Julia: Bride of New York (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 11) (4 page)

Crawling into bed in his usual naked manner, he lay on his back, his hands tucked behind his head. Miss Julia Benson. Small, pretty, feisty, and with a spine of steel. He grinned. Life at the jailhouse was about to change.

The next morning, he began his day with a smile, thinking about Miss Benson and him in the jailhouse all day. Somehow he didn’t think this would be just another day of sheriffing.

He whistled while he fixed coffee and washed and dressed. He tightened his gun belt, grabbed his hat from the chair where he’d left it, and headed out. His house was mere steps from the jailhouse. At one time it had been a cozy home. Laura had planted flowers in the front of the place, and she’d cajoled him into buying two rocking chairs from the Sears Roebuck catalog for the front porch. Luckily, whoever had built the house had set the place so the front of the house faced away from the jail. Many nights they’d sat there, watching the sun go down, speaking about the future.

He had plans at one time to save enough money to give up his sheriff job and buy a piece of land where he could breed horses. That had always been his love. Both of his brothers owned horse farms, one in Kentucky, one in Virginia. They had done well for themselves.

All of those dreams died right alongside Laura and Patrick, the name he’d give his baby son. Funny how meeting Miss Benson had resurrected all those memories. He hadn’t thought about the idea of a horse farm in a long time.

The woman in his thoughts since yesterday morning stood in front of the jailhouse. Dressed in a light-blue and white calico dress, with a short dark-blue jacket and a matching bonnet that just didn’t seem to go with a jailhouse employee, she beamed at him, clutching her reticule in her hands. “Good morning, Sheriff.”

He nodded, annoyed at the wave of joy that hit him at her presence. The woman had already turned him down twice, so there was no reason to feel such happiness. For now she was merely his employee. One he had absolutely no idea what to do with.

“Good morning, Miss Benson. You are looking quite chipper today.”

“I had a good night’s rest, and I’m anxious to start work.”

He fumbled with the keys and swung the door open, gesturing for her to enter before him.

She unbuttoned her jacket as she looked around. “This place could use some cleaning up.”

His rumbling stomach reminded him she probably hadn’t had any breakfast either since she’d thrown Johnson’s money back at him. He had to find a way to keep her fed until he could reasonably give her some pay for her work.

“I have your first assignment.”

She smiled at him and nodded.

“You need to go down to the café and get breakfast for the two of us.”

Miss Benson frowned. “That doesn’t sound like sheriff work.”

“That’s true, because you are not the sheriff and don’t do sheriff work. I am, and I do. The assistant does what the sheriff tells him—er, her—to do.”

“Well I can see getting your breakfast, but I don’t see why my assignment is getting breakfast for me.”

Lord, the woman was stubborn. After the supper she’d put away last night, he knew she had a healthy appetite. Did she really think she would be able to survive without food until her first payday? Hadn’t they gone over this already?

“It’s a benefit of the job. The town is paying for your hotel until you can get your own place, and the sheriff’s budget pays for the employees’ meals.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Now hurry on down there and tell Marvel at the café to put it on my bill.”

“Your bill? I thought the sheriff’s budget paid for it.”

He sighed. The woman had more pride than ten men. While he admired that in her, it also made trying to help her almost impossible. “The town gives me the money for the sheriff’s budget and I report to them how I spend it.”

“I would like to see the accounting. It’s probably a job I should be doing, anyway, as your assistant.” She re-buttoned her jacket, her eyes wide. “By the way. Does that mean I’m a deputy? Do I get a gun?”

He made a choking sound. “No, Miss Benson. You are not a deputy. And God help us, you don’t get a gun.” Lord save him from feisty women. He shuddered at the thought of her running around town with a badge and gun strapped to her… Never mind. It was best not to think of her body parts.

“One thing.” She stopped with her hand on the doorknob “Since we will be working together, sort of like partners, I think you should call me Julia.” She sailed out the door, leaving him wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

Julia enjoyed the walk in the pleasant morning air. Since she’d applied at just about every business lining the boardwalk with the exception of the undertaker—she shuddered—she was greeted with warm smiles and cheerful hellos. Wickerton was a friendly town. Nice people, tidy homes, thriving businesses. A place where she could be happy.

She’d never cared for Lawrence. The factory dominated the town, and she often wondered how the businesses that had catered to the employees would survive since the factory had burned down.

But Wickerton was pleasant. Coming from a small town, she preferred small-town living. If she had accepted the sheriff’s offer of marriage, this could be her town. Perhaps she was being foolish in turning him down twice, since right now her very existence depended on the man, anyway.

But she felt she deserved more than just an “Oh, I know you need a roof over your head and food for your stomach, so let’s get married.” She wasn’t silly enough to think holding out for love was wise. Women in her predicament didn’t have that luxury, hence her debacle as a mail order bride. She just wanted more than what the sheriff had offered.

Not that she didn’t think he would be a good husband. He’d certainly taken her under his wing. He was thoughtful, generous, and certainly not hard to look at. Her heart did another little pitter-patter when she thought of marriage to such a good-looking, strong man. Like most unmarried ladies, she’d heard horror stories about the marriage bed. With all the children her parents had produced, there must be more to it than just lying there like a dead fish.

She pushed open the door to the café. Everything smelled wonderful, reminding her she was, indeed, very hungry, and how stupid she’d been to try to talk the sheriff out of buying her breakfast. She just hated being in debt to someone. Hopefully, she could find a real job, not one made up just to keep her off the streets. Then maybe she could rent a room in a boarding house and take care of herself.

The restaurant was almost full, mostly men eating breakfast before going about their business. She walked up to the counter. “The sheriff sent me for breakfast.”

“Aren’t you the gal who came in yesterday looking for work?” A large man with a handlebar mustache to match his size wiped his hands on the apron he wore.

“Yep. That’s me.”

“Sorry I couldn’t help ya out, little lady, but I just don’t need anyone right now.”

“That’s all right. Right now I’m working for the sheriff. He sent me for breakfast.”

The man’s eyebrows rose to where he would have had hair at one time. “You don’t say? Are you a deputy?”

“No, I’m just there to organize and clean up. And get breakfast.” She gave him a measured look.

“Oh, yeah, sure. Coming right up. Breakfast for two, right?”

“Yes.”

He lumbered away, back to the kitchen. She looked around at the crowded dining room. One man sitting at a table in the back of the restaurant kept staring at her. She shifted a couple of times, ignoring him. Each time she glanced back, he was still watching her.

He picked up the check on his table, took one last sip of coffee, and stood. As he drew closer, she realized it was Mr. Johnson. She’d only seen him from a distance at the train station when he talked to the sheriff, and then in the darkened hallway of the hotel when he shoved money at her. Now, when she took in his overall appearance, she breathed a sigh of relief that he’d rejected her. Something about his fixed stare, the sweat beading his forehead, and his wrinkled clothing told her she would not have been happy as the man’s wife. Add to that his brutal rejection of her. If she were forced to choose between marriage to this man and starvation, she’d go hungry.

“Whatcha doin’ in here? I thought you’d go back home.”

Her lips tightened at the gall of the man to even speak to her. “No, Mr. Johnson. I am not going back home. In fact, I am gainfully employed.”

“Is that right?” He handed the check and a few coins to the cashier. “Where ya working?”

“I am working as the sheriff’s assistant. Now if you will excuse me, I have to deliver this.” She took the box of food from the large man and headed toward the door.

“Wait a minute.” Mr. Johnson followed her out of the restaurant. “If you’re working for the sheriff, why did he make me give you money?”

The man had gone beyond a nuisance. At this point she wanted to hit him over the head with the breakfasts she’d just gotten. She smiled at the thought of eggs running down his sweaty face. “I returned the money to the sheriff, Mr. Johnson. I don’t want anything from you.”

“Well, I’ll just walk along with you then, and get my money back.”

She ignored him and continued on her way.

“How’d ya get crippled? Were ya born that way?”

She whirled on him, almost losing her balance. “Mr. Johnson. This is a public street, so I cannot tell you not to walk it. However, I do not wish to speak with you, walk beside you, or have anything to do with you. Is that clear?”

He clamped his lips shut as they made their way the distance to the jailhouse. Mr. Johnson opened the door for her, and she passed through. The sheriff turned from where he’d been looking through papers in the file cabinet. “Ah, breakfast.”

His expression changed from a smile to a frown. “What brings you here, Johnson?”

“I want my money back. You made me give you money so Miss Benson could eat, but now she tells me she’s working for you.”

“I also told you I gave the money back to the sheriff.” She drew her bonnet off and removed her jacket. Mr. Johnson looked at her in a strange, very uncomfortable way, his eyes drifting up and down her body, a smirk on his face.

“You know, close up you ain’t so bad looking. Maybe I made a mistake. I can ignore that limp of yours. I think I’ll go ahead and marry you anyway.”

Julia gasped and glanced at the sheriff.

“She can’t marry you, Johnson,” he said.

“Oh, yeah. Why not? I sent for her. I paid the bridal agency and her fare here. I’m entitled to marry her.”

Julia’s hand fisted at her throat. Lord above, she couldn’t marry this man. She’d rather try her hand at serving drinks in a skimpy costume at one of the saloons.

The sheriff got toe-to-toe with the man. “She can’t marry you, Johnson,” he growled, “because she’s going to marry me.”

Chapter Four

Johnson reared back as if Fletcher struck him. “What? I paid for her. She belongs to me.”

If he hadn’t thoroughly disliked the man before, he could barely tolerate him now. “In case you didn’t know it, Johnson, you cannot ‘buy’ a human being. It’s against the law. And I’m the law here.”

The man waved his finger in Fletcher’s face. “Then I’ll sue you. You stole my bride.”

“You gave her up.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Stop!” Julia moved between the two men and, with one hand on each chest, pushed them apart. “Mr. Johnson, if I have to work my fingers to the bone for the rest of my life I will pay you whatever it was you spent from you pockets to get me here. But I will not marry you.”

She turned to Fletcher. “And I told you twice I will not marry you. I won’t be a pawn in a game nor an object of pity. I will make my own way. I have a job to do, and if you gentlemen will kindly stop this nonsense, I would like to get to work.”

Both men stared at her as if she’d grown horns. A fitting description, Fletcher thought. She was tough, all right, all fire and brimstone. And so much to admire.

Johnson pointed at Fletcher. “This isn’t finished, Sheriff.” He slammed out of the office and strode past the window.

“Why didn’t you give him the money back?”

Fletcher smiled. “I had it right here in the desk, but he got me so riled up, I forgot.”

“I will not marry that man.”

“I agree. He’s not good enough for you.”

Julia flushed and gestured toward the box on his desk. “Our breakfast is getting cold.”

They sat across from each other, the old, wooden desk between them. Julia removed flapjacks, eggs, potatoes, bacon, and warm bread. She added a small crock of butter and a pitcher of syrup. “My goodness, they gave me a lot of food.”

“I usually eat a big breakfast, and then nothing until supper. I don’t always have time to eat during the day.”

Once they were through with their meal, Julia gathered the dishes and placed them back into the box. “I’ll return these to the café.”

Fletcher nodded and pulled out a pile of papers from the desk drawer. Once Julia left, he leaned back in his chair and tapped his lips with a pencil. So she turned him down once again. Every time she told him, “No, I won’t marry you,” he became more determined to have her. What once had begun as a “what the heck” type thing had grown into him seriously thinking Julia was the woman for him.

Oh, he didn’t kid himself that things would be quiet and calm with the woman. That happened to be the attraction for him. Laura had been quiet and calm. They’d had a nice, uneventful, pleasant life.

There was something about Miss Julia Benson that fired his blood. He imagined a lot of arguments over the years with a woman as feisty as she was. And many sessions of making up afterward.

Although, if they did marry, he would need her agreement that there wouldn’t be any children. He couldn’t face that again. Of course, there were still ways to share intimacy and not conceive a child. The method wasn’t foolproof, but so far his widow friend hadn’t turned up pregnant, so it was possible.

Perhaps what Julia needed was some courting. He seemed to have a habit of just blurting out the idea of marriage to her. After one rejection from Johnson, her pride could use some wooing. Yes, that’s what he would do. Flowers, candy, dances, church picnics. That’s what he and Laura had done when they were courting.