The Accidental Lawman (11 page)

She’d taken care of her father and her brother since she was eight years old. She’d taken care of the house and the gardens, and for the past seven years, nearly everyone living in and outside of Glory.

Now Hank was asking if she wouldn’t like to have someone else take care of her once in a while.

She’d never dared to even let herself dream of it.

His face suddenly wavered before her eyes as they filled with tears.

He reached into his coat pocket and whipped out a linen handkerchief and handed it to her.

“You seem to be leaking, Amelia.”

She swiped her tears away. “You are quite simply the most irritating man I’ve ever met.”

“I’m not all bad.”

“Did you bring me flowers?”

He looked away. “I brought you a poster.”

“No, I mean the other day. Did you leave some bluebonnets on my porch?”

She watched him shift his stance, give his collar a tug. “Those were just weeds. I never realized you’d have so many flowers in your garden. Real flowers.”

“It was…” She didn’t know what to say. “It was a kind gesture. Thank you.”

He nodded. “You ready to join the crowd?”

“I’m heading home.”

“There’s a potluck supper laid out.”

She could see folks gathered around trestle tables. She’d brought a crock of baked beans smothered in bacon.

“Come on, Amelia. You have to eat.”

Charity was sure to be watching.

When he looked as if he were about to take her arm and lead her to the table, she started walking in that direction on her own. As they moved through the crowd gathered around the serving tables, she heard folks greet Hank warmly and realized he had gotten to know quite a few people in a very short time. Everyone seemed comfortable chatting with him.

What would they say tomorrow when he walked into shops and businesses with his posters? What would they say about Evan? About her?

She ladled a few beans and a slice of beef onto a plate. She didn’t care if she never ate another bite in her life.

He must have felt sorry for her because Hank seemed intent on sticking to her like glue. She glanced around the
tables set up in shady spots and blankets spread out on the ground and finally located Charity beside Brand. There was one extra chair at their table. Mary Margaret and Timothy Cutter were on a blanket yards away from the McCormicks.

“I’m going to go sit with the Cutters,” Amelia announced, hoping Hank would take the hint and walk away.

Hank followed her gaze and said, “There’s only one place left beside them.”

“Yes. But there’s a seat open beside Charity and Brand. You should join them.”

Hank paused, nodded at the McCormicks and turned to Amelia. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“Look around, Mr. Larson. We’re hardly alone.”

He’d kept his word. Despite their odd beginning, despite the fact that he was sheriff for now, Hank Larson was a kind man. He and Charity would make a fine pair. She certainly wasn’t about to stand in her friend’s way.

He left flowers on your porch.

His way of apologizing for something he should have never done.

He kissed you.

Spontaneously. And, according to him, for no apparent reason.

She reminded herself that he was the man charged with bringing Evan in for attempted robbery.

There was no reason to think he was attracted to her in any way. She’d read a man wrong once. She wasn’t about to be fooled again.

Most of all there was Charity to think of, Charity’s feelings.

Hank and Charity were far more suited. Perhaps all she
needed to do was point that out to him, to give him a shove in the right direction.

If they are so suited for each other, why does it bother you so much?

Amelia stilled the voice inside her, forced a smile and met his gaze.

“Thank you for your concern, Mr. Larson, but I’m fine. I suggest you go and sit with the McCormicks. I know for a fact that Charity would appreciate your company.”

His jaw gaped like a widemouth bass before he snapped it shut again.

Amelia turned to walk away, but not before she heard him say, “Miss Hawthorne, you are quite simply the most irritating woman I’ve ever met.”

J
ust then, Reverend Brand McCormick called to Hank and Amelia both, inviting them to the table. Amelia motioned that she was going to join the Cutters. There was nothing Hank could do but smile and head toward the preacher’s group.

As he slid into the only empty chair at the makeshift table of boards resting on sawhorses, Hank couldn’t help but notice the rosy blush staining Charity’s cheeks and the way she batted her lashes and then coyly looked away.

He hadn’t been in her company more than twice, hadn’t any idea that Charity would be, as Amelia had put it,
appreciative
of his company. From the moment he sat down, Charity remained silent except to correct one of the children. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, staring intently at his profile as he spoke with her brother.

“Any luck in Comanche?” the reverend asked.

Hank tried to ignore Charity’s intense stare. “Ruggles, our holdup man, was encouraged to talk—”

“Knowing Oz Caldwell, I can imagine he had little choice. You realize I can’t condone that kind of treatment
of prisoners.” Brand paused in the midst of slicing a piece of ham and looked over at Hank.

“Nor do I. Besides, I don’t intend on holding anyone here in Glory. There is no jail and, as far as I’m concerned, you folks haven’t much of a sheriff, either.”

Brand smiled around the piece of meat he forked into his mouth.

“Anyone stepped forward to volunteer to take my place while I was gone?” Hank wanted to know.

“Not a soul.”

“I’m going to run an advertisement for a new lawman in the
Glory Gazette
until I find someone.” He dug into a pile of creamed corn, well aware that Charity’s stare was nearly burning a hole through his cheek. He glanced at her, watched her lashes flutter. He felt obliged to smile at her around a mouthful of corn before he returned his attention to Brand.

Thankfully, Reverend McCormick was an orator. As he continued to chat, pausing now and then to take a bite, chew it and then go on, Hank pretended to listen. He caught only fragments of the preacher’s conversation. “…think the masquerade party will be well attended…. fund-raiser for the choir robes…. never had them…really hope someday you’ll join us for services…”

While the preacher chatted on in one ear, Hank felt Charity staring, and debated what to do. He wasn’t looking for a wife and even if his battered, broken heart would allow it, Charity would definitely not be the woman he’d choose. Some might consider her quite lovely. She was obviously a pious, modest young woman. He found her too shy, too thin, and she had no backbone. Brand’s two children ran all over her.

He lowered his head and his attention drifted over to
Amelia and the Cutters. She was seated on a blanket in the dappled shade beneath a tree, her supper plate forgotten on her lap, her legs crossed at her ankles. She leaned close to Timothy Cutter and spoke directly into his ear. Her bonnet was years out of style. It had slid to the back of her head, exposing her already freckled complexion to the sun.

As he watched, she threw back her head to laugh at something Timothy Cutter said. Her hat slipped farther but was caught by the wide blue ribbons around her slender throat. Hank’s heart stuttered, as if trying to chug to life like a steam engine long out of use. He was too far away to hear Amelia’s laugh and he realized he’d never heard it before.

Suddenly, more than anything in the world, he wanted to hear what that laugh sounded like. Arrested, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Charity was forgotten. As he watched Amelia, he saw her quickly sober and knew that her laughter had, no doubt, been silenced when she remembered the news he’d brought her today.

The reverend’s voice drifted to him again. “…certainly hope you’ll join us for services next week.”

He turned to Brand, who was waiting expectantly for a reaction to his last remark. Hank sifted through his thoughts, fumbled for an answer.

“I…it’s certainly something to consider.”

Brand pounded him on the shoulder. “Good. That’s wonderful. We’ll look forward to seeing you.”

He had no idea what he’d just agreed to think about.

Charity touched his sleeve, drawing his attention away from her brother. “Would you care for some cake? I’ll bring you a piece.”

Across the open square, women were replacing crocks and pots of food with pie plates and cake stands full of
delicacies. Sam McCormick was at one end of the table, unabashedly stuffing his vest pockets with cookies. His sister was covertly walking along the length of the table dragging her finger through the frosting on every single cake. There was a multicolored lump of frosting the size of an apple on the end of her index finger.

Hank looked into Charity McCormick’s wide eyes, took in her somewhat dazed expression and lost his appetite. “I’m full as a tick,” he told her. “I think I’ll forgo the dessert.”

She appeared at a loss until Brand said, “I’d love some cake. And a piece of pie if there’s extra.”

Hank decided that Brand was completely unaware that his sister was smitten. No one could be that adept at acting oblivious.

While Charity went to fetch her brother’s dessert, Hank made up his mind to put a halt to any infatuation she might be nurturing. Better to put an end to it now.
Nip it in the bud, son
. It’s what his father would have advised.

She returned to the table and handed Brand a plate piled high with desserts.

“My brother has a sweet tooth,” Charity spoke without actually looking at Hank. Her face was aflame. “It’s his one vice.”

“As far as I know, and I’ve studied the Bible extensively for years, sis, there is no sin in eating sugar.”

“How about gluttony?” She turned to Hank and winked.

He hoped the wink was only to let him know she was teasing. He pushed his chair back.

“Miss McCormick, I was wondering if you’d like to take a stroll with me? Reverend, with your permission?”

Brand nodded, mumbled his approval around a mouthful of chocolate cake. “Certainly, Mr. Larson.”

Charity wasted no time getting to her feet.

Hank felt he was about to cancel Christmas when he took one look at her face, but a man had to do what a man had to do. He didn’t risk looking over at Amelia as he offered Charity his arm. He was flustered enough.

Amelia gave up on eating the minute she joined Mary Margaret and Timothy on their blanket in the shade and pretended to be interested in Mary Margaret’s endless stream of conversation.

“The arnica tea isn’t helping my arthritis, Amelia. Is there anything else we might try? Your father’s elixir, perhaps? It settles my nerves and, to my mind, I think my nerves might be half the problem.”

“I’ve a few bottles of tonic left,” she told Mrs. Cutter. “I’ll bring one by.”

Timothy ate in silence, smiling and nodding as if he heard every word. His cheeks were full, and his jowls bounced with every bite.

Amelia found her eyes had a will of their own. No matter how often she forced herself not to look across the square at Hank, her focus returned to him again and again. He was, indeed, seated beside Charity, who never took her eyes off of him.

“…lying there on the floor of the bank, when I realized I wasn’t going to die,” Mary Margaret was saying, “I told myself it was because the Lord was saving me for something else.”

Timothy leaned closer and yelled, “I’m not putting up another shelf!”

Mary Margaret yelled back, “Not another
shelf
. Something
else!
”

“You’ve already stuffed that pantry full of dishes and folderol. If I put up another shelf, you’ll just buy more.”

Happy for the reprieve, Amelia laughed. But her laughter was short-lived when she remembered the poster with Evan’s name on it.

Where was Evan now? Hiding out like some hunted animal on the run? He’d been desperate enough to come home and steal their father’s watch from her. How desperate was he? What other sinful acts was he capable of?

Across the way, Charity watched Hank concentrate on his plate. They made a striking couple: Hank, in his suit, Charity in her stylish hat and dress.

A few minutes later, Amelia’s gaze drifted away from the children gathered around a pony cart across the square and unerringly fell upon Hank and Charity once more. Hank was standing now, waiting while Charity rose to her feet.

He offered her his arm, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and together, the two of them began to stroll across the grass.

Amelia took a deep breath and said a silent prayer.
Thank You, Lord, for knowing what’s in our hearts and making all things right. Thank You for forgiving Evan, for helping him find his way back, as I know You will.
Then she added,
And thank You for bringing Hank and Charity together.
As she spoke the words, she truly meant them. Hank Larson was not for her.

A calmness, a gentle peace came over her and she knew the Lord was listening, that He was there.

They were on their second pass around the edge of the square when Hank finally worked up the courage to say, “Miss McCormick, I…you must know I find you charming—”

A sound escaped her, a small gasp of surprise and the instant he heard it, Hank knew he’d taken a dive into
muddy waters. He slid a sideways glance at Charity and his steps faltered. She stopped, waiting breathlessly for more. Her eyes were huge blue orbs filled with gratitude and excitement. He’d never seen anyone actually jump for joy, but he had the feeling she was about to do just that.

He rushed on before things went from terrible to worse.

“—but I would certainly be remiss if I led you to believe that I harbored any feelings besides admiration for your character, your manners and your comportment.” Sometimes being a writer paid off.

He chanced another glance and found Charity looking quite confused.

“In other words, Miss McCormick, I don’t harbor any affection for you—at least none of a romantic nature. Nor do I foresee myself nurturing any in the future.”

He heard that little gasp again and was forced to face her. She’d gone pale as a hothouse lily. “What…what are you saying, Mr. Larson?”

He thought he’d made himself perfectly understandable.

Hank cleared his throat. “I’m not attracted to you in a romantic way, Charity. I’m sure there is a much better man out there for you.”

She began to fan her face with both hands and press her lips together. He was afraid she might faint dead away.

“Amelia?” Charity whispered. “Amelia told you I was sweet on you? Oh, how embarrassing! How
could
she?”

“She was trying to help, I think.”

Charity shook her head. “Amelia wants you for herself.”

Hank laughed. “I very much doubt that, Miss McCormick. Amelia and I barely tolerate each other.”

He watched her take her time smoothing her hands over her cheeks, her hair. She fluffed the lace trim on the cuff of her sleeve and took a deep breath. Hank was
amazed at the way she calmly pulled herself together until her placid smile was once more in place.

“Thank you for being so completely honest, Mr. Larson.”

“You’re welcome, Miss McCormick. Let me walk you back to your family.”

“No, thank you. I’m fine.”

“It’s no trouble, I—”

“Really, I’d relish a moment alone, believe me.” She nodded and then smiled. This time it was genuine. “I’m certain the Lord has someone else in mind for me. Thank you again for your honesty.”

He marveled at her certainty as he bade her good-day. Hank watched Charity walk away, head high, shoulders straight.

Then his gaze unerringly found the Cutters seated on their blanket beneath the trees, but Amelia was gone.