in Caleb’s direction. “It’s all right here in your letter. You the one who sent for Miss Lydia.”
“Say somethin’, Cal.” Elmer pointed to Miss Bertrand. “Tell these women who you are.”
Caleb took the paper and unfolded it. There on the top were written the words that nearly sent him to the floor.
“Contract to marry?” He looked up at the maid who nodded; then he shoved the paper back at her. “You’ve got the wrong man.”
She gave him a look that would chase off a polecat. “You the sheriff, ain’t you?”
Under her scrutiny he almost cracked. Almost told the whole town they were about to pin a badge on the wrong man. Then he looked over at Miss Bertrand and couldn’t say a thing.
Elmer answered for him. “Sure he’s the sheriff. Tell her, Cal. We been waitin’ for Cal Wilson nigh on six months. We was beginnin’ t’think he’d run off with our travelin’ money, so Ed went lookin’ for him, and here he is.” He returned the maid’s scathing stare. “Who’d you think he was, one of the prisoners?”
Chapter 7
The next thing Lydia remembered was waking up in a jail cell. May dabbed a damp cloth against her forehead, and a man with red hair paced nearby. Someone called, “She’s awake.”
Another said, “Fetch the bride out to meet the folks.”
The bride.
It all came tumbling back. The contract to marry, the conversation with May, and her first look at her groom-to-be. Then the realization hit that she was to wed the man who plowed her down in Mrs. Sykes’s kitchen.
At this reminder she groaned.
“You hit your noggin, hon?” This from May who ran her hand across the back of Lydia’s head.
Mrs. Sykes stood in the door of the cell shaking her head. “To think I had both of you under my roof and I didn’t know a thing.”
Lydia climbed to her feet and shook off May’s attentions. “Well, I didn’t know, either.”
Without bothering to explain, she straightened her shoulders and rose. Putting one foot in front of the other, she headed for the door and her intended—or maybe she’d just keep walking until she’d shaken off the dust of Dime Box, Arizona.
Whichever choice she made, she first had to make good her escape. With the only exit being the front door, she took a deep breath and stepped through. The claps and cheers should have stopped her, but they didn’t. Rather, she walked all the way to the end of the sidewalk before she turned to see Cal Wilson staring at her.
By pausing, she was well and truly caught, for several ladies reached her and began to talk about dress fabric and wedding dates. She might have been there indefinitely had Mrs. Sykes not made her apologies to the ladies, taken her by the arm, and led her back down the sidewalk.
“There she is, folks.” The red-haired man pointed to Lydia. “She’s a little shy. Let’s make the sheriff ’s intended feel welcome. Folks, welcome Lydia Bertrand, soon to be the new Mrs. Wilson.”
Lydia’s stomach did a flip-flop, and tears sprang to her eyes. The crowd parted to reveal the new sheriff standing by his side. Odd, but the lawman looked as miserable as Lydia felt.
Could it be that the goods he purchased had not met his expectations? Had he decided she wasn’t all he hoped her to be?
Well, of all the nerve. What was wrong with her? Why, half the boys in New Orleans of marrying age had been trotted through their parlor, and not a one of them had made that face at her.
Why him? Why now? Eyes narrowed, Lydia strode over to the man to ask him.
Before she could take two steps, May intercepted her. “Now don’t you go making a spectacle of yourself, Lydia Bertrand. You done been raised better than that.”
Lydia pasted on a smile and aimed it at the lawman. “Well, of course I have, May. That’s why I’m going to go over there and show my intended just how glad I am he’s chosen me.”
May whirled her around and stared at her hard. “And how do you intend to do that?”
“I’m just going to go over there and be polite.” She shrugged. “If he’s going to marry me, he needs to meet me proper, don’t you think?”
May gave her a sideways look. “I didn’t think you wanted to marry him.”
“I don’t.” She upped the smile and aimed it in Sheriff Wilson’s direction. “I just want him to want to marry me.”
“That don’t make no sense,” May muttered. “That just don’t make no sense.”
She left her maid shaking her head on the sidewalk and headed for the spot where the mayor of Dime Box was introducing Cal Wilson as their new sheriff. Something gleamed in the sun as she approached. The badge, she realized.
“Would you like to do the honors, Miss Bertrand?” the mayor asked.
“I’d be delighted, Mr. Mayor.”
The crowd cheered as the Bertrand woman flounced over to give the mayor her biggest smile. As she drew near, badge in hand, Caleb instinctively put his hand over his heart. From the look in her eye, she’d either stab it or steal it.
She lifted up on tiptoe, then met his gaze. For a moment she almost smiled. Then the woman looked down and went to work fastening the tin star on his shirt. Her fingers trembled, he noticed, and he couldn’t help but wonder if his old charm had returned.
Then she looked into his eyes. She looked more determined than smitten. But determined to do what?
“So when’s the date, Sheriff?”
He looked over at Elmer, who seemed to take great pleasure in Caleb’s discomfort. Ed, however, looked as if he might come to the rescue any minute.
“Honestly, we haven’t discussed a date.” Miss Bertrand’s smile could have lit a room.
“That’s right,” Caleb added as he plotted how to get himself out of this fix.
All he had to do was admit he and Cal Wilson were two different folks. That would get him out of the marriage contract. It would also set the townsfolk straight. The only trouble with the truth was that it didn’t seem to fit with the answer to prayer he so clearly felt he’d received.
He’d asked the Lord to give him a second chance, and here He’d gone and let a reformed outlaw become sheriff. By speaking up now, he could very well ruin the plans the Lord had made for him.
Something in that logic chewed at his conscience, but Caleb ignored it. Instead, he smiled and shook hands and made small talk with the people he’d been entrusted to protect. He noticed the Bertrand woman was doing the same thing. She might be as pretty as a newborn calf, but he’d have to find some way of getting out of this contract.
The last thing Caleb Wilson needed right now was a wife.
Finally, the mayor stepped up and put his hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “Folks, let’s leave these two alone for a spell. I’m sure they’ve got some catchin’ up to do.”
A few hoots and hollers later, the people of Dime B
ox went back to their business, leaving Caleb to attend to his. He shook Ed’s hand and stepped inside to take his place behind the big wooden desk.
Caleb and Ed had cleared the mess off the top of it, but he’d never looked to see what was inside. He did that now, starting with the top right drawer. Inside he found a layer of dust and a stack of papers. He lifted them out and set them on the desk. Topmost on the pile was a letter written on the stationery of the Wentworth Hotel in Wichita, Kansas, promising that one Cal Wilson’s arrival would fall somewhere between the end of January and the middle of February.
No wonder Ed and the boys were getting impatient. He set the letter aside and, two posters down in the stack, found a familiar face staring up at him from a wanted poster: his brother Colt.
Caleb tore it in half and wadded up the pieces. He knew for a fact that Colt had done his time on this charge. He’d just missed seeing him in Huntsville.
The temptation to dwell on family pressed hard on him, and Caleb had to force himself to ignore it. He had more than enough to worry about, what with a feisty gal with marriage on her mind and a new job on the other side of the law.
He leaned back in the chair and set his boot heels on the desk. Given time, he’d find a way out of that predicament.
“A moment of your time, Sheriff.” The object of his thoughts barged through the door, her maid following in hot pursuit.
“A moment?” He looked her up one side and down the other. She had her feathers ruffled for sure. “Looks like you aim to take more than that.” He pushed two chairs up to the desk. “Set yourself down and speak your piece.”
Both women spoke at once, leaving Caleb to shake his head and call for quiet. The maid clamped her mouth shut and handed over the paper she’d showed him earlier. Right there on the bottom line was the signature of a man named Calvin Wilson. Proof positive it couldn’t be him.
He was about to say so when the Bertrand woman cleared her throat and aimed her attention in his direction. She wore yellow, an idiotic thing to notice considering the situation, but it did make her look pretty as a picture.
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