Cassandra Austin (12 page)

She sighed, pressing his hand more firmly against her breast. “You’re full of such nice surprises.”

Later, when they were both sated, Val stared at the ceiling while Fancy cuddled up against him. He thought she had fallen asleep until she asked, “Do you have a plan yet?”

He shifted slightly as he considered how much to tell her. “Not completely. I have a few problems to
iron out. Do you think you can lure Haywood away when the time comes?”

She took her time answering. When she did, it wasn’t what Val wanted to hear. “I think he’s in love.”

Val had to force himself to relax. “What makes you think so?” he asked, trying to sound unconcerned.

“He ignores me,” she said with a pout.

Val let out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t Fancy the sheriff was in love with.

Fancy continued, “I can sit right in front of him, and you’d think he didn’t see me at all.”

Val wanted to laugh but thought better of it. Fancy wasn’t likely to take it well. “He just pretends not to notice you, sweetheart,” he soothed. “If we can find out who this lover is, we might be able to use her. Your brother could forge a note to lead him into a trap. Something like that. See what you can find out.”

He felt her head nod. She yawned and cuddled closer.

“Fancy?” He waited for her response before he went on. “Don’t try too hard to get the sheriff to notice you.”

She had the audacity to giggle.

“Could I have some time off this morning?” Cally asked Noella after breakfast. “I haven’t done my morning chores yet.”

“Did you oversleep, Cally?” she asked coldly.

“Yes, ma’am,” Cally lied. She hadn’t wanted to go back to Andrew’s until she knew he was gone.

“You may go then, but don’t make a habit of it. A maid has no business sleeping late.”

Easter cast her a quick smile while Noella wasn’t looking. “Were you up late reading, dear?”

“I can’t read,” Cally answered absently. She would have to come up with different excuses each day if she hoped to avoid seeing Haywood ever again.

Noella’s stern voice interrupted her thoughts. “Well, that doesn’t matter. I don’t see why a maid needs to be able to read, do you, Easter? No,” she answered for her sister. “It isn’t necessary at all. Well, clean up the dishes, and you may go. But don’t dawdle.”

Cally watched Noella leave the room. She thought about asking Easter how she would know for sure if she and Andrew had made a baby but decided Easter probably didn’t know. Besides she couldn’t possibly tell her what she had done. And now he wouldn’t even marry her to make it right!

She realized that Easter had been watching her brood. She grabbed a pile of dirty dishes and hurried to the kitchen. She didn’t know Easter had followed her until the woman spoke. “I could teach you how to read if you’d like. We could work during Noella’s afternoon nap.”

Cally was startled. “But don’t you nap, too?”

“Oh my, no! I read!”

That same morning Andrew put off leaving for his office as long as he could. He wanted to talk to Cally. He had done her chores so she would have time to listen to him. He had even milked the cow.

By the time he decided he had to leave, he was
sure she wasn’t coming at all. He put the milk in a jar and put it in his icebox, then wanting her to find it, he drew a picture of his back door with Queen in her usual place. The open icebox and the jar were visible through an imaginary hole in the wall. He tacked the drawing to the barn door. He wanted to leave another note asking her to come to the office to see him, but was uncertain how to get that point across in a drawing.

Royal was his next problem. If Cally did come, he would follow her. There was little use chaining him up again. With a sigh, he called the dog to his side, and was about to head for the office when his deputy hailed him.

“Swineferd’s at it again,” Bill said, catching his breath. “His boy came in.”

“Poor kid,” Andrew said, already turning toward the corral. “Where is he now?”

“I left him at the office,” Bill said as he followed, “but I doubt if he’ll wait very long. Somehow he thinks he ought to be able to protect his mother. I told him coming in was the best thing to do.”

“Keep him there as long as you can.”

“Don’t you want me to come with you?” Bill asked. If he noticed the odd picture tacked to the barn door he didn’t comment.

Andrew threw the saddle on his mare’s back. “No. Stay with the boy. I’ll take my new partner.” He indicated Royal with a tilt of his head.

Bill nodded rather quizzically but headed back toward the office without further comment.

In a few minutes, Andrew and Royal were on their way.

*   *   *

Cally wondered briefly if she was the only person in the world who didn’t have an icebox. It seemed strange to go into Andrew’s house and get the jar of milk. Cally was sure that was what he intended her to do or he wouldn’t have drawn the picture. Just the same, she went in and out as quickly as possible.

Cally saved the picture he had tacked to the barn door. She wasn’t sure why, but it didn’t seem right to leave it out in the weather. She tucked it away in her old trunk.

She spent the morning trying to tell herself she shouldn’t be worried about Royal. Andrew’s horse was gone as well. Royal never wandered away. The dog had to be with Andrew. But where was Andrew?

The sisters hadn’t given her any jobs to do during the afternoon, and, by the time she cleared the table from lunch, Cally was considering a visit to the sheriffs office just to reassure herself. Not that she wanted to see Andrew again! She just wanted to check up on her dog.

When Easter came into the kitchen after lunch, Cally had to fight back a groan. The old lady must have thought of something. She steeled herself before she turned toward her. “Yes?” she. asked.

“Books!” Easter’s eyes sparkled as she laid a stack on the table. “None are really meant to be primers, but I think we can make do.” She sat down at the table and began dividing the books into different piles. “You ought to buy a slate and chalk next time you’re at the store. They still use slate and chalk, I believe. Some things won’t ever change.”

Cally watched with a mixture of excitement and
fear. What if it was too late to learn to read? What if she wasn’t smart enough? She approached the table slowly as Easter seemed to settle on a particular book.

“Ah, poems,” the old woman said. “Let’s see. Where shall we start?”

Cally took the seat beside Easter, all other concerns momentarily brushed aside.

Andrew led the still-swearing drunk to the cell and locked him in before he removed the handcuffs.

“You got no call for this, Sheriff. She’s my wife,” Swineferd slurred for the twentieth time. “I can do as I please.”

Andrew didn’t comment. He tossed the keys on the desk in front of Bill and muttered, “I’m going to dinner.”

Andrew was so angry at Swineferd he had been tempted to beat the daylights out of him, to give him a taste of what he liked to give his wife. The woman had managed to hide from the lout, and their son had gone for help. This time.

The son hadn’t liked leaving his mother in danger, and Bill had only managed to keep him in town long enough to give Andrew a head start. Next time, the boy would likely shoot his old man. What kind of way was that to start a life?

Andrew knew he would be forced to let Swineferd out of jail in the morning. Without his wife’s signed complaint he couldn’t charge him, and he could almost bet that she wouldn’t sign one. Andrew would wait for her to come to take her husband home, and try to convince her. In the past, she had always tried to assure the sheriff that she would be fine.

With Royal at his side, Andrew decided to walk around town, burn up some of his frustration before going to dinner. In front of the Antlers, he nearly collided with Val Milton.

Royal growled but quieted after a word from Andrew.

“Well, hello, Sheriff.” The gambler greeted him cheerfully, keeping an eye on the big dog. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“No, thanks,” he said, almost absently. “I was on my way to dinner.”

“Dinner then.” Milton clapped him on the shoulder and suggested a restaurant across the street. “Kind of late for dinner, isn’t it, Sheriff? Hard morning?” He stepped out of the way when Royal decided to cross the street between the two men.

“A little long, I guess. And yourself?”

Milton shrugged and didn’t speak again until they were seated in the restaurant, with Royal lying under the table. Andrew could tell the dog made the gambler nervous, but the mood he was in, he didn’t care.

“That little farm I won isn’t exactly what I expected,” the gambler said finally.

Andrew chuckled, nodding his understanding. “It is a bit run-down.”

Milton’s eyes widened at the understatement. After ordering steaks, Milton added, “I’ve decided to sell it as soon as possible. I’m not cut out for farming, and Salina’s a little too tame for me to—shall we say, pursue my chosen profession?”

Andrew nodded absently, thinking more about the drunken Swineferd than what Milton was saying.

Milton continued, “I may have even found a buyer.
The fella who owns the place next to it made me an offer. Ned something or other.”

“Ned Christianson,” Andrew provided. Suddenly he came alert. “Ned’s buying Cal…the DuBois farm?”

Milton nodded, interest in his eyes. “He didn’t offer me much, though.”

Andrew remembered Cally’s dislike for Ned because he had always wanted her farm. If her trip to the garden was any indication, the poor girl still thought of the place as hers. Losing it to Ned would be another hard blow, and she had had too many already.

“What did he offer?” he found himself asking. He hadn’t thought about doing this. It was just a whim. He never did anything on a whim. He was, in fact, the most deliberate person he knew.

Until today. He waited expectantly for Milton’s answer.

“Fifteen dollars an acre. Can you believe that? And there are only ten acres left. The rest of the original claim already belongs to this Ned. He said what’s left is mostly creek, and I have to agree that DuBois’ idea of improvements doesn’t raise the value much.”

“The going price for farmland is closer to twenty,” Andrew said.

Milton laughed. “You think you can find me a better offer?”

“I’ll make you a better offer. I’ll pay twenty.”

Milton was pleased, perhaps a little too pleased, but Andrew barely noticed. He had bought Cally’s farm from the gambler.

*   *   *

Val waited at the bar for a chance to slip into the back room of the Antlers. A trip to the bank after dinner had finalized the sale. The notion of selling the farm to the sheriff himself delighted his sense of irony. Stedwell, at least, would agree.

Terris was another matter. He was difficult to control to begin with, and was becoming more so. Val’s plan was taking shape and the time was near, but he wanted everything to work perfectly.

Finally he saw his chance and slipped through the door. Terris stood near the peephole, his right knee resting on a chair. Stedwell, in the middle of a game of solitaire, offered Val a seat.

“Took you long enough to get in here,” Terris said.

“I didn’t want to be seen coming in.” Val sat down with his back to Terris and listened to him hobbling around. He spoke mainly to Stedwell. “I sold the farm to none other than Haywood himself.”

Stedwell grinned. “We should go into business together with these gambling debts.”

Val eyed him until the grin faded. “Yeah, I forgot. I’m supposed to drop out of Fancy’s life. What does she think about this, by the way?”

“She doesn’t know. And she isn’t going to.”

Stedwell raised a hand in surrender. After a moment he asked, “What’s the next step?”

Val watched Terris join them at the table before he spoke. “We still need a place to stash the stolen money.”

“How about Haywood’s office?” suggested Stedwell.

Val nodded. “Or the alley behind it. It’s in the middle of town, though. Haywood’s house is better.”

Terris growled, “You can check it out any time you want to.”

Val decided not to comment. “There are a couple other things that need to be ironed out as well. And you, Terris, will need to be able to move faster than you can now.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Terris growled. “Say, if you sold the farm, how about splitting Haywood’s money? Before you forget.”

Val hesitated a moment. “If Haywood’s the thorough lawman you two claim, he might check back with the banker. He’s liable to become suspicious of Fancy if she doesn’t deposit any money. I thought I’d give it to her.”

Terris caught him by his shirtfront and hauled him up against the wall. “Think again. According to this half-baked plan of yours, the bank’s money frames Haywood and goes straight back to the damn bank. We get nothing! Nothing!” He punctuated the last with a shake that knocked Milton’s head against the plank wall.

“But revenge,” Stedwell put in, a tad too cheerfully for Val’s peace of mind.

“You’re right,” Val said quickly. He raised his hands to the safecracker in supplication as Terris slowly let him go. He adjusted his shirt and cravat, thinking fast. “Of course, you’re right.” For a moment he had forgotten.
He
didn’t plan to leave a dollar of the money behind. He prayed he hadn’t already given too much away. He reached for his wallet, handing each of his companions twenty-five dollars.

“You sold the farm damn cheap,” accused Terris.

“It’s a little farm.” Terris reached for him again, and Val took a step back. He had let Terris surprise him once. He didn’t plan to let it happen again. “This place isn’t free. Neither is the hotel. When we’re ready to move, I’ll divide whatever’s left.”

Terris reluctantly gave in, and Val prepared to leave. He gave Stedwell one last glance as he slipped out the door. The forger had watched the proceedings just a little too placidly. Surely he wasn’t considering a plan of his own.

A
ndrew couldn’t believe he had bought Cally’s farm. It had felt right at the time. He had done it for the woman he loved. Even after thinking about it for a while it still felt right. It just didn’t feel sane.

He walked slowly toward the Gwynns’ house, Royal at his side. He had some notion of telling her what he had done. The more he thought however, the more slowly he walked.

What was he going to do, give it to her for her birthday? A farm was a somewhat extravagant gift. And if he didn’t plan to turn the place back over to the girl, how was she any better off than if Ned had bought it?

His logical nature made him feel he should make sense of his own behavior. He reminded himself that, from time to time, he had thought it would be nice to own his own home. Of course, the home he had just bought was barely habitable. Then again, he reminded himself, he owned the land so he could build a new house.

He also owned Cally’s garden. Whatever else he
might decide, he did want to let her know she was free to raid her garden any time she pleased. He and Royal were halfway to the Gwynns’ house before he started to see the situation from Cally’s point of view.

He was the sheriff who had arrested her father, let him die in his cell, then taken her farm from her for the gambler. He looked down at Royal and added stealing her pets to his list of offenses. He was also the man who had seduced her and refused to marry her. She wasn’t going to see his ownership of her farm as an improvement.

He could argue that he hadn’t exactly refused to marry her. He had just asked for time. But he knew that he wanted the time to convince her that marriage was a poor idea.

He shook his head, turning around to go back. He realized he had carried on an entire argument with Cally without her being present. Not a good sign.

On the back-street route home, he came face-to-face with the subject of his thoughts. “Cally, you’ve done the chores already? Can I help you carry things home?”

Cally narrowed her eyes and kept walking. Andrew and Royal fell into step on either side of her. “We need to talk, Cally,” Andrew said gently.

“No, we don’t.”

“Listen to me, please.” Lord, he didn’t know where to start. “I meant it when I said I love you. You need to believe that.”

Cally stopped and turned toward him. “I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it. Not when you won’t marry me. But it doesn’t matter, because I don’t want to marry you, anyway. I don’t want to ever see you
again.” Her chin high, she marched toward the Gwynns’.

Royal started to follow her, but Andrew called him back. With a sigh, Andrew watched her go before turning his own steps toward home. He wanted to talk to her, but he didn’t know what to say. He needed to sort some things out for himself first. He would call on her tomorrow.

By the time he stepped over Queen and entered his house, followed by both dogs, he decided that love did strange things to a man’s mind. Perhaps it would be better to think about anything but Cally for a while. He would pretend he was the same rational man he had been before he met her. He would plan the house he wanted to build on her farm.

His farm, he corrected himself. He tried it aloud. “My farm.” Heaven help him, it just didn’t sound right.

Cally could see a light burning in one of the downstairs rooms of Andrew’s house. The room where they had made love. She stood in the shadows for a moment, watching. She had to fight the temptation to sneak up to the window and see what he was doing this late at night.

Shaking off the foolish notion, she reminded herself why she was here. She had wanted to take Royal with her to stand guard, but neither of the dogs was anywhere in sight. Perhaps Andrew had locked them both in the barn.

She tried to work up her old hatred for the man who would treat her dogs so cruelly, but she knew he wasn’t cruel to her animals. Any thought of Andrew
at all brought a hollow feeling inside. “He’s cruel to me,” she muttered under her breath, hoping to dismiss him from her mind.

She hurried to the barn, opening the door only a crack before slipping inside. No dogs greeted her. In a matter of minutes, she led Jewel out and closed the door behind her. “I guess it’s just us tonight,” she whispered before she swung onto the mule’s back.

She wore one of the gray dresses, and it hiked up to her knees. “Stupid dress,” she muttered, angry again with herself for getting caught in the pants. She had used some of Pa’s clothes to protect her jars during the move into town, and she had searched through them. There wasn’t anything there that would be wearable without considerable sewing. She had hopes of remodeling some of them sometime, but she really hated to sew.

She hoped Easter could talk Noella into letting her have some bloomers. The pictures in the catalog looked funny to her, but Easter seemed to think the short flounce of a skirt made them less scandalous than men’s pants.

The ride to the farm was lonely without Royal, and she missed having him to stand guard while she gathered things from the garden. Still, the place felt empty to her. She supposed the gambler was staying in town. For a moment, she wondered if he would let her live here since he didn’t want to. She shook her head. If he didn’t want to live here he would be looking for someone to buy it.

She had sold a few cans of tomatoes from Mr. Lafferty’s feed store, and Andrew had left the confiscated squash there to be sold too. However, the money was
not coming in as fast as she had hoped. If she was ever to buy her farm back she would have to rob a bank!

When her bag was filled with squash and one small pumpkin, she straddled Jewel and headed for town. She stopped at the creek and listened but no one waited for her. She must have slipped past Andrew after all. She tried to tell herself she wasn’t disappointed.

When Jewel was safely in the barn with the door closed behind her, Cally crept into the shadows. It occurred to her that Andrew might have decided to wait until her return to catch her. She wondered if she would have to kiss him again to keep from going to jail. She felt a tremor in her stomach just thinking about it. Yet if she let him kiss her again, that hollow place would just get bigger.

Studying the house and yard, she tried to guess where he might be waiting. Probably along the lane, her usual way to leave. Maybe she should cut across the neighbors’ yard.

The same light still glowed in the windows. The sack clutched in her hands, she moved toward the house, trying to stay in the shadows.

She crouched under a window, gathering enough nerve to look inside. She would be in more trouble if he caught her peeking in his window than she would for raiding her garden. How could she ever explain why she was spying on him? She had made it to the farm and back without his knowing; she shouldn’t be pushing her luck.

She was checking on her dogs. She didn’t care why Andrew was up late. Of course, if she saw him she
would know he wasn’t waiting for her elsewhere. That was why she hoped to see him. The only reason. Her heart was pounding only from the fear of being caught.

She set the sack on the ground and craned her neck to see inside. Sheriff Haywood was sprawled in a chair, fast asleep. His sketches were everywhere. One even lay on Royal’s back while he slept curled up beside the chair.

Cally squinted, trying to make out the pictures and decided they were of some house or other. At least he hadn’t stayed up late drawing pictures of that beautiful woman. Of course she wouldn’t have cared if he had! They were both just flowers to the bee!

He had taken off his boots and gun belt and loosened his shirt at the throat. His normally perfect hair was mussed; his face peaceful in sleep. He looked rather pleasing, she decided. She tipped her head to one side, trying to stop the smile that curled her lips. Actually the whole scene was charming, the handsome man asleep by the dying fire, the dog sitting beside his chair.

The dog
sitting
beside the chair! Cally dropped to the ground, her heart racing again. Royal had seen her! He would wake Andrew any second! She grabbed the sack of squash and ran.

A pain in the side of Andrew’s neck brought him awake just before dawn. He groaned and massaged it, causing several sketches to flutter to the floor. As he flexed stiff muscles, he remembered what he had been doing the night before. Wanting to become engrossed in something that would keep his mind off Cally, he
had stayed up late planning a new house. “A little too late,” he muttered, ruffling Royal’s fur as the dog came to his feet and stretched.

Andrew reached for one of the sketches that cluttered the floor. The picture startled him. He grabbed another, then another. He glanced at all the pictures in turn, stacking them on his lap. He tried closing his eyes for a moment and looking at them again. It didn’t help.

With a groan, he collapsed back into the chair. In every drawing, no matter what style he had drawn the house, he had included a tiny sketch of Cally, or Royal, or Queen, or all three. A face at a window. A figure in the yard. He hadn’t been able to imagine his house without them—without her.

There was no way around it. He was going to share his life with Cally. Somehow she had wormed her way into his heart. Her courage, her tenacity, her loyalty, even her tomboy ways made him love her. And the fact that he didn’t want a wife didn’t change it.

It occurred to him then that she had never said she loved him. Dear little Cally. It wouldn’t be fair to her to marry him if she didn’t love him. He thought for a moment that he had hit on a perfect excuse, but it evaporated just as quickly. Of course she loved him. He would see to that.

But a week later Andrew had made no progress in his plan to win Cally. She had become very good at avoiding him. He seemed to be called out of town for minor altercations on a daily basis. The only thing he had managed to do was order lumber for his new house. The foundation had been started but the carpenters
would have to stop once the frame was up. He couldn’t decide on the room arrangement. He wanted to discuss it with Cally, but he was afraid of her reaction.

As he walked toward his favorite restaurant for lunch a sign in the window of the dry goods store caught his attention. “Dressmaker by appointment,” it said.

The idea of seeing Cally in a dress like one of Francine’s seemed too good a notion to dismiss. Besides, her birthday was only a few days away. Her guardian, of all people, should get her a present. He was smiling when he entered the store.

“Good afternoon, Sheriff.” The proprietress greeted him from her place behind the counter. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so, Mrs. Walters,” he said. He glanced around the store and was glad to see they were alone. “I’d like to make an appointment with the dressmaker.”

Mrs. Walters placed a pair of half glasses on her nose and reached for a notebook under the counter. “When can the lady come in?”

“Well, I don’t know that she can.”

She looked at him over the glasses. “We have to have her measurements, Sheriff.”

He hadn’t thought of that. “She’s this tall,” he said, measuring against his chest, “and about this big around. That won’t do, will it?” Mrs. Walters shook her head. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

The proprietress closed the book and removed her glasses, nodding sympathetically. “Perhaps something else. Is the lady a relative?”

He shook his head.

She smiled. “A sweetheart, then.”

“No,” he said quickly. “Just…uh…an acquaintance.” At her raised eyebrows he added, “With a birthday.”

“I see,” she said. The expression on her face told him she didn’t see at all. “Perhaps something a bit more practical then.”

Andrew cringed. Something useful like a new milking stool? He didn’t think so. This was turning out to be more difficult than he could have imagined. Mrs. Walters waited for a response. He took a deep breath. “I want to give her something pretty and feminine,” he said.
Something intimate.
No, that thought was too dangerous.

“She’s eighteen,” he added, hoping Mrs. Walters could somehow name the perfect gift for an “acquaintance’s” eighteenth birthday and let him escape.

Mrs. Walters moved out from behind her counter. “Something pretty and feminine,” she repeated thoughtfully. She walked around the store. “We have reticules, and hats. Some lovely gloves. A hand mirror and brush set?”

She obviously had an erroneous picture of the young lady in question. Andrew saw no way of correcting her. Maybe it was his idea of the gift that was in error. Pretty and feminine? Should he reconsider the milking stool?

“We have some nice brooches.”

Andrew stepped to her side. Of course! Something pretty to pin to the plain gray dresses she hated. Mrs. Walters set a felt-lined tray on top of the counter. She suggested a cameo of an elegant woman, but Andrew
shook his head. His eyes were drawn to the simplest pin on the tray.

Mrs. Walters smiled at his choice. “Can I wrap that for you?”

Andrew was about to agree when the door opened and three housewives came in. They greeted him formally then stood and openly watched him. “If you could just put it in a box,” he said, reaching for his wallet.

In a few minutes he stepped outside, the box tucked in his shirt pocket. At the restaurant he placed his order and, while he waited, retrieved the little box. The pin was perfect for Cally, he thought. It was unpretentious, simple but beautiful. It spoke to him of things not quite tame, things far hardier than they appeared. He touched a finger to the tiny bouquet of gold wildflowers and whispered, “Cally.”

Cally finished polishing a silver knife and reached for another. She had been told to polish all the silver, presumably for the dinner party. But, as far as Cally knew, the party was still just talk. If it never amounted to more than that, she would be happy. Meanwhile, however, she wasted her time on things like polishing silver.

When she heard the knock on the door, she put the polish-coated rag aside and started to wipe her hands on her apron. Catching herself, she grabbed one of the clean rags. Miss Noella had been harping at her lately about how dirty her apron got. She had wanted to offer to wear an apron over her apron to protect it but didn’t think the old lady would appreciate the comment.