Faith of the Heart (13 page)

             
Early the next morning
after
Claire
had risen and
bathed,
she
put on her nicest dress
, the black damask.
Carefully she brushed her long hair and twisted it into an elegant chignon. Pinching her cheeks added a pink glow to her face and she checked herself in Ginny’s old mirror.

There
, she thought,
I’m ready to take on that arrogant banker
.
Let’s see what he has to say now.
             
             
             
             
             
At precisely 9:00 A.M. she stepped into the bank, head held high.

             
“Mr. Dawson, please. Tell him Miss Secord is waiting.”

The elderly teller took one look at her determined face and nodded.

             
“Right away, miss.”

  Claire was shown into the banker’s inner office.
Mr. Dawson
pasted on a fake smile,
when he greeted her, surprised.

             
“Well Miss Secord, I must admit I didn’t expect you quite so soon. You must be ready to give up th
at
burden of yours. Let me clear off my desk and I shall take care of this for you. A fine lady shouldn’t concern herself with a man’s business. You should be worried about finding a husband, not running a general store. You’re only a poor defenseless
girl
.”

             
Claire said nothing, but her nostrils flared.
Why that no good…whoa girl, keep your composure. You must stay in control.

             
In the sweetest voice she could manage, Claire said, “Mr. Dawson, I have looked over the terms of the loans as well as the will showing my inheritance of the store and living quarters. The loans require repayment of a certain amount on the first of every month.”

             
She reached into her pocketbook and pulled out a small cloth-covered ledger. “According to my records and the bank receipts
written
here, by your own teller, I have not missed a single payment since my arrival in this town.
And upon careful study of the lending documents I noticed that there is a “good faith” agreement that states as long as
the “
holder
” of the note pays down a certain percentage of the note at the specified interest rate on time every month the bank cannot foreclose on the property and the mortgage. I did the calculations and here is this month’s payment as well as the interest
.
”
 

             
With a flourish she placed the money in a neat stack under Dawson’s noise.     

             
He stared at the stack and reached for the bills; Claire could practically see him
salivating and
counting the money in his head.

She placed her right hand
firmly
on top of his, stopping his progress toward the cash. Her left hand went to the pistol in her dress pocket
.

             
“Hold on, there, Mr. Dawson. Before you make a move toward this money you had better be signing a receipt that shows I am current on my loan and that the store and rooms are mine and
will stay
mine.”

             
She casually sat the pistol on the desk with the barrel pointing toward him. He went pale
, and a
sheen of sweat
glistened
on his pasty forehead.

             
“You see, Mr. Dawson, I may be only a
‘girl’,
but I am neither poor nor defenseless.”   

 
             
He swallowed and stuttered “Miss Secord, I stand corrected. On further examination I, uh, I see that an error was made on the part of this bank. Yes, um, yes, I can accept the payment and you shall retain ownership of the store and its contents as well as the Weikert,er,
Secord home. I’ll just draw up a receipt for you and make a copy for
the
bank records. Please excuse me for just a moment.” He hurried out of the office,
yelling
for his teller.

             
Claire leaned back in her chair and drew a deep breath. She carefully placed the pistol back in her pocket and straightened her skirts. Moments later the rotund banker returned with two receipts and Sheriff Tom Maxwell. Claire looked up calmly at Maxwell and he gave her a slow grin.

             
“Hello
,
Miss Secord.”

             
“Hello
,
Sheriff Maxwell.”

             
The banker shot a look between the two
, h
is forehead wrinkling.

             
“I thought it best we have a witness to these proceedings,” he managed to squeak out, mopping his brow with a handkerchief as he spoke. His eyes darted to the desk. No pistol in sight. Claire was as calm and composed as a statue.

             
“That is an excellent idea, Mr. Dawson.”

             
She carefully read each receipt to make sure they were identical and then signed them. Sliding them to the banker, she glanced at
Maxwell
, who was peering at her intently. Dawson signed them in his own shaky hand and motioned to the sheriff to add his name as witness. Tom bent over the desk and Claire caught his clean scent of soap and leather. Her heart unexpectedly lurched. She had to remind herself to keep breathing and stay
focused
.

             
Paperwork completed, Claire rose from her chair and carefully tucked the documents into her handbag. She extended her hand to Mr. Dawson and he gingerly shook it.

“It’s been a pleasure, sir, a real pleasure.” She gave a little laugh and swept out of the bank into the bright sunshine.
The sheriff
hurried after her, catching up to her easily with his long strides.

             
“Now, hold on a second Miss Secord.
What was that all about?”

             
Maxwell came up behind her and took her elbow. She breathed in
more of
his scent and her knees shook, but
he didn’t seem to notice. Inwardly
,
she blamed it on the little scene in the bank. He steered her down the sidewalk toward her store and asked again, “Tell me what just happened?”

             
“Nothing, sheriff, just a poor little defenseless woman having to protect herself,
that’s all.”

             
He smirked, “Who’s protecting whom? That teller came hollering into the jail that Dawson was in trouble. I come a running and it’s just you.”

             
“Yup, just little ole’ me.” She giggled again before suddenly turning serious.

“Sheriff, that scalawag was trying to cheat me out of my store.
My
store. He tried to claim that I’d lose the whole place because Ginny and Richard missed a few loan payments. Well, I studied the papers and found
a way around his shenanigans. As long as I can make the payments on time
,
the store and rooms will
still be mine. So that’s what I
am doing. As long as nothing happens like a fire or a robbery, I should be alright.

             
Maxwell stared into her
solemn
eyes for a moment.

             
“I don’t suppose that pistol had any power of persuasion.”

             
“Why
sheriff,
a girl’s got to protect herself in the wilds of Nebraska, doesn’t she?”
Dimples appeared
as she smiled charmingly
and Maxwe
ll sucked in his
breath.
             
             
             
Shaking his shaggy black hair,
he
had to grin. He was going to have to think some more about this gal. She had a lot of spirit and, well, he liked spirit in his girls. But she wasn’t his girl, not yet anyways.
There was time, though, plenty of time.

             
             
             
             
             
*
**

             
Late the following afternoon, as Claire was closing up the store, Tom Maxwell stopped in. Clutching a small bouquet of wildflowers, he bowed low.

             
“Howdy, ma
’
am,” he greeted her, his blue eyes twinkling.

             
“Why, hello Sheriff,” Claire’s green eyes twinkled in return. “What can I do for you
,
kind sir?”

             
Maxwell grinned as she played along. “Would you accompany me to supper this fine evening?”

             
He handed her the flowers
and bent into a low bow.

             
Claire smiled and nodded.
Again her dimples made his heart skip a beat.

             
“Let me just draw the shades and lock the door. I’ll tidy up my hair and then we can go.”

             
Maxwell
followed her through the passageway into her private quarters. He took a seat in her tiny parlor and looked around as she put the flowers into a porcelain vase and headed
to the bedroom
to freshen up.

             
The room was spotless. Green ferns thrived on the side tables,
their lacy tendrils reaching for the rays pouring in through a curtained window. B
ooks were
lined
neatly on the mantle and logs were set in the fireplace, ready for a chilly evening. Intricate tapestries brightened the walls and
Maxwell
peered at one more closely, intrigued.
The workmanship is incredible,
he
mused
. Tom imagined himself spending time here playing checkers or reading while Claire worked on one of her pieces of needlepoint. With a start he realized he’d never imagined himself in a domestic scene with any other woman.
It both
startled
and amused him.
Was she beginning to
break down his defenses?
             

             
Claire entered the parlor and
interrupted
his train of thought. He glanced up and smiled
softly.
She’d put her hair in an upsweep and changed into the green dress that set off her eyes so well. Jade earbobs completed her ensemble.

             
“
You look very nice.
Shall we go?”
He stood and
put his Stetson back on.

             
Claire nodded. She led him through the back door, locked it, and took his arm. They strolled down the street to Rose’s Café
, enjoying the warm evening.

             
The restaurant was busy, but the two managed to snag a table
in the back
. Maxwell sat with his back to the wall so he could keep an eye on the clientele and the front door. Claire realized that he was looking for trouble. His demeanor was so calm that she sometimes forgot he was a lawman. He turned and lamplight glinted off of his badge.
This man is a lot more complex than I realized
.
I
really don’t know him at all.
M
axwell
glanced
at Claire and took a swallow of coffee.

             
“This is nice, really nice.”
He had decided earlier that this would be a good opportunity to get to know
Claire
better.

             
“Miss Secord, I know that Virginia and Richard were your aunt and uncle
,
but I know nothing of the rest of your family.
Tell me about your home back east. Was it difficult to leave your family?”

             
Claire paused, a forkful of potato raised to her mouth
.
“Sheriff, don’t you think it time we called each other by our first names?” She chewed slowly and waited for his answer.”

             
“Why of course, Miss Secord,
I mean
Claire
.
I’d really like it if you
called me
Tom. The only person to call me Thomas is my mother and when she says it I feel
like I’m
five and have been caught playing in a mud puddle again.
”