Margaret Brownley, Robin Lee Hatcher, Mary Connealy, Debra Clopton Read online

  She might have been able to withstand those blue eyes, but his crooked smile—she didn’t have the heart to resist that.

  On Sunday, Garrett and Eddie picked her up for church. Eddie looked as bright as a shiny new penny with his pressed clothes, neatly combed hair, and polished boots.

  The whispers started even before the three of them took their places on the hard wooden pews. Though she couldn’t make out the words, Mary-Jo could well guess what was being said: Daniel Garrett isn’t even cold in his grave and already his fiancée has taken up with his brother.

  For shame.

  She glanced at Garrett but he seemed oblivious to the stares and whispers around them. Eddie sat between them and was as restless as a litter of playful kittens. He wiggled and squirmed and twice dropped his Bible. She took his hand in hers and it seemed to have a calming effect on him, at least until the sermon was over.

  They stood to sing the closing hymn. Seeming to sense her gaze on him, Garrett’s eyes met hers. The searching blue depths made her cheeks flare and she quickly turned away.

  Her soprano and the sheriff’s baritone encircled Eddie’s youthful tenor as if to give the boy a musical hug. The organ stopped and she closed her eyes, trying to imagine the three of them a family. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that hard.

  “Turn to hymn two-thirteen,” the preacher said.

  Her mouth went dry. Unlucky thirteen . . . She glanced at Garrett and recalled his words. “I don’t believe in luck. Good, bad, or otherwise.”

  Voices rose all around her. “Rock of Ages, cleft for me . . .”

  She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the words of the hymn.

  “Let me hide myself in Thee . . .”

  If only I could, God. If only I could . . .

  DURING THE FOLLOWING WEEK SHE MADE HERSELF useful by cleaning the house and mending Eddie’s clothes. Though the home was modest by Kansas standards, it was the grandest house she’d ever lived in. She still couldn’t get over the shiny forks and knives, and she was equally impressed with the drinking glasses. Back home they drank out of canning jars or simply held their mouths to the water pump. Equally amazing, the dishes all matched, without a single chip or crack!

  Still, the house could use a woman’s touch. Some pretty curtains and a picture or two on the walls and fresh flowers would make a world of difference.

  As much as she liked thinking up ways to make things homier, she liked the domestic routine even more. Eddie stayed with her and the sheriff stopped by every day after work.

  Garrett was always polite to her and handled Eddie with the same caution one might use with a firearm. Sometimes she wondered if he tried too hard.

  It was a week before she gained courage enough to open the door to Daniel’s bedroom. Her gaze lit on the black felt hat atop the quilt. Alarm rushed through her. She dashed across the room and flung the bowler to the floor. Didn’t Daniel know that it was bad luck to put a hat on a bed? Was that what led to his early demise?

  Shivering at the thought, she glanced around. This was the room Daniel intended to share with her. If things worked out as the sheriff suggested, it might also be the room she and Tom would share as husband and wife.

  She felt all tingly inside. Mrs. Tom Garrett. Hmm. Not bad.

  She had just finished beating the bedroom rug and polishing the furniture when Eddie burst in the front door.

  “Look, Miss Parker, I got a two on my ’rithmetic test.”

  “Why, Eddie, that’s wonderful.” She took the paper from him and marveled aloud. “Why, look at that. You only missed one!”

  “I ran out of time,” he said. “But next time I’ll get them all right.”

  It was then that she noticed the sheriff standing on the porch. She beckoned him inside. “Do come in, Sheriff.” She wasn’t yet ready to call him Tom as he asked or even Garrett. “This calls for a celebration. I made gingersnap cookies.”

  She still had trouble figuring out how to work the unfamiliar stove and the cookies were hard and burned on the bottom, but no one seemed to mind.

  Later, after a meal of roasted chicken, Eddie asked his uncle to tell him a story.

  The sheriff ran a finger around his collar. “I’m not much for storytelling,” he said. “But I’ll be happy to read from the Good Book.”

  “That sounds like a mighty fine idea,” Mary-Jo said.

  He reached for the Bible on the mantel and chose the story of Jonah and the big fish. Eddie settled by his side and listened attentively.

  The story seemed so real, Mary-Jo could almost feel the storm’s fury and Jonah’s horror. As she listened to the sheriff’s mesmerizing voice, she realized she had truly misjudged him. He did want to do right by the boy.

  “And that’s the story of Jonah,” he said, closing the leather-bound Bible.

  “Jonah was mighty lucky to be saved by a fish,” she said.

  The sheriff frowned. “Luck had nothing to do with it. It was God’s grace that saved him.”

  Her cheeks flared with embarrassment and she quickly turned to Eddie. “Time for bed, young man.”

  By the time she finished tucking Eddie in bed and turned off his light, the sheriff had finished cleaning the kitchen. Where she came from, washing dishes was considered women’s work.

  She sat at the table, watching him. Domestic chores seemed as natural to him as sitting behind the sheriff’s desk. “Thank you.”

  He shrugged, then hung the flour sack towel on a hook and joined her. “Everything okay?”

  “I’m worried about Eddie,” she said. “He won’t talk about his pa and he hasn’t shed a single tear. That’s not good.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Give him time, Mary-Jo.”

  It was the first time he’d used her front name and it startled her. As if he thought things were more settled between them than they actually were.

  “Sometimes it takes awhile to find the hurt,” he added.

  “He’s going to need you when it happens,” she said.

  “I’m not good at things like that,” he admitted, then paused, adding quietly, “I hope you’ll help me.”

  His questioning eyes made her draw in her breath. “I don’t know that this is a good idea, my staying. I don’t want Eddie getting too attached to me should things not work out between us.”

  “You don’t think this is working?” He sat back, his gaze prolonging the moment. “Is it . . . something I’ve done?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think I have what it takes to be a sheriff’s wife.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t think it takes anything special.”

  “You have a dangerous job.” She’d already lost two men she promised to marry.

  “Not that dangerous,” he said. “Colton isn’t like other places you may have read about. Granted, we had a bunch of trouble with the railroad workers, but now that the track is laid they’re gone. The town’s not perfect, but the citizens here are mostly farmers and good churchgoing folks.”

  “And one of them killed Daniel.”

  His face turned dark. “It should never have happened. I knew Link was a hothead. I shouldn’t have left town until after the jury verdict.” He paused to shake his head. “I promise. Nothing like it will ever happen again. Trust me.”

  “I do trust you,” she said; it was others she didn’t trust. Last night she had a horrible nightmare and the memory of it still plagued her. In her dream she stood looking into a coffin, but it wasn’t Charles’s or even Daniel’s face she saw. It was Tom’s.

  No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake away the fear of losing him.

  On the following Wednesday, Eddie sat at the kitchen table after school doing his homework while she prepared supper. Garrett was due at any time and she wanted everything to be perfect.

  Eddie looked up. “We’re having parents’ night in May and I want you and Uncle Tom to come.” He seemed to hold his breath waiting for an answer, all the while wiggling his pencil back and
forth.

  May was still a couple of weeks away. She wiped her hands on her apron and sat on the chair opposite him. “I don’t know if I’ll still be here then,” she said.

  His pencil stilled. “Why not?”

  She sighed. So many reasons came to mind but none that an eight-year-old would understand.

  She finally settled on a noncommittal, “I might have to go home to Georgia.”

  He frowned. “Don’t you like my uncle?”

  The question surprised her. “We don’t know each other all that well, but yes, I like him just fine.” The truth was she liked him a lot. If it wasn’t for the persistent nightmares, she would consider herself the luckiest girl alive that such a man asked her to marry him.

  “When Bobby Watkins and Henry Hill got into a fight, my teacher made them stay after school until they got to know each other better. Now they’re the bestest friends.”

  She smiled at his meaning. She didn’t want to promise anything, but neither did she want to worry him. “Perhaps once your uncle and I get to know each other better, we’ll be bestest friends too.”

  Garrett arrived and his presence seemed to fill every nook and cranny. He lifted the lid off the pot on the stove and sniffed. “That’s not possum, is it?” he teased.

  “It’s beef stew,” she said. “But I can fix possum if you like.”

  He replaced the lid. “Stew’s fine,” he said, winking at Eddie.

  After they ate, Eddie was excused from the table to go and feed his pa’s horse. She and Garrett lingered over coffee. While reaching for the sugar, he knocked over the salt.

  She held her breath and clenched her hands together. Garrett had made it clear that he didn’t believe in luck and she didn’t want to do anything to earn his disfavor. Not while things were so fragile between them. And yet the urge was so strong.

  He set the saltshaker upright. She tried to ignore the white grains that dotted the table. It would have been easier to ignore a herd of cattle moving through the room.

  She chewed on a fingernail. She imagined the white grains of salt dancing across the table, mocking her. She thought of the nightmares that plagued her and she felt sick to her stomach.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she began.

  He raised a dark eyebrow. “And?”

  She tried to recall the speech she’d rehearsed, but none of it came to mind. “Maybe . . . it would be best if I returned home.”

  He set his cup down. “It’s only been two weeks,” he said. “You promised you’d take at least a month to think about it.”

  “Yes, well, I have thought about it. I’ve also prayed about it but . . .” Much to her dismay, tears welled in her eyes. For more than six years she’d grieved for Charles. She didn’t know how to grieve for Daniel. What little she thought she knew about him turned out to be lies from Mr. Hitchcock’s pen. That explained some of the tears but not all.

  He handed her a clean handkerchief and she dabbed her cheeks. “I don’t think God means for me to get married.” There, she said it.

  He reared back in his chair, his face suffused with astonishment. “Did you come to this conclusion because of what happened to Dan?”

  “And Charles.” She still didn’t want to tell him about her nightmares.

  He blew out his breath and scratched his temple. “I don’t think God has anything to do with your losses,” he said. “Bad things happen and—”

  Before he could complete his sentence, Eddie ran into the house, shouting, “Fire, fire!”

  “Oh no!” She jumped up from her chair.

  The sheriff was on his feet and out the door in a flash. Mary-Jo started after him, then stopped. She grabbed the salt shaker and shook it over her left shoulder before bounding out the door.

  Dark, thick smoke poured out of the barn. Garrett pulled a bucket of water from the well and dashed inside. Mary-Jo grabbed a second bucket and followed, water sloshing over the sides.

  The air was hazy with smoke, but by the time she entered the barn, the fire appeared to be out. She set the bucket down.

  “What is that awful smell?” She wrinkled her nose. “It smells like rotten eggs.”

  Garrett turned, his face dark with anger. “Where’s Eddie?”

  “I don’t know. I—”

  Just then the barn door slammed shut. Garrett bolted forward but the door was locked from the outside. “Eddie, open this door. Do you hear me? Open it at once!”

  Nothing, not a peep came from outside.

  “Drat!” Garrett kicked the door with his boot. “The boy is out of control.”

  “What do you mean? Are you saying he set the fire?”

  “Not a fire, a smoke bomb.” He lifted his voice. “Eddie!”

  His raised voice made her flinch. “I’ll say one thing. They sure do know how to build strong barns out here.”

  “You won’t be so calm if he burns down the house.”

  “I reckon I know why he locked us in here.” The more she thought about it, the more certain she was. “He wants us to get to know each other better.” She quickly explained about Eddie’s two schoolmates. “That must be what gave him the idea.”

  Garrett threw up his hands. “Now, isn’t this just dandy?” He gave the door a whack with his fist. “We’re locked in here and he’s running free out there. God only knows what mischief he’ll get into next.”

  She sat on a bale of hay and twisted her hands on her lap. “Perhaps if you stop yelling he’ll open the door. Right now all you’re doing is scaring him.” He was scaring her too, though she sensed he was more frustrated than angry. He was also worried about Eddie.

  “That’s not all I’ll do when I get hold of him.” He plunked down on a hay bale opposite her.

  She chewed on her lip. “He didn’t mean no real harm. He just wants us to be friends.”

  Head buried in his hands, Garrett said nothing, but at least he’d stopped yelling.

  “Did your brother have a temper like yours?” she asked after a while.

  The mention of Daniel seemed to have a sobering effect on him. Elbows resting on his thighs, he rubbed his hands together. “Dan was the quiet one, except when he was arguing a case.”

  “Was he a good lawyer?” she asked.

  “He was better at getting criminals out of jail than I am at putting them there, if that’s what you mean.”

  She supposed he was still blaming himself for not having captured his brother’s killer. To divert his thoughts, she asked, “And your pa? Was he in law too?”

  “He was a banker. He dealt in faith and hope, just like your father.”

  She laughed. “Well now, I reckon you have a sense of humor after all.” He didn’t smile, but she’d sensed a thawing in his voice.

  He studied her. “I know about your father, but you never said anything about your mother.”

  She drew in her breath. “Ma died in an accident when I was five. That left just me and Pa. I slept in gambling halls, under the tables while he gambled.”

  A shadow touched his forehead. “It must have been a hard life.”

  “It was. One night when I was twelve, my pa was losing real bad and for a joke, he let me play a hand. You don’t spend the better part of seven years in a gambling hall without knowing how to gamble and—wouldn’t you know?—I won.”

  “No!” He studied her. “You were so . . . young.”

  At the time she’d felt anything but young. “I guess I had what they call beginner’s luck. I didn’t win much. Less than three dollars. Pa thought I would give it to him, but I refused. Instead, I walked out of that gambling hall and took the first stage to my aunt’s house.” Surprised to find herself sharing something she’d not shared with anyone but her aunt, she added, “It was the best thing I ever did.”

  No more sleeping on casino floors or going to bed hungry. No more putting up with her pa’s drinking during losing streaks. “My aunt taught me to read and write and how to mind my p’s and q’s. She’s a seamstress and she taught m
e to sew. She also took me to church.”

  Judging by the dim light filtering through the cracks, the sun had set and, just as rapidly, the temperature dropped. Mary-Jo rubbed her hands up and down her arms for warmth.

  “You’re cold,” he said, standing. He grabbed a horse blanket from an empty stall and shook away the straw. He then wrapped it around her shoulders, his hands lingering a bit longer than necessary. The blanket smelled of hay and dust and horseflesh, but it was warm despite its rough texture.

  “Much obliged,” she said.

  Instead of taking his place on the opposite hay bale, he sat next to her. His arm brushed against hers and an unwelcome surge of excitement flooded through her.

  “May I ask why you signed up to become a mail-order bride?” In the fast-fading light he looked serious, but no less pleasing to the eye.

  “I’m from Helen, Georgia. We suffered heavy casualties during the war. Every man living there now is either old, married, or in jail. If a gal wants to get married, she best set her sights elsewhere.”

  She heard his intake of breath and it was awhile before he spoke. “I guess I owe you an apology. I told Dan he was a fool to order a bride out of a catalogue.”

  “But if he’d listened to you, I wouldn’t have come to Kansas and we wouldn’t be in this pickle.”

  He pulled a piece of straw from her hair. “Actually, it’s not a bad pickle to be in,” he said, adding a smile.

  Something in his voice sent gooseflesh racing up her arms. “You . . . you once said I had what the boy needs.”

  He nodded. “You’re the only one able to reach him and see past his childish pranks.”

  His words touched her deeply. “Don’t be angry with Eddie. He’s scared. I know how it feels to be scared, not knowing what’s gonna happen to you.”

  He ran his fingers gently down her cheek. “If . . . if you agree to be my wife, I’ll make sure you’re never scared again.”

  His promise washed over her like warm sunshine. He nudged her chin up and gazed into her eyes. It was all she could do to breathe. He covered her parted lips with his own and the gentle impact of his mouth sent warm tremors rushing through her. The sweet tenderness of his kiss made her emotions swirl, and she lost all sense of time and place as she happily kissed him back.