Song of My Heart (3 page)

“A law is only as good as the men who abide by it.”

Thad recognized the sad truth of the man’s statement. He flung his arms outward. “So why bring in an outsider? You’re the mayor. If you suspect this’s going on, why not call a town meeting an’—”

Hanaman came half out of his chair. “We can’t tell the town! Oh my, no, the worst thing would be to tell the town!”

Thad crunched his brow.

Blowing out a huge breath, Hanaman flopped back into his seat. The chair springs twanged in protest. “Please, you must understand, this is a very sensitive situation. I have printed handbills ready to send to every city of importance in the eastern states, inviting hardworking, moral people to consider making Goldtree their new home. If word of this spreads . . . why, I’ll be doomed!”

The man smoothed his hand over his heavily greased hair and angled his body toward Thad again. “I have high hopes that Goldtree might replace Clay Centre as the county seat.”

Thad raised one eyebrow. “Without it being a railroad town?”

Hanaman waved his hand, dismissing Thad’s comment. “But why would our fellow Kansans look upon Five Creeks Township with favor if illegal dealings took place in one of its communities? No, no, your true purpose here in Goldtree must be kept between you, me, and the four other men serving on our town council.”

Thad chewed the inside of his lip and considered this information. Could he knowingly take part in a deception?
God, help me out here. Give me some of that sense the lady on the mercantile porch said I needed.

Hanaman sighed, rubbing his thumb on a dark blob of ink marring the desk’s polished top. “Your uncle assured me you were an upstanding man who followed the Good Book and was willing to fight on the side of right. I thought you’d see the importance of breaking up this ring before it does real harm to the citizens of Goldtree and our surrounding communities. But if you’re—”

Before it does real harm
 . . . Hanaman’s words echoed in Thad’s head. He leaped to his feet. “I’ll do it.”

Hanaman’s jaw dropped. He staggered upright. “Yes? You’ll take the job?”

“I’ll take the job.”

The man let out an undignified whoop. Then he blustered and regained control of himself. “And you’ll uphold the vow of secrecy?”

Thad folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t feel good about letting people think I’m just a worker on your ranch. They’ll need to be told up front I’m here to maintain order. They don’t need to know the particulars—I’m fine with trying to sneak up on the lawbreakers an’ bring ’em to justice—but I’m not willing to outright lie to the citizens of Goldtree.”

Hanaman worked his lips back and forth, making his thick mustache twitch. Thad waited, letting the man make up his mind. Finally Hanaman stuck out his hand, and Thad gave it a firm shake of agreement.

“Very well, Thaddeus McKane. Or rather,
Sheriff
McKane.” A smile crept up the man’s jowled cheek. “With the town growing, and the frequent visits by cowboys moving cattle to market, it only makes sense we’d benefit from a full-time lawman. The townspeople shouldn’t question it.”

He strode from behind his desk with deliberate steps. “I’ll call a meeting of the entire town council this evening. You’re invited, too, of course. It will give us a chance to discuss all of the particulars of your new job. There’s a private room on the second floor of the bank—use the outside stairwell since the bank itself shall be locked. We’ll meet at, let’s say, eight o’clock. That should provide you sufficient time to get settled and”—his gaze flicked over Thad again—“cleaned up. Do you have any questions?”

“Just one.” Thad rocked on his worn bootheels. “Where am I to settle myself?”

“I suppose that’s a necessary detail, isn’t it, Sheriff?”

Sheriff
. The title would take some getting used to, but Thad kind of liked the sound of it. For now. Until he had the chance to swap it for Preacher. His stomach knotted.

“I’d originally envisioned you calling the bunkhouse at my ranch home for the duration of your service here, but now . . .” He pinched his chin, his eyes narrowing. Then he snapped his fingers. “I own the building next to the mercantile. A druggist rents the entire upper story for his living quarters as well as half of the main floor, which serves as his business. The other half of the main floor is currently unoccupied, so it could serve as your office. As for living accommodations—”

“If I can lay my hands on some lumber, I can portion off some of the space for a sleeping room. I’m handy with a hammer an’ nails.” Thad shrugged. “I won’t need anything fancy—just a bunk for sleeping and a dry sink for washing. I’m not much of a cook, so I’ll take my meals at the local café . . . that is, if you’ve got one.”

“Oh, we’ve got one!” Hanaman patted his ample stomach. “And it’s a fine one, too. You plan on taking your meals there and charging them to your expense account. The councilmen and I will see that Cora’s paid.” The man’s face puckered, his brows low. “But I think we might be wise to find you a little house to rent. A sleeping room in the back of the store hardly seems—”

Thad didn’t want to get too comfortable. He had plans beyond Goldtree. “Most likely, I’ll spend a goodly part of the day wandering the streets, getting to know folks, sniffing things out. So I can make do with little.” He scratched his head. “But I might have need of some sort of jail cell.”

Hanaman formed a fist and bounced it off the corner of his desk. “There’s a cellar underneath the building—nothing much, just a storm shelter in case a twister comes in our direction. But it could be used as a holding cell.”

“That’ll do,” Thad said.

“Fine! Fine! Everything is falling into place splendidly.” Hanaman dug a key out of his desk drawer and pressed it into Thad’s hand. Then he slung his arm around Thad’s shoulders and escorted him to the lobby. “The building is catty-corner across the street from the bank. As I recall, the previous tenant left a few items behind. Feel free to make use of anything you find, or toss them out in the back and I’ll have someone haul them away. There’s a pump in the yard behind the building, as well as an—
harrumph
—outhouse. Anything else you need, just go into Baxters’ Mercantile and charge it to my account.”

The man’s generosity knew no bounds. He must really want these criminals caught. Thad slapped his hat on his head. “Thank you very much, Mr. Hanaman.”

“Roscoe,” the man corrected, his booming voice jovial. “We’ll be working closely together, so we might as well be on a first-name basis.” He ambled alongside Thad as they stepped out into the afternoon sunshine. “Get settled in your new office, grab some supper at Cora’s”—he pointed to the white building with red trim down the street that Thad had guessed was a restaurant—“and be back here at eight o’clock. I’m sure the other councilmen will be proud to make your acquaintance.”

Then, without warning, his friendly expression faded to a look of worry. “Thank you again, Thad. I know I’m throwing quite a burden at your feet, but after your uncle told me”—his face shifted sideways, as if he was ashamed to meet Thad’s eyes—“about your father, I felt certain you were the man we needed to set things to right in Goldtree.”

Thad’s chest grew so tight it hurt to draw a breath. The mayor knew about his father? Did the rest of the town know, too?

As quickly as he’d sobered, Hanaman brightened again. He gave Thad’s shoulder a clap. “Go on now. Make yourself at home. And let me be the first to say, welcome to Goldtree.”

3 

T
had pushed the wheelbarrow across the street to the building he’d call home for the next few weeks. Or months, depending on how things went. False-fronted, painted white with yellow trim, the building was long and narrow. Two doors with see-through squares on the upper half faced the street. The door on the right sported an arc of gold-painted letters on its window:
Spencer Thornton, Druggist
. So Thad put his key into the lock on the left-hand door. The wood had swelled, and he had to plant his shoulder on the door to force it open, but that didn’t bother him. A few swipes with a planer would fix it.

Dust rose when Thad dropped the trunk and bag on the wide-planked floor. He sneezed twice, then squinted around the shadowy room. A pile of mouse-eaten blankets filled one corner, and a metal bed frame leaned against the far wall. He spotted a few gray shapes lurking in the far end, but he couldn’t determine what they were in the meager light. But once he opened the shutters on the north side of the building and gave the front window a good scrubbing, it’d be a heap brighter.

He wanted to explore his new room, but the mercantile lady had told him to bring the wheelbarrow right back. Asa might need it. So he locked the door behind him and wheeled the empty wooden cart next door to the mercantile. Before he could take it around back and return it to its spot by the back door, the same woman who’d spoken to him earlier dashed out on the wooden walkway and waved her bony hands over her head.

“You there! You!”

Thad came to a startled halt. “Me?”

“Yes, you! What do you think you’re doing?”

Baffled by her accusatory tone, he pointed to the wheelbarrow. “I’m putting this back.”

She planted her fists on her skinny hips and glared at him with enough ferocity to drill a hole through his head. “And just what’re you doin’ with Asa’s wheelbarrow?”

Was the woman senile? Thad yanked off his hat and scratched his head. “Well, ma’am, you told me to use it.”

“I . . . what?” She jolted upright. “So! Not only are you a thief, you’re a liar, as well.”

“But, ma’am—”

“Thief! Thief!” The woman’s shrill voice filled the street. “I’m tellin’ you, he’s a thief!”

Folks stuck their heads out of the nearby places of business and stared at Thad in disapproval. His face felt scorched. “Ma’am, don’t you remember? Just a little while ago, I—”

A second, equally shrill voice exploded from inside the mercantile. “Melva, what’s all this caterwaulin’?” Another woman—tall, thin, with snow-white hair pulled into a bun—charged out onto the boardwalk to stand beside the one accusing Thad of thievery.

Thad blinked several times—sun must be in his eyes, making him see things—but when he looked again, he still saw double. “There are
two
of you.” He finally noticed the one hollering at him wore a brown dress, while the other wore gray. But in every other way—right down to their matching scowls—they were identical.

The gray-dressed woman snorted. “Yes, there’s two of us. An’ I can tell you right now
she’s
the hysterical one.” She whirled on her sister. “I gave the young man permission to borrow Asa’s wheelbarrow, Sister. The fella was a-tryin’ to tote a trunk just usin’ his arms! Good way to hurt hisself.” Her glance zipped to the wheelbarrow. “An’ he’s brung it back, just like he promised.” She waved toward the corner. “Go on now, young man, an’ ignore Melva.” She grabbed her sister’s elbow and escorted her back inside. Their combined voices continued to rail, but at least they were yelling at each other instead of at him.

Thad scuttled between the buildings, eager to escape the curious gawks of his new neighbors. What a way to introduce himself to the town! He turned the wheelbarrow upside down on the flattened grass, exactly where he’d found it. Then, instead of returning to the street, he jogged behind the buildings and made his way back to his new home.

He paused for a moment before letting himself inside. The building’s position at the intersection of the town’s two main streets made it a perfect spot for a sheriff’s office. He’d be close to all of the businesses if someone needed him to come in a hurry—he suspected the woman named Melva might demand more than her fair share of attention—and he could easily oversee much of the town just by standing on the boardwalk. Not that he intended to spend his time standing still. He had an illegal operation to uncover and bring to an end.

But first, he should get settled and cleaned up so he didn’t miss his meeting with Mr. Hanaman and the town council members.

Inside, he unlatched the shutters on the north wall and folded them back. Lacy spider webs, dotted with dead bugs, decorated the corners of the windows. Grimacing, he grabbed up a rag from the pile in the corner and slapped at the sticky strings. The stirred dust made him sneeze so he abandoned the task until he could locate a bucket for water.

With the shutters open, weak shafts of waning sunlight slanted across the floor, revealing a bureau with a missing drawer, a scarred table and two chairs—one of which needed its legs tightened—and a crate containing a dented coffeepot, three mismatched tin cups, four spoons, two forks, and a lantern with a cracked but usable globe. Thad thanked the Lord for the provisions. He’d use everything, and gladly.

His nose continued to tickle, so he opened both the front and back doors to clear out the musty smell. The cross breeze didn’t carry any of the accumulated dust out, though—he needed a broom. The mercantile surely sold them, but he didn’t care to encounter Melva and her matching sister again. “ ’Least not ’til after I’ve put a good meal in my belly,” he muttered to the empty room. His stomach rumbled in response to his statement.

He looked toward the front door, remembering Mr. Hanaman had said he could charge his meals. His stomach growled again, pinching with hunger. Breakfast had been only cold biscuits and some dried beef far too long ago. “Yep, a hot supper’ll make me feel a heap better.” Before he entered the café, though, he should clean up. Then he’d be ready for the meeting.

Fresh shirts and trousers waited in his carpetbag, but where could he change? He could close the shutters again, but the front window had no curtains. After a moment’s thought, he took one of the discarded blankets outside and shook it good, dislodging enough dust for the Almighty to build a full-sized man. By wedging the corners of the blanket into cracks between the wide wooden slats that formed the walls, he created a triangular-shaped makeshift dressing room. Before changing, however, he visited the backyard pump and gave his face and hands a thorough wash.