The Accidental Lawman (8 page)

Then he’d kissed her.

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth—

She’d read and reread Solomon’s Songs once when she was young, in love, and foolish. She’d fallen in love with a scoundrel. She’d believed his lies and he broke her heart. Not long afterward, she lost her father. She had Evan to provide for. Thankfully, with no one else able to supply medical care, many of the townsfolk turned to her for their medical needs just as they had her father. She had no time for herself, no time for anything but her work, her garden, her neighbors, her brother. She’d tucked away her dreams of ever finding romantic love.

And now, out of the blue, a man had kissed her.

I really have no idea why I did that.

Amelia kept her fingertips pressed against her lips as she turned to the mirror framed in the hall tree. Slowly, she pulled her hand away. There was no outward sign that she’d been kissed except that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were shining as bright as if she were feverish.

Her heart was racing.

“Dear Lord, help me,” she prayed. “I don’t understand what’s going on. I have no notion why You’ve sent Hank Larson into my life.”

She hung her reticule on the hall tree and hurried out to the kitchen pantry where she kept her supply of dried herbs, potions and elixirs.

She needed something to calm her erratic heartbeat. Surely some chamomile tea and an hour of prayer would restore her sense of calm and purpose.

F
or two weeks, Amelia avoided Hank Larson by visiting outlying ranches and homesteads. Making home visits was something her father had done every spring and fall as the weather began to turn. Each year since she’d taken over his practice, Amelia put her trust in the Lord for protection and off she went.

Folks thought she was crazy, traveling alone between stops. Anything could happen to her, they said. She could get thrown from her horse. She could get attacked by roving Comanche. She could get caught in a storm. Most of the time she ended up being escorted from one home to another, passed along from neighbor to neighbor. It was the best way she knew to raise her own spirits, especially when the folks she helped were happy to see her come and sorry to see her go.

Though the home visits kept her away from Hank Larson, they did little to help shed her ever-present worry over Evan. At the end of her travels, she returned home to find her garden beginning to show the first signs of a chaotic riot of summer color. Thankfully, there had been enough spring rain to keep them watered while she was gone.

Ignoring the weeds for now, she unsaddled Sweet Pickle and went inside. She set her medical bag down and hung her reticule on the hat rack near the back door before she wandered through the house, raising the shades and opening the windows.

Outside the front door, she found a single-page newspaper neatly folded and tucked beneath a stone. Beyond her small covered porch, the street was quiet. She carried the paper inside.

The free introductory edition had news stories on the front page and advertisements on the back. Harrison Barker’s Mercantile, Patrick O’Toole’s Butcher Shoppe and Foster’s Boardinghouse shared the advertisement page along with columns of empty boxes that read: Your Advertisement Here.

Hank Larson was listed as owner, publisher and editor in chief of the
Glory Gazette
. There was a one-paragraph biography listing Hank’s writing credits and telling of his recent move to Glory from Saint Joseph, Missouri.

The front-page article was an account of the First Bank of Glory holdup. It was written with detail that brought the event alive all over again for Amelia.

Mary Margaret and Timothy Cutter were quoted; so was Laura Foster, who stated she thought she saw two men outside the bank before the holdup.

No one else in town admitted witnessing anything of note. Denton Fairchild, the bartender at the Silver Slipper, claimed there had been some unsavory characters hanging around in his establishment, but it appeared they’d moved on.

There was a paragraph about Harvey Ruggles, who was still in jail in Comanche. He would be tried by the circuit court as soon as the judge rode through the county
seat. If he had named an accomplice, there was no mention of it.

The article ended by saying anyone with any information regarding the robbery should contact Hank Larson, editor in chief and temporary sheriff.

Amelia sat down heavily on a hassock in the parlor with the paper resting on her lap. She stared out the window thinking. Hank hadn’t mentioned her saying she
may
have seen someone outside the bank. He’d barely mentioned her at all—except to say she’d been inside the bank when the robbery occurred and that if it weren’t for her, the holdup might have been successful.

Eventually, she turned to the paper again. There was an announcement that a future column would be entitled
Know Your Neighbors
and a call for suggestions for the first profile. Amelia wondered what Hank Larson would do for news when the robbery story had played itself out.

Amelia carefully folded the paper, carried it into the kitchen and laid it on the table. The
Glory Gazette
’s first edition, with its story about the robbery, brought an ache to her heart and a nervous uproar in her stomach. Her two weeks on the road had been a fine reprieve, but now she faced the same challenges she’d tried to escape.

How long before I run into Hank Larson somewhere?

What in the world was she supposed to say or do when she saw him? Why had he kissed her?

And what of Evan?

She pressed her palms against the surface of the kitchen table, closed her eyes and whispered, “Dear Lord, keep me strong. Help me to follow Your lead, to trust You to show me the way and the truth. Keep Evan safe. Help him to follow Your lead, to hear Your voice.”

One look out the back window and her tasks for the
day were clear. Before she could tackle the weeds in the garden, there were dried herbs to be ground and sifted into packets to replace those she’d used on her journey. She donned her apron, took a pestle and mortar off the shelf near the window, and then went into the small pantry between the kitchen and the back porch.

She was on a short ladder, unhooking a bunch of yarrow she had hung from a nail in a low beam, when she heard boot heels echoing against the back porch.

Her heart quickened its pace and for a moment she envisioned Hank Larson about to knock on the door, until she remembered only one person used the back door—Evan.

Her toe caught in the hem of her dress and she nearly fell off the ladder in her haste to climb down. She tossed the yarrow on the dry sink and was turning around when her brother walked in.

“Evan—”

A greeting died on her lips the moment she saw him. Above a dark growth of stubble, his eyes were weary. He looked as if he’d aged ten years. He was covered in trail dust, his clothes filthy. He took off his hat, ran his fingers through his hair and looked around.

“Let me get a fire going in the stove. Are you hungry?” She bustled over to the wood box. “I just walked in myself. I was out doing home visits.” She avoided looking at him, afraid to discover he looked even worse than she thought at first sight. “I should have gotten the fire going first thing, but I had a big breakfast at the Ellenbergs’ and was putting off cooking.”

He didn’t offer to light the stove for her. As she lit the kindling, she heard him walk to the table, pull out a chair. When she turned around, she saw him reach for the newspaper.

“How—” she balked, afraid to ask “—how is your new job?” She steeled herself against a lie.

“Fine.” He glanced at the
Gazette.
Amelia clasped her hands at her waist. It had always been a struggle to get him to read anything. His hands tightened on the paper as he read the headline, Bandit Hits Local Bank. He bent over the sheet, slowly reading every word.

When he finally looked up, her heart sank to her toes. The truth was plain as day on his face.

He
was
there that day
.

“Your name is mentioned,” he told her. “Looks like you were as much a part of foiling the holdup as the new
sheriff
.” His eyes were hard, unforgiving.

“The gunman tripped over us.” She took a deep breath. Shuddered. “You know very well what happened that day. I saw you outside the door.”

There was no shock, no protest. He leaned back and casually hooked one arm over the chair. “Says here no one else saw anything, except maybe that lady with a boardinghouse. I know you, sis. If you were sure about seeing me, you’da turned me in. Your goody-goody conscience must be worrying you something fierce. Why didn’t you tell anybody?”

“I…wasn’t positive. You never really admitted…”

“But you suspected.”

“I didn’t want to believe it of you. The barkeep says you keep company with a bad lot.”

“I suppose everyone’s been talking about me.”

She couldn’t tell if that upset him or if he was bragging.

“We’re known by the friends we keep,” she said.

He stood up, shoved the chair back. “I can’t stay here now.” He looked as if he were about to leave, then surveyed the room as if he had no idea where to go.

“Why did you come back?” She glanced outside the window. “Where’s Bucket Head?” His horse wasn’t tied to the hitching post out back.

“In the barn.”

He’d hidden his mount before he came in.

“What have you done, Evan?” Her hands were shaking. She clasped them together behind her back.

“None of your business.” He shifted, scratched the stubble on his chin and glanced toward her pantry. “You got any money? If you’re just back from your home visits, you musta got paid something.”

She held out her hands and shrugged. “You know the folks around here don’t have much. I got paid in ham and eggs. I got a sack of carrots from the Mitchells. Inge Martin gave me some almond cookies.” She still had the two dollars Laura Foster had given her hidden in the pantry. She’d put the money away to help pay the taxes on the house when they came due.

“You’re welcome to the food, Evan, but I really think you should stay and…and turn yourself in.”

“Turn myself in? There’s no law against standing outside a bank while a robbery is going on.”

“You had your gun drawn.”

“You sure about that? You told the sheriff you don’t know what you saw.”

“Memories often get clearer with time.”

“And sometimes they fade.”

He hovered in the center of the kitchen, filling the space with the heat and darkness that come before a summer thunderstorm. She knew she didn’t have long to try to convince him to do the right thing.

“Get me a clean shirt, will ya, sis?”

His request threw her off guard. “A clean shirt?”

There was a pile of them in his room. Clean, pressed and folded, waiting for his return. She walked to his side, laid her hand on his sleeve.

“Evan, you don’t have to turn yourself in to the sheriff, though I think he’s a fair man. He’d hear you out. Why don’t we walk over to the McCormick house? You can talk to the reverend and maybe after some prayer and counseling, you’ll realize that staying on this path will only lead to destruction. I can’t lose you, Evan. You’re all I have.”

He shook off her hand. “You still think the Bible can fix everything, don’t you, sis? You think all there is to life is doing the right thing and everything will be fine. I’m here to tell you it’s a waste of time for a man like me. We’ve never had anything and I’m sick of it.”

“There are ways to make an honest living, Evan. Anyone in this town would take you in as an apprentice. Mick at the livery would be happy to have you. Why, Mr. Larson might even need someone to set the type on his printing press. You could—”

“I could end up with a noose around my neck if I don’t get out of here.”

“A noose? Have you killed someone? Are you a lowlife horse thief now?”

“It’s none of your business what I am.”

“It is my business. I’m your sister—”

“Go get me a clean shirt. Please.” He turned his back on her and walked over to pour himself a glass of water from a tall crockery pitcher on the dry sink.

Fuming, she decided it best to put distance between them. She’d gain nothing by arguing.

She prayed as she walked into his room, forcing herself to slow down, to take her time. His shirts were
folded in the top bureau drawer. She stalled, prayed, opened the drawer and chose one with ticking stripes.

She heard him pacing the kitchen. Heard his footsteps in the parlor. Maybe he was going to sit down, to think about what she’d said. She took a deep breath, hugged his shirt and gave him a few seconds more alone.

Then the back door slammed.

She tossed the shirt on his bed, ran into the kitchen. He was already headed into the barn.

“Evan!” She ran across the back porch and started after him. She’d barely reached the bottom step when Evan rode out of the barn on horseback, trampled her herb garden, jumped the low back fence, and headed east.

Shaken to the core, Amelia stumbled back. She watched the distance widen between them. Her eyes filled with tears. His image wavered and shimmered against the sky. She clenched her fists, pressed them against her thighs. She wanted to scream she was so angry, but that wouldn’t bring him back.

She could no longer ignore what was happening. She could no longer hide from the truth and still hold her head up before God and the good citizens of Glory.

Hank Larson had to be told that Evan was involved in the holdup.

She raised her fist to her lips. She couldn’t face Hank after what had happened the last time they were together.

She decided she would go to Brand McCormick instead. The minister would listen without judgment. He could tell Hank about Evan. Brand McCormick would understand. He’d be more than happy to help her. Together, they would pray for Evan.

She went back inside, intent upon collecting herself enough to walk to the McCormicks’ house. The moment
she stepped over the threshold, she saw her father’s mustache cup lying on its side on the table. She’d kept her savings stashed in the chipped cup for as long as she could remember. Her hand shook as she picked it up. The sound of coins was absent. She looked inside, knowing what she’d find.

The cup was empty. The two silver dollars Laura Foster had paid her were gone.

Evan had stolen from her. He’d been so desperate, so selfish, that he’d taken her savings. Taken the money that she’d set aside for taxes. Her tears overflowed. The room began to whirl. She quickly sat down on a chair, hung her head between her knees and waited for her head to clear.

She got up slowly and started toward the parlor until she remembered her reticule wasn’t on the hall tree. She found it beside her medical bag near the kitchen door, but when she picked it up, it felt suspiciously light and her heart sank like a stone.

Her fingers fumbled and caught on the strings. Reaching inside, she searched for her father’s gold watch, but her hand came away empty. She turned the small silk bag upside down and shook it. All that fell out was her yellowed ivory comb and three bent hairpins.

This morning at the Ellenbergs’ she’d felt a hole at the bottom of the makeshift pocket she’d pinned to her waistband. A small niggling voice inside her told her to mend the pocket. Instead, she’d slipped her father’s gold watch into her reticule.

Now, as much as she wanted to deny it, Evan had stolen the watch. It was like losing her father all over again.

Staring at the meager items in the palm of her hand, she slowly sank to the floor and began to sob, mourning the loss of the watch. Mourning the loss of Evan’s innocence.