Julia: Bride of New York (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 11) (3 page)

Unable to stamp her foot, lest she fall flat on her face, she pounded her fist on his desk, making the sheriff jump. “You had no right to interfere.”

“Well, I disagree with that, Miss Benson. It seems to me I earned the right when Johnson fled the scene and left me to explain the situation to you.”

“Fine. You’ve done your duty. Now leave me alone, and don’t go threatening anyone else in town on my behalf.” She straightened up and smoothed out her skirts. “I will see you tomorrow morning, bright and early.” She gestured with her chin at the pile of bills on the desk. “You can return that money to Mr. Johnson. I don’t want to ever look at that man again.”

Fletcher watched Miss Benson leave his office, her shoulders back, head held high, as if she were a queen, despite her limp. She really had him tied in knots. He probably shouldn’t have gone to Johnson’s store and made him give her money. It had not been one of his better ideas. But he’d been so mad when he left her at what the idiot had done, that he hadn’t used his common sense.

He swept the scattered bills from the desk into the drawer and slammed it shut. And tomorrow he was going to have to deal with the demon woman while she
worked
at the jailhouse.

A few hours later, he rubbed his eyes and placed the stack of Wanted posters aside. It was time to do his daily rounds, check in with the business owners, and make sure the kids were behaving themselves as school let out. Later in the evening, after his supper, he would stop by all the saloons in town, reminding drinkers and gamblers that he had his eye on them.

Despite the Wickerton Women’s Society efforts to close down the two brothels in town, they still remained opened and continued to do a brisk business. Although Fletcher never frequented the establishments, he stopped by most Friday and Saturday evenings when the ranchers came into town. The appearance of the sheriff kept the ruckus down, and Sally Baston and Della Frist, the owners of the two brothels, appreciated his presence.

“Afternoon, Sheriff.” Tanner Riley, owner of the Wickerton Bank, stopped him on the boardwalk as Fletcher was about to cross the street.

“Riley,” Fletcher said.

“There was a woman in the bank earlier today, looking for a job. I didn’t have anything for her, but she gave your name as a reference. Said she worked for you at the jail. I didn’t know you had a woman working for you.”

Fletcher rested his hands on his hips. “Let me see. Was her name Miss Julia Benson?”

“That’s right. Walks with a limp. Pretty little gal, though.”

“Yes. She will be working for me at the jail. She hasn’t started yet.”

“Too bad I couldn’t hire her on, but I don’t need any help right now.”

“That’s fine. Thanks for considering her, though. She does need a job.” Fletcher continued on, shaking his head. Feisty little imp, Miss Benson. She certainly didn’t let any grass grow under her feet. Johnson had been a fool for letting her go.

Fletcher pushed open the door to the tobacco store. Denny Nevins, who was older than God, stood behind the counter, squinting at him from behind his spectacles. “That you, Sheriff?”

“Yep, Denny, it’s me. How’s business?”

“Good, good. I hear ya got a woman working over there at the jailhouse.”

Fletcher groaned. It couldn’t be possible that the abandoned bride had tried to get a job here. “Yeah, Miss Benson will be doing some filing and stuff for me.”

Denny shifted a wad of tobacco from one side of his aged mouth to the other. “Don’t seem right having a gal in there, sheriff. Tiny little thing, had a limp. Said you would vouch for her.”

Fletcher bought some tobacco for his pipe and headed back out. He stopped in the millinery, the pharmacy, the new Chinese restaurant, the bakery, and the newspaper. The story was the same. Miss Benson had hit all the places, asking for work, and giving his name as a reference. If he hadn’t admired her spunk so much, he would be angry at her impudence. Perhaps it was time to run the woman down and have a talk with her.

Assuming by now she would be fair worn-out, he headed to the hotel, climbed the stairs to the second floor, and knocked on the door the desk clerk told him belonged to the “pretty little woman who asked me for a job.”

“Who’s there?” Her soft voice drifted through the door.

“Sheriff Adams.”

The door opened, and his stomach muscles clenched at the fatigue on her face. Her hair had fallen out of her bun, and there were dark circles under her eyes. “What is it?”

Before he even knew what he was going to say, he blurted out, “I came to take you to supper.”

Instead of the scorn he’d expected, she merely nodded, as if she’d been expecting him. “I would like that. Thank you very much. Just give me a minute to freshen up.”

“I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

The door closed softly, and he turned on his heel and headed to the stairs. The lobby of the hotel was quiet, with just a few men sitting in the comfortable chairs, smoking cigars, and reading the newspaper. Fletcher leaned on the desk clerk’s counter. “What’s the dining room serving for supper tonight?”

“What is it, Tuesday?” the man said.

“Yep.”

“Then it’s meatloaf.”

“Thanks.” Fletcher headed to the window and watched the gas streetlights come on. He always enjoyed this time of day. People were headed home for their supper and an evening of relaxing with their families. Something he’d had at one time.

He remembered tossing Patty Ann into the air as she ran to meet him when he returned home from work. Laura greeted him at the door with a kiss and a cooking spoon in her hand. Life was good, then. He and Laura had a pleasant marriage. No great fire or passion—as a preacher’s daughter, she had been too strictly raised for that. But he’d loved her in his own way and had planned to grow old with her.

Shaking his head to remove the somber thoughts, he turned as he heard the distinct sound of Miss Benson’s footsteps. He was caught anew at the woman’s appearance. Her large blue eyes stared out at the world with curiosity and a certain type of watchfulness. Like she was preparing for an insult to be made. His eyes rested on her full lips. Made for kissing.

Although short in stature, her full body was just the thing a man wanted to hold onto. No bag of bones a man would be afraid to break if he held her too tight. His thoughts drifted to how she would look underneath her clothes, all womanly curves and silky skin.

What the hell was wrong with him? Apparently he’d been too long without the comfort of a woman’s body. Perhaps it was time to take the short trip to Loganville and visit the Widow Charles. He hadn’t been to see her in a while.

He offered Miss Benson his arm, which she reluctantly took.

“No need to look offended, Miss Benson. I would offer my arm to any woman, not just you.”

She sighed. “I know it’s the gentlemanly thing to do. Until people really get to know me, I can’t help but second-guess their motives.”

They entered the dining room and were seated at a small table near the window. The sun had just begun its descent from the sky, a red ball of fire, saying goodnight and “till we meet again.”

Where were all these wistful thoughts coming from? Pretty soon he’d be spouting poetry like some namby-pamby fool. Better to turn his attention to the lovely woman sitting across from him.

“Has life been so hard for you, then?”

She placed the snowy white napkin in her lap. “At times.” She glanced away, chewing on that plump lip. “My limp was never an issue growing up because everyone in my family, and our small town, knew of the wagon accident that damaged my leg. But once I left home, all of a sudden it became a problem.”

Miss Benson smiled her thanks at the waitress who deposited two water glasses in front of them. He placed an order for two meatloaf dinners, and his guest continued. “I ran into the same thing when I arrived in Lawrence for the factory job.” She took a sip of her water. “Mr. Brown almost didn’t hire me, although I had traveled from my hometown in Rhode Island to work there. It had taken quite a bit of fast talking on my part to keep him from turning me away.”

There it was again. The hurt in her beautiful eyes. Which was probably why his mouth became disengaged from his brain, and he blurted out, “So marry me.” 

Chapter Three

Julia merely stared at the sheriff, not believing her ears. Had he proposed to her again? Just how pathetic had she become in his eyes? The last time she was sure it had been out of pity. Now she wasn’t quite so sure. He actually looked like he meant it.

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? Why does any man offer marriage to a lady?”

“Well, most times because they’d been courting and fallen in love and want to make a permanent arrangement.”

“And when you accepted Johnson’s offer of marriage it was because of all those things?”

She flushed, both from embarrassment as well as anger, at what that man had done to her. “Of course not. You know I came here as a mail order bride.”

“Then why would my proposal be any different?”

Conversation ceased as the waitress brought them dinner. They thanked her, remarked to each other on the lovely smell coming from their dinner plates, and then dug in. No further discussion on marriage. Which only convinced Julia that he had made the offer for the same reason as he had earlier. Because he felt sorry for her.

Not a good enough reason. At this point she had the hotel temporarily paid for by the town and a sort of job at the jailhouse. As pleasant as everyone had been to her today, there were no jobs to be had that she’d encountered. Although she still hadn’t tried the saloons. As confident as she was in her ability to perform a job and do it well, the thought of wearing a skimpy costume and being on her feet all night wasn’t something she relished. But something she would do if she had to.

They both finished off their meal with a piece of apple pie and coffee. The sheriff stirred milk and sugar into his cup. “I take it you are not going to answer my question, then?”

Julia smiled. The man looked almost sheepish, as if she knew the reason he’d asked again and was caught at it. She would relieve his mind by turning him down. Again.

“No, Sheriff. I will not marry you, but thank you for the offer. I accepted Mr. Johnson’s proposal because all the girls in the factory were doing the same thing, and my two roommates, who I love dearly, had already accepted their gentleman.”

He took the bill from the waitress’s hand and nodded his thanks.

“I’ll reimburse you once I get paid from my job at the jail.”

“About that…”

Julia drew herself up. She was not going to let him weasel out of the job. Right now it was the only one in town and she intended to earn her keep. Unsure whether the town was actually paying her way or if it was coming out of the sheriff’s pocket, she needed to stand on her own two feet. Even if they weren’t as sturdy as some.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yesssss?”

“It’s just not proper for a lady to be working at the jailhouse. I’m concerned about what the town council will say about it.”

“Nonsense. A job is a job. I can clean, sweep, organize, fetch the prisoners’ meals, and even clean their slop buckets.”

“No!” He turned a bit green under his sun-kissed skin. “I will not have you do that job.”

She gave him a slight smile “Well, I honestly can’t say I would fight you on that one.”

The sheriff stood and pulled out her chair. “All right, Miss Benson. If you insist on working at the jail, then I best get you back to your room so you can get a good night’s sleep.”

Once they reached her door, he leaned on the doorframe with his forearm, towering over her. Goodness, she hadn’t realized how very large and assuming the man was. Were she a criminal on the run, she would certainly stay as far away from Sheriff Adams as she could.

As she looked up into his piercing gaze, she got the uncomfortable feeling he was about to kiss her. What in heaven’s name was that all about? No man had ever been this close to her, and certainly no man had ever looked at her the way the sheriff was looking at her now.

No sooner had the thoughts raced through her brain, giving her heart a solid jolt, then he backed up, tugged on the brim of his hat, and said, “Good night, Miss Benson.” As if a pack of hounds were on his tail, he strode down the corridor, the vibration of his footsteps echoing in the hallway. Once he reached the top of the stairs, he turned. “Get in your room and lock the door.”

Brought up short by his comment, she whipped around and entered her room. As she closed the door, an overwhelming sense of fatigue washed over her. She barely got her clothes off and into her blue flannel nightgown before she crawled under the covers and fell sound asleep.

Fletcher stopped in at the saloons and made sure all was peaceful before he headed to his small house behind the jail. The cottage had come with the job, and he’d had some happy times there. It was where he’d brought his young bride, where Patty Ann had been born, and where he and Laura had made a good life for themselves and their daughter. Before tragedy struck and he lost his son and wife in one fell swoop. Never again.

If he were to take another wife, it would be with the understanding that there would be no children. He couldn’t put himself through that again. The agony of watching his wife’s body twisted in pain, her eyes glazed over with suffering. Then the stillness in the air when the midwife gazed at him with pity as she held his dead son. She handed the small body to him and then leaned over to close his wife’s eyes for the last time

He shuddered at the memories. No, if he married again, there would be no children.

Fletcher tossed his hat on a chair and began to remove his clothes, thinking again about the woman he’d just left at the hotel. A grin came unbidden as he remembered the spit and fire in her when he did something to rankle her. And he seemed to do that quite a bit. It surprised him to realize he’d only known her since that morning when she’d disembarked from the train, looking for Johnson.

He scowled, once again thinking about how the man behaved toward Miss Benson. She’d mentioned a wagon accident, which was how she’d gotten the limp. He remembered watching her walk away from him, and the limp certainly accented the sway of her lovely hips.