The Lawman's Bride

“I just did it,” Sophie replied for the third time. “I didn’t think about it.”

“What were you doing in the park so late?”

Sophie wished she was there right now, lying on a warm stone bench, peering into the limitless heavens. “I go there to think sometimes.”

“You’re so brave. I’d be too afraid to be out alone at night.”

“And you’d be smart to be afraid,” she assured her quickly. “There are dangers out there that you’re unprepared for.”

“What about you? Are you prepared for them? Could you protect yourself?”

Sophie glanced at the girl sitting on the other bed. “I know how to take care of myself, Amanda. Have you heard from your father?”

“Not directly. I had a letter from my mother’s sister though—my aunt June. She said father’s doing well. My cousin Winnie is going to have her baby any day. I wish I could be there when he’s born.”

“You can go visit as soon as you hear.”

“Winnie is so fortunate to have found a wonderful man to love her. She’s so happy. I want someone to love me like that.”

Sophie turned back her covers and lowered the wick on the lamp. “I know, but just think about how good you have it here and be patient.”

“I’ve been patient. I thought coming here would open up new opportunities, but so far the only young men who’ve invited me out have asked half the other girls as well. It’s as humiliating as being back at home.”

“What do you mean?”

“My stepmother always treated me like I wasn’t as good as her children.”

Sophie understood wanting to be accepted. She’d been resented by the Sioux children because she was white and the chief had treated her as their equal. “She was probably jealous because your father loved your mother.”

“Probably. But here I am with competition again.”

“There is quite a buffet of young ladies at the Arcade,” Sophie mused aloud. “I suppose it’s difficult for the gentlemen to have so many choices. Rather like a boy with a penny standing before the candy counter at the mercantile.”

Amanda laughed, but then her expression dimmed. “Suppose I’m not the most appealing gumdrop in the jar?”

Sophie heard the wistfulness in her voice and ached for that naiveté she’d never known. She climbed into bed. “I rather think you’re a delectable twist of licorice. Not everyone likes licorice, but those who do find its appeal irresistible.”

“Do you really think so, Sophie?”

“I do.”

“I’m a licorice whip.” Amanda grinned and appeared to think a moment. “What are you?”

Sophie snuggled into her covers and closed her eyes. “I am a lemon drop.”

The following day Sophie watched for the marshal to arrive for lunch. By one-thirty, he hadn’t come, so she took her meal break and walked the sun-baked streets of Newton to Eighth Street. The blackened shell of the old jail sat alone on the south side of the street. The smell of smoke still hung in the humid summer air.

Two men were moving what looked like a large cabinet of some sort into a building across the street. When she recognized one of them as the marshal, she walked closer and watched as they maneuvered the wooden piece through the doorway. After much grunting and a couple of curses, they disappeared inside the building.

“Marshal Connor,” she called from the open doorway.

His shirt was damp, and a trickle of perspiration meandered down his cheek. He took a kerchief from his pocket and mopped his face and neck. “Miss Hollis. Come on in.”

Inside was as hot as the outside. The musty smell was stifling. There was a desk hobbled together out of an old door and a couple of chairs that had seen better days. A paint-chipped table held odds and ends of dented cups and a few supply tins.

“If that’s it, I’ll be headin’ out,” the other man said. He tipped his hat and left the building.

The old dog lay on a blanket, but raised its head to sniff the air. It didn’t look toward Sophie.

“How is he?” she asked.

“Seems fine. How are you?”

“What is that?” she asked, nodding toward the big cupboard against the interior wall.

“New gun cabinet,” he answered. “This is our temporary jail.”

She noted the freestanding cages that had been rigged together. There wasn’t a piece of paper in sight. It had struck her round about dawn that her escapade had been for naught since everything in the jail had been burned up without any help from her. Wasn’t that just her luck?

“I brought you this.” Reaching into her pocket, she produced a coin and held it out.

Clay saw the dollar, and knew she meant for him to have it. His first instinct was to refuse to accept it, but something in her expression warned him to reach for it.

She dropped the coin into his palm. “We’re straight now.”

“Hardly.”

“What do you mean?”

“You saved Sam from burning to death.”

“Yes, well you stood up for me that day. Over the broken plates I mean. You saved my job.”

“That was my fault anyway, so it’s not the same.”

“Just say we’re even.”

Beneath the brim of her beribboned straw hat her eyes were dark and deep, filled with feminine mysteries. Her delicate beauty belied the strength she exhibited and the wide stubborn streak he’d had cause to come up against. For some reason it was important to her that she not be beholden to him. Right then he understood and respected her even more. “We’re even.”

She glanced around the nearly empty room. “All right then.”

He didn’t want her to go. “Let me know if I can do anything for you.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“I’m sure you don’t.”

She turned on her heel and headed back into the bright sunlight. Once again Clay felt the heat. Eventually the subtle scent of lilacs dissipated and all that remained was the austere room, and the disturbing memory of Sophie.