Undercover Sheriff

“It’s a fine home,” he muttered tightly as they approached the front door. To the right was a small horse-drawn coupé, horseless at this time of night, but in the lamp lit above the door, Zane could tell the carriage had cost a pretty penny.

“Yes, my father wanted the best of everything,” Rachel said.

“And you?”

“I have to admit, there was a time when I was very pleased that I lived in such luxury.” She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Not anymore. I have seen too much evil and trouble to simply be happy to sit in the front parlor sipping hot tea and looking out at the world going by.”

She shifted the drowsy child in her arms and opened the front door. Several lamps burned in the deep, wallpapered entrance, casting a warm glow on the curved staircase farther in. Warm air, scented with a mix of supper and a perfume to mask the smell of burning coal and wood, greeted his first inhalation as he crossed the threshold. A young man dozed in a chair nearby, and as Rachel quietly shut the door, he jumped to his feet, startled.

“Jasper,” Rachel said to him, “Please stay here until Sheriff Robinson leaves. Then you may put out the lamps and go to bed.”

“Yes, Miss Rachel.”

Zane followed Rachel up the wide, ornately carpeted stairs. On the third tread, Rachel paused to adjust the child and lift her skirt.

“Here,” Zane said, setting down her basket, and peeling the sleeping child from her arms. “I don’t have a fancy skirt to trip over.”

He held the boy close and frowned at how thin and light he was. Gone was the baby fat that should have carried a healthy child into its toddler years. Long gone.

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