The Sheriff's Sweetheart (13 page)

“Sheriff, you mistake me. I was not offering any disrespect to Miss Gilmore, I assure you, but merely apologizing for my men's behavior—the behavior you reported to me.”

“Miss Prissy, please, go back inside the house,” Sam said, keeping his narrowed eyes on Pennington. The sun glinted off the tin star on his shirt.

Prissy had never been so glad to see anyone in her life as she was to see Sam Bishop at that moment. But she
took only a couple of steps backward, curious as to what he intended to say to Pennington.

Sam half turned, his gaze locking with hers. “Please. I said go back inside the house. I'll join you in a moment.” His tone was steely.

She hesitated no more, lowering Houston to the ground and taking the pie back from Antonio. The dog dragged at the leash, clearly torn between wagging his tail at Sam and growling again at Pennington, but after she gave it a firm yank, he heeled at her side, carrying his tail stiff and straight.

“Really, Sheriff, was that necessary?” Prissy heard Pennington protest. “I told you I meant no harm, only—”

Sam interrupted, “Mr. Pennington, you've saved me another ride out to La Alianza. I have a bone to pick with you.”

By then she was out of earshot, and knew she would have to wait until Sam finished with Pennington to hear what he'd said. She'd been planning to stand just inside the door and listen but she found her father and Mariah Fairchild there. Her father, cane in hand, was just taking his hat from the hook by the door.

“Prissy, what's wrong?” her father said. “You look upset. What's going on out there?”

“It's Pennington,” she said, and explained what had happened.

“I'm going to give that sidewinder Pennington a piece of my mind,” her father growled, putting a hand on the doorknob. “You stay here, Mariah. I'll just be a moment.”

Prissy dashed forward and put a hand on her father's arm. “Wait, Papa, please. I think Sam would prefer it if we all stayed here right now.”

Her father raised an eyebrow and then turned to the window. Prissy followed, and she did not like what she saw.

 

“That was churlish of you, Sheriff. Surely there can be nothing wrong with a heartfelt apology for my men's actions, accompanied by a bouquet of La Alianza roses from the hothouse.”

Sam was standing very close to Pennington with his hand resting on his holster. He very much doubted Pennington's heart felt anything but self-interest. “The lady didn't want your flowers. And she heard your apology, so there's no further need for you to speak to her.”

Pennington's cold amber gaze locked with his for a moment, as if trying to find a chink in his armor, but when Sam did not look away he said, “Very well. You said you had something to speak to me about?”

Sam nodded. “William Waters informed me your men have been trying to intimidate him into selling his land. He doesn't want to, so leave him alone.”

Pennington blinked, then gave a little chuckle. “My, my, you don't beat around the bush, do you, Sheriff? Aren't you the protective sort? First your lady, now the whiny little Yankee. We've done nothing illegal. We're just businessmen, trying to conduct lawful business in a free country.”

“If Waters doesn't want to sell, he doesn't want to sell—especially at a lower price than what you first offered him. That's his choice. My job is to make sure he has that choice.”

Pennington tsk-tsked. “Pity he feels that way. It's a prime piece of land with good water, even with the derelict house. I figured he'd be happy to hightail it back East, now that he's had a bitter taste of life in Texas. And I'm
sorry you don't want to work with us, instead of against us, Sheriff. You seem like a stalwart fellow to have on one's side. But if we can't work through you, I suppose we'll just have to work around you.” He waited for a moment, but when Sam remained still and silent, he turned to his driver and said, “Tackett, my business is done here. We'll be going back to La Alianza.”

Sam waited until the carriage had rolled out of sight down the road before he turned and walked through the wrought-iron gate. He wasn't surprised when Prissy opened the door before he could even knock, or that her father was waiting in the hallway, along with Mrs. Fairchild.

Briefly, he told them the gist of his conversation with Pennington about the harassment of William Waters. “I've warned him, and now I don't intend to tolerate any further shenanigans from him or any of the Alliance men.”

“Quite right, Sheriff Bishop,” Mayor Gilmore said, extending his hand. “You have the full support of myself and the town council. I knew I was right to give you that badge.”

Sam took his hand. “Thank you, sir.” The mayor's approval of the way he was doing his job meant more to him than he could say. He hoped his approval of Sam wouldn't diminish if and when Sam told him he wanted to marry his daughter, too, but there he was, getting ahead of himself again.

“My daughter was just about to bring you something, Sheriff,” Mayor Gilmore said, nodding to a napkin-covered dish on the side table, the same one Sam had seen Prissy holding when she'd been accosted by Pennington. “Mrs. Fairchild, why don't we adjourn to the kitchen and sample the one she left us?”

“Pie before noon,” Mrs. Fairchild murmured, her voice amused. “Scandalous.”

Mayor Gilmore chuckled, and the two left Sam alone with Prissy in the hallway.

Prissy walked over to the table, lifted the dish and held it out to Sam.

Even though the dish was covered by a napkin, he could smell the delicious odor of fresh-baked apples and brown sugar. He lifted a corner of the cloth and inhaled deeply, while his mind wondered what the present meant after her indecision the other night.

He looked into her eyes, getting lost in the clear, blue, untroubled depths of them. At the very least, he thought he could read that she wasn't angry at him for his “preliminary proposal.” But did that mean she was considering it favorably? If only he didn't need to return to the jail, and could have a longer time alone with her.

“Sam,” she said, “how did you know Pennington was coming to see me?”

He shrugged, sure he shouldn't admit he'd been lingering on the boardwalk outside the hotel, staring across the street at Gilmore House and thinking about Prissy. “I just had a feeling,” he said.

“Well, I'm mighty glad you listened to that feeling,” she said, her eyes shining. “It was so wonderful that you were right there when I needed you.”

I want to be right there when you need me always, Prissy,
he wanted to say, but he'd learned his lesson the other night, and kept his thoughts to himself. He hoped he would recognize when she was ready to hear all that was in his heart.

W
ednesday, the day of the Spinsters' Club outing to visit Milly and her new baby, dawned bright and clear after a heavy rain during the night which did much to alleviate the summer heat. At the appointed hour, all eight of the other active Spinsters' Club members assembled by the Gilmore stable. Laden with gifts and covered dishes, they climbed into the mayor's victoria and an additional shay driven by Maude Harkey.

“You ladies all ready to go?” inquired Sam, smiling down at Prissy sitting in the victoria. Prissy hadn't seen Sam since the town meeting on Sunday when his suggested ordinance against more saloons or gambling halls had passed. Waters had aired his complaints about the pressure from the Alliance to sell, and Prissy had seen nods of confirmation from other ranchers who'd also been pressured. Her father exhorted everyone to resist, even pledging to loan money if anyone needed it to keep their property.

The meeting had gone well, but they'd had no chance to talk.

Now, she enjoyed the sight of him sitting tall in the
saddle on his black horse. If there'd ever been a more handsome man than Sam Bishop, she'd never met him. She was aware of the admiring looks of her friends, but she realized she wasn't feeling jealous or possessive as she had at church that day.

Because they were looking at her like she was already his.

 

The party had been a great success, Prissy judged, gazing around the parlor of the Brookfield ranch house. Milly beamed at each of them as they passed around her new son and made much of him, just as she had
oohed
and
aahed
at each gift, now piled high on the small table beside her—crocheted blankets, embroidered bibs, handsewn baby clothes, and the silver cup and rattle Prissy had bought at the mercantile. She could hear Sarah contentedly humming a hymn in the kitchen as she cleaned up the dishes from their potluck feast. Her husband would be coming to fetch her in his buggy soon, and she was no doubt looking forward to their reunion after the ten days she had spent helping her sister after the birth.

Sam had gone off with Nick to see a newborn colt, which was really just an excuse, Prissy guessed, for the two men to escape the feminine chatter and squeals of delight at the opening of each gift. He'd smiled at her before he'd left, and after he'd gone, the ladies made almost as much of that as they were making of the baby. Prissy simply smiled and said nothing.

Little Nicholas had made the rounds of the Spinsters and was once again cradled in his mother's arms. How happy Milly Brookfield looked, how fulfilled, Prissy thought. Would it be that way someday when she had their first child? A sudden yearning struck Prissy. Looking around
the circle of women, she saw that emotion mirrored in each face. A new baby had that effect on women.

“What else is going on around town?” Milly asked. “Goodness, I've been cooped up for weeks on this ranch—maybe next Sunday I can return to church.”

The Spinsters were happy to fill her in. “Mavis Hotchkiss is expecting again, she said in church last week,” Bess Lassiter said. “Didn't she just have a baby a few months ago, right before the influenza hit?”

“Goodness, she's going to be a busy lady,” Faith Bennett said.

“And you remember Emily's getting married very soon,” Caroline said. The bride-to-be smiled radiantly.

“But the most interesting news is that romance is blooming at Gilmore House,” Faith Bennet said, winking at Prissy. “Sheriff Bishop sure is smitten with you, Prissy.”

“Yes, that was certainly nice of him to ride out here with us,” Maude Harkey said. “Seems he can't bear to be parted from our Prissy.”

Prissy blushed with pleasure. “I—”

“Tell us,” asked Polly Shackleford, with a knowing look. “Is it official? Is our handsome sheriff courting you, Prissy?”

“He
is
quite handsome, Prissy,” said Milly, smiling.

“Prissy assured me that she's considering her feelings about Sam very carefully. She's not rushing into anything this time,” Sarah said, coming from the kitchen.

“Is that so?” Milly said, raising an eyebrow. “Good for you, Prissy. I think that's wise—”

There was a sudden report of a gunshot off to the northeast. Everyone froze.

“What was that?”

Milly remained calm, for the shot had not been close enough to disturb her sleeping baby. “Probably just one of the hands shooting a snake,” she said. “I've learned not to worry about the occasional gunshot here or there, now that the Comanches have been leaving us alone for a—”

Several other shots in rapid succession interrupted her words, and they all jumped up.

“Oh dear heavens,” Milly said.

Prissy saw the color drain from Milly's face like water flowing out of a tap. The baby began to wail and she clutched him tightly to her.

Everyone except Milly ran to the back door and saw the ranch hands running from the bunkhouse toward the barn.

“What is it, Bobby?” Sarah called to the youngest of them, who was the last one out of the bunkhouse.

He stopped. “Dunno, Miz Sarah, we were just fixin' t'go back out to the creek pasture t' mend fences when we heard the shots!”

Prissy ran after him to the barn. Sam and Nick were each saddling their horses with haste. The ranch hands began to do likewise.

Prissy dashed to the stall where Sam was cinching up Jackson's girth. “What is it? Who's shooting out there?” she cried.

His face was grim. “We don't know, but we're going to go find out. Nick says it's coming from the direction of the Waters ranch house.”

“Listen up, men!” Nick shouted from the next stall. “Elijah, Isaiah, Caleb, saddle up and follow us as soon as you can. Micah, Josh, Bobby, you stay here and guard the house—”

“Go in the house, Prissy, and stay there,” Sam ordered.
“Please,” he added more gently, when she stayed rooted where she was. “The cowboys staying here will keep you safe. Now
go!
”

She wanted to ask him not to go, to be one of the ones who remained to guard the house, but she knew that a sheriff couldn't choose to avoid danger. She was overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him, to beg him to be careful, to throw her arms around him and keep him rooted to the spot.

But of course she couldn't do any of those things.

So Prissy took one last look at him before trudging back out into the sunlight. Her heart pounded, her eyes stung with unshed tears. She felt helpless and terrified, and all the more so when she saw a black plume of smoke rising from the direction of Waters's ranch house.

But she and the other ladies weren't helpless, she reminded herself as she ran the rest of the way to the kitchen door. At least they could pray.

And they did so, flinching as they heard several more reports echo from the direction of the Waters ranch, then a terrifying silence.

More than an hour later, they heard a horse and wagon approaching the house. Prissy ran to the back door. “One of your men is driving, Milly,” she reported.

“But what about the rest of the men?” Milly asked from the parlor.

“I'm not sure,” Prissy answered, her heart in her throat. “Let's find out.”

Sarah stayed in the house with the baby while all the other women ran outside, joining the cowhands who'd remained behind to guard them as the wagon drew up in the yard.

“What happened, Isaiah? Where's Nick and the rest?” Milly demanded.

Prissy's eyes were drawn to a blanket-covered form in the wagon bed and she began to shake.

“That's not—that's not—”

The cowhand mercifully addressed Prissy first. “It's that Waters fella, that easterner. This is his wagon we found there.”

The Spinsters gasped. Isaiah turned back to Milly. “The rest of the men went after the men that killed 'im, Miz Milly,” he said, nodding towards the body. “We got there just as they was ridin' off. Soon's they caught sight a' us, they scattered in all different d'rections, so I don' know if they gonna be able to ketch any of 'em. But they're sure ‘nough gonna try.”

“Could you see who attacked the ranch?” Prissy asked, able to breathe again now that she knew it wasn't Sam lying in the wagon. “Was it Pennington's men?”

Isaiah said, “We couldn't tell. They all had on masks. And that Waters ranch house, Miz Milly, it's burnin' to the ground.”

Prissy sighed, certain Pennington was behind this. No one else had a reason to harm Waters. The easterner had come to Texas with such big plans and high hopes—now he had lost his life and his efforts had come to nothing. She only hoped he hadn't suffered.

“Mr. Sam, he says for you ladies to wait till Dr. Walker comes for Miz Sarah, then Caleb and I are t' ride along with y'all back to Gilmore House. He doesn't know when he'll be back.”

Prissy hadn't even thought about the journey home, with Pennington's murderous henchmen on the loose. She wanted to stay right where she was until she saw Sam
return, safe and sound. It was all she could do not to drop to her knees.
Lord, please protect him while he's off in pursuit of these evil men.

 

A volley of barks from Houston announced Sam's arrival just as Prissy lit the lamp in the hallway. She dashed past Flora to the door.

“Oh, Sam, I'm so glad you're finally here!” Only Flora's presence stopped her from launching herself into his arms. “Come in, come in.” Even in the gathering dusk, she could see his clothes were stained and dusty, and his face was etched with weariness. Beyond him in front of the steps Jackson stood, head down, where Sam had dropped his reins.

“No, thanks, I'm all dirty,” he said, “and Señora Flora wouldn't appreciate it if I tracked dirt into the house.” He attempted a wink in the housekeeper's direction, but he was clearly exhausted, a dark expression on his face. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Yes, I'm okay,” she assured him, though she was practically shaking again, reliving the terror she'd experienced when she thought it had been Sam in that wagon.

Dr. Walker had examined the body while the ladies were inside preparing to leave. Though he had assured them Waters had died quickly, there was something in his troubled gaze that told Prissy he was only trying to comfort them.

“Sam, is that you?” her father said, coming into the hall from his study. “Prissy told me what happened. A terrible business, terrible. Were you able to catch up with any of the murdering scoundrels?”

Sam's gaze fell and his shoulders slumped. Prissy's heart twisted with compassion for him.

“No, sir. They had too much of a lead. Nick and I followed one that ran north, then west. We thought he might turn southwest and circle back to La Alianza, but we lost his trail. We stopped there anyway and demanded to look around, but no man or horse looked like he'd just come in from a hard ride.”

Her father whistled. “You've covered a lot of ground today. Did you tell Pennington you suspect his men did the killing?”

Sam shook his head. “He wasn't there. But I spoke to Francis Byrd. Of course he pretended complete ignorance of the raid and acted shocked that we would blame Alliance men. We'd have a hard time proving it, seeing as they were masked, but I made the accusation anyway.”

“Was Waters alone out there? I thought he'd hired men to help with the rebuilding of the ranch house,” her father said.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “He'd had trouble with them not showing up. We found him lying among the piles of lumber and stone he'd bought, but I don't think he could do that sort of work, not by himself.”

“Did they rob him?”

Sam shrugged. “There wasn't any money in his pockets, but I don't know if he was carrying any.”

He blinked suddenly, as if he'd thought of something, but before Prissy could ask him about it, her father spoke again. “Maybe that'll be the end of it, now that they know we're onto them.” But he said it without any real conviction in his voice.

Sam didn't look convinced, either. “I'll stop by the hotel now, see if I can find any next of kin's address among Waters's effects, so I can notify them of his passing.”

His eyes looked like two burned holes in a blanket,
Prissy thought. “That can wait until tomorrow, Sam. Come in and have something to eat. I'm sure you haven't had a bite since noontime, and the hotel restaurant's closed down now.”

He tried to smile and failed. “Thanks, but I need to take Jackson back to the livery and rub him down, see him fed. Then I'm turning in myself. I'll see you at church tomorrow, Prissy. Good night, Mayor.”

“You will wait at least until I make a sandwich for you, Señor Sheriff,” Flora commanded. “I will wrap it up and you can take it with you.” She bustled off to the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

“You're a good man, Sam Bishop,” her father said, coming forward and extending his hand to Sam. “I'm proud to know you. Go and get some rest. I have full confidence in you, confidence you'll bring Waters's murderers to justice and find a way to get Pennington and his kind run out of San Saba County.”

Prissy's heart felt full to bursting as she watched her father's words sink into Sam. How humble he was, in spite of her father's praise. She beamed at her father.

“Thank you, Mayor Gilmore. I'll do my best to be worthy of your confidence in me,” he said hoarsely. “Good night, sir. Good night, Prissy.”

It was all she could do not to follow him, fling her arms around him and tell him that yes, she would indeed marry him. Happily.

 

The mayor's undeserved praise and Prissy's radiant smile seared through Sam's soul like flaming swords as he trudged down the darkened street, leading his horse. He wasn't worthy of Prissy's father's high regard or his confidence, and if he knew that Sam had come to Simpson
Creek with a stolen piece of jewelry, in search of an easier life—and a beautiful wife—he'd slam the door in his face.