The Abigail Melton known for being bossy and opinionated looked unsure. Looked worried she’d made a wrong decision. Looked so unlike herself.
“He’s on a three-month probation period,” she offered in defense. “After that, if we are pleased with his performance, he can continue on until the election in November.”
Jane strolled to the front window. Mama often insisted Jane should have been born a male, for then, even with mixed blood, she would have made a mighty Shawnee chief like her uncle Black Bob. To Mama’s chagrin, Jane bore no inclination to be the leader of anything. She preferred to serve in the shadows and let others have the governance glory … and the stress that came alone with it. That wasn’t to say she would turn down any opportunity to be in on the decision-making process, to the benefit of all.
Hiring a sheriff without a lengthy interview process was a mistake waiting to happen. He could be a shark, a villain, a thief. He could have a wife and a bushel of starving children back in Little Rock. Without confirming his references, they would never know.
Jane focused on the view. Through the dusty panes, she could see three ladies blocking the sheriff’s entrance into the mercantile across the street. “Did you consider he may be too handsome for the job?”
Abby sighed loudly. “I didn’t expect him to clean up so …”
When Abby didn’t finish, Jane turned around to face her, but Abby seemed lost in her own thoughts. Oh, to be in her confidence. To be in anyone’s! Not a single lady in town had ever invited Jane over for tea and intimate talks about hopes and dreams. About fears. About why Jane and her family had moved to Turtle Springs. Or how she felt about her younger brothers’ delayed return from the war or about her parents’ work with the Agency of Indian Affairs. Or if Jane minded living alone.
Even with their lack of confidences, she knew Abby would rather be tending to a husband instead of tending to a town. Jane felt the same.
A husband. A home. Her family together again. Their home brimming with laughter like it used to be before the war. The latter would only happen after Jane married. Or at least became engaged. Learning she had a fiancé would send her parents, her brothers, her sisters, and their families running to Turtle Springs.
Marriage to a lawman—what an intriguing notion!
While she felt no emotional connection with Mr. Ingram, and she wasn’t ready to trust him, she was adaptable. Israel Kemp being a missionary had not caused her to question accepting his marriage proposal. The work Reverend Pingree and his wife had done at the Shawnee Mission had led Jane to faith in Jesus as her Savior. So to be a missionary alongside her husband … well, she had been willing.
Marriage was the fertile soil in which love grew.
Of course, it was quite possible God had brought Mr. Ingram here for the sole purpose of being sheriff, and not to marry anyone. Or he could be a swindler.
As if suddenly uncomfortable with the silence, Abby grabbed a sheet of paper off the desk, furrows in her brow deepening. “I probably shouldn’t have hired him without additional interviews or checking references, but”—she looked to Jane—“Josiah Ingram arrived the moment we needed a sheriff. I … you … this town … we all need to give him a chance to prove his merit.”
Because it needed to be asked—“If he doesn’t?”
“I’ll let you scalp him,” Abby said in a deadpan voice, and then she smiled.
Jane chuckled. “All right, I’ll give him a chance.”
“What matters most is his presence will dissuade men from making improper advances to the ladies of this town.”
Into Jane’s mind popped the image of the three ladies blocking the sheriff from the mercantile. “What will you do about ladies making improper advances toward him?”
Abby sank back in her chair, the realization of that clearly sinking in. “As mayor, I suppose it’s my duty to find him a wife. Can I count on your help?”
Jane restrained her smile. “Always.”
The next morning
“Jane Ransome, what has you so chipper?”
Jane stopped in front of the mercantile where Mr. Underwood and Mr. Quimby, in their second-best suits and derby hats, sat on weather-beaten rockers, playing checkers as they did every weekday. She tipped her head so the brim of her hat shielded the sun from her eyes. “Why, Mr. Quimby, I’m always chipper in the morning.”
The elderly men exchanged glances.
Mr. Quimby laughed.
Mr. Underwood gave a sad shake to his head.
Cantankerous yet amusing, they reminded her of her cousin, Cyrus.
Jane shifted her kerchief-covered basket to her other arm. “I will admit there have been a few mornings when I haven’t been at my most congenial.”
“A few?” Mr. Quimby whistled. “Jane Ransome, that there’s an ee-zag-ger-ation, if I ever heard one. Every morning you show up here with pastries and a complaint of how the sun rises too early and shines too brightly. Every gray cloud you vow brings rain.”
Jane grinned. “We can all agree I am faithful and consistent.”
Mr. Quimby snorted and turned his attention to the checkered board. “Not sure how someone who abhors sunrises can see only her own virtues and none of her vices.”
“Pay the ol’ fool no mind.” Mr. Underwood picked up a black disc and jumped it over a white one. He smiled at her. “We’re always happy to see you. What’s in the basket?”
“Apple fritters.”
Mr. Quimby’s studious gaze shifted to her basket. “Fresh?”
“Fried this very chipper morning,” she boasted.
Mr. Underwood leaned back in his rocker. He withdrew a pair of wire spectacles from inside his suit coat. After sliding them on, he looked up at her. “Well now, Quimby, how right you are. Something’s gotten into our Jane Ransome. Her cheeks are red.”
Jane laughed. “I’m a quarter Shawnee. My skin is always red.”
He shook his head. “That’s a blush if I ever seen one.”
Good heavens, was she actually blushing? “Mr. Underwood, I know full well the only way you’d see me better with those spectacles on would be if I were a book.”
“You don’t need to be a book for me to see what’s making you chipper.”
“What do you see?”
He lowered his reading spectacles to the tip of his nose. “What I know is the early-bird-you-aren’t didn’t fry those fritters to impress a pair of meddling old men. And, unfortunately for you, I see our new sheriff escorting Miss Melton to breakfast.”
Jane swirled around. Sure enough, the couple stopped at the door to the Tumble Inn. Sheriff Ingram opened it then followed Abby inside. Jane gritted her teeth. She should have headed straight to the sheriff’s office instead of allowing this pair to distract her.
Mr. Quimby tugged the basket of fritters off her arm. “You’ll run faster without these.”
“Get on over there,” Mr. Underwood said, before he accepted a fritter from his compatriot. “We’ll keep your secret.”
“Well, now I don’t know about—”
Mr. Underwood kicked Mr. Quimby.
“Don’t eat—” She bit off her words knowing full well they’d eat them all anyway. “I’ll be back for the basket.”
Leaving them to enjoy the fritters, Jane hurried down the boardwalk to the best and only restaurant in town. She slipped inside Tumble Inn’s dining hall and found a seat at a table behind Abby. Sheriff Ingram’s attention didn’t flicker from the woman he was exchanging glares with.
“You have an answer for everything,” Abby seethed, “don’t you, Sheriff?”
“Might as well call me Josiah, since we’re engaged.”
Engaged?
Jane glanced around the dining hall. The handful of other townsfolk didn’t seem to have heard the sheriff’s pronouncement, but none were sitting as close as she.
“Well, Josiah”—Abby tossed a napkin in his face—“I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth.”
Jane felt her mouth g
ap.
Now that was the spunky Abigail Melton she was familiar with.
Abby bolted to her feet and stormed from the restaurant, drawing the attention of everyone in the dining hall. In the far corner, Chester Spitts cackled with laughter. Everyone had to be all thinking the same as Jane. Engaged? Not engaged? Which was it?
Sheriff Ingram’s sheepish gaze shifted to Jane. “Lover’s spat. Nothing serious.”
Jane nodded, although he didn’t see her. Couldn’t, not with how he hid his face behind the menu. Because he felt remorse over embarrassing Abby? Over putting her in an awkward position? Jane hoped so.
She motioned to Deanna Tumbleston, who hurried over. “Could I get a couple mugs and a pot of coffee to take to Misters Quimby and Underwood? I’ll also pay for a meal for Chester Spriggs.” The poor farmer needed more than coffee after a night of whiskey.
Deanna leaned close and whispered, “The sheriff says Abby is his fiancée. Did you know about that?”
Jane shrugged.
“Interesting.” Deanna hurried off, presumably to find someone besides her sister, Caroline, to tell the news. While Jane didn’t know Caroline Tumbleston Kane well, she’d heard how Caroline avoided gossip like the plague. An admirable trait.
“Don’t forget the coffee and mugs,” Jane called out.
Deanna waved over her head before continuing into the kitchen.
Jane did know that no one—not even one as handsome as Josiah Ingram—could force Abigail Melton into marrying him. But what did it say about his character in that he would claim Abby was his fiancée when she wasn’t? Or was she? He had to have had justifiable reason for saying they were engaged. What if he didn’t? Jane shook her head, unsure of what to think. Abby had asked her to give their new sheriff a chance to prove his merit. Give him a chance, Jane would.
If she were a fanciful person, she’d think she heard his scalp saying thank you.
Chapter 3
Every good act is charity. A man’s true wealth hereafter is the good that he does in this world to his fellows.—Molière
Wednesday, April 18
Jane shifted on the rocker Misters Quimby and Underwood had placed between their chairs two weeks ago after she’d returned to the mercantile bearing coffee … and the news of Abby and the sheriff’s maybe/maybe-not engagement. Instead of teasing, they invited her into their “overseeing” the town. Their version of overseeing always began with her reading whatever newspaper Miss Chardy Stevens had in the mercantile. Some papers were dated. Some were nothing more than political posturing. This one, fortunately, had only been published three days ago. Whatever the editor’s political leanings, he kept them subtle.
Or maybe Jane thought his leanings were subtle because she agreed with them.
She looked over her shoulder at the sheriff’s office next door to the mercantile. The unopened door and the empty chair under the porch signaled the sheriff was still out and about. Doing what, Jane didn’t know.
“This town needs its own newspaper again,” Jane grumbled, turning to the second page of the Kansas State Record. “That way we know what events are happening in everyone’s lives. Births. Engagements. Things for sale. Relatives from afar visiting.” When Mr. Quimby didn’t offer a “here, here” for Mr. Underwood to second, she laid the paper in the lap of her crimson plaid skirt. Both men were studying the checkerboard. “Are either of you listening to me?”
“I listen when yer reading,” Mr. Quimby retorted.
Jane narrowed her eyes at them. “I have better things I could be doing.”
“Hmmph.” Mr. Underwood moved a piece. “If you leave now, you will miss the excitement.”
“What excitement?”
Mr. Underwood’s gaze stayed on the checkerboard. “The school board is suspending Miss Chardy’s brothers.”
“Booting ’em all out,” Mr. Quimby added, “for being hooligans.”
Jane stared at them, incredulous at the news. How did they know these things? She’d presumed their “excitement” to be in regard to any of the twenty-something men having arrived in town a month before the husband auditions. At this rate, by the time May 25 arrived, there’d be six eligible men to every unmarried lady. Jane didn’t need six men. She needed one.
A horse and buggy slowed as it approached the mercantile from the east. Maggie Piner and her boys waved. Jane waved back.
The trio continued on to the schoolhouse, where Miss Birdie Green stood on the porch, ringing the bell. If any lady in Turtle Springs needed a husband, Maggie Piner topped the list. Twice Jane had privately offered the bank president the funds to pay off the mortgage on Piner Ranch. Twice the man refused. Jane was at the point of believing that greedy man Rutherford Grant enjoyed making Maggie suffer. The loaves of bread and the elderberry jam Jane had left on Birdie’s desk this morning would supplement the little food in the Piner boys’—in many of the students’—lunch pails.
Today, at least.
“Is this suspension supposed to happen today?” she asked Mr. Quimby.
“To-day, to-mar-ree”—he shrugged—“next week. Who’s to say?”
“Apparently you two are who’s to say.”
Mr. Underwood’s laughter drew the attention of several pedestrians walking toward the mercantile. “We report the news, Jane Ransome. We can’t predict the weather.”
Jane looked heavenward. “Oh, dear Lord, why do I suffer these men?”
Mr. Quimby patted her knee. “Good to hear you keeping current on yer prayer life.”
“I—” After an unladylike growl she didn’t try to hide, Jane looked to Mr. Underwood for support, but his attention was back on the checkerboard, so she lifted the newspaper. “The title of this article is ‘Big Cities,’” she said before reading. “It is amusing to read, in the Atchison and Lawrence papers, the glorification of their respective town and of the daily obituaries they write for Leavenworth. Lawrence has a railroad running—”
Mr. Quimby whistled. “Would ye look at that?”
Jane lowered the newspaper. The first thing she saw was Abigail Melton standing at the door to the mayor’s office, directly across the street. She and Sheriff Ingram weren’t engaged—according to Abby. All a joke—also according to Abby. Jane had yet to meet a person in town who didn’t believe the pair were engaged because Josiah Ingram kept saying they were. A man’s word was again more credible than a woman’s.
The unfairness of it vexed Jane incessantly.
She believed Abby’s word over the sheriff’s. Abby had no reason to lie. What nagged at Jane’s soul—at her conscience—was why the sheriff said they were engaged. Everything else Jane had seen or heard regarding him testified to his honor, to his noble character.
Except the rumor.
Jane felt her head tilt as she studied Abby. Instead of the tight bun she usually wore while attending to her mayoral duties, her wheat-colored hair was in her fancy Sunday chignon, wispy curls framing her face. Her green dress looked like she’d spent an hour ironing it. And with starch! Jane had never known Abby to take this much care on her appearance when there wasn’t a special event occurring.
No matter what Misters Quimby and Underwood thought, the expulsion of the Stevens boys from school would never be a special event, even if the school board declared otherwise.
But instead of entering her office, Abby stood there. She stared at something farther down the street.
Jane looked to her right, in curiosity of seeing what had caught Abby’s attention. There, where Main and First intersected, Sheriff Ingram stood talking to a man Jane didn’t recognize. The sheriff stepped back, and the stranger rode off. Sheriff Ingram looked to the mayor’s office then jogged to the Tumble Inn for breakfast, like he did every morning since arriving in Turtle Springs, although this morning was later than his usual time. Not once did he glance Jane’s way.
Jane looked back to where Abby still stood. Still staring in the direction of the Tumble Inn with an indecisive look on her face.
No
wonder the sheriff had seemed appreciative yet apathetic about the occasional baked goods Jane had brought him in the last two weeks. His feelings were otherwise engaged. Did he realize Abby’s feelings for him? Jane had certainly missed noticing them.
Something needed to be done.
While Jane had no power to put an end to the rumor, she could help it into becoming truth. For Abby’s sake.
And a little for Jane’s as well.
Jane stood and laid the newspaper in her chair. “Guard my spot, men.”
“Choose wisely,” muttered Mr. Underwood.
“Jane Ransome, don’t you do anythen foolish,” warned Mr. Quimby.
“I hear you both.” Leaving them to their game, she strolled across the dirt-packed street to the mayor’s office. “Abby, can you spare a moment?”
Abby’s smile wasn’t quick enough to cover the panicked look one has when caught doing something one shouldn’t. “It’s such a lovely day, isn’t it?”
Jane eased between Abby and the door to keep watch for anyone approaching. This conversation was one she didn’t want overheard. “There’s all sorts of rumors going about town regarding you and Sheriff Ingram. Are you engaged?”
“We’re not. It’s a ruse he concocted to keep women from hounding him.”
Jane nodded in understanding. Since his arrival, he’d been hounded all right. Truth be told, hounded was an understatement of what Madeline Foster had done to him after the Remembrance Service. Inside the church! What type of woman kissed a man engaged to another? Didn’t Madeline have standards?
“Have you set your cap for him?”
Abby’s soft-spoken question jerked Jane out of her thoughts.
She couldn’t help but notice the way Abby intently studied her face. Too curious to look away? No. Abby’s question wasn’t born out of curiosity. It came from apprehension. Maybe a little fear. Abby clearly bore fond feelings for Sheriff Ingram. What held her back from encouraging his attentions? Some sleeping dogs—not that Abby was a dog—needed to be woken.
Seven Brides for Seven Mail-Order Husbands Romance Collection Page 49