The woman returned carrying a large, flat book and frowning.
“I’m sorry. It seems you’ve been served an eviction notice and the account has been stopped.”
A painful lump formed in Maggie’s throat. “But I can make the month’s entire payment.”
The teller cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. I’ll have to ask Mr. Grant. Perhaps he can explain it to you.”
She sent a nervous glance toward a closed door across the room. Maggie knew Mr. Grant’s desk was behind that door. She had been in his office more times than she wished to remember.
“He’s with someone right now. Can you come back later?”
“Well, I …” Maggie looked at Fred. “The boys have to go to school. I suppose I can wait.”
“We’ll stay with you, Mama,” Fred said.
Maggie opened her mouth and closed it. Perhaps having her fatherless children beside her would sway Mr. Grant, but she doubted it.
“You can take a seat over there.” The teller pointed to a cushioned bench against the side wall. “As soon as he’s done with the auditor—”
“I thought the auditor came yesterday,” Maggie said.
The woman’s face flushed. “He did. He stayed quite late last night and returned this morning. I’m not sure what the fuss is, but I’m sure Mr. Grant will be able to see you after a while. Perhaps you want to take the boys to school and come back in an hour.”
An hour. Maggie couldn’t imagine Benjy sitting still that long. It was hard enough to keep him quiet during church, and he had trouble staying seated all day at school, too—she had apologetic but firm notes from the teacher to prove it.
“All right,” she said.
“Mama—” Fred’s eyes pleaded.
“It’s best, Fred. It could be a long time, and I don’t want Benjy to miss school.” Maybe her inference that he could bear it better would mollify him. “Thank you,” she told the teller. She picked up her money and carefully put it in her bag. Taking Benjy’s hand, she turned toward the door. “Come. Let’s get you to the schoolhouse. I’ll come back and see Mr. Grant later.”
As they walked down the steps outside, a bay horse came trotting up the street.
“Rocker!” Benjy tore down the steps and into the horse’s path.
“Benjy!” Maggie couldn’t help screaming his name, but the rider was able to stop the horse in time. Sam Cayford dismounted and walked carefully out in front of his mount. He scooped Benjy up from where he had tumbled when he realized the big horse was heading directly toward him.
“Now, son, that’s a precarious way to greet a man—or a horse.” Sam grinned down at the boy.
Benjy burrowed his head into Sam’s shirt front. “Sam. I knew you’d come back. Can I ride Rocker?”
Sam laughed and set him down on the sidewalk. “Maybe later.” He gathered the reins and led Rocker over to where Maggie stood, pausing before her and the boys.
“Good morning, Piners. Didn’t mean to cause a stir.”
Maggie could hardly believe he was standing there in front of her. She had not dared to dream of this moment, telling herself he had remembered them kindly but would never return. She tried to clear her throat. Before she could speak, Fred stuck out his hand.
“Welcome back, Sam.”
Sam sobered and shook Fred’s hand.
“You been taking care of your ma?”
“Trying to,” Fred replied.
“Oh, Sam.” Maggie couldn’t help the tears filling her eyes. He looked at her, nearly on her level with Maggie standing on the sidewalk.
“You just came from the bank, I take it,” he said. “How did it turn out?”
“I went in to make a payment. We—we got your letter, and thank you.” Her cheeks felt hotter than the early sun warranted, and she dropped her gaze. “But the teller said she couldn’t accept it because Mr. Grant already sent the eviction notice. She wouldn’t let me talk to him because the auditor’s here.”
“Auditor, huh?” Sam frowned. “That’s like a bank examiner, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s someone who checks all their accounts to make sure everything’s in order.”
“Sounds like he might be just the man you need to see.”
“What do you mean?” Maggie looked into his brown eyes. The caring she saw there made hope flutter inside her.
“Well, I spoke to a lawyer.”
“A lawyer?” That startled her.
“He’s my boss’s lawyer, for the ranch,” Sam explained. “He said—”
The bank’s door flew open and a man in a black wool suit charged out. “Does anyone know where the sheriff is?”
Chapter 10
Sam jerked his chin up. “I saw him over near the mayor’s office. Do you need him?”
“At once. I want him to arrest the bank president, before he gets away.”
The auditor, Sam surmised. He laid a hand on Fred’s shoulder. “Run to the mayor’s office and fetch the sheriff, Fred.”
Without a word, the boy took off at full speed.
“Now, I’m assuming you’re talking about Mr. Rutherford Grant,” Sam said to the auditor.
“That’s right.”
“Where is he?” Sam led Rocker a few steps to a hitching rail and looped his reins over it.
“He excused himself for a minute, and when he didn’t return, I asked the teller. She said he’d gone out the backdoor. I suspect he’s making a run for it, after what I found in his ledgers.”
“How long?” Sam asked grimly, mounting the steps.
“Five minutes or more,” the auditor said as he passed him.
Sam whirled around. “Maggie, does Grant have a wagon or a buggy? Or just that horse he rode out to your house?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “If he does, he might keep it at his house, on Willow Street, or at the livery stable.”
“Tell the sheriff if I don’t pick up his trail here, I’ll cover the livery. He can go to Grant’s house. And get Benjy away, someplace safe.”
So Grant was robbing his own bank, or at any rate, the good citizens of Turtle Springs. That didn’t surprise him one bit. Sam strode to the bank’s door and flung it open.
Behind the teller’s cage, a woman in a conservative gray dress was speaking animatedly to a young man in a suit. Sam marched forward.
“Where’s Mr. Grant?”
The young man just stared at him.
“He—he went out the back door,” the woman said, pointing.
Sam crossed the room, took a quick look into a small office, and continued on to a short hallway. At the end was another door. He opened it on the back lot of the bank that held nothing but a privy and a large wooden barrel brimming with trash. Across and alley he could see the backyard of a house. He went out, checked the privy, and then he walked swiftly along the backs of Main Street businesses toward the livery stable.
The banker stood just inside the barn door, watching the livery owner saddle his horse. As Sam approached, he whirled around, spotted him, and ducked inside.
Chagrined, Sam flattened himself against the outside barn wall, by the big rolling door that hung on a track.
“Grant, the sheriff’s on his way. Don’t try to leave.”
The liveryman looked around at him. “What’s going on?”
Grant seized the reins from him and swung into the saddle. Sam wished he had a gun, but he didn’t. Instead, he put his shoulder to the heavy barn door and rolled it shut. When only a foot was left in the gap between the door and the jamb on the other side, Grant’s horse’s head appeared. The animal squealed and tried to draw back.
“Easy now,” Sam said. He didn’t want to injure the horse, and if he kept it trapped in the gap of the doorway, it would probably start kicking and thrashing. Sam ran over to the horse and put his hand on its muzzle. “Calm down, fella.” He peered through the foot-wide gap in the doorway at the rider.
“Mr. Grant, you’re not getting away. Get off the horse and wait quietly.”
To Sam’s surprise, he was looking down the muzzle of a pocket pistol.
“Open the door and get out of the way,” Grant yelled.
“No, sir.” Sam kept his hand firmly on the horse’s bridle.
The report of the pistol echoed in the barn, and the horse went wild.
“Thank You, Lord,” Sam said aloud, glad he’d ducked at the right instant, but unable to hear himself because his ears rang with the sound of the shot.
The horse had pulled its head back inside and proceeded to tear about the barn, kicking and shrieking. Sam turned sideways and slipped through the narrow gap. Mr. Grant lay in a heap on the wood floor, and the liveryman approached the horse cautiously with a blanket in his hands. Sam moved in carefully, speaking softly to the animal. The stable owner had just grabbed the horse’s cheek strap and was settling him down when the big door rolled halfway open.
“All right in there?” Sheriff Ingram called.
Sam walked over to the door. “I’m glad to see you. Thought you’d headed for Grant’s house by now.”
“I started to, but I heard the shot,” Ingram replied. He peered around the dim barn. The liveryman was leading the horse to a tie-up. The sheriff’s gaze landed on Grant. “Is he shot?”
“No, he fired the gun,” Sam said. “I don’t have one with me. I think the horse dumped him. Went plumb crazy when he fired.”
The sheriff walked over to Grant and knelt beside him. He rose a moment later. “Dead. Probably broke his neck, but Doc Carter will tell us. You all right?”
“I’m fine, and I can hear what you’re saying, so I guess I’m not deaf,” Sam said.
Ingram nodded and called the same question to the liveryman, who was coming out of the stall.
“I’m all right, Sheriff,” he said. “I’m glad to see you, though. I don’t know who this fella is.”
“If I’m not mistaken, he’s Sam Cayford,” Ingram told him.
“Yes, sir,” Sam said.
Ingram extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you.” He looked at the livery owner. “I’ll vouch for him.”
The man looked back and forth between them. “All right, then. We had a little excitement. Your timing is a little off, though, sheriff. I’m going to have to make some repairs in here.” He looked sourly at a broken stall divider and a barrel and some tools that had been knocked over.
Ingram looked around and nodded soberly. “Sorry. Since Mr. Grant’s not going to be needing that fancy horse anymore, I’ll ask the mayor if you can keep it in payment for damages.”
The livery owner brightened. “That’s a good idea. He owed me for two weeks’ board, too.”
Chapter 11
Sam walked up Main Street and paused outside the bank, near his horse. His heart was heavy as he tried to absorb the fact that Mr. Grant was dead. Could he have prevented it if he’d acted differently?
He looked around, but Maggie and the boys were nowhere to be seen.
“Sam! Over here!”
He turned toward the voice. Maggie stood in the doorway of the freshly painted restaurant, looking prettier than a mountain sunrise. She waved, and he couldn’t help grinning, despite what had happened at the livery. He strode toward her, his heart thumping away again, but this time not because of imminent danger. She’d waited for him.
When he walked in, she was seated demurely at a table near the window.
Caroline Kane, the owner, called, “Coffee, Mr. Cayford?”
Sam nodded. “Thank you.” He walked over and took the chair opposite Maggie. “I’m surprised she remembers me. I’ve only ever stopped in here twice.”
“I told her about you.” Maggie looked as if she couldn’t contain herself a moment longer. “What happened?”
“Oh.” Sam took off his hat and laid it on the table. “Mr. Grant, uh … He fell off his horse.”
“What?” She gazed at him with a puzzled expression.
“He was trying to get away from the livery and I shut the door. He shot at me, and the horse took exception. Threw him on the hard floor in the stable.”
“And?”
“Broken neck, the sheriff says.”
Maggie stared at him.
“I wish it ended otherwise, but—well, it was God’s doing, I guess,” Sam said.
She nodded slowly. “That man at the bank—he was the auditor.”
“I figured.”
“He … he spoke to me after you left.”
Sam fixed his gaze on Maggie’s troubled blue eyes. “What did he say?”
“When I told him who I was, he said to come to the bank this afternoon. He said my account is one of several he’s been examining closely. What do you think it means, Sam?”
“Could be good news for you.”
A tall man with auburn hair stepped to the table. “Might I interest you in a spot of tea? And scones?” His heavy British accent took Sam by surprise.
Caroline elbowed past the Englishman and plunked a cup down beside him. “They want coffee, Barden, good American coffee.” She poured the mug full of coffee. “Milk and sugar?”
She shot a glance over her head at the man wielding the teapot and tray of fancy biscuits.
“No, thanks.” Sam had learned to drink it black on the trail, where more often than not the fixings weren’t available.
Caroline topped off Maggie’s cup.
“Here you go.” Sam passed her a few coins.
“Thank you. Enjoy, folks.” Caroline walked away, and the Englishman followed her with his eyes as she left.
“Hmm.” Maggie took a sip of her coffee and met Sam’s gaze. “Looks to me like someone has eyes for Caroline, even if she didn’t want to look for a husband.”
Sam leaned toward her. “Maggie, I came to talk to you about … well, I had some notions about the future.” He felt his cheeks burn, so he picked up the cup and sipped his coffee as a distraction. It was too hot, and he breathed in quickly to cool it before it scalded his gullet.
“What do you mean, Sam? Are you planning to stay at the Pine Tree Ranch?”
“I thought maybe I could work six months or so. I can live on almost nothing there, Maggie. I could send you most of my pay. And after six months or so, we could buy a few cattle.” He clutched the coffee mug between his hands, but it was likely to burn his fingers, so he set it down clumsily.
She stared at him across the table. “Cattle?”
Sam nodded. “Mr. McClure would give me a good price on young stock.”
“I—” She seemed speechless. She took a sip of her coffee and put the cup down. “Sam, after the six months, what then?”
“Well, I—I guess it would depend on whether the bank lets you keep your place. I was thinking you, me, and the boys …” He dared a glance at her. She was smiling, and he felt encouraged to plunge on, over the cataract. “Maggie, we could get married. That is—I mean—would you marry me?”
In the silence that followed, Sam realized the dozen or so diners in the restaurant were hanging on every word. He glanced around nervously.
A woman at the next table said wryly, “Come on, Miz Piner. What ya waiting for?”
Maggie went scarlet. She leaned over the table toward him and hissed, “Could we please go somewhere else for this?”
“I—uh—yeah.” Sam gulped. Was she saving him the mortification of a public rejection?
He stood and waited for her to pass him. Maggie preceded him to the double doors. Caroline stood near the serving counter with a water glass in her hand, staring after them.
When they got outside and the door closed behind them, Sam blurted, “I’m sorry, Maggie. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
She walked on a few steps, around the corner of the building then turned and faced him.
“You didn’t embarrass me, Sam, but I was afraid I might embarrass you.”
“Wh–whadya mean?”
She stepped up real close and put her hands on his shoulders. Sam felt a little sluggish, but it didn’t take him lon
g to realize her intent. He folded her into his arms and kissed her. The shock of it rocked him back on his heels. She was so soft and—
“Maggie!” He pushed her away a few inches and studied her face.
“What?”
“I’ll be able to make your regular payment at the end of June, and the one you missed. Then—”
“Sam, would you forget the mortgage, just for one minute?”
He swallowed hard. “Sure.” Hesitantly, he bent to kiss her again. When she released him this time, he held her close. “I love you, Maggie. The boys, too.”
She squeezed tight against him. “I love you, too, Sam. I know we haven’t known each other long, but I feel like this is right.”
“What about the husband tryouts?”
She leaned back and shook her head, her face puckered in distaste. “I didn’t meet anyone who can hold a candle to you, Sam. I want a God-fearing man, one who’ll care for me and the boys and work hard on the ranch. But I want one I can love, too, Sam. And I can love you.”
Three kisses later, she whispered, “Now, about that mortgage. Would you be willing to go with me to talk to the auditor later on?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He pulled away and eyed her cautiously. “You might not need a husband anymore, if he says Grant cheated you.”
“Oh, yes,” Maggie said. “I do need a husband. I need you, Sam.”
Two weeks later, Maggie stood on the church steps in the warm June sun and straightened Fred’s ribbon tie.
“There you go. My, you look handsome.”
Fred made a face.
“Aren’t you glad, Fred?”
“Awful glad. I’m glad we got the money back, and that we can buy cattle. But mostly, I’m glad about Sam.”
Maggie smiled. “Me, too. The auditor was very nice about it, wasn’t he?”
Fred nodded. “He even said he was sorry the bank did that to us.”
“Not the bank. Mr. Grant did it. No one else at the bank knew he was cheating people and keeping the money himself.” She smoothed folds of the new pale-blue dress she had sewn. “I’m glad you left the shotgun home, too.”
Seven Brides for Seven Mail-Order Husbands Romance Collection Page 15