The Sheriff's Sweetheart (16 page)

“What do you think the group will decide?” he asked. It would be too bad to call off the party they'd been looking forward to so enthusiastically, especially since he'd decided after recent events that it would be the perfect occasion to officially propose to her. He'd already taken Mrs. Patterson at the mercantile into his confidence, and had purchased a sapphire ring from her. He couldn't wait any longer to declare his love for her. But he needed to come clean with Prissy and tell her everything, and hope that she would still have him.

“I'll suggest we go ahead,” she said, “but change it a bit—use it to raise money for the new church. Papa and I will still provide the barbecue, of course, but we ladies will all make pies and cakes, and auction them off to the highest bidder. And I'll see if Mrs. Detwiler will auction off one of her quilts—did you know she was an accomplished quilter?”

He shook his head, charmed by the undefeated enthusiasm of this girl he loved.

“You know, Papa could just pay for the new church materials, and he has already pledged a substantial contribution, including a new stained glass window in memory of Mama. But Reverend Chadwick says that it's important for the town to feel that the church belongs to all of them—do you see what I mean? It won't mean as much if Papa just hands over the money. Does that make sense?”

Sam nodded. Dread filled him as he looked at the wonderful woman in front of him and imagined telling her about his past, and his lies.

It was almost more than he could bear.

M
uch to Sam's surprise, neither Pennington nor Byrd came to protest Tolliver's being accused of murder. As far as anyone knew, they remained holed up at La Alianza.

“Looks like they abandoned you,
hombre,
” Luis taunted Tolliver, after a second day passed without a word from either man, or even a visit from one of his cronies. “They won't even come to see you hang.”

“They'll come, and it won't be t'see me swing, neither,” Tolliver snarled back. “They're jes' waitin' fer the right time, greaser.”

That's what Sam thought, too. He maintained constant vigilance with the rotating two-man guard shifts that had been set up on Sunday. He insisted on being one of the men of each two-man shift, and Luis Menendez, who'd proved himself utterly reliable and dedicated, served as the other at least half of every day or night. Brookfield and Walker also took stints, as did other men of the town.

Every time a new man came on guard duty, one of the men whose time was up fetched food from the hotel, so there would never be a moment without two fully armed men on guard. Even at night they took turns, one man
sitting up guarding the sleeping prisoner while Sam or the other man caught a few winks. Sam never slept soundly when it came his turn, fearing the attack would begin while he slumbered.

The circuit judge had sent word he and the prosecutor couldn't be there until next week because they were in the middle of a trial in Harkeyville. That meant an even longer time to guard Tolliver than Sam had anticipated, a longer time for everyone's nerves to be stretched thin.

Prissy had come down to the jail on Monday to bring him fried chicken and biscuits she'd made herself, and they had sat in front of the jail while they ate, away from Tolliver's leering gaze. He'd drunk in the sight of her in her pretty gingham dress, listening as she recited all the details of the upcoming party. It wasn't that he longed to know that Milly was bringing fried chicken and Faith Bennett shoo-fly pie, but he loved the sound of her voice.

Just as he'd begun to wonder if it was the right time to talk to her, two Alliance men rode by and gave them a long look. Fearing it presaged an attack, Sam hustled her across the street to have Dr. Walker see her home. Letting her see his regret, he'd asked her not to come again for the time being, fearing the Alliance men would make some move specifically because she was there and his attention was divided. He figured he couldn't be too careful about her safety, even if it meant seeing her hardly at all.

The next day, via Antonio, she sent him a small, brown-wrapped bundle. He unwrapped it to find an oval-framed daguerreotype of her. In an accompanying note, she confessed it belonged to her father, but he'd agreed to loan it to Sam until they could see each other again. He placed it in his desk where only he could look at it, so Tolliver couldn't feast his eyes on it, too. Sam believed Prissy loved him,
too. Would it be enough to get them through everything he had to tell her?

She started writing him a daily note, which she sent to the jail with Antonio or her father. Redolent of the lilac scent she usually wore, the notes were light and newsy, telling him what amusing thing Houston had done, or how she had changed the menu for the barbecue yet again. Then she told him, simply and honestly, how proud she was of the dedicated way he did his job. And she'd copy some verse from the Bible to encourage him, and asked him to read a chapter a day from the book of John, saying she was doing that, too, and that it was nice to think of both of them reading the same thing.

He read her notes over and over again and he started writing her back from his desk, telling her how he missed her, how much he longed for the trial to be over and the Alliance banished from Simpson Creek forever so they could once again go on carefree picnics under the Wedding Tree. He imagined her smiling as she read those words.

“Bet he's writin' that purty yaller-haired girl agin, th' one I saw him with at the weddin' we busted up, ain't he, greaser?” Tolliver gibed from behind his bars. “I heard tell it was the mayor's daughter. Ain't you the smart one, Bishop, sparkin' a rich girl? Soon as you marry her, you kin stop bein' a law dog chasin' desperadoes like me and become a man of leisure, cain't ya?”

“Shut up or I'll tie your noose so you slowly strangle to death on the gallows,” Luis threatened. Sam held up a hand to quiet his deputy. Tolliver thrived on baiting them, but Sam thought it was better to pretend not to hear the snake hissing behind the bars.

Simpson Creek was a law-abiding town, but inevitably, there were still times when Sam had to see to other problems not related to the Alliance. Two days before the
barbecue, Nolan took over guard duty while Sam walked down Travis Street to the boardinghouse to resolve a dispute between a boarder and the proprietress. After he'd enforced the latter's right to make the rules in her own establishment, he walked back to Main Street just in time to see Pennington driving past in his carriage, with another man sitting beside him—a man Sam recognized the instant he met his hooded, intense gaze.

Kendall Raney.

At the sight of his nemesis, Sam felt a chill of icy sweat trickle down his spine. It was all he could do to stand still on the boardwalk and force himself not to pull his hat down a bit in an attempt to escape notice.

He knew any such effort was in vain, for Pennington had spotted him and ordered the driver to halt.

“Why, Sheriff Bishop, we meet again,” Pennington crowed. “And what a fortunate encounter, for I have the pleasure of presenting our third partner, Mr. Kendall Raney.”

Sam straightened, his throat gone dry as a mud puddle in August. His heart thudded dully in a chest suddenly too small for it. He cleared his throat to make sure his response came out level and not croaking.

“Mr. Raney. Welcome to Simpson Creek.”

Did Raney look at everyone that way, the way a snake stared at a mouse that it had cornered, or was he recognizing the bruised, bloodied, half-unconscious gambler in the lawman who stood before him? Sam's ribs ached as if in remembrance of this man hitting him until a couple of them cracked. His face stung as if Raney had just laid his cheek open with that ring.

“Sheriff Bishop,” said Raney, looking him up and down. “Thank you. Happy to be here.”

Sam wanted to say he needed to get back to the jail but he dared not be the one to cut the encounter short. It would cause Raney to think about him too much.

Pennington was also watching him. Sam wanted to taunt the man with the fact that he had Tolliver in a cell, accused of murder, that he knew that his men had burned the church down, that he would find a way to prove it and make them pay. But that would extend this encounter, and in any case, Pennington would probably claim he'd fired Tolliver prior to Waters's murder.

So Sam forced himself to relax, to appear politely interested in Raney's arrival.

“Are you here for a visit, or are you relocating?” he asked, his tone casual. “Mr. Pennington tells me you hail from Houston.”

Raney gazed at him a moment too long before replying. “Wonderful city, Houston—completely unlike this part of Texas. Ever been there?”

Sam needed. “I've been there. A little too humid for my taste. I like it better here.”

That hooded gaze missed nothing, Sam thought, seeing the black eyes narrow as they dueled with his.

“As to whether I'm staying,” Raney said, “it remains to be seen. A pleasure to meet you, Sheriff. I'm sure we'll—”

At that moment, Prissy came out of the mercantile, her arms laden with packages. She smiled at Sam and started toward him.

Then she caught sight of Pennington and halted uncertainly.

“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were speaking to someone,” she said, and looked to Sam in a clear plea for direction.

Pennington touched his hat brim. “Miss Gilmore, no apologies necessary, your interruption is a happy accident and our pleasure.” He turned to Raney. “Miss Priscilla Gilmore, the mayor's daughter,” he explained, almost as if presenting a commoner to royalty, Sam thought, feeling his jaw tighten in anger. “You'll remember I spoke of her father, Mayor Gilmore.”

“Yes.” Raney tipped his black derby with a flourish to her. “Miss Gilmore, enchanted. I pray we will meet again.” His eyes slid back to Sam after he said this, as if daring him to object.

Sam remained immobile, fighting the urge to leap into the carriage, yank Raney out, and beat him senseless. Now Raney's gaze returned to Prissy and crawled over her. Sam felt his hands clenching into fists.

“Miss Priscilla,” he began, hoping she'd take her cue from Sam's formality, “I'll walk you home. I need to speak to your father.” He wasn't going to allow Raney to breathe the same air as his beloved a moment longer.

Tentatively, she came forward, putting a hand on his arm.

“Miss Gilmore, nice to make your acquaintance. Good day,” called Raney, but she merely nodded with a chilly hauteur Sam would have found humorous if not for the circumstances.

He stifled the urge to take a huge, relieved gulp of air. Raney hadn't appeared to recognize him—yet.
Thank You, Lord.

But What if Prissy had had Houston with her, the very dog Raney had planned to feed to the alligators along with him? The dog might well have been enough to trigger Raney's memory. Perhaps he should tell her to keep the
dog at home from now on. But what excuse could he have for saying that?

“'Miss Priscilla?'” she teased, as soon as the men in the carriage were out of earshot. Then, when he did not respond with a smile, her own faded and she murmured, “Did you really need to speak to my father?” Her voice trailed off and she peered up at him.

He nodded. It was probably a good idea to notify the mayor that the third member of the triumvirate had arrived in Simpson Creek. “Sweetheart, let me carry your packages,” he said, forcing his voice into a normal tone.

“Thanks,” she said, handing them to him. “Mrs. Patterson got in some lovely tablecloths that will be just perfect for the party. And she had the prettiest ear bobs that will set off my dress perfectly,” she continued, clearly trying to distract him.

Why had Raney come just now? Did the fact that he had finally arrived have anything to do with Tolliver being accused of murder, or was it merely coincidental? Were they going to intervene to set him free, or leave him to his fate?

You are not alone. I'm fighting alongside you.

He was so astonished at the reassuring voice within him that he almost stopped stock-still in the middle of the street.

“Sam? Are you all right?” Prissy asked him, her pretty brow furrowed with concern.

He smiled now, and felt a surge of hope in spite of the dangers he faced. He gazed down at the woman he loved. “It's a beautiful day, and I'm walking with you and the Lord. I couldn't be better.”

 

The following day the Spinsters came to Gilmore House to help prepare for the party. Prissy had already helped
Flora make sure everything sparkled within the mansion, of course, and Antonio had groomed the grounds to perfection. But they couldn't leave everything to the two servants, and so Gilmore House was a beehive of activity on Friday. With Houston yipping with excitement and following everyone around, begging for tidbits, the ladies prepared the food that could be cooked ahead, set up tables, and decorated them with gaily colored streamers and centerpieces they'd made.

“But what if it rains?” Polly Shackleford wondered aloud, staring at the crepe paper that festooned the tables, the verandah, the fiddlers' stand, and even the big live oak that shaded the tables.

“It won't,” Caroline Wallace said with calm assurance. “I consulted Papa. His big toe would be aching if it was going to rain. It's not, so quit fretting.”

“Caroline showed the bachelors to the hotel today,” Hannah Kennedy said. “
After
serving them all dinner, the clever girl! The rest of us haven't caught so much as a glimpse, and she's already on speaking terms with them.”

Caroline reddened as if she'd been caught stealing cookies. “Well, goodness, they all showed up at the post office about the same time, right at noon, and they were hungry from traveling. It wouldn't have been hospitable not to.”

“You said they're all nice and quite handsome, right, Caroline?” Hannah prodded.

Caroline nodded with a half smile. “I think you'll all be pleased, ladies,” she said.

“But what about
you,
Caroline? Weren't you just the least bit interested in any of them?” asked Jane Jeffries curiously.

“You deserve happiness, too, Caroline,” Maude Harkey chimed in.

Caroline held up a warning hand. “Now, let's not start
that
all over again, ladies. I'm enjoying helping with the party, but this is just something to get out of the house for a while, so I don't constantly have to be hearing about the state of Papa's big toe.”

Everyone chuckled.

“Listen, ladies, I learned one of them has a partiality for green dresses—didn't you say your dress for the barbecue is green, Polly?”

Polly nodded excitedly.

“And another has a penchant for pecan pie. Wasn't that your contribution, Hannah? Half a dozen pecan pies?” Caroline asked.

It was, Hannah confirmed.

“And the third man says he's crazy for girls with freckles,” Caroline said, looking right at Bess Lassiter, who clapped her hands over her freckled cheekbones.

“And to think I've been trying to get rid of these for years!”

Maude Harkey gave Caroline an admiring look. “And you learned all this with skillful questioning while they ate? You could have been a spy in the war!”

Caroline shook her head. “I didn't ask any questions, ladies. It's all a matter of listening.”