Christmas Kiss From The Sheriff

He had come a time or two before over the months that she had been teaching, but this was more often...and more obvious. Had Mr. Tanner said something to him? Were they worried that she could not handle the students on her own?

The quiet in the schoolroom once more permeated her thoughts.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Shalbot. Please continue.”

Charley Shalbot began reading again in a halting voice. He was having difficulty with the long paragraph, but he bravely plowed through it. Gemma had to admire his tenacity. In the back row, Duncan sprawled across his seat looking bored and restless. Actually, a number of the children had had enough book learning for the morning. It was time to break for the noon refreshment whether it was timed to the sheriff’s arrival or not.

When the end of the day came, she dismissed the class and followed the children outside. She watched over them as they started on their way home—something she did every afternoon. Her gaze wandered to the tie line. The old mule hadn’t been back—just as Billy and Tara hadn’t been back to school since the altercation between Duncan and Billy. Hopefully, she would be able to speak with the children when she saw Mrs. Odom tomorrow.

A movement near the bend in the road caught her attention. A short, bent-over man with a shock of stringy gray hair showing under his brown hat stood watching the children head off in different directions. He leaned on a walking stick that came up to his chest. His overalls and cotton shirt were stained with grass and mud. A wave of unease filled her. It was the second time she’d noticed him on the edge of the clearing since the beginning of school.

“You there!” she called.

Either he didn’t hear her or he was ignoring her. She started toward him.

At her movement, he raised his head and stared at her for a moment. Then he turned and shuffled into the trees.

“That’s Larabee.”

She spun around, startled at the deep voice so near to her.

Duncan Philmont stood only a few inches away, his arm above his head as he leaned against the doorframe.

Her heart pounded as she splayed her hand over her chest. “Duncan! I thought you’d already left.”

A cocky grin inched up his face and amusement filled his green eyes.

She didn’t enjoy being startled—even less so after the raccoon incident. She pressed her lips together. He stood a bit too close for her comfort, close enough that she could see he was growing dark facial hair now. “Larabee, you say?”

“Yeah. He’s an old-timer around these parts.”

“Is he...friendly?” Her heartbeat slowed back to normal.

Duncan shrugged. “He don’t talk to folks much.”

“Why?”

The familiar cynical glint returned to his eyes. “Most think he’s off in the head.”

Duncan always seemed to challenge her, and she wondered if he still resented her earlier treatment when he and Billy had their fight. Then she recalled the footprints in the grass. Could they belong to Larabee instead of one of the older boys? “Would he be a danger to the younger children?”

Duncan straightened.

For a moment, he looked surprised that she would ask him his opinion. She supposed that was to be expected. Usually she didn’t ask her students questions unless they were rhetorical. That’s what her experience had been growing up with her tutors. “I’m sure you know better than I would. You are from here. You know more of the local people.”

He cocked his head and peered down at her as if debating with himself whether to answer or not.

The look reminded her of his father the other night at the meeting. She had had enough of his attitude and to show it, she fisted her hands on her hips and faced him. “Is this about the other day? The fight?”

He didn’t answer.

“What was the fight about, Duncan?”

His lower jaw jutted out stubbornly. “Ain’t none of your business.”

“None of my business! I should say it is! It happened on school property.”

“It’s between me and Billy. Gave our words and spit on it.”

That didn’t make any sense to her. They made some sort of spit bond and then had a fight? She would never understand boys. Never. “Do you realize that some of the younger boys were betting? And I’m sure their parents have learned of it by now. There could be ramifications. I need to know why you were fighting. If there is a problem between you two and it isn’t resolved, how do I know it won’t happen again?”

“It won’t,” he said sullenly.

“I cannot force you to tell me,” she said, disappointed. “I hope someday you will. You and Billy are both intelligent boys and you have a good future ahead of you. I hate to see you bent on hurting each other.” He was a bit too much like his father, but hopefully those sharp edges would round out as he matured. “I...I wish you’d told me about your tooth.”

“You heard about that?” He asked, his tone guarded, but much less antagonistic.

“I should have asked if you were all right. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

He lifted his chin. “Weren’t nothin’.”

“It must have hurt. And you didn’t say a word.”

He swallowed. “You shouldn’ta got so near Billy and me. Stupid thing to do, Teach.”

“Should not...” On the cusp of correcting his grammar she stopped herself. It was more important that he was talking to her—that they were actually having a conversation. It was a first between them without his belligerent attitude getting in the way. Instead, she asked gently, “Please don’t call me Teach. Is there something you wished to discuss?” She wasn’t entirely sure why he was hanging around.

When he didn’t answer, she persisted. “Something about your homework?”

He snorted. “Naw.”

“Well, won’t your father be waiting for you at the land office?”

He blew out a breath, his scowl deepening. “Yeah. Guess so.” He grabbed his coat from the bench, hooked his finger into the collar and slung it over his shoulder. “See you, Miss Starling,” he mumbled as he strode by and down the steps of the school.

At least he hadn’t called her Teach.

Chapter Four

Saturday morning, Gemma slipped on her felt hat, tugging on the wine-colored ribbons beneath her chin and then shrugged into her dark blue wool coat. Stepping out into the sunshine, she closed the boardinghouse door behind her and headed for the livery at a brisk walk. The snow she had been sure would fall during the week had not fallen. Instead a heavy frost had clung to the shady areas of the town every morning and as soon as the sun rays found it, it quickly melted away.

She had arranged for a buggy. Eileen had agreed to accompany her, although she was not sure of the way herself. Molly was busy finishing Christmas gifts for a group of Clear Springs’ unfortunates at the church. Remembering her talk with Sheriff Parker she had thought to mention something to him yesterday, but Eileen had said he was busy at one of the mines.

She stepped inside the stable and the odor of horse and leather and fresh straw permeated her senses, overpowering the crisp freshness of the day outside. The livery had two sections, divided by a railing. The stalls on her left and the large open area that housed two buggies and one carriage to her right. In the latter, Gil Jolson bent beside a horse, cleaning mud from its hooves with a metal pick. When he saw her, he dropped the horse’s leg and straightened.

“Got you all set up right over here, Miss Starling.” He walked to the smallest buggy that he’d already hitched to a horse.

She looked about the stable. “Has Miss Gilliam come by?”

“Haven’t seen her.”

“She must be detained. Well, no matter. If you will assist me I’ll drive by her father’s store and fetch her.”

Just as Mr. Jolson started toward her, Bradley, Eileen’s younger brother rushed into the livery. He stopped short just inside the large door.

“My sister ain’t comin’, Miss Starling. She ain’t feelin’ good. Had me come to tell you.”

“Oh.” Gemma lowered her shoulders as his words actually sunk in. “Oh... Thank you for letting me know. She’s ill, you say? Should I come check on her?”

“Naw. She’s just got one of her headaches. Can’t stand the sun.” He turned quickly and raced back out of the stable.

What was she to do now? She really had to get out to the Odoms’. She couldn’t let things go until after Christmas break. It might be too late by then to entice Billy and Tara back to school.

Mr. Jolson stood by the buggy, waiting to see what she would do.

“I won’t be needing the buggy after all,” she said, disappointed.

“Sorry, miss. I’ll leave it hitched for a while, just in case you change your mind.”

“Thank you.” She stood there, undecided on what to do next.

Mr. Jolson watched her a moment more. “I got to take ol’ Tartar here down to the blacksmith,” he finally said, taking up the reins of a dun-colored pony.

“Oh...of course. Please go ahead. I’ll see myself out...”

When he’d left with the pony, she surveyed the stable once more.

“You wouldn’t have gone far with the buggy,” a deep, familiar voice said from the darker corner of the stable.

“Sheriff Parker. You’ve been eavesdropping!” She glared at him as he came to stand before her. He wore a deep brown leather jacket, tan canvas pants and brown boots. A dark stubble shadowed his strong jaw.

“That I have. It’s a good quality to have as a sheriff.” He tipped the brim of his tan Stetson. “I heard you were looking for me yesterday.”

“Yes. Only to ease your mind that Miss Gilliam would be accompanying me today.”

“Seems those plans have changed.”

“Unfortunately.”

“You wouldn’t have gone far past the school in that buggy. The trail requires that you ride horseback.”

She scowled. “Now, there is a bit of pertinent information that you could have shared with me.”

His blue eyes twinkled. “I can tell by that determined look on your face that you are still considering heading out of town.”

“You cannot stop me.” It was a stubborn, childish thing to say.

He raised one brow. “Sure I can. You are not going alone. I won’t have that on my conscience.”

“You would use brute force?”

“Might. Or handcuff you to that post.” He indicated a nearby iron ring for tethering horses.

She was appalled...and frustrated. “That would be most indecent.”

They glared at each other. After a good long while, he indicated with his chin two horses standing near the farthest stall—a black and a chestnut. “I took the liberty of saddling the mare.”

He wasn’t giving her the choice. It was either go with him, or not at all. Very well. She tugged her gloves on tighter and started toward the horses. Halfway there, she stopped and stared at the saddle on the smaller animal.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m used to sidesaddle.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m getting a new appreciation of your upbringing, Miss Starling. This must be quite a change for you from... Boston.”

“You have no idea.” Then she realized what he’d said. She had hoped he would forget trying to figure out her past. The game had been unwise. She realized it the moment he had started asking her questions. “You found out.”

He nodded. Once.

How much had he come to know about her? She swallowed and with a forced casualness, stepped up to the mare and stroked its warm neck. “How?”

“You dropped a few clues.” He tilted his head, indicating he’d help her mount. “You’ll figure out the saddle.”

She was relieved that he wasn’t going to pursue more of her past. She would be more careful with her information from now on. The horse ignored her ministrations, but for a flick of its ears. “I’m sure I can adjust. There can’t be much of a difference. It’s not like I’m riding an ostrich. It is still a horse.”

An amused grin inched up his face. “Now, there’s a picture to think on. I’ll give you a leg up.”

She felt a bit nervous and it wasn’t about the horse or the saddle, but about him standing close as he laced his fingers and waited for her to place her boot in his hands. She steadied herself—her right hand on the saddle horn and her left one on his strong thick shoulder. She was so close she could smell the clean scent of the soap he’d used that morning. It mixed with the scent of leather and horse and was altogether...pleasant.

He shifted under her hand, and then straightened, a question in his eyes. She realized she’d hesitated.

“Ready now?” he asked, his brows raising, and the brilliant blue of his eyes capturing her for a moment.

She nodded and took hold of the pommel and the cantle. She placed her boot in his hands and he boosted her up. In the space of a heartbeat she was on the saddle and then sliding...

“Whoa, there!” he said, and clasped on to her waist to steady her.

She blew out a breath. “I’ve got it.”

He let go and backed off, yet all the while her skin tingled and her waist felt like it was on fire beneath her layers of clothing. She tugged at her coat and then straightened her felt hat in an effort to make herself feel “all together” again. Then she realized that he was waiting for her to settle, and she stopped fidgeting.

He handed her the reins and then walked around her horse, adjusting her stirrups to the length of her legs. “All set for this?” he asked, a doubtful look twisting his expression.

She nodded gamely. “Lead on, Sheriff.”

He led her horse out the smaller back door of the livery and handed the reins up to her. “I’ll meet you at the school in ten minutes. Take it slow to give me time.”

He had surprised her. She hadn’t expected him to be sensitive to the situation. His unstudied competence suddenly made her feel secure and protected... She blew out a slow breath. And all the more aware of him.

It was a bit...unsettling.

“Thank you, Sheriff.” She urged her horse to the small side street. When she looked back over her shoulder, he had already reentered the livery.

Her seat felt foreign at first—and hard—and she wished she had thought to wear thicker undergarments. At this rate, her derriere would have a pink glow—if not a blister or two—by the time she returned to Molly’s. She passed Mr. Winters with his young son in tow as the two entered the barber shop.

“Out riding, Miss Starling?”

“Yes. I couldn’t resist. Just for a bit.”

“Well, it’s fine weather for it. Good day.” He turned into the shop.

He hadn’t seemed off in the least! Not about her riding astride, or about her riding alone. She sat a little taller in the saddle.

She passed Molly’s boardinghouse and then turned north, following a trail away from town that led diagonally through the woods to the schoolhouse.

Once she arrived at the school, she waited for the Sheriff. Five minutes later he appeared riding up from the stream.

“Ready?”

She urged her horse up beside his. “I would appreciate you taking it slow. It’s been a while since I rode—more than a year.”

“You will understand why a buggy won’t work once we turn off the main road.”

They continued for a mile in silence, persisting farther north. A light wind gently rocked the branches of the tall pines and rustled the naked branches of the few oaks that lined the route. On each side of the road, curled, dead leaves and acorns littered the ground.

“Here we go. It gets steep in a few places.” He reined his horse through a stand of manzanita and headed east, following a deer trail. Beyond a massive boulder, it skirted the southern side of a mountain that was speckled with large granite boulders and sumac. The scent of mountain sage filled the crisp air. Suddenly she was quite thankful for his presence. She doubted that she would have been able to find the way on her own.

A blast of cool air rounded the hillside, whipping up the ends of her scarf. She gasped and tightened her scarf around her neck, tucking the ends under the collar of her coat. “No wonder Tara and Billy don’t make it to school when the weather is bad,” she murmured. She was gaining an appreciation for what a struggle it must be to take this trail daily.

“Probably why she was worried about her brother...and about getting home the day of the fight.”

It was the gentlest admonition she had ever received. “I see why you insisted she not go on her own. A little girl has no business out here on her own.”

“Neither does a lady from back East.”

She reined back and stared at his broad back, only slightly miffed that he’d been right. “Point taken, Sheriff.”

A small lizard scrambled off a boulder that stood next to the trail and skittered away into the brush.

“Do you know how to shoot, Miss Starling?”

Her gaze flew to his face. Why would he bring up guns all of a sudden? He couldn’t know, could he? She glanced at his holster and gun. “Why do you ask?”

“I realize the school is only a stone’s throw from town, but it is close enough to the creek that you are sure to see animals stopping by. This isn’t Boston, where I suspect the largest wild animal might be a rat.”

“A rat! Of all the outlandish things to say. Just what part of Boston do you think I am from?”

His look was curious...assessing. “I wouldn’t know.”

Every time they spoke she seemed to give more of herself—her past—away. She had to be careful. The sheriff wasn’t a fool. Quite the contrary. Each time she was with him, she became more and more convinced of his innate intelligence.

“I’ve seen a few snakes,” she admitted in a clipped tone, but then became more thoughtful. “Just what type of wild animals are you talking about?”

He blew out a long breath. “Bears, cougars...”

“Wolves?”

“Not around here, but there are definitely coyotes.”

“Nothing has bothered me so far.”

“Maybe you have a guardian angel.”

“No,” she said. If she had an angel watching over her she would be safe and comfortable at home. Perhaps by now she would even have finished law school. “I’ve found I must depend on myself and my wits.”

He snorted lightly. “You could be the smartest person around and your wits still won’t help you outrun a bear.”

She wasn’t about to let Sheriff Parker know about the gun she had hidden in the rafters at the school. He would commence with all kinds of questions and then what would she say?

“Glad you haven’t had any trouble,” he said, looking more relaxed. “Part of my job is to make sure people in town stay safe.”

“I thought your job was to uphold the law.”

“Figure it’s the same thing.”

His words only served to make her feel guilty. How would he feel if he knew Clear Springs harbored a fugitive from justice? Here he was helping her, yet she wasn’t being honest with him.

She eased her horse up over the crest of a hill and started down into a small valley. The trail split, and she reined back slightly to see which fork the sheriff would choose. When he moved ahead and to the left, she found herself staring at his broad capable back as his horse made the way down a particularly bumpy patch of ground. He held himself square and confident, the ends of his leather jacket brushing his thighs and saddle. He did not appear concerned about the trail...or rattlers...or bears. All of which put her that much more at ease. Had she been alone, she would have been just the opposite—nervous and timid.

She could see now why Molly and Eileen thought highly of him. They both had mentioned more than once, his commanding nature and his handsome face. Eileen in particular had bemoaned the fact that he was engaged.

“I could not have found this trail,” she admitted softly.

He glanced back over his shoulder, his deep blue gaze sliding to hers as he quietly acknowledged her words. Something shifted between them. Something that felt...comfortable.

“Sheriff?”

“Call me Craig.”

She hesitated. That might be a bit too comfortable, especially considering his engaged status. In fact, it surprised her that he would mention it. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He was silent for a moment, and then murmured, “Suit yourself.”

“It’s just...in Boston it would be considered much too familiar.”

“This ain’t Boston.”

“Isn’t Boston,” she said, the words rolling off her tongue out of habit.

“This isn’t school,” he said, his voice clipped. “And I’m not in your classroom.”

She was mortified. How could she have corrected him when he had been helping her this morning! It was inexcusable. “I...I beg your pardon, Sheriff. I meant no offense. It was simply...habit.”

His jaw tightened. Then, after a minute he continued. “The town isn’t that big. We will run into each other more often than we would if we were in a city. It’s easier...”

“I agree. But I’m sure your fiancée would prefer—”

“Where did you hear I was engaged?” he asked sharply.

Now she’d put her foot in it. “Mrs. Birdwell mentioned it a few days ago. Is it...true?”

For a moment, he did not answer her. She began to think he wasn’t going to when she heard him continue.

“It was true.”

Was? Past tense? “I’m sorry to hear that. May I ask what happened?”

“No,” he said curtly. He let out a sharp whistle and urged his horse to pick up the pace.

Warmth flushed up her cheeks. Apparently a first-name basis with him didn’t translate to questions about his fiancée. She had overstepped in presuming it did. They weren’t exactly friends...but they weren’t enemies either. She tapped her mount’s flanks lightly with her heels, encouraging the mare to quicken its steps and follow before he moved too far ahead and out of sight.

Twenty minutes later they came to a small, dilapidated spread nestled in the dip of two boulder-strewn hillsides.

* * *

“That must be it,” she murmured as they passed a small outhouse snugged up against the mountainside and surrounded by a few straggly pines. It was the end of the trail. The path they were on dwindled out ahead of them before a slanted wooden structure—a homestead that appeared barely large enough for one room, let alone a place to house four people. The mule that the children rode to school stood forlorn in a small, dusty corral next to the house. On the other side of the building, a frame sat in the sun with what she thought might be four rabbit skins stretched from top to bottom.

The sheriff dismounted and tied his horse to the corral post. He walked over, helped her down and had almost released her when her legs wobbled.

He grasped her again and she gripped his forearms, steadying herself further. His arms were hard as stone, so muscular that her fingers couldn’t span but half the width. Holding on to him was like holding on to a tree trunk—sturdy and immoveable.

The look he gave her carried a hint of uneasiness. “Steady?”

She nodded...but couldn’t bring herself to smile and smooth over the awkwardness of their situation—not after the words they had each spoken. “It would be prudent for me to ride more often.” She stepped back to a more suitable distance.

“You’re not in Bos—”

“Not in Boston anymore. As you reminded me earlier.” She glanced at the dismal scene before her and couldn’t help recalling the cozy restaurants and cobbled, clean streets of the city where she had grown up. There was no comparison. And she would—she must—adapt. She couldn’t go back. “I’m trying to accept that very fact.”

“Then you might want to brace yourself.”

At a noise from the direction of the house, they turned. A small, birdlike woman stepped out on the porch holding a rifle before her at hip level with both hands. “State your business,” she said, her voice sharp and suspicious.

Gemma opened her mouth to answer, but then stopped at the woman’s appearance. Her faded dress hung loose on her body with a dirty apron hanging from around her waist and she was barefoot. Barefoot! And with cold weather already here! She looked to be about forty-five but Gemma wondered if that was accurate. She hadn’t bothered to put her hair up, but simply tied the stringy blond strands back with a faded piece of frayed ribbon at the nape of her neck.