Authors: Lisa Harris
He braced himself at the impact and struggled to keep his balance. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
“I think so.” She hiccoughed and stared up at him with tear-rimmed eyes. “He grabbed me, and. . .”
The trickle turned into a flow of tears. He kept his arms around her waist to steady her, then glanced up at the man who’d assaulted her, not sure who he should deal with first. Outlaws he could handle. He’d dealt with ruffians, bank robbers, and even managed to hold his own in a gunfight or two. A panic-stricken woman was another bag of beans entirely.
He nodded toward the man who was still reeling from being clobbered in the head. “Do you know this scoundrel?”
Her face paled. “I’ve never seen him before in my life. I was waiting for someone when he came at me.”
The man stumbled toward the top of the stairs, looking disoriented. Aaron took the steps two at a time until he came face-to-face with the woman’s attacker. The smell of liquor permeated the man’s breath. There was nothing Aaron hated more than a man showing disrespect to a woman, and he wasn’t about to let this troublemaker get away with it.
The man tried to shove him away. “This ain’t none of your business, mister. And besides, I was just trying to have some fun.”
The muscles in Aaron’s jaw tensed. “I don’t know where you’re from, but where I’m from, we don’t treat our womenfolk this way.”
The man tried to swing a punch at Aaron, but missed. Aaron placed one solid punch on the cowboy’s jaw and laid him out flat on the wooden platform.
Aaron shook his hand and tried to ignore the sting across the back of his knuckles as he hurried back down the stairs. “You won’t have to worry about him for a while.”
She covered her lips with her gloved hands. “You punched him.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but his intentions were quite obvious.”
“Of course, it’s just that. . .” She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
Aaron noticed the strands of auburn hair that peeked out of the woman’s bonnet as she looked up at him. “Really, it was nothing. Nothing any other respectable man wouldn’t do in the same circumstances. . .”
He let his jumbled words trail off, and for a moment, he saw nothing besides the clear depths of her gaze. Blue eyes peered out from behind long lashes, and he found himself staring into two of the most striking blue eyes he’d ever seen. She was pretty when she smiled. Beautiful, in fact. Aaron blinked and shook his head. Just because her skin was as smooth as porcelain and her lips full, and her figure. . . He turned away from her, putting a stop to the ridiculous thoughts. Since when did he fluster over a woman just because she happened to fall for him? Literally.
Aaron tugged on the brim of his Stetson. Something told him that he’d just stumbled on something far more dangerous than a stolen cache of gold.
Two
Tara began to gather up the contents of her beaded bag, which had spilt across the ground when she’d whacked her assailant in the head. She wasn’t sure what had just transpired between her and the handsome stranger standing beside her, but it was all she could do to keep her hands from trembling.
“What are we going to do with him?” She nodded at her attacker, who was slowly coming to.
“I’ll handcuff him and take him to the sheriff.” He dug into the pouch attached to his saddle and pulled out a pair of metal handcuffs.
Her eyes widened. “You’re a lawman?”
“Something like that.”
She wasn’t surprised. He’d taken control of the situation as though it were an afternoon stroll in the park, while she, on the other hand, had managed to lose all sense of propriety and had panicked. As always. She shivered as she watched him take the stairs up to the station platform. Of course, her shaken nerves had nothing to do with the fact that she’d just gazed into the eyes of one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. His eyes were brown, but not just any shade of brown. They were a rich toffee color with flecks of gold around the rims.
She shot another glance at him as he secured the prisoner’s hands behind him. She barely saw the drunken cowboy. Instead, she noticed the lawman’s coal black hair curled slightly around the nape of his neck. Stubble on his face gave him a rugged look, but the gentleness she’d seen in his eyes caused her pulse to quicken. She picked up her handkerchief, now covered with dust, crammed it into her bag, and bit her lip. Her rescuer’s solid stature and strong jawline certainly weren’t the reasons her heart was pounding. No, it had to be from the drunken man who’d left bruises on her forearms.
“I shouldn’t have panicked.” She grabbed the last item and shoved it into the bag, speaking her thoughts aloud. “I should have held my head up and demanded he leave me alone.”
“Pretty hard to do with a man who’s not only twice your size but also drunk. You had every right to be afraid.” He dragged his prisoner to his feet. “And hitting him over the head with your bag took a bit of courage if you ask me.”
Tara frowned. There was a big difference between courage and reacting out of sheer terror. Clutching her bag with one hand, she tried to straighten her bonnet, which was now completely askew. “I thought I left behind the high crime of the city, but I must have been mistaken.”
He led the man down the stairs. “Where are you from? Des Moines?”
“No. Boston, actually.”
“Unfortunately there’s a bad egg in every lot whether you’re in Boston, Philadelphia. . .or Browning City, Iowa.” His grin left a dimple on his right cheek. “Let me be the first to properly welcome you, as most Iowans would, and assure you that not all of us are like this ruffian. Some of us are actually quite. . .well. . .quite nice.”
“I’m sure you must be right.” A shadow crossed the man’s face, erasing his pleasant smile, and she wondered if she’d said something to offend him. “So you live here?”
“Originally, though I haven’t lived here for a number of years.”
“Then I’d say we’ve both had quite an interesting welcome to Browning City.”
He raised his Stetson and scratched his head. “Can I take you somewhere? I don’t think it’s safe for you to be here alone.”
“That has become perfectly clear. But I. . .” Tara paused. Where should she go? She could take up Mrs. Meddler’s hospitable offer and stay the night at the hotel. But what would Mr. Carpenter think when he eventually showed up, and she wasn’t at the station? If he showed up at all.
She turned at the sound of a squeaky wagon coming toward the station. “Perhaps that’s Mr. Carpenter now.”
“For your sake, I certainly hope so.”
A moment later, the wagon pulled up beside her, and a man who looked to be as old as Moses stepped on the brake. “Miss Young?”
“Yes. Mr. Carpenter?”
“Welcome to Browning City, young lady. It’s mighty good to see you.” His wrinkled face was swallowed up by a toothless grin as he slapped his hands against his thighs. “And right on time, I might add.”
“Right on time?” Tara’s eyes widened in surprise.
“As always.” Mr. Carpenter pulled a gold watch out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Five o’clock on the dot. Last stage pulls through here at this time three days a week.”
“But Mr. Carpenter, it’s well past five—”
“A fine piece of work, isn’t it?” He stared at the engraved picture on the outside of the watch. “My father bought this beauty in London before immigrating to America in 1793. Gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday, only two weeks before he was killed by a bull in our back pasture.”
“Oh my. I. . .I’m sorry.” Tara glanced at her toffee-eyed hero, who looked to be as taken aback as she was by the eccentric man in denim overalls and a starched shirt.
“Not to worry,” Mr. Carpenter said. “That was over five decades ago, I’d say, and a body has to eventually go on with his life.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Tara quickly calculated the man’s age. She knew her grandmother’s second cousin had been older, but this man had to be close to seventy. “In any case, it is good to finally meet you.”
“Hop into the wagon then. My Ginny has chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes on the stove and hates it when I’m late for supper.”
Tara’s mouth watered. Hopefully Mrs. Carpenter’s cooking was better than her husband’s sense of time. She paused, glancing at the platform. “I do have two trunks.”
“I’ve got ’em.”
Mr. Carpenter nodded his thanks to the lawman, who picked up the first one and set it in the wagon bed. “Sampson will take care of them once we get to the farm.”
Tara fiddled with one of the beads on her bag, wondering if she dared ask the obvious question. “Who’s Sampson?”
“A fine man, he is. Lost his hearing in one ear when a cannon exploded beside him during the war, but other than that, the man’s in perfect health. A good thing now that my Ginny and I are getting a bit up in years.” He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. “Canning pickles tomorrow.”
“Sampson is?” Tara shook her head, trying to follow the conversation while her trunks were being loaded.
“Of course not. The missus. She thought you might enjoy such a task. Nothing like a crisp, firm pickle.”
Pickles? Tara scrunched up her nose. Did she dare tell her new employer that the only pickled fare she’d ever tasted had come straight from her grocer’s shelves? She’d understood her job description to be more refined, like answering correspondence, reading pages from Charlotte Brontë or Henry David Thoreau, and perhaps a bit of simple cooking. Pickles weren’t included in her definition of a cultured supper or dinner.
Tara climbed up into the wagon, wondering if she’d been a bit hasty coming to Iowa. Certainly finding the stash of gold would be worth any inconvenience, but beside the fact that Thaddeus Carpenter happened to be her grandmother’s cousin, it occurred to her how little she knew about the man and his wife.
“Been some trouble?” Mr. Carpenter pointed a bony finger at the prisoner who lay hunched over on the stairs. “You must be the new deputy.”
“He’s not the new deputy.” She sat down on the hard seat. “But that man tried to attack me, and this other gentleman came to my rescue. He’s a lawman.”
“Then I appreciate your kindness, sir.” Mr. Carpenter handed Tara the reins and slowly started to climb out of the wagon. “I’d like to get down and shake your hand for taking care of this young woman.”
Something cracked in the old man’s joints. Tara winced as she watched him ease his way toward the side of the wagon.
“Mr. Carpenter. . .” Her voice trailed off as he slowly lifted one leg to the edge of the wagon.
“Sorry, but I’m not near as spry as I was a few years ago. Takes me a bit of time.”
“Please, don’t worry about getting down.” With his Stetson between his hands, the stranger hurried over to the wagon to shake Mr. Carpenter’s hand. “The trunks are in the back of the wagon, and I’m headed for the sheriff’s office. No doubt this young woman is ready to get home.”
“Once again, then, we’re in your debt.” Mr. Carpenter took the reins once more and winked at Tara. “I’d say it’s time to get home, missy.”
Hanging on to the edge of the seat with her fingertips for balance, Tara braced herself as the horses started down the dirt road at a steady trot. She turned back to take one last look at the lawman who’d rescued her as they made their way out of town and realized she’d forgotten to ask him his name.
❧
Aaron escorted his prisoner through the doorway of the sheriff’s office, thankful the woman’s attacker was too drunk to have put up a real fight. He knew he was far too tired to deal with the scoundrel.
“What have we got here?”
At the sheriff’s question, Aaron shoved the prisoner into a wooden chair and stepped up to the sheriff’s desk. The uniformed lawman sat with an apple in one hand and a newspaper in the other, apparently feeling as if there was little need for him to be patrolling the streets of this cozy community.
“My name’s Aaron Jefferson. I’ve got a letter of introduction.”
He handed the bearded man the letter. The sheriff lowered his glasses to the tip of his nose and peered over the top of the octagonal lenses. “Says here you’re working for the United States government.”
“Yes, sir.” Aaron rotated the brim of his Stetson in his hands. “Hadn’t meant to meet you under these circumstances, but not only is this man drunker than a passed-out coon, he attacked a woman tonight at the station.”
The sheriff gave a cursory glance at the accused before setting down the letter. “Bud Pickett’s about as harmless as they come. All talk and no action.”
Aaron shook his head. “Not this time. He’s drunk, and I’m certain he left marks on the woman’s arms.”
“Bud, what have you gone and done?”
Bud banged his head against the brick wall behind him. “I ain’t done nothing but try and talk to a woman. Nothing against the law about that, is there, Sheriff Morton?”
“It is when you grab her and scare the living daylights out of her,” Aaron countered.
“I said, I’s just trying to talk to her, but then he comes and handcuffs me like I’m some criminal.”
Aaron rocked back on his heels. “There happens to be a big difference between talking and attacking—”
“All right, enough, you two.” The sheriff held up his hand. “Normally I wouldn’t take kindly to someone cuffing up one of my citizens and dragging him in here, but if you’re telling the truth, Mr. Jefferson, I suppose you didn’t have a choice. Now, what was the woman’s name?”
Aaron stared at the wanted poster hanging behind the sheriff’s desk and drew a blank. Had he even asked her? Surely he’d remember something as simple as whether or not he’d asked for her name. He lived his life paying attention to detail and drawing information from people without them knowing what he was doing. He stroked his chin and felt its rough stubble. Obviously, blue eyes and long, dark lashes had not only left him tongue-tied, they had rendered him temporarily senseless as well.
He rested his hands against the desk and leaned forward. “I. . .I don’t know what her name was.”
“You don’t know her name?” The sheriff balanced his chair on its back legs and eyed him warily. “And how do you propose I follow up on this incident when you don’t even know the name of the woman involved? Seems like for a lawman you’re a bit lacking in your investigative skills.”
Aaron’s fists tightened at the comment. “She’s staying with the Carpenters on a farm outside of town.”
The sheriff nodded and set his glasses down on the desk before rubbing his eyes. “Ol’ Thaddeus Carpenter and his wife Ginny. Heard they had some relative coming from the big city. Hope she knows something about farmwork and making pickles.”
“Pickles?” Aaron leaned forward. “Why’s that?”
“Don’t get me wrong, we all love the couple, but Thaddeus can
be quite a character. I hope she knows what she’s getting into.”
One didn’t have to be a genius to pick up on the fact that Mr. Carpenter might have been a bit senile, but he also couldn’t quite picture the man’s newly hired help canning pickles and assisting with the farm chores. While her dress might have been a bit weathered from the trip, she certainly hadn’t bought it at a small town mercantile. She’d been poised and educated, and he was quite certain that the woman had been raised as anything but an Iowan farm girl.
Aaron cleared his throat. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“And why would I do that?”
“I don’t know, I just. . .” He shook his head. It wasn’t his place to worry about someone he hadn’t even properly met. “Never mind. Listen, I’ve been on the trail all day and need a bite to eat and a good night’s sleep. If you don’t mind taking care of Mr. Pickett—”
“Not at all. I’ll keep him here overnight so he can sleep it off.”
Aaron put his hat back on and turned to leave. “Good night, then.”
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he left the sheriff’s office, disturbed over his own behavior. For a man intent on leaving a professional impression, he’d certainly messed up this time.
No matter what his usual resolve, his brief encounter with the young woman had left him daydreaming of auburn hair and striking blue eyes. In the past, he’d never had trouble ignoring most women, spending his time, instead, putting everything he had into his assignments. And certainly no woman had ever gotten in the way of career. He had no time for love and courtship. Maybe one day, when he’d finally proved he was just as competent as his father and his father’s father, he’d settle down and start a family. Until then, he’d stick to chasing down leads for the United States government. Besides, most of the pretty girls he managed to meet weren’t exactly the kind he imagined himself marrying.
Until tonight
.
Aaron kicked at a loose rock on the boardwalk, even more determined to put the fair lady out of his mind. He hurried down the street toward the hotel. Ten thousand dollars in gold lay somewhere between here and the Mississippi River, and all a woman would do would be to get him into trouble. No, Mr. Carpenter’s newly hired help could stick to making pickles and slopping the hogs for all he cared. He had to get back to work.