A Love to Heal a Broken Heart: An Inspirational Historical Western Romance Book

by Lilah Rivers

  Not wanting to go behind the back of his faithful and loyal deputy, it occurred to Scott that he was the sheriff, after all, and to deliberately not greet a new guest of two of his stalwart citizens might be misconstrued.

  No harm in saying hello, Scott decided, taking a few fateful steps across the street and toward the train station.

  Chapter 10

  Jodi walked off the platform with Amy, Clinton, and the porter, to load her trunk onto the Burnett family carriage. Looking around, she noticed a tall man approaching with a sheriff’s badge pinned to his leather vest. He was well built and very handsome, blue eyes glancing out from under curly black hair. He seemed to be looking right at her as he neared, but Jodi was quick to assume that was just wishful thinking.

  It also occurred to her that while he may be attractive, being a sheriff meant he could be corrupt, duplicitous, dangerous… even deadly. And there was no doubt about it; he was looking right at her and walking toward her party.

  “Clinton Burnett,” he called out in a low, strong voice with a just a flex of friendly intent, “and his lovely wife Amy.”

  The both turned, Jodi standing on protocol and saying nothing. Amy said, “Sheriff, nice to see you again.” She turned to indicate Jodi, who stood next to her. “Sheriff Scott Covey, this is my very best friend, Jodi Hoffman, in from Rhode Island to stay with me during my pregnancy.”

  “I heard of that,” the sheriff told her, “congratulations.” He turned to Jodi and tipped his hat. “Miss Hoffman.”

  “Sheriff Covey,” Jodi answered with a very vague curtsy, little more than a nod.

  “Welcome to Angeldale,” Scott said, and Jodi smiled and nodded again. He turned to Clinton. “A word, if I may?”

  “Of course.”

  Jodi allowed herself to take in the sheriff’s tall, lean frame, narrow waist tapering up into broad shoulders and long, muscular arms. He had an easy posture, like he was very at home with his body, with his place, with his life.

  Scott said, “We’ve had complaints from Jack Mulligan about rustlers. You haven’t had any trouble like that?”

  “I’d have come straight to you if I had,” Clinton assured him.

  “Good to know,” Scott answered. “Too many vigilantes in these parts. We have the law for a reason.”

  “Very good reason,” Amy put in. Jodi’s eyes were lingering on the sheriff’s body, his face; there was something else about him she found intriguing, even captivating. He had a certain gravitas, a strong and silent type of man.

  And there was no wedding ring on his finger.

  “You know Mulligan,” Clinton was saying to Scott, “he likes his whiskey, and his livestock are prone to disease. Frankly, if he drank a bit less and kept a cleaner homestead—”

  “I know, I know. I’m just making sure. That is my job, after all.”

  “No problem at all,” Clinton replied. “Happy to support our local law. And if we see anything suspicious, I’ll ride in, let you know.”

  Jodi only noticed then that Amy was looking right at her with a secret half-smile that she knew well. Jodi looked down at the ground, but it was too late. Amy had seen her eyeing the sheriff, and she was clearly pretty amused about it. Jodi only hoped she wouldn’t bring it up.

  But then, Amy said to the sheriff, “And if there’s anything else we can do for you, Sheriff… perhaps a nice, home-cooked meal back at our place.” She shot Jodi a mischievous glance before adding, “You’ll always be welcome.”

  Scott nodded and tipped his hat. “That’s very gracious of you.”

  Amy said, “Not at all. We’re only sorry we don’t see more of you, spending so much time on the ranch.”

  Scott smiled. “I imagine you’ll stay in more and more as the months proceed. I’ll make sure to pop in and see you’re doing well.” He glanced at Jodi. “Both of you.”

  Jodi said nothing, hoping her cheeks weren’t blushing too brightly.

  Clinton said to the sheriff, “Our door’s always open. But in the meantime, we’ve got a lingering invitation we haven’t even fulfilled yet. What must our guest think, coming all the way out here to spend the day standing in front of the train station.”

  “Oh, it’s …” But Jodi let herself trail off, already feeling she’d said too much and too quickly. “It’s fine, I understand.”

  Amy shot Jodi a look that said, so do I.

  They didn’t speak of it on the carriage ride heading out of town to the Burnett’s ranch, only about twenty minutes from the train station. When they arrived, one of Clinton’s hands—a Mexican with a little mustache who looked about eighteen—ran out to greet them.

  “Gimme a hand, Pedro.”

  “Si.”

  Clinton and his hand took the trunk down from the carriage and carried it together to a small guest bedroom in a far corner of the house. The place was very nicely decorated, whitewashed wood and black shingles, furnished with what looked like the best local handiwork.

  Clinton and Pedro disappeared to let Amy and Jodi spend some time together and unpack her things.

  They hung up her dresses and put away some of the other items she’d brought—toiletries, underthings, several different pairs of shoes, even some cosmetics, though she barely used any.

  “So,” Amy said, “what did you make of our little town?”

  Jodi already knew what Amy was getting at. “Quite nice,” was all she said in return.

  “Yes,” Amy agreed, “it really is… quite nice, I mean.” When Jodi nodded, Amy continued, “Our little town, I mean.”

  “That’s how I took it,” Jodi assured her, filling a drawer with her stockings.

  After a few dubious minutes more, Amy spoke up again. “And our sheriff, he’s… quite nice, as well. Wouldn’t you say?”

  Jodi would, but she didn’t want to.

  “He’s an excellent sheriff,” Amy carried on,“keeps the peace in Angeldale almost singlehanded.”

  “Impressive,” Jodi replied, unable to think about anything other than his handsome face, impressive presence, that indescribable something she just couldn’t deny.

  “He really is,” Amy agreed, adding, “As a sheriff, I mean.” Jodi once again took the opportunity not to answer. “And he’s single.”

  “Amy—”

  “Don’t Amy me, Jodi. I saw the way you were looking at him, like a dog looks at a ham.”

  “Amy!”

  “It’s all right, he’s… he’s very attractive, and a good man by all accounts. He’s honest, forthright, reliable—”

  “And what does him being single have to do with that?”

  “Nothing,” Amy admitted with that devious little half-smile, “but it has everything to do with you.”

  “Amy, don’t!”

  Amy just shrugged, brows high on her forehead. “Why not? Give me one good reason.” Jodi struggled to find a suitable answer, but the harder she looked, the harder it was to find. “Exactly.”

  “But Amy, I… it just seems so… I don’t know, I’m embarrassed.”

  Amy shook her head. “Don’t you worry about a thing. You’re my best friend, and now you’re my guest. You don’t think I’m going to take care of you?”

  “Amy—”

  “You just relax and let me take of everything.” She set a comforting hand on Jodi’s arm. “I promise you won’t have any reason to regret this, Jodi.”

  Jodi wanted to believe her, and she knew that Amy was sincere. But she could also be wrong, and the possible results of that were too ugly to even contemplate. So Jodi smiled and put her faith in Amy, in Angeldale, and, of course, in God.

  Chapter 11

  Scott spent the next day as he had many others—manning the office, discussing the few active cases with Doyle, and making a few rounds up and down the thoroughfare to demonstrate his presence among the citizenry, to reassure the innocent and discourage the less so. But he couldn’t get his mind off Angeldale’s new visitor, Jodi Hoffman.

  Scott hadn't been so stricken wi
th a woman in quite a while. But she had a humility and a natural quality that he both admired and fancied. And though he hesitated to make assumptions, especially those which glorified him, he wanted to believe that she had as much an interest in him as she had in her. Of course, they’d only just met, but there seemed to be a certain chemistry between them, a sort of unspoken magnetism which might draw them together.

  But such things had always struck Scott as figments of the imagination, other people’s and even his own. He’d allowed himself to be carried away once before by the notion of love, but his father’s hard lessons had sadly proven out. Showing his feelings had only cost him her hand, and he had become well-practiced in the art of not making that mistake again.

  And it had always made sense. Sheriffs often took wives, Scott knew that, but some of them lived lives of deliberate and even corrupted safety. Enforcing the law meant taking risks, even of one’s life or the lives of those around them. But that was something Scott had never wanted to do, risk the life of an innocent. And if that innocent happened to be somebody he loved, who would die only because she was too close to him, because she’d made the fatal mistake of opening her heart… Scott had often told himself that things were better the way they were.

  But all of the sudden, that was becoming something to reconsider.

  Scott strolled down the thoroughfare, surveying the smiling faces around him, horses and carriages rolling down the street—everything orderly, everyone happy.

  Well, he had to tell himself, not everyone. But who knows? Perhaps the danger of this job, at least here in this town, has passed. Perhaps I’ve always overestimated the dangers to others or even to the men behind the badge? Perhaps I’ve underestimated people like my own deputy, perhaps even… myself?

  He made his way back to his office and found none other than Clinton Burnett waiting with Doyle.

  They turned as Scott stepped in and closed the door behind himself. “Gentlemen,” he said.

  “Sheriff,” each one of them said.

  Scott’s first thought informed his first guess. “Trouble with rustlers?”

  “Not that I can find,” Doyle replied.

  Clinton added, “Nothing… definitive.”

  “Definitive?”Scott repeated.

  “Well, after you and I discussed it yesterday, my wife… she couldn’t stop thinking about it. She can be particularly focused on things sometimes, with a stubbornness that you would not believe.”

  “Oh, I’d probably believe it.”

  Doyle asked Clinton, “How’s that friend of yours, in from the train yesterday?”

  “Miss Hoffman,” Clinton offered, “she’s… quite well, Deputy, thank you.” He turned back to Scott. “In any case, my wife was hoping you might come by, Sheriff, take a look around. I’m not much of a tracker, but your skills in that area are well known.”

  “Overestimations,” Scott said dismissively.

  “I’ll come down,” Doyle suggested, “have a look. Be glad to spend as much time as you needed to—”

  “Thank you,” Clinton held his hand out, “but… my wife requested that the sheriff come. She means no offense, of course, neither of us do. But she’s so wrapped up in this now, if the sheriff doesn’t come himself, she’ll only send me back to retrieve him.”

  Doyle nodded, but slumped in his chair and Scott could see that he was disappointed. He knew why. “Take it easy, Doyle,” Scott told his deputy. “I need you here, holding down the fort. How did it go at Mulligan’s?”

  “Nothin’ to speak of. I don’t think there’s anything to it.”

  Clinton turned to Scott. “Sorry to waste your time, but… she’ll never give me a moment’s rest if you don’t come by.”

  Scott smiled and gave Clinton a little pat on the shoulder. “Sure, I will. How does later this afternoon sound?”

  Clinton was quick to say, “Oh, that’s… that’s excellent, thank you so much, Sheriff.” After a little pause, he added, “This afternoon? Would you like to stay for dinner?”

  Scott didn’t have to give that any thought at all, but he thought it would look better if he did. He nodded. “I’m sure that would be lovely.”

  “Very good,” Clinton said, “see you later, then.” He nodded to the deputy to bid him farewell and stepped out of the office.

  Doyle turned to Scott. “Rustlers? His wife? Dinner?”

  Scott huffed. “You were taking notes.”

  “I sure was. You think there really may be rustlers ‘round the Burnett place?”

  “I’ll have to take a look. Why, what do you think?”

  “I think there aren’t any rustlers, and maybe Mrs. Burnett knows that well as we do,” Doyle explained, but Scott was three steps ahead of his deputy. “But maybe it’s that new girl’s afraid of rustlers.”

  Four steps ahead.

  “You think so?” Scott had already guessed that the entire invitation to an investigation was simply a prelude to dinner. “But… why wouldn’t Clinton just have told us that?”

  Doyle shrugged. “She’s probably embarrassed; new to town, who knows from where? But I can see where she wouldn’t want anybody to know, make a bad impression.”

  Scott nodded, as if giving the theory serious consideration. “It’s a theory, Doyle, I’ll give you that. And I’ll keep it in mind when I’m looking over the property.”

  “And having dinner.”

  Scott shrugged. “Call it a perk of the job. When you’re sheriff, folks’ll want you over for dinner, too.”

  “They already do,” Doyle informed him.

  “Then why are we having this conversation?”

  After a stilted silence, Doyle nodded and turned. “I’ll go do my rounds, then.”

  “Good man, Doyle, good man.”

  Chapter 12

  Jodi was nervous until Clinton got back to the Burnett ranch. She’d been puttering around the house with Amy, trying not to think about the results of Clinton's little expedition. Amy tried to calm her, reassuring her that they'd worked out all the details in advance and it should go off without a hitch.

  “But,” Jodi worried, “it's kind of… dishonest, isn't it?”

  Amy waved her off. “Only the slightest bit. I don't want rustlers running around, and we don't really know that we haven't had prowlers. If so, I would like to know it. And the sheriff's the man to see about such things, certainly over and above his deputy. Nice fellow, but young and bounding, like a puppy dog.”

  But Jodi wasn’t convinced. “But… the dinner? He’ll see through all this, Amy, surely!”

  “He may, but I suppose you didn’t see the way he was looking at you when you weren’t looking at him. He may be willing to investigate simply to stay for the dinner… and further investigations.”

  “Amy, how crude!”

  “Not in that way, Jodi! I know what kind of girl you are.”

  “A Christian girl.”