Amy nodded at her and Doc and slipped across the hallway to the parlor. She found the marshal kneeling at the fire, his hand resting on the poker, his thoughts somewhere far away. She hesitated interrupting his reverie and took the moment to study him. Obviously not yet thirty, weathered lines fringed the corners of his eyes, giving him an air of wisdom and experience men back East didn’t possess. His brooding reminded her of Emily Bronte’s Heathcliff. She would admit, though, there was something comforting about him. She attributed this feeling to his badge.
That night intruded on her thoughts again, threatened to start her heart racing, and she knew it would be a long, long time before she ever let a man near her again ... even a lawman. She pushed the hopelessness of the future away and laced her fingers over her stomach, quelling the queasy feeling trying to rise in her. After a moment, he still hadn’t noticed her standing there. A little frustrated, she stepped quietly into the room, allowing the swish of her skirt to announce her. He rose to greet her ... and said absolutely nothing.
The awkward moment stretching on to ridiculous lengths, Amy finally thought of something to rescue them. “I’m sorry for your loss. I understand the sheriff was a friend.”
“Yes ma’am. Thank you.”
The silence fell again. The marshal shoved his hands into his pockets and smiled weakly. She had seen men who were socially inept and men who were disinterested in conversation. Amy realized he gave disinterested new meaning. Breaking eye contact as a mercy to him, she dipped her head, smiled, and strode over to the settee. Taking a seat, she sighed inwardly. As a houseguest, she certainly couldn’t pick and choose the Woodruffs’ company. And she supposed she should be grateful the marshal wasn’t a chatting magpie.
But neither was he pleasant. Oh, she knew she should make allowances for his circumstances, but his brusqueness was annoying. And frankly, rude. She hoped to avoid him as much as possible in the future.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hands clawed at Amy in the cloistering blackness, trying to strangle her. Screams—hers—interwove with deep, ominous laughter. The sounds echoed all around her. She fought, struggled, writhed, trying to get away. Fear burned in her blood. Her heart raced, pounding hard like a drum in her ears. The hands reached her throat. She opened her mouth to scream—
And sat bolt upright in a strange bed, her fingers pressed against her lips. Breathing hard like a winded horse, she took in the room, unfamiliar and menacing in the moonlight. An open wardrobe loomed like a bear. A dress form stood in the corner like a watchful ghost. She hid her face in her hands and tried to rein in her galloping pulse. She breathed. She prayed for peace. She listened to the silence.
The panic retreated and she slowly climbed from the bed. Rubbing her arms against a non-existent chill, she trudged to the window. From the second floor of the Woodruffs’ home, which sat on a hill, she had a high, wide view of Evergreen. Awash in the silvery radiance of a full moon, the town slumbered peacefully. Somewhere off in the distance, a coyote yipped and howled as bats dove and twirled in the night. Amy leaned her forehead against the chilly glass and wondered when she might, finally, sleep without nightmares.
Movement below drew her attention to a shadowy figure. A man stepped out from beneath the eaves of the bank, scanned the street, hunched over, and hurried down the side of the building. At the corner, he knelt down and ... reached beneath the bank, as if stashing something ... or retrieving something. Amy couldn’t tell in the darkness. Either way, he quickly got to his feet and ran off behind the building.
She watched for a few more minutes, but the man did not return.
A yawn reminded her that the bed was growing cold, and sleep beckoned enticingly. With a last glance back at the bank, Amy crawled beneath the covers and curled into a warm, cozy little ball. In the morning, she would tell someone what she’d seen.
Amy arrived at the one-room schoolhouse a good thirty minutes before her students were due. She walked in the front door and discovered, to her delight, three young girls in pinafores, dusting her desk, arranging flowers in a pail in the center of it, and washing the chalkboard. They appeared to range in age from about eight to fifteen or so, and had to be sisters. All three had blonde hair, stout builds, and round faces.
They stilled in their activities when they saw her, then huge grins split their faces and they rushed toward their new teacher, all speaking at once.
“It’s our new teacher!”
“You’re so pretty!”
“Do you like the flowers?”
Laughter, rich and sincere, bubbled up from deep within her, and she let it gush out. She had hardly smiled in the last several weeks, much less laughed, and knew in an instant that God had sent her to the right place. She hugged the little girls and then took a step back from them. “Thank you so very much for this wonderful welcome, girls.” She reached for the oldest one’s hand. “I’m Amy Tate.”
The girl, fresh-faced, with rosy cheeks and a big smile, was built like a lumberjack. She shook Amy’s hand, squeezing it firmly and with eagerness. “Yah, it is good to meet you, too. I am Lisette.” Her German accent was quite pronounced, but Amy got the gist. “These are my sisters, Greta … and Matilda.” Each youngster curtsied as her name was mentioned.
“I am nine,” Greta announced with pride.
“And I am twelve,” Matilda curtsied again.
The girls were simply precious, and Amy was delighted with her new friends. She prayed the rest of the class would be so welcoming.
Dent settled into the cowhide chair in front of Judge Lynch’s desk and leaned toward his boss. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
The judge looked up from the report he was reading—Dent’s report—and the hard steel in his eyes hinted at a storm. Lynch was old, rumored to be eighty, but still sharp, with a mind that used a black-and-white approach to legal affairs, and moved faster than a locomotive. Dent suspected he was about to be hit by that train.
“First things first. How was the hanging?”
“Clean, sir.”
Judge Lynch leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his sizable gut, regarding Dent with a displeased expression. “Then let’s cut to heart of this, son. On top of complaints in the last two years from two sheriffs and one marshal about your heavy-handed tactics, now I’ve got this report in which you confess to negligence. Negligence that cost the life of a prisoner and one fine man who was an outstanding law enforcement officer.”
Dent licked his lips. He didn’t know any formal complaints had been filed. Ben’s death on top of those didn’t bode well. “I’m willing to take full responsibility, sir.”
“Darn right you will.” The judge took a deep breath, as if to keep his temper from flaring out of control. Seemingly satisfied, he leaned forward and picked up the report. “Dent, you’re one of the bravest officers I have, and I’m fully aware you do what you do because you’re hunting for your father’s killer, but lately you’ve become ... well, I don’t think it would be a stretch to call you an avenging angel. In fact, I’ve heard you referred to as the Grim Reaper.” Dent started to protest, but Judge Lynch tossed up a finger, cutting him off. “Vengeance and justice are not the same things. I feel you’ve gotten the two confused. Or maybe you never had ’em right in the first place.”
“Beg your pardon, Judge, but does it matter? I have arrest warrants in my pocket when I go after these men. When they resist arrest, I’m within my rights to do what needs to be done. Why do my motivations matter to the law?”
“They don’t. They matter to me. “
The clipped answer surprised Dent, and he didn’t understand it. The judge must have read his confusion. Wagging his head, the big man rose slowly and wandered over to a bust of Abe Lincoln. “Dent, you’re a good man, but you don’t see the whole puzzle … just your piece of it. I thought when I let you on the force—which I did because your father and Ben always spoke so highly of you—I thought you would come to understand the
difference between peace officer and vigilante. When you go after a man and your motivation is vengeance, what makes you different from him?” He raised an elbow and rested it on Abe. “You need some time to think things through. I only wish I’d done this sooner.”
“Done what?”
“You’re hereby suspended, pending an investigation into Sheriff Ben Hayes’s death. Suspended without pay.”
Dent jumped to his feet. “Without pay?”
Lynch straightened up, daring Dent to challenge him. “And, per a request from a fine, upstanding member of the community, you will—in the meantime—act as the interim sheriff in Evergreen.”
Dent’s knees almost went out from underneath him.
“Oh,” Lynch returned to his desk and sat down, “your other duties will not be impacted by this suspension. You have a gift, and we need it.”
CHAPTER SIX
Dent kept a few things at a boarding house in Cheyenne and his horse down at the livery. Mad enough to spit nails, he collected everything and saddled Ginger, cursing Judge Lynch underneath his breath as he tossed his saddlebags over the horse’s rump. Checking the cinch one last time, he stepped up into the saddle ... and sat there.
Evergreen.
He hadn’t spent more than a night or two there since his pa was killed. Nothin’ but bad memories haunted the place.
Well, he hoped everybody was happy. Doc musta written the request out for him to be sheriff in town. He reckoned he’d be eternally grateful and would make sure Doc knew how grateful.
Since he owned it now, Dent would stay at Ben’s ranch ... which felt all wrong. It wasn’t Dent’s place. Never could be.
At least money wouldn’t be an issue. Dent made a good living from his gift, as the judge had called it. In between engagements, however, he figured he would go stark-stirring, ever-loving nuts in quaint Evergreen. What was there to do if he could not get his warrants and go after the bad men that needed hanging?
Fit to be tied with this turn of events, he spurred Ginger and headed off for his personal purgatory.
Amy stood behind her desk, smiling and waving as her students filtered out into the late afternoon sunshine. Overall, she counted the day a success. She was relieved and exhausted, but, best of all, excited. She liked her students, and they seemed to like her. For the first time in a long time, she had hope the future was still bright.
The room emptied, and she realized one student still remained at his desk. Israel Packett had snuck in late, sat in the back, and didn’t say much the whole day. At recess, he and the older boys had played baseball together. A lanky teenager of fourteen or fifteen, with disheveled chestnut hair, and scrawny arms that poked too far out of his sleeves, he reminded Amy of her little brother George.
Like George, Israel was a bit quiet. She sensed the boy was liked well enough, as it had been a friendly, boisterous baseball game earlier in the day. Yet, when it was over, he withdrew off to himself. Perhaps the shiner around his right eye had something to do with the subtle distance he kept from the other students. Whatever the case, she was glad he’d stayed behind. Now she might find out about his black eye.
“Israel, is there something on your mind?” She skirted her desk and walked back to him as the boy stood up. Nearly as tall as she, he ducked his head and nodded.
“Yes’m.” He tucked his hands in his pockets. “I mean, no ma’am. Not really.”
Amused by his nervousness, Amy bit back a smile and waited.
“I just wanted to tell you … the last teacher told me I shouldn’t come to school.” Amy gasped. Israel took a breath and brushed his dark hair off his forehead. “That I was too far behind now and I should get a job. I thought you should know, ’case you agreed with him.”
Hope burned in his bright, young face, and Amy’s heart melted. “Israel, I wouldn’t say you are behind. I learned today that the children in this school are at many different levels. If you want to stay and learn, you are more than welcome in my classroom.”
He straightened up instantly with the encouragement. “My pa thinks I can’t do more. He thinks it’s a waste of time, reading with the little ones. But Ma read to me a lot.”
Amy treaded lightly here, not wanting to contradict a father she didn’t know, but crushing the boy’s hunger to learn was not acceptable. “I think a man can accomplish anything he sets his mind to.”
Israel glowed like she’d lit a torch on the inside of his soul. “My ma used to say that same thing exactly.” He grabbed the baseball from inside his desk and hugged it to his chest, breathless with, Amy hoped, eagerness to learn. “She had pretty hair like you. I miss her.” Israel spun and bounded from the room before she could reply.
Amy felt ... exhilarated. Her first day in Evergreen, and she not only adored her students, but thought she might have a real calling here. Especially for young Israel. She watched the boy from the door of the school. He jogged on his way, tossing his baseball into the air and catching it, over and over. Just before he rounded the corner to disappear behind a huge boulder, he stopped the ball and waved. Amy waved back. Grinning from ear to ear, he ducked behind the rock, to follow, she assumed, a road out of town.
All right, Lord, she thought, I’m believing You will bring something good out of what happened to me. Please help me to help these children, especially Israel.
Exhaling softly, she turned her attention in the opposite direction. Toward town. Evergreen was less than a half-mile away but tall, ponderosa pines and one rolling hill blocked her view of it. She listened, but couldn’t make out any sounds other than the birds overhead, along with an early fall breeze dancing in the trees. A lovely afternoon ... yet the quiet, the isolation, began to prey on her nerves, stalking her like a panther. She was alone. Vulnerable. Sweat beaded on her upper lip.
God, will I ever get over this? Can’t I be alone for one minute without feeling like I’m going to faint from fear? Please, God, calm me ...
She’d barely finished the prayer when Susan drove over the hill. She waved and pulled right up to the door. “Your ride, Madame.”
Amy smiled and curtsied, amazed at her relief. “Thank you, Susan. I’ll just get my shawl and lock up.”
Moments later, Amy climbed into the wagon and settled next to her hostess, her good mood restored. She refused to dwell on the irrational relief swelling in her. She needed to learn to be alone again, but right now, she would wallow in Susan’s company.
“How was your first day?” the woman asked, popping the reins.
“Much, much better than I dared hope. I adore the children. They’re all so well-behaved.”
“Good, God-fearing folks in Evergreen. We try to raise ’em right.”
“That’s obvious.” She thought again of the young, mostly eager, faces of her students, ranging in age and education, even cultural backgrounds. She had the German Degrafenfreidt girls, Tommy—an Irish lad, and the two Sanchez boys from Mexico, to name a few. Most of the children helped their parents by working as cowboys, store clerks, and farmers, but their destinies were known only to God. She was honored to play a part in opening doors for them, which made her think of Israel. “I do have one student I’m particularly interested in teaching. I may even tutor him. Do you know Israel Packett?”
Susan’s face darkened and her lips thinned.
Amy was surprised by the abrupt change. “I’m sorry, did I say something I shouldn’t have?”
“No, it’s not you. Not even the boy. It’s his pa. A tough-talkin’ blowhard who drinks too much and hates the world. He’s spent time in every jail in Wyoming. He beats Israel for the fun of it. Ben had a run-in with him just a couple of weeks ago.”
Amy was horrified. That explained Israel’s shiner. Perhaps that was why he was so intent on schooling. An education could be a way out of this town and away from his father—another violent, worthless human being, like the men who had attacked her. Would she have to have any dealings with Mr. Packett?
&
nbsp; “Is the father dangerous?” she asked hesitantly.
Susan pondered the question a moment before answering. “Amy, I know you have concerns. Based on everything you’ve been through, including what happened at the train station, I understand your fears, but I give you my word that Evergreen is as safe a town as you will find anywhere.”
“Then what were those two ruffians doing in town with the marshal in the first place?”
“A posse caught up with them. It just so happened Evergreen was the closest jail. This is Dent’s territory, so he swung by to pick ’em up.” Susan sighed. “How I’ve missed him. We used to see so much of him. He grew up here, you know.”
“No, I didn’t.” Disinterested, Amy studied the neatly painted, pristine businesses on Main Street. A bakery, millinery, dress shop, law office, all perfectly charming, perfectly mundane. A good place to grow up. Yet she saw a threat in every face that watched her, every stranger who stared too long. Except the children. She was comfortable with them.
“You mentioned this morning you haven’t slept well.” Susan clucked at the horse, unhappy with his pace. “Doctor Phillips instructed Henry to give you a sleeping aid if you request it.”
“No,” Amy shook her head firmly. “I’m done with the laudanum. I took it for two weeks and despised how it made me feel. I still have nightmares, but at least not every night now.” Which begged the question of how had she slept the other night? She recalled the moment of breathless fear, of sickening panic, now almost erased by warm, safe daylight. A picture of Evergreen, cloaked in moonlight, flashed in her mind, but she didn’t remember why it was there.
It felt to her like there should be more, something she should remember ...
“The nightmares should fade in time. Are you still having anxiety attacks?”
Hang Your Heart on Christmas: A Clean & Inspirational Western Historical Romance (The Brides of Evergreen Book 1) Page 3