His Forgotten Fiancée. Evelyn M. Hill

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       Chapter Three

      The McKays arrived shortly before noon. After they paid her for her work, Liza and Matthew emerged into the bright sunshine of a fall day.

      Matthew looked around in surprise. For some reason, he’d expected to see a rough wilderness settlement. Instead, he found himself on a street several blocks long, crowded with stores, homes and churches built from sawn lumber or even from brick. The sound of the waterfall upriver was a constant muted thunder.

      Liza pointed down to where a barge was slowly ferrying a horse and wagon across the river. “That’s how we get back to the claim, across the river and over the ridge.”

      Matthew blinked up at the sunlight. It didn’t hurt him the way the lantern light had last night. He must be getting better. He turned to Liza. “Are we going there now?”

      “Not yet. Come with me.” She set off down the plank sidewalk.

      He caught up with her easily, maneuvering around her so that he walked on the side by the dusty road. “Might I ask where we are going?”

      “We’re going to see Mr. Keller.”

      A pause. Drily, he asked, “And...should I recognize that name?”

      “He’s one of the people who came out on the wagon train with us. He runs the local newspaper now, so we’ll be sure to find him in.”

      “What would meeting him achieve?”

      “Seeing a familiar face might stimulate your memory.”

      “If seeing you didn’t stimulate it, I doubt other people will be able to trigger it.”

      “Well, we won’t know unless we try. Maybe they were more important to you.”

      He flicked a glance at her. Was there a note of resentment in there? She was stomping along on the plank sidewalk as though she had a personal grudge against it.

      “Wait.” She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Matthew took hold of her elbow and drew her aside to avoid a man coming the other way. She turned to face the opposite direction. “We should go see Frank first.”

      “Ah. Frank. Of course.” Another pause. “Are you going to keep throwing names at me and expecting me to deduce who they are?”

      She gave him a sidelong glance and looked away, her cheeks a lovely shade of pink. “You never used to be this cantankerous. Frank Dawson is the local sheriff.” She set off again.

      “You are on a first-name basis with the sheriff? Is he a relative, by any chance?”

      “For a man who doesn’t plan to stay around, you surely ask a lot of questions. I’m trying to help you. If anyone can track down the men who attacked you, Frank can.”

      Possibly. And possibly he could find out what it was about the man that embarrassed her. He didn’t like secrets. His whole life felt like a secret—one being kept from him.

      * * *

      Frank Dawson annoyed Matthew from the moment Matthew escorted Liza into the little office next to the jail.

      His dislike had nothing to do with the overly familiar way the sheriff greeted Liza. Not his business. Well, unless she objected. Then he might get the opportunity to explain to the graceless lout that a gentleman did not put his paw on a lady’s shoulder as if he had a right to touch her.

      Sadly, Liza merely gave the oaf a polite nod and took a step back before seating herself on a chair next to the sheriff’s desk. She looked expectantly at Matthew. He sighed, very softly, and sat down, as well.

      The sheriff stared at him, tugging on his mustache, while Liza performed the introductions and explained what happened. Matthew got the impression that the sheriff didn’t seem to think there was much he could discover, that a man should expect that kind of thing when you were this far from civilization. Still, he took down the details of the attack that Matthew could remember, such as they were. Then he laid down his pencil and turned to Matthew. “Fiancé, so I’ve heard. Fancy word for saying you’re promised. Of course, people don’t always keep promises.” His chair creaked as the sheriff leaned back, steepling his fingers and studying Matthew.

      Enough of this. Matthew was not a violent man, but the proprietary way this oaf was looking at Liza made his hands clench. He probably should leave before he said something ill advised. It was none of his business, so long as Liza didn’t object. He had to remember that.

      Matthew climbed to his feet. Liza rose as well, putting her hand on his sleeve. “We can’t stay,” she told the sheriff. “I just wanted to make sure you got all the details of the men who attacked Matthew.”

      The sheriff’s mustache twitched as though he had more to say, but he just gave a short nod. Probably the man lacked the intellectual capability to carry out any sort of investigation, but Matthew wasn’t sure what else to do. He was grasping at straws.

      Their next stop was a humble clapboard building, painted white. It was wedged between two more pretentious buildings, whose false fronts made them look like proper two-story buildings until you saw behind the facade. “Are you busy, Mr. Keller?” Liza called.

      “I’m always busy,” a gruff voice responded from the back room before an older man with flyaway white hair emerged, wiping ink-stained hands on a rag. Matthew couldn’t tell if Mr. Keller’s face was flushed red from temper or exertion, but the man came up to the counter and nodded a polite enough greeting to them. “I never expected a newspaper to be a flourishing concern in such a small town, but every time an ox strays, whether accidentally or because some thief is leading it, people come racing over here demanding that I put a notice in the paper about it.”

      Matthew looked at Liza and shook his head. “I don’t remember meeting this man before.” Nothing about him sparked a memory. There were plenty of sparks when he looked at Liza, though not related to his memory. Safer not СКАЧАТЬ