WOMEN OF SURPRISE 01: A Surprise For Abigail

by Tracey J. Lyons

  "Fine." With arms folded across her chest, Abigail glared at Mr. Wagner.

  Cole raised his eyebrows in surprise. She gave in so easily. Why, he wondered? Women always seemed to have tricks up their sleeves. He looked at Abigail, as if seeing her for the first time. There didn't seem to be any deep dark secrets or threats or schemes hidden in the depths of her pretty bluegreen eyes.

  There sure was plenty of anger, though. Now why wasn't she protesting?

  "You sure do give in easily."

  "I'm not giving in. My aunt has asked that you give me shooting lessons and that is exactly what you'll do. And then you'll be free to go."

  "You always do whatever you aunt wants you to do?"

  They were walking to the front door, dinner was clearly over and there wouldn't be any dessert today. Darn he really wanted something sweet. It'd been a long time since he'd had dessert.

  "My aunt is a wonderful, gracious woman. She means the world to me and I would do anything for her."

  "You'd put yourself in danger for her?"

  "There is nothing dangerous about being sheriff in Surprise. The town is perfectly safe and I'm doing this only until she finds someone who is more suitable to the position."

  Cole grunted. The sheriff was such an innocent, she didn't even know that her aunt was up to something. He could tell from the glint in Margaret Sinclair's eyes, there was something more going on here than just a sick old woman wanting her family gathered around her in a time of need.

  It took him a full minute to realize that he'd been in this town a mere twenty-four hours and already he was getting involved with things that shouldn't concern him.

  Good thing for him that after tomorrow he'd be long gone.

  Margaret lay in her bed, resting her head against the three recently plumped feather pillows. All in all the dinner had gone well, she thought. A slow smile spread across her withered face. Cole Stanton was certainly one fine specimen of a man who knew all the right words to say to bring a blush to a woman's face.

  Her smile broadened when she thought how surprised he was going to be in the morning.

  A light tapping sounded against the closed bedroom door.

  "Enter."

  "I'd say that went quite well. Wouldn't you agree?"

  Smiling at her dear friend, she motioned for him to sit in the straight backed chair next to her bedside. "It's a start." Fingering the satin edge of the blue comforter, Margaret looked past John, her gaze settling on the view on the other side of the bedroom window.

  "I can't let this town die out, John. My nieces are the only hope for Surprise's survival."

  Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the swaying leaves of the big old maple tree, casting lacy patterns on the dimpled window panes. Beyond the tree branches she could see the town all laid out like carefully placed pieces of a puzzle. And like a puzzle her plans were slowly coming together.

  "Mr. Stanton seems to be on the up and up. With the exception of his excesses of last night," John added, thoughtfully.

  "Yes. Did you happen to find out why he was so intoxicated?"

  John scratched his chin, thoughtfully. "I think he was heard ranting about having everything stolen from him."

  "I suppose that could be reason enough to over imbibe." She paused, lost in thought and then said, "He'll do quite nicely for our Abigail." Margaret's statement was a simple one. "It's interesting, the way he just happened to land himself here in our little town."

  "A providence of fate, it would seem."

  Winking at her friend, she said, "Fate, my dear, John, is a wonderful part of life."

  "Yes, but what if it doesn't work in our favor?"

  "Then we'll just have to help it along."

  "You mean by making him give her shooting lessons?"

  Turning her gaze to meet his, Margaret replied, "Exactly. I didn't see any need for him to know that our Abigail just happens to be a crack shot."

  Their laughter rang throughout the bedroom. Rubbing his hands together, John added, "I can't wait to see his reaction when he learns that Abigail can outshoot most men."

  "What if she tells him ahead of time?"

  "She won't."

  "How can you be so certain?"

  "Because, John, Abigail will want to show him up. She's still so mad at her ex-fiance Edwin, she's not about to let any man take advantage of her any time soon."

  "Tomorrow will be soon enough to see what happens."

  "Yes, we will wait for tomorrow," Margaret agreed.

  It was cold. A bitter wind cut across the yard causing Cole to fight his way back to the front door. His family needed him to bring more firewood. He was all they had left. It was up to him to keep them warm and safe, to bring them back to life. He saw his sister Annie first. Her tiny body sprawled across their mother's lap-a lifeless bundle wrapped in a threadbare blanket.

  Then he saw where his mother's hand lay still in death, stopping in mid-stroke. The racking spasms of father's coughing reached his ear. He wanted to run from the sound, he wanted to leave this for someone else to take care of. Outside the wind howled, a tree limb banged against the rough wood siding. Behind him the door flew open, as a fierce gust of wind rushed into the room lifting the blanket off his sister's tiny form.

  And then he saw for the first time all that remained of her was a pile of bones. Despite the cold, beads of sweat broke out on his brow. Cole tried to move, but his feet were frozen to the planked floorboards.

  Then he heard his own voice break through the bleakness that had become death. "I brought the wood, just like you wanted, Papa. See, I brought the wood. " The heavy logs rolled out of his arms onto the floor. Everything had turned to ice. A thin coating covered his father's body, and then encased his mother and sister.

  Cole opened his mouth to scream, but the words were frozen in his throat. His chest tightened as if someone had a vise around him. He couldn't breath. He wanted to die. A low moaning sound broke through the silence. Tears began streaming down his face.

  Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Cole turned, hoping the person had come to bring life back to his family.

  "Wake up. Mr. Stanton, wake up."

  He wanted to leave this nightmare. To leave behind the despair and gut wrenching pain that he felt every time he entered here, but it was so hard to let go. This was the only chance he had to see his family again. Even seeing them as they were in death was better than nothing at all.

  "No !"

  "Mr. Stanton, please."

  Struggling from the grips of sleep, Cole fought against the hand the held his shoulder. "Don't leave me..."

  "Cole, wake up. It's just a bad dream. Wake up."

  The shaking continued. Turning on his side toward the sound of the voice, he heard the silken tones calling him-the voice like a soothing balm on an open wound. Slowly, opening his eyes he looked out through the blurry haze of sleep.

  A young woman was kneeling by his bedside. The sunlight streaming through the window behind her cast golden highlights through her dark hair. Staring into those hazel eyes, he saw compassion and concern. Her one hand was still resting lightly on his shoulder, while the other reached out to touch his face.

  In the full minute it took him to remember where he was, Cole put a tight clamp on his emotions. "Don't." Batting her hand away from his face, Cole rolled onto his back. He didn't want or need her touch.

  "I'm sorry. You were having a bad dream. I heard you yelling even before I came in to the jail."

  "Look, Sheriff. I don't need you worrying about me."

  Her shadow fell across him as she stood. "Fine. As soon as you're ready you can give me my shooting lesson. Then you're free to leave Surprise."

  He could tell by the catch in her voice she was upset. Cole hardened his heart, telling himself it didn't matter that he'd hurt her feelings. She'd no business caring about him one way or the other. He was just another drifter passing through town.

  He would teach her how to shoot, fulfilling the agreemen
t he'd made yesterday at Miss Margaret's house. Then he would leave this strange little town, move on, find another place to settle down and start over again. Rising from the bed, Cole found himself standing toe-to-toe with Sheriff Abigail.

  She was wearing yet another hideous dress. This one was gray in color and looked as if it had seen one too many creek-side washings. He couldn't help wondering if she thought this was how a lady sheriff was supposed to look. At least, today, she wore her hair down so that it fell softly around her shoulders.

  The sound of her voice quickly reminded him that he was staring at her.

  "Is something wrong, Mr. Stanton?"

  "I just need to visit the outhouse."

  Quickly she stepped aside, letting him pass through the open cell door. "Don't go wandering off," she warned him needlessly.

  Where would he go?

  "Aunt Margaret sent some rolls and jam for your breakfast."

  He looked over his shoulder at her. "Bless her heart for thinking of me." What was it with that old woman? He wanted to ask her if Miss Margaret treated all the criminals with such generosity, but he just shook his head deciding it wasn't worth the effort and went outside.

  By the time he came back his breakfast was all laid out for him, and right next to it was the smallest Derringer he'd ever seen. With his hands on his hips, Cole looked to the other side of the desk where Sheriff Abigail was standing looking mighty pleased.

  It was the first time he'd seen her smile. Taking in the sight of her upturned mouth and the twin dimples that appeared on either side set Cole to thinking about his other appetite. It'd been a while since he'd kissed a woman. He'd lay odds that Abigail's mouth tasted just as sweet as strawberry jam.

  Hoping to distract himself from those thoughts, he picked up a roll, and grabbed hold of the flat knife lying by the side of the plate, plunging it into a little bowl of strawberry jam.

  Slathering the berry-filled jam on the roll, he thought about how good her smile looked. It was too bad that he was going to be the one to make it go away.

  Speaking through a mouthful of sweet jam and a generous bite of his roll, he said, "You can't use that gun."

  Folding her arms across her chest, she said, "Yes, I can."

  Swallowing, he leveled a dark gaze on her. "No, you can't."

  "I don't see why not. It's a perfectly fine weapon. Even Mr. Jules, at the mercantile, said the weapon was suited for me."

  Finishing off the roll, Cole continued to stare at her, noticing the way she was smirking at him. Reaching out his arm, he snatched the pitiful Derringer from the desk top. "It's too small. Come on. We're returning this."

  With two long strides he was at the door. "Are you coming or not?" He turned to find her still standing behind the desk. Little splotches of red marked her face. Uh oh, she was getting all worked up.

  "Mr. Stanton, you are not the one giving orders around here, I am. You would do well to remember that. You don't think I'd let you go off on your own now do you?"

  "Right, and no I don't think you'd let me go off by myself. I might try to escape."

  She ignored his last comment. "You can go over to the mercantile with me and help me select a more appropriate gun."

  Cole held the door open as Abigail stalked by with her head held high and her spine ramrod straight. Cole smiled. She sure did have her pride, he'd give her that. They crossed the street and entered Mr. Jules' mercantile. Cole waited until they were at the counter and then handed the sheriff her weapon.

  "Thank you." She took the gun from him, looking at him with those hazel eyes. He couldn't tell what she was thinking.

  "It's going to be your gun. You tell him it's not the right one for you."

  Sheriff Abigail held the gun in the flattened palm of her hand. Cole waited for her to say something, but the minutes ticked by as she appeared to be pondering the situation.

  The black curtains that separated the storeroom from the store parted and Mr. Jules stepped behind the counter. "Good morning, Sheriff." He nodded in Cole's general direction.

  "Good morning, Mr. Jules."

  "What brings you here on this fine morning?" Noticing the gun in her hand, he asked, "Is there a problem with the Derringer?"

  "It's too small." She winked slyly at Mr. Jules.

  The man looked mystified. He studied Abigail's outstretched hand and then glanced nervously in Cole's direction looking for help. "Hmm ... I see."

  "It's quite simple, Mr. Jules. According to Mr. Stanton, this gun doesn't suit me."

  Cole was standing a foot away from Abigail, his back turned to the counter so he could look down the aisles at the merchandise and still coach the sheriff. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he looked at Mr. Jules.

  He kept glancing at Cole and then back to Abigail. Cole just shrugged like he'd no idea what this woman was thinking. Beneath the growth of beard his mouth curved into a smile.

  "Mr. Jules, I need ...... her voice trailed off as she cast a sideways glance at Cole.

  "A Colt .45." Cole's mouth barely moved as he told her what to say.

  "Oh yes, that's right, I need a Colt .45. Silly me, I always have such trouble remembering which gun is which." The Derringer was slapped on the counter for emphasis.

  Cole could have sworn he'd detected a note of sarcasm in her tone. Wary, he continued to advise her on the sly. "Tell him you need a shotgun. Something small but built for the job."

  "I guess if Mr. Stanton is right, I'll need a shotgun. Please, make sure it's small, but well built ... for my job."

  He quirked one eyebrow, amused. She was really taking to this.

  Mr. Jules was looking at her as if she'd gone plum loco.

  Cole watched in amazement as the sheriff began to shake. Was she laughing? Then she took a deep breath as if to steady herself. Placing her hands flat on the surface of the scarred countertop, she leaned over it, leveling her gaze on Mr. Jules.

  "I am the Sheriff of this town. I'm here to serve and protect the citizens. Now I ask you, how am I supposed to do that with a weapon that's too small?" She didn't wait for him to answer. "Give me a Colt .45, a Winchester shotgun, and a supply of ammunition for both."

  Seeing that she was on a roll, Cole added, "And a penny's worth of that red licorice." He pointed to a jar resting on the middle shelf behind the counter.

  Without batting an eye, she ordered, "Put it on Miss Margaret's account."

  "No need. The town is supposed to supply the weapons for the sheriff." Mr. Jules moved swiftly through the curtained-off area, returning with Abigail's order.

  They were about to leave, when Abigail said, "The red licorice, please."

  Grabbing a small brown paper bag, Mr. Jules filled it with the candy. Abigail took it from his outstretched hand and gave it to Cole.

  He smiled down at her and then peered into the sack. It was filled with far more than a penny's worth of candy. "I'd say it pays to be around the Sheriff of Surprise."

  "Don't look so smug, Mr. Stanton. You still have to give me my shooting lessons. Consider the candy part of your payment."

  "There is the small matter of my freedom."

  "Yes, there is that to consider," she sniffed.

  Cole followed her around to the back of the store. She stalked towards a split rail fence that separated the dirt yard from a large field of clover. Leaning the Winchester against the rail, she gingerly slid the handgun out of her skirt pocket.

  Seeing her take the weapon out reminded him that she'd need a holster.

  As she held the gun in her hand, Abigail had to bite her upper lip to keep from smiling. Cole Stanton had no idea that she was about to put one over on him. Letting him think that she'd no idea how to shoot was more fun than she deserved to be having on such a fine spring morning. She'd liked the little gun. It had fit perfectly into the palm of her hand. Of course the larger .45 Colt was more suited to her job and would be her gun of choice from now on.

  Testing the weight of the gun in her hand, she turned around on
her heel, regarding Mr. Stanton through half-drawn eyelids. Intent on studying the Winchester, he didn't notice her perusal of him. His boots were worn so there was barely any thickness left to the soles. The denim Levis that he wore fit him loosely, like he'd recently lost some weight. They were worn and patched so many times that Abigail couldn't tell where the original fabric began.

  His blue chambray shirt was tucked into the waistband of the pants. A soft spring breeze blew by. It ruffled the cotton fabric, flirting with the material, flattening it over his broad chest and muscular shoulders. Abigail swallowed.

  Tufts of dark curly hair stuck out from the collar of Mr. Stanton's shirt. Her gaze followed the trail leading to the thick dark beard that covered most of his face. She wondered what he looked like beneath all that hair. At first glance, she thought his nose was straight, but then she saw the bump near the top. She wondered how he'd broken it? In a bar brawl no doubt.

  Her next breath froze in her chest as she found herself looking into those dark eyes. One of his eyebrows shot up as he stared back at her. The heat of a blush spread over her face. She'd been caught.

  "Is there a problem, Sheriff?" he drawled.

  Shaking her head, she turned away, mortified that she'd been caught staring. There was something about the man that set her heart to racing just a little faster than normal. Surprised by the realization, she cleared her thoughts by looking along the ground for some tin cans. Scrounging up four of them, Abigail carefully balanced each on the top rail of the fence.

  "We can start with the shotgun." Cole walked up behind her.

  She turned to face him. He was right in front of her a mere arm's reach away. She imagined that she could feel the heat from his body. Leveling her gaze on him, she said, "No. We'll start with the Colt."

  "All right, I can do that."

  She watched him place the shotgun alongside of the fence, and took the Colt out of her pocket. The familiar weight of the gun in her hand made Abigail feel powerful. She liked knowing that with one twitch of her finger she could drop a man like a dead fly. This was what she'd needed two nights ago when she'd arrested Mr. Stanton. With this weapon by her side there wouldn't be one person who didn't take her seriously.