The Bride's Prerogative (4 page)

He shifted his gaze. If he didn’t watch it, he’d find himself a lawman out of sympathy. Sure, the women of Fergus were unsettled by Bert’s death. He’d heard several asking this morning how the sheriff had died and if the town was safe. Did duty demand that he saddle himself with Bert’s job just to allay their anxiety?

The faces of the women finally turned the corner for him. He wouldn’t sleep tonight if he walked away from here knowing Gert and Bitsy and Libby Adams and Mrs. Walker and all the ranch wives were afraid. Most of them had followed men here with at least an implied promise that civilization would prevail in Fergus. Ethan couldn’t let the whole town down.

He cleared his throat and looked at Mayor Walker.

The older man’s eyes widened. “Well? What do you say?”

Ethan reached his hand out slowly, and the whole town exhaled as he took the metal star.

CHAPTER 5

A
ll semblance of order disappeared after the mayor declared it was time to eat. Gert squeezed between people to get to the front of the room where the tables of food were set up. She found her apron and joined several other women to help dish up beans and stews.

People in Fergus had practical funeral customs. Women took food and aprons. Men took tin plates and cups and their appetites. After the deceased was laid to rest, an hour of good food and conversation followed, as sure as the corpse stayed in the grave.

Libby smiled wanly at Gert as she tied her apron strings behind her back. “Afternoon, Gert. What did you bring?”

“Four pies.”

“Good for you. I hope there’s some left for us.” They didn’t converse much as they served the long line of townsfolk, at least three-quarters of whom were men. Some of the ranchers made cheeky comments to the women serving the food. Gert noticed that they teased Florence, the young clerk from Libby’s store, the most. A few made comments to Gert. A couple of men stared outright at Libby. Though most folks knew she wasn’t looking to remarry, a few diehards continued trying to impress her.

“Well, Miz Adams,” one cowpoke from Micah Landry’s ranch said with a grin as Libby plopped a large square of corn bread on his plate. “You look purty as a peach orchard today.”

“Thank you, Parnell. I’ve never seen a peach orchard, but I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It’s a mighty purty sight, ma’am.”

Libby chuckled. “Thank you. Next.”

“Oh, wait,” Parnell cried. “I was gonna ask if I could call on you, ma’am.”

“No, thank you,” Libby said. “Next.”

Gert marveled that Libby could brush off a suitor so serenely.

Parnell huffed out a breath. “But—”

“Just move along, Parnell,” said the next man in line.

Gert straightened her spine and dipped her spoon into the bean pot without meeting the man’s gaze. Jamin Morell ran the Nugget, the new saloon in town. Gert held him personally responsible for the noise on the Nugget’s end of the street on Saturday nights.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said.

“You’re welcome.” After he’d stepped over in front of Libby for corn bread, Gert sneaked a disapproving glance at him. His suit must have come from back East. The material was finer than what Libby stocked at the Paragon Emporium, and anyway, Gert doubted any woman in Fergus could tailor that well. His swirly-patterned silk waistcoat would be something to stare at if she didn’t have to worry about him staring back.

Jamin beamed a toothy smile at Libby. “Good day, ma’am. That looks delicious.”

Gert turned to serve the next man in line.

“Howdy, Gert.”

Ethan’s strained smile melted her heart. She could tell he’d hated to take the sheriff’s position, but when he saw the need, he’d stepped up and accepted the duty. Ethan Chapman had to be the finest man in Fergus. After Hiram, of course, though her brother had slacked off on taking part in civic activities since Violet died. Before that, Hiram used to talk and even laugh with his customers. He’d squired Violet around town when she needed to shop, and he’d offered to help ranchers who were laid up. All that politeness and neighborliness had ended when Violet drew her last breath.

Well, no sense thinking about that. Right now the town’s new sheriff was smiling at her.

“Congratulations, Ethan,” she said softly. “I think the mayor chose the right man for the job.” Of course, Cy Fennel did the actual choosing, and Mayor Walker had carried out his wishes, as always, but she would never say that to Ethan. It was fitting that he’d been chosen, no matter who orchestrated it.

He gritted his teeth. “I don’t know about that, but it seemed someone needed to do it, and we wouldn’t get any food until they did.”

Ethan could always make her laugh. She loved it when he spent time with Hiram and coaxed a smile or two out of him as well.

“You’ll do a good job.” She ladled a generous serving of beans onto his plate.

“This your mess?” He nodded toward the bean pot.

“No, Annie Harper brought ‘em. I brought pies.”

He glanced down the tables toward where the desserts waited. “I’ll be sure and get some. I know they’ll be good.”

Gert was still smiling when she turned to the next in line—sour-faced Orissa Walker.

An hour later, she and the other women scraped out the pans and retrieved the biscuits and pie they’d hidden away to be sure they got something.

“I should get back and open the emporium,” Libby said as she sank onto a bench.

“I could open for you, Miz Adams,” Florence said. She sat down, balancing her plate and a tin cup of cider.

“We’ll both go,” Libby replied. “As soon as we finish eating and cleaning up.”

“You’ve done enough,” Gert said. “We’ve got plenty of women to clean up. If folks will remember to take their dishes, there won’t be much to do anyway. Hiram will put all the benches back.”

The crowd continued to thin. Bitsy Shepard and Goldie, one of her saloon girls, collected the four large pans in which Bitsy’s contribution for the meal had arrived—sliced roast beef, a mess of succotash, a mountain of mashed potatoes, and a deep-dish dried pumpkin pie big enough to feed two dozen people.

“Thanks for sending all that food, Bitsy,” Gert called.

Bitsy’s gaze lit on her, and she smiled. “‘Tweren’t nothing.”

“Sure it was,” Libby said. “Most folks hereabouts don’t eat that well unless they go to the Spur & Saddle for Sunday dinner.”

Bitsy flushed, which Gert thought a remarkable feat for a saloon owner of twenty years’ standing. “I do thank you.” She and Goldie hustled toward the door, their satin skirts rustling. Gert wondered if they’d chosen their least flamboyant dresses for the funeral. Bitsy’s was a deep wine red, and Goldie’s too-short green overskirt showed a ruffle of gold beneath and a scandalous hint of dark stockings.

Gert turned back to Libby and Florence. “Bitsy always thought a lot of Bert.”

“Yes,” Libby agreed, “but she’d have done the same for anyone in this town.”

Libby took the prize for genuine sweetness, Gert decided. Some of the town’s women wouldn’t give Bitsy the time of day. But Libby always had a kind word for anyone—a ranch hand, a saloon girl, or the mayor’s prim wife. She was more than passably pretty, too, with her golden hair and vivid blue eyes—the way Gert had always wished her own had turned out, instead of this scraggly hair the color of dishwater and eyes like the smoke coming out of the chimney when Hiram burned greasewood. No wonder all the men in town hankered after the lovely widow. But Libby gently discouraged all who came courting.

Gert lifted her last forkful of roast to her mouth. Bitsy surely could cook, no denying that. Or maybe the rumors were true and Augie Moore did a lot of the cooking for her during the day, putting on his bartender’s apron when the men began to gather after supper.

Libby stood. “If you’re sure you don’t need me …”

Gert shook her head and waved a hand at the nearly empty food tables. “Git. There’s barely a thing left.”

Her friend hesitated and looked around the hall. She leaned close to Gert’s ear. “Have you heard anyone say for sure how Bert died?”

“Just what Ethan said yesterday. He hit his head.”

“I can’t help thinking about it and wondering.”

Gert studied Libby’s face. “You mean … maybe someone hit it for him? Nobody’s said as much.”

“Good. I probably worry too much.” Libby turned toward the door. “Come on, Florence. If we don’t hurry, we’ll miss some business.”

As the two left the schoolroom, Gert’s gaze drifted again to Ethan. He stood near the stove with the mayor and Cyrus. She wondered what Mayor Walker was saying so earnestly. To one side, Jamin Morrell sat sipping from a tin cup. He almost seemed to be listening to the men’s conversation. Gert had no use for Morrell. He’d come to Fergus a year past and opened the Nugget Saloon on the opposite end of Main Street from Bitsy’s establishment. Not that Gert approved of Bitsy’s business, but compared to the Nugget, the Spur & Saddle was practically genteel. Morrell took a long pull from his cup, and suddenly Gert wondered if he’d sneaked a bottle of spirits into the schoolhouse.

After a moment, the two older men clapped Ethan on the back and left him. Cyrus went out the door, and Mayor Walker joined his wife and a couple who owned a ranch east of town.

Gert busied herself setting the few remaining pans closer together so she and Mrs. Landry could clear off one table. No sense letting folks see her making calf eyes at her brother’s friend—the new sheriff, that is. She smiled to herself. Ethan might not be overly comfortable with his new position, but she couldn’t think of a better candidate for the job. Not another man in Fergus could be as impartial and honest as Ethan Chapman.

“Hey, Gert.”

She jumped and looked up to find the object of her thoughts looking at her with brown eyes fit to make a schoolgirl swoon.

“Ethan.”

“Seen Hiram?”

“I think he went back to the graveyard with Griffin. They wanted to make sure the dirt got tamped down good.”

Ethan nodded and turned his hat around in his hands, holding it by the brim. “Thought I’d ask Hi to go over to the sheriff’s office with me. The mayor and Mr. Fennel think I oughta go over it to see if there’s anything that will tell us more about Bert’s … demise.”

She nodded. “Hiram will go with you if you ask him. Just don’t expect him to hold forth with his opinion.”

Ethan actually smiled. “Right. He’s restful, your brother.” Still, he stood there, turning the hat round and round. “I guess I’ll have to sleep in there some now.”

Gert searched his face. Fatigue etched little lines like pine needles at the corners of his eyes, and his eyebrows drew together.

“I don’t expect you need to stay there tonight. Bert only slept there when he had prisoners, didn’t he?”

“I guess. But I’ll have to make arrangements for someone to tend my ranch when I’m in town.”

“Don’t you have any ranch hands?” Gert asked.

“I had two last year, but I let them go in the fall. You know, Spin and Johnny McDade. Couldn’t afford to pay them all winter.”

She nodded. The two had ridden over from Boonville last summer, if she remembered right. Good, steady boys. “I expect they’ll come back, now that it’s warming up again.”

“Maybe. If so, they’ll watch things for me while I’m sheriffing, I guess.” Ethan sighed. “Can’t say I like this turn of events.”

Gert laid her hand on his sleeve for an instant. “You’ll do fine, Ethan. Just fine.” She pulled her hand back lest he think she was being forward.

“Well, thank you kindly. Guess I’ll go see if Hiram’s done.” He walked toward the door and clapped his wilted hat on when he reached it. As he half turned to close the schoolroom door behind him, his gaze again met Gert’s, and he gave her a curt nod.

She stood looking at the closed door for a long moment until Mrs. Landry called, “Gert, is that Laura Storrey’s dish?”

Ethan walked out of the school yard and looked toward the grave site. Sure enough, Hiram and Griffin were out there, filling in the last few shovelfuls of dirt. He took a few steps toward the graveyard, then stopped.

Since when did he need a friend to go with him into a scary, dark place? Not since he was a boy. Maybe it was time he faced reality. When his enlistment expired after the Indian wars, he had come back here looking for some peace and quiet. He minded his own business and worked his own land. Now the townsfolk wanted him to mind everyone else’s business and make sure no one tried to mess with their property. Not Ethan’s choice, not by a long shot.