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Christmas Kiss From The Sheriff
Kathryn Albright
A Christmas to remember!Clear Spring’s new schoolteacher Gemma Starling feels as if she’s been given a fresh start. So long as no one discovers her dark secret – she once shot a man in self-defence!Sheriff Craig Parker has forsworn love, but delightful Miss Starling intrigues him. And when events at the school turn dangerous, Craig won’t let her face it alone. Gemma might just be the one woman he could ever love, but will the secret she’s hiding tear them apart or bring them together by Christmas?


A Christmas to remember!
Clear Springs’ new schoolteacher, Gemma Starling, feels as if she’s been given a fresh start. So long as no one discovers her dark secret—she once shot a man in self-defense!
Sheriff Craig Parker has forsworn love, but delightful Miss Starling intrigues him. And when events at the school turn dangerous, Craig won’t let her face it alone. Gemma might just be the one woman he could ever love, but will the secret she’s hiding tear them apart or bring them together by Christmas?
“Maybe you have a guardian angel.”
“No,” she said. If she had an angel watching over her she would be safe and comfortable at home. Perhaps by now she would even have finished law school. “I’ve found I must depend on myself and my wits.”
He snorted lightly.
“Glad you haven’t had any trouble,” he said. “Part of my job is to make sure people in town stay safe.”
“I thought your job was to uphold the law.”
“Figure it’s the same thing.”
His words only served to make her feel guilty. How would he feel if he knew Clear Springs harbored a fugitive from justice?
Author Note (#ub6a8a938-508a-54d5-9550-fa5ae0266ab7)
Gemma, my heroine in this story, strives to do her best—even though things happen to derail her plans. Isn’t that how it is for many of us? Unexpected obstacles thwart our best-laid plans. Some are good. Some are difficult. How we choose to face them is up to us, but always the choice takes us on a new path.
I hope you enjoy Gemma and Craig’s story, which is set in Southern California’s gold country. If you have read my other stories you may recognise some familiar names and faces in Clear Springs.
I love to hear from my readers. You can write to me at kathryn@kathrynalbright.com.
Christmas Kiss from the Sheriff
Kathryn Albright


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
KATHRYN ALBRIGHT writes American-set historical romance for Mills & Boon. From her first breath she has had a passion for stories that celebrate the goodness in people. She combines her love of history and her love of stories to write novels of inspiration, endurance, and hope. Visit her at kathrynalbright.com (http://www.kathrynalbright.com) and on Facebook.
Books by Kathryn Albright
Mills & Boon Historical Romance
Heroes of San Diego
The Angel and the Outlaw
The Gunslinger and the Heiress
Familiar Stranger in Clear Springs
Christmas Kiss from the Sheriff
Stand-Alone Novels
Texas Wedding for Their Baby’s Sake
The Rebel and the Lady
Wild West Christmas
‘Dance with a Cowboy’
Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk (http://millsandboon.co.uk).
I’d like to dedicate this story to my sister-in-law, Marlana—a constant supporter of my writing ever since I married into the family. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for always being there for me through life’s ups and downs. You light up my life. Love you!
I’d also like to acknowledge my editor, Julia Williams, for her encouragement and help in honing this story to a much better version of the original draft. Thank you for all your hard work, Julia!
Contents
Cover (#u221bab5c-f64b-55cc-aa3d-f390c7f71f67)
Back Cover Text (#uc557f214-fe19-5284-8631-a47bca91ae61)
Introduction (#u52eeea79-3800-5bbf-85b8-7006feb0e037)
Author Note (#ua747794c-7fd1-5fc7-81bb-e4d2f635dfd3)
Title Page (#u0b16b8b0-5eb0-5ba2-bdac-855d84a34fe0)
About the Author (#u8363ef3f-7b9c-5e6c-b71e-c3a3b6568510)
Dedication (#ued8ba71e-7924-50e4-856e-2c2db0f0c01b)
Chapter One (#u978d1c1a-890b-58e8-bc3c-f33609ad7f1b)
Chapter Two (#u81b069d2-adea-5dba-9479-0ad59b246c7b)
Chapter Three (#ua2f33d57-6433-50f4-aa9e-8ebbd96243d2)
Chapter Four (#u268c5acc-a487-5371-a99b-60ef5b1810be)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ub6a8a938-508a-54d5-9550-fa5ae0266ab7)
Southern California—1876
Gemma’s warm breath turned to ethereal vapor in the frosty air as she marched determinedly toward the one-room schoolhouse. Unruly! That was the word. The children had been so full of energy yesterday that they had scarcely settled the entire day. Whether they had learned anything at all in the space of the seven hours was a mystery. The closer the days drew to Christmas, the more challenging it was to keep their attentions. Did all teachers suffer this problem or was she somehow lacking in the correct process of discipline?
Of one thing she was well aware—her education by tutors had not prepared her in the least for the life she now led.
Thank goodness for the one year she attended the university in Boston. Teaching was not so very different from being a lawyer or judge—particularly in the area of divvying out discipline. Her father had prepared her well in that regard.
She adjusted her small lunch pail and the books she carried to a more comfortable position in her arms and turned from the main road to the dirt path that led to the new school building. Fresh tracks marked the tall damp grass—an oddity this early in the morning. Unease rippled through her, making her shiver as she stared at them. The sun glistened on a thin layer of frost, but where the imprints occurred, the weeds and grass were crushed down and wet. The footprints circled from the front steps of the building around to the small attached woodshed at its side. They were large enough to be those of a grown man.
Now who would be lurking around the school at this hour?
She climbed the two front steps and pushed the skeleton key into the lock when the door moved freely. Odd... She had locked it last thing yesterday. Quietly she opened the door and glanced about the one large room, taking in the vague lingering scent of varnish that still clung to the new benches and the loose clump of pine garland that she had deposited on her desk before leaving yesterday.
To her left, in the back corner of the room, one of her older pupils sat at his desk slouched over a book. Fingers from one hand threaded through his stringy blond hair as he rested his head on his hand, completely absorbed in whatever he was reading. He hadn’t even noticed that she had entered the room. “Billy!”
He jumped in his seat.
“How long have you been here?”
“Got my chores done early and skedaddled afore Ma could find something more for me and Tara to do.”
She walked over to stand beside him. He was halfway through the book Robinson Crusoe.
Even though she was pleased to see him reading she couldn’t pretend to be happy about him breaking into the school. “How did you get inside? The door was locked.”
The excitement of the story dropped from his expression and he swallowed. “I didn’t hurt anything, Miss Starling. Honest.”
“That’s not the point. You shouldn’t have come inside at all. That is what a locked door indicates.”
“It weren’t locked all the way,” he said, his chin raising.
She cringed a little. “The proper use of the verb is wasn’t locked. And this isn’t open for debate.”
His confidence wavered slightly. “Maybe it was just half locked and when I jiggled it, it opened.”
She studied his earnest expression. No matter how he’d entered, rules were rules and he needed to follow them. “You are not to do it again. Understand?”
“Yes’m,” he said, contrite now, his face red.
She stared at him a moment longer, just to make her words stick. “For now, please see to lighting the stove and then go outside until you are called in with the others.”
Sullen now, he rose to do her bidding.
A twinge of guilt pricked her. Had she handled that correctly? It was important that she appear strong and capable. It was a fine line, she was learning, between keeping control of her classroom and yet not squelching her students’ zeal to learn. Billy was fifteen years old after all. When she was that age, she’d been full of the confidence of youth. She had considered herself practically grown no matter that her father called her his little girl still. At that age a dressing down by her teacher would have been humiliating. Perhaps she should have been more aware of that before chastising him. But then, perhaps given his age, he should not have trespassed in the first place.
The conflicting thoughts hounded her as she walked to the coat closet, setting her lunch pail on the shelf above the long row of pegs. Shrugging from her night-blue woolen coat, she hung it on the last wooden peg and then rubbed her hands together to warm them. The mornings had been chilly for weeks, but of late, they were downright cold. Snow was expected any day and with the snow—Christmas.
Billy walked by on his way to the door. She glanced down at his feet. The footprints she noticed must have been his. His shoes were as large as any mans, although the rest of him hadn’t caught up yet. He was as tall as her, lanky and still growing.
“Mr. Odom? Are you enjoying Robinson Crusoe?”
He shrugged noncommittally, before stepping outside and closing the door behind him. Boys were funny creatures. As an only child and female, she had little experience with what happened in their brains.
Staring at the closed portal, she breathed a sigh of relief. For her first teaching job she had thought she would feel a bit more secure. Things came easier with the younger children, but the oldest ones... Billy and Duncan...she had more difficulty with. It hadn’t been that long ago that she was a schoolgirl herself—five years at most if she didn’t count the year at the university. She’d thought it wouldn’t be anything at all to slip into the role of teacher after her own exemplary education. Finding herself questioning her decisions and second-guessing herself had never entered her mind until she’d taken this position.
The sounds of chatter as more children arrived outside made her push those thoughts to the back of her mind. She surveyed the room with a critical eye, making sure everything was ready for the lessons ahead. The schoolhouse seemed more comfortable than when she first arrived. Then, construction had been nearing completion and with the help of a few determined souls and the supplies her friend Elizabeth had brought from La Playa, the schoolroom had quickly come together.
Picking up a sliver of chalk, she turned to the wall behind her desk and wrote the day’s morning lessons on the slate board. Fifteen minutes later, she withdrew her father’s watch from her skirt pocket and checked the time. Nine o’clock. Time to ring the—
“Miss Starling!” Moira Bishop rushed through the door. “C-c-come quick!” she cried in her high-pitched voice.
Outside came the sound of one boy taunting another. “I ain’t doin’ it, ya crazy goat!”
Gemma hurried out. In the schoolyard, all the children stood to one side and watched Duncan Philmont and Billy Odom circle each other like two feral dogs. Billy already sported a cut above his left eyebrow and a growing bruise there. This was a first. The two had never gotten along well, but they’d never come to fighting before.
“Both of you...stop this immediately!” She rushed into the yard. “This is no way for civilized people to act.”
Billy, his flannel shirt torn, never moved his gaze from Duncan. Blood dripped into his eye from the cut. He blinked, and then swiped his sleeve across his face to clear his vision. Duncan, a year older and standing a good foot taller than Billy, crouched down and moved closer, his angular face set in a menacing scowl. His tousled black hair contained bits of dried grass and small twigs and a large grass stain smeared his right shoulder sleeve.
She may as well have not spoken at all for all the reaction it gained. “You must stop! What is this all about?” she demanded.
“Back up, Teach,” Duncan said. “This ain’t no concern of yours.”
Her spine stiffened. Teach, indeed! He knew better than to address her like that.
“It is my concern if it happens here at my school.”
Behind her one of the Daley boys bet on Duncan to win and two other children piped in that they’d put in a bet too. Shocked, she roared, “There will be no bets!”
A few younger children backed up, their eyes wide at the first true display of anger she’d revealed since starting her position.
However, her tone didn’t faze either of the two who continued to circle each other. Duncan inched closer, intent upon his next move and completely ignoring her. Blood dripped from his swollen and purple upper lip.
Billy trembled with suppressed anger. Sweat streaked with mud ran down his face and neck.
Suddenly Duncan leaped at him and grabbed behind his neck, pushing him, facedown toward the ground. Hunched over like that, Billy punched him hard in the gut—once and then with his other fist. With an oof, Duncan went down, pushing Billy with him. In the dirt and grass they grappled, their tempers gone, their only thoughts to pound the other to dust. Really, this was entirely out of hand!
She must do something. Now. She raced back into the school and picked up the bucket of water she used to clean the slate board—filthy rag and all. Running back outside, she stepped up to the two and sloshed the cold contents of the bucket over both boys.
“Yeow!” They rolled off each other and spit the filth from their mouths. Then they scrambled to their feet and stood there glaring at her, the water dripping off their messy hair.
“I’m disappointed in the both of you. Christmas is nearly upon us! It’s a time that embraces a generous and giving spirit, and I find you both fighting!”
Neither one said a word but their expressions said they absolutely hated her interference.
“Nothing is worth fisticuffs. You must both learn to discuss things and compromise. That is the way of a civilized people.”
Billy snorted. “Tell that to my pa.”
She glared at him. “It takes a big man to keep control of his emotions. That is the mark of a gentleman.”
“Who says I want to be a gentleman?” Duncan mumbled under his breath, a mutinous frown on his face.
She chose to ignore his attitude. “All right then. Billy, go down to the creek and clean up, and then take your seat inside.”
That she had singled him out first only made his anger more palpable. He picked up his flat tan cap that was now streaked with dirt and grass stains and slapped it against his thigh.
“To the water, Mr. Odom.”
When he’d finally shuffled off, she turned to the other boy. Duncan needed to wash up also, but she wasn’t about to put him in the same proximity with Billy so soon after the fight. “I’ll get you a cloth for that lip. You may take your seat now.”
Duncan smirked, a half smile on one side of his face that made only one eye crinkle up, and took his time picking up his own flat cap from the grass. “Yes’m, Teach,” he said, before turning away and swaggering toward the schoolhouse.
She didn’t like it...his belligerent attitude or the rude way he spoke to her. In the ten weeks that she had been teaching, she’d learned he had little respect for anyone, likely owing to his father’s position in the community. “Mr. Philmont. I will thank you to address me as Miss Starling.”
He didn’t slow down, didn’t acknowledge that he heard her, and she found herself addressing his backside as he disappeared inside the building.
She let out a frustrated sigh before catching herself. The other schoolchildren stood in a half circle, wide-eyed and watching to see what she would do next. It had been the first fight at the new school. What tales would they take home to their parents? Not once in all her years had she witnessed a schoolyard fight.
She took a deep breath and then picked up the empty bucket. “Inside with the rest of you. It’s time to start school.”
As the younger children scrambled into the building, Gemma watched Billy leave the edge of the clearing and trudge through the mix of pines that sloped down to the water. Why did people so easily turn to violence to solve things? Out here in the West, it seemed even more so than in Boston. One minute Billy had been reading and the next he was fighting. So quick to anger.
It made her all the more determined to impart a decent education to her students. They depended on her. “‘The law is reason free from passion,’” she quoted under her breath. Aristotle. Which meant in this instance...hmm...she must not let her emotions interfere with her judgment when she handed out a punishment to Billy and Duncan. She could take it further, she supposed, and make sure her emotions were not transmitted to the students. Calm, cool, collected—that was the attitude. She blew out another breath. Thank goodness for Aristotle.
Billy Odom never came back to class.
* * *
Craig Parker pounded the nail into the last plank of wood that now boarded up the entrance to the Farnsworth Mining Company’s one and only mine. He took a moment to check the sturdiness of his handiwork and figured it would do the job of warning off any curiosity seekers. He’d been around long enough to know that the lure of possible riches, even from an abandoned mine, still called to opportunistic men. There was always someone who thought they knew better than anyone else and could find a sliver of gold if they just looked hard enough—the danger be hanged.
For a mining town it had come as a surprise that so many of the men were family inclined and wanting to settle here in Clear Springs. The boom on gold had played out except for a few of the mines and those were dwindling. It’s why the town had gone from nearly two thousand folks, mostly living in a tent city, to just over one hundred. Those that had stayed were putting down roots, strong roots. They built a church. And just finished a permanent school. It was a lot like the place he’d grown up in farther north.
He stowed his hammer in his saddlebag and mounted his horse, Jasper, then reined the gelding toward town. When he’d taken the job of sheriff, he hadn’t considered closing up a mine would be part of his job, but Chet, the owner of the mine, had become something of a friend. After facing down thieves, Chet had been laid up healing from an injury. He was now back to work at a viable mine, but Craig figured boarding up this millstone was the least he could do for the kid.
Since that first bit of excitement things had been fairly quiet in town. The next haul of gold from the Palomino Mine made it down to the bank in San Diego without so much as a whisper of trouble. He wasn’t complaining, but other than jailing obnoxious drunks overnight so that they could sober up, he’d like to feel that he was doing more for the community that had hired him.
Pressing his legs against his horse, he urged him into a gentle lope. The morning haze was gone, the sun high overhead and filtering through the boughs of the tall pines. The crisp, dry air crackled with a static charge every so often and held a clearness he never got tired of seeing.
He followed a self-made route every day. Now that school was in session, he had taken to riding by the new schoolhouse. He told himself that it was because the school was part of the township, but deep down, he knew he wouldn’t mind a quick gander at the pretty new schoolteacher. He’d seen her once in the yard, and watched amused as she played ball with the children. He was fairly sure that she’d seen him too. For a moment her gaze had caught his. She had quickly extricated herself from the game, brushing back the tendrils of dark brown hair that had fallen into her line of vision, and then refocused on him. With a flounce of her skirt, she had disappeared inside the schoolhouse.
He took the deer trail across the meadow and through the pines until he came to the shallow creek a short distance from the school. He found his usual spot where the span of the creek was twenty feet wide and the water rippled gently over the submerged rocks, creating small whorls in the shallows. Dismounting, he released the reins and let his horse drink.
Fifty feet upstream something yellow flashed.
Along the bank a young girl had laid across a large boulder, stretched herself as long as possible and was trying to retrieve something from the ripples. She wore an overly large green knitted sweater over a yellow pinafore smudged with dirt. Blond braids hung down and skimmed the surface of the water as she reached for whatever eluded her in the water. He hoped it was worth a dousing, because it looked like that was going to happen in about two seconds.
“Here, now!” he called, striding toward her. “What are you up to there?”
Startled, she drew back her hand. When she caught sight of him she swallowed hard and then scrambled to her feet, wiping her hands on her wrinkled pinafore. Now that she was upright rather than horizontal he judged her to be about six...or perhaps seven years of age.
He stopped fifteen feet from her so as not to scare her or make her trip. With his big frame, he had that effect on some children. “I’m Sheriff Parker, miss. What are you up to this fine day and shouldn’t you be in school?”
Telltale red blotches immediately blossomed on her cheeks, answering that question. He’d done his share of playing hooky when he was younger. He figured it did a boy good to have some freedom. But girls? He had never considered much what a young girl would want to do in her spare time.
“What is it you were after there in the water?”
“Nothin’,” she said in a high, airy voice.
“So you can talk.” Now that they had established a small amount of comfort with each other, he stepped over to the bank and peered into the shallows. A new copper penny shone through the mild ripples. He retrieved it easily and held it out to her.
She snatched it from his fingers as though he might take it away in the next instance.
“Time for you to get to class now. It just so happens that I was heading that way. We can go together.”
At that she looked a bit nervous. Suddenly she concentrated on her feet as she shuffled through the crisp brown leaves that littered the deer path leading back to the school. He grabbed his horse by the reins and followed at a short distance, amused that her steps slowed the closer they came to the school. Was she anticipating a scolding from the new teacher? The woman hadn’t looked that ferocious, but maybe to such a small girl everything looked big and scary.
They came to the side yard and he stepped ahead of her. “Wait here.” He tied his horse to the tie line.
He rapped on the thick wood door before entering. A young girl in the first row was standing and reading aloud. At the front of the room, Miss Starling paced slowly, back and forth with a book resting open in her hand as she followed along with the reader. The white blouse she wore tucked in at her waist to a dark blue skirt, giving her a crisp, professional air. She looked like a no-nonsense schoolmarm, pinched mouth and everything, in complete control, but he had to smile to himself at the amount of chalk dust streaking her skirt at her hips.
He started down the center aisle that separated the girls from the boys.
She stopped pacing and looked up from her book, frowning at his interruption.
“Sheriff? What can I do for you?”
“Miss Starling. I need you to step outside for a minute.”
“What? Now? But I’m in the middle of class.”
Not the response he was looking for. “It won’t take long.”
She looked like she had just sucked on a lemon. Yep. The expression marring her pretty face at the moment was decidedly miffed.
She closed her book with a whump, the sudden noise startling half the class, and set the book on her desk. “Moira...” She addressed the young girl who had been reading. “Continue to the end of the page and then hand the book across to Uriah who will read on.”
* * *
As she strode directly in front of him and out the door he caught a whiff of the soap she had used that morning. It hinted of jasmine. A scent like that you didn’t forget. For a woman who was all business such an exotic soap was more than a little intriguing. He was pretty sure it wasn’t perfume—only ladies of the night used such devices—not sensible teachers. His mouth twisted in amusement as he followed her out the door.
“Now what is this all about?” she asked, turning abruptly to confront him at the base of the steps. Her deep brown eyes held his gaze, challenging him to make this worth her while.
“Found someone I believe is supposed to be here instead of down by the creek.” He nodded toward the girl that, despite his instructions, had moved and now hid halfway behind the shed.
Miss Starling’s shoulders lowered from their rigid set. Disappointment filled her voice. “Not again.”
Not again? “I ran into her downstream about half a mile from here.”
“I see. Thank you for seeing her safely here.”
She seemed to have thawed a bit for which he was grateful. That first look she had given the little girl was heavy enough to bow her small back with the weight.
“Tara Odom. What have you to say for yourself? Was it a rabbit this time? Or a squirrel? What was so fascinating that you would forgo class again?”
Tara didn’t answer at first, but stepped into full view. A second later her chin quivered and she hung her head. “I was looking for Billy.”
Miss Starling pressed her lips together as she seemed to consider her reply. No hint of a smile. No softening of her voice. “You have a responsibility to yourself. Your job is to learn. Concern about your brother is an admirable quality, but he made his own choice not to return after what happened this morning.”
Tears appeared in the little girl’s eyes. “I just want to know if he is okay,” she said in a small voice—a voice that now had a catch to it.
It seemed that the shiny copper penny had been forgotten. He wondered what had occurred that morning.
Miss Starling squared her shoulders. “I’m afraid that I will need to speak with your parents about this.”
The girl’s lower lip trembled. “My...my ma?”
The teacher didn’t appear in the least affected by the girl’s tears. Craig couldn’t say the same about himself. He’d always been a sucker for a female’s tears—his mom’s, and Charlotte’s.
“Yes. And your father.”
“He...he ain’t home.”
Miss Starling’s mouth tightened further. “I’m very disappointed in you. For the rest of the week you will stay inside at noon and work on your studies to make up for your lovely half day of recess today.”
“Yes’m.”
“You may take your seat now.”
With her shoulders hunched, Tara shuffled into the school.
He told himself to keep quiet. It wasn’t his place to say anything. Yet he wasn’t happy with the woman’s attitude. Didn’t she notice the girl’s distress? It wasn’t like he’d caught the child stealing or setting fire to something. She had just been enjoying a little freedom and apparently looking for her brother. Guess it would be best if he left before he said something he’d regret. He walked over to the tie line to get Jasper.
“You don’t approve.”
Her voice carried a hint of the Eastern Seaboard. Maybe that’s why it had sounded harsh to him. With a tilt of his head he indicated the school door where the girl had entered. “Seemed to take things a mite rough.”
“It is her third infraction in four weeks. She has to learn she can’t come and go on a whim. She’ll never get anywhere being lackadaisical. Life takes discipline.”
“I know all about discipline and I don’t need a lecture on it,” he said quietly. From what he’d heard, this was her first year of teaching. He hoped she loosened up before too long or her students might make things real rough for her. He happened to know a bit about that—having been one of those students himself at one time. “Her brother is usually with her. He looks out for her.”
Her lips parted and for a moment she looked unsettled, as though she hadn’t actually thought about the two as family. Not really. “As sheriff, I’d think you would be on my side.”
“Not on any side. Just an observation. Kids play hooky all the time. It’s part of growing up.”
“The last time I checked, I was the teacher here. Tara needs to tend to her own troubles rather than worry about her brother’s issues. He has enough to worry about as it is.” She picked up her skirt and ascended the steps.
Where had she grown up? Under a rock? “Family loyalty means something to most folks.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth. Most folks, he reminded himself didn’t include his own.
With his words, she faltered on the last step, but caught herself. “I appreciate you seeing her safely here. I’ll take care of it. Good day, Sheriff.”
“One more thing,” he said, stopping her before she disappeared inside the school.
Her nostrils flared. She had a small nose. Cute. Distracting. And she wasn’t happy about his interruption in her life.
This was more important. If he remembered correctly, the Odoms’ property was about as far afield as a person could live and still be considered a resident of Clear Springs. The family’s low-slung cabin was little more than a shack hidden among the giant boulders on the eastern face of the mountain. The trail was nearly impassable. It was a wonder the girl made it to school at all. She was fortunate to have her brother’s company and care and likely wasn’t looking forward to traveling home on her own at the end of the day. “Have you ever been to the Odoms’ property?”
“No. But I have a good sense of direction. I’m sure I could find it.”
“It’s a fair distance, especially on her short legs. You told her she had to look out for herself. Well, I think she was doing that. It looks like her brother took their one and only ride.”
She shot a glance at the tether line. A long-eared mule usually stood there throughout the school day, stomping the ground and occasionally braying for attention. He’d heard it a time or two. Finding the animal gone took the starch out of her bonnet and for a moment she seemed at a loss for words. “So you do spy on me.”
“Just making my rounds. Keeping things peaceful. Quiet. Don’t want anyone lost...or hurt.”
She stared at him long enough that he wondered at it. “I’ll... I’ll see that she gets home.”
“You?” He didn’t need a lost teacher as well as a lost little girl on his conscience.
“Yes. Me.” That cute nose rose a little higher. “I can walk with her. I should speak to her mother anyway.”
He rubbed his chin, considering her—her clothes, the thin leather shoes she wore peeking from beneath her skirt. They didn’t look sturdy enough to hold up on a hike through the woods. “You won’t make it back to town before nightfall,” he said, none too happy about the prospect of heading that far out of town that evening. The Odoms stayed to themselves. The one and only time he had been to their cabin he had been greeted with a shotgun in his face. “The way I see it is...I’m taking her. It is my job to see to the safety of the people here.”
She arched a brow. “That’s commendable—and rather far-reaching for a description of your duties.”
He hadn’t expected her irritable attitude and wasn’t sure what to make of it, but this verbal battle wasn’t getting either of them anywhere. He wasn’t budging and neither was she. “I’ll come back at the end of school. We may both get a break and find that her brother has returned with the mule.”
She exhaled. “Fair enough. Thank you for bringing Tara back. If something keeps you from arriving at the end of the day, I will see that she gets home safely.” With a swish of her long blue skirt she disappeared into the schoolhouse.
Fine by him.
Chapter Two (#ub6a8a938-508a-54d5-9550-fa5ae0266ab7)
It took the rest of the day for Gemma to calm down from Sheriff Parker’s visit. He rattled her. That’s what he did. Keeping things peaceful indeed! Where was he when the fight broke out between Billy and Duncan?
It was an unfair thought, but she thought it just the same. He couldn’t have known it would happen. The fight had taken her by surprise herself.
She’d thought over their conversation at least twenty times and come to the conclusion they had both been concerned about Tara’s well-being and that was a good thing. They simply went about it at odds with each other.
It hadn’t helped that his appearance happened right in the middle of Moira’s reading. It was the first time the Bishop girl had actually read more than one sentence without stuttering! She had gone on for nearly four sentences! Gemma had been so excited that she was holding her breath, afraid to break the spell, afraid that the least little wind would blow Moira back to her old pattern of refusing to read aloud at all. Even the other students realized something different was happening and were quietly amazed.
And then enter Sheriff Parker. Tall, blond, imposing Sheriff Parker.
Most of the men she had been introduced to in Clear Springs were married and fathers of the children she taught. Oh, she had met a few single men in church—a few miners, ranchers and cowboys. She had been careful not to be overly friendly. Actually she had quickly discouraged them, admitting truthfully that she had too much to do with this being her first year of teaching to entertain thoughts of a social nature.
It was only a half-truth.
But Sheriff Parker hadn’t approached her after the first and only time she’d been introduced to him—when he had arrived on Molly’s doorstep with her good friend Elizabeth. Since then in the course of walking to and from school, she had seen him about town. His office stood on the northernmost point of Main Street—the same road that led out of town and passed the school.
He had kept his distance. Only a tip of his hat brim or a brief nod indicated he’d even noticed her. It should have been a relief to her in a town where the men so unevenly outnumbered women. Unfortunately, all it had done was make her more aware of him. She told herself that it was because he held the office of sheriff and considering her past, that was a worry in itself.
It couldn’t be that he stood head-and-shoulders taller than other men, even though he did. He must be at least three inches over six feet. And it wasn’t that his square, strong jawline, and perfectly straight Roman nose made him more handsome than the others—which they did. He was just so...male. Even in his dealings with others, she had noticed that his deep voice and spare words held more import than if he’d spewed out the entire dictionary. He was manly, composed, dignified. And it was so very unsettling to know that her thoughts dwelled on him more than they should.
Today, he had said he was just making his rounds. Making sure everything was quiet. But all his lurking had done for her was kick up some very unquiet sensations. She had come West to leave certain things of her past in her past and start anew. She couldn’t afford to have a sheriff snooping around. If he found out the truth about her, he might send her back to Boston...and to jail.
While she washed off the large slate board at the front of the room of the lessons and examples she had posted, she kept an eye on Tara. After the girl had donned her heavy sweater and hat along with the other children gathering their coats, she watched them head out the door to their homes while she returned to sit dejectedly on the first-grade bench. Her small shoulders were slumped as she swung her legs back and forth and stared out the window. Gemma was halfway through sweeping the floor when a sharp whistle sounded.
Tara jumped from her seat and ran to the door. She looked back up at Gemma. “That’s my brother. Can I go?”
“May I go,” Gemma corrected.
“May I go?” Tara repeated.
Gemma leaned the broom against the wall and then walked to the door, wanting to make sure it really was Billy. Billy—who had never returned to class. At the edge of the woods, Tara’s brother sat astride the old mule. He didn’t dismount or attempt to come any closer, but stared at her, an obstinate expression contorting his face along with the bruise that had blossomed into a swollen purple discoloration closing his right eye.
He wouldn’t be persuaded to come talk to her. Not now. His anger was too fresh. If only she’d stopped the fight sooner. There might have been hope then to talk things through. She felt terrible that she hadn’t been paying attention more to what was happening outside while she wrote out the daily lessons on the board. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. What had caused the fight? Should she even make the attempt to discuss things with him? By the stubborn scowl on his face he wasn’t in any mood to talk.
Well, truth be known, she wasn’t either. It had been a trying day. Perhaps it would be better to put some distance between everything. Emotions were still raw, but in another day things would blow over. Things always looked better after a good night’s sleep. Always the next morning she was more clearheaded. “Go ahead, Tara. I’ll see you and Billy tomorrow.”
Tara’s little forehead wrinkled up. “Ain’t you comin’ to my house?”
“Not today. Let your mother know that I’ll be there Saturday.” She could only hope time would put everything in better perspective for them all.
Tara rushed down the steps and ran across the clearing to her brother. Once they’d disappeared down the lane, Gemma went back inside to finish her daily chores.
After stacking her papers and anchoring them with an iron paperweight, she grabbed her heavy blue coat and slipped into it. All that remained was to bring some kindling from the shed so that the stove would be ready come morning.
She walked around the side of the building to the shed. As she cracked open the door, a loud angry hiss sounded from the deep dark inside. Suddenly the door slammed outward and crashed against her shoulder. She lost her balance and tottered backward. One step. Two... And then she fell, going down hard on her derriere. Before she could think to move, a large furry ball raced out through the open door and scrambled frantically over her legs, its long claws scratching through her heavy woolen skirt as though it were thin paper.
“Aagh!”
The varmint raced toward the creek and disappeared.
She sat there stunned, her heart pounding, her breath coming in gasps. By its size and coloring it was a raccoon. She hoped it was a raccoon. She shivered, hoping it wasn’t a groundhog or badger or some other dirty animal. Did those even exist in this part of the country?
Nothing like this ever happened in Boston! She dragged in a deep breath, trying to calm her racing pulse when suddenly her eyes started to burn. She was frustrated and discouraged at the same time. She didn’t like feeling helpless...frightened. And that’s just how the scare had made her feel.
Shakily, she gathered her wits about her and rose to her feet. She dusted herself off, straightening her coat.
How had the raccoon trapped itself in the shed?
Stepping up to the shed, she worked the latch on the door. She had heard that raccoons were smart, but were they smart enough to work this latch and open the door in order to enter on their own? Even then, the latch was fairly high off the ground. And with no food, nothing to bait it, why enter? It didn’t seem likely.
Unless, someone had put it there.
The image of Billy Odom’s angry glance before heading to the stream filled her mind. Was this his way of getting back at her for interfering with the fight? Maybe he had thought she slighted him when she sent him to the creek and didn’t require Duncan to go too. She had just wanted them to stay separated until their tempers cooled.
Perhaps it was simply a prank to garner excitement. After ten weeks, the newness of coming to school had waned for most of the children. With Christmas coming, it was much more difficult to keep their attentions. Likely, teasing the teacher was considered fair play about now.
But not fair at all by her book. She didn’t like this type of teasing. She didn’t care to be startled out of her wits.
Inside the shed a few remaining logs were strewn over the floor from the short, stacked pile. Either the raccoon had done that in its unsuccessful attempt to escape, or whoever put the animal inside had. Either way, she would soon need more wood. She made a mental note of the fact and picked up two small logs to take into the school. Still a bit wobbly and shaken, she shut the door and latched it securely.
Inside the school, she prepared the stove for lighting in the morning. Then, because of her scattered thoughts of raccoons and badgers, she pulled out her chair and climbed up onto her desk, searching the crux of the crossbeam with her hand. After a moment of patting along the beam, she touched on the box that held her father’s gun. She breathed a sigh of relief. Still there. It was good to know she and the children had protection but she hoped none of them ever learned of its hiding place.
And she hoped she never had reason to use it.
Sheriff Parker always had a gun strapped down at his hip. Had he had reason to use his in his position here in Clear Springs? The man’s holster and weapon fit to his hips like it was a part of him. He would look odd without it. She shuddered. Was it the thought of him firing it from a low, crouched stance? His jaw tight and his eyes squinting the way she’d seen it on the cover of dime novels? Or was it the image of that weapon riding low and casual on such a trim, broad-shouldered form that made her extra aware of him as a man and stole her breath?
He could be waiting outside right now. He had said he would return to escort Tara home. Gemma climbed down from her perch. She picked up her empty lunch pail and stepped outside. There was no sign of him in the schoolyard. Perhaps something had come up. Perhaps he’d seen Billy arrive with the mule. Whatever his reason for not showing himself to her, she was glad of it.
After making sure to lock the door behind her with her skeleton key, she headed to town.
* * *
Molly Birdwell’s lips twitched at the end of Gemma’s tale of the fight at school and then the raccoon. She slipped the supper dishes into the tub of warm water and soap and began to wash them. “Boys can be mischievous. I wouldn’t put it past my two young’uns to do something like that once upon a time.”
The woman hummed as she washed. Molly was broad in her hips and had a round face topped with fluffy white hair that reminded Gemma of a sweet Mrs. Claus. The woman’s husband had passed on four years back and she’d opened up her house to boarders to make ends meet. Gemma also suspected, with as much as the woman liked to talk and bake, that she enjoyed having company.
“Are you saying I should have handled it differently? That it’s a case of boys will be boys?”
“Oh, I ain’t saying that at all. Their pa would have walloped my boys good if he’d heard tell of them causing a ruckus at school. No—you did the right thing there. You couldn’t let them keep a-fightin’.”
Gemma rose from the table and grabbed a cloth to dry the dishes. She valued Molly’s advice. The woman had been through good times and rough times and had a commonsense approach to life that reassured Gemma.
Molly eyed her skeptically. “You ain’t never run into a situation like that?”
Gemma shook her head. “I didn’t fight with my tutors.” Just the thought of stern Mr. Allen rolling in the dirt in a bout of fisticuffs produced an unexpected giggle. She slapped her hand over her mouth.
Molly chuckled. “No...guess you wouldn’t, at that.”
“And what about the raccoon?”
“Now, that you can’t let them git away with. They’ll only try something worse next time.”
Next time? Gemma swallowed. “What do you mean...worse?”
“Oh, likely you got nothing to worry about. They was just trying to get a rise from you. ’Course, if it was mean-spirited, that’s another thing entirely.”
It could have been mean-spirited. She hadn’t gotten on well with Duncan or Billy for the past few weeks. Maybe she was pushing them too hard. They both had so much potential and she had encouraged their competition, hoping it would spur them even further in their studies. She hadn’t counted on it being quite so adversarial as an out-and-out fight.
“Then you don’t think the raccoon could have found its own way into the shed and the door just happened to slam shut?” she asked hopefully. She really didn’t want it to be because of a student.
Molly shrugged and kept right on washing. “Guess you’ll have to talk to your class and figure that out.”
“Molly, they are not going to confess to something like this. No one would.”
“No, but you might be able to tell something from the way one of the kids acts. And though I don’t hold with squealin’ on your neighbor, one of those children might feel a need to tell on his classmate.”
Gemma contemplated the woman’s attitude and wondered if she would ever feel that self-assured. An education in Boston sure didn’t translate to real life in the back country. People here set more stock on common sense and survival than they did on head knowledge.
“I learned one thing from today. I’d better make sure the shed has a way to open it from the inside. I wouldn’t want one of my students to get trapped in there like the raccoon.”
Molly nodded. “That’d be hard on a young’un for sure.”
“Let alone trying to explain to the school board how I let it happen.”
“Could be something that would leave a soul scar.”
“A soul scar?” Gemma asked. She’d never heard of such a thing.
“Something that hurts a body. Something you can’t see with your eyes. It ain’t on the surface like a limp or a burn that puckers the skin. It’s deeper than that. It’s something real hard to heal from. Something that’s always there inside you for the rest of your life.”
Like her reason for leaving her home. She understood Molly perfectly now. “I wouldn’t want to inflict that on any child.”
She stacked the last dish on the shelf before speaking again. “I had a visitor today.”
“Other than the raccoon?” With her grin, Molly’s round spectacles rose up on her apple cheeks.
“Tara Odom decided to go looking for her brother after the fight. The sheriff found her by the creek and brought her back to school.”
“He’s earning his pay then.”
“He didn’t care for the way I disciplined Tara. It’s just...she’s so far behind the other children and I know she has it in her to do so much better. I was...strict with her. And I’m afraid I wasn’t very nice to the sheriff.”
“Now, don’t let that bother you. You have to handle things as they come and as you see fit at the time.” Molly wrung out the dishrag and turned to wipe down the kitchen table. “He’s new in town himself. Just been here six months or so. That’s barely enough time to get settled into the place and know what’s what.”
“It’s just...”
“Just what, dear?”
Gemma sighed. “I don’t know. He’s so...big and...and...”
Molly raised her brows, this time tilting her snowy white head. “I’d think that would be a good thing for a sheriff.”
The thought of Sheriff Parker had her insides twisting into a knot. What was it about the man that set her senses so off-kilter? She probably shouldn’t have mentioned anything to Molly. From all she’d heard of the man, people thought he was doing a solid job as sheriff. They only had good things to say about him—Molly included. But still...
“Is he married?”
The woman eyed her with curiosity. “Heard tell he was engaged. Some young woman from his hometown up north of here, but I ain’t never heard of her coming to visit.”
Gemma should be breathing easier by the minute. The Sheriff had a sweetheart. “Well, that has to be the best news I’ve heard all day. Perhaps once he marries he’ll stop coming by the school and criticizing me.”
Molly chuckled. “Oh, he was likely only trying to help. My Mort was the same. Men always think we gals need answers like we can’t figure things out for ourselves. We just go about it different is all.”
“I didn’t like it,” she said stubbornly, unwilling to give the good sheriff an inch of grace.
“Well, seems you had quite a day, all told.”
Gemma snapped out the wet dishtowel and then took her time spreading it out to dry over the back of the kitchen chair. “Yes,” she murmured. “Quite a day.”
Chapter Three (#ub6a8a938-508a-54d5-9550-fa5ae0266ab7)
Craig Parker stood with his weight shifted to one leg while he leaned against a support four-by-four in the back of the town hall. He crossed his arms over his chest and listened to the proceedings of the Clear Springs School Board meeting. The board was made up of four men, each with children benefitting from the education Miss Starling was handing out. Patrick Tanner was the head of the board and had done the hiring of the new teacher. With four children in the school—two girls and two boys—he had a keen interest in seeing they were educated. Tanner had come with his wife. She, along with Mrs. Winters contributed enough of their opinions that it was obvious they felt their own particular viewpoints should be written into school law.
None of it mattered much to him. He didn’t have kids in school. He hadn’t even planned to be here tonight, especially after Miss Starling’s sound refusal of any kind of help yesterday, but ever since then her abrupt attitude had sat crooked in his judgment. He couldn’t reconcile that woman with the one he’d seen playing in the schoolyard and the one the children liked. It was enough that he wondered about her. He had to trust his gut feelings. They were there for a reason. He’d learned that well enough from Sheriff Talbot in the time he’d worked as his deputy. So here he was...
Tonight Miss Starling wore a dark, forest green skirt and pale green blouse. A fitted vest made of the same stiff dark green material as her skirt gave her the no-nonsense appearance that she seemed determined to portray—at least around adults. She appeared at once appealing and distant. As though a body would have to wrangle through a stiff layer of starch and burrs to find the real woman underneath.
She sat looking reserved and collected among the others in the small circle of chairs, her appearance calm with the exception that she kept fingering the high lace collar at her neck as though it was too tight. Something had her on edge. No one else in the room seemed aware of it however, but he couldn’t help but notice everything about her, from the thick dark brown braided bun at the back of her head that seemed to prop up her felt bonnet, to the tips of her newly blackened shoes.
She was pretty, all right. He’d noticed that when he’d gone to the party dedicating the new schoolhouse in September. He hadn’t danced with her. She had been busy enough with meeting all the parents and their children, so other than a very brief introduction, he’d stood back and observed. Since then he had seen her a few times a week from the doorway of his office as she walked past on her way to the school, her pert little nose in the air and a resolute expression on her face.
That’s all he would do—look. He’d had all he could take of a woman messing with his mind. After Charlotte scorched his pride when she chose his brother over him, he intended to steer clear of the female half of the world and tend to his job.
The door behind him opened, letting a brace of cold air swirl into the room. He straightened away from the post and turned to see Ryan Philmont enter. The tall, lanky man dismissed him with an uninterested glance and then strolled toward the small circle of people with a swagger and confidence that said he belonged there despite the fact he wasn’t a member of the school board.
“Philmont,” Tanner said by way of acknowledgement. His wife puckered her face with disapproval of the man.
Ryan Philmont smiled—an oily smile if there ever was one—and tipped his hat to Mrs. Tanner and then to Miss Starling before removing it, slicking back his black hair with his hand. “It can’t hurt to know what my son is being taught now can it? Especially after his fight yesterday.”
“Fight?” Mrs. Winters gasped. “I hadn’t heard about any fight!”
Neither had Craig.
“Guess you haven’t got to that part of the meeting.” Philmont slipped into a vacant chair, slightly apart from the circle of board members.
The look he turned on Miss Starling was a mite too condescending in Craig’s estimation. For a moment she maintained a tight smile, but then her dark lashes shuttered down. After her self-assurance at the school, Craig wondered that Philmont could bully her so easily. He also wondered if she had hoped to get through the meeting without calling attention to the fight.
“My son been behaving in school?” Philmont asked.
She notched up her chin. “I don’t think this is the right time to discuss indi—”
“You stopped the fight...but only after they’d been going at it for a time. Only after that Odom boy knocked out a tooth from my boy’s mouth.”
Her mouth dropped open and she leaned forward. “Is Duncan all right now?”
“Seems you should have asked that right after it happened yesterday.”
She frowned. “I believe speaking with Mr. Odom would be the correct course here as it was his son involved with yours.”
Ryan smirked. “Right. He’s long gone. Left his family high and dry.”
“That’s enough, Ryan,” Mr. Tanner interjected. “Miss Starling shouldn’t have to referee any fights. That’s not why we hired her.”
Philmont snorted. “I said to hire a man, but you wouldn’t listen. Good thing Duncan only has till the end of the year.” He settled back into his chair, drawing up his leg and resting his foot on his other knee.
Craig had never gotten on with Philmont. The man thought he was somebody big in this small town. Since he ran the land office, anyone with a claim had to go through him to own it legally. Craig didn’t have an issue with the way he did his job—only his attitude about it and nearly everything else.
He hadn’t planned on staying the entire meeting, but now, seeing how Philmont had planted himself for the duration, Craig reconsidered. He’d stay awhile and see how things shook out. He took a seat near the door—close enough to listen but far enough away to make the point that they needn’t include him.
The meeting continued for another thirty minutes. Talk of the coming Christmas presentation by the children had the women getting all a-flutter and putting in their two bits. Women sure thought things down to the smallest of details. Holly sprigs? Mistletoe? Nice but wholly unnecessary by his way of thinking. Somewhere between the pies and the eggnog he stifled a huge yawn.
Tanner followed suit thirty seconds later. “I think we’ve covered most of the items we needed to discuss,” he said, breaking into the conversation.
“Not quite,” Miss Starling said in her clear northeastern accent, raising a finger for attention while she glanced down at her notes. “I wonder if I might have permission for one of the older boys to do custodial help about the school. Things like cleaning out the ashes in the woodstove and sweeping the floors after class. And for the winter, starting a fire in the stove to warm the room before school starts every day.”
Mr. Philmont immediately lifted his chin. “Not Duncan. He helps me at the land office.”
“’Fraid we can’t afford that,” Tanner said. “And when you signed your contract...”
She pressed her lips together. “I am aware of what I signed. I was thinking that the chore would help foster responsibility in one of the boys. Not necessarily your son, Mr. Philmont.”
Craig about choked on her dig. His gaze sliced to Philmont. The man didn’t even comprehend the double meaning of her words. Or if he did, he wasn’t about to acknowledge that he had been one-upped by a woman. From the determined expression on Miss Starling’s face, she wasn’t about to give up her quest for help. Like just about any woman he knew, she was a woman who bristled at the word no.
The meeting ended and Craig stood with the others. Miss Starling neared, deep in conversation with Mrs. Winters. She stopped when she came abreast of him.
“Sheriff Parker. I am surprised to see you here.”
He cleared his throat. “Thought I’d walk you home.”
Was that fear in her eyes? It disappeared so fast he wasn’t sure.
“I’m capable of seeing myself to the boarding house.”
Considering the way things had gone between them at the school, he was ready for her rebuff. “It’s not an offer. There is something I need to discuss with you.”
She pressed her lips together. The effort brought out her dimples.
“Official business,” he said, gruffly.
“Oh,” she said, her voice tight with resignation. “I’ll get my coat.”
He slipped his Stetson on and headed outside to wait.
* * *
On Main Street, the others had all started toward their homes with the exception of Patrick Tanner and his wife.
“First time I’ve seen you at one of these meetings,” Tanner said, tugging his coat closer to ward off the wind.
Craig shrugged. “Thought it was about time.”
Tanner’s gaze flitted back into the meeting room for a second, and then he turned back to Craig and lowered his voice. “Do you ride by the school much?”
“On my rounds. Two, three times a week. What’s on your mind?” It was obvious Tanner was mulling something over.
“Sounds like these older boys could be more than Miss Starling can handle.”
“Maybe you should have taken Philmont up on his idea and hired a man.”
“Tried to. Right after we lost Miss Talloway to marrying last March. I was sick and tired of hiring a new teacher every year—sometimes two in a year. Single gals just don’t last long around here. Even the older ones get snapped up.”
Craig commiserated with him, but didn’t see what could be done to change things now. Miss Starling had already signed a contract.
“I brought up hiring a man at the town hall meeting in the spring,” Tanner continued. “Just about had a riot on my hands from the single men hereabouts. Must have been right before you started as sheriff.”
Craig had started in July. As far as he knew, he and Miss Starling were the newest additions to the town. He didn’t know much more than that about her. “Guess it makes sense moneywise. The town can pay a lot less for a woman teacher than a man.”
He snorted softly. “That had nothing to do with it. People here wanted the diversion.”
“By people you mean men.” He could understand the miners’ attitudes. While working all day in the mines it would be enjoyable for most men to hope for the chance of crossing paths with a pretty woman in town. And it would be near heaven to have a chance at courting a soft and willing woman. He frowned. Miss Starling didn’t quite fit that image.
Tanner sighed. “At least she agreed to finish out a complete year. I’ve heard she has discouraged the few cowpokes that have tried to pound a path to her door. She’s keeping her end of the bargain.”
So she’d had a few callers? Already? “Well, don’t include me in your stampede. The one time I interrupted her class she got real prickly. Left me to understand that she didn’t appreciate my interference.”
“You don’t say?” Tanner seemed to take hope at that. “Maybe she’ll stick around two years—at least until my oldest finishes with her schooling.”
“So how did you find her?”
“Well, I’ll tell you. I didn’t want anybody real young. I was hoping for a widow or an old maid. Someone with experience. By August, when nobody like that had answered the advertisement I placed in the San Diego newspaper, I was starting to sweat. Here the new school was almost finished and there was no one to teach in it—at least no one with the right qualifications. I happened to mention it to the traveling preacher one Sunday. He passed along the word down in La Playa. It wasn’t but a short time after that, Miss Starling wrote and agreed to an interview.”
“So...in the nick of time.”
“Yep. Last-minute. And when she came she had all her things with her, just like she expected to get the position and stay on. But you know? That gal has more education behind her than any woman I’ve ever met. My children are learning things—things I never knew which isn’t saying a whole lot. We are lucky to have her.”
There. Another inconsistency with Miss Starling. Craig blew out a breath. If what Tanner said was true, why would Miss Starling come here? Why not some private, rich school in the city where she could draw a better salary?
He’d leave Patrick to his fantasy. Miss Starling was too pretty to stay single long, but it wouldn’t be because of him that she left teaching. She was too full of starch for him. Besides, he wasn’t planning to go down that road again anytime soon.
Even as he said it, the memory of her playing ball with the children in the schoolyard came to him. A woman who was stiff and starchy wouldn’t do that. Was it just around him...or maybe men in general...that she put up a barrier?
Just then the woman of their conversation emerged from the building and headed their way. As Miss Starling neared, Craig breathed in the scent of jasmine that circled around her. That clean-smelling soap she used was headier than any perfume worn by the saloon women he’d met in passing. Miss Starling should have more sense. He stopped midbreath when he noticed Tanner watching him.
Tanner shook his head once, then bent down and locked the door to the town hall. “Good night, Sheriff. Miss Starling.”
“Good night,” Gemma said with a pert nod, at the same time tying her hat ribbons under her chin, while crunched over to hold on to the loose papers tucked under her arm. Not surprisingly they didn’t fly off into the night the way they would with most people. Starch and burrs. When she was all together and her notes folded and contained within her satchel, she turned her face up expectantly. “Now. You wanted to speak with me?”
He indicated with is hand that they could start walking and then started down the boardwalk toward the boardinghouse. The town was buttoned up for the evening. As the other members of the school board disappeared into their respective homes or rode out of town, their figures absorbing into the dark shadows, the road became deserted. Even the two saloons were quiet, although lamplight from each of them could be seen trickling through the windows at each end of the road. The miners, by this time of evening, had finished their beers and were probably too tired to stand up. If they were smart, they had headed home themselves.
With one gloved hand, Miss Starling gathered the edges of her coat closer about her neck. “It smells of snow in the air.”
He glanced upward. A blanket of clouds moved slowly in from the west, snuffing out the stars all the way to the horizon. The moon in the eastern sky still shone bright—to the point that its light cast shadows on the dirt road. Her comment at once distracted him from his agenda and what he wanted to discuss. Strolling and observing the night sky was...well, it was romantic...and at the moment not a word he would use with Miss Starling. He glanced back at her upturned face which was cast in a silvery blue as she caught the moonlight. Just what was she up to?
He was curious about the fight, but he figured it was none of his business unless one of the kids really got hurt. Kids scuffled. That’s all there was to it. And it sounded like she had handled it. ’Course, he wondered how she had handled it. Billy was her height and Duncan five inches taller. How had she stopped them?
“I’m new to the community by most counts, miss, but I gather that you’ve been here even less time than I have. At school you were talking about going out to the Odoms’ place.”
“Yes. On Saturday.”
“Have you got someone going with you? Someone who knows the way?”
She looked perplexed at his question. “Well... No. But I’m sure there is a road...or a trail. Tara and Billy—”
“Are country born and bred.”
She stepped down from the boardwalk and started across the first crossroad. “Why would that matter?”
He studied her pert nose which she had notched up stubbornly in the air. “You don’t strike me as someone who grew up in the country. For example, can you tell me which way we are headed? North or west?”
She was quiet.
“This isn’t like a city where there are names for roads and easy-to-remember storefronts. It’s easy to get lost in these hills. One boulder starts to look like another. One tree the same thing. I can’t have you walking...or riding...all over the mountain. You’ll be lost within half an hour.”
“You can’t have me walking...” she echoed, a trace of sarcasm in her voice.
Guess she didn’t care much for his interference. It couldn’t be helped. He wasn’t about to let her wander the mountains on her own. He walked another half a block with her in silence, hoping she was absorbing the truth of the matter.
Her steps finally slowed and then came to a stop. “What do you propose?” she asked, facing him.
“To go with you.”
“I don’t think...” She shook her head doubtfully. “That’s really not necessary.”
“Not. Necessary. Hmm. Then tell me which way you are facing now.”
She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “I can’t.”
“Well, until you can, you need an escort. I’m offering.”
She frowned. “Sheriff...I doubt the etiquette of the situation allows for you to accompany me.”
So that’s what was bothering her. “It doesn’t allow for a woman to go alone either. Sometimes out here you have to be practical.”
“Well...perhaps Mrs. Birdwell or Eileen Gilliam at the dry goods store could accompany me. I’ll ask one of them. You needn’t trouble yourself further.”
“Fair enough.” He had plenty of other things to do.
She started walking toward Mrs. Birdwell’s again “Do all the other women here know their directions?”
“If they were raised in the country they do.”
“Day or night?”
“While the sun is up for the most part. There are a few who know the stars too.” He couldn’t imagine growing up without that knowledge. His father had impressed it on him by the time he was ten. “Just where are you from anyway?”
“Obviously not here,” she grumbled.
“So...?” he prompted.
She eyed him with a speculative look. The light through the saloon window danced in her eyes. “Guess.”
He hadn’t expected that. He raised his brows. A challenge. “Big city. North, I think.”
She smiled slightly.
“Your clothes are fancier than most. Your shoes wouldn’t last more’n a day on a hike.”
“My shoes?” She stopped and looked down at her feet. “When did you check my...? Humph.”
“San Francisco? No...” he answered himself. Not with the way she said certain words. “Back East somewhere.”
“I have a feeling not knowing the answer will trouble you immensely,” she said smugly.
“It may take me a while, but I don’t back down from a challenge.”
She stared at him a moment and then dropped her gaze. “There are a lot of people here from the South. I noticed that some harbor ill will toward northerners.”
He had witnessed a few slights, and then realized she might have been a target. He sliced his gaze toward her. “Toward you?”
She shook her head. “No. But I am surprised. Especially so far away from where the fighting occurred.”
Was she really so young not to understand? “They lost everything. The War Between the States might as well have been yesterday for those that had to leave their homes and start completely over. You might want to give that some thought before you teach about it.”
They turned down the side road that led out of town. Widow Birdwell’s boardinghouse was the last house on the road. The light from her parlor blinked dimly through the rustling pines.
“It’s a good thing Molly doesn’t feel like that or I might be out of a place to stay. Thank you for the reminder to be sensitive in its instruction.” Her tone became more thoughtful. “Surely Mr. Tanner wouldn’t have hired me if he thought there would be a problem.”
“He was just relieved to have a teacher of your caliber for his kids.”
She stopped walking. “He said that?”
Craig nodded.
“Well, I suppose that is reassuring,” she murmured, looking at him with a puzzled expression. “I arrived on the tail of another teacher leaving. I thought...perhaps...” She blew out a breath. “The Tanner children have had a total of four teachers in seven years with three of them marrying. I assured Mr. Tanner that that wouldn’t happen in my case.”
“I thought all young ladies wanted to marry.”
“Not. Me.” She started toward the boardinghouse again.
He caught up to her in three strides.
“May I ask you something, Sheriff? You’re a man... I mean that you understand boys a tad better than I would. Why would two boys old enough to know better get into a fight? They should be setting an example for the younger children—not fighting.”
“I take it you don’t have brothers.”
“No. And I’ll admit that I was so intent on stopping the fisticuffs before more bloodshed occurred that I didn’t think to get the real reason for the fight out of them.”
He slanted a glance at her. “The best time to wrangle an answer out of them is while they are still fighting mad. Things tend to spill out from the gut.”
She sighed. “Then I’ve lost my chance.”
“So you haven’t come across much fighting in your other teaching jobs.” Tanner had said this was her first teaching job, but he wanted to hear it from her.
“This was a first.” She looked up at him. “This is my first teaching position.”
He tucked that bit of information away. “Sounds like you did okay. You stopped the fight. No one died.”
She stepped up on Mrs. Birdwell’s stoop. “An interesting way to put it.”
He reached for the door handle. “Just out of curiosity... How did you make those boys stop fighting? Hard to believe they’d stop just because you told them to.”
Her lips twitched and then those dimples appeared again as her smile grew. “I threw a bucket of cold, dirty water over them.” She stepped inside. The parlor lantern lent a yellow glow to the right side of her face. “Good night, Sheriff.”
He tipped his hat even though she was already closing the door in his face. “Night, Miss Starling.”
The woman might have no idea about staying safe on the mountain but that smile of hers could sure pack a wallop.
* * *
On Friday at noon, the sudden realization that the schoolroom was quiet made Gemma turn away from the window. She’d been staring at the road, wondering when Sheriff Parker would come riding down the lane. Twice now in the past three days, he had appeared at the beginning of the noontime break. He had stopped his mount just this side of the stand of pines and leaned on his saddle horn to watch what was happening at the school, remaining there a good three or four minutes, as he observed the children—some who lived nearby heading home for their meal and others sitting on the front steps with their lunch tins and baskets.
The first day he’d come upon her, she’d been outside after finishing her own lunch and well into a game of kick the can with the children. When she spied him, she had reluctantly stopped. She wasn’t sure if playing games was a “teacher-like” thing to do. Having grown up with tutors, she really had no idea if it was acceptable. When he showed up again, she made sure to stay inside even though the children had asked her to join them.
He had come a time or two before over the months that she had been teaching, but this was more often...and more obvious. Had Mr. Tanner said something to him? Were they worried that she could not handle the students on her own?
The quiet in the schoolroom once more permeated her thoughts.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Shalbot. Please continue.”
Charley Shalbot began reading again in a halting voice. He was having difficulty with the long paragraph, but he bravely plowed through it. Gemma had to admire his tenacity. In the back row, Duncan sprawled across his seat looking bored and restless. Actually, a number of the children had had enough book learning for the morning. It was time to break for the noon refreshment whether it was timed to the sheriff’s arrival or not.
When the end of the day came, she dismissed the class and followed the children outside. She watched over them as they started on their way home—something she did every afternoon. Her gaze wandered to the tie line. The old mule hadn’t been back—just as Billy and Tara hadn’t been back to school since the altercation between Duncan and Billy. Hopefully, she would be able to speak with the children when she saw Mrs. Odom tomorrow.
A movement near the bend in the road caught her attention. A short, bent-over man with a shock of stringy gray hair showing under his brown hat stood watching the children head off in different directions. He leaned on a walking stick that came up to his chest. His overalls and cotton shirt were stained with grass and mud. A wave of unease filled her. It was the second time she’d noticed him on the edge of the clearing since the beginning of school.
“You there!” she called.
Either he didn’t hear her or he was ignoring her. She started toward him.
At her movement, he raised his head and stared at her for a moment. Then he turned and shuffled into the trees.
“That’s Larabee.”
She spun around, startled at the deep voice so near to her.
Duncan Philmont stood only a few inches away, his arm above his head as he leaned against the doorframe.
Her heart pounded as she splayed her hand over her chest. “Duncan! I thought you’d already left.”
A cocky grin inched up his face and amusement filled his green eyes.
She didn’t enjoy being startled—even less so after the raccoon incident. She pressed her lips together. He stood a bit too close for her comfort, close enough that she could see he was growing dark facial hair now. “Larabee, you say?”
“Yeah. He’s an old-timer around these parts.”
“Is he...friendly?” Her heartbeat slowed back to normal.
Duncan shrugged. “He don’t talk to folks much.”
“Why?”
The familiar cynical glint returned to his eyes. “Most think he’s off in the head.”
Duncan always seemed to challenge her, and she wondered if he still resented her earlier treatment when he and Billy had their fight. Then she recalled the footprints in the grass. Could they belong to Larabee instead of one of the older boys? “Would he be a danger to the younger children?”
Duncan straightened.
For a moment, he looked surprised that she would ask him his opinion. She supposed that was to be expected. Usually she didn’t ask her students questions unless they were rhetorical. That’s what her experience had been growing up with her tutors. “I’m sure you know better than I would. You are from here. You know more of the local people.”
He cocked his head and peered down at her as if debating with himself whether to answer or not.
The look reminded her of his father the other night at the meeting. She had had enough of his attitude and to show it, she fisted her hands on her hips and faced him. “Is this about the other day? The fight?”
He didn’t answer.
“What was the fight about, Duncan?”
His lower jaw jutted out stubbornly. “Ain’t none of your business.”
“None of my business! I should say it is! It happened on school property.”
“It’s between me and Billy. Gave our words and spit on it.”
That didn’t make any sense to her. They made some sort of spit bond and then had a fight? She would never understand boys. Never. “Do you realize that some of the younger boys were betting? And I’m sure their parents have learned of it by now. There could be ramifications. I need to know why you were fighting. If there is a problem between you two and it isn’t resolved, how do I know it won’t happen again?”
“It won’t,” he said sullenly.
“I cannot force you to tell me,” she said, disappointed. “I hope someday you will. You and Billy are both intelligent boys and you have a good future ahead of you. I hate to see you bent on hurting each other.” He was a bit too much like his father, but hopefully those sharp edges would round out as he matured. “I...I wish you’d told me about your tooth.”
“You heard about that?” He asked, his tone guarded, but much less antagonistic.
“I should have asked if you were all right. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
He lifted his chin. “Weren’t nothin’.”
“It must have hurt. And you didn’t say a word.”
He swallowed. “You shouldn’ta got so near Billy and me. Stupid thing to do, Teach.”
“Should not...” On the cusp of correcting his grammar she stopped herself. It was more important that he was talking to her—that they were actually having a conversation. It was a first between them without his belligerent attitude getting in the way. Instead, she asked gently, “Please don’t call me Teach. Is there something you wished to discuss?” She wasn’t entirely sure why he was hanging around.
When he didn’t answer, she persisted. “Something about your homework?”
He snorted. “Naw.”
“Well, won’t your father be waiting for you at the land office?”
He blew out a breath, his scowl deepening. “Yeah. Guess so.” He grabbed his coat from the bench, hooked his finger into the collar and slung it over his shoulder. “See you, Miss Starling,” he mumbled as he strode by and down the steps of the school.
At least he hadn’t called her Teach.
Chapter Four (#ub6a8a938-508a-54d5-9550-fa5ae0266ab7)
Saturday morning, Gemma slipped on her felt hat, tugging on the wine-colored ribbons beneath her chin and then shrugged into her dark blue wool coat. Stepping out into the sunshine, she closed the boardinghouse door behind her and headed for the livery at a brisk walk. The snow she had been sure would fall during the week had not fallen. Instead a heavy frost had clung to the shady areas of the town every morning and as soon as the sun rays found it, it quickly melted away.
She had arranged for a buggy. Eileen had agreed to accompany her, although she was not sure of the way herself. Molly was busy finishing Christmas gifts for a group of Clear Springs’ unfortunates at the church. Remembering her talk with Sheriff Parker she had thought to mention something to him yesterday, but Eileen had said he was busy at one of the mines.
She stepped inside the stable and the odor of horse and leather and fresh straw permeated her senses, overpowering the crisp freshness of the day outside. The livery had two sections, divided by a railing. The stalls on her left and the large open area that housed two buggies and one carriage to her right. In the latter, Gil Jolson bent beside a horse, cleaning mud from its hooves with a metal pick. When he saw her, he dropped the horse’s leg and straightened.
“Got you all set up right over here, Miss Starling.” He walked to the smallest buggy that he’d already hitched to a horse.
She looked about the stable. “Has Miss Gilliam come by?”
“Haven’t seen her.”
“She must be detained. Well, no matter. If you will assist me I’ll drive by her father’s store and fetch her.”
Just as Mr. Jolson started toward her, Bradley, Eileen’s younger brother rushed into the livery. He stopped short just inside the large door.
“My sister ain’t comin’, Miss Starling. She ain’t feelin’ good. Had me come to tell you.”
“Oh.” Gemma lowered her shoulders as his words actually sunk in. “Oh... Thank you for letting me know. She’s ill, you say? Should I come check on her?”
“Naw. She’s just got one of her headaches. Can’t stand the sun.” He turned quickly and raced back out of the stable.
What was she to do now? She really had to get out to the Odoms’. She couldn’t let things go until after Christmas break. It might be too late by then to entice Billy and Tara back to school.
Mr. Jolson stood by the buggy, waiting to see what she would do.
“I won’t be needing the buggy after all,” she said, disappointed.
“Sorry, miss. I’ll leave it hitched for a while, just in case you change your mind.”
“Thank you.” She stood there, undecided on what to do next.
Mr. Jolson watched her a moment more. “I got to take ol’ Tartar here down to the blacksmith,” he finally said, taking up the reins of a dun-colored pony.
“Oh...of course. Please go ahead. I’ll see myself out...”
When he’d left with the pony, she surveyed the stable once more.
“You wouldn’t have gone far with the buggy,” a deep, familiar voice said from the darker corner of the stable.
“Sheriff Parker. You’ve been eavesdropping!” She glared at him as he came to stand before her. He wore a deep brown leather jacket, tan canvas pants and brown boots. A dark stubble shadowed his strong jaw.
“That I have. It’s a good quality to have as a sheriff.” He tipped the brim of his tan Stetson. “I heard you were looking for me yesterday.”
“Yes. Only to ease your mind that Miss Gilliam would be accompanying me today.”
“Seems those plans have changed.”
“Unfortunately.”
“You wouldn’t have gone far past the school in that buggy. The trail requires that you ride horseback.”
She scowled. “Now, there is a bit of pertinent information that you could have shared with me.”
His blue eyes twinkled. “I can tell by that determined look on your face that you are still considering heading out of town.”
“You cannot stop me.” It was a stubborn, childish thing to say.
He raised one brow. “Sure I can. You are not going alone. I won’t have that on my conscience.”
“You would use brute force?”
“Might. Or handcuff you to that post.” He indicated a nearby iron ring for tethering horses.
She was appalled...and frustrated. “That would be most indecent.”
They glared at each other. After a good long while, he indicated with his chin two horses standing near the farthest stall—a black and a chestnut. “I took the liberty of saddling the mare.”
He wasn’t giving her the choice. It was either go with him, or not at all. Very well. She tugged her gloves on tighter and started toward the horses. Halfway there, she stopped and stared at the saddle on the smaller animal.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m used to sidesaddle.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m getting a new appreciation of your upbringing, Miss Starling. This must be quite a change for you from... Boston.”
“You have no idea.” Then she realized what he’d said. She had hoped he would forget trying to figure out her past. The game had been unwise. She realized it the moment he had started asking her questions. “You found out.”
He nodded. Once.
How much had he come to know about her? She swallowed and with a forced casualness, stepped up to the mare and stroked its warm neck. “How?”
“You dropped a few clues.” He tilted his head, indicating he’d help her mount. “You’ll figure out the saddle.”
She was relieved that he wasn’t going to pursue more of her past. She would be more careful with her information from now on. The horse ignored her ministrations, but for a flick of its ears. “I’m sure I can adjust. There can’t be much of a difference. It’s not like I’m riding an ostrich. It is still a horse.”
An amused grin inched up his face. “Now, there’s a picture to think on. I’ll give you a leg up.”
She felt a bit nervous and it wasn’t about the horse or the saddle, but about him standing close as he laced his fingers and waited for her to place her boot in his hands. She steadied herself—her right hand on the saddle horn and her left one on his strong thick shoulder. She was so close she could smell the clean scent of the soap he’d used that morning. It mixed with the scent of leather and horse and was altogether...pleasant.
He shifted under her hand, and then straightened, a question in his eyes. She realized she’d hesitated.
“Ready now?” he asked, his brows raising, and the brilliant blue of his eyes capturing her for a moment.
She nodded and took hold of the pommel and the cantle. She placed her boot in his hands and he boosted her up. In the space of a heartbeat she was on the saddle and then sliding...
“Whoa, there!” he said, and clasped on to her waist to steady her.
She blew out a breath. “I’ve got it.”
He let go and backed off, yet all the while her skin tingled and her waist felt like it was on fire beneath her layers of clothing. She tugged at her coat and then straightened her felt hat in an effort to make herself feel “all together” again. Then she realized that he was waiting for her to settle, and she stopped fidgeting.
He handed her the reins and then walked around her horse, adjusting her stirrups to the length of her legs. “All set for this?” he asked, a doubtful look twisting his expression.
She nodded gamely. “Lead on, Sheriff.”
He led her horse out the smaller back door of the livery and handed the reins up to her. “I’ll meet you at the school in ten minutes. Take it slow to give me time.”
He had surprised her. She hadn’t expected him to be sensitive to the situation. His unstudied competence suddenly made her feel secure and protected... She blew out a slow breath. And all the more aware of him.
It was a bit...unsettling.
“Thank you, Sheriff.” She urged her horse to the small side street. When she looked back over her shoulder, he had already reentered the livery.
Her seat felt foreign at first—and hard—and she wished she had thought to wear thicker undergarments. At this rate, her derriere would have a pink glow—if not a blister or two—by the time she returned to Molly’s. She passed Mr. Winters with his young son in tow as the two entered the barber shop.
“Out riding, Miss Starling?”
“Yes. I couldn’t resist. Just for a bit.”
“Well, it’s fine weather for it. Good day.” He turned into the shop.
He hadn’t seemed off in the least! Not about her riding astride, or about her riding alone. She sat a little taller in the saddle.
She passed Molly’s boardinghouse and then turned north, following a trail away from town that led diagonally through the woods to the schoolhouse.
Once she arrived at the school, she waited for the Sheriff. Five minutes later he appeared riding up from the stream.
“Ready?”
She urged her horse up beside his. “I would appreciate you taking it slow. It’s been a while since I rode—more than a year.”
“You will understand why a buggy won’t work once we turn off the main road.”
They continued for a mile in silence, persisting farther north. A light wind gently rocked the branches of the tall pines and rustled the naked branches of the few oaks that lined the route. On each side of the road, curled, dead leaves and acorns littered the ground.
“Here we go. It gets steep in a few places.” He reined his horse through a stand of manzanita and headed east, following a deer trail. Beyond a massive boulder, it skirted the southern side of a mountain that was speckled with large granite boulders and sumac. The scent of mountain sage filled the crisp air. Suddenly she was quite thankful for his presence. She doubted that she would have been able to find the way on her own.
A blast of cool air rounded the hillside, whipping up the ends of her scarf. She gasped and tightened her scarf around her neck, tucking the ends under the collar of her coat. “No wonder Tara and Billy don’t make it to school when the weather is bad,” she murmured. She was gaining an appreciation for what a struggle it must be to take this trail daily.
“Probably why she was worried about her brother...and about getting home the day of the fight.”
It was the gentlest admonition she had ever received. “I see why you insisted she not go on her own. A little girl has no business out here on her own.”
“Neither does a lady from back East.”
She reined back and stared at his broad back, only slightly miffed that he’d been right. “Point taken, Sheriff.”
A small lizard scrambled off a boulder that stood next to the trail and skittered away into the brush.
“Do you know how to shoot, Miss Starling?”
Her gaze flew to his face. Why would he bring up guns all of a sudden? He couldn’t know, could he? She glanced at his holster and gun. “Why do you ask?”
“I realize the school is only a stone’s throw from town, but it is close enough to the creek that you are sure to see animals stopping by. This isn’t Boston, where I suspect the largest wild animal might be a rat.”
“A rat! Of all the outlandish things to say. Just what part of Boston do you think I am from?”
His look was curious...assessing. “I wouldn’t know.”
Every time they spoke she seemed to give more of herself—her past—away. She had to be careful. The sheriff wasn’t a fool. Quite the contrary. Each time she was with him, she became more and more convinced of his innate intelligence.
“I’ve seen a few snakes,” she admitted in a clipped tone, but then became more thoughtful. “Just what type of wild animals are you talking about?”
He blew out a long breath. “Bears, cougars...”
“Wolves?”
“Not around here, but there are definitely coyotes.”
“Nothing has bothered me so far.”
“Maybe you have a guardian angel.”
“No,” she said. If she had an angel watching over her she would be safe and comfortable at home. Perhaps by now she would even have finished law school. “I’ve found I must depend on myself and my wits.”
He snorted lightly. “You could be the smartest person around and your wits still won’t help you outrun a bear.”
She wasn’t about to let Sheriff Parker know about the gun she had hidden in the rafters at the school. He would commence with all kinds of questions and then what would she say?
“Glad you haven’t had any trouble,” he said, looking more relaxed. “Part of my job is to make sure people in town stay safe.”
“I thought your job was to uphold the law.”
“Figure it’s the same thing.”
His words only served to make her feel guilty. How would he feel if he knew Clear Springs harbored a fugitive from justice? Here he was helping her, yet she wasn’t being honest with him.
She eased her horse up over the crest of a hill and started down into a small valley. The trail split, and she reined back slightly to see which fork the sheriff would choose. When he moved ahead and to the left, she found herself staring at his broad capable back as his horse made the way down a particularly bumpy patch of ground. He held himself square and confident, the ends of his leather jacket brushing his thighs and saddle. He did not appear concerned about the trail...or rattlers...or bears. All of which put her that much more at ease. Had she been alone, she would have been just the opposite—nervous and timid.
She could see now why Molly and Eileen thought highly of him. They both had mentioned more than once, his commanding nature and his handsome face. Eileen in particular had bemoaned the fact that he was engaged.
“I could not have found this trail,” she admitted softly.
He glanced back over his shoulder, his deep blue gaze sliding to hers as he quietly acknowledged her words. Something shifted between them. Something that felt...comfortable.
“Sheriff?”
“Call me Craig.”
She hesitated. That might be a bit too comfortable, especially considering his engaged status. In fact, it surprised her that he would mention it. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He was silent for a moment, and then murmured, “Suit yourself.”
“It’s just...in Boston it would be considered much too familiar.”
“This ain’t Boston.”
“Isn’t Boston,” she said, the words rolling off her tongue out of habit.
“This isn’t school,” he said, his voice clipped. “And I’m not in your classroom.”
She was mortified. How could she have corrected him when he had been helping her this morning! It was inexcusable. “I...I beg your pardon, Sheriff. I meant no offense. It was simply...habit.”
His jaw tightened. Then, after a minute he continued. “The town isn’t that big. We will run into each other more often than we would if we were in a city. It’s easier...”
“I agree. But I’m sure your fiancée would prefer—”
“Where did you hear I was engaged?” he asked sharply.
Now she’d put her foot in it. “Mrs. Birdwell mentioned it a few days ago. Is it...true?”
For a moment, he did not answer her. She began to think he wasn’t going to when she heard him continue.
“It was true.”
Was? Past tense? “I’m sorry to hear that. May I ask what happened?”
“No,” he said curtly. He let out a sharp whistle and urged his horse to pick up the pace.
Warmth flushed up her cheeks. Apparently a first-name basis with him didn’t translate to questions about his fiancée. She had overstepped in presuming it did. They weren’t exactly friends...but they weren’t enemies either. She tapped her mount’s flanks lightly with her heels, encouraging the mare to quicken its steps and follow before he moved too far ahead and out of sight.
Twenty minutes later they came to a small, dilapidated spread nestled in the dip of two boulder-strewn hillsides.
* * *
“That must be it,” she murmured as they passed a small outhouse snugged up against the mountainside and surrounded by a few straggly pines. It was the end of the trail. The path they were on dwindled out ahead of them before a slanted wooden structure—a homestead that appeared barely large enough for one room, let alone a place to house four people. The mule that the children rode to school stood forlorn in a small, dusty corral next to the house. On the other side of the building, a frame sat in the sun with what she thought might be four rabbit skins stretched from top to bottom.
The sheriff dismounted and tied his horse to the corral post. He walked over, helped her down and had almost released her when her legs wobbled.
He grasped her again and she gripped his forearms, steadying herself further. His arms were hard as stone, so muscular that her fingers couldn’t span but half the width. Holding on to him was like holding on to a tree trunk—sturdy and immoveable.
The look he gave her carried a hint of uneasiness. “Steady?”
She nodded...but couldn’t bring herself to smile and smooth over the awkwardness of their situation—not after the words they had each spoken. “It would be prudent for me to ride more often.” She stepped back to a more suitable distance.
“You’re not in Bos—”
“Not in Boston anymore. As you reminded me earlier.” She glanced at the dismal scene before her and couldn’t help recalling the cozy restaurants and cobbled, clean streets of the city where she had grown up. There was no comparison. And she would—she must—adapt. She couldn’t go back. “I’m trying to accept that very fact.”
“Then you might want to brace yourself.”
At a noise from the direction of the house, they turned. A small, birdlike woman stepped out on the porch holding a rifle before her at hip level with both hands. “State your business,” she said, her voice sharp and suspicious.
Gemma opened her mouth to answer, but then stopped at the woman’s appearance. Her faded dress hung loose on her body with a dirty apron hanging from around her waist and she was barefoot. Barefoot! And with cold weather already here! She looked to be about forty-five but Gemma wondered if that was accurate. She hadn’t bothered to put her hair up, but simply tied the stringy blond strands back with a faded piece of frayed ribbon at the nape of her neck.
“I recognize you,” she said, training the barrel of her rifle at the sheriff’s chest. “You brought my young’uns home from town over the summer when the weather turned.”
“Glad to see you remember. They were selling their pelts. How’s the trapping been out this way?”
“Good as anywhere, I ’spect.”
“You okay on meat?”
“’Preciate your askin’. Billy checks his trapline daily. Got rabbit, raccoon, squirrel. We’re doin’ all right.” Her gaze flickered to Gemma and drifted down her coat to her shoes before eyeing the sheriff again. “What’s she doin’ here?”
“This is Miss Starling, the new schoolteacher in Clear Springs.”
Gemma took one step closer. She couldn’t very well say that she was upset with Tara’s and Billy’s attendance right off. And in the light of their upbringing, suddenly it seemed insensitive to broach a criticism right at the start of the meeting. “I am visiting all of my students’ families to introduce myself.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Odom lowered the destructive end of the rifle only slightly.
“Sheriff Parker offered to accompany me since I didn’t know the way.”
Finally, the woman lowered her rifle completely and walked over to the corner of the porch to wedge it against the wall. “I’d offer you a seat but there ain’t none. What can I do for you?”

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