Tears stung as she realized just how important Sid had always been to her. She loved him. But not the way he claimed to love her.
“Hey there, Sadie. Pretty morning, isn’t it?”
Thad McKane’s jovial greeting intruded upon Sadie’s thoughts. His green eyes twinkled from beneath the brim of his always-present hat. By noon, his cheeks would wear a shadow, but at this early hour they were smooth from a recent shave and still ruddy from his wash at the pump. He stood before her, weight on one hip, with his thumb caught in his trouser pocket. The man always seemed at ease, and being in his presence sent a shaft of warmth through the center of her chest.
She blinked rapidly and offered the sheriff a smile. “It certainly is. Look at that clear sky.” The same color as the little eggshell Sid had given her. Her fingers automatically contracted on the box, clutching it tight against her hip.
Thad’s gaze dropped to her hand. “What’cha got? A present?”
Sadie nodded.
One dark brow lifted, a look of uh-oh blooming across his face. “Is today your birthday?”
Sadie laughed softly. “No.”
He blew out a breath. “Whew. Thought maybe I’d missed something important.”
Her pulse hiccupped. He thought her birthday was an important day? “My birthday’s not ’til September.” This would be her first birthday far from home and family. Except for Sid. She bit down on her lower lip and held the little box more tightly.
“So what’cha got there?” Thad asked, bobbing his head toward her clenched hand.
She lifted the box, pressing it to her apron bodice. “A . . . a memory.”
“That so?” Thad’s lips quirked, raising his mustache a notch. He chuckled, the sound indulgent rather than teasing. “Didn’t know you could carry a memory around in a box.”
Tears again pricked. Sadie ducked her head. “I suppose a person can carry a memory just about anywhere.”
Thad took an awkward step backward. She looked up, surprised by the frown pinching his forehead. He stroked the left half of his mustache with two fingers and then moved another step away from her. “Reckon you’re right. Well . . .” He tipped his hat. “You have a good day now, hear?” He strode toward the café, his bootheels thudding against the wide planks.
Sadie watched after him, cradling the box against her heart. His rapid escape stung. Sniffing hard, she stepped back inside the mercantile and allowed the screen door to slam behind her.
“Sadie?” Miss Melva screeched from across the room. “Somebody’s been foolin’ in these thread drawers an’ got things all befuddled. Need the spools sorted an’ put back to right.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sadie pushed the note and box into her apron pocket and hurried to the sewing goods area of the mercantile. But even as her hands performed the assigned task, the lump in her pocket turned her thoughts inward. The unexpected gift had touched her, but did that mean she could begin to look at Sid as a potential suitor?
16
Thad removed his hat and slid into the tall booth at the front corner of the café, next to the plate-glass window. Over his weeks in Goldtree, he’d claimed the booth as his own—it was the perfect spot to sit and watch folks head to their places of business. The location let him eat and still be on duty.
He had no more than placed his hat on the table when Cora bustled over, her round, friendly face flushed from the heat of her cookstove. She flashed a bright smile. “Your usual, Sheriff?”
Thad smiled in return. “That’ll be fine, Cora.”
“Comin’ right up.” She plopped a thick mug in front of him, splashed coffee into it from a blue-speckled pot, and then rushed off to prepare his two eggs over-easy, ham, and biscuits with butter and honey. The same breakfast he’d enjoyed every morning since arriving in Goldtree.
A few other customers dotted the dining room, visiting softly. They left him alone, though. Some days he wished someone would join him, but his badge set him apart. Folks were willing to give him smiles and hellos, but they seemed uncertain about striking up a real friendship. Except for Miss Sadie Wagner.
He closed his eyes, grimacing. Her comment about carrying memories burned like salt in a wound. Unconsciously, he touched the spot beneath his mustache where a split lip had left a permanent scar. He remembered the day like it was yesterday, although more than twenty years had passed. Yes, a person could carry a memory anywhere, including on his face. He’d grown the mustache so he wouldn’t have to look at the thin white line that reminded him of his father’s drunken rage. But how could he erase the memories from his heart?
All through his growing-up years, he’d borne the stigma of being “McKane’s boy.” If he was ornery in school, the teacher would shake her head and say, “I suppose I shouldn’t expect more. You’re McKane’s boy.” Folks in town watched him with suspicion, anticipating his doing something inappropriate because, after all, he was McKane’s boy. The word McKane became representative of failure, deceit, and immorality.
How many times had Thad ducked his head and avoided eye contact with people so he wouldn’t see the derision or distrust in their eyes? He hated carrying the stench of his father’s reputation. It would only leave him when he’d finally found a way to make his name mean something more. Something good. Something pure.
“Here ya go, Sheriff.”
Thad nearly sagged in relief when Cora’s cheery voice sent the memories scuttling for cover.
She slid a plate onto the table, then pulled silverware from her apron pocket and clanked the fork and knife next to the plate. “Extra butter on them biscuits, the way you like ’em.”
“Thank you, Cora. It looks good, like always.” Thad waited until she refilled his coffee mug, then he bowed over the steaming plate to pray. But instead of expressing gratitude for the food, his prayer turned elsewhere. God, give me the chance to preach—to change lives. Give me the chance to be the man my father never was. Let me find Your approval, an’ give me blessed peace.
Although his hunger had departed, he ate every bit of his breakfast. There’d been too many times in his younger years when he’d gone to bed with an aching, empty stomach. He wouldn’t waste food now. When he finished, he thanked Cora again for a good meal, plopped his hat on his head, and stepped out onto the sunny boardwalk. He nearly ran smack into Roscoe Hanaman, who reared back in surprise, then broke into a smile.
“Morning, Sheriff McKane!” He tugged at his snug collar. “Gonna be a hot one today, I reckon. I decided I could do with a cup of cold buttermilk before going to the bank.”
Thad had never understood the appeal of buttermilk. To his way of thinking, it tasted too much like milk on the verge of spoiling. But he nodded. “Hope it cools you down.” He started to step past the mayor, but the man put out his hand and stopped Thad.
“Sheriff, what did you think of that performance the new little clerk gave in Asa’s opera room last week?” The mayor’s eyes fairly glittered.
Thad understood the mayor’s excitement. Sadie truly had a gift. Why did she choose to use that gift in the cellar of the Goldtree mercantile, though? With a talent like hers, she could sing anywhere. “I thought Miss Sadie did real good. An’ folks seemed to enjoy listening to her.”
“Whole town’s abuzz about that new opera house. I think it’ll be the perfect means of drawing newcomers to Goldtree.” Hanaman clapped Thad on the shoulder and winked. “Between her amazing voice and her pleasing appearance, there isn’t much not to like about her performance.”
Thad didn’t think the mayor’s comments were appropriate coming from a married man. But he wouldn’t say so and offend the one who employed him. He replied carefully. “Miss Sadie is a very attractive young woman with a God-given talent. I’m glad folks recognize and appreciate her ability.”
“I told Asa I’d get someone from the newspaper in Concordia to write up an article about Miss Sadie’s singing. I’m guessing it’ll bring in folks from the neighboring communities. More revenue for Goldtree.” Hana
man folded his arms across his ample belly and squinted at Thad. “And even more reason to make sure the town’s reputation isn’t marred by bootleggers.” He lowered his voice. “You have any leads yet?”
Thad had covered every square inch of the town, listening close to conversations, observing folks’ actions. Although he’d encountered two strangers, drunk and carrying on their own yodeling contest one Saturday night outside of town, he’d yet to see any indication that someone in Goldtree was involved in illegal activities. Help me root ’em out, God, so I can take off this badge an’ pick up my Bible for You. He shook his head. “Not yet.”
Hanaman frowned, but then he gave his head a shake that cleared the expression. “Well, I’m going to take that as a good sign, then. Maybe it was just a rumor after all. That’d be a blessing, now, wouldn’t it?”
Thad offered an idle nod, his thoughts elsewhere.
“Yes, sir, things are looking mighty rosy for our little town, between losing the worry of bootleggers and getting that opera house established.” Hanaman nudged Thad with his elbow, chuckling. “Of course, bringing in outside folks means fewer seats for those of us who live here. We might want to talk Asa into selling a few of us box seats. Maybe the front row. Or”—the man’s face lit, and he waved his fist in the air—“we could have him build in a row of special seats just for box-seat holders along the wall where you were standing Friday night. I assume you could hear Miss Sadie well from that location?”
Thad let his gaze rove up and down the street, his subtle way of telling the mayor he needed to get on his rounds. “Heard just fine from there.” Her melodious voice had wrapped itself around his heart, making him hunger for more.
“Well, then, I’ll speak to Asa. If we had our own seats on that far wall, it wouldn’t take seats away from paying customers.” Suddenly, Hanaman paused, his brow beetling. “It occurs to me I’m making an assumption here. You do want to go to all of Miss Sadie’s performances, don’t you? I noticed you were there both Friday and Saturday nights last week. . . .”
Thad popped off his hat, ran his fingers along the brim as if brushing away dust, then tapped it against his leg. “Can’t say I wouldn’t enjoy the opportunity. But wouldn’t it be best if I stayed on duty if you’re hoping a heap of newcomers come into town for the performances? Some of those people just might be ornery—want to stir up trouble.”
Hanaman blasted a laugh. “Trouble? In an opera house?” He shook his head, still chuckling.
A movement behind the portly mayor caught Thad’s attention. He angled his head slightly and spotted Sadie, broom in hand, stepping out onto the porch. He inched around Hanaman. “You go get that buttermilk, Roscoe, an’ I’ll get to work.” He tapped the tin star pinned to his vest. “Got to earn my pay, you know.”
Hanaman laughed heartily and gave Thad’s shoulder another solid smack. “You do that, Sheriff. But when I talk to Asa, I’ll be sure and have him set one of those seats aside for you. I have the feeling you aren’t going to want to miss any of that pretty young lady’s singing.”
Thad slipped his hat into place as the mayor stepped into the café. He paused for a moment, watching the swish of Sadie’s skirts as she put the broom to work on the boardwalk. A slight smile graced her face, and even from this distance he heard her soft hum—“Onward, Christian Soldiers” if he didn’t miss his guess. As Roscoe Hanaman had indicated, she was pleasant to look upon. But there was more than looks to Sadie. She had a kind heart and a demeanor that put him at ease. He enjoyed her company. And he wished for more than sporadic stolen minutes of time with her.
Thumping his bootheels to alert her to his presence, he stepped onto the boardwalk. The broom bristles slowed, and she angled her chin over her shoulder. Apprehension showed in her blue eyes as he approached, and Thad kicked himself for giving her reason to be wary. But what should he expect after he ran away from her earlier? Somehow he needed to find a way to bury the ghosts of his past for good.
He stepped right up close to her and dove into his apology. “Sadie, I’m sorry.”
She stood silently with her hands curled around the broom’s handle, her big blue eyes pinned on his face.
“I shouldn’t’ve took off so quick like I did this morning. You probably thought you did something wrong.”
Very slowly, her chin bobbed in a nod.
“It wasn’t you. It was the talk about carrying memories.” Without conscious thought, his hand lifted to touch that spot where the scar hid beneath carefully combed whiskers. “I reckon just about everybody holds on to things he’d rather forget. An’ you talking about memories, it . . . well . . . brought one to mind. I was trying to get away from the memory, not from you.”
A sweet, sympathetic smile tipped the corners of her lips. “Then I’m sorry, too.” She lowered the broom slightly. “Thank you for telling me, Thad. I didn’t want to think I’d offended you.”
“You, offend me?” He let a soft chuckle roll. “Not likely.” Then he forced an apologetic grimace. “But I figure my taking off offended you. So would you let me make it up to you? I’d like to take you to supper tonight.”
She looked surprised. And a little nervous. Maybe he was moving too fast.
“Or tomorrow,” he said, “if that suits you better.”
“N-no. Tonight . . . would be fine.”
Even though enthusiasm didn’t color her tone, Thad’s heart set up a double beat at her acceptance. “Well, good.” He jammed his thumb at the mercantile. “You’re done here when?”
“I’m usually finished cleaning up by six-thirty. Then I’ll need to change clothes and—”
“No need for changing.” He whisked a glance across her full blue-flowered skirt protected by a white bibbed apron. “You look just fine. I’ll fetch you at twenty ’til seven, an’ I’ll ask Cora to set aside a couple pieces of peach pie for our dessert.”
Pink stained her cheeks, but she smiled. “That sounds wonderful.”
Thad tipped his hat. “I’ll see you tonight, then. Have a good day, Sadie.” He strode off before temptation to plant a kiss on her sweetly upturned lips got the best of him. And he prayed he’d be able to focus on his job with the promise of time alone with Sadie waiting at the end of the day.
17
Sadie smoothed the stray wisps of her hair into place with a dampened comb and glanced at the little wind-up clock on her bedside stand. Her pulse immediately sped. In only a few more minutes, Thad would arrive. She zipped her gaze back to the mirror to check her reflection once more. Flushed cheeks and bright eyes stared back at her. She pressed her palms to her bodice, willing her silly heart to settle into a normal pattern. Never had she reacted so strongly to the anticipation of someone’s presence.
Drawing in a calming breath, she ran her hands over her skirt—the same one she’d worn all day, because Thad had said she looked fine—in an attempt to minimize some of the wrinkles. She snorted in self-deprecation. She’d need an hour with an iron to make the dress look crisp once more. Hopefully, Thad would keep his eyes on her face and not notice her dress. The thought of him gazing into her eyes with the same attentiveness he’d exercised on the porch that morning brought a new bloom of pink to her cheeks.
“Settle down!” she scolded her reflection. “It’s just a simple supper at Cora’s with the sheriff. It isn’t as if you haven’t eaten with him before.” But her traitorous heart continued its hummingbird’s thrum of eagerness.
Bzzzzzzt! The familiar buzz sounded, and Sadie gasped. From elsewhere in the mercantile, one of the Baxter twins bellowed, “Miss Sadie! Get the door!”
Snatching up her skirts, Sadie pattered down the stairs. A shadowed, bareheaded form stood on the other side of the lace-draped window. A smile automatically grew on her face—he’d removed his hat. A sign of a gentleman, Mama would say. She twisted the doorknob and yanked the door open to find Sid on the stoop. Her smile faltered. “S-Sid . . .”
He offered a shy grin. “Hey, Sadie. You off duty now?”
She flicked a glance beyond him, searching for Thad, then returned her attention to Sid. “Yes. I—”
“Good.” His grin turned sheepish. “Did . . . did’ja find a box an’ . . . an’ note this mornin’?”
Sadie’s hands flew to her chest. She stared at Sid, aghast at having neglected to thank him the moment she opened the door. Mama would be appalled. “I did. Thank you, Sid.” She reached out and grazed his sleeve with her fingertips. “It was so sweet of you.” Recalling his claim of devotion on the note, heat rose in her face. She needed to remind him her feelings didn’t run as deeply as his. Scrambling for gentle yet truthful words, she licked her dry lips. “Sid, I—”
“Well, good evening, Sid.” Thad’s voice boomed from her right.
Sadie turned in his direction, then sucked in a sharp breath of delight when she noted he’d traded his plaid work shirt, brown suede vest, and badge for a white cambric shirt and black ribbon tie. He’d apparently shaved again, too, because his cheeks held no shadow of day-old growth. His handsome appearance made her knees go weak. This was no simple supper. In his mind, this was—
She didn’t dare allow herself to complete the thought.
“McKane.”
At Sid’s resentful single-word greeting, Sadie faced her cousin once more. She tangled her hands in her skirt and stammered out, “S-Sid, the sh-sheriff is taking me to supper at Cora’s. Can . . . can we talk . . . later?”
Sid’s scowl, such a change from his earlier demeanor, made Sadie’s chest ache. But then his expression cleared and he took a backward step, waving one hand toward the sheriff. “By all means. Don’t let me hold’ja up.” Something glittered in his eyes. But not fury. A steely determination. “Since Cora quits servin’ at eight, I’ll just come fetch you then.” He whirled and clomped around the building before Sadie could form a protest.
Thad watched Sid go, then chuckled softly. “Seeing as how we’ve only got ’til eight, we better get moving, huh?”
Song of My Heart Page 13