The Brides of Evergreen Box Set

by Heather Blanton

  “Dent is romantic in his own unique way, it sounds like.”

  Again, Amy chuckled. “Yes. I suppose when he gets around to asking me to marry him, he’ll just propose to me in the school or on my front porch.” She sighed. “A safe, conventional proposal. I should be all right with that. I love him and he loves me.”

  “Do you ever have any doubts?”

  Amy shook her head. “No. I have my moments when—” she shrugged, “well, I guess I wish he was a bit more romantic in the poetic sense. In the foolish sense. He can be very serious. And he’s so hard on himself. That’s why he won’t dance.”

  “What? Why?”

  “He made a fool of himself on the dance floor when he was younger and embarrassed the young lady he was dancing with. I think he’s afraid he’ll do the same to me.”

  Audra’s brow creased and she bit her bottom lip. “That’s so silly. I’m sure he could take a few lessons and be fine.”

  “I offered. It’s almost ...” Amy hated to admit the truth, but she couldn’t find a way around it. “Well, honestly, it hurts my feelings a little that he won’t do something as simple as dance with me.”

  “Must not be so simple to him.”

  “Clearly.”

  “Does he show concern about other things that are important to you?”

  “Yes. He’s kind and gentle, and surprisingly sensitive for a man who’s seen and done the things he’s done. This is the first issue we’ve even come close to bumping heads over.”

  Both girls exchanged nods and pleasantries with a group of folks passing by, parents of some of Amy’s students. A moment later, Amy could see the sign ahead advertising cold, hand-turned ice cream. “What about you and Dillon? Are you getting along well? Not that it’s any of my business. Forgive me for being nosy.”

  Audra waved off the apology. “Not at all. I’m glad for the chance to talk about it. I can’t figure him out. He’s a perfect gentleman. Notice I emphasize the word perfect.”

  “Um, and you ...?” Amy felt a bit uncomfortable with the conversation. Did she really want to know if Audra and Dillon were intimate? “I take it, you would prefer less of a gentleman?”

  “We are married, but he’s taking things at a snail’s pace. He says he loves me. I said I love him. We’re married. I’m not sure what’s standing in the way of...intimacy.”

  “I couldn’t begin to guess.” And wouldn’t try.

  “I figure he either is waiting on me, or he’s trying to figure out if he wants to stay. You heard about that, right?”

  “That you agreed to let him go after a year?”

  Blushing, Audra nodded. “The details aren’t common knowledge, but the whole town knows he and I are an arranged marriage. And I know that’s been hard on him.”

  Amy flinched. “I can only imagine.” She pondered Audra’s predicament for a few more steps, and then said, “Maybe...maybe he’s trying to prove himself. To you and to the town.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Men. And they say we’re the mystery.”

  Laughing, the ladies stepped into the ice cream parlor.

  7

  “That’s all you need us to do?” Susan blinked at Dent, her wood spoon paused in a steaming sauce pan. “Throw a party?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind.” Dent grinned. “Next Friday night.”

  “Who would you like us to invite?”

  “The whole dang town.”

  Susan cast a suspicious glance at Doc, standing in the kitchen doorway. The old man rubbed his bearded jaw and studied Dent. “You’re going to ask her at the party, aren’t you? Get down on one knee in front of a crowd. That takes courage. I’m proud of you, son.”

  Dent opted to neither confirm nor deny that guess. Asking Amy in such a traditional manner had its merits, he supposed. And it might come to that if he lost his nerve. His plan, however, was his secret.

  Both men looked at Susan, knowing full well she would have an opinion as well. She laid the spoon down on the stove. “I don’t know, Dent. You sure she wouldn’t prefer something more private? More intimate? Like a buggy ride in the moonlight?”

  “I’m not sure of anything anymore.” He certainly would have preferred this not get so complicated, but he’d come to the conclusion love was not ever going to be simple. He twirled his hat in his hands. “I wish I could just take her for a buggy ride and ask her without an audience, but I don’t think that would—I mean, I think have something … to prove to her.”

  “What’s that?” Doc asked. “What have you got to prove?”

  Dent thought about it for a moment. “Well, you’d think it would be enough that I would take a bullet for her. Pastor told me even Jesus Himself said there was no greater love than for a man to lay down his life for another person.” He shook his head, mystified by the way a woman’s mind worked. “But for offering marriage, that just doesn’t seem to be enough.”

  Susan leaned forward, her eyes shining with excitement. “Why? What do you have planned?”

  “Thank you for your help.” Dent dropped his hat back in place. “I’m heading out. Got some place to be.”

  “Amy and the library?” Doc asked.

  Dent didn’t want to lie. “Not tonight. I’ve got some business to attend to.”

  “I wouldn’t leave her alone with that fella too much,” the old physician warned.

  “You think he could steal her in a week?” Dent was only half-kidding. Was this a harebrained idea and should he be more worried about tending to Amy than this proposal?

  “No,” Susan said firmly, bending down to check something in the oven. “Not in a week. Not in a lifetime.”

  Amy checked her mail once a week on Fridays. It seemed a lighthearted thing to do to usher in the weekend, and if she had anything, she could make time Saturday morning to answer. The letter the postmaster handed her piqued her curiosity.

  She thanked him and wandered outside, the boardwalk squeaking beneath her feet. She caught a whiff of sage and pine blowing in from the prairie as she stared at the handwriting. Rough, scrawled, in dark pencil. Not a refined hand, either. A man’s hand, so familiar...

  The return address was simply Care of Prairie Church, Rifle, Colorado.

  “Who do I know in Rifle, Colorado, for goodness sake?” Curiosity getting the better of her, Amy hurried over to the post office’s bench and sat. Readjusting her glasses, she tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter. After only a few sentences, tears filled her eyes and her heart pounded in her chest as she read.

  Israel.

  Dear Miss Tate, first, if you were worried, please do not be. I am fine. I hope you are fine, too. Maybe I should not have writ to you, but you were so kind to me, both when I was your pupil and when I was in jail with Pa.

  There were several places in the letter where Israel had scratched through words and tried again. He seemed to have made a concentrated effort to spell as many words right as possible.

  I was afraid you might be worrying over me, so I have risked this note.

  I am a working cowboy at a ranch. I have been in no trouble and do not plan on getting into any. Someday I hope to ride back through Evergreen and see you, but that may never happen. I do not know. I am a wanted man there.

  If you would like to write back, please address your letter to the Prairie Church. The pastor here is helping me with my schooling, and he will get me your letter. I read real good now but my spelling needs much help.

  God bless you.

  Sincerely,

  Israel

  Crying with joy, Amy pressed the letter to her heart. Oh, God, how wonderful. He’s all right. Thank You, thank You—

  Her joy mixed with fear. Could she tell Dent? Should she? He’d let the boy go once. Was it fair to ask him to keep this secret from the long arm of the law?

  Until she could decide, it would be her secret alone.

  8

  Dent stared at the new wanted poster, some fella named Cherokee Bob, but his m
ind wouldn’t stop going back to Amy. He laid the poster on his desk and leaned back in his chair. He sure didn’t miss his life of anger and vengeance, of cold meals, cold nights, and hard beds. Turned out, this soft life of policing a small town was all right. Six months ago he would have never believed he’d be doing this—and be so happy about it.

  Amy. She’d had a powerful impact on his whole way of thinking. For years he’d ridden out as a U.S. marshal intent on finding his father’s killers. Over and over he’d hunted down, arrested, even hung criminals—every one a substitute for the murderer. The thirst for revenge had consumed Dent’s every breath, every heartbeat, every bullet he’d fired. Then he’d met a pretty little schoolmarm who’d convinced him there was more to live for than hate.

  There was love.

  Because of Amy, he’d even done the unspeakable for a lawman: he’d willingly let a prisoner escape. A sixteen-year-old boy guilty only of having a lousy father.

  No, that’s not fair.

  Disgusted, Dent pushed back from his desk and swiveled to the window overlooking Evergreen’s Main Street, flowing at a relaxed pace with nice, peaceable folks. Amy had softened him some for sure, in a good way. Letting Israel escape—that was all on him. He’d wanted the kid to have a chance because with a father ready to testify against him to save his own skin, there was no chance. Dent couldn’t see that one arrest through. All Amy had done was get him to accept that the law wasn’t always in the right, especially if the spirit of it was being used to twist justice.

  And somehow all this had brought him ’round to considering God. That a man needed a higher source of wisdom than his own—since his own could be faulty and riddled with inconsistencies.

  The door jangled and Dent looked up and had to hold back a sigh. Yet another opportunity to chat with Dillard. The man pulled off his derby and smiled, but it was a wolf’s snarl in disguise. “Sheriff, do you have a moment?”

  Nothing he’d rather say than no, but curiosity got the better of him. “Have a seat.”

  “I got the invitation to your little party.” Dillard settled in the chair across from him and crossed a foot over his knee. “I’ve tried the patient tactic. I think now I should quit wasting time.”

  “So do I.” Dent picked up a pencil and started walking it through his fingers, waiting.

  “I understand for years you looked for your father’s murderer.” Dillard set his hat on the desk. “Under the guise of your U.S. Marshal badge.”

  Dent didn’t respond. Just kept walking the pencil.

  Dillard lifted his chin, apparently accepting the silence as a sign to continue. “Clues did lead you to a name. Tom Newcomb, an alias for Joe Hayes, a person whom the previous sheriff in this town may have been aware of but—strangely—didn’t pursue.”

  The slight smear of Ben’s name didn’t sit well with Dent. Ben had had his reasons for stopping the investigation. His own son had killed Dent’s father. The man was still at large, but the trail had grown cold and Dent had lost heart. “I thought you said you were going to quit wasting time?”

  Dillard’s lips narrowed at the jab. “Fine. I know who killed your father. I know where he is. I know that you can bring him back to Cheyenne to face justice. You just have to make one little trade.”

  Dent needed a moment to absorb the statements, check the wound that Dillard ripped open. Dent had had almost this exact conversation with Mayor Coker—the man who had shot Amy. Why—how—did these men keep getting this information? It riled him no small amount that peoples’ lives were just pawns to some people. Even more, he was sick and tired of them dangling his pa’s killer in front of him like a carrot on a stick.

  Dent lashed down the desire to beat Jeremy Dillard to within an inch of his life, but the storm brewing in his soul scared him. He wasn’t sure he could hold his seething anger toward him in anymore. Teeth clenched, he leaned forward. “I know who killed my father. Joe, Ben’s son. Coker told me.”

  “But Coker didn’t know where to find him. I do.”

  He knew? Jeremy Dillard, of all people, knew where Joe Hayes was hiding? Fury warred within him. Why now? Why did this have to come up now when he was so ready to walk away from the past and look ahead with Amy?

  Dillard could be lying. But what if he really knew Joe’s whereabouts? Did Dent want to know? “I don’t believe you, Dillard. I think you’re just trying to make trouble for Amy and me. You think I’ll ride out after the man, don’t you?”

  Dillard lifted an eyebrow. “Honestly, yes, we do.”

  “We?”

  “Amy’s father hired me to...disrupt this wedding. It was more fun the other way, flirting with her and all, but she’s quite enamored of you. Solid as a rock. Loyal as the day is long. I’d say you’re a lucky man, only I know you’re about to let it all go.”

  Dent deflated and fell back into his chair. Amy’s father ...?

  Before he could ask the question, Dillard answered. “Because you’re no good for his daughter. He and I both were hoping I could come out here and sweep her off her feet, but, as I said, I don’t think that’s doable. At least not right now. Mr. Tate is a smart man, however. He went ahead and put enough Pinkertons on this case to find your father’s killer. You getting the name from Coker was tremendously helpful.”

  Dent’s mind reeled from all the revelations. He wouldn’t deny the disappointment, either. He’d never even met Amy’s father, but the man had decided Dent wasn’t good enough for her? He pinched the bridge of his nose and gathered his thoughts. Forcing himself to put aside the personal insult, he snapped his gaze back to Dillard. “Where’s Joe?”

  “I said there was a trade.”

  The fury in Dent went from a low boil to an erupting volcano in an instant. He leaped from his chair, grabbed Dillard by the throat and pressed him into the back rest. “How about your freedom for the trade? How about I don’t put you under arrest for interfering in an investigation?”

  Dillard took a swipe at Dent, catching him in the jaw. Dent’s head snapped back as pain rattled his brain. He released Dillard’s throat and jabbed the man hard in the nose. Dillard shook it off and lunged for Dent. The two scuffled, entwined, trading short, painful punches.

  Hate and fear burned in Dillard’s dark eyes. “She’s too good for you,” he snarled, throwing a punch.

  Dent dodged it, but the fire left him. He didn’t want to fight. He just wanted peace. An end to this chapter of his life. He needed Joe’s location.

  “Let it go, Dillard,” he growled. “Tell me where Joe is.” Dent blocked a punch, swung in response, delivering a hammer blow to Dillard’s jaw. The man’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he melted to the floor like a wax doll hit with a furnace blast.

  9

  “Dent, I’m asking this time. Am I interrupting?”

  Dent appreciated the pastor’s respect, and shook his head.

  The reverend settled on the same pew with him, but Dent didn’t look over. He was drawn again to that cross on the wall. Christ had died on that thing. He’d had a mission. A duty to perform. He had prayed for a different outcome, but had followed through when the time came.

  His mission had saved humanity. Who would Dent save if he went through with his? Love and duty. The line between the two—once so sharp and clear—had grown blurry.

  “I’m looking forward to the party tonight. Susan said it may be a very important evening for you and Amy.”

  Dent flinched and dropped his gaze to his hands. He wasn’t sure if the night was going to turn out like he’d hoped.

  Pastor nodded, moving past the small talk. “Trouble in Paradise?”

  “I’ve got that Dillard fella locked up. He threw a punch at me.” Not a lie, but Dent had been the one to start the brawl.

  “Oh, my.” He scratched his chin. “That’s going to come as quite a surprise to Amy. I understand they’re friends.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dent worked his jaw back and forth, wondering just why he was here. To learn from Christ�
�s sacrifice, his obedience? But did duty trump everything? Where did Dent’s first duty lie? With the law or Amy? When did love win? He thought he knew the answer, knew what he had to do. He hoped Pastor Wills could talk him out of it.

  “But there’s something else?”

  Dent nodded. “Dillard said he was hired by Amy’s father to come stop our engagement.”

  Pastor Wills’s eyebrows rose almost to his receding hairline.

  “When that didn’t look like it was going to work, he told me something. Amy’s father hired some detectives. They found my father’s killer. Joe, Ben’s son.”

  Pastor Wills dragged in a long, weary breath. “The man you hunted for—what, eight years?”

  “He knows I’ll go after him. Amy’s father, I mean. Dillard, too.” Dent looked at Pastor. “I have to. Don’t I?”

  “I think only you can answer that, Dent.”

  “I love Amy. More than my own life. I never thought I’d ever find Joe. I had given up. I was willing to let it all go, but I’m a lawman ...”

  “And you have your duty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Duty is not obsession. It’s not vengeance. Are you clear on that now?”

  Dent would never let hate, never let the unquenchable thirst for revenge master his life again. The truth had set him free. He wore a badge. He would honor it. And his fathers: the memory of the earthly one, the love of the heavenly One. “Yes.”

  “Then I think Amy will understand you have to go after this man.”

  “And let her go.” he said, looking up at heaven. Amy had been a shelter for Dent. A place of rest and peace. The thought of wrecking that—her—again made his heart writhe in pain. “I don’t want to bring this tornado—my past—down on her. And what do I tell her about her father?”

  “One thing I’ve learned in all my years following Christ, you can always trust love.” He rested a hand on Dent’s shoulder. “If not anyone else’s, you can trust His. He will never leave you or forsake you. And He’ll help you with these decisions.”