The Sheriff's Sweetheart (23 page)

“A
bribe?
” Gabe Bryant repeated, turning to look at the court.

Everyone's gaze was riveted on Perry and the prosecutor, Sam thought, and none more so than Kendall Raney's. If Raney could have killed anyone with a look, he would have started with Delbert Perry.

“Yessir, a bribe. If Sheriff Bishop took the bribe, Raney would give the money back to th' bank president so he'd drop the charges against Bishop, but after that Sheriff Bishop was to go along with anythin' they said—he was to be their man, like the sheriff of Colorado Bend is, so the Alliance could take over Simpson Creek, too. From what this Jace was sayin', it was plain he was the one who planted the money and the ring in Sheriff Bishop's mattress while everyone was in here when the other trial was goin' on.”

The buzz started then, only to die down when Everson pounded his gavel and shouted, “Order! Order in this court!”

“Was that the end of the conversation?” Bryant asked Perry.

Perry shook his head.

“Nossir. Mr. Raney said if Bishop refused t'go along with his offer, he was t'shoot Bishop through th' window. Shoot him dead.”

Suddenly everyone was talking at once. Judge Everson pounded again on his gavel repeatedly, yelling “Order! Order!”

In the hubbub, Sam saw Pennington and Byrd try to slip unobtrusively out of their row and make their way to the door. They were ushered back to their seats by Luis Menendez, who had been standing sentinel at the door. Raney had stood, too, but Nick Brookfield, a hand resting on the butt of his pistol, stood in front of him and he sat back down.

Finally, quiet settled over the courtroom as everyone held their breath to hear the rest of what Delbert Perry would say.

“So you're very sure that Mr. Raney said his two partners, Mr. Pennington and Mr. Byrd—” he pointed at them “—were in on the plan?”

“Yessir.”

“Then what happened?”

“Why, I followed them fellas till Mr. Raney turned in at th' hotel, an' then I followed that Jace till he got to th' jail.”

“And he didn't see you?”

“Not then, no. I followed real quiet-like an' kept to th' shadows. Jace got to th' jail and he stood on a barrel and called Sheriff Bishop to th' window.”

“You heard Samuel Bishop talking from inside the cell?”

“Yessir. I know his voice, 'cos he's the one who arrested me that last time I shot up th' saloon, remember? He coulda shot me dead, but he just shot the gun out of my hand. And then Mr. Brookfield talked to me about Jesus.” Perry beamed at Sam, and then at Nick.

“Yes, you've told us about that day,” Bryant said, struggling to hold back an amused smile. “So you heard Sam Bishop's voice—what did he say when Jace offered him the bribe?”

“He turned him down flat. He told Raney to ‘go to blazes'! This Jace fella, he said he'd be sorry, but Sam Bishop didn't change his answer none.”

“And did the man called Jace shoot him then, as he'd been ordered?”

“No, sir. I heard a commotion from inside, an' suddenly Mr. Bishop's face disappeared from the cell window, like maybe someone inside caught him talkin'. An' Jace hightailed it into the bushes down by the creek.”

“Then what happened?”

“I stayed right there for a while, but then I figgered I'd better go up to the jail an' warn them what that fella was goin' to do. Only when I did, someone leaped up behind me and knocked me out, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his head, and turned around. “I still got a lump there, Judge, kin ya see it?”

“I see it,” Everson murmured. “Quite a bruise.”

“And when did you come to, Mr. Perry?” Bryant asked.

“I woke when Reverend Chadwick went out for his early mornin' constitutional, and found me. I was all drenched from th' rain. I told him what happened, what I'd seen. An' he helped me go to th' jail, but they was all in an uproar 'cos Tolliver had just been shot a few minutes before through the cell window as he lay sleepin'.”

“But I thought Bishop was the one with the cell window.”

“He was when I'd heard him an' Jace talkin', but when the preacher an' me went back, we were told Sam Bishop and Tolliver had had their cells switched durin' th' night, after Nick caught Sam talkin' to Jace outside. They said that Jace got clean away—which is too bad, I say.”

Everson then turned to Nick. “Sheriff Brookfield, I
believe I've heard enough to declare Sam Bishop innocent of the theft of the money from the First National Bank of Houston…”

Sam could hardly believe his ears.

A second chance. He was being given a second chance.

God, I have no idea what to say, how to thank You. But I promise, I won't let You down again.

C
heers erupted from all over the courtroom. Sam saw Prissy move shakily from her seat toward him, laughing and crying at once, when Everson began speaking again.

“Furthermore, Sheriff Brookfield, based on the evidence just presented, I am ordering you to arrest—”

Suddenly Raney lunged out of his chair and yanked Prissy against him, holding her in front of him like a shield. He turned and faced them all, his pistol held against her temple.

“Anyone comes close to me, she dies!”

Prissy turned her face toward Sam, her blue eyes large as dinner plates. Sam was already on his feet, his eyes scanning the courtroom, looking for a way to save her, fighting off the desperation that clutched at his heart.

Nick had been standing near Raney, but he was taken by surprise and he didn't dare fire, for he couldn't shoot Raney without risking hitting Prissy, too. Luis, at the door, had the same problem—if he shot Raney in the back, there was a risk the bullet would hit Prissy.

Everyone froze—everyone except Raney, who was inch
ing toward the door, pulling Prissy with him, his eyes on Nick and Luis.

Help me, Lord,
Sam prayed.
Help me get Prissy out of this.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Nick turn and face him. Sam took his gaze from Prissy's desperate eyes and read Nick's intent as clearly as if the Englishman had spoken to him.

Nick tossed him the pistol and Sam caught it. Before Raney could adjust to the change in direction of the threat, Sam took aim and fired. It was a shot only a man who'd grown up shooting squirrels out of the trees could have been sure of making.

Raney's arms flew up, and then he went down without a cry.

In the uproar that followed, Sam reached Prissy, holding her against him to shield her from the sight of Raney's still body, while Nick arrested Pennington and Byrd on suspicion of conspiring to murder William Waters and Sam Bishop, and on suspicion of being part of the conspiracy to defraud the First National Bank of Houston.

Sam saw Nolan kneel by the sprawled corpse of Kendall Raney, feel for a pulse and shake his head when he found none. He motioned for Mr. Dixon, the undertaker, and together they carried the body out through the batwing door.

Everson was banging on his gavel once more.

“This trial is not over!” he roared. “Everyone sit down!”

Obediently, if a little confused, the people of Simpson Creek did as they were bid. But Sam knew what was coming. He hardly cared—Prissy was safe and he could
see her love for him in her eyes, plain as day. Nothing else mattered.

“Sam Bishop, come back up here. There's still the matter of the theft of an expensive ruby ring, which you admitted you stole from the late Mr. Raney.”

Sam let go of Prissy. When he heard her utter a cry of protest, he whispered, “It's all right, sweetheart, it's all right.” He went to stand in front of the judge.

Everson banged the gavel again. “Mr. Bishop, you admit you stole the ring.”

“Yes, I did, Your Honor.”

“After meeting Kendall Raney—” the judge glanced toward the door through which Raney had been carried “—it's the judgment of this court that he probably didn't come by such a ring honestly, either. But theft is theft, and you're guilty of that, Sam Bishop.”

Sam felt a lump in his throat, but he swallowed and nodded. The truth was the truth, and it would set him free in the most important way, even if he had to serve time for foolishly taking a ring he should have left where he found it.

“Yes, sir.”

Judge Everson banged his gavel a final time. “I am finding you guilty of the theft of the ruby ring, Sam Bishop.” He raised a bony hand when cries of protest erupted. “But I am
suspending
the sentence, providing you continue to serve this town in the same exemplary fashion you have in the past as sheriff. Is that an acceptable solution to you, Mayor Gilmore?”

In a haze of disbelieving joy, Sam saw Prissy's father smile at him before nodding at the judge.

“Sam Bishop, I am further ordering you to sell the ring,
with the profit to go toward rebuilding the Simpson Creek Church. Is that solution acceptable to everyone?”

A roar of approval gave the judge his answer.

“Consider yourself still bound by the oath you took to serve and protect this town, Sheriff Sam Bishop,” the judge said. “You may go.”

Sam turned to Prissy, his arm around her waist, her head leaning against him, and walked unimpeded out into the sunlight, a free man once more.

 

“Everything is just perfect,” Prissy said with a blissful sigh, leaning back in Sam's arms on the porch swing when they were at last alone that evening. A sense of peace overwhelmed her with a quiet joy.

A five-pointed star once again adorned Sam's shirt, proclaiming him the sheriff of Simpson Creek. Both of them had been swept into an impromptu celebration by the townspeople after the judge had rendered his verdict, with everyone wanting to clap Sam on the back and assure him that they'd known all along he was innocent of any bank swindling and that he'd continue to be the best sheriff Simpson Creek had ever had. That was followed by a feast at Gilmore House with her father, Mariah Fairchild, Nick and Milly, Sarah and Nolan, Reverend Chadwick and Mrs. Detwiler.

Prissy had asked Flora to take a share of the feast down to the jail, where Luis and Teague were guarding the jail's new prisoners, Garth Pennington, Francis Byrd and one Jace Marcum, whom Prissy had identified earlier when he'd been brash enough to ride right past the saloon just as they were leaving the celebration. Pennington and Byrd were indignant about having to share a cell, but neither wanted to share a cell with Marcum.

“There goes another pair of them,” Sam said, indicating a couple of scruffy-looking men riding by Gilmore House and heading onto the road that led southeast out of Simpson Creek.

“Like rats off a sinking ship,” Prissy commented. They'd seen others riding by when they'd left the party at the saloon—all Alliance men leaving town because their bosses were dead or in jail.

They might never be able to prove Tolliver had actually killed William Waters. So far, Nick had said, Pennington, Byrd and Marcum were still trying to deny everything. But it was likely at least one of them would turn on the others if it meant he could avoid a rope.

“The bank president says he's going to try and contact anyone who was pressured to sell their properties to see if they wanted to return,” Sam said.

“That's good,” Prissy said with a happy sigh. “I hope they'll all come back.”

Sam nodded, then took a deep breath as he turned to face her. “Prissy, I'm going to make a promise to you right now—I'm never again going to keep any secrets from you, sweetheart. I'd told you I'd lied to your father and Nick about why I came to Simpson Creek, but the more I fell in love with you, the more awful I felt about the bigger things I was keeping from you—the truth of what kind of man I'd been—a gambler, a thief…”

She searched his face and saw only honesty there, with no shadow darkening his eyes. “I knew there was something wrong, something you weren't telling me,” she admitted.

“I've never had the love of a good woman before, Prissy, a woman who believes in me, even though she knows the
worst about me. I never knew before that God loved me, though I can't imagine why. I surely didn't deserve it.”

“That's the best part,” she told him with a smile. “There's nothing we can do to deserve it—any of us.”

“After all that's happened, I've become a better man, thanks to you and the Lord—the kind of man I want to be all the days of my life. I love you, Prissy, and I always will.”

“Oh, Sam—I love you, too!” she cried, and then he had pulled her closer, and was kissing her, and she knew her whole life had been leading up to this very moment. She hadn't known her heart could contain such joy, such peace—or that kissing Sam Bishop would be better than she could have ever imagined it could be.

“There's still the problem of where we're going to be married,” Sam reminded her a few minutes later. “You haven't changed your mind and decided to wait until the new church is built, have you?”

“Of course not,” she said, and kissed him to show she was just as eager to be his wife as he was to be her husband.

“I know the perfect place,” they said simultaneously.

A
nd so it was, on a crisp clear day in October, a wedding took place under the gnarled limbs and rustling leaves of the ancient Wedding Tree, where couples from Indian times on through the early settlement period had made their vows. As Sam Bishop and Prissy Gilmore promised to love and cherish one another forever, each felt that a grand cathedral with stained-glass windows could have provided no more glorious setting for their marriage.

There had never been a more beautiful bride wearing a more beautiful dress. Milly Matthews Brookfield had outdone herself with this bridal gown, everyone said so, but only Prissy could have worn the confection of white
mousseline de soie
over white taffeta with such style.

Everyone in town was there—including Houston, of course. As the happy couple stood in front of Reverend Chadwick, Prissy's attendants stood to her left—Sarah Walker, Milly Brookfield and Hannah Kennedy, while Sam was attended by Nick Brookfield, Dr. Nolan Walker and Luis Menendez.

On one side of the front row, Prissy's father beamed with Mariah Fairchild at his side, along with Flora and
Antonio. Right behind them sat the rest of the Spinsters' Club, some with new beaux of their own, all smiling, some weeping happy tears. On the groom's side, the first three rows held three families who had traveled quite a ways to be there—Sam's sisters Etta, Lida and Livy, and their husbands and children.

The rest of Simpson Creek occupied every remaining seat—Mrs. Detwiler, her son George, and all their family, Mrs. Patterson the mercantile owner, Mr. Jewett the telegrapher, Andy Calhoun the livery owner, and of course, Delbert Perry—just to name a few.

The celebration at Gilmore House which followed was the talk of the town for at least a decade. There was enough food there to feed all of San Saba County, and possibly a good portion of Lampasas County, as well. And no one had ever known a bride who had a cake with four layers—vanilla, chocolate, strawberry
and
another one of chocolate, so everyone could have their favorite flavor.

“Priscilla Gilmore Bishop is an original—everyone says so,” Prissy and Sam overheard Mrs. Detwiler telling Reverend Chadwick just before the dancing began.

Sam gave her hand a squeeze as they rose for the bridal dance. “Please don't ever change, Mrs. Bishop,” he told her. “I think I quite like being married to an original.”

She grinned back up at him, loving the sound of his name attached to her. “I don't think I could even if I would, Mr. Bishop.” They led off the waltz together, dancing in perfect harmony, until it was time for her father to come to the floor and dance with Mariah Fairchild. Seeing his happy face, she could not imagine why she had minded the widow's coming to town so much. Love,
real
love, gave the heart extra room, she thought, so that no one, such as
her mother, was squeezed out when the heart made room for someone new.

And so it was that when it came for the bride to toss her bouquet, Prissy smiled and very deliberately threw it to Mariah Fairchild.