Prisoners of Love Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Hutton , Callie

  She glanced at him sideways. “Do you believe yourself to be one of the unsuitable men, Sheriff?”

  He stiffened at her words. “Of course, I am. That should be obvious to you.”

  “Really? And why is that? Are you a wife beater? Heavy drinker? Gambler? Like to visit the brothels?”

  “No. But I enjoy the respect I’ve earned in this town. I’m not about to incur the citizens’ wrath by taking a white woman as a wife.”

  * * *

  That afternoon, Becky stood with Miss Nellie and Miranda in Miss Priscilla’s Boarding House parlor. The sheriff had escorted them there, did the introductions, and left, mumbling something about being very busy.

  “Won’t you all have a seat?” Miss Priscilla waved to an arrangement of chairs around a small table next to the large window letting in plenty of light.

  A large woman, both in width and height, Miss Priscilla made Becky feel like a hummingbird standing next to her. But she had a pleasant demeanor and a welcoming way about her. “I understand you young ladies are looking for husbands?”

  “Yes, they are,” Nellie said. “So far we have met some men at church.”

  Miss Priscilla nodded, obviously pleased with how they’d begun their search. “Well, I’m happy to have you with us. As I told the sheriff, I have a nice, large room available that will be vacant on Tuesday.”

  “We would be happy to take the room.” Miss Nellie turned to them. “Hopefully, they will have husbands soon.”

  “And you, Miss Nellie. Are you looking for a husband, as well?”

  All eyes turned to the former madam. At first Miss Nellie looked shocked at the notion, and then she shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not.”

  * * *

  It took the better part of Tuesday afternoon to drive the wagon to the boarding house, unload their belongings, and get settled. Miss Priscilla offered breakfast and supper with her rooms, so once Becky had enjoyed the fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and greens, she excused herself from the table and decided to take a walk to the jailhouse.

  Darkness was just falling when she arrived. She opened the door to see the sheriff ruffling through a stack of papers, a scowl on his face, mumbling to himself.

  “Good evening, Sheriff.”

  He glanced up, a bright smile on his face. “Good evening to you, too. Did you get settled at Miss Priscilla’s?”

  “Yes. All moved in.” She walked up to his desk. “Looks like you have a lot of paperwork there.”

  He plopped the pile he’d been rummaging through on the desk. “I do, at that. I really appreciated your help, but each day brings new telegrams and posters. I have reports I need to write, and all that gets pushed aside.”

  “Why don’t you hire someone?”

  “No budget for it.”

  She fiddled with the pen on his desk. “I could work for you.” She looked up quickly. “You won’t have to pay me. I mean, I have nothing to do all day, anyway. And I’m used to working and am very good with numbers.”

  The sheriff studied her for a minute, looking as though he was wrestling with a great problem. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re supposed to be looking for a husband.”

  She waved her hand. “I won’t be looking all the time, for heaven’s sakes. It’s not as though I need to be scouring the town, looking under bushes. There is the dance coming up, but otherwise, my time is free.”

  “All right.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “You can continue with this since you’ve done it before.” He walked around the desk and took his hat from the hook by the door. “I’ll make my rounds.”

  Well, her offer certainly chased him out of the room fast enough. Sometimes she felt as though he was afraid of her, which was silly with him being a big, strong sheriff, and her a little bit of nothing.

  She set to work, thinking about him being big and strong. A flutter started in her middle and spread throughout her body. Since she had to find a husband and the sheriff didn’t have a wife, why couldn’t she marry him? She could work at the jail and bring him his meals when he was busy.

  The more she thought about it, the better the idea seemed. She pictured herself in a snug little house somewhere in town. It would be the life she’d always dreamed about. When she and Dr. Snodgrass drove in his medical wagon from town to town and territory to territory, they passed little houses exactly like the one she wanted.

  She would see women hanging out wash, calling to children, and greeting a returning husband with a kiss at the door. Any man who had shown an interest in her was quickly discouraged by Dr. Snodgrass. He oftentimes told her he could not run his business without her, and she owed him for taking her off the streets. Yet, he’d left her behind without a word in Dodge City.

  Over the years, a few boys and a couple of men had sneaked a kiss from her, but it always left her with a feeling that something was missing. She felt nothing, except a desire to wipe her lips with the sleeve of her dress.

  What would a kiss from Sheriff Jensen be like? His lips were full and looked soft and warm. Maybe she was naughty just thinking like that. Except she would expect whoever she planned to marry would want to kiss her. She would certainly want to kiss him.

  For the next hour, she worked at his desk, trying to keep her mind on her work and off the sheriff.

  The door opened, and the man continuously in her thoughts since she’d met him walked through into the room. “All is quiet.” He walked to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “Isn’t that cold?”

  “Nah. With the low fire burning, it stays warm.” He took a sip and grimaced. “Pretty strong, though.”

  “I did quite a bit of work while you were gone.” In fact, with her thoughts constantly going in the wrong direction, it amazed her how much she did actually finish.

  “That’s good. Thank you.” He gulped the rest of the coffee. “I’ll walk you home now. I don’t want you wandering about after dark by yourself.”

  Becky stood and walked around the desk. “Um, first can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  She bit her lip and, taking a deep breath, said, “Will you kiss me?”

  * * *

  Damnation! Thank God he had swallowed the last of that coffee, or he would have spewed the entire mouthful all over Becky. “What?” He wasn’t even sure if the word came out right since his ability to think and form words had vanished.

  She tilted her head and offered him a slight smile. “Will you kiss me?”

  Hell and damnation, he had heard her right the first time. “Why?” He hardly recognized the squeaky voice that came from his mouth.

  She moved closer, and he took a step back, knocking into the desk. “Because I think I would like for you to kiss me.” Then her expression changed, and suddenly, she looked stricken. “Unless you don’t want to kiss me.” She covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, I never should have asked you. You probably think poorly of me, or you find me unattractive, or not to your liking, or maybe you even think I’m downright ugly, or—"

  Mace took the last two steps between them and cupped her face in his hands. She stared at him, her eyes inches from his. “Close your eyes, Becky.”

  He brought his lips to hers and knew in a flash he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

  A big, big mistake.

  Her lips under his were soft and moist. Warm and sweet. She tasted of coffee and sugar, and sunshine and happiness. When she slumped against him, he released her face and wrapped his arms around her, causing a slight mewling sound to come from her. Slowly, she slid her arms around his waist, bringing them even closer.

  Her warm hands rested on his back. His mind completely frozen, he touched her lips with his tongue, and she opened for him. He swept into the moist cavern, touching her gums, teeth, and her tongue. He swore he could hear the sounds of music playing, or perhaps it was merely the gush of his blood racing south, but in an
y event, he pulled away from her. The only noise in the room was their heavy breathing as they stared at each other.

  Instead of the horror he’d expected to see on her face, she touched her lips with her fingertip and smiled. “Thank you.”

  Thank you.

  In some places, he could be hung for what he’d just done. He started to speak, but his voice hadn’t caught up to him yet. He cleared his throat. “You’re welcome. But that must never, never, ever happen again.”

  Before he was too tempted to make a liar out of himself by pulling her into his arms again, he stepped back. “Never, Miss Becky.”

  She frowned. “You called me Becky before. Why are you back to calling me Miss Becky again?”

  He rubbed his hand down his face. “To remind you, and more importantly to remind myself, that kissing you was probably one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done.”

  He cursed to himself when her eyes filled with tears.

  “I see.” She wrapped her arms around herself and gazed out the window at the darkness. “I guess I’m not much good at kissing.” She looked over at him. “You see, I haven’t had a whole lot of practice. Dr. Snodgrass chased away any man who showed me interest.”

  Now that his brain had re-engaged itself, he smiled at her. “I’m glad you haven’t had a whole lot of practice, but that’s not the reason. I thoroughly enjoyed kissing you. Far too much, in fact.”

  “Then why should it never happen again? I liked kissing you, too. It made my heart beat faster, and funny, good things happened to my stomach.”

  Oh, God, she’s going to kill me.

  “Look, Becky. The reason we can’t kiss anymore is because there can never be anything between us, and you need to save your kisses for your husband. If Miss Nellie has her way, she’ll have you and Miss Miranda married in no time.”

  “Then you can be my husband! I have to get married or go back to jail. You don’t have a wife, and you need me to work in the jail. I wouldn’t mind living in your bedroom in the back of the jail.”

  Oh, God, she would have to mention his bedroom. Her hopeful look tore him up. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her into the chair in front of the desk. “Sit down.”

  Then he leaned his hip on the edge of the desk and took her hands into his, not able to help noticing the difference in their skin. “I am a Negro. A black man. A former slave. You are a white woman. We cannot marry because we would not be accepted as a couple. Hell, in some places, we would be breaking the law by just being married.”

  “Well, that’s just plain right dumb,” she huffed. “Why would anyone care if I married a former slave? You’re not a slave anymore. You’re a well-respected sheriff of an important county in New Mexico Territory.”

  “Yes, well respected, and I want it to stay that way. I don’t want to start trouble in a town I’ve sworn to keep crime-free.”

  “Is it a crime for a black man to marry a white woman in New Mexico?”

  He slowly shook his head, wishing with everything he possessed that he could explain it better. But if Becky didn’t see anything wrong with them together, then no matter what he said, she would disagree. If he’d learned anything in the time he’d known her, it was her tenacious spirit. The only way to dissuade her was to take a different stance.

  He dropped her hands and walked around the desk. Best to put some distance, and whatever barriers he could, between them. “Actually, the truth is I don’t want to get married. That’s pretty much the way of it. Marriage is not for lawmen.”

  She studied him for a minute. “Or maybe you just don’t want to marry me.”

  Yes, she’s killing me. But this is for the best.

  “I’m sorry, but you’re right, Miss Becky. I just don’t want to marry you.”

  8

  Becky studied herself in the mirror. Although she’d never thought of herself as pretty, she had to admit, with the new dress and her hair freshly washed and styled in curls that hung down her back, she did look as though she would receive a lot of attention tonight at the dance.

  Miss Nellie had arranged for a few gentlemen to call on them the past week in the evenings to visit in Miss Priscilla’s parlor. These were men they’d met at church, who the pastor had recommended. They were all pleasant men, two widowers and three unmarried. Miranda didn’t show much enthusiasm for any of the gentlemen, and none could measure up in Becky’s mind. Not when she compared them to Sheriff Jensen.

  They’d spent their days together at the jail, her doing paperwork or going to the café to fetch meals for the prisoners. They laughed together, had their meals together, and sat quietly as they both worked. She never again brought up them marrying, but every time she mentioned another man who had called on them the night before, he would clam up or make some unflattering remark about that particular man.

  If he hadn’t flat out told her he did not want to marry her, she would swear he was jealous. He certainly showed all the signs of it at times, but he kept his distance, and she stewed over why he felt they could not marry because he was darker than her. There were many white men married to Mexican women, and no one seemed horrified at the idea.

  Miranda entered the room, looking quite pretty, herself, bringing Becky back to the present. “Are you ready to go?”

  She studied her roommate who had confided in her that she intended to search for a job while Miss Nellie found husbands for them. She had never told Becky who the man was she had murdered or why the marshal let her leave town with that hanging over her head. Her roommate was a very private person, and Becky had the feeling she would up and disappear one day.

  “Yes, I’m ready.” Becky picked up her shawl and left the room. Miss Nellie waited downstairs for them with Sheriff Jensen standing alongside her. Becky’s heart immediately began to thump.

  The sheriff was a sight to behold. Dressed in dark wool trousers, a white shirt against his dark skin, black string tie, and a vest, he looked like a gambling hall owner or banker. Except for the gun belt slung low on his hips. His eyes lit up when she and Miranda descended the stairs, and despite the fact that they spent all their days together, his presence now stirred her as if they’d been apart for weeks. “Good evening, Sheriff.”

  He nodded and gave them both a huge smile. “You gals look fine tonight. The men will be falling all over you.”

  “The sheriff was good enough to volunteer to escort us tonight since this is our first dance.” Miss Nellie took the sheriff’s arm, and they left Miss Priscilla’s.

  During the week, Miss Nellie had traded in their wagon for a buggy. The three ladies rode in the buggy, and the sheriff rode his horse alongside them. Becky was excited about attending a dance. Her first one. There were so many things young women her age had done that she never had. Hopefully, she would conduct herself the way she should.

  Miss Nellie had instructed her and Miranda—who also hadn’t attended a dance before—on how it would go. Gentlemen would request a dance, and they would accept. If they turned down one man for a dance, they were not allowed to dance that same number with someone else.

  They’d spent several afternoons in the parlor practicing dance steps. Becky felt confident with a few dances, but others confused her and she hoped she wouldn’t stumble and fall all over her partner.

  Would Sheriff Jensen ask her to dance? Would he dance with anyone? Surely, no one would object if he only danced with her. She sighed, hoping his foolishness about them not being together didn’t include dancing.

  They could hear the music a half-block away from the rooms where the dance was held. The building was used for town meetings, trials, and social events, such as the dance and a meeting place for the ladies’ sewing circle. It was a two-story structure, and lights from inside shone out onto the street.

  Ladies in colorful dresses and men all cleaned up and looking spiffy walked arm in arm toward the entrance. Carriages and buggies were parked willy-nilly outside, and about a dozen horses were hitched to the post in front
. She was amazed at the number of people who attended.

  Her eyes look in the scene as they entered the room. A long table had been set up along one wall where cakes, pies, cookies, and lemonade were set up. There was a bowl of some type of punch that the men hung around, which made her believe that one had liquor in it.

  Two fiddlers tapped their feet as they played a lively number. Two rows of dancers, men on one side, ladies on the other, kept up with the fast movements. “Are you good at country dances, Miss Becky?” The sheriff had to lean close to speak to her over the sound of the music, laughter, and conversation.

  “Miss Nellie has been practicing with us all week.” She smiled up at him, drawn in by his scent of soap and cotton, trying very hard not to go up on her tiptoes and kiss him again. “Do you dance, Sheriff?”

  “I do.” His deep voice slid over her.

  She tilted her head, holding her breath. “Will you dance with me?”

  For a few moments, she thought he would refuse. But then he smiled and said, “I will.”

  She grinned back at him. “The next dance?”

  No sooner were her words out then the music stopped. The taller of the two fiddlers announced the next number would be a waltz to give the dancers a chance to catch their breath. Her eyes slid toward the sheriff.

  He looked absolutely scared to death.

  * * *

  A waltz.

  Damn his luck. As the tune started up, he looked into Becky’s hopeful eyes and wanted to turn and run. Run away from her, away from how she made him feel, away from how much he wanted a woman he could never have. Instead, he smiled and held out his hand. She returned his smile, and they moved to the dance floor.

  Taking her into his arms was both a joy and torture. They fit together as if the Lord made them for each other. Then why had He made them so different they could never live together without reproach?

  Deciding to push all of that out of his mind and just enjoy the dance, he swung her into the waltz. He took notice of those paying attention to them, and all he saw were smiles. There was a bit of curiosity on some faces, but for the most part, he and his partner were no more attention-getting than anyone else.