At First Sight

The Sheriff’s Daughters

Karen Sommers

Copyright © 2018 by Karen Sommers

All rights reserved.

Also by Karen Sommers

Contents

What Has Gone Before

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Next in the Series

Also by Karen Sommers

About the Author

What Has Gone Before

Amanda

Amanda was with the boys… again. She could hear the disapproving voice of the matron in her head. “It isn’t proper. It simply isn’t done.” The words took on a singsong quality, in her head as she bent over the game of marbles that had taken a rather dire turn since the last shot. Her aggie was at stake. She shot. Missed. Sitting back on her heels waiting for Bart to take his turn, she thought that even losing the game was worth it. Or at least better than being over with the girls. Girls wept – constantly. They picked at their threadbare dresses and whispered about lace and silk and fancy dinner parties, things they expected to have someday when they grew up, and then they wept again because they knew the reality as well as anyone did.

Boys. Boys were different. Boys swung on the wood that made the bunk beds, boys wrestled and tumbled and sometimes fought. They skinned knees and tore pants, and it was all the same to them.

And they took her aggie with a gap-toothed grin of thanks and a ruffling of her hair and called her one of them.

Boys were definitely better.

The problem was, there were fewer and fewer boys at every stop. When the children were hustled out from the dark confines of their train cars and paraded into the blinding sun to stand, even the adults commented on it. “Is that all the boys you have?” and “Well, I was looking for a boy” while strangers looked them over with a critical eye, talking in front of the children as if they didn’t understand what it was all about.

The thing is, they knew. They’d known it almost from the start. Amanda had heard it from Jasper who heard it from listening in to the grown-ups that they were really being given away to work on farms, in factories, or sometimes if you were lucky - in houses. That whole loving, caring family thing that had sold them on this trip all the way back in New York wasn’t part of the package once they started getting shuffled out onto the train platform. No one said they had to love the children that they adopted. It was whispered that if such a child didn’t get to eat with the family… or at all… who’s concern was that?

“It’s even worse for girls,” Jasper said to his horrified audience. As often as Amanda was found over playing with the boys, he was found tormenting the girls. He went on and on about houses where girls worked all day and all night and hinted that when they were old enough, they had to work on their backs, though Amanda had only a hazy idea of what that meant and wasn’t sure who to ask for confirmation.

It was scary out there in the world beyond the train. The children disappearing was oddly frightening where first it had been comforting. Not that Amanda was afraid of hard work. It was the kind of work that she objected to. And if Jasper were even partially correct about the treatment the children would be sure to get, she wasn’t altogether sure she wouldn’t have been better off staying in the city.

It got so Amanda figured that maybe going back home to New York would be the best solution. She’d already gotten to hate each stop. Now she hid in the train, thinking if no one adopted her, they’d have to take her back to New York. But the idea was a foolish one. They always found her. So instead she tried to hide in her mind, to tell herself that Jasper was a fool, and just made things up to shock them.

That worked for a while at any rate. While the sun shone, and the train moved ceaselessly onward, she could forget that somewhere out there was a place where she would have to come to a stop. Night was the enemy. With no games or companions to occupy her mind, her own imaginings took her. She lay in her bunk, awake for hours, listening to the girls cry around her, and somewhere along the way decided to be a boy. Because boys didn’t get hurt.

At least not like that. Not like her mother had been.

At long last, the train pulled into another stop in Colorado. She didn’t know where, it didn’t matter anyway. No one told the children where they were, or where they were going. She was found again in the boy’s car and shuffled out with the rest. She was one of three, the last girls on the train. She stood where she was unceremoniously dumped between the two other girls and wondered what she’d have to do to convince everyone she was a boy. Trousers for a start. And maybe if she cut her hair…

Amanda sighed. It was no use. Disgruntled and angry, she studied her companions.

Linda, she knew. She was a serious child who didn’t cry, nor did she laugh. Linda took care of the smaller ones, a self-appointed matron and the little ones clung to her like little puppies. Linda’s puppies were also vanishing as they were adopted along the route of the orphan train.

Today, there was only one such little one left. Sarah. Sarah was a thin waif that Amanda hadn’t thought would last this long. Sarah was all bone and knee and had at least three fingers in her mouth at any given time. She clung now to Amanda almost as much as to Linda. Uneasily she put her arm around the girl, not entirely sure what to do or say to help her. She looked at Linda, who shrugged.

Old women and a few weather-beaten men wandered through the selection, tsking their tongues and lamenting about the thinness, the dirt, the signs of neglect on the children. “Someone should do something,” was a common reaction. No one ever did, though, they just found the child with the least amount of grime and took them home.

A fat man with spittle shining in his beard pushed through the thin crowd of shoppers and gawkers and looked directly at Amanda. She knew that look, he measured her, finding her wanting. It was the same look she’d gotten for the past month as the train wended through the mountains carrying its desperate cargo. No one wanted her, but in the case of the fat man, Amanda was happy to be discarded so easily. He was smelly and disgusting, and he felt… wrong, as though she already knew his character without hearing him utter a word.

Why then did he look at Linda, and ask her if she bled? Amanda wasn’t entirely sure what it meant to “work on your back,” but the way Jasper said it, full of ominous overtones and dire warnings, it sounded very frightening and had something to do with the kind of questions this man asked. How she knew, she couldn’t say. It was instinctive, as was the way she grabbed onto Linda the same way Linda grabbed little Sarah now and tucked her behind her skirts.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Jasper being shoved from the line to face a severe-looking man with a tired, angry woman beside him. The man grabbed Jasper’s wrist and hauled him away. So, Jasper had been adopted. Amanda’s heart went with him. She watched, unshed tears blurring his features as he was led away.

Someone was talking to the disgusting bearded man. She’d missed most of it, but the lech was spluttering and growling. Linda was squeezing Sarah so hard the little girl cried and Linda was shouting that Sarah needed her.

Amanda stepped closer to Linda, ready to hold her, or the little one, whichever was left behind. Seeing Jasper hauled away… Amanda needed someone to hold onto just then. Everything felt suddenly scary and unsure.

Amanda could barely hear the men argue for the blood pounding in her ears, but the matron was visibly upset. That wasn’t good. When the matron was upset, she took it out on whoever was handy, if one of them were responsible for upsetting her, all of them would feel her wrath.

The large man, the one that seemed to be in charge and wore a suit and white hat bent over to talk to Linda. “You can’t leave her?” he asked.

Linda shook her head.

“Why not?”

“She needs me,” Linda managed to say.

“And what about her?” He pointed to Amanda. Amanda’s heart stuck in her throat. Linda looked up at her. They didn’t know each other. Amanda never spent time with other girls, and there was no reason for Linda to risk anything for her sake.

“She needs me too,” Linda said.

Amanda’s heart wept at that small statement, though she kept it from her face like a boy would.

He spoke to Linda a bit longer, but Amanda was still lost in that act of… friendship. ‘She needs me too.’ It might even be true.

“You!” The large man said, pointing to Amanda. She could see him better for him being bent over closer to her. He had a weathered face, but it seemed kind, and he looked like he carried a good joke just hidden away that was too good to share. “Is that shiner you got from protecting her?” he asked, thumbing to Linda.

“She got that in a fight.” Linda seemed to be the official spokesman of the group. “Some boys were picking on Sarah.”

Actually, Jasper gave her that black eye by accident. His elbow had connected unexpectedly while they were wrestling. Amanda looked down at her feet. It made her sound noble. It made her wish she had been.

The man nodded and said, “Come on then, girls.” He ushered them off the platform. Amanda looked for Jasper, but he’d been lost in the crowd.

“See here!” The matron cried. “It’s not so simple as all that! Papers must be signed! There are regulations and procedures! I shall summon the constabulary!”

The man stopped, turned around and flipped up his collar. It was the first time Amanda saw a star pinned to a man’s clothes. The effect it had on the matron was startling. Her eyes got real huge, and suddenly she was talking all meek and submissive. Amanda had never seen matron act like that before in her life.

Someday I want to be a sheriff too.

They had left the platform and headed into a bustling town when it belatedly occurred to her that she too had just been adopted. Like Jasper. Though she suspected that this adoption was going to be a whole lot better than his.

Not to mention, she now had two sisters.

Chapter 1

“Well, neither do I!” Amanda seethed and set the pot down, somewhat harder than necessary. The burner underneath rattled on the stove.

“I cannot fathom this!” Sarah huffed and tried in vain to force a lock of hair to remain well tucked within the confines of her bonnet. Which didn’t bode well. If Sarah had any intention of staying to help prepare the meal she would have hung the hat on the hook next to the door as was proper. The girl was very likely planning to bolt. “We cannot suddenly be helpless and… and starve to death because our sister has married and moved off! This is unacceptable!”

“Well…” Amanda said, throwing her arms in the air. “I don’t know what to tell you. I never learned to cook. Every night it was my turn I put on soup. You know that as well as I.”

“As I also well know that Father said if he saw another pot of soup he was not going to be accountable for his actions.” Sarah seemed to be edging toward the door. “Perhaps I should—“

“You should stay right where you are and help me, you coward.”

Rachel, their new niece, hopped down off the chair she was sitting in and, with a quiet shake of her head, took the pot to the sink. She had to stand on tiptoes to get to the pump, but once the water started to flow, she let it fill about three-quarters full as the two sisters exchanged glances and watched, bemused.

Rachel wrestled the pot to the stove and set it on the top. She packed the oven with fresh wood and looked at her handiwork and then at the pot. She took out one of the larger pieces and set it back into the pile.

Next, she grabbed the basket of pea pods and began snapping off the stems. “grab it like this and just break it off,” she said to Sarah and handed her the bowl and the basket. Sarah began snapping the stems, and Rachel turned her attention to Amanda.

“How old are you?” Amanda asked, still trying to wrap her head around the girl’s calm confidence in the kitchen.

“Ten,” Rachel answered and handed her a knife. “Scrape the carrots to clean them and then slice them about like this.” She demonstrated, holding a piece up for inspection.

“I cannot believe that a ten-year-old is teaching us how to cook,” Sarah moaned, pulling her bonnet off and dropping it on the table, then sitting to snap another peapod. Finished vegetables rained down into the bowl, making a soft rhythmic sound.

“If you really want something to worry about,” Amanda said, “Think about this: When Linda and Tom get back from their honeymoon, Rachel’s going back home, and we have to eat each other’s cooking.”

The peapod in Sarah’s hand flew from her grasp and soared through the window. Rachel looked at the window, turned to her new aunt and cried out, “Good shooting!” and collapsed into a case of the giggles.

Amanda nearly cut herself with the knife, she laughed so hard.

“That’s not funny!” Sarah objected, but the smile on her face destroyed whatever indignity she was suffering.

“Yeah, it is,” Amanda assured her.

“It kinda is,” Rachel echoed her, with a grin.

“Oh, don’t you start.” Sarah reached over and tousled Rachel’s hair. The three of them worked in an amicable silence for a while. “I saw that new lawyer today.”

Amanda’s knife clattered to the floor. She bent to pick it up and wash it under the pump. “Was he riding?” she asked casually.

“Honestly! The man is handsome, professional, and wealthy and all you can think of is his horse?” Sarah looked to Rachel for help. The girl only shrugged and continued to cut the fat away from the cut of meat Amanda had purchased for tonight’s stew. Which technically wasn’t soup, so Father would be pleased. Right?

“It’s a beautiful horse.” Amanda protested, allowing herself to be distracted by her worries over dinner. “And he has it trained so well. Did you see that? When he came to the reception after the wedding? He just let the horse stand, didn’t tie him or anything and he stood there, solid as the day.” She sighed a little, letting the knife rest on the cutting board as she pictured it. Such marvelous training!

“And his tail is made of spun gold, and there are little rubies that fall from his mouth…” Sarah said half under her breath.

“I don’t think those were rubies,” Rachel said, shooting a delighted glance Sarah’s way. “I think he was chewing…”

“It’s an expression, dear.” Sarah interrupted, crossly.

“It’s sarcasm,” Amanda said, for the sake of clarification. “And just because someone can appreciate good horseflesh doesn’t mean…”

“You can’t marry a horse!” Sarah said, setting aside the bowl and looking up at her sister with a look that Amanda was coming to know only too well. “Are you going to grow old and alone staring at a horse?”

“I’m not old, not by a long shot. I have plenty of time and besides… What if I don’t want to marry?”

Sarah shot to her feet. “AMANDA ADDAMS! You cannot mean that! Admit it, you’re only saying that to vex me!”

“No.” Amanda sank the point of the knife in a particularly large carrot, leaving the handle quivering in an upright position. “I’m only saying that because it’s true, the fact that it vexes you is just a bonus.”

“Oh, you really are about the most stubborn thing!” Sarah stomped her foot but was too close to the table. The bowl with the peas spun crazily on the edge of the table. Sarah and Amanda both reached to steady it. They grabbed it from both sides, and the peapods shot from the bowl, erupting like a small green volcano, sending pods raining down onto the kitchen floor.

In the horrified silence that followed, Rachel said quietly, “Well… at least the bowl didn’t fall.”

The two sisters dove and began searching for peapods.

“Just because I am not man crazy, you don’t have the right…”

“Man crazy? You are horse crazy, and dog crazy, and... and hunting crazy and everything that men do, you’re… “

“I just want to ride the beast,” Amanda said wistfully, standing up with a handful of migrant peapods. She dropped them into the bowl, and Sarah whisked it away to rinse off in the sink.

“I can only assume we are still discussing the horse,” Sarah said, this time not under her breath at all.

“SARAH!” Amanda looked at Rachel who was busily looking from one sister to another, her forehead crinkling as she tried to puzzle out what was so upsetting in that particular statement.

“It’s nothing dear,” Amanda assured her, though her cheeks still burned red.

“Well, you have to think about it, Amanda! I mean, Linda is married now,” she blinked and looked at Rachel, “And she’s already got a child. A ten-year-old child. I shall marry too, and soon, but you’re…”

“What am I??” Amanda set her hands on her hips and glared at her sister.

Sarah set the peapods down and sighed. “Amanda, you wear trousers and a man’s shirt. You wear a man’s hat.”

“Lots of women in Colorado do,” Amanda said, arms crossed over her chest. “Can’t ride in a dress, and those frilly hats you wear won’t do a thing to keep the sun out your eyes when you’re out on the range.”

“Fine, it’s not practical, I understand that, but not everything has to be practical. And not everything has to work with horses. You can ride sidesaddle, you know.” Sarah propped her hands on her hips and faced off against her sister. “There’s no call to make a noise like that, sidesaddle is perfectly acceptable. Why a lady can even jump a horse that way.”

“It’s not the same,” Amanda muttered, going back to her carrots. “You don’t have the control, horses are trained by knee pressure, you have to start over on a horse to teach it sidesaddle, and that just looks silly.”

“Dressing like a man looks silly!” Sarah snapped back. “Some young officers are right now coming into town to oversee the construction of the fort. They’re taking rooms in town, and I have to explain that my sister is parading around town in trousers.”

“You don’t have to explain anything about me to anyone. It ain’t none of their business anyway!”

“I don’t! I stopped! I just tell people I don’t know you!”

Amanda scowled. That actually stung a little. “Well, that’s the first thing you got right yet! You don’t know me! You don’t have a clue who I am!” She blinked back sudden tears.

“I’m not the only one! You can’t tell either!”

Rachel bypassed her aunts, took the bowl of peas and headed for the stove. She dumped the vegetables in the pot and looked around for a match.

“I know who and what I am, and I am proud of who and what I am!”

“Well, I hope you like those horses of yours because it’s gonna be just you and them and no one else in your life if you insist on living your life this way!”

“If that means no you, then I am looking forward to the silence!”

Rachel took the knife from Amanda’s lax fingers and finished chopping the carrots, adding them to the stew water in silence. She struck a match and started the fire in the stove.

“You don’t have to wait, you know. You can just move into the barn with those smelly horses and live there for all I care!”

Rachel added the meat cuts and pulled out a half-dozen potatoes. She rinsed them, but left the skins on and cut them into large chunks.

“Why should I have to go? You go and live with one of those smelly little officers you’re always drooling over. At least the horses are better than that!”

“How dare you!” Sarah screamed, hands on her hips. “You take that back!”

“You take back what you said.”

“I will not!” Sarah pushed her, hard. Amanda lost her balance and grabbed her sister’s arm for support, unbalancing her as well. Sarah fell with her sister, her hand flying out to catch something, anything to avoid the fall.

She grabbed the edge of the cold pot. It flipped in mid-air and sprayed in an arc, peapods, carrots, potatoes, and meat flying freely through the kitchen. A gobbet of raw meat smacked wetly on the door frame as Sheriff Addams opened the door. He watched as it peeled off the wood and curled up, hanging for a moment before falling to the floor in a small expanding puddle.

He took in the two sisters, both drenched, covered in cold vegetables and looking at him with wide eyes.

“Hi Daddy,” Amanda said quietly, biting her lip, looking anywhere but at her sister.

“Hi, Daddy.” Sarah’s echo was no less awkward.

“Just tell me what I need to do right now,” he said in the back of his throat. It was as much a growl as a question. For the girls that were raised by him, they recognized it for what it was. He was willing to do his part, if there was any, to make this end. But it was going to end. Right now.

Sarah looked at Amanda. Amanda nodded once. As one they turned to their father.

“Hire a cook,” they both said at the same time.

“That would be a really good idea.” Rachel said, pulling a bit of pork from her hair. She looked at it and sighed, dropping it into the bowl.

Chapter 2

Amanda fumed the entire next day. She left as soon as she could to tend to her horse. Horses identify and react to emotions. Despite the agitation and rage she still held against Sarah, she had to force herself to be calm and even happy. Approaching a horse with a full head of steam was only asking for trouble. An agitated spirit would make him wary and pull back. But give him a cheerful smile, and he would quickly settle in for a scratch at the ears, or a good brushing.

Acting calm did a great deal to help her mood. In pretending, she found peace. She spent the morning cleaning out her horse’s stall and grooming him. By the time she had his hooves trimmed to a respectable level, her back ached and her legs hurt, but she was ready to face her sister again.

It was late morning, and she was just returning her horse to his stall when the new lawyer arrived. He greeted her warmly as he rode up on his magnificent horse. “Well, Miss Addams.” He said tipping his hat to her and sliding down off the horse. “it is a pleasure indeed. Is this your horse?”

“Yes. His name is Oliver.” Amanda admitted breathlessly, pleased that she had taken the time to groom him and clean the stall. Still, much as she loved Oliver, he was a sad comparison to the lawyer’s horse. She felt guilty about even thinking that. Her love and loyalty should have been to Oliver, but the truth was simply undeniable. He had seen a good many years already and admittedly hadn’t been equine perfection even in his youth.

The lawyer’s horse on the other hand… She caught her breath. The chestnut gelding he rode looked as though he was made of water running over burnished copper. Never had she seen such a magnificent animal, even at the annual Founders Day Horse Race – and that attracted people from miles around interested in the hundred dollar prize money.

“Miss… Addams?”

Amanda blinked once and turned to… name… name… She could not remember for the life of her what the lawyer’s name was.

“Very sorry.” She coughed and smiled. “I was admiring your mount. I did so when you came to the reception to introduce yourself. He’s a magnificent beast.”

“Yes.” He chuckled a bit and turned to regard the horse who was, in turn regarding them with dull disinterest, ears twitching in irritation at a persistent fly. “Yes, he is rather. His name is Champion.”

“A fitting name,” she murmured. She clawed at her memory, squeezing her brain, she would have gladly slammed her head into a pole if only it would release the man’s name to her. The errant memory stayed buried, probably under a recipe for pot-roast or one of the other endless culinary challenges Rachel was patiently trying to teach them.

Which had admittedly been an unmitigated disaster. As she was leaving the house she’d overheard Sarah yelling, “Where did you learn all this?”

To which Rachel actually snapped back at her with, “From your sister! Why didn’t you?”

Thus, the lesson had continued without her, but all the memory gave her was a headache and a hole where this man’s name should have been.

“I understand that you’re a bit short-handed,” she blurted out as he turned to loosen the girth on his saddle.

“Ah… yes,” he said, glancing at her, distracted, but nodding politely all the same, “We are. We’re needing someone to help us get set up, organized. Someone to do a little filing, a little organizational…”

“I’ll do it,” She said, with a firm nod. Why it hadn’t occurred to her earlier was a wonder. It seemed absolutely perfect. Her hand reached out to touch Champion’s velvety soft muzzle. He nuzzled her fingers, looking for treats.

“Ah. I see.” He blinked and rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “The problem is, we don’t actually have any funding at the moment, it takes time for the territory offices to get set up and to…”

“That’s the beauty of it. I don’t want money.” She said with a grin. “I want to ride him.” She pointed at the horse, a grin of delight creasing her face.

He looked back at the horse as if he’d forgotten that it was there. “You want… to ride my horse…” he said, looking from horse to her. The horse cocked one ear at her and gave the man a long look. Images of windswept plains and flying through endless fields focused and slid neatly into those dark eyes.

“Yes.” She nodded and rushed on before he could poke holes in her plan. “I’m good at all that. I helped daddy set up office at the Sherriff’s office and get all the paperwork organized.” She stood proudly and announced, “I even caught the first drunkard ever to sleep it off in the new jail.”

He blinked. He looked at her horse and back again. He seemed to be thinking. She watched him puzzle it out, thinking he had nice eyes, and that when he smiled he had a dimple in his right cheek that gave him a boyish look. The boyish thing made her think that maybe he’d give her ridiculous plan any consideration at all. It was a lot to hinge on one dimple.

“Ok…” he said slowly as if trying to understand what had just happened. He was frowning and seemed a little unsure. “So long as you take good care of him.”

“Oh, I will,” she said, having all she could do to not start jumping up and down, clapping her hands, like a little girl. “I’ve been tending horses since I was eleven and I’ll brush him down and see to his feet… you can count on that. If you want, you can even draw something up in writing to that effect. Being a lawyer and all.”

“Sure…” he said, a little confused. “Well, we’re located right down…”

“I know right where it is.” She grinned. “That used to be the old bank before it was robbed too many times and old man Smithers put in a new bank with a stronger safe.” Then realizing how such a statement could be taken, she added quickly, “That was under the old Sherriff, a’course.”

“Of course.” His grin grew larger as he spoke to her.

“Yeah. Stuff like that happened a lot before Da… before Father took the job. But that’s a good building you got there. Solid. I think they patched the bullet holes in the ceiling, didn’t they? I heard that they had to change out the floorboards by the old safe area, sometimes you can’t get blood out of wood, no matter how hard you scrub.”

“I expect not.” He was openly grinning now. “I say, since you’re rather enamored of my… horse… would you like to put him up? I won’t be using him anymore today, but we’ve had a run and…”

It took him a minute to realize he was talking to the rear end of the horse. By the time he’d gotten to the word “up,” she’d snagged the reins and was halfway to the stalls. The horse looked back to his owner, who could only shrug.

“What was that?” she asked over her shoulder.

He seemed bemused. “Never mind.”

She tied the horse, pausing to rest her cheek against his neck. Truly he was a beauty. She closed her eyes, inhaling the sweaty animal smell. This was her perfume. Heaven itself. “When do you want me?” she asked, stepping away to find her grooming kit and bring it over.

“Excuse me?”

“To do the filing.”

“OH!” he shook his head as though he’d just woken up. “Tomorrow morning is fine.” He’d been leaning against the doorjamb and had a somewhat dazed look on his face. He must have ridden further and harder than he’d been letting on.

“I’ll be there at six. You…might want to get some rest.”

“Rest? No, I’m fine, why would you…Wait. Six? Then you’ll be waiting for three hours. We open at nine.”

“If you say so.” It seemed late to her, but lawyers were strange folks. If they wanted to start work with half the day gone, that was their business. “Maybe I’ll swing by in the morning and groom him again.”

“Thank you, Miss Addams,” Mr. Richman said. He seemed to be trying not to laugh as he walked away.

Wait! RICHMAN! PHILLIP RICHMAN!

“Ok, Mr. Richman, see you in the morning!” she called after him, hoping he heard. She set down the bucket that held her brushes and looked at the horse. Really looked at him. Gosh, he was the prettiest thing she’d ever seen in her life. “Hey there, beauty. How would you like a nice rub-down?” She worried the saddle hitch off and unstrapped the girth, pulling the strap on that side over the saddle horn and moving around to the other side of the horse. She lifted the saddle off in one smooth motion, draping it over the stall partition. The blanket was next. The sweat pattern of the blanket betrayed the effort horse and rider had put into the morning ride. They’d apparently gone far.

She twisted a length of straw and used it to absorb some of the sweat and then set to work with the brushes and hoof picks, stopping now and again to stroke the horse’s neck and shoulders.

“Yeah,” she murmured to the horse, whispering little nonsense words to help keep him calm. “You do like this, don’t you? He’s a good man, is he? Takes care of you? Treats you nice? Hmmm? Yeah, that’s a good boy, yeah, he’s damn cute too, isn’t…” she straightened up quickly and looked around, afraid she’d been overheard. With the exception of a half-dozen horses, she was thankfully alone. She looked into Champion’s eyes and chuckled. “Now, don’t tell nobody I said that. Promise?”

The horse winked at her and stretched his neck, needing more attention with the brushes. She was more than happy to oblige. With a contented sigh, Amanda settled into work.

In her secret heart, this was her favorite place to be. There was something about moving the brush in rhythmic circles, the drowsy horse, the sweet smell of hay. Lulled into a happy quietude, Amanda let her mind wander. Oddly enough she found herself thinking less about the horse she was brushing and more about the rider.

What would her sisters say if they knew she thought he was cute? Handsome even. Wealthy judging by the horse. Not that money made any difference to her. Right? She considered that honestly. Money bought horses like this one. But, no, it wasn’t everything. She had been fairly content with her Oliver for a long time. She still loved him.

Assured that she still had her head on straight, she returned to grooming the horse.

Of course, if she was going to spend her days locked up inside, she might as well have a good view. Mr. Phillip Richman was a very good view.

Very good indeed.

The brush stilled. That smile…that dimple. Funny how a dimple could make a person’s pulse race so. Or the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he laughed. Why, her heart fluttered even now as she considered his shoulders…

She shook herself. Ridiculous. For the second time today, she was being ridiculous. Even if being ridiculous had gotten her a job. And a promise to ride this amazing horse, who was letting her know that he was getting bored while she stood about woolgathering. He chewed aimlessly on the bristles of her brush, held out in a hand gone lax. “Richman, huh?” she asked the horse, yanking the brush away before he ate it down to where it was no longer useful. “I need to keep Sarah away from this one, as man-crazy as she is. Oh, sorry, boy, sorry. I didn’t mean to pull your mane like that. I’ll go easier. That’s better….”

Chapter 3

Never had the simple act of grooming a horse left her so elated. Grooming Champion had been everything she’d dreamed it would be. He leaned into the scratches and practically purred for the currycomb. By the time she was done, he glowed. He was also asleep. To think someday soon she would ride him!

She slipped out of his stall, one large brown eye watching her pass, and retreated to the entrance when a familiar whuffle greeted her.

“I’m sorry, Oliver.” She went to pet her horse’s head, but he shied from her hand. She sighed. “It’s nothing against you. You’re a great horse, you really are.”

He snorted and looked at her. She hung her head and reached for the apple she’d taken for her lunch today. She cut it in half and shared it with him. Mollified, the horse munched the apple, Amanda thought he looked contemplative.

“Fine.” She sighed and offered him the other half. This time, he didn’t shy from her caress and happily leaned into her tough scratching over his forelock and digging down to the poll. “Do you forgive me now?” He snuffled and blew and tried to reach over the stall door to nose her pants.

“Don’t have more,” she said, stroking the velvet nose. “You already ate my lunch. Do you forgive me yet?” she patted his neck and turned to leave. She couldn’t resist one last look at the chestnut down the way.

The walk home disappeared under her feet as she dreamed of flying on Champion through open fields, the powerful animal responding her to commands. It was a luscious daydream, and later, if she’d been asked, she couldn’t have told a soul a single thing she saw on the way home.

“And I’m not gonna ride sidesaddle!” she swore under her breath, as she dashed through the gate of her house, pausing only to pat the stray cat that had been nosing around the yard for weeks now. Thinking about Mr. Richman, she could kinda see what her sisters were saying. He was cute, in that dimpled smile way. Well, more than that. The rider and horse were well-matched. He seemed to have a very muscular frame under all those fancy suits he wore, and if a square jaw was any indicator of personality, then he was as solid and headstrong as his mount.

It was the eyes that really set him apart though. They shone like a brand-new knife, steel gray and with the same sparkle steel gives in the sunlight. He moved like he was on a hunt, all sinew and prowling like that cat that had already proven how fickle it was and was even now skulking through the grass in search of prey.

She was on her porch when she realized that she’d spent more time thinking about Mr. Richman than his horse. And that open field suddenly involved a picnic blanket and a bottle of wine. She stopped herself and stood for a moment blinking in the sunshine. This was… strange. It wasn’t something she’d thought of before about any man. Yet, she couldn’t make herself stop. Every time she would take her thoughts and put them back on the horse, he was there, smiling up at her, riding beside her, in front of her on the chestnut, her arms around his broad chest and lowering down to his…

“I need to wash up,” she schooled herself sharply and walked into the house before her traitorous brain got her into any more trouble. “Hello!” she called from the living room.

“Well, hellooo dear!” an unfamiliar voice called back from the kitchen. Amanda froze. For a moment she wasn’t sure she was in the right house and had to glance around her to place herself properly. No…same rag rug on the floor by the door, her winter project the year she was ten, knotted and bumpy. The stack of books leaning on the table by the door, forgotten there by her studious sister Linda, and collecting dust since she’d left on her honeymoon. The bonnet with the scarlet ribbon hanging on the peg next to the door, that belonged to Sarah, which she wore solely to draw the eye of the young soldiers that had taken over their town of late.

Yes, it was most definitely her house. She walked slowly to the door, cautious about the kind of intruder that would welcome her into her own home. She found a rather roundish elderly woman fussing busily over several aromatic pots and pans. She had her grey hair in a tight bun and a floral apron tied to her waist. Mrs. Willette perpetually wore floral aprons cinched around her waist, the only time Amanda recalled seeing her without it was at services on Sundays. It was rumored that she kept one in her purse on those occasions, just in case.

“Mrs. Willette? What are you doing here?” Amanda looked around quickly as though to ascertain some clue as to why the woman was actually there. To her relief, Rachel was sitting on a chair with her chin in one hand watching the older woman with the carefulness of a wild thing unsure whether the new intruder in its environment was a trap or not.

“Your father, bless his heart, asked me to come and do some cooking for you girls, now that Linda’s gone.” The woman pursed her lips as she tasted the gravy. “Needs more pepper.” She shook her head and dug in the cupboard for the spice in question. She paused, the box resting against her cheek as she sighed a little wistfully, turning to look at Amanda with a certain mistiness to her eyes that Amanda knew from long practice predicted tears, much as a red sky at dawn would predict rain. “Why, I remember when your sainted mother passed, poor dear, how the three of you were such a handful and poor Sarah barely out of diapers…”

“She was nine…”

“And the two of you, you and Linda, putting on a brave show for her even though you were both such infants yet.”

“She was Eleven. I was near grown. Thirteen…”

Rachel put a hand over her mouth to hide a grin.

“Ach!” Mrs. Willette was sighing… or perhaps it was closer to keening “You were always such brave little things…” Her entire body began to shake, and she clutched at her apron and wadded it in frantic hands.

Rachel said something under her breath that sounded like “Here we go again,” and with a sigh crossed the kitchen to comfort the woman, patting her awkwardly on one shoulder. Amanda slowly backed away.

Sarah was coming through the front door as Amanda let the kitchen door swing shut behind her. Amanda grabbed her arm and steered her straight back out on the porch where they wouldn’t be heard.

“Amanda! What in the world are you doing?” Her face was red under the long plume on her blue bonnet. Her second choice for flirting with soldiers.

“Did you know that father hired Mrs. Willette?”

“No! Not Crying Clara? Whatever for?”

“SHHHH!” Amanda looked over her shoulder. “I think she’s our new cook.”

“Cook?” Sarah blinked. “He hired a cook?”

“Yes, he did.” Rachel said with no small amount of heat. She stood in the doorway behind them. “And a good thing too. Do you know I had to take a bath last night? An actual bath? I had corn down my dress!”

The sisters looked at each other and Amanda shrugged. After a moment, Sarah did too. And thus, by long-standing tradition, apologies were tendered and accepted on both parts.

“Wait.” Amanda blinked and turned to the girl. “We didn’t even make corn.”

“I KNOW!” Rachel whined and stamped her foot.

The sisters turned to look at each other and as one turned to the young girl. They shrugged, and Rachel shook her head. “it’s ok. But next week I get to skip the bath.”

“Hopefully by then, that won’t be our decision,” Sarah reminded her. “Your father and our sister will be coming home soon, and we can ship you off to them!”

Rachel brightened. “Why, have you heard?”

Amanda’s heart went out to the girl. “Not yet, sweetheart. But honeymoons don’t last forever. Sarah’s just teasing you.”

Sarah wrinkled her nose at the girl who stuck out her tongue. Sarah replied by doing the same and Amanda joined in so as not to feel left out.

“Lessst ssstsay liek thhhissss.” Sarah said hissing through her tongue.

“Ssssssure!” Rachel beamed and looked from one to the other. The front gate opened, and all three of them turned to see the sheriff striding up the walk. His eyebrows shot up under his hat as he took in his daughters and granddaughter facing him with tongues extended.

“Sorry, father,” Sarah said, covering her mouth. Amanda’s tongue shot back into her mouth like a roll-up window shade. She looked at Rachel who was still standing in place, eyes wide and tongue still extended.

She reached over and flicked the tip of the girl’s tongue. Rachel pulled it back instantly.

Sheriff Addams looked at the three of them and shook his head. “I see you’ve met the new cook?”

Chapter 4

“I will NOT!” Amanda stormed into the parlor. Pounding down the stairs, Sarah came in her wake, for once not acting the delicate lady, but more like the rough child she’d been growing up.

“But… you must! This isn’t a barn! You’re actually going to be around people. Real people, not horse people!”

Amanda turned on her, eyes blazing, arms outstretched to indicate her attire. “These are my clothes, and this is what I wear! This is what I’ve been wearing for years now. Even mama said—”

“Mama isn’t here. And even she would say you smell like a horse!”

“Yeah, ain’t that nice?” Amanda shot her sister a saucy grin, knowing she was goading her, as she brushed past her into the kitchen.

“What is all this?” The Sherriff called from the table as she came through the door. “Sit down and eat! Before it gets cold!”

Amanda took a seat next to Rachel, Sarah sat stiffly on the other side, very pointedly not looking at Amanda at all.

“We’ve already said grace,” he informed them, with a dark look for both his daughters. “Next time you might want to be here on time, so as not to hold up the Almighty. As it is, you best start eating before it gets cold.”

“Don’t you want to know what that was all about?” Sarah huffed indignantly, arms crossed, ignoring the plate set before her.

“No.” He shook his head and dug into his eggs with the intensity of a man who intended to get a good breakfast despite the nonsense his family was throwing his way. “I surely do not.”

“She is a working woman! She’s going into an office. To an actual job.”

“Please, tell me…” he said as he poured more syrup, as though drowning his buckwheat cakes would somehow likewise drown out the complaints.

“She can’t go to work dressed like that!”

Amanda spoke around a mouthful of bacon. “I told you, I am wearing my own clothes! I fail to see what’s wrong with wearing my own clothes.”

“In a law office?”

“Law office?” The sheriff looked up. “What’s this? I thought old Jeb down at the barn was giving you some work to do for boarding that horse of yours.”

She’d meant to tell him. It just somehow…hadn’t come up. “I was. I mean I am. But not today. I just…” Amanda sent a quelling look at her sister, “I just… I figured, you know…I…”

“That new lawyer in town,” Sarah broke in, her voice triumphant now that she had everyone’s undivided attention. “That one that interrupted the reception? Him. She’s working for him. Starting today”

Her father’s eyes went to Amanda, puzzled, and maybe even a shade hurt. “Whatever for?”

She should have told him. Had she expected he’d say no? He’d never denied her anything in the past. She set down her fork and stared at her plate. “In exchange…”

“For what?” his voice was sharp. Suspicious. This was the Sheriff coming to the fore.

“Riding his horse.”

“Oh.” her father nodded and, retrieving his fork, dug back into those cakes “Now I understand,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Don’t go worrying me like that.”

“But… she can’t go like that!” Sarah protested.

“Amanda,” he said, glancing up from his breakfast to look her up and down. “What were you wearing when you got the job?”

“These pants and the grey shirt,” she said holding out the plaid shirt from her for his inspection.

“Are those clothes clean?”

“Yes, sir. ‘cept the pants, I wore them yesterday, but they still got a good day in ‘em.”

He shrugged and turned to Sarah. “Well, that pretty much settles it then. If it’s good enough for her boss, and it’s good enough for her.”

“But… but Father, it’s… scandalous!”

He took a deep drink of his coffee. He made a grimace and looked into the cup. “It’s gone cold.” He set down the cup and looked at his daughters. “This nonsense has cost me a hot cup of coffee.” He said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “and that is all I am prepared to pay for this topic. Sarah, leave be. Amanda, go change your britches, wear a clean pair for your first day and you…” He pointed to Rachel as he stood. He paused to think a bit. “Well… you just keep being ten. Go catch frogs or something today. Be a child.”

“Yes, sir!” Rachel giggled.

Amanda headed upstairs, leaving Sarah to huff and stare daggers at her meal.

Amanda caught her father as he headed out the door. “Daddy? It’s ok? I mean that I took this job? It’s just some light filing and organizing and such… nothing too much.”

He forestalled her tirade with a raised hand. “Yes, it’s all right. This Richman seemed a good man that day when I met him. That’s saying something, as… well, it’s not making my job all that easier.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… nothing really. Our area here is growing, and maybe it’s growing up a little and so are my daughters…”

“Daddy, I just want to ride the horse.”

Her father looked at her for a long moment with a quiet smile. For that moment, she saw him as he must have been when he was young, whiskey-smooth their mother used to say about him when he wasn’t around to hear it. “Whiskey-smooth and a walk like a tomcat.”

“All right, Amanda,” He said softly, and there was a tender light in his eyes. “Alright. You go ride that horse.” He winked at her and turned to leave the house. She heard him clatter down the front porch and give a greeting to someone passing by as he opened the gate out onto the street.

Amanda ran to change and then realized she was going to be late on her first day.

She arrived at the office out of breath, cheeks flushed and covered in a light sweat from running.

“Miss Addams.” Mr. Richman called when he saw her looming in the doorway. “Good morning.”

“Good… good morning.” She said, blinking, and looking around. The old bank had been remodeled somewhat. The cage where the cashier had sat was gone. In its place was a wall with two doors, each leading to what she guessed would be an office. The lobby held a settee and a pair of chairs with a table between them over on one side. She guessed that’s where the clients would wait. On the other side was a desk, piled high with books and papers. Empty bookshelves stood waiting for the boxes in front of them to be unpacked. The door to what had been the bank president’s office stood open, still opulent with a rich carpet and what looked like heavy mahogany furniture through the door.

All in all, while it was a changed building, it was not altogether unpleasant.

What was disconcerting was the fact that there were three other men there, strangers in a small town where everyone knew everyone else. For some reason, she’d been thinking she was going to be left alone with Mr. Richman. She found she was somewhat relieved that was not to be the case. Less…nerve-wracking. Though for the life of her she couldn’t figure out why it made her nervous to be alone with the lawyer.

“Miss Addams is going to be helping us set up, gentlemen.” Mr. Richman called from his office, coming out wiping his hands on a towel, his sleeves rolled up, showing off muscular forearms. A smear of dirt graced one cheek. “Please welcome her. This is Harold Summit” he said, introducing an older man with a great drooping mustache who looked as though he hadn’t smiled in a long time. “And this is Irving Wallace,” a younger man, about Mr. Richman’s age, but thin and pale with thick glasses blinked at her, “and finally, Mr. Joseph Walker.” This last was a young man, not old enough for the legal profession. He lunged forward with his hand raised and tripped on the edge of the desk, sending a cascade of books to the floor.

“Sorry. Sorry…” he seemed to suck up into himself and tried to vanish into the woodwork.

Mr. Richman waved off the apologies, returning his attention to Amanda who blushed under the intensity of the stare. “You’ll find we’re in quite a bit of disarray at the moment, but I trust we’ll have things well in hand shortly.”

“Well, we certainly have more than enough for you to do around here…” Mr. Wallace said, still blinking, looking crossly at the piles of boxes stacked near the bookshelves which seemed to be his domain. Several volumes already graced the topmost shelves. “That is, if you can read.” He blinked at her. Amanda was becoming mesmerized by his eyes. If an owl could take a man’s body, it would look like this.

Amanda shrugged. “My sister is the school teacher for the entire county.”

“Then perhaps we should have hired her?” Mr. Summit said slowly, his great mustache hanging morosely as he spoke, moving with the speed of a sleepy sloth to examine a box in the pile with measured scrutiny, as though the secrets of the universe were inscribed on the label.

“I can read.” Amanda shot back. “I read quite well, thank you.”

“Fine.” He said and gestured toward the large sheaf of papers cascading out of a box set on the desk. “On the top of each page, there is a case name and number. Someone…” he looked around her to the young man who blushed furiously, “didn’t secure the files in the box so much as he dumped the files into the box. They have to be resorted, first by name and then by case number. Think you can do that?”

“Of course.” Amanda didn’t know what the old man’s problem with her was, but to insinuate that she wasn’t able to do such a menial job, and then to take an air like that when they’d only just met…

He picked up the box to hand it to her, still giving her such a dubious look that she wound up snatching it from him and looked for a likely place to work given the desk was all but buried.

“Joseph, lend our Miss Addams a hand, will you?” Mr. Richman called from across the room.

“Yes, sure, of course.” He reached to take the box from her, and she pulled away. “I got this one, how about you get the other?”

“How did you know that there were others, Miss Addams?” Mr. Richman asked, eyeing her curiously.

“Cause there ain’t… there aren’t enough papers in here to fill the Territorial Criminal Records for the last ten years like it says here,” she nodded to the files in the box. “and it’s a safe bet to say that paperwork improperly stored once will happen again in the same move.” She smiled at him. To her relief, he smiled back. He had a nice smile, charming, lots of white teeth.

Not that she was noticing.

Mr. Richman laughed. “Joseph, grab the other two boxes and show Miss Addams where she can set up. I suggest you clear off the table in the file room in back, since that’s where those will be going anyway.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that he turned to go, moving easily with long strides back into what she assumed was his office.

Amanda had been horse crazed for as long as she could remember. From the day she got off that train, she’d been watching horses walk and trot and move. On this day, it wasn’t a horse, but a man, Mr. Richman, who caught her eye.

“Miss Addams?” the boy grunted, straining under two heavy boxes. “Please?”

“Good conformation.” She said and whistled without thinking.

“Please?”

She turned and saw the boy about dying under the strain of carrying the two boxes. She shook her head and set her own box down, taking the two from him. “Why don’t you take the other,” she said with a smile. “Where to?”

Joseph stared at her.

Now what’s got into him? It’s not like they’re all that heavy.

Even so, the kid was noticeably rattled. “F-f-f-f-follow me.”

She shrugged and trailed after him, aware that behind them, Irving Wallace watched them leave, eyelids blinking noticeably behind the thick glasses - censure in his gaze.

Chapter 5

Amanda hadn’t stood in one place this long in years. She was used to running, riding, and even learned how to rope cattle, though she never told anyone that. She knew that her father would only indulge her just so far and the risk of roping a bull from horseback was not one to be taken lightly. It was better he didn’t know.

But the time seemed to pass quickly. She’d emptied one box, the young boy was fervently helping her, trying to make amends for creating the fiasco in the first place. She wondered what it would be like for him, traveling to a distant, semi-wild land alone, only to find out you’d completely failed in the simplest of assignments.

Her heart went out to him for the first couple of hours, though that was strained just before lunch when he brushed a stack of papers on the edge of the table that fell and fluttered across the floor. To enhance the boys’ shame, two of the pages escaped entirely and fluttered out into the main room attracting the attention of the dour Mr. Summit.

He walked them back to the room, like returning errant children to a nursery and handed them to the boy. “At least, Mr. Walker, it is always easy to locate you. Wait long enough and the debris will tell.”

He looked at Amanda with a brief nod and returned as silent as he’d arrived.

“You sure he’s a legal fella?” Amanda asked the boy in a whisper. “Cause I swear, he has the same look about him as old man Sedgwick.”

“Who’s old man Sedgwick?” Joseph whispered back, shooting her a look that was pure confusion.

“He’s the local undertaker,” Amanda said with a conspiratorial smile. “Smiles about as much too.”

Joseph’s hand flew up to cover his mouth, and Amanda smiled, happy she could make the boy laugh. It was also true. On the other hand, Old man Sedgwick often complained, though half-jokingly that her father was bad for his business. He claimed that since the sheriff stopped people from killing each other, his revenue had fallen considerably.

Amanda had secretly figured that being around dead people so much had soured him, but then there was Summit. Might just be that some people were born with all the cares of the world on their shoulders.

Joseph restacked the papers and began re-sorting them. Amanda sighed and continued with her efforts.

The file room once served as the bank vault. It was placed so that the manager would have a constant eye on the place. The manager’s office was directly across the building in a straight line. This gave Amanda a clear view of one Mr. Richman.

He was sorting through papers and supplies in his office, setting up different areas of his new office. He moved like a horseman, all confidence in his stride, little movements of his back that broadcast turns, his shoulders angled just ever so slightly when he changed direction. He was never not on a horse.

Amanda grinned, watching him. He seemed so strong, so powerful. She could feel her body responding to the view. It was disconcerting and strange. She hadn’t felt that way before about a man. She took a shaky breath, forcing herself to the sort of calm she used when approaching a jittery horse.

The front door opened, and a young woman Amanda didn’t recognize walked in and greeted Mr. Summit. He said a few words and gestured to the office where Mr. Richman was leaning against the edge of his desk, ankles crossed, engrossed in some paperwork. The girl smiled and curtsied to Summit who only nodded once and returned to the books he was piling on his desk.

The girl wore a light, powder blue dress and a bonnet of flowers and baby’s breath. She carried a parasol on one arm and seemed to be a captured ray of sunlight crammed into the body of a girl. Amanda decided she hated her with every fiber of her being and wondered who she was.

The girl flounced to Richman’s office and gave a cheery “hello” so loud and chipper that Amanda could hear it from across the building. Richman looked up and smiled, inviting her in. She closed the door behind her.

“Miss Addams?” Joseph was saying. Amanda started and looked down at him trying to take the papers from her hand. “Miss Addams, please, you’re wrinkling three years of court cases.”

“Oh,” she let go of the papers and tried to smooth them with her hands. “Nothing torn anyway…” she smiled and lifted her hands away before she caused more damage.

“Who was that?” She asked, pointing at the closed door across the way.

“Who was who?” Joseph looked around the room, as though in search of some person he might have missed.

Amanda rolled her eyes. “That… woman who walked into Phil… Mr. Richman’s office just now. Who was she?”

“I don’t… oh, you must mean Miss Davis.”

“Davis?” Amanda echoed. “I don’t know any Davis, and I’ve lived here all my life. Well, the last twelve years of it. But those were the important years,” she amended. “I thought I knew everybody.”

“She’s part of the army,” Joseph said and blinked as if he’d just heard what he’d said. “I mean, her father is an officer in the new fort and she and a sister and, I think two brothers, all came out here with him. He’s supposed to be some sort of big wheel.” He shrugged and returned to sorting.

“So, she’s rich?”

“Far as I know.” Joseph glanced uneasily at the door, and the motioned to her to lean in, to be sure they weren’t overheard. “I hear that her father is planning to run for Governor when his enlistment is up.”

Rich, pretty, bubbly.

Everything she wasn’t. And she had Mr. Richman’s attention.

I wonder if I can accidentally shoot her.

Amanda sighed and smoothed out some random papers, noting for the first time how rough and calloused her chapped hands were. These were the working hands of a rancher. Hands that helped birth cows, hands that strung barbed wire fence. Hands that built campfires. She felt… huge. Huge and clumsy and…

…and most decidedly not the hands of a lady.

“Suddenly I kinda wish I could help out old man Sedgwick,” she said under her breath.

Joseph looked a question at her, but when no further explanation was forthcoming, returned to his sorting.

Amanda focused on being calm. It wasn’t good to cry in front of horses either. It confused them.

Calm.

In her mind, she could feel the soft nose of a horse in her hand, the tangled mane, the sleek neck under the curry comb. It was with a start she suddenly realized that in her mind she’d groomed Oliver. Not Champion.

Chapter 6

Sarah sighed and put down her fork. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

“Hear what?” Amanda looked up from her plate where she’d been pushing beans around for the last ten minutes, making a design around the biscuit which took the place of honor in the center of the plate. She frowned, puzzled, now quite sure what she’d done wrong this time, though she was pretty sure Sarah was about to tell her.

“Why your face is longer than your horse’s for one thing.” Sarah dabbed her mouth with her napkin, forever dainty. “Why you’re sighing over your meatloaf and looking at your biscuit like it’s a crystal ball? Give.”

Amanda looked at her little sister and then to Rachel who was busy eating, lost in her own world since she’d been allowed to bring a book to the table. Maybe it wasn’t the best choice for mealtime, but since Father had been working late every night this week, they’d maybe gotten a little lax on what would be considered good parenting skills.

Not that it’s necessarily a bad thing to read. Which was a nice thought until you realized that her sister was going to be less than pleased when she got back from her honeymoon and found her brand new daughter already clearly spoiled and without manners.

Amanda shrugged, eyeing the empty chair where her father should have been sitting. She didn’t like that he’d been working late so much. Even after all these years, when he said he had to work late, his daughters worried. Being a sheriff was dangerous work, and there were still any number of fools out there who got liquored up and shot off their mouths and guns. The night shift was not for the faint of heart.

“Nothin’s wrong,” Amanda said finally, pushing the biscuit in question away, upsetting the bean design and sending them scattered across the untouched slice of meatloaf which was holding back an imminent flood of creamed corn. “I guess I just ain’t all that hungry.” She looked up and tried to smile. “I didn’t do much today, mostly sat around and moved papers from one pile to the next. Not near enough to get much of an appetite going.” She placed her fork on the table and stood uncertainly looking down at her plate.

“I…I think I’ll take this to daddy,” she announced. “I’ll cover it with another plate, I didn’t touch it or nothing, and he might like it…”

“It’s getting late.” Sarah glanced uneasily out the window. The shadows were long across the grass, giving the yard a twilight feel. “You know daddy doesn’t like us out after dark.”

“It’ll be ok.” Amanda smiled. It felt like a heavy smile, as though the muscles in her cheeks were required to lift a great weight. “I’ll be with the Sheriff. I can’t be safer than that, can I?”

Sarah opened her mouth and began to shake her head. But she looked at her older sister for a long moment and rose without a word and produced an empty plate and a checkered cloth. She upended the new plate over Amanda’s food and wrapped the two plates in the cloth, tying the corners to give Amanda a handle to carry them.

Amanda smiled thanks, thinking that maybe her sister wasn’t half bad after all. With a lighter heart than she’d had all afternoon, she lifted her burden, snagging her hat as she walked through the door. Sarah was a fusspot; it was clearly still light out, even if it wouldn’t be for long. Still, she’d have no problem in getting to the jail before the sun sank below the horizon. She just wouldn’t make it home again before night took hold of the sky. She walked a bit faster. It wasn’t like she had any fear of being out after dark, but her father seemed to feel this rule was important, and so she tried to honor his wishes.

Not that it should matter. I’m going to be with him after all, so night or no night, it’s all the same, right?

But deep down she knew the thought to be a lie. There was a certain stillness in the town proper that wasn’t there when the sun graced the sky. It was as if the entire town had been holding its breath all day and only now, as she entered the rows of shops and saloons was it beginning to breathe again. The Busted Flush Saloon was uncharacteristically silent, but as she neared the swinging doors, a tentative chord came from the piano inside and then a ringing rendition of some off-key song erupted into the street. As if waiting for the song to signal that the time had come to let loose in joyful abandon, a swelling of sound chased the notes through the open door, chatter, and laughter, and the clatter of people simply living loud and brash and noisy.

Amanda’s steps faltered a little. She peered in wonder through the open door as she passed, only to jump back in alarm as someone pressed through the door at that moment. A skinny man with a hooked nose brushed by holding a long pole with a candle attached to the end, and lit the oil lamps that soon cast a soft glow over the front of the building.

He looked at Amanda hard as she scrambled around him, the cloth package clutched protectively in front of her. He squinted at her in the gathering darkness before retreating into the light and noise of the bar.

Amanda scurried past, a little more uneasy now by the strangeness of the man’s look, by the bold way that other passersby looked at her. A few last-minute stores were shutting down, the last hope of having one more customer gone for the night. Even the man who locked up the mercantile looked like a stranger to her in the half-light, and she found herself wondering why it was he seemed so threatening when placed out of context. He pocketed the key to the front door of his store, and walked with a jaunty step, whistling, to the saloon across the street. Why it surprised her, she didn’t know.

Maybe we’re all different, presenting a different face to the world depending on where we are. Why should it have to be a bad thing if Mr. Meredith goes to the saloon at night when his store closes? He’s not married. What if we all change when we leave the light?

She wondered where her new boss fit in that scheme of things. Or was it possible that some things were exactly as they seemed to be? Like her father. Or her sisters.

It was a strange feeling, walking the meridian between day and night. Behind her, the town fell into the nighttime rhythm of booze and fear. In front of her, it the world still clung to commerce and enterprise.

Strangely enough, the jail was located precisely between the two worlds, with the bank on one side, and the saloon on the corner opposite.

She heard sounds of a fracas before she even got to the jail. The belligerent shouts of a drunkard, the firm but controlling voice of her father, the exclamation of the deputy, were all clearly heard on the boardwalk outside. The jail cell door clanged shut as she opened the front door. Her father and his deputy were leaning heavily on the wall, a local named Lester watched with disinterest from a corner, and inside one of the six cells an angry young man three sheets to the wind glared at them from his cot.

He seemed about her age, maybe a little older. It was hard to tell when he was doubled over like that. His face twisted in pain, making it hard to recognize him. But there was no mistaking that look he shot them. That was pure hate.

“Amanda?” Her father seemed less than pleased to see her. “What are you doing here?”

“I brought you your dinner,” she said, holding up the bundle with a hopeful glance, that begged him not to scold her for being out so late. “Sorry Pete,” she nodded to the deputy, “I didn’t know you was gonna be here.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Pete Harman said, smiling even with the missing teeth he’d lost trying to stop a brawl last year. “Maisy’s probably got something warming on the stove for me anyhow.”

“Why don’t you head home, Pete?” The sheriff clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to send the smaller man staggering. “I got it from here. And if I need you, I’ll holler.”

Pete looked from him to the drunk who was clearly not going anywhere tonight and nodded. “Yes, sir! Just let me know if there’s any more trouble.”

Amanda was suddenly aware that the drunk was looking at her. Not that she wasn’t used to that. She’d often been the subject of rude comments. A woman in britches and men’s shirts weren’t all that uncommon out here, it was more practical for the woman who needed to help out at the farm or ranch, but it still occasioned some crude conversation if the man was drunk enough and of the sort to talk when under the influence.

Most often, though, Amanda would find that men stared at her in other ways. The fact that her britches did nothing to hide her figure often put her at the wrong kind of attention. She sometimes wondered if she was enhancing what the good Lord hadn’t meant for a God-fearing woman to show. Maybe the fact that she didn’t dress like a woman made her more of a target. According to Sarah, men didn’t feel they had to treat a woman like her as if she were a lady.

Like she’d ever been a lady in the first place.

Amanda was about to give that man in the cell a drink of water by virtue of tossing it at him without letting go of the cup when he straightened up and a grin spread across his face. Her father was walking Pete out, and for a moment, Amanda was left standing alone in front of the cell.

“Well, well, well. Sheriff’s daughter, huh? Good for you.” It was a sneer, not a compliment.

Amanda knew the last thing she should do was turn around to look at him. It was what he’d wanted after all. But there was something about him that didn’t fit, something that wasn’t right. It wasn’t just that he was a prisoner, or as her father would put it, a “guest” in the jailhouse. There was something else about him she couldn’t quite place.

“That’s right,” she said finally, cocking one hip and facing him down. There was no way a drunkard was going to intimidate her. “So?”

“So…” He smiled, and it seemed almost genuine, though it could have been the smile of a particularly happy devil. “It looks like you didn’t have to work on your back after all. More’s the shame. You’ve grown up right pretty.” His eyebrow rose a touch, and the devil analogy became more and more accurate.

Amanda’s blood got up and she balled her fists, crushing the knot in the checkered cloth she still held. She was about to fire off a scathing and, frankly, profanity-laden response when the wind whooshed from her lungs, and the hot blood froze right there in her veins.

My God, she knew that particularly despicable piece of vermin.

“Jasper?”

Chapter 7

Phillip had been in worse places, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think when. So, while the smelly saloon wasn’t really the best place for a meal, it was his own fault he’d been forced to darken their doors for his evening repast. The hour had gotten away from him, and the boarding house he was staying at had one strict rule about dinner: “If you’re late, you’re hungry.” Unfortunately, the so-called respectable eating places – he couldn’t bring himself to call them restaurants after having seen the real thing in Chicago and Boston – had closed down as soon as the sun began to set, he was left to choose. Either he could go hungry, or he could go to the saloon.

Surprisingly, the beef they served at the saloon was tender and very good. They served the steak thick, with plenty of fried potatoes and onions. And if the wilted grass stems pretending to be asparagus was less than appealing, the rest of the meal, and the good price made up for it. Any place in Boston or Chicago would have charged up to twenty-five or thirty cents for a cut like that. For a dime, it was a steal.

He ignored the slightly green vegetables and concentrated on the rest. They at least looked like potatoes and had enough onion on them – and even a good bit of garlic - to help get the taste of the asparagus out of his mouth.

Except for one overly celebrant cowboy yelling about ‘being free’ and busting up the place, the saloon was a quiet enough place, or at least wasn’t quite the thing he’d pictured from the dime novel he’d found on the train out. He nodded at the Sheriff and his deputy as they came to collect the drunkard and finished his meal in relative peace.

Odd how things were never what they seemed. This little town was full of surprises. He had to admit that when he’d first arrived and taken Champion off the train, he’d figured he’d seen the entirety of the town from the train station, and there was no reason to explore further.

In a strange way, that still held up. It truly was all easily seen from the station. There was nothing more to it than what met the eye. But when you looked deeper, there were layers. The owner of the general store who liked to put on airs and pretend to be all wise in the ways of the world and came so close to being right. And yet, he was on the town council, and from all reports was an able man at politics.

Then there was the woman who ran the boarding house. Widowed, with her children grown and gone, she made her living by getting an extra income from boarders. She was almost cliché. But that same woman was a volunteer at several charities and was active in the community, and even held meetings for some kind of betterment society on Thursday nights. He never would have guessed that.

And then there was Amanda.

How in the world did one begin to define his newest employee?

A horse-crazy girl was nothing new. This too was cliché, even though she seemed to take obsession to a whole other level than what his twelve-year-old sister back home had. And yet, under that hat, her hair glowed. If she would take it out from that severe braid, it would probably flow out around her head like a soft, brown halo.

She had dirt smudged on her cheek, showed up for work looking like she’d just groomed a horse. She probably had. But even a little mud and horse hair could not hide the high cheekbones, the perfect dainty angle of her chin, or the bright brown eyes that seemed to laugh at everything, including herself.

She wasn’t anything like any girl he’d ever known. And that was what made her so fascinating. She was an enigma, a hoyden. Certainly not a lady. Or at least not what his mother would have classified as a lady. He shook his head and tried to focus on his steak, but oddly enough she refused to leave his thoughts, something that had been a recurring problem throughout the day.

This afternoon, he’d really needed to think about work, or at the very least he should have figured out how to avoid the attentions of one Miss Eliza Davis. She’d been one of the first people to seek him out back when he’d first shown up to finalize the sale of the building and arrange for the necessary carpentry work to turn it into his offices. How she’d been able to discern not only his occupation but the date of his first actual day spent working in his office was entirely beyond him. Whatever means of spreading the news employed in a town this size was every bit as effective as a Pinkerton detective. Or perhaps that was all her.

He sighed. He’s met her type before. She was exactly the sort of woman he’d had thrust upon him in Boston and Chicago both. A girl like that was not only vain and somewhat arrogant, but she was inevitably a social climber, concerned solely with prestige and her position in the world. Not that an ambitious creature of this sort didn’t have her place in society. A woman like that would someday make a fine senator’s wife, or even a First Lady. In fact, his parents would have heartily approved of the girl and urged him to pursue her.

Thank you, but no. I’d just as soon stay a bachelor.

He sopped up gravy with his bread and leaned back thoughtfully in his chair as he chewed. Now, Miss Addams, on the other hand. She was… she was real, in a way that a self-absorbed girl like Miss Davis would never be. Amanda was truth, without a mask or pretense. The things that mattered to her were important things. Real things. Like a good horse. And a job done well.

He took a long pull of his beer, making a face as he swallowed, and vowing to not order the local stuff again. Still, it gave a warm feeling going down that loosened his thoughts a little and allowed him room for a little speculation. The fact of the matter was that Amanda Addams looked very good indeed in those trousers. They hugged her hips in a way that brought out her figure. And the fact that she wore a man’s shirt did little to disguise her form either.

Yeah, and it’s probably a breach of professional ethics to get involved with the sheriff’s daughter, though I don’t think that particular question ever came up in law school.

“Well, and hello…” a female voice purred in his ear, drawing him from a reverie that was fast going where he wasn’t comfortable going just yet. “Buy me something to eat?”

He looked the intruder up and down. There was plenty to look at. Given the scarlet silk dress and the twitchy mannerism of one desperate for paying company, she was obviously one of the workers at this saloon. The dress she attempted to wear was attempting to evict her, a piece at a time. She looked as though she was getting squeezed free of the corset. It was terrifying to have her so close. If one of those stays gave, she could put out an eye.

He leaned back in the chair, more to give himself distance from the woman than anything. If he gave the impression of relaxed confidence in the meantime, so much the better. Being new in town meant not alienating someone who might be a witness someday. Or someone who might point someone to him when needed some information.

Given the looks of this crowd, there were plenty likely needing legal counsel in the foreseeable future, if he had a mind to embrace the defense part of the law. Maybe someday…

In the meantime, this particular denizen of the place was waiting on his answer. “Don’t you mean, ‘buy you a drink’?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

She smiled, and this time the curve to her lips was genuine enough to reach her eyes. “Usually, but I’m starving.” She threw him a saucy wink. She could have been anywhere from twenty to forty; it was difficult to tell with the layers of makeup she wore. However many years she’d been on this earth, they hadn’t been kind to her. She was still handsome enough, but there was a hardness in the eyes that belied the youth she tried to claim.

“Tell you what, let me hire you.”

“’Hire me’? Honey that’s a lot more than the price of a steak.” She threw back her head and laughed, long and loud, drawing a look from one of the men at the bar, who scowled. Whether the ill-tempered look was directed at the woman or at Phillip, was impossible to tell.

He couldn’t help but smile in return. The man at the bar took to scowling into his beer, a move that might have been progress in Phillip’s tenuous relations with the people of this town. “No. I’ll buy you a steak, and you can fill me in on this town. I’m new here, and I would love to get an insider’s opinion on this place and its people.”

“If I didn’t know better,” she said, a mischievous curl to her lips, “I would think you’re trying to hire me to gossip.” She leaned in as though imparting a secret. “I usually do that for free, but for a steak dinner and a beer, I’ll even tell the truth.”

“Deal!” He slapped the table and called the barman over. “Another of these for the lady and two beers.” The barman gave a dirty look to the girl but said nothing and shuffled off to get someone to throw another steak on the fire.

“What was that all about? I hired you, didn’t I?”

She laughed. It was a genuine sound, light but with a great deal of irony in the sound. “The owner here, he wants us to hustle booze. They have a huge markup on the heavy liquor, and we’re supposed to keep the profits rolling.”

“You’d get too drunk too fast to be of much use.”

“I get a shot and bottle of beer. The bottle is empty, but he charges you for a full one. I take a shot, pretend to drink the beer and spit the shot into the bottle. You buy another and another until the bottle is full.”

Phillip shook his head. What would they think of next? “That’s not a bad gimmick. Are you sure you should be telling me these things?”

“I said the truth for a steak” She drew back, a certain defiance to the tilt of her head, the way she held her shoulders.

He looked at her, really looked at her, and saw the tired woman behind the makeup, the girl she must have been before she’d been roped into a job she probably hated with a passion, along with the patrons that were her bread and butter. He hated this world that drove women into professions of this ilk, and thought again of the pants-wearing girl who was set on living life on her own terms. What must it have cost her to go her own way, when so many others would have taken the path of this saloon girl, seeing it as the easier option?

His heart went out to the travesty of the woman waiting on him, a lean and hungry look in her eyes. At the very least he could give her a safe place tonight.

“Barman!” Phillip shouted. “A shot and a bottle of beer for the lady!” He turned back to her, noting the surprise in her eyes. “I wouldn’t want you to get into any trouble on my account.”

“I think I like you, mister.” She looked him up and down and gave a sharp nod as though deciding something. “So what dirt do you want dished?” She leaned forward, elbows on the table, head tucked in toward his conspiratorially.

“Why don’t we head over to that table in the corner, where you can fill me in on the town without being overheard. I would like to find out just where I landed when the train stopped.”

They headed to a table next to the front door, away from the card players, the wheezing, gasping piano and the other ladies who plied their trade in varying shades of desperation along the bar. The action of hiring her wasn’t all charity, he reminded himself. Truly he wanted nothing more than a fresh perspective of the town and its people. And if his questions centered around the sheriff’s family more than any other, she wasn’t likely to complain. She tucked into her steak with enthusiasm, stopping only to give her name, Marilla, along with the observation that there wasn’t anyone worth knowing in that two-bit saloon with the exception of himself.

He didn’t rise to the flirtation, and it confused her. It took some time convincing her, but when she understood that she was to be only a source of information and nothing more, she made a moue of disappointment, but then she relaxed a bit more and began warming to her task. Marilla turned out to be a natural storyteller and had him laughing on more than one occasion as she regaled him with tales of the townspeople and their strange quirks. All in all, it turned out to be an enjoyable evening, which surprised him. And he found he rather liked Marilla by the night’s end. The woman had a good head on her shoulders and understood more about the world than most men or women he’d met.

It was late before she had gone through the entire township, and his head was swimming with names and anecdotes and maybe a light buzz from too much liquor which he’d kept ordering all night to keep the boss man happy. Especially seeing as how he wasn’t paying for upstairs privileges. The lights were dim as the hour grew late, the twin lanterns on each side of the door giving a soft flickering glow that bathed them both in a soft golden light. Marilla could be said to be beautiful in this light, another fact that surprised him.

Maybe he was just seeing her for who she was inside.

They parted friends, him sliding her enough cash to hopefully ensure she could spend the remainder of the night alone. Not that the coin would change anything come tomorrow, but it made him feel good at any rate, to do something for once that might be just a shade noble.

When he left, the streets were as silent as the schoolhouse in summer. If he hadn’t known better, he could have sworn the entire town was holding its breath.

Chapter 8

“I kinda feel bad there for Jasper,” Amanda said as she stacked the empty plates inside the tablecloth and tied the bundle shut for the journey home.

“He’ll be alright,” the sheriff assured her with a glance back to the cell’s only occupant. Jasper lay sprawled on the cot, spread eagle, mouth gaping open to let loose a thunderous snore. “Just let him sleep it off. He’ll be just as happy in the morning, even if he does have a hangover.”

“Not what I’m meaning,” Amanda said slowly, lifting her hair out of the way as her father tucked his big overcoat over her shoulders. She’d already protested his giving it to her, but it had been a losing battle. The night was chill, and her father would always be a gentleman. She dropped her voice, with a glance to Lester who was sitting reading a dime novel with his feet up on the desk. “I mean the way he was treated. When I think that could have been me or Linda or Sarah…What if you hadn’t come along when you did…?”

“Well…” he drew the word out as he waved goodnight to old Lester. Lester wasn’t a deputy. For that matter, he wasn’t even on the payroll. Lester didn’t have a place anymore since his farm burned down six years ago. He’d lost his wife and daughter in the fire and hadn’t been quite the same since. He’d taken to scrounging his meals at the restaurant and had been doing odd jobs for anybody who would have him ever since. Sheriff Addams let him sleep in the jailhouse in exchange for keeping an eye on the place and making sure he was called in an emergency.

“I tell you what, a lot of bad probably did happen to him. His pa was a mean old cuss. I know for a fact he was hard on the boy, as hard as he was on any man on the ranch, but Jasper’s a fair distance from there tonight. That had to be a whole lot of celebrating to get him near enough to a hundred miles from his ranch in a drunken stupor.”

Amanda laughed. “I suppose so. I hadn’t thought to ask.”

“A man like that? He holds on to his ways. From what you’ve said about him from that train, he’s known a lot of mean folks in his time. The streets of New York were a rough place for a boy his age. Maybe his folks were that mean to him. Maybe it’s been someone else. Taking on a hard man and having to call him Pa can’t have been an easy thing, but so long as he holds onto that rage, all those people that wronged him will never let go of him.”

It was true enough. What if he’d had a chance to grow up proper. A home…an education. What if Jasper had been born to the advantages that Phillip Richman had obviously had? Given a solid home and good breeding, a man like that had no need for the wild, violent carousing. Drinking hard. Spending time with all…manner…of women…

Amanda’s feet faltered. She wasn’t walking with her father anymore. In fact, she seemed to be rooted to the street as well as if she’d sprouted great gnarled hickory roots and clung deep into the ground. She stood in the darkness and stared with eyes that she no longer believed.

They’re liars. Liars and worse.

But what her gaze lit upon seemed to be rather solid for a mirage.

Across the street, in the flickering lamplight of the oil lamps and the warm, welcoming lights of the saloon’s chandeliers sat one Phillip Richman Esq. and a woman who was nearly dressed in frippery and bows and lace along with bad intentions and very little else.

It was as if the world had come to a screeching halt and waited for something that shouldn’t be happening to dissolve before time would restart again. Amanda waited through centuries without a breath, and yet, the impossible refused to fade away before her eyes.

She felt a tug on her arm and suddenly realized she was standing in a dark street beside her father. “Are you alright?” She heard the words come from his mouth, but they were just so much noise. She couldn’t understand how it applied, how those words meant anything to her personally.

She shook her head and forced her feet back into motion, that she might walk in the direction he was pulling her, trusting that he was leading her in the correct direction that she might go home and shut herself into her bedroom and never come out again.

So instead Amanda smiled and nodded and tried to stall for time, to not answer questions she wasn’t ready to hear, let alone answer. “You were saying?” she asked, her steps taking on a firmer tread as she squared her shoulders and brushed past her father, setting the pace herself that they might get home before she did something utterly female and cry. She vaguely realized that he’d been talking and for the life of her couldn’t remember what he’d been talking about. It made no difference, of course, there was no topic that could matter when her own eyes lied to her in the night, but it seemed polite.

Her father caught her sleeve and drew her back, to walk next to him, only narrowly missing getting hit with the plates swinging dangerously in their tablecloth cocoon that swung in her hand. “I was saying that sometimes a person has to change. They have to let go of old ideas and old habits and step out on faith.”

Amanda shot a look at him. “What do you mean?”

He frowned. The scowl he saved for children who didn’t listen fell over him. She’d seen that particular expression many times while growing up. “We were speaking of Jasper, were we not?”

“Yes, sir,” Amanda said quickly, trying to retrace the thread of conversation and falling somewhat short. “We were. And you’re right he needs to give up the hate.”

“Yeah…” her father said slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “That…and the fear. You can’t let fear rule you, can’t let it keep you from changing, from growing. First time I ever set you on a horse, you about wet the saddle you were so scared.”

“I was?” Amanda’s full attention flashed to him now. That sounded so unlikely, for a moment she thought that he was making it up just to rile her.

“You were.” He nodded in the darkness. When did his hair get so white? It was like walking next to a ghost as they left the well-lit ways and traveled down more residential pathways. The shadows here were deeper, his beard a beacon in the moonlight. “And if you hadn’t stuck it out and rode that horse anyway, think where you would be now. Afraid to get on even the gentlest horse.”

Amanda shuddered. It was a horrifying thought. “Yeah… I guess I was able to let go of the fear somehow.”

“Yea-up. You grew and adapted, you became the kind of rider a horse wants. Jasper’s free now, he’s got a little money it seems. And I know it won’t be easy, but he has to be accountable now for his life, or he’ll never be truly free of the things he’s trying so hard to leave behind.”

“Yes, Sir,” Amanda said as her father held open the gate to their own little yard.

“Seems like a lot of fuss, don’t you think for someone with a fine horse?” He climbed the stairs to the porch. Amanda nodded and stopped, watching him go. He seemed tired, his steps were slow, heavy.

“Are we still talking about Jasper?” she called to his retreating figure in the darkness.

“No.,” he said and opened the door letting the warm, comforting light inside spill out onto the darkened porch. He stood silent, holding the door open for his daughter, patiently letting her decide her next move.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she said in a whisper as she passed over the threshold.

“You’re welcome, Lady Bee.”

Amanda stumbled and just about dropped her bundle. She shot him a look as he shut the door behind them.

“I haven’t heard that since momma died,” she said to him, blinking back sudden tears.

“That was the hardest thing for me to let go of, your mother’s passing.” He said in a low voice. Amanda thought that she might have heard a hitch in that lament, but she’d probably imagined it. After all, he was Sheriff Addams.

And Sheriffs never cried.

Chapter 9

Amanda had changed directions so many times she no longer knew which way she was going.

From the moment she’d seen Mr. Richman in the saloon with that…that…woman, she’d kept a careful distance. Though as time went by she was no closer to understanding how he could frequent such an establishment…with such a woman. He confused her, as he gave no sign of being a licentious man, nor had she ever evidenced the smell of alcohol about his person.

In fact, every piece of evidence so far proved him only to be what she’d thought him at the start – an honest man. Not unlike her father. Honorable. Upright.

And handsome to boot.

Not that she cared.

As she reminded herself often, she was interested in his horse, not the man. What he did on his own time was his own business. And that had worked to a certain extent. But lately, he’d taken to talking to her sometimes over her work. She found she enjoyed his stories about life back East and even started looking forward to his insights on life in Colorado, which were usually wry and filled with humorous anecdotes. His job took him to some strange places sometimes, when it came time to talk to witnesses for example. And he captured the more colorful characters well with a dry wit she’d come to appreciate.

What she didn’t like so much was the catty little flibbertigibbet that showed up six times now in as many days, trailing French perfume and finding excuses to flash trim little ankles whenever he so much as looked at her. Cynthia Davis was nothing if not persistent and had even so far managed to inveigle two lunch invitations and a promise from Phillip…that is Mr. Richman…to attend a soiree she was hosting on Friday night.

Amanda grew so ill-tempered with these constant interruptions that her sister finally took it upon herself to do something. It hadn’t taken long for her to ascertain that Amanda’s interest was wavering from the horse, more in the direction of the man. Sarah’s solution, of course, was to change Amanda from the skin on out, starting with a bath when it wasn’t even Saturday night, and ending somehow in petticoats and lace. “Fighting fire with fire,” she’d said often enough that Amanda was starting to taste cinders whenever she so much as looked in her direction.

“I don’t see why you’re insisting on these dad-blamed things. Aint no one gonna see my shoes!”

“They may not see them, but they will hear them!” Sarah huffed and crossed her arms, effectively blocking the door with a look that told Amanda in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t going to be allowed to pass until she’d been fitted out in what Sarah felt was proper attire. Which meant all of it. “I gave you a pair of mine to use.”

“They pinch.”

“That’s how you know they fit right!” Sarah was positively red in the face from arguing, and tendrils of hair clinging damply to her forehead.

“Look,” Amanda said, gesturing to the dress helplessly. “I appreciate your efforts, I really do. I’m also real grateful that you stayed up so late and let the hems down and everything, even if I thought they were ok…”

“You’re a good three inches taller than I am, that was a scandalous amount of ankle!”

The mention of ‘ankles’ caused Amanda to blanch all over again. Just yesterday Cynthia had insisted that she’d gotten mud on her shoe and had lifted her skirt right up to check it, in front of everyone, revealing not only the ankle but a stockinged calf that had left Joseph positively agog. He’d had to step out for a drink of water to quiet his sudden bout of coughing.

“You…” Amanda took a breath and started over. Forget Cynthia. Focus. “But since you let all that cloth down, instead of using the dress I had…”

“It was three years out of fashion!”

“Since you let the hem down anyway… can’t no one see my feet, including me. I could be barefoot under here, no one would notice.” She pressed her palms against the skirts, making them billow out behind her. For that matter, she hadn’t seen anyone wear quite so many petticoats in an awfully long time. “Are you sure this is in fashion? The women in town don’t go to this much trouble…and they certainly don’t poof out in all directions like this. I feel like I’m going to blow away in a strong wind. And then where will I be? Everyone will see my ankles and more besides.”

“Don’t be crude. I’ll have you know that according to this, you’re perfect.”

“You’re waving around a fashion magazine that I know for a fact Lettie has had over at the dressmaker’s since we were children. What’s the date on that thing…?”

Sarah pulled the periodical safely out of reach and tucked it in the drawer of her bureau, slamming it shut with a sharp bang. “Whether or not you choose to believe me, I’m telling you right now that Mr. Richman won’t be able to take his eyes off you. So long as you just make sure your feet are safely covered at all times, I don’t want you ruining all my hard work with your manure-laden footwear.”

“Thank you.” Amanda sat heavily on the edge of the bed. This getting dressed thing was downright exhausting. They’d spent near an hour on getting her hair to stay up on top of her head.

“NO! No. No. No. No.” Sarah backed off, her hands in the air, her voice a shrill wail that brought Rachel cautiously to the door to see what was going on. Which was saying something. She’d gotten frightened by Sarah’s intensity and had gone outside to play with the neighbor’s kittens some time ago, especially when Sarah had looked at her rather pointedly and told her that it was time she started thinking about how to tend her hair properly. In one long braid maybe, instead of two.

“Now what?” Amanda crossed her arms, ready to stare her sister down. She knew for a fact she hadn’t done a thing this time.

“You will never sit like that again! EVER!”

Amanda glanced down at herself. “I’m just sitting! How can I sit wrong?”

“For one thing, keep your knees together!”

Amanda shifted awkwardly, bringing her knees together surreptitiously under her skirt. “They are together! Besides, I don’t see what’s the problem. It’s how I’ve always sat!”

“It’s indecent!” Sarah’s face was getting red again. “It’s scandalous!”

“Oh, fine.” Amanda brought her legs together firmly. Maybe it did make the line of the dress a bit nice,r but it certainly seemed like an awful lot of fuss just to make fabric lie straight.

“Now cross your ankles!”

“What?”

“It’s… just do it. That’s the way it’s done.”

This had gone into the world of utter nonsense. “But what if I have to jump up real quick?”

“Whatever for?”

“If something were to happen?”

“That’s what the men are there for, silly!” Sarah shook her head in dismay. “Now, cross ‘em!”

“Oh!” Amanda half growled but did as she was told. It didn’t feel right, and it was putting uncomfortable pressure on her lower back. She looked at her little sister with a great deal of consternation and no small amount of pique. “Is that all?”

“Well, you could stop waving your arms around like you were chasing flies.” Sarah waved off the tirade building in Amanda’s eyes. “Never mind, it’s not important. We can work on the bottom today and the top tomorr… later.” Sarah smiled, her eyes suddenly crafty. “Sure, we’ll work on the rest later.”

There was a whole world of trouble in that gaze. Amanda exchanged glances with Rachel who shook her head and backed away. A moment later she heard the quick patter of feet on her stairs. Smart girl. Get while the getting’s good. Amanda envied her escape.

“I ain’t changing my boots,” Amanda said suddenly recognizing where that look was going. In fact, she was regretting this entire discussion. Being a girl took a whole lot more time, time she could have spent outdoors on horseback.

“Well, if no one can see them, why not? I don’t see what you’re so attached to them for!”

“Because I tried the shoes you gave me!” Amanda shot back. “I tripped and fell.” She stared at her hands clasped in her lap. “I broke the washbasin.”

Sarah turned and looked at the top of the dresser. Sure enough, the basin was gone, only the pitcher remained.

“It was full of water too. It dumped all over my head. And I’d washed it already last night. It surely wasn’t needing to be rinsed again. Besides, I don’t like your shoes.”

Sarah’s face looked like it was stuck somewhere between sympathy and howling laughter. “Oh, honey, I am so sorry. Ok, you can wear your boots, just scrape the dung off them, will ya?”

“I did,” she said sourly, but without heat. At least she’s won that argument.

“Ah… this is just being stupid.” Amanda plucked at the dress, drawing the fabric away from her legs and letting it fall again. It settled in soft folds, billowing down like a cloud. “This isn’t me!”

“No. It isn’t. This is being pretty,” Sarah agreed.

That stung a little. No. A lot. Amada set her jaw and growled the words she’d been holding back all morning. “I mean… I can’t pretend to be Cynthia Davis!” Her hands fisted in her skirts.

“Who?” Sarah asked. “Is that the name of the woman at the saloon? How do you know the name of a saloon women?” Sarah’s eyes had widened into scandalized horror. She reached out and slapped her sister’s leg. “Knees together!”

Amanda shot to her feet, dancing out of her sister’s reach and nearly killing herself when the skirt tangled around her feet. “How did you know about that?”

“It’s only decent, a lady keeps her knees…”

“Not that! About the saloon girl!”

“Oh… uh…”

“Daddy said something, didn’t he?”

Sarah shook her head firmly no and then nodded once. “No. Maybe. Yes.” She sighed and threw up her hands. “Oh, now be fair, you told us both yourself that you just wanted to ride that horse of his!”

“Miss Davis,” Amanda said with all the air and pomp she could manufacture, which wasn’t a lot at this point, “is not a saloon gal. She’s the daughter of some officer at the new…”

“Major Aaron Davis? That Davis?”

“You know her?”

“No.” Sarah said, her mouth a round ‘o’ as she shook her head. “But her father is in charge of creating the fort out here. He’s a big name, and he’s got a lot of money and political connections to boot. Why would his daughter work in a saloon?”

“Forget the saloon! This… Davis woman has been coming over to the office every day and… and… and she throws herself on him!”

“On the horse?”

“NOT THE HORSE! On Phillip!”

“Phillip?” Sarah echoed, blinking a few times as she lit on the one thing that Amanda wished she wouldn’t. “It’s ‘Phillip’ now?” Her tone was all speculation with a hearty dose of insinuation thrown in for good measure.

Amanda covered her face with her hands. “What’s the use. I’m just not that kind of girly girl. Maybe he’d be better off with someone like you. If you married him, I could at least groom Champion from time to time.”

“Champion is the…”

“Horse” Amanda and Sarah finished together.

Sarah stepped forward, taking her sister’s hands in her own. “Amanda, you are a very pretty woman. Don’t make that noise, it’s true.” Sarah thought for a moment and drew her toward the door. “Come with me. Just…come on!”

She led her to Sarah’s room, and she dug through the contents of a dresser drawer until she removed one of her prized possessions. It was a genuine mirror with actual silver backing. Sarah had saved up a long time for this, and unlike most mirrors, it gave a true reflection, sharp and clear, not clouded and vague the way the looking glass over the bureau did.

“Look at that. Pretend that you had never seen this person before. Tell me she isn’t pretty.”

Amanda looked into the mirror and saw someone she’d never seen before. A woman with high cheekbones, a delicate chin, and full lips stared back at her. It was true that maybe a tiny touch of rouge might have been used to put a wee bit of color into her cheeks, but it certainly didn’t create this look from whole cloth.

She, Amanda, was pretty.

She’d never thought such a thing before in her life.

She smiled at her little sister, genuinely smiled at her. “Thank you.” The words were the barest whisper. She wasn’t even sure she heard.

“Now, no one likes a girl who’s late for work, so off with you.” Sarah’s own voice might have been a touch emotional as she reached for her sister and hugged her carefully, then spent a full minute in straightening her skirts and adjusting her hair.

When she’d finished, Amanda smiled and turned toward the door. She felt beautiful. She was beautiful. She put her foot on the first step to head downstairs. Her heel caught in the hem of her skirt. With a shrill cry, she grabbed the railing to keep from falling, hanging on for dear life as her skirt tried to pull free from her dress and her left leg couldn’t find a perch.

She hung like that, bent over, her eyes getting big and her backside pointed tellingly at the bottom of the steps.

“Ah… help?”

Sarah shrieked and ran to the rescue, grabbing her with one hand, and pulling her back around until Amanda had both feet firmly on the ground again.

“Thank goodness there are no stairs in the office,” Sarah muttered, and set about fixing Amanda’s hair for the third time that day.

Chapter 10

Phillip Richman walked out of the stables, still brushing bits of grass off his suit. Champion was settling in with some fresh oats and a large armful of what passed for hay in these parts. Right now, he was thinking he was wearing more than the animal would be eating. It clung with a stubbornness and tickled his nose.

Out on the street, he took his hat off, to tap it against the hitching post. It was going to take some extra attention. It was easy to see why straw was the preferred material for hats out here and not felt, just for the nuisance factor alone of how much dirt and debris tended to cling to the soft material. If he were seriously planning on staying, he’d have to see about changing his mind on fashion and a few other things he’d taken for granted. The thought made him smile. He was starting to like this process of discovering who he truly was in this wild place.

Maybe he could talk the ever-delightful Miss Addams into assisting him in his transition. She seemed to do just fine with her hat, practical and hard-worn as it was. She certainly hadn’t wandered into his office carrying the weight of the world on her hat brim. He thought for a moment. Clean as she kept it, that hat was certainly a bit tattered about the edges. Maybe if she helped him, he would offer to replace her hat in recompense for her efforts.

I wonder if such an action would get her to notice me for once and not my horse.

There was a touch of jealousy in his thought that surprised him. Since his discussion with Marilla the other night, he’d been spending quite a bit of time thinking about the things she’d said. According to his local gossip, Miss Addams had never been taken too seriously. Marilla had pointed out that the town had been indulgent with the young woman. They’d thought Amanda’s tomboy ways sweet initially, but then she’d been very young she came to town. Eventually, people had just gotten used to Amanda in trousers and covered in horse hair. Lord knew that she wasn’t the only woman in town who dressed like a man, there were practical considerations involved, and most of the ranching work couldn’t be done in a dress. Marilla had imparted this bit of news with a certain satisfaction that showed she not only liked Miss Addams but respected her to a certain degree even though they’d never talked personally.

Marilla had leaned in here, talking a little wistfully. Maybe she’d actually drunk a little of that alcohol that Phillip had been ordering all night to keep her boss off her back. She’d leaned in close, elbows on the table, speaking so none would hear.

She’d told Phillip how Miss Addams was different from the rest. She carried herself with a certain naturalness, without a trace of artifice or guile. Marilla had touched her own painted cheek then, wistfully, as though wishing herself somewhere different, somewhere she could be what she’d wanted to be.

“It never occurs to her that she should wear anything else. Or even behave in any other way. I think Miss Addams just is who she is. Exactly what she wants to be.”

Marilla had sniffled a little there and slammed down the rest of the drink in front of her. When she rose, she stood a little unsteady, and her eyes carried the sadness of a woman who had lived too many lives, none of them good.

“I can see what you’re doing here, lawyer man. You want to know about Miss Addams, you’ve heard all you need to know. A woman like her? She’s too good to give me the time of day. She’s always going to be exactly what you see. And she’ll leave you so intoxicated with her purity and honesty that no other woman will do, will she?”

Phillip replaced his hat on his head and started into the street, thinking deeply of all these things. He’d returned to the saloon twice, trying to find Marilla, but she hadn’t been available. The tacit message conveyed was that she wasn’t available to him, and he realized he’d hurt her somehow in using her to find out about the strange woman who worked in exchange for time spent with his horse.

It bothered him more than a little that Amanda had yet to see him in lieu of the horse.

Marilla was right. Miss Addams is intoxicating. Wildly so. I’ve known her a week, and it might as well be forever. In the short time he’d known her, he’d grown comfortable around her. It wasn’t like being around another man, she was undoubtedly all woman, but she was a very different woman from any he’d ever met.

Halfway down the street, a farmer’s cart trundled past him. The driver wasn’t looking at where he was going, the old swayback horse was doing the steering, the driver was focused on a different sight entirely, his head turned to the side of the road not visible to Phillip as the body of the cart blocked his view. Whatever the man saw, it about twisted the head off his neck as he rattled past. He near fell from his perch on the high seat in front before he caught himself and somehow managed to get set upright again.

Phillip, in an effort to be friendly, tried to wave, but the man was by far too preoccupied to notice. Phillip craned his neck, trying to see. But the only thing in his view was the sheriff. He was standing in the middle of the road staring back Phillip’s way. Again, Phillip tried to wave hello, but the sheriff only dropped his head and shook it slowly. When he looked up again, he shuddered, turned, and half-ran into the jailhouse.

People up and down the street were staring, and Phillip’s curiosity finally got the better of him. If the man with the wagon wasn’t going to move anytime soon, he’d just have to hike around it and see for himself what all the fuss was about.

Every eye in town was focused on a single female figure coming up the street.

The girl looked an awful lot like Amanda Addams. In fact, there were considerable similarities. Only this girl wore a bright dress, with white gloves, and had her face partially covered with a frilly bonnet of lace. Phillip tried desperately to affix that face to this new person, not Amanda… but whoever it was spotted him and picked up her skirts to run over.

Good lord, he knew those boots.

“’Morning!” she said with a wild grin on her face.

“Good…” He got that far on habit, the rest caught in his throat as he got a good look at her face. What in the world was she wearing on her cheeks? She looked like a fever victim.

“It’s a pretty morning, ain’t it?”

“Very… uh… pretty,” he agreed, though he wasn’t sure what it was he was agreeing to. “You’re… is everything…” He waved at her dress. He supposed it was a beautiful dress, but on her, it looked… it looked like… his mind went back to the year he’d been abroad with his family. To keep the dust off the furniture, everything was covered with sheets. If the sheets had been made of tasteful, expensive cloth, it probably would have looked like this.

She didn’t actually wear the dress so much as carried it around on her back. There was no single thing that he could point to where it wasn’t pretty, classy, and tasteful, but it was like putting finery on a cutting horse. It wasn’t her.

“Oh, the dress?” Amanda smiled and absently scratched a rib. “I had this old thing just laying around. I figured that” she shrugged negligently, “I should probably dress up a bit now that I’m a working woman. Maybe start looking more professional-like.”

She smiled. That smile caught his breath, and for a moment, the same girl that grabbed two boxes of paper and walked off with them like they weighed nothing was back. The grin was open and honest and even, in its own way – pure. This was the smile that he’d been coming to look forward to every day when he went to work. He’d gone out of his way to talk to her, just to see if he could coax out that smile again, just for him.

Then she smoothed out the gown. That action twisted the impossibly long glove she was wearing. She tried to straighten that out, and it tore at the seam. He cringed a little. Whatever she was trying to prove by dressing up this way, he was utterly baffled by it.

“Well…” she said, putting the arm behind her when the seam of the glove unraveled further. “Shall we get to work, then?”

It took a long moment to realize that she was waiting for him. “Oh. Yes. Of course!” He bowed and caught himself and then completed it. He couldn’t decide if he should wave her on first or offer his arm, or exactly what to do at this point, so he took two steps and turned to see if she followed.

“Oh, goodness!” Amanda said with a hearty laugh. “You are feeling off today, ain’t you?” She took his arm as genteel as any lady at a church dance and half dragged him into the office.

The men in the office had the same reaction as he did, but they were able to stand secure in their bewilderment and so were able to sit and stare. Admittedly, it was very disconcerting when it was Irving staring at you through the thick lenses and the metronome blinking, but Phillip was still rudderless as they entered the building.

“Hey, Joe!” Amanda called to the young intern. “Let’s get that fresh pile done, huh? It looks like goggles there has added all kinds of folders to it, hasn’t he?”

Joseph looked from one man to the other and then pointed to his chest and mouthed the word “Me?”

“Ok!” Phillip called out. This, at least, was in his element. This part he could do. “Let’s get this done today, we officially begin serving the community next Monday, and we need to finish getting moved in! The rest of those boxes that arrived two days ago…where are they? We need to get those unpacked too.”

The two older men nodded, and still somewhat bewildered, wandered off to their respective areas leaving Joseph looking like he’d just been offered for a sacrifice.

Amanda, on the other hand, seemed her usual self. Meaning she bent over and lifted one of those fresh boxes to take back to the file room like she’d been doing all week. Only this time she stepped firmly on the hem of her dress in doing so, ripping a good-sized piece of lace off the bottom that trailed after her as she led a somewhat horrified Joseph back to where they were working.

Smoothly. Everything was running smoothly, just as it had the rest of the week.

Until the clock struck 10:00. Then the day fell apart at the feet of one Cynthia Davis.

Chapter 11

Amanda could not for the life of her figure out how anyone was supposed to grasp anything with gloves. Rawhide protected hands against barbed wire and hemp rope. They made sense. Long silk gloves did absolutely no good at all and, in fact, made things worse.

There was nothing to grip onto. She pulled a sheaf of papers from the box and watched as the stack slid back in, falling from the center, and mixing up the pages as thoroughly as shuffling cards. They landed with an audible smack, and she was left with two pages in her fist. Trying to pull them back out again was an exercise in futility.

I think I’m supposed to take them off when I work. Or at least I’m gonna have to. This makes no sense.

She struggled to remember what Sarah did when she wore gloves, but it occurred to her that maybe she’d started out wrong. Sarah wore kid gloves while shopping, with a nicer pair for church. The silk was for social functions, like a dance.

What does Sarah think I do over here anyway?

Seeing as how working and dancing didn’t exactly equate, then maybe she could be forgiven for taking the dratted things off. Besides, she’d already torn one of them and wasn’t altogether sure it could be repaired. No, she’d just have to accept the loss. She rolled the long gloves down her arm, as being more expedient than trying to take them off nicely. She balled them up and tried to shove them under her belt were a decent pair of rawhides would go. There wasn’t a belt. Nor pockets. She looked at the balled silk and tossed them onto a side table.

Then, because she had work to do, she pulled the sleeves of the dress up to her elbows and dug in. She’d emptied the second of the three boxes, and Joseph was busily filing them away when she heard the front door open. Right on cue, Miss Davis walked in, just as she had every other day this week about this time. Amanda peered curiously out the door, wondering what kind of excuse she’d have today for showing up.

The day before, she’d chatted, albeit perfunctorily with Mr. Summit before making a beeline to Phillip’s… that is Mr. Richman’s office. Today, however, Miss Davis entered the office and ignored everyone who was standing there, saying nothing at all as Mr. Summit tried to greet her.

She walked in with the look of a woman who was searching for something. Someone. She saw Amanda leaning at the table, one hip cocked to rest on the tabletop, and Miss Davis’s hand flew over her mouth to suppress a giggle, her eyes grew wide as if they didn’t have room to take in the spectacle before her.

Amanda stood and let the papers in her hand scatter, feather-like to the floor at her feet. She leaned against the table, feeling like a deer caught in the sights of a rifle.

Why now? For a week she’s ignored me. Why today does she choose to corner me with her eyes? Angry and defiant, Amanda met her gaze boldly. Daring her to say something.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Miss Davis said, trying unsuccessfully to squelch a smile. She cleared her throat, not once, but twice. “I’m Cynthia Davis,” she said and gave the briefest of curtsies. “I have heard a great deal about you, Miss Addams, but I must admit that you exceed my expectations. I understand your father is the local sheriff?”

Amanda nodded dumbly, not altogether sure where this conversation to going, but mistrusting it as much as she did Mr. Weston’s mustang that he rode to town only half-tamed, on a snaffle bit. That was an animal worth avoiding.

Funny how she put this girl in the same category after only a handful of words.

Yet the woman held herself erect and glided when she walked. Ladylike. She was demure, cute and she wore her dress as though it were a natural part of her. Suddenly it came together in her mind. She didn’t mind so much not knowing the right things to say or do. Conversation had always just kind of happened around her and her own commentary went where it would, normally with a directness that may have made other people feel a little awkward. Amanda had always found that to be more their problem than hers.

No, it was how she felt about herself that changed when this woman was around, when she dragged her eyes up and down her form as though cataloging and her finding faults at every turn. In a matter of moments, Amanda ran the gamut of emotions, feeling silly, awkward, and foolish all at the same time. Compared to this girl, she felt thick and clumsy and stupid.

And she’d never felt that way about herself in her entire life.

It was a new sensation, realizing that no matter what she did from this point she’d been found wanting. She’d been getting dregs of such emotion all week long in the wake of these visits. It was this emotion that had led her to put on this dress today, even though she knew, knew that it didn’t suit her in the least, despite everything that Sarah had said.

All because this was the kind of girl that Phillip wanted. This was the sort he went for. Put a dress on a cow and it’s still a cow. The phrase occurred to her as she watched Miss Davis preen and… and well vamp. She was trying to be something she could never be, in order to try and turn the head of a man who would never want a tough, unladylike woman like her.

Miss Davis was an alien creature, far beyond her understanding and too far removed for her to emulate. And under that calculating gaze, she’d seen Amanda wholly, all her motivations laid out in front of her and found wanting. Worse. Been found…amusing.

“I must say, that is a lovely dress,” Cynthia said with a sparkle in her eye that belied her words. “I saw that very same dress when I was in Boston. My that had to have been, four, maybe five years ago? But the fashion has held up well enough. I’ve noticed that out here no one seems to mind if things are a little…well…dated.”

Amanda nodded because she was expected to reply and not just stand there like a poleaxed steer. She simply couldn’t think of any words to say. It was all she could do to keep her hands smoothed straight at her sides and not bunched into fists. Whatever she was, even she knew that punching Miss Davis in the nose was not acceptable behavior from a lady or even a hoyden such as herself.

Besides she had more self-control than that.

“If I can be of assistance to you in the future, say for lengthening a dress that’s too short for you? Please, do let me know. I am an able seamstress and would be happy to take you under my wing or assist in any way possible.” Miss Davis smiled. Amanda had to admit that rows of even, white teeth were a rarity and added to her beauty. It was like looking into the jaws of a wolf.

“Excuse me,” Amanda murmured under her breath and brushed past her, intent on escaping though if you’d asked her she couldn’t have said where she was going, or even exactly why. She only needed to leave…now. Unfortunately, Phillip came out of his office just in time to run into her. His arms wrapped around her automatically to keep them both from falling, but Amanda broke free of his grasp and bolted out of the front door, only just barely holding back the humiliation she felt.

Just get home.

She stopped on the street, and it registered to her. The looks she’d gotten on the way into town. The stares, the wide-eyed looks of bewilderment and repressed amusement. Even now it seemed every eye in the place was on her. Mary Lynn walked out of Willy Morgan’s Dry Goods and erupted into laughter. Old Mrs. Olson placed a hand on her heart and leaned over to whisper into Mrs. Tanner’s ear. The sisters looked back at her, and both broke into suppressed laughter as they carried their shopping home, tucked under their arms.

It felt like the entire town was jeering, laughing, and even guffawing at her. It was all so obvious now. She’d made a fool of herself to impress a fellow that was so far out of her league as to be downright laughable. He was as different to her as a thoroughbred was to a mule, as different from her as… well as Miss Davis was.

People like them, Phillip and Miss Davis, were obviously meant for each other, and she had been fool enough to enter their world. Now she stood in the street, the object of ridicule. She stared, white-faced at the passersby, noting each and every one, thankful that the street wasn’t near so busy as before, that maybe she could escape without special notice. She walked carefully as though she hadn’t a care to the end of the block, then ran down the street as soon as she was safely past the shops, bolting between the stables and the turnout Mr. Miller used for the horses he boarded for the townsfolk.

She threw herself into the stables through the back door and leaned against the battered wood, letting the smell of horse and manure and dirt fill her nostrils and remind her of who she was. She looked down at the dress and saw for the first time the clear mark around the hem where Sarah had let the dress down.

“It’s no wonder…”

Half in tears she found the stall where Champion stood chewing on bits of grass left over from breakfast. The sunlight through the boards seemed to make his mane glow. Mr. Miller had recently trimmed his hooves, and he was a picture of perfect health. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered to the horse. “You’re a dream come true on four legs and everything I always thought that I would want.” She shook her head at the soft nose that whuffled in her direction, reveling in the feel and the smell of his breath. She leaned into the soft cushion of his nose, the fine hairs tickling her face.

“But you’re too fancy of a horse for me,” she told him, her voice catching as she spoke. “I’m not a fancy horse kind of person.” She shrugged and wished she could pull the stupid dress off right here and be done with it. She wanted her own clothes. Real clothes. The kind that real kinds of people wore.

She patted Champion’s head, scratched his ears and let him lean into the caress, “You are a beautiful dream though,” she told him, her voice catching a little. Just like your owner. Maybe it’s just time to wake up.

With a sigh, Amanda turned away and made her way over to Oliver’s stall. She was able to hold out until she found her grooming kit at least. Only there, in the safety of his stall, with currycomb in hand did the tears finally escape her tight control. Here she stopped fighting them. They ran down her face in a silent, steady flow as she ran the brush down Oliver’s sides and neck. They threatened to choke her as she brushed his belly and pulled at the tangles in his mane.

Oliver turned to lean his great head against her shoulder, one soft, brown eye looking at her as if she were the most important thing in the world. Oliver didn’t even move when her father walked through the stables calling her name, and she took refuge behind her horse, safe out of sight until even he gave up and left. It wasn’t too often she could hide from him, it was less often that she wanted to, but today, he didn’t look behind Oliver, to see his daughter crouching in the dappled darkness. She waited until she heard his voice outside talking to someone else before finally moving, to stand on legs made shaky by too long crouching.

“I’m sorry, Oliver,” she whispered to the horse when she was finally alone again. “I should never have tried to ride anyone else. You’re my horse. We were meant for each other.” She rummaged in the tack kit until she found a comb she could pull through his mane. “That’s not so bad, is it?” She scratched his ear. “Not too disappointed?”

He only whickered in reply.

Chapter 12

“Miss Davis,” Phillip Richman spoke with his jaw clenched. It would be ill-conceived to alienate the new head of the military fort by slapping the man’s only daughter, but the thought did occur. “You have come every day to this office but have yet to explain any reason for your visits. You obviously do not need legal advice, and frankly, you are interfering with the operation of our efforts.”

The sound of the front door banging closed still seemed to echo in the cavernous space. ‘Interfering’ had been putting it mildly. Right now, he was mad as blazes and bound and determined to put an end to this entire little game of hers once and for all. He’d exercised great patience thus far, but that was over, he was no longer babysitting.

“Well,” Cynthia snapped, her face turning red. “I am sure that no longer has to be a problem, MISTER Richman.”

“I should hope not. While I have no idea what exactly just transpired, it is clear to me that today you have cost me the efforts of someone who has not only been productive, but even instrumental in establishing this office as a viable workplace. Not only that, you have put us even further behind schedule, and STILL, I have no idea WHY you are here!” He stared at her, he could feel the anger in him, knew it suffused his face and his entire body had gone rigid, but this much he couldn’t help. He’d never slapped anyone before and wasn’t about to now, but the feeling was there, the desire to punish, to shame someone for needlessly hurting another. It was hard to swallow that back down sometimes, to remind himself that not only was he a man, but he was also a gentleman, and better than this.

Better than her.

On the other hand, it might be considered an allowable luxury to raise his voice when necessary. “WHY ARE YOU HERE?”

Cynthia drew herself up, the very picture of affronted womanhood. “How dare you? My father…”

“YOUR FATHER is a military commander in charge of a military post. This is a civilian office. IF…” he leaned over her. “IF you truly want to involve anyone else in your shameful debacle, let me assure you that every civilian law and court will side with me IF I determine that You. Are. Trespassing.”

“Tres…” she said and her breath caught in her throat. “Tresp.. Well, I never!”

He looked her up and down and snarled. “I doubt that. Now if you’re quite done, I’m going to ask that you do me the honor of exiting through that door over there. And please take care not to upset anyone else in my employ on your way out. I surely cannot merit losing another worker today, I have far too much to do for that.”

Thankfully, Miss Davis took his invitation to leave. For a moment he thought she wouldn’t, but whatever bee she had in her bonnet had apparently buzzed itself out, and so too did she. On the other hand, she did slam the door hard enough to dislodge the framed diploma proclaiming that one Phillip Richman had successfully graduated from college summa cum laude. It swung slightly, rocking back and forth and then fell as if a trap door had opened under it.

That might be my career.

As disquieting a thought as that was, it didn’t matter. If he’d allowed her to talk like that to any of his employees and said nothing, his career wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on. He would have done the same for anyone there. Joseph. Harold. Irving. Any of them.

He walked back into his office, sitting himself at the desk. Well, maybe not quite so vehemently. But Amanda just… it was too cruel humiliating someone that innocent. He might have pretended not to hear, but every word had traveled across the entire lobby as crystal clear as if the little twit had been singing it in an opera in an auditorium. But to admit to having heard would be humiliating to Amanda…Miss Addams that is. And even if she wasn’t here to hear what had been said, it had felt right to maintain that illusion, to set the standard for everyone else present. There wasn’t a man there who would admit to having heard a thing if he had anything to say about it.

Even if such an action wouldn’t take the sting out of the words.

He leaned back in his chair, giving up the pretense of shuffling papers. He wondered where she…Miss Addams that is…had gone. And whether she’d be back.

She’ll be back. She’s got more gumption than anyone you know. You don’t have to worry about a woman like that. She’s one of those modern women who knows who she is and isn’t afraid to let the world know it too.

He liked that about her. He liked a lot of things about her. She was just so…so…

“Adorable,” he said out loud. Yes, that was it. Adorable.

“So, do we start packing or unpacking?” Summit asked at the doorway. His eyes were filled with worries. He shuffled his feet, shooting glances over his shoulders at the other employees who waited just behind him, a silent contingency waiting on his command.

“Keep unloading,” Phillip said, uncomfortably aware of the responsibility that hung over his head. Actions by their very nature would have to have consequences. Was he prepared to deal with that?

Definitely. Yes. He stood by his words. Maybe he’d been a bit…louder…than necessary. But he’d done the right thing.

He cleared his throat. “Look, even if her father can make things awkward for me, there will still be a prosecutor’s office in this town, and whoever the prosecutor is, he’ll need staff.”

“Think it’ll come to that?”

Phillip sighed and got to his feet, knowing that whether it did or not, he still had a job to do. The more time passed, and the longer it took for Amanda…Miss Addams…to come back, the more he was starting to worry. He reached for his hat. “Right now, Harold… I don’t much care. I need to find one Amanda Addams and see about her getting back to work.”

Summit shot a glance over his shoulder, but the other men had disappeared, going back to their duties. “She was taking it kinda hard,” he said softly, leaning in a little, his eyes softening some. “I guess she’s not had the sharp end of a tongue too often.”

“I don’t imagine she’s had to. From what Mar… from what I heard, she’s a fair hand at riding and handling horses and cattle. She does the same hard work as any ranch hand. That’s what people expect from her and that…” he pointed to the door and the figure of Cynthia Davis somewhere on the other side of it, hopefully far on the other side of it, “… that is exactly the sort of person who would laugh at her for not being feminine enough. So when she tries to be, it’s still not good enough.”

Summit nodded. “But she did try. That speaks well of her. That she was willing to try.”

“But…” Phillip threw his hands up in frustration, his hat coming perilously close to flying free. “Why? There was nothing wrong with what she was wearing yesterday, or the day before that, or on any of the days she’s been here. No one cares if she wears pants or a dress, so long as she got the work done!”

“You don’t know?” Summit took a step back and appraised him with a raised eyebrow.

“No.” Phillip stared at him, feeling uncomfortably like he was the one who was in the wrong now. “Why? What did I miss?”

Summit stepped out of the doorway, motioning him toward the front door with a grand gesture. “Then you need to go find her. When you do, she’ll tell you why. It’s best you hear it from her, I think.”

Phillip looked at him for a long moment, trying to find what he was missing in the impassive lines of the other man’s face. There was a soft twinkle in Summit’s eye that left him thinking somewhat uncomfortably that the man was trying hard not to laugh. Possibly at his expense. “Alright.” He said slowly, suspiciously. “But this conversation isn’t over.”

Harold Summit nodded and watched his young boss head for the door. He turned to Irving and raised an eyebrow.

“Are you smiling?” Irving asked, his voice incredulous.

“You need to get your glasses checked.” Harold grumped. The last thing Phillip saw as he shut the door was the older man back at work in his pile of papers.

Phillip jogged out into the street, leaving the men behind him to decide whether Summit had actually been smiling and other imponderables. He looked up and down the street, but the people and animals going in their little directions gave him no clue as to the whereabouts of one very unhappy girl.

He half ran to the sheriff’s office and, worried now, related to the sheriff the essence of what he’d heard Miss Davis saying to Amanda. He told the tale quickly, half out of breath from his run, realizing only belatedly that the scruffy man in the jail cell seemed unduly interested in listening in.

“Damn.” Sheriff Addams said as the tale concluded. “I was afraid something like this might happen. “I think I might know where she is though.”

“Sheriff!” The man in the cell called suddenly. “Is it ok for me to head out? I’m sober again, as you can see…”

Impatient, the Sheriff turned and nodded fumbling for the keys on his belt. “Keep in mind, you need to pay out two dollars first. One to pay the saloon for the whiskey you drank and the glasses you shot up and another to pay the fine for shooting a gun in my town.”

“Two dollars is a lot of money!” The man objected.

“You were a lot of stupid.” Addams countered, holding onto the keys and making no move to open the cell. “Now come on, I don’t got all day to wait for you to be even stupider.”

There was a momentary staring contest, and Phillip bristled at the delay. The erstwhile drunk finally nodded once and reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coin.

“Sheriff,” Phillip said under his breath. “The fine for disturbing the peace and reckless endangerment is 90 days in jail.”

“Ain’t no point in making the town pay for his meals just because he’s drunk and stupid. The town makes a buck. He leaves or stays out of trouble. Makes no nevermind to me. If he doesn’t, leave the town makes another dollar tonight. If he does leave, we all sleep better. In the meantime, I need to go find my daughter and I can’t if I’m babysitting a sober drunk.”

“Do I get a receipt?” the man asked as he dropped the coins into the sheriff’s hand.

“Can you read?”

“No.”

“Then what the hell would you do with one anyway?” Addams opened the cage and waved the man off. “Stay sober or get drunk in a different town, Jasper.” He turned around and reached for his hat, his former prisoner relegated to the unimportant.

“Sheriff…”

“Don’t get all puckered up, young man. I think I know where she is.”

Phillip followed him out, ignoring Jasper who was standing on the sidewalk rubbing his chin and staring down the road.

The sheriff headed for the stable, his pace brisk.

Chapter 13

“Amanda,” Sarah said quietly from just inside the door. “I brought you your own clothes.” She turned and looked down the rows of stalls, her fair head tilted to the side, as though trying to see past the stalls themselves to where her sister might be hiding. A whinny broke the silence as loud as a gunshot.

Amanda watched her from behind a post, knowing full well she should say something, but not wanting to. She wasn’t ready to talk. She didn’t feel like she was ever going to be ready to talk. And while she was grateful for her sister showing up, she wasn’t about to set foot outside that stall so long as she was still in that dress. No one was ever going to see her in that godforsaken scrap of material again if she ever had anything to say about it.

“I’ll set them here!” Sarah called out, her voice a little wobbly as she practically tiptoed to the grain bin. Although the center aisle was swept and clean, right down to the bare dirt, she acted as though it would hurt her feet to walk on the same soil as the horses did. Amanda had to give her credit for making it that far into the stables. Sarah wasn’t one to go into dark spaces where there might be spiders. Amanda shifted, keeping the post between her and her sister, watching as she set the bundle on the closed lid of the bin, balancing a beat-up hat on top of the pile.

“They’re here…” she said to the horses looking out at her, backing away quickly as one inquisitive nose got too close to her sleeve. “If you want them.” She took a deep breath. “Alright. I’m heading home, I’ll see you later.” Sarah turned and almost ran for the door.

She couldn’t let her go like this. It just wasn’t right.

“Thank you,” Amanda said emerging from a stall halfway down the aisle from where her sister stood. She looked pitifully at Sarah and held out the skirt of dress in her hands to spread the fabric wide under her sister’s shocked gaze. Mud and manure stained the breadth of it. She highly doubted it would ever be the same. “I think I ruined the dress. I’m awful sorry.” The last word ended on a half sob, not because she was upset about the stupid dress, but because her sister had tried so hard this morning to make her something…well, something she wasn’t. That she couldn’t ever be. And she felt like she’d let her down.

Sarah closed the distance between them and wrapped her sister in a fierce hug. “Don’t worry about the dress,” she said squeezing her tightly. “It’s you that matters.”

Amanda had thought that she’d cried herself out, but she found an untapped reservoir of tears just below the surface. She buried her face in her little sister’s shoulder and let the cascade flow.

“Look at me,” she hiccupped, “sobbing like a little girl. I should be tougher than this.”

“Honey,” Sarah said, pulling back to look her in the eye. “You’ve always had people that criticized you. You and I both grew up with people making stupid comments about the way you dress. It never bothered you before.”

Amanda looked at her sister for a moment and whispered. “Yeah, it did. It always bothered me, at least a little. I just never let it show.” She pulled herself together, squaring her shoulders, and wiping angrily at the tears. “I always had to be stronger than that. Like now.” And like that she was done crying. It didn’t matter if it still hurt inside. That was hers to carry. But not to wallow in. Right now, she needed to pull herself together. Or at the very least, find herself again. She headed over to the feed bin to get her things. “Besides, if people don’t like who I am, there ain’t nothing I can do about that. This is me and if they don’t like it, then… then they don’t like it.”

Saying it out loud helped. Made the dark edges kind of fall away. Let the hurt bleed out. She took the bundle and found an empty stall. “And then, when I do change to please them…” She took a shaky breath, “him, I mean, they don’t like that either.”

“It was that horrid Davis girl!” Sarah said, stamping her foot and sending up a cloud of dust enough to make her cough.

“Not just her.” Amanda shook her head and turned so Sarah could help her with the buttons. It didn’t surprise her that Sarah knew, word got around fast. “It was Mary Lynn and Mrs. Olson and her sister…”

“Those old biddies!”

“Sarah…” Amanda sighed and stepped out of the dress. She draped it over the side of the stall and began working on the rest. “It’s not them, not really. It’s not even that they thought I was being foolish, it’s that they were right. See, I thought that I could change, that maybe Mr. Richman would notice me… as a woman.”

“I’m sure he did,” Sarah protested. “Honey, you were beautiful in that, you saw it, how pretty you looked in the mirror.”

“I ain’t pretty,” Amanda said, holding up a hand and shaking her head as Sarah opened her mouth to protest. “I don’t mean it like that… I… I saw the mirror, I have a nice face, you did wonders for me, I understand that, but ‘pretty’ isn’t me. I don’t care if my face gets dried and windburned. I don’t care if I’m covered in mud and have manure on my boots and horse hair in my clothes. That’s me. All I been is foolish.”

“You don’t have to be,” a voice said, causing both sisters to jump.

“Who are you?” Sarah asked, placing herself between the stranger and her sister.

Amanda stood there foolishly, holding up her shirt in front of her, suddenly feeling very womanly and quite exposed. “Sarah… Do you remember Jasper? From the train?” Her voice came out a bit shaky. Angrily she shoved her arms in the sleeves.

Sarah shook her head slowly, almost in a daze. The man was standing too close to her. She was feeling threatened. Amanda could see it in the way Sarah’s face had gone so white that even she could tell in the semi-darkness of the stables.

“He’s the boy I spent time with on the train. The one I used to wrestle and fight with.” Her words contained an unspoken warning. Jasper was wild. Jasper was rough. She wanted to yank her sister back out of the man’s reach, but it would only trap them both in the stall. Right now, she needed him to move.

Sarah didn’t seem to get it. The danger Amanda was sensing seemed to have gone over her head. She was working up a good case of mad. “Well, we’re not children anymore, and I will kindly thank you to stay over there, whoever you are.”

“It’s alright.” Amanda stepped out of the stall, pushing past her, putting her own body between Jasper and her sister. “I’m done.”

“That’s better,” Jasper said with a gap-toothed smile. “That’s the kinda gal you really are. You don’t need to put on airs and flaunt around for some high-pants buffoon. You’re pretty as a picture just like that.” He waved at her trousers and shirt, the beat-up straw hat, the boots with the pant legs tucked in. The smile wasn’t exactly friendly. Or maybe the problem was it was a bit too friendly.

“Something about a pretty gal in britches…” He drew the back of his hand across his mouth.

Amanda’s fists clenched. This no-account excuse for a man had no right to talk to her that way. She opened her mouth to tell him so when she was the one pushed aside. A blur of lace and petticoats was past her in an instant.

“SARAH!” Amanda called, but her sister had already charged the man, fists flying. Jasper pushed her out of the stable door like she was a child and latched it behind her.

Thank God. The terror that had closed her throat eased when saw her sister thrust outside. Amanda doubted that her sister had so much as laid a hand on Jasper for all her efforts. Stupid, brave girl for trying. At least she was safe there. Whatever happened Sarah would be safe.

Herself? Not so much.

“We don’t need no distractions, now do we?”

It was too much. Hard on the heels of what was having to be the most awful day in her entire life, this lowdown, boot-licking guttersnipe really thought he could address her the way he would those doxies in the saloon?

“Jasper,” Amanda said in a voice as frozen as midwinter. “You really don’t want to do this.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am, I really do,” Jasper assured her and reached out to grab a lead rope. “And you want me to, don’t think you don’t.” He passed the back of his hand over his mouth once more. The man was actually drooling.

Chapter 14

So far, they’d had no luck at all. Having searched the stable and come up empty, Phillip and the sheriff had gone to the Sheriff’s house to seek her out there. They’d spoken to Sarah and Rachel, both of whom were aghast at the turn of events. Sarah fled upstairs, presumably distraught over her sister. Oddly enough they didn’t linger there long, leaving the womenfolk to sort out their own emotions. He supposed the Sheriff knew best what his own children would need when upset like this, though it still felt strange to take the time afterward to hike all the way out to the Calvert Ranch, even as the Sheriff argued they would be more likely to catch up to her on foot.

But the hands running the Ranch while Tom and Linda were on their honeymoon hadn’t seen her, and even checking out the empty schoolhouse on their way back didn’t reveal any useful clues.

By the time they got back to main street, Phillip was hot and sweaty and had had quite enough of traipsing all over the countryside on foot. “I think I need to get my horse and saddle up,” Phillip said as they walked back through town toward the sheriff’s office.

Sheriff Addams stopped and grabbed his arm. “Just tell me this. What kind of thing are you playing at?”

The affable, friendly sheriff was gone. In his place was a stern-eyed lawman with eyes that could have been cast from iron.

Phillip was a man who’d faced down lawmen and villains of all stripes since taking on his chosen profession, but even he was taken aback by the hard light in the older man’s eyes. “I…I don’t understand.”

“You hired my daughter in exchange for riding your horse. But I happen to know that beast stays in the stable more days than not. Ryan Miller told me that much. You could have just let her ride him. It would have done him a world a good to be worked.”

Phillip chafed, he wanted… needed to assure himself that Amanda was alright. “Yeah… I know… I…” He looked around and through his frustration realized that he couldn’t go find this man’s daughter unless he was open and honest about it. He swallowed hard and for the first time voiced the truth he’d been keeping buried in his heart. “I hired her because… well because that way I could see her every day. I… I just wanted to be around her.”

“Then what’s the reason for the fancy clothes and her acting goofy?” He got in Phillip’s face, and Phillip suddenly realized that a lawman of over 20 years’ experience could be one very formidable opponent indeed.

But even under that gaze, he couldn’t answer the very question that every dad-blamed individual in town seemed to think he could. “I don’t know! I don’t know what possessed her to do that though I wish to God I did!”

The Sheriff’s expression turned thoughtful. “Maybe she’s more concerned with what she’s been seeing you sniffing around?”

Phillip’s eyebrows shot up. “But… are you referring to Miss Davis?”

“There are a lot of wagging tongues in this town, and they seem to be wagging your way.”

Phillip threw his hands in the air in frustration. He needed to do something, to find Amanda, to help her, comfort her, protect her. To be doing something. Anything other than standing in the middle of the street and having to defend himself from the actions of a silly, brainless girl that he couldn’t seem to get rid of even when she wasn’t physically present.

“I wish more than you can possibly imagine that she’d find some other poor sap to bother. She’s locked on to me, and here I am supposed to represent the territory and uphold the courts including what happens at the Fort, and I can’t shake her!”

The Sheriff stared into his eyes. If there was a look that could curdle milk and turn someone’s soul to ash, this man had that ability. “Alright,” he said cautiously. “Fine. But from now on, you two stop playing games. You’re supposed to be adults by now. No more childish nonsense.”

And yet Phillip suddenly felt more a child than ever. “Yes, sir.” He said nodding. “I just… I need to find Amanda now. I want to know she’s alright.”

“Well…” the sheriff backed off a bit. “That’s what we’re here for. And if you swear to me that you’re done playing stupid games, I’ll tell you something important.”

“I promise,” Phillip swore.

“She was in the stable the entire time.” The Sheriff smiled from one end of his mouth.

“If…” Phillip was confused and more than a little angry. He knew it. He’d just known that they’d been running around on a wild-goose chase all afternoon. He should have guessed it when the Sheriff had insisted on searching the stable by himself, telling Phillip that he’d best keep watch in case she passed by on the street. He’d been played for a fool and didn’t like it one bit. “If you knew she was in there, why didn’t you say so?” he asked, his own back up, and the look he gave the Sheriff full of iron enough of his own.

“Because. She didn’t want to see you. Or me either for that matter. But I had to tell her sister, so she could get her out of there. We went to the Calvert’s to give Sarah time to….”

That was when Phillip heard the scream.

“SARAH.” The sheriff breathed. Both men looked at each other, then took off running. The sound had come from the stables. They ran together, faster than Phillip thought his tired legs could possibly carry him after having tramped several miles already. What surprised him was how fast the Sheriff was for a man his age. He was hard to keep up with. Phillip’s measure of the man rose despite the fact that he’d been deceived by him.

He’d have to puzzle that through later.

They skidded to a halt outside the stable. The might doors were shut. Barred from inside it seemed. The smaller door to the side was similarly blocked. Horses made restless by the commotion snorted and pawed in the corral, but there were no stalls opening into the pen. The stable was of a queer western design, able to be shut in completely, to keep out varmints and horse thieves.

And to hold the woman he loved in some kind of unknown danger.

Sarah was pounding on the door, and a crowd was gathering around her. Shoppers exchanged glances, and the stableman himself was calling for an ax to take down the door. Sarah fell into her father’s arms sobbing. “AMANDA! Daddy, Amanda’s in there. And Jasper’s in there. And he’s—”

But whatever she was going to say was lost, drowned out by a bloodcurdling scream that seemed to go on forever. The horses in the pens whinnied and thrashed, the crowd outside setting up a long wail in reply.

“AMANDA!” Phillip threw himself against the door, wondering where that fool was with the ax, but the sheriff pulled him back.

Phillip rounded on him, fists clenched. “WHAT YOU DOING?”

“That ain’t her screaming,” the Sheriff said with an odd little smile playing on his lips. “I suspect we ought to see how this all plays out.”

They didn’t have long to wait. The door to the stable blew open. It splintered, the wood shattering into so many slivers, the hinges swinging wildly and slapping the wall. Jasper lay where he landed, curled up in a heap, moaning unintelligibly and clutching his midsection, trying to breathe.

Amanda stepped through the wreckage of the doorway, alternatingly holding and shaking her right hand. “Man’s got an anvil for a jaw bone,” she muttered and looked up at the crowd who’d gathered for the show.

The ones who had laughed at her earlier were the ones that suddenly had somewhere else to be. Phillip watched in awe as the entire crowd disappeared, including the man who’d come running with an ax only to find the door was already so much firewood. Muttering something about taking the borrowed tool back where it had come from, he sidled back the way he’d come, alternately glancing back and shaking his head, and running as though he couldn’t get far away fast enough.

When Amanda saw Phillip, she blanched and then straightened. He stood where he’d been placed, in shocked surprise as she walked over to him and planted herself right square in front of him.

“Phillip, this is me. It’s who I am. I like to ride, to rope, to shoot. I like to dance, I like being in the sun and getting dirt and sweat and horsehair… I won’t never be a woman you can show off at a fancy ball, and I might not even be good enough for the fancy crowd. But I reckon if you can put up with me like I am…” She smiled a little. “I can probably put up with a man like you.”

Then as quickly as she’d spoken, she stepped back, cheeks flushing as if she’d just now realized what she’d said. She swallowed hard. “I mean… there ain’t nothing wrong with a man like you…” She grew flustered and looked to her father.

He shook his head and pulled out his handcuffs for Jasper. “I got work to do,” he muttered, dragging the man roughly to his feet.

Everything suddenly made sense. “No more games,” Phillip said, stepping toward her, hand outstretched.

“What?”

“No more games, Amanda. The truth is, I can’t stop thinking of you. You’re not like anyone I ever met, nor do I expect I ever will. I… I don’t know if I have a lot to offer, I can ride, I can shoot fair enough, but I never even touched a cow that wasn’t on a plate. But maybe you can do that, and I’ll do…” he gestured down the street in the general direction of his office, “this. I would just like to try doing some of it, most of it, all of it… with you.”

Amanda was still staring at her feet, chewing her lower lip as she thought that through. “I’d like that,” she whispered, lifting her head to meet his gaze for the first time. It was like the sun coming out after a weeklong rain. Her eyes sparkled with life, and no small hint of mischief.

He held out his hand. “I may not have known you long, Amanda Addams, but I would like to get to know you better. Amanda Addams, would you do me the honor of allowing me to court you?”

“Court me?” Her eyes widened, taking on a slightly panicked look.

“It was a poor choice of words perhaps. I suspect our courtship might be…dare I say…somewhat unconventional. Maybe you won’t mind showing me some of the finer points of roping and riding, Miss Addams? If you would so agree.”

Amanda’s gaze became thoughtful as she looked past him to the street. The crowd had long since gone. The only person left was Sarah, who’d been watching this interplay with a certain rapturous delight as though her favorite novel had come to life right before her very eyes.

Amanda cleared her throat. “I think that before we go so fast and so bold, Mr. Richman, I should tell you that your horse was injured in Jasper’s attack.”

Phillip felt the blood drain from his face. He looked past her into the stable. “Champion?”

“I’ll show you.” She pursed her lips and took his hand, leading him into the dark interior of the stable.

Chapter 15

Amanda didn’t miss Sarah taking a step toward the door. For a moment she was afraid that her little sister would try and come in with them, but the girl had more presence of mind than that. Sarah simply stood in front of the ruins and dared anyone to get past her.

Phillip was at Champion’s stall, looking over the stall door. “He seems fine,” he was saying, “I don’t see any…”

Before she could lose her nerve, Amanda pulled him around to face her and put a hand on either side of his face. She swallowed and pulled him down to her, pressing her lips on his. She hadn’t really ever kissed a boy, just in play or as a joke, but never in earnest. Her lack of experience showed. He wasn’t responding and she was making a great fool of herself again, twice in one day.

She broke off and closed her eyes against the embarrassment and shame that swamped her. “I… I’m sorry, I…”

He mumbled something about “no more games.” She didn’t quite make it out, and the words made no sense. Right now, she just wanted to go hide again. Preferably somewhere very far away.

Suddenly, she was in his arms. Strong, powerful arms. He enfolded her, pressing her against him, and where her kiss had been shy and sweet, his was sure and confident. He buried his fingers in her hair, sending what was left of her fancy hairdo tumbling down around her shoulders. She hadn’t had time to put it in her usual braid and now if anyone saw there would be a downright scandal. But she didn’t care as his hand moved down her shoulder, and stroked her back, drawing her in closer as she leaned back from the passion in his kiss.

When they parted, she couldn’t breathe for a moment. She stared at him, as he stared at her, as they tried to sort this all in a series of shared glances that were struggling to redefine just what they were to each other. Something more than boss and employee for certain. Beyond that, she wasn’t altogether sure. This was new territory. New, precious, amazing, shining territory that she wanted more than anything to explore. Right now.

He seemed to have the same idea. He lifted her off the ground and started looking around.

The stable door was a ruin, leaving a gaping opening guarded by Sarah’s firm back that told Amanda that her sister was not only guarding their privacy but likely trying to cipher out this new relationship as much as she was. There would be explanations aplenty later. Right now, they needed a place to indulge in those activities that would be requiring explanation in the near future.

Smothering a giggle against Phillip’s shoulder, Amanda pointed to the tack room door, standing open a short distance away. With a certain dark look that was all passion, they passed the heap of alfalfa that was sure to be soft and comfortable for the haven of the darkened room. He set her down, to shut the door firmly behind them while she fumbled with the lantern that hung by the door until a soft glow filled the room, casting smoky light over the racks of saddles and harness, giving the space a wonderful horsey leather smell that suited Phillip and this moment so perfectly well. The floor was littered with bits of hay tracked in, that could never quite be swept up completely it seemed, adding a sweet clover smell to the mix.

It was she who found the stack of horse blankets. Laughing together, softly that no one should hear, they built a nest in the corner of the room, soft and warm. Here he lay her, following her down into the impromptu bed, laying soft kisses on her lips and neck and shoulders. His hands stroked her legs through the rough cloth of her pants. She liked it. She liked every touch of this exploration. She’d had a basic understanding of what men and women did together, her mother had educated her when she’d come of age, but nothing had prepared her for this passion that clawed at them both. This need to grab and touch and hold flesh was unbelievably intoxicating. Every kiss, every grope brought them more and more closely entwined until she no longer knew where she ended and he began.

She reached under his coat and under his vest and put her fingers on the crisp, white shirt that lay beneath, feeling the skin under the cloth with a finger. The warmth of his skin seemed to burn her fingers, and she found her breath had rushed from her body and her face was hot with the blood pounding in her ears.

“Amanda,” he breathed in her ear, and she responded. Her name on his lips tore through the flesh and touched her soul. She reached for him, though she wasn’t sure how or where, and suddenly she wanted very much to please him as he pleased her. Why had no one told her the joy that came in such a union, this intimacy that would drive them both into such a frenzy?

He lay her down, and she waited on the soft blanket as he pulled off his jacket and vest, each item of clothing necessitating a pause in between as if he was making sure she would let him carry on. Each time his eyes met hers she nodded, eager, excited. Wondering when it would be her turn to act.

She barely restrained herself from tearing the shirt off his body. He returned to her, finding her skin under her shirt in a tentative caress that left her gasping, back arched, moan escaping from her lips before she could suppress the sound. She was suddenly wearing altogether too much clothing. The shirt, the pants, the underclothes…all needed to be removed, and took time, too many small buttons to undo, each exposing only another inch of flesh that burned for his touch. When she was finally exposed to his view, he gazed at her with satisfaction. To her joy, her small, firm breasts seemed to be sized for his grip. His thumbs flicked her nipples, creating a cascade of sensation that left her writhing and begging for him to touch her further. Lower. There.

So it was that his hands moved to the belt of her pants, and dared to explore further still.

They came together, on the blankets, serenaded by the muffled noise of horses moving about in their stalls. Outside, the horses in the corral had quieted somewhat, the occasional snort or thud from a hoof filtering through the chinks in the stable. Beyond there, the sounds of the town bustling about its day proved that the community was as yet unaware that the world had changed and that two people had found happiness in each other’s arms, and eyes.

When she reached out to him, and buried her climax in his shoulder, when he, breathless and spent, whispered not of passion, not of need, but spoke instead softly of love, it seemed that time should have stopped and the world ended on that moment, perched on the edge of perfection.

She imagined Champion smiling as Oliver snorted derisively for a rubdown. Life demanded that they part, and they rose into a world that was shaky and new. Together they folded the blankets and returned them to their shelf, Amanda casting shy glances at the man who had touched her so intimately and left a burning imprint upon her soul. She found that she would give up anything to please him, and while it seemed a strange submissive gesture to want to give him, she also recognized that he would do the same for her, in that odd give and take that told her they balanced each other. Together they had found a harmony of passion, without having to change anything about who she was. Here was a man who could only be pleased with her if she held on to herself after all.

They dressed again, playfully, teasing, a few random gropes to keep the other from completely finishing until Sarah’s voice filtered through from the outside world, telling them that their time together was most assuredly over.

“Daddy’s coming.”

The stage whisper could have been heard across town. More than a little panicked, Amanda reached for Phillip, realizing his vest was misbuttoned. She righted the mistake with shaking fingers as he tugged at her collar, straightening her shirt.

“Let me past girl!” Her father’s angry voice could be clearly heard from outside.

“YES, DADDY!” Sarah spoke loudly enough to rouse the dead. “RIGHT AWAY… DADDY!”

They tumbled through the tack room door, breathless, coming to stand outside Champion’s stall only just in the nick of time. The light brightened and dimmed as Sarah gave way to let their father through the doorway, trailing wide-eyed after him.

“I heard the horse was hurt. But he doesn’t look so bad.” Her father said, looking hard at Champion who was working over a mouthful of hay with a rather placid, even bored, expression.

“No… he wasn’t as hurt as I thought…” Amanda hedged, glancing sidelong at Phillip. “He was just… scared I think.”

Sheriff Addams looked at his daughter closely and then at Phillip who was concentrating on his horse hard enough to drill a hole in the creature with his eyes.

“Uh huh.” The sheriff nodded slowly. “I suppose a lot of screamin’ and thrashin’ would put him off his feed.”

Amanda suddenly couldn’t look at her father. Phillip had gone awfully red-faced. But it might have been the light.

Amanda yelped when her father pulled a handful of alfalfa from her belt. He shook his head. “Just cause you’re not playing games, didn’t mean…” He waved off the rest of his words and dropped the alfalfa for Champion to worry over.

Sarah’s eyes grew round, and her mouth opened to an O.

“Yeah,” her father said over his shoulder to his daughter as he turned and stomped out of the stables. “They did. And Mr. Richman can expect a few words from me about it later. I’ll be expecting a question from him in the near future.”

“Yes, sir!” Phillip called after him. “You can count on it, sir!”

Somehow Amanda held it in until her father was safely outside. Only then could she turn to Sarah and nod happily. For a day that had started out pretty bad, things had worked out fairly well after all.

Next in the Series

They can’t run from their troubles

A delicate flower

Sarah Addams isn’t brave. She’s not scholarly. She’s refined and proper, exactly how she should be. So why has life become so hard since her sisters married and moved out? Maybe being the youngest daughter of the Sheriff had more benefits than she realized. As she boards the train to Boston in search of her own prince charming, a run-in with an unsavory fellow passenger leads her to a knight in shining armor instead.

A broken leader

Wallace McFarland had a promising career ahead of him as a cavalry officer. Then his troop got ambushed, and he learned some hard truths about himself. Friends gone, dreams in shambles, he’s headed back to Boston in disgrace. Heart aching just as much as his injured leg, the last thing on his mind is the future…until he sees a beautiful young woman in need of assistance.

Stronger together

When the train derails in a blizzard, Wallace has no interest in taking charge, but all eyes are looking to him. Sarah can’t stomach the thought of nursing the wounded but can’t let down the officer who came to her rescue. Working together, the two somehow coax out qualities neither knew they had, along with an attraction that rages just as strong and heavy as the storm outside.

Also by Karen Sommers

Sometimes to win big, you have to risk it all.

Margrett Childs has set out to the untamed wilds of Arizona on a mission to enhance the lives of frontierswomen. The home she buys for that purpose is a dream, but when her dream comes crashing down around her, she's forced to put her trust in a handsome stranger with an unsavory past.

Nathan Baker lost everything to the poker table. Now he's content to live like a shadow in his home. Or at least he was, until that Boston Suffragette came to town. Something about the foolish woman has ignited feelings he thought were long dead. When she comes to him for help, he finds himself caught between the past and dealing in for one more round.

For the latest updates on new releases and special offers from Karen Sommers, visit her website at http://authorkarensommers.com/

Karen is also always happy to hear from her readers. Email karen@authorkarensommers.com