The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons (52 page)

He glanced at the clock. The morning stage wasn’t due for another half hour, and the sheriff’s office was but a couple of hundred yards down the street. No doubt Sheriff Trask would want to know immediately that the Slater brothers had escaped jail in Osage City. Two were shot in the jailbreak, but the remaining two were last seen heading west, in the direction of Whitley.

Micah folded the paper and tucked it into his vest pocket. He grabbed his hat on his way out the door and hurried down the boardwalk to deliver the telegram. He found the sheriff pouring himself a cup of coffee. Micah waited a moment while the lawman read the message to see if he wanted to send a reply.

“Do you know if this message went out to any other towns hereabouts?”

“No sir. The Osage City sheriff didn’t indicate who all he was contacting.”

Trask rubbed the several-days-old growth on his chin. “Hmph. All right. No reply, at least not yet.” He tucked the telegram under his desk blotter. “Thanks, Micah.”

Micah gave a nod and started for the door.

“Is your cousin still in town?”

Micah halted at the threshold. “Yes sir.”

The sheriff took a noisy slurp of coffee. “I might want to talk to him if he’ll be around.”

Micah pursed his lips. Should he share his suspicions with Trask? He had no proof Rod had fabricated his stories—it was just a gut feeling. The gunshot wound in Rod’s leg—though healing nicely—was very real. Perhaps feelings of jealousy created Micah’s skepticism. He couldn’t deny Rod’s stories, and the attention they garnered made him feel insignificant, but petulance was a poor substitute for fact. He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“He hasn’t mentioned when he’s leaving, so I reckon he’ll be available.” He studied the scowl between the sheriff’s thick brows. “Do you think the Slaters will come here?”

Trask leaned back in his chair. “Not likely, but possible. Don’t mention this to anyone, Micah. Not even your cousin yet. No point in starting a panic.”

His job as telegrapher required Micah to maintain the privacy of the sender and recipient of each message. He shook his head. “I won’t.” The sheriff just wanted his assurance.

On his way back to the depot, Micah passed the Lockridge home. He slowed his steps as Rod’s comment echoed in his head. Part of him wanted to warn Gabrielle of Rod’s determination to break down her defenses, but God nudged his heart. He couldn’t allow himself to be controlled by jealousy. For the same reason he kept his opinions about Rod’s stories to himself instead of sharing his suspicions with the sheriff, it wasn’t his place to tell Gabrielle who she should or should not see.

A thought startled him. To his shame, he realized he’d never prayed about Gabrielle being his girl. Would God think his desire toward Gabrielle trivial? He knew God cared about those things that weighed on him, but it never occurred to him to ask God to connect Gabrielle’s heart to his.

His feet picked up speed. He and God had some talking to do.

Gabby stirred her coffee and gazed out the window while her parents discussed plans for the week. The memory of Micah playing with the children two days ago still tickled her. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, but a twinge of regret arrowed through her at the same time. The same generous spirit that prompted Micah to trade places with Jed Franklin so his assistant could attend the picnic and square dance also prevented him from asking her to dance.

Discouragement wilted the edges of her heart, even though part of her was proud of Micah for his unselfish actions. He likely wouldn’t have asked her anyway, but now she’d never know. Her wishes were nothing more than morning dew that burned away with the sun’s rays.

“Gabby?”

She jerked her attention back to her mother. “I’m sorry. I was woolgathering.”

Mama’s smile took the sting out of the admonishment in her eyes. “I asked how the book drive donations were going.”

“I still plan to stop by the bank and speak with Mr. Linquist. I’ll do that this week.”

Her father nodded. “Harold will come through with a sizable donation. The missionaries on the Foxe reservation are in desperate need of schoolbooks and slates.”

Mama refilled Papa’s coffee cup and then her own. “Let me know when you’re going to the bank. I want to make another batch of plum preserves and send some over to Bessie. They’re her favorite.”

Papa slurped his coffee. “I thought your plum preserves were Widow Greeley’s favorite. We should pay her a visit and see if there is anything she needs.”

Mama tapped her chin with one finger in contemplation. “We can certainly stop by for a visit, but I don’t think she needs anything. She said Micah North has been keeping her supplied with firewood. He cleaned out her chicken coop and even repaired a leak in her roof. But it was the strangest thing.”

The mention of Micah’s name sent a rush of warmth through Gabby’s middle.

Mama shook her head as if she was trying to make sense of her own words. “While Widow Greeley was telling me all this, she leaned close to me and said, ‘Now don’t you tell anyone I told you so.’”

Papa chuckled. “Why wouldn’t she mention Micah had helped her out?”

Mama patted his hand. “You know Mrs. Greeley. She’s a dear, but never could keep a secret. From what I understand, Micah told her not to say anything.
He
was the one who didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Micah always has been a quiet one.” A contemplative expression fell over Papa’s face. “I wish more folks would perform charitable deeds. ‘And whatsoever ye do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus—’ I suppose I understand why Micah doesn’t want applause or commendation for himself, but then the other folks of the congregation miss the example to follow. It’s fulfilling the mandate in scripture about caring for the widows and orphans. When people see that being done, they’ll follow suit.”

Gabby threw her dish towel onto the dry sink. “Well, I know why Micah does things like this in secret.” She blurted the words with more conviction than necessary, but the restraining bonds that had held her mute for too long finally broke. “For the same reason he sneaked over to the church when it was nearly dark to repair that wobbly railing when he thought nobody was around. For the same reason he took two sacks full of food supplies to the Newberrys and left them on the porch. Did you know Micah mentioned to Calvin Murdock that Robert Newberry was an expert wood-carver? Now Mr. Newberry is able to support his family, thanks to Mr. Murdock wanting to sell his wood carvings in the mercantile. Then Micah helped out an elderly widow lady and doesn’t want any recognition for his deeds. He doesn’t want any praise.”

She turned and faced her father. “Isn’t that what you preach, Papa? We should do good deeds, not for the praise of men, but to become God’s hands here on earth? To have a servant’s heart? That’s the kind of man Micah is. He’s unselfish, and giving, and considerate, and kind, and… and—”

And she realized both her parents were staring at her, their mouths agape. Heat rushed up her neck into her face.

Papa stroked his chin and gentled his voice. “I wasn’t suggesting there was anything wrong with what Micah did, only pointing out more people would benefit from the example.”

Mama inclined her head toward Gabby. “Daughter, what has you in such a state? I don’t think I’ve seen you this undone since—”

A knock at the door interrupted. Mama and Papa exchanged looks and Gabby wiped her hands on her apron as she crossed to open the door.

Cullen Poole stood on the porch.

As addled as she’d been the day his letter arrived, seeing his face again proved nothing more than annoying, especially after all the gossip and speculation the missive had stirred up.

“Hello, Gabby.”

“Cullen. Won’t you come in?”

Cullen entered and pulled off his hat. He took two steps inside and jerked to a halt when Papa stood to greet him.

“You remember my parents, Cullen.”

“Y–yes, of course. Mr.—I mean, Reverend Lockridge. Mrs. Lockridge.”

Mama stood and stepped to the cupboard. “Can I get you some coffee, Mr. Poole?”

“Oh, no. No, thank you. I won’t be here but a few minutes.” He tipped his head toward the door. “Gabby, can we talk outside?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “No, I don’t think so. Anything you have to say can be said in front of my parents.”

His eyes darkened, and he slid his gaze from her to her father and back again. He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other and twisted the brim of his hat. “Uh, you know my mother’s ruby ring I let you borrow?”

Gabby arched her eyebrows. “You mean the
garnet
ring you
gave
me after you proposed marriage more than three years ago?”

Cullen’s face went scarlet, and he swallowed hard. “It’s a ruby ring, and it was my mother’s and… I—I need it back.”

Gabby crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s a garnet, so says the gemologist who passed through Whitley a couple of years ago. Stay right there. I’ll get it.”

She turned and strode to her bedroom, returning a few moments later. She dropped the ring into Cullen’s hand. “I hope this ring will mean more to you with the next girl you give it to.”

Cullen’s face turned a deeper shade of red, and he coughed. “I’m sorry, Gabby.”

“Good-bye, Cullen.”

The man nearly broke his neck rushing out the door. Relief washed over Gabby, barrelfuls of sweet respite from the dark cloud that had dogged her steps from the day his letter arrived.

Chapter 10

M
icah finished chasing the dust and debris collected by the broom out the door. Whitley’s sheriff was a methodical man who didn’t make hasty decisions, so Micah wasn’t surprised to see Sheriff Trask approach the telegraph office two days after the telegram about the Slaters arrived.

“Mornin’, Micah.”

“Sheriff.” Micah gave the broom a rest. “Mail hasn’t come in yet.”

Trask nodded and glanced over his shoulder. “Need to send some wires. Let’s talk inside.”

Micah followed the sheriff into the office and sat at the desk while Trask pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket. “Here’s what I want you to send.” He laid the paper on the desk.

Micah read the message and glanced up to see if it was a joke. Trask wasn’t laughing.

Micah’s jaw dropped. “The Union Pacific payroll is—”

“Shh!” Trask held up his hand and looked over his shoulder. He reached around and closed the door before turning back to Micah. “Yes, part of the Union Pacific payroll is in the Whitley Bank.”

Shock tied Micah’s tongue for the space of several seconds. He shook his head, as if the motion might help him regain his good sense. “How many people know about this?”

Trask planted his hands on the desk and leaned down, his whiskery face almost nose to nose with Micah. “Me. You. And Linquist.” The sheriff’s quiet declaration rocked Micah back in his chair.

Trask seemed to read his mind. He straightened and heaved a sigh. “I questioned the wisdom of depositing such an amount in our small bank, even temporarily. A courier is supposed to pick it up next week.” He ran his hand over the back of his neck. “But I just have a bad feelin’… like when you’re huntin’ a rabid wolf and you realize the wolf is huntin’ you instead of the other way around.”

Micah pulled himself up to the telegraph key. “Where is this telegram going?”

The sheriff stuck his thumbs into his vest pockets. “The sheriffs at Emporia, Council Grove, Junction City, and Topeka. If any of them can spare a deputy for a few days, I’d sure appreciate it.”

“I’ll get these sent right away.” Micah tapped the key.

“Is your cousin around? With his Pinkerton experience, I could use his help protecting the payroll and the town, especially since he’s already had experience with the Slaters.”

Micah chewed his lip. “So you
do
think the Slaters might come here?”

Trask shrugged. “If they got wind of the payroll, they might think it’s easy pickin’s because we’re a small town.”

A shaft of dread sliced through Micah. Despite thinking his feelings were motivated by nothing more than jealousy, he’d not been able to dismiss his suspicions that Rod’s stories were exaggerated. But without proof, he couldn’t voice his concerns to Trask. There was One, however, to whom he could go, and as soon as he was finished sending the telegrams, he intended to seek the wisdom and leading of God.

“I’m not sure where Rod is right now.” Likely off spinning his tales if he could find an audience. “As soon as I see him, I’ll let him know you want to talk to him.”

Trask gave a short nod. “Thanks.”

Micah stared at the retreating form of the sheriff as Trask strode back toward his office. If Rod was going to give credence to his stories, now was the time. If not, Micah prayed God would protect Whitley and its residents.