The Sheriff's Sweetheart. Laurie Kingery

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СКАЧАТЬ was a blockade runner—I received the cotton that was brought down to Matamoros, just over the border, and took it out in my boat into the Gulf to a larger ship that transported it to England.”

      “What made you want to leave Louisiana?” Nick asked.

      Bishop shrugged. “Tired of Spanish moss and alligators, I reckon. I wanted to see the wide-open spaces of Texas. And then I heard your town needed a sheriff. Mind if I ask what happened to the old one?”

      “Sheriff Poteet died in the influenza epidemic we had here this past winter, Mr. Bishop,” Prissy said. She felt a strange little tingle when he focused those dark eyes on her.

      “Is that right?” he murmured. “I’m real sorry to hear that. It must have been a terrible time.”

      Prissy nodded, remembering when she and her friend Sarah had nursed Mr. and Mrs. Poteet. The sheriff had perished from the illness, and they’d nearly lost Sarah, too, for she’d caught the infection. Only Dr. Walker’s medical skill and Heaven’s intervention had saved her.

      “Nick, it seems Mr. Bishop’s arrival is a godsend,” her father said. “I know you need to get back to your ranch, spring being such a busy time and all.”

      “That’s a fact,” Nick admitted. “The hands are doing what they can, but what with all the chores, and the baby coming quite soon, I know Milly would feel better if I were at home…”

      Yet he didn’t look happy to be handing over the job, Prissy noticed. She knew him well enough to know it wasn’t because Nick Brookfield had relished his role as sheriff. He could have had it permanently with the town’s blessing. No, it wasn’t that. Prissy sensed he still had some reservations about Bishop.

      “I think we should give him the position,” her father said. “Subject to council approval, of course, and a probationary period of a month, as we agreed upon when we met to discuss Poteet’s replacement. The salary’s seventy-five dollars a month, Mr. Bishop. I hope that’s satisfactory—we’re only a small town, you understand. But it includes your quarters, your meals at the hotel, and stabling and feed for your horse.”

      Sam nodded. “Sounds just fine, Mr. Mayor.”

      “Then the job’s yours. Why don’t you show him the jail and his quarters, Nick, then show him around town?”

      “Thank you,” Sam said, shaking Priscilla’s father’s hand. “I’ll do my best to show I’m the right man for the job.”

      Nick unpinned the badge and handed it to Sam, his face inscrutable. Prissy watched as Sam pinned it on.

      “I suppose I’d better give you your dog back, then,” Prissy said, extending the wiggling mongrel. “Welcome to Simpson Creek, Sheriff Bishop. I’m sure we’ll see you around town.”

      “You can count on that, Miss Gilmore,” he said. “and why don’t you keep the dog? I was just holding onto the little fellow until I could find him a good home, and it seems like I’ve done that.” His gaze made her feel like warm butter left out in the Texas sun at noon.

      “Are you sure?” At his quick nod, she turned to her father. “Oh, Papa, may I?” she said. “It would be so nice to have a dog, now—” She stopped, not wanting to say, Now that Mama is gone. She’d never been able to have a dog before because they made her mother sneeze. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to take back all the times she’d complained to her mother about not being able to have one.

      Her father hesitated, glanced at Bishop, then said, “Only if he doesn’t chase Flora’s cat—Flora’s our housekeeper and cook, Mr. Bishop. And his care—including any—” he cleared his throat “—accidents he might have, is entirely your responsibility, not hers. Understood, daughter?”

      She nodded and ruffled the dog’s ears, then turned back to Sam. “If I’m to keep him, he’ll need a proper name. What town did you find him in, Mr. Bishop?”

      “Sam,” he insisted. “And I found him in Houston.”

      She blinked. Houston was considerably farther than “a few miles back down the road,” as he had said. But surely it would be quibbling to point that out.

      “Houston it is, then.” She leaned over and spoke into the dog’s ear. “Do you like your new name, Houston?”

      The dog yipped and licked her face. Everyone—including Sam Bishop—laughed.

      Prissy, flushed with pleasure, decided to try her luck still further. “Papa, perhaps we should invite Mr. Bishop to supper. Surely on his first night in Simpson Creek he shouldn’t have to dine by himself at the hotel.”

      “That’s very nice of you, Miss Gilmore, but I couldn’t impose,” Sam Bishop said quickly, darting an apologetic look at her father. “I’m sure the hotel’s food will suit me fine.”

      Prissy realized she shouldn’t have put her father on the spot as she had, but surprisingly, he came to her aid. “Nonsense. It’s no imposition, Bishop,” he said. “Flora usually cooks enough food for an army, as I know to my cost,” he said, patting his paunch ruefully. “We seldom have company anymore, so this would be a nice opportunity to get to know you better. Come at six, and you can see how your little dog is settling in. It’s the big house diagonally across from the hotel.”

      He took off his hat and bowed. “Mayor Gilmore, I’d be honored. Miss Gilmore, until later.”

      She inclined her head with what she hoped was regal dignity, trying to hide the unladylike excitement surging through her veins like Fourth of July fireworks over this new prospect for the ladies of Simpson Creek.

      “Oh, Papa, you’re the best father anyone could ever want!” she cried, after they walked out of earshot toward Gilmore House. “Thank you for letting me keep the dog, and for seconding my invitation as you did. I know I should have asked you privately first.”

      Her father patted her shoulder. “You don’t demand much, daughter, and maybe the dog will be good company for us.” But her father’s worn, jowly face suddenly turned stern. “But as for Bishop, I’m letting him come to our table so I can look him over, Priscilla. We don’t know him all that well, so don’t you go flirting with him any more till I get a chance to see what he’s made of. I won’t have any man thinking you’re forward.”

      “Papa! I was not flirting! I was merely welcoming him…” The denial that had sprung easily to her lips died away, and obedience took its place. “But don’t worry. I won’t do anything to make you worry. Sam—Mr. Bishop, that is—he was just so friendly, and so handsome.”

      Her father harrumphed. “Don’t assume anything about a man you just met.” He laughed as the dog yipped again, and his face softened. “See, your dog agrees with me.”

      Prissy smiled at her father, but she had a strange feeling that Sam Bishop was exactly what Simpson Creek—and she herself—needed.

      “Papa, didn’t you fall in love with Mama at first sight?” Prissy asked softly.

      He sighed. “Aren’t you an imp, to remind me of my own actions! Your mother should have never told you that. But remember, she was a preacher’s daughter…”

      Chapter Two

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