by Jillian Hart
A faint ring of spurs sounded alien against the background noise of traffic over on the main street and the voices murmuring from the open windows of the neighboring buildings.
""Afternoon, missy." The warmth seemed to fade from the breeze as a shadow fell to a stop over her washtub. Sheriff Dobbs gazed down at her with his thumbs in his trouser pockets, dressed all in black, his tin star on his chest. "Is Deputy Hannigan still breathin'? Or was I right? He looked nearly dead the last time I saw him."
"His fever broke in the night, but he is still very weak."
"Then he's alive?" The sheriff seemed amused by that.
"He most certainly is." She shivered, even in the blazing heat of the day. She had never felt more aware of being alone. No one was in the alley. No dogs roaming, no kids playing kickball or chase or tag, not even persnickety Mr. Grummel from next door and his cantankerous donkey. She set her chin, determined not to be intimidated. "The doctor is sitting with Deputy Hannigan. Would you like me to fetch him for you?"
"Doc Frost is here? No, I don't like doctors." The sheriff rocked back on his heels, considering this information. He stared down the alley as if his thoughts, whatever they were, consumed him. "I came to get what belongs to the sheriff's office. Hannigan's things."
"You mean his clothes?"
"And anything you might have found in the pockets. Any papers, maybe his badge."
"His b-badge?" She lost her grip on the shirt. It tumbled out of her hands and plopped with a splash into the sudsy water.
"I don't want that to fall into the wrong hands." He tried to smile, but it fell short and looked more like a sneer.
"Of course." She shook off her hands, water dropping into the dust as she reached into her pocket. The five-point deputy's star glinted dully in the evening light as she held it on her palm. She'd removed it from his shirt a few moments before.
"That's fine, young lady." He covered her hand with his, his touch lingered a tad too long.
Lila's stomach turned. She jerked back, her pulse thumping like a scared rabbit in her ears. Dobbs turned away, spurs singing. He stopped to look the building up and down, studying the entrance and windows before moseying on his way.
Her pulse roared through her veins and she tremored with the force of it. This was more excitement than she felt comfortable with. At least Burke's secret was still safe. She'd kept her word to him. Relieved, she dunked the clean garment in the rinse water and plunged out the soap bubbles.
She could still see the sheriff taking his time ambling down the alley. Why was Burke working as a town deputy? The question crept into her thoughts as she wrung out his shirt and caught sight of one of the bullet holes. If he was a Range Rider, shouldn't he be out riding the range, hunting down outlaws and protecting trains? Or was he conducting an investigation right here in town?
"Howdy, Lila." Mr. Grummel called out from his cart as he drove by. "Eunice has you doing laundry again?"
"It's the deputy's clothes."
"Ah, that's good work you do. That poor man. Oy." Mr. Grummel pulled back on his reins and his donkey ignored him, stepping forward in brazen disobedience. "It's a wonder the bank hasn't been robbed before this. All these villains running loose. I don't know what's wrong with the world. It wasn't like that in my day. Stop, you stubborn donkey."
Mrs. Grummel poked her head out of the next door. "Albert, is that you? Did you pick up the package from the depot like I asked you to?"
His answer was drowned out by the squeal of the Bellamy kids from across the way. Three little boys, a dog and a ball tumbled into the alley, their calls, shouts and barks echoing against the buildings like a thunderstorm. The donkey brayed in protest.
A perfectly normal afternoon. Lila hopped up the steps to the small porch, where she clipped Burke's shirt to the small clothesline. Over the sights and sounds of kickball and the Grummels' conversation, she upended the washtubs neatly and stowed them on the porch, amazed that the afternoon could still feel so normal when she no longer felt exactly safe. That feeling did not fade until long after the sheriff was gone from her sight.
"
"How is the deputy?" The tray rattled as Lark set it on the edge of the counter.
"Better but still weak." Lila tallied up the last of Cora Sims's purchases. The tangy comfort of chicken broth steamed into the air. "Lark, you are a dear."
"Since Eunice is still at her meeting, I thought I would bring it down and save you a few steps." Lark sidled up and stole the pencil. "Go, take care of him. I can manage this."
"But Eunice'"
"What she doesn't know won't hurt her." Lark grinned as if she knew full well how hard it was for her big sister to say no to her.
It wasn't fair, but she loved her little sister too much to argue. "Let me finish up at the fabric counter. Miss Sims is still deciding."
"I can do it." Lark rolled her eyes.
Lila went around the shelves to the corner of the store where Cora Sims fingered the new shipment of calicos.
"I love a nice cheerful calico. I'm making new curtains for my sitting room."
"This would be very lovely." Lila hefted the bolt off the rack. The cotton was fine quality and soft to the touch. She breathed in the starchy, cottony smell as she set the fabric on the cutting counter. A few tugs of the material and in unrolled with a thump, thump. She admired the dark blue sprays sprigged on the light yellow background. "These will be very cheerful with the sun shining through a window."
"Exactly what I thought. I need twenty yards, please." Cora glanced over her shoulder to check on her adopted daughter, Holly. "I heard there was a bit of excitement in your store yesterday."
"So, you've heard all about Deputy Hannigan?" She gave a few more big tugs on the fabric and measured it against the ruler tacked to the counter, one long yard after another. "Word travels fast."
"I hear the deputy was a hero. He was running to the scene, spotted the robber getting away and drew his gun." Cora shook her head. "I'm not sure what violent thing will happen next. Not six months ago I was nearly assaulted on the street."
"And your reticule was stolen. I remember." Lila smoothed the cotton carefully and took out the scissors, which were snatched from her hand.
"Go on," Lark sang sweetly as she pushed up to the counter. "Miss Sims, if I remember, the sheriff hardly did a thing to that man."
"If it hadn't been for the bounty on his head, I wouldn't have gotten any justice. Rafe, my fiancé, was enraged." Cora waved her fingers in a friendly goodbye. "Take good care of our deputy, Lila. Don't look so surprised. I can smell that delicious broth from here."
"Does everyone know?" she asked as she wove through the store.
"That you're sweet on the man? Probably." Cora's answer sounded amused.
"I'm not sweet on him. Not really. It's my duty to take care of him. I take my responsibilities very seriously." She gripped the tray and went up on tiptoe to give Lark one last glance. It appeared as if she were doing fine folding up the cut fabric and chatting with Cora. No need to worry, and Lark was right. What Eunice didn't know wouldn't hurt. Eunice did not see Lark as capable, but how else was the girl to prove she was able to run the store?
Burke stirred, lifting his head an inch off his pillow as she neared. Had he been waiting for her? Her heart skipped a beat in hope, but she had to be practical. He had probably heard her footsteps and smelled the chicken broth she'd made for him. He was hungry, not interested in her personally.
"You're awake again." She slipp
ed the tray on the barrel that served as a nightstand. "You look better."
"I feel better. Still can't get up off this pillow, though."
It was good to see a hint of the man she'd first met with humor twinkling in his striking blue eyes and dimples bracketing his lean, masculine mouth. A smile tugged into the corners. She wasn't fooled. "Have you been trying to get up on your own, while I wasn't here?"
"Guilty. If I had succeeded, I would be halfway home by now, although it might have caused a stir." He paused to catch his breath. "I don't know where my clothes went."
"Your trousers are drying on the clothesline, but I'm afraid your shirt needs more work to save it."
"Maybe I could buy one from you. I saw a display of ready-made shirts in the store."
"We'll talk price once you are strong enough to stand. Until then, you are my prisoner, Deputy." She grasped the paper packet carefully so as not to spill the laudanum. "Open up."
"I knew this was coming, too." He made a face before taking the packet from her and dumping the acrid white powder onto his tongue. He seized the glass she offered and swallowed fast, but apparently not speedy enough to wash away the taste. "Bitter," he gasped, when he handed over the empty cup.
"This should help." She gave him a buttered slice of bread. His sun-browned fingers brushed hers and a jolt of sunshine spread through her as peaceful as a summer's morning. She tried to keep her gaze from noticing his ruggedly handsome and chiseled features overly much.
"Thanks." He chewed slowly, watching as she filled a spoon with the good broth. He swallowed. "Do you play nursemaid often?"
"I have some practice with it." She hoped he couldn't see the truth. She tried to tuck her emotions away and keep them out of sight. "I have a little sister, you know. Younger siblings are pesky, always needing tender love and care."
"I was the younger sibling, and something tells me you don't mind taking care of your sister so much."
"I wouldn't trade her for anything." She couldn't explain why her hand wasn't steady as she arrowed the spoon at his mouth. She grabbed the cloth napkin to hold it beneath the spoon, where a droplet of broth fell onto it. "How many older brothers and sisters do you have?"
"None."
"None?" Her frown wrinkled with confusion. But hadn't he just said he was the youngest? How could that be unless'¦ Then realization dawned. She recognized the unspoken sorrow in his heart. She knew exactly what that loss was like. "I'm sorry."
"I had an older sister." He winced as if the pain were an old one but had never fully healed. He sipped the broth from the spoon and took his time swallowing.
"You don't have to tell me." She knew how difficult it was to talk about her ma's passing. "I understand."
"I was four years old when our house caught fire in the middle of the night." His gaze caressed her like a touch, lingering on her face. He seemed able to read her secrets written there. "A stray ember from the cookstove may have started the fire. I never really knew. All I remember is startling awake, choking on black smoke. The kitchen was roaring and glowing as if a fiery monster had been let loose in it."
"You had to have been terrified." She filled the spoon carefully, her hand steadier.
"I was. Ginna's bunk was across from mine and the fire was burning her nightgown. I couldn't see her because of the flames and the smoke. Pa took her out first, walking through the fire without thought for himself. Ma was there, too, but she couldn't make it to me. I remember her screaming in pain and telling my father to get me out first before her. So I was handed through the window to my sister and my life was spared in exchange for my parents'."
She didn't know what to say. She bowed her head, thankful at least one life had been saved in such a tragedy, although she wished there had been more. "I lost one parent to small pox. I cannot fathom losing two."
"Ginna took me into the wheat field and held me to keep me from running back into the house. She was seriously burned, it turned out fatally, but she never let go. She never complained about her own injuries. She had to have been in agony, but she walked me to the neighbor's house miles away and only when I was safe did she collapse."
"She loved you. That's a big sister's job." She remembered how curious she'd been about Burke and unsatisfied with the newspaper reporter's lack of information about him. She felt shamed, prying where only sadness dwelled. "Here, you must eat. You need to rebuild your strength."
He said nothing more as he sipped the broth from the spoon she held. Four years old. She remembered when Lark was that age, cute as a button and impossibly innocent. What an incomprehensible loss for a child so young. "Did you have other family to turn to?"
"No, I did not." His granite jaw tensed. "None that I know of, anyway."
"What happened to you afterward?" She refilled the spoon, concentrating on the task.
"It's not something I talk about often." He leaned back into the pillows, exhausted. "But I want you to know."
"You have been through enough with the fever and gunshot wounds." Concern shimmered in the swirls of green and blue of her irises when she shook her head. "No, you must not strain yourself more."
"I'm all right." His throat tightened. It had been so long since someone had been truly concerned for him. "I spent the next three years at an orphanage until I was hired out to work for room and board in the local fields for nine months out of the year."
"No one adopted you?"
No one had wanted him but he couldn't say the words, not to her. He didn't want her to think less of him. The wounds of that time had become fuzzy. He remembered the people in charge of the orphanage tried to do their best but were overwhelmed and underfunded. The families who had hired him had not been particularly kind to the small children working their fields. The boy he'd been, despairing and alone, had learned to cope. He took another sip of broth. "I came to like being on my own, and I like it now. No ties. Life is simpler this way."
"I suppose some men might agree with you." She appeared surprised at his answer and he wondered why. He wished he knew what she was thinking. "You are a lone wolf type, I suppose."
"That's me." He grinned so she wouldn't guess it wasn't by choice. "I don't settle down. Now it's your turn. Tell me about your mother."
"My ma was a lovely woman." The spoon wobbled, spilling broth onto the napkin. "Whoopsy-daisy. I am all thumbs today."
"You miss her still." He knew what that was like, yearning for those who were gone. "You tended her when she was sick."
"I did. Until the very end." The edge of the spoon bumped against his upper lip, spilling hot broth onto his chin.
"Good going, Lila." She rolled her eyes and leaned close to swipe the wet from his face. The tiny butterfly strokes of the cloth were the gentlest thing he'd known in two decades. She leaned back, folding the napkin. "Sorry about that. I get emotional about it even when I try not to be."
"It happens." He shrugged, forgetting about his injuries until the movement tugged at the torn flesh and cracked bone. He wheezed against the pain, pretending all that hurt him was the physical.
"Sometimes I think it would be easier if I never cared for anyone again." She refilled the spoon. Less unsteady this time. He slurped in the warm, tasty broth and felt stronger for it.
"That has been my conclusion," he confessed, swallowing. "Although you don't seem the type to live that way."
"I'm not. It might be easier to keep my heart safe,
but I don't want to go through life with nothing to show for it. Loving someone and being loved is the only real living. Anything else is just existing, just passing time and I don't want to have to explain to God at the end of my life why I wasted all the opportunities He gave me to be loving." She dipped the spoon into the bowl, pausing thoughtfully. "If God is love, then I believe that is what we are all called to do."
"I've heard that argument before." He had a different calling and a path God had set him on. Burke envied the man who would win Lila's heart one day, who would have the right to brush those cinnamon-brown wisps from her eyes and kiss her innocent rosebud mouth. To protect her and cherish her and grow old with her in the security God meant true love to be.
Sharp, heavy footsteps pounded closer like the strike of a hammer on nails. Lila gasped, sat ramrod straight and spilled a spoonful of broth on her flowered skirt. The store owner's wife filled the doorway with flounced skirts and disapproval.
"Lila May Lawson, what are you up to?"
Chapter Six
"Eunice! I mean, Ma." Lila gulped, dismay twisting her gorgeous face as she rose from the chair. The chair scraped harshly against the wood floor. Broth sloshed over the rim of the bowl and hit his sheet with a few fragrant drops. "The doctor told me to look after him."
"There is no chaperone, and do my eyes deceive me or is Lark running the store? You left a child in charge of the mercantile?" The pleasantly plump woman turned most unpleasant as she snatched the bowl from Lila. "I have serious doubts about your judgment, young lady. Now back to work. I want the entire store dusted. You are to send Lark upstairs to work on her needlepoint. And don't look at me like that, or I will have a talk with your father."