The Accidental Lawman (7 page)

In less than an instant she’d gone from wiping down the front window to being cradled in his arms.

Dazed and amazed, Amelia found her face inches from Hank Larson’s. She was so close she could see the small flecks of silver in his blue eyes. She watched those eyes of his widen in the same shock she was feeling.

“The ladder wobbled.” For some reason she felt the need to explain. She wasn’t in the habit of catapulting into men’s arms.

“I bumped into it,” he confessed. “I’m sorry.”

“I think,” she began, “you should put me down now.”

“Of course, I—”

Just then, Mary Margaret Cutter came breezing through the open door carrying a covered dish and calling, “Woo-hoo! Mr. Larson!”

She stopped dead in her tracks the minute she saw Amelia in Hank Larson’s arms.

“Oh, my.” The woman quickly glanced away, but her gaze ricocheted back.

Amelia landed on her feet when Hank unexpectedly let her go. She ducked her head, pretending to brush off her apron and her skirt, located her cleaning rag on the
floor and retrieved it before she had the nerve to look Mary Margaret in the eye.

The banker’s wife sported a thick, wide bandage across her temple. Far bigger, Amelia estimated, than the small wound beneath it. It would be hard for anyone not to notice it.

“I’m sorry I barged in like that,” Mrs. Cutter said. “The door was
wide
open and I thought…well, I’m just here to deliver this layered beef and potato dish, since Mr. Larson saved our lives and all, it’s the least I could do. I never expected to find you, Amelia, in the man’s arms.”

Amelia glanced up at Hank Larson. His face was as red as a radish. It appeared he was suddenly a writer without words. Apparently, it was up to her to explain.

“Mr. Larson gave me a ride out to the Ellenbergs’ yesterday and—”

“Did Rebekah have her baby?” Mary Margaret asked.

“She did. A little girl. Anyway, in exchange for the ride—”

“Why, Amelia Hawthorne, I never—”

“This is
not
what you are thinking, Mrs. Cutter. In exchange for the ride I offered to
clean the front window
for him. I was on the ladder just now when he accidentally bumped into it—”

Hank interrupted. “I was carrying a box and not looking where I was going—”

“And I fell off the ladder,” Amelia finished.

Mary Margaret looked them both over and winked. “Oh, well. If
that’s
all there is to it. I’m glad you weren’t hurt, Amelia.” She looked puzzled for a second and then said, “Didn’t the two of you run into each other in the bank the morning of the robbery?”

Amelia twisted the cleaning rag. “Mrs. Cutter, this is
all perfectly innocent. This isn’t Mr. Larson’s
home,
it’s his place of business. The front door was wide open. Why, I was right there in the window for all the world to see,” Amelia reminded her.

Of all people to walk in and see her in Hank’s arms, why did it have to be Mary Margaret Cutter? Word would be all over town in less time than it takes to melt sugar.

That morning, Amelia convinced herself she was really going to the newspaper office to talk Hank out of writing a detailed account of the robbery. The less said about the event, the less likely anyone was to tell him anything about Evan.

There was no way she’d have ever thought of using womanly wiles on him. Why, she didn’t even have any to begin with. She was a God-fearing woman. Besides, Hank wasn’t interested in her in the least. Especially not now that he knew she was a midwife. He’d been peevish and silent all the way back from the Ellenbergs’, which had suited her fine.

“I’ll just leave this here.” Mary Margaret set the covered dish atop a box and started backing away toward the door.

Amelia elbowed Hank in the ribs. He actually jumped, but the nudge helped to shock him out of his stupor.

“Th-thank you, Mrs. Cutter.” He started across the room to see her out the door. “I’ll see that you get your dish back.”

“You do that, young man. Don’t forget we’re all waiting for the first edition of the paper. If I were you, I’d tend to business around here.” She paused in the doorway and gave Amelia a wave of her fingers. “Bye-bye, Amelia. You take care. A pretty young woman can’t be too careful these days.” With a sly wink, she was out the door.

When Hank turned around, he looked as if he wanted to crawl into a hole and pull it in after him.

“I certainly hope you don’t think I initiated that,” he told her.

“I certainly hope you don’t think I threw myself off that ladder into your arms.”

He remained planted near the front door.

She watched him from across the room but didn’t budge.

Suddenly they both moved at once.

“I’ll be going now. The window is clean,” she said.

“I’d better get this press put together,” he said at the same time.

Amelia grabbed her bucket, rags and vinegar. As she headed out the door, she vowed that from now on, she’d do her level best to avoid Hank Larson.

Hank stepped aside as she breezed past with barely a nod. Her cheeks shone with splotches of embarrassment as red as firebrands.

He watched her walk away.

She had felt softer than he expected. Warm and far more vulnerable than she let show.

The direction his thoughts had taken shocked him. How long would he have stood there mute, making a fool of himself, if Mary Margaret Cutter hadn’t walked in?

After only three days in town, he’d been turned inside out by prim and proper Amelia Hawthorne.

From now on, he decided, he was giving her a wide berth.

“S
o nice of you to come, Sheriff Larson.”

“It was nice of you to invite me, Miss McCormick.” Hank gave his hostess a slight bow and handed her his hat. He waited uncomfortably while she hung it on a bentwood hat rack.

Charity McCormick was rail thin. She had light blue eyes, much like her brother, the reverend, and a ready smile. Unlike the preacher, who always appeared calm and confident, Charity had a worried look about her, as if she never quite relaxed.

As she was ushering him into the front parlor, there came a knock at the front door.

“I’ll just be a moment.” Charity appeared hesitant to leave him alone.

Hank glanced into the parlor. “I’ll be fine.”

She turned away and he stepped over the threshold. There was no one else in the room, or so he thought until he heard a giggle coming from behind the settee.

He bent over to look beneath the settee when suddenly, someone bowled into him from behind. His knees buck
led and he fell forward. Before he knew what hit him, a child climbed onto his back. The boy straddled him and then tried to slip a gag around Hank’s mouth.

Almost immediately, two shiny black shoes appeared in front of his face. He craned his neck. A little girl with a white pinafore over a pink dress was standing over him with her hands planted on her hips.

“Better not hurt him, Sam,” she warned.

“I’m gonna scalp him!” the boy assured her.

Having already lost a hat to this town, Hank was in no mood to lose any hair. He flattened his palms on the floor and pushed up, easily dislodging the boy who fell to the floor with an “Oof!”

Hank was dusting off his hands and straightening his jacket when he heard a gasp from the doorway.

“Sam McCormick! What have you done?” Charity rushed into the room and grabbed her nephew by the sleeve. She hauled him over to a side chair.

“Sit!” she commanded.

“You can’t make me,” the boy chided.

Charity looked as if she were about to burst into tears.

“He was going to scalp the sheriff, Aunt Charity,” the little girl said. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“You did, too!” Sam yelled. “You were the decoy.”

Charity stumbled back, made it to the edge of the settee and swooned.

Hank was certain things couldn’t get any worse, but then Amelia Hawthorne walked into the room. She hurried to Charity’s side, reached for the woman’s wrist and felt her pulse.

Hank was dumbfounded. When the preacher had asked him to dinner, he suspected he was being invited because he was new to town and Brand McCormick was
a hospitable man looking to increase his flock. Then he’d heard from Harrison Barker that Charity McCormick was a spinster in need of a husband, so the last person on earth Hank expected to see tonight was Amelia Hawthorne.

“What are you doing here?” he wanted to know.

“I might ask the same thing of you, Mr. Larson.” She pulled a handkerchief from a reticule dangling from her wrist and began to fan Charity’s face. Then she turned to the little girl, who looked to be about seven years old.

“Janie, run and get your aunt a glass of water, will you please?”

Janie didn’t budge. “How’s she gonna drink it? She’s just having a fit of the vapors. She’ll be all right.”

“Go, Janie.” Amelia’s tone brooked no argument. The girl stomped out of the room.

Hank glanced at Sam. The boy was still on the chair, but his arms were folded and his eyes narrowed to slits. He glowered at Hank and stuck out his tongue.

On the settee, Amelia fussed over Charity. The woman’s eyes were still closed, but she was mumbling under her breath.

Hank was wondering if the promise of a home-cooked meal was worth all the drama when Brand McCormick walked in. As if his sister passed out every day, Brand made a beeline to Hank and patted him on the shoulder.

“Glad you could make it, Hank. We’re happy to have you here in our humble home.”

Amelia simply couldn’t fathom why the Lord kept throwing Hank Larson in her path. Three days had passed since Mary Margaret had walked in on that embarrassing scene in Hank’s newspaper office and for three days she’d endured knowing smiles and innuendos wherever she went.

She’d so looked forward to coming to dinner tonight and sharing a meal and conversation with the McCormicks, and when the Reverend stopped by the house to invite her to dinner, she’d been happy to accept. Despite nine-year-old Sam’s mischievous ways and his sister Janie’s constant tattling, a dinner at the McCormick home was always pleasant.

Until now. She’d be forced to endure an entire evening in the presence of Hank Larson who, according to Harrison Barker, was still vigilantly questioning folks about the possibility of a second gunman outside the bank the day of the holdup.

She sighed and tried to avoid Hank’s gaze. She simply didn’t have the strength to guard every word she said tonight. As soon as Charity recovered, Amelia planned to make an excuse and leave.

A second later, Charity let out a long-suffering sigh. Her lashes fluttered, her eyes opened and Amelia helped her to sit up. She offered her some water, but Charity refused.

“Should I get her tonic?” Janie offered.

“I think she’ll be fine now.” Amelia watched Charity carefully for any sign that she might be suffering something other than nerves.

“I’m glad you could join us tonight, Amelia.” Brand’s smile could light up a room.

She glanced over at Charity, who still appeared to be dazed, but coming around. She was certain Charity’s swooning episodes stemmed from the fact that the woman was overwhelmed caring for her boisterous young charges and nothing more.

Everyone knew, more often than not, the children ran her ragged.

“Thank you for inviting me, Reverend.” Amelia pur
posely avoided looking at Hank. “I’m sorry to say that I just walked over to tell you I must decline.”

“Is Evan home?” the reverend asked.

Amelia quickly shook her head. “No. No, I haven’t seen him recently. I just…I can’t stay.”

Even without looking Hank’s way, she felt him watching her from across the room. She shoved her hankie back into her reticule and pulled the strings shut. Then she got to her feet.

The relief on Hank Larson’s face was almost comical. He didn’t wish to be in her company any more than she wanted to be with him.

For some reason the notion bothered Amelia—far more than she wanted to admit.

Lord, why am I being tested like this?

If she knew the absolute truth of what happened the other morning at the bank, would it be any easier to be in Hank Larson’s company?

Mr. Larson stepped closer to the settee and offered Charity a hand. Once she was on her feet and hurrying off to the kitchen, he turned to Amelia. Her eyes met his and, in that instant, her heart stumbled.

“I’m sorry you can’t stay, Amelia,” he told her. He didn’t sound sorry.

She forced herself to breathe slowly. “Thank you, Mr. Larson.”

“Hank, I’m sure you won’t mind walking Amelia home,” Reverend McCormick said. “The days are growing longer but dusk is nearly upon us tonight. I would accompany her myself, but I believe I’d best tend to these rascals of mine while Charity puts the final touches on the meal.”

When Hank failed to respond, Amelia said, “There’s
no need for that, Reverend.” She started toward the parlor door. “I can find my way home.”

“I won’t hear of it. Not when our able-bodied sheriff is right here. He’s happy to walk you home, aren’t you, Hank?”

“Well, I—”

Couldn’t the reverend see that Hank was definitely
not
happy about the idea?

“I wouldn’t send you two off alone if it were dark, not with Amelia’s fine reputation to consider—but there’s plenty of light left.”

Amelia’s cheeks began to flame. Had Reverend McCormick heard the gossip? Surely he put no stock in it or he wouldn’t be suggesting they go anywhere alone together, even in broad daylight. Or would he?

“I’ve done nothing to soil my reputation,” Amelia blurted. “Nor will I.”

“Of course not,” the reverend agreed.

“Reverend, I—” Hank ran his finger around the top of his collar as if it was suddenly two sizes too small.

Amelia quickly said goodbye to no one in particular and headed for the entry hall. She was out the front door and certain she’d made her escape until she heard the front door open and close behind her. Heavy footsteps echoed across the porch and within seconds, Hank Larson joined her on the street.

They fumed in silence for a moment before Amelia started off alone. There was no boardwalk this far from the shops and stores of Main Street.

Hank was a few steps behind, but his long stride quickly brought him to her side.

“The preacher insisted I walk you home.”

She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t look at him.

“I didn’t want to do this any more than you wanted me to,” he confessed.

“I know.” She’d clearly seen his reluctance, his aversion to her earlier. It was hard to miss.

“Everywhere I go lately, I hear the story of how Mary Margaret walked in and saw you in my embrace,” he added.

Amelia stopped walking. “It certainly wasn’t an
embrace!
”

“I know that, you know that, but Mary Margaret is telling everyone that’s what she saw.”

“Then you need to tell them the truth. Write about it in your paper.” Better to have herself as front-page news than the robbery.

“You want me to feed the flames?”

“I want you to put them out!”

They’d reached the edge of her yard. She paused by the gate in her picket fence.

“Thank you.” She didn’t sound grateful at all. It was impossible to hide her irritation.

“Listen, Miss Hawthorne, I’m not the one who insisted on you barging in and cleaning my front window the other day. If you hadn’t been there in the first place, we wouldn’t be a topic of gossip.”

“
Barging
in? As you recall, I was there to repay a favor.”

That, she decided, was stretching the truth. Mainly she’d wanted to try to talk him out of writing about the robbery. She wanted him to stop questioning people all over town.

“If
you
had never barged into
my
life, never moved to Glory to start your silly newspaper, wearing your silly bowler hat and that houndstooth suit of yours, if you hadn’t run me down at the bank, then none of this would have happened and I wouldn’t be walking around on eggshel—”

Suddenly, Hank Larson took hold of her shoulders, pulled her close enough for their lips to meet and kissed her square on the mouth. It was a second or two before Amelia realized what was happening, but when she did, she lay her hands flat against the front of his coat and shoved.

“What in the world are you
thinking?
” She reeled back and fought to catch her breath.

“I—” Hank looked as stunned as she felt. “I really have no idea why I did that.”

“I would suggest, Mr. Larson, that you hurry back to Reverend McCormick’s. Perhaps he will enlighten you about honor and a pure heart.”

She pushed the gate open and started up the walk. Halfway to the porch, she stopped. He was still outside her gate, staring after her with a bewildered look on his face.

“From now on, Hank Larson, keep your hands and your lips to yourself!”

Hank watched Amelia storm into the house and slam the door behind her. Remembering where he was, he glanced around, immediately thankful the street was empty.

The sun was just sinking below the horizon. Rays of pink and orange fanned out across a violet Texas sky.

He had no idea why he’d kissed Amelia just now. He hadn’t thought before it happened, but suddenly in the middle of her tirade, he’d pulled her close and kissed her.

It was a chaste kiss, as kisses go. There was nothing seductive about it.

Nor had she kissed him back. But it had the desired effect. He’d managed to shut her up.

Now he’d forever have the memory of her lips against his. Each time he got a whiff of lavender and sage, he’d think of Amelia and the color of the Texas sky at twilight.

He didn’t want his mind occupied with thoughts of Amelia Hawthorne. He wanted only memories of what had been—memories of his life with Tricia.

Now what? he wondered.
Now what? What does this mean?

What if he eventually did learn that her brother was in on the attempted bank heist? What then?

What if he discovered Amelia herself had been in on it?

He seriously doubted that. She had a cadre of friends to vouch for her character. But Evan didn’t. Though no one openly admitted her brother might be an outlaw, folks went silent whenever he brought up Evan Hawthorne’s name.

Hank lingered near the gate for a moment or two longer. Amelia had yet to light a lamp inside, though night was swiftly falling.

He owed her an apology for that kiss. It would be a hard debt to pay.

And not only did he owe Amelia an apology.

Hank closed his eyes.
I’m sorry, Tricia
.

It broke his heart when he realized his wife’s face was not as clear in his memory as it was before.

Inside the house, Amelia leaned back against the front door and pressed her fingertips against her lips. Her mouth tingled. Her stomach was so jumpy that she thought she might heave.

Chamomile tea was in order. Maybe a dose of her father’s nerve potion would help.

What was Hank Larson feeling right now? He’d looked as shocked as she felt after he kissed her.

It was over before it even started and yet the kiss left her light-headed and trembling. She certainly hoped she
hadn’t just sinned or disgraced herself, but how could she be at fault? She hadn’t even seen it coming.

Had she?

She thought back over the events preceding the kiss. Hank had appeared to want nothing to do with her. She’d barely made eye contact with him at the McCormicks’. She excused herself from dinner the minute she could. But outside her house, she’d lost her temper. She’d berated his move to Glory, blamed him for everything. She’d criticized his hat, his clothing.