“You really think so, Miss Tate?”
“I do indeed.”
Unexpectedly, Israel said, “I wish my ma could have met you. She would have liked you.”
Amy smiled, but inside, her heart shattered for the boy. “I’m sure I would have liked her too. I have a little brother. George is his name. You remind me so much of him … and I miss him.”
“He ain’t a live no more?”
“No, he’s fine, he’s just back home in Ohio.”
A shuffling noise at the door brought them round. Mayor Coker strolled his large, muscular frame through the door, tapped his cane on the floor, and grinned at them. “Good afternoon, Miss Tate.” His smile faded. “Israel.” The mayor removed his hat. “Son, I need to have a word with your teacher there. Why don’t you run along?”
Amy’s stomach rolled and she squeezed Israel’s arm, hoping he wouldn’t move. “I’m sorry, Mayor, I’m tutoring Israel, and this is the only time we have available. If I had known you were coming ...”
Mayor Coker’s face darkened, but he smiled again, in spite of what he obviously thought was a lack of cooperation. “Well, I see; then, perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I wait.”
“Wait?” Amy prayed for some way of getting the man out of here. “I have an idea, Mayor; what about dinner?”
“Dinner?” His face brightened.
“Yes. And you could invite the members of the town council whom I haven’t met yet. And any other town officials.” The sheriff, of course, came to mind, but she couldn’t come up with a way to suggest inviting him without sounding as if she wanted his company. But she did. Especially if she had to be around the mayor.
Mayor Coker slipped his hat on. “That’s a fine idea. I’ll arrange it. Let’s say seven?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Dent had flirted briefly with the idea of heading out to the ranch for a cold dinner and some solitude, but Susan’s cooking was just too good to pass up. The smells of stew, cornbread, and apple pie convinced him he’d made the right decision taking Doc up on the invitation. He settled at the table once more, and tried to ignore the nagging idea that he was really there to see Miss Tate. In a month of dinners together with the Woodruffs, he hadn’t had much to say to her, but the feel of her pressed against him … all warm and soft and curvaceous and smelling like roses. Well, suffice it to say he was fighting some new ideas about the schoolteacher.
But he was a man, and it was only natural to be a little attracted to the woman. She was pretty, after all. He had a handle on this, he assured himself. When the time came, he would head out of Evergreen. No backward glances, no regrets.
He scooped a heaping helping of roast onto his plate and dropped the ladle back into the pot. “You know, it’s not part of my deal, Susan,” he licked some broth off a knuckle. “You don’t have to feed me every night. I can go to the ranch or eat at Milly’s Café, but I sure do prefer your cookin’.”
She dismissed him with a wave of her napkin. “I’m glad. I like having you and Amy around.”
“Amy, huh? That her first name?” All this time, he’d never known her first name, never bothered to ask it. Hadn’t caught it at the dinner table when Susan used it. He liked it. The name fit her. He took a bite of roast and asked casually, “Soooo, where is Miss Tate tonight? I guess she’ll be eating in her cabin from now on?”
He thought he heard Doc chuckle or snort; he wasn’t sure. Dent frowned at the old man. Getting the message, his friend scooped up some of the beef and lowered his head, but Dent saw the smile nonetheless.
“She’s eating with the mayor tonight.” Grimacing, Susan buttered a cornbread muffin.
“The mayor?” Dent heard the disapproval in his own voice and lamented it.
“She didn’t want to go,” Susan dipped her bread in the stew, “but it was that or meet privately with him.”
“Privately?”
Doc chuckled, more openly this time. “You sound like a parrot.”
Dent tightened his jaw and held his peace; at least to Doc. “How did she get there? And how is she going to get home?” he asked slowly.
Doc busted out laughing, but squashed it when he saw Dent’s and Susan’s dour expressions. “Hmmm. Excuse me,” he tossed his napkin on the table and stood up. “Believe I’ll get that pitcher of buttermilk from the kitchen.”
His shoulders shook as he left the table. Doc’s good humor was not contagious, and Dent intended to talk to the old man about it.
“Henry dropped her off, but I was hoping you’d fetch her.”
He swung back to Susan. “This isn’t New York City, and I’m not a cab.”
“You took her home last night. What makes tonight different? Just because she’s at the mayor’s?” She waved an accusing spoon at him. “Can you honestly say you have something more important to do than escort a lady home?”
...In the dark, of which she’s terrified, and out of the clutches of a scoundrel? Dent sagged, chastised by Susan’s question. “Reckon I’ve got time.”
“Good.” Relieved, Susan dipped her spoon, then lifted it to her lips and blew off the steam. “I thought you might get into a habit. Of walking her home, that is.”
“I don’t know about a habit, but I sometimes start my rounds at that end of town.”
Doc guffawed from the kitchen. Susan quickly took the bite of her soup. Dent didn’t miss the joke and at whose expense. He squeezed the spoon so tightly in his hand, he could feel it bending. “Doc, if you’ve got something to say, I wish you’d just say it and quit all this snickerin’ and gigglin’.”
“All right, fine,” the old man yelled, bursting into the dining room, carrying his pitcher of buttermilk. “I’m tired of seeing your sorry face at my table every night. Why don’t you eat at Milly’s Café tomorrow night and take Miss Tate with you?”
Dent’s mouth literally fell open. “Why would I do that?”
This time, Susan joined in the laughter with her husband.
Dent mounted Ginger, his broad-chested sorrel, and trotted the two blocks to the mayor’s house ... stewing the whole way. He did not like being the butt of Doc’s jokes. If he hadn’t known the Woodruffs his whole life, he would have given them some strongly-worded reminders about staying out of his business.
Maybe Miss Tate was a bit of a distraction. That was all. She’d grown on him some, but not in any way that mattered a wit to his plans. He realized it had barely been a month, but he could feel Evergreen trying to draw him back home. Or maybe it wasn’t the town.
It doesn’t matter. I’m not staying.
Pa’s killers were still out there, and he finally had some legitimate clues to follow.
He pounded on the door, rattling it on its hinges. Embarrassed by his heavy hand, he faded off. Momentarily, a gray-haired, round-faced black woman opened the door and grinned at Dent, bright white teeth glowing against her ebony skin. “Why, Mister Hernandez, what a pleasant surprise.”
Dent jerked his hat off and grinned at the old woman. “Matilda. It’s been a long time.”
“Too long,” she slapped him on his shoulder, “Good to see you, son. Come on in.”
Dent had never been inside the mayor’s mansion, but he’d heard whispers about the opulence of it. He surveyed the lavishly-furnished, antebellum-style home, and whistled. Light from the massive chandelier overhead sparkled and glimmered, casting an almost hypnotic light on the grand foyer. The rumors were true. Persian rugs covered the intricate, inlaid wood floors. Fine paintings and animal trophies adorned the walls. Exquisite furniture filled the rooms.
Matilda followed his appraisal of the home and nodded. “Yep, Mayor Coker don’t do nothin’ on a small scale.”
“I can see that.”
“Well, let me fetch him for ya.”
“No ma’am,” he answered too fast, twirling his hat in his hands, but the last person he wanted to see was the mayor. This house, his extravagant wealth, bothered him. “No, I mea
n, I’m here to pick up Miss Tate. She requested an escort home.”
Matilda smiled knowingly. “Smart girl. I’ll let her know you’re here.”
The housekeeper shuffled down the hall, and Dent again took in the stunning decadence of the abode. Evergreen had been good to the man. Too good. He had to wonder at the amazing fortune.
“Sheriff,” Mayor Coker called gaily, swaying slightly as he strode down the hall, half-empty liquor glass in hand. “What a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?”
Matilda apologized with a shake of her head and disappeared through a door. Dent steeled himself against the annoying man and smiled. “Mayor, I came for Miss Tate.”
Coker grabbed Dent’s shoulder and breathed whiskey in his face. “You want her, do you?” He wiggled his eyebrows and leaned in conspiratorially. “So do I, and, being the mining expert that I am, I’m quite sure I’m the man to plumb those depths—”
Dent smacked the man’s hand away. “You need to hobble that mouth of yours ... Mayor.”
Coker’s jaw clenched. “Your suggestion, though dazzling in its candor, has no bearing on my point.” He leaned in, swaying a little, and again clutched Dent’s shoulder. “Perhaps I can grease the wheels with that judge and get you out of here a little faster. I mean to have Miss Tate and I mean for you to get out of the way.”
The comments blindsided Dent. He had no idea why the mayor was running off at the mouth like this, or speaking so crudely of Miss Tate. He suspected the man couldn’t hold his whiskey. But reasons didn’t matter at the moment. “Coker, you’re the mayor of this town, but if you say one more ungentlemanly thing about Miss Tate—” he went almost nose-to-nose with the man, “I will arrest you for public drunkenness.”
Coker’s face darkened and he drew back. “You can’t arrest me for that in my own home.”
“Who said you’d be in your home?” The two men stared at each other, engaged in a war of wills. “And I’ll tell you something else. Lay your hand on me again, and you will meet with an accident—in your own home.”
The mayor licked his lips and inched back. “Just like your father. He didn’t know when to back down either.”
Dent straightened. “What do you mean by that?”
Coker waved his glass. “I know the story. He and Ben were outgunned and outnumbered, but they fought anyway. A smart man knows when he’s licked, Dent. I thought you were smart.”
“What are you talking about?” Dent asked carefully. He had the disorienting feeling he’d walked into a conversation with the mayor that had been going on for a long time already.
Suddenly Coker’s icy demeanor thawed and he grinned charmingly, just as easily as the wind changing direction. “Dent, this isn’t how I want things between us. For the time that you’re here, we have to work together. I know you can’t get out of Evergreen fast enough. Stay away from Miss Tate, sell me your ranch, and I’ll do everything I can to see that you leave quickly ... and smoothly.”
Dent dropped a hand to his hip and cocked his head to one side. “I have no idea why we’re talking about Miss Tate. What’s more, I have no idea why you’d think I’d sell you Ben’s ranch.”
Coker smiled again, but it melted into an indolent sneer. “I got your Pa’s ranch. I’ll get Ben’s.”
Dent tried to absorb what felt like a kick to his guts. “What do you mean, you’ve got Pa’s ranch?”
Coker staggered back a step and waved his hand dismissively. “I bought it from that fool you sold it to. Kilkenny ran that place into the ground in less than a year.”
“You going into ranching?” Pa’s spread wasn’t big enough for a real, money-making operation, not like the kind this tinhorn would want. Combining it with Ben’s might make it more attractive, but there were other, bigger ranches around.
Before Coker could answer, Dent heard the swish of a skirt. Hands folded demurely at her waist, Miss Tate approached the battlefield hesitantly. “Gentlemen?” Coker wheeled around. “Mayor, thank you for a lovely evening, and for the introductions, but I’ll be leaving now.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The shadows of trees along the empty street swayed eerily with the chilly fall breeze. Amy pulled her wool coat a little tighter, but for warmth, not because she was afraid. Well, she was ... a little. While this particular trek was new to her, all the neighborhoods she’d seen in Evergreen were as pretty as a Currier and Ives card, mysterious shadows notwithstanding. And the man beside her engendered an undeniable feeling of security.
She risked a quick peek at the lawman. Sheriff Hernandez, his horse in tow, fairly stalked and stewed as they ambled toward her cottage. His brooding expression, difficult to discern in the darkness beneath the brim of his hat, was clear enough from his hunched shoulders and heavy steps. She assumed his dark mood had more to do with the mayor than her ... but what if it didn’t? What if he didn’t like being a nanny? The man had walked her home last night, checked to make sure the cabin was safely empty, and walked the grounds before departing. Lord, he did everything but tuck me in bed.
Perhaps he found the duty as demeaning as participating in the pumpkin carving contest.
Convincing herself that she was more the cause of his mood than Mayor Coker, Amy determined to release the sheriff. And the Woodruffs as well, who escorted her everywhere when the sheriff wasn’t available. She had to get past her ridiculous fears. “Sheriff Hernandez, I’ve been thinking. I’m such a burden on your time—”
“You’re no burden, ma’am,” he said, with all the enthusiasm of a man off to visit the dentist.
She deflated. “Well, that’s kind of you to say, but I’m a grown woman and I’m dealing with my fears. You needn’t ... occupy yourself with me.”
His head jerked up. “I take it you would prefer to have the mayor escort you home?”
“What?” she choked out, stopping abruptly and rounding on him. “Oh, good grief, no. You misunderstand me, Sheriff. Perhaps I shouldn’t say it, but, frankly, I find the mayor boorish and overbearing.” She thought she saw a slight relaxation of his shoulders then, and his chin lifted. Something seemed to hang in the air between them, but, in the darkness, she could not read his face to make any guesses. Pushing past the awkward moment, she resumed walking. “I do think his wife, May Beth, is lovely, though.” Then the deeper implication of his statement hit her. Angry, she snagged his arm and they both stopped again. “Wait just a moment. What do you mean by assuming I would want that oaf to walk me home? He’s a married man. What kind of a woman do you think I am?” Her voice rose with her anger as she took a step toward him, wagging a finger in his face. “Clearly, I don’t need to ask, if that is your assumption.”
“Ma’am … Miss Tate,” he stepped back from her and raised his hand, “I did not mean to insinuate ... I only meant ... that is ...”
Amy doubted he could see her face in this darkness, but he could see her hands on her hips, a rapidly tapping toe, and her chest rising and falling like she’d run a mile. He couldn’t be so dense as to not understand how deeply he’d offended her. “You only meant what?”
“Well, he has a reputation with women, I hear. Those pearly white teeth of his and that big mansion—”
“I am not a … a prostitute, Sheriff Hernandez.”
She did see the whites of his eyes then, as they nearly bugged out of his head and he snatched his hat off his head. “Miss Tate, I deeply regret that you think that I was insinuating anything like that. I would never ...”
Stomping her foot, Amy growled at the man and charged off into the darkness. “You are your own comedy of errors, Sheriff.”
Dent stood there for a moment, staring up at the starry sky. Rolling his hat around in his hands, he wished the early October breeze would blow away his embarrassment. He caught a whiff of her magical perfume and hung his head. He didn’t figure a thing he could say was going to fix this blunder, but he couldn’t call himself any kind of a man if he didn’t at least offer a f
ull-throated apology.
He rushed to catch up with her, and matched her gait. “Miss Tate, I am not the most eloquent man. You could argue I’m about as gifted at talking to a woman as a chicken is to flying, but,” he raised his voice and spoke firmly, “I did not mean to imply anything untoward about your character or reputation. I am truly sorry for the offense I’ve caused.”
Dent stopped. Miss Tate took several more steps before she finally slowed down then stopped as well. Slowly, she turned back to him. She cocked her head to one side and he heard her huff a frustrated breath. He drummed his fingers on his leg, sure she was waiting for him to say more. Fine. Eat a little crow. He’d insulted the woman; pretty badly, actually.
“If you are not interested in the mayor’s company, Miss Tate, it would be my pleasure to walk you home.” Her continued stubborn silence both annoyed and worried him. “It’s no burden. You are no burden.” Oh, hang it all, he thought. She was a woman, and she needed some pretty words to soothe that ego. “Miss Tate, would you ... accept my apology over dinner one night? I mean, would you allow me to escort you to a real restaurant?” His mouth nearly fell open at the request. It had leaped forth from his mouth almost as if, somehow, his brain had bypassed his will.
But her shoulders softened and the rod went out of her back. Feeling it was safe to approach her, he ambled closer, close enough to see the slight smile on her face as she asked, “A real restaurant?”
Dent’s relief at the truce surprised him. Unable to back out, wondering if he would even if he could, he shrugged a shoulder. “Yes ma’am. Milly’s. Maybe tomorrow ni—” He shook his head. Cheyenne. “I’m sorry, maybe Saturday? I’ve got to go to Cheyenne for a couple of days.”
“Cheyenne again?” she touched her lips, “Oh, that is none of my business.”
“Just some legal work.” He shook his head, disinclined to mention the reason for his presence at another hanging. “But I should be back late Thursday night. Would Friday evening be agreeable?”
Hang Your Heart on Christmas: A Clean & Inspirational Western Historical Romance (The Brides of Evergreen Book 1) Page 8