In The Sheriff's Protection. Lauri Robinson

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       Chapter Three

      “You shouldn’t have done so much work,” Tom told her quietly. He’d struggled saying anything, seeing that Clara was clearly used to working from sun up to sun down. Despite all the work he’d found to keep him and Billy busy the past few days, she’d taken remarkably good care of the property and animals, and her son. Billy was not only well behaved, he was eager to please. From all he’d learned while she’d been asleep, Hugh Wilson deserved no credit when it came to this homestead or Billy.

      “I didn’t,” she said. “I’d canned the venison earlier this year and the vegetables last fall. All I had to do was dump them together and heat it up.” She lifted her head from the back of the rocking chair she was sitting in on the front porch, and looked at him. “You, on the other hand, have been extremely busy. I expected the kitchen to be in shambles when I walked out of the bedroom. You must have had a very strict mother.”

      The serene smile that had appeared on her lips made his heart hammer inside his chest. To the point he had to look away. He’d never taken to a woman before and wouldn’t now, but there was something about her that made him want to care. More than he should.

      “Or is it a wife I owe the credit to?” she asked.

      “No,” he said, keeping his gaze locked on the barn. “It would have been my mother. I was the oldest and had to watch over the younger ones plenty, which included cleaning up after them.” That had been years ago, long before arriving here, and he’d forgotten what it had been like.

      “How many?”

      “Four. Three boys and a girl.”

      “You were lucky.”

      “Yes, I was,” he said truthfully. Though Julia’s death had affected all of them, he now appreciated the fact he’d known her. She’d been eleven years younger than him and the apple of everyone’s eye. Including his. From the day Julia had been born, he’d felt a deep sense of responsibility toward her that he’d honored. He’d shifted that responsibility to the law after her death, and that was where it would remain until his dying day.

      “Where did you live?”

      The sun was setting, so he kept his eyes on how the fading rays lit up the rolling hills. “Alabama,” he said. “Until we moved to Kansas. My father was a surgeon in the war. The side that lost.” That didn’t bother him at all; it was just how his father always said it and it was now habit. He stopped there, avoiding telling her about being a deputy in the small town his folks still lived in before moving to Oak Grove and accepting the position as sheriff there.

      “My father fought on the other side, but I still don’t know if there was a winner or loser. Just lots of lost lives.”

      He showed his agreement with a nod. Her voice was soft and easy to listen to and that bothered him. Everything about her bothered him in ways he shouldn’t be bothered. Mainly because they weren’t bad ways. Just unusual. He noticed things about her he shouldn’t. Things that shouldn’t be any concern of his. Like the sadness that seemed to surround her when she thought no one was looking.

      “A surgeon,” she said. “That explains your doctoring abilities.”

      “He’s still a doctor. So is my brother Chet.”

      “My father worked in the salt mines in Iowa before the war, but couldn’t afterward.” She sighed and her chair creaked as it rocked back and forth. “Perhaps if the North had had a surgeon like your father, mine might have come home with two arms.”

      Not sure why, except he’d never been one to look at the bad side, he said, “At least he came home.”

      “You’re right,” she said. “That’s exactly what my mother said. She always said things would work out, too. So when he decided we should move out here, to his brother’s place, we packed up and left Iowa.”

      He pushed a foot against the porch floor, keeping his rocker in motion as he turned her way. “That would be Walter?”

      She was staring toward the sunset and didn’t look his way, but nodded. “Billy told you this is his place.”

      “He did. Said Walter died a while ago.”

      “Three years.” She sighed heavily. “I’m not sure Billy really remembers him. He was only four.”

      “He remembers Walter went out to round up cattle and fell in a ravine. That he’s buried out there.” The story had come from a seven-year-old, so it could be as off-kilter as a three-wheeled wagon, but Tom sensed even the boy didn’t totally believe the Uncle Walter death tale. A man who’d lived here most of his life didn’t just fall into a ravine.

      He should flat out ask her about that. Normally he would. Normally he’d ask where her husband was, too. Or have already left to keep tracking Hugh Wilson. Instead he’d been here for the better part of a week, mending barns, corrals and roofs, doctoring her and looking after Billy. He couldn’t have just ridden on, though, not in good conscience, but now that she was up and showed no signs of the infection returning, he should leave.

      Would leave.

      “What else did Billy tell you?”

      She was do-si-do-ing, wondering if Billy had let it be known that his father was an outlaw. The boy hadn’t. Probably because he didn’t know. He thought his father was out buying or selling cattle. Billy said he wasn’t sure which because his father did both. Tom, on the other hand, figured it was all selling on СКАЧАТЬ