Christmas Kiss From The Sheriff. Kathryn Albright

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      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, СКАЧАТЬ