The Loyal Heart (12 page)

Much to his shame, Robert hoped she was desolate. It was going to be difficult to bear if the woman who was everything to Phillip hadn't actually felt the same way about him.

S
HERIFF
K
ERN WAS STANDING AGAINST THE FIREPLACE
mantel, Phillip's tintype in his hand, when Miranda entered the parlor.

When he saw her, his expression softened. “Mrs. Markham, you're back.”

As she watched him clumsily attempt to replace Phillip's tintype, she couldn't help but smile to herself. His awkward way of moving and conducting himself was rather endearing. It set her at ease, unlike Phillip's perfect manners. His perfect comportment often made her doubt herself.

Briefly, she wished her situation were different. She wished she trusted Sheriff Kern more. She wished they were friends, or at least friendly.

She would give a lot to be able to look forward to enjoying his company after Robert left. It would be nice to have a good friend.

However, it was likely that such a moment would never come. Or at least not anytime soon.

“Sheriff Kern, thank you again for coming so quickly. I do hope I haven't inconvenienced your day?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“I am fairly sure you are lying, but I'll pretend I believe you.”

Instead of correcting her, he bowed slightly. “May I say that you look quite fetching today?”

“You may.” She curtsied slightly, realizing as she did so that she was blushing. The clumsy compliment eased her like little did anymore. Funny how some things that were drilled into a person's head by force and cajoling could ease the greatest tensions years later. “Won't you please sit down?”

When his gaze darted toward Belle, who was standing silently beside her, Miranda felt her blush deepen. “Please forgive my manners. Sheriff Kern, Belle came in to see what kind of refreshments we might serve you. Would you care for tea or coffee?”

“Coffee would be much appreciated, Belle. Thank you.”

“Of course, Sheriff,” Belle said before turning to Miranda. “Coffee for two, ma'am?”

“Yes. And if Cook has any blueberry bread, that would be good as well.”

After another nod, Belle departed.

After gazing at Belle's retreating form a moment longer, Sheriff Kern took a seat across from Miranda and stared at her expectantly.

Miranda knew she needed to get to the point and fast. No matter how kind the sheriff was, he was not going to have time to sit and stare at her while she behaved like a ninny.

“As I said, I appreciate you meeting me here, Sheriff Kern,” she began before sputtering to a stop. Perching on the edge of the settee, she tried to control her onslaught of nerves. It was obvious that she was doing a sorry job of it, however. Her hands were clenched in tight fists and she no doubt looked anything but relaxed.

Sheriff Kern, on the other hand, leaned back in the chair
across from her, one of his elbows resting on the arm as though he was simply taking an hour's respite from work. “Do you think we could move to a first-name basis, ma'am?” he said with a small smile. “We've known each other for some time now.”

“About a year, I believe.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Since that is the case, perhaps you would be so kind as to call me a friend?”

“Yes, of course.” Had he just read her mind?

“Therefore, may we be on a first-name basis?” He raised a brow. Goading her on.

There really was no other choice. Though she felt as awkward as a wallflower at her first ball, she smiled softly. “Please, allow me to introduce myself. I'm Miranda.”

“Miranda, I am Jess.”

She felt herself blushing again. Her reaction was troublesome, indeed. She had never believed a man—any man—would cause butterflies to flutter in her stomach again. But now it seemed she truly was not immune to masculine appreciation. First she experienced this with Robert, and now Jess Kern.

Or perhaps it was simply that she wasn't dead.

If anything, he looked even more relaxed. “I'm glad we got that out of the way.”

“I, as well.”

He smiled at her again, and then, before her eyes, his whole manner changed. “Miranda, I don't believe you brought me here simply for coffee.”

She gulped. It was time. “I'm afraid I wanted to discuss something of a serious nature with you.” She paused, mentally trying out several different ways to discuss her problem. She wanted to share her concerns in a quiet, easy way. She wasn't sure if that was possible, however.

But instead of making her wait, Jess said, “You want to discuss the letter you received today.”

She exhaled a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. “Yes. Belle must have told you.”

He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “May I see it?” His voice had become all business.

“Yes, of course. Though, um, I'm afraid I must tell you I've been receiving letters like this with startling regularity.”

All traces of ease vanished from his expression. After he read the letter, he asked, “How often have you been getting these letters, Miranda?”

His use of her Christian name jarred her composure. It was going to be next to impossible to tell him anything but the stark truth. “Almost every week.” Either Belle had not told him that, too, or he was pretending not to know, protecting her maid from her employer's possible anger for discussing her private affairs. But she didn't care anymore. She wanted it all out in the open now.

“You've been receiving a letter every week. For the past year?”

“Yes. Since, um, around the time I opened the Iron Rail for business.”

“So you've received at least fifty letters.”

“Yes.”

His expression was incredulous. “Miranda, I know I did not take the first letter seriously enough, and I'm very sorry about that. But why didn't you come to me when the letters continued?” His voice was harsh. It was obvious that he was trying hard not to scare her, but he was upset.

“I don't know why I didn't come to you,” she blurted, then forced herself to be honest. “No, that isn't true. At first I started thinking that maybe those letters were nothing less than I deserved.”

He inhaled sharply. “Why on earth would you think you deserved to be the recipient of such abuse?”

“Because I'm alive, I suppose, and Phillip is not.” Her heart started beating faster. She hadn't allowed herself to verbalize these thoughts before. It was amazing how ridiculous her reasoning sounded. Her husband would have given her a good talking-to for turning those letters into something so convoluted.

Jess's expression flickered from anger to confusion to pity. He got to his feet, turned from her, and paced. Then after a pause, he walked toward her again and sat down. “Phillip was a good man, Miranda. Though I didn't know him, many officers I met in the army knew of him and thought very highly of him. He was well respected.”

“He was,” she said quickly. “He was a wonderful man. He treated me well. He was better than I deserved.” Lowering her voice, she said, “We married in haste, were hardly more than strangers, really. I was so young, and here he entrusted me with so much. No doubt he would wish I was stronger and wiser.”

“Stronger?” He cocked a brow. “Wiser?”

Even to her ears, her words sounded convoluted. “Oh, I don't know . . . better?”

Jess shook his head. “No, Miranda. Phillip Markham was exactly who you deserved. You deserved a good man. You are worthy of that love.”

Just as she was about to murmur something inconsequential, he continued. “However, even though Phillip was good, I am sure he was not perfect. He had flaws just like all of us. He was no better and no less. And more than that, I'm told he loved you dearly. Nothing would make him more upset than to realize that someone was taking advantage of your widowed state and preying on you. And . . . that you felt guilty about living.”

“Perhaps you are right.”

“No, I know I am right. Promise me from this day forward you will cease to assume that you deserve anything but happiness.”

“I will try, sir.”

“That isn't good enough. I promise you, dear, you being miserable will not make either Phillip's reputation or memory better. It will simply make you worried and upset.” Looking at her intently, he said, “Will you promise me?”

She nodded. She didn't know if it was a fool's promise, but she saw Jess's point.

His eyes flickered beyond her again. “Ah.”

She turned to see that Belle had returned with a coffee cart. And that Mr. Truax was entering the room just behind her.

Uneasiness jangled her nerves as she noticed he seemed as confident as ever.

Confident and full of his own secrets. She suddenly realized the letters had taken a stronger, ugly turn after his arrival. Did that mean something?

Could he have had something to do with them?

“Belle told me you both were in here. I thought I'd join you,” he said with a charming smile.

When Jess merely stared at him, not looking pleased by his appearance in the slightest, Miranda drew herself up. “I'm sorry, Mr. Truax, but you will have to excuse us. This is a private conversation.”

“I'd like to think I can help you.”

“I don't believe you can. It's of, um, a somewhat confidential nature,” she replied. Beside her, Jess continued to stare at her boarder.

It was beginning to make her worried.

But instead of abiding by her wishes, Robert simply sat down
next to her. Uninvited. Immediately she was surrounded by his masculine scent. Against her will, she was aware of everything about him.

“You see, the fact is, I have knowledge of your problem, Mrs. Markham. I was at the sheriff's office when Belle arrived and I know about your letter.”

Sheriff Kern propped one leg on his other and glared. “Truax, I'll take care of this. Watch yourself.”

“That is what I'm doing, Jess.”

As Miranda stared at the two men, she realized they were speaking to each other with a measure of comfort, as if they had already met. Perhaps even with a compatibility? And why was Robert at Jess's office when Belle was there?

While Jess looked ready to spit nails, Robert lazily leaned back and propped one foot on an opposite knee and smiled at Belle. “Bring me a cup of coffee when you can, would you, please, Belle?”

“Of course, sir,” she said easily. Just as if she were used to taking orders from him!

Feeling both confused and frustrated, Miranda watched Belle set china cups in front of her and the sheriff, then pour piping-hot coffee from a pot. Finally, she set out a small plate of Cook's berry bread.

Jess took a sip, while Mr. Truax reached over, rudely picked up a piece of bread, and took a large bite. A faint sprinkling of crumbs littered his vest. He brushed them away.

“Perhaps you would care to explain yourself?” she asked, somewhat caustically.

“I'll be happy to. As soon as Belle returns with my coffee. In the meantime, I think it would be wise for me to see the letter that came today.”

Instead of arguing with him, she sipped her coffee as Jess handed him the letter. When Belle returned, she served Mr. Truax, then finally left them.

Through it all, her suspicions grew. Jess Kern and Robert Truax were no strangers.

“You two know each other?”

For the first time since his entrance, Robert looked uncomfortable.

The two men exchanged glances and seemed to come to the same conclusion.

After setting down his fork, the sheriff said, “We actually met for the first time the other day, but Robert and I also have much in common because of the war.”

“You mean . . . you two served together?”

“Kind of. We were both in . . . the same place once.”

She barely refrained from rolling her eyes. That answer told her absolutely nothing. “Why did I not know this before?”

“It never came up in conversation. You know I only recently arrived here,” Robert answered.

She clenched her hands in a last-ditch effort to calm her temper. “Don't prevaricate, sir. You knew the fact that you served together would have been meaningful to me. Yet, for some reason you chose to keep it a secret.” Looking from one to the other, she said, “Both of you did. I suspect you actually knew each other before Robert came to town. You've been lying to me about this.”

Robert bristled. “I didn't do anything of the kind.”

“You did. I was led to believe that you knew no one here. That you were a stranger.” Remembering her chatter about the park, remembering how inane, how foolish she must have sounded, she said, “You've probably been here before. You should have told me.”

“I didn't lie about that, Miranda. I've never been to Galveston before.”

Suddenly hating that she'd been so familiar with him, hating how comfortable she'd felt walking by his side on the pier, she flinched. “You may call me Mrs. Markham.”

Looking contrite, Robert nodded. “As you wish. The truth is, I have not revealed everything about my visit.”