The Sheriffs of Savage Wells Page 6

Mrs. Wilhite suddenly rushed down the street from the millinery, waving her arms frantically. “Paisley!” she called out. “The millinery’s been robbed.”

  Though Mrs. Wilhite knew as well as Paisley did that Mrs. Carol’s “emergencies” were never real, she humored her sweet friend and called for the sheriff as the need arose.

  Paisley smiled to herself. It had been a few weeks since she’d had to visit the hat shop. And a robbery this time. Those were always vastly enjoyable. She held Mrs. Wilhite’s gaze a moment, silently making certain the crisis wasn’t a real one. Mrs. Wilhite gave the tiniest shake of her head. An imaginary emergency, then.

  “Tell Mrs. Carol that I’ll be right there, Mrs. Wilhite,” Paisley said.

  Mrs. Wilhite nodded and headed back to the milliner’s shop.

  Paisley stepped off the walk and into the road.

  Cade was quick on the uptake. He reached her side after only two strides. “What’s been taken?”

  “My day as sheriff,” she reminded him.

  “Burglaries ought to be handled by—”

  “My day,” she repeated.

  He stopped his protest and held up his hands in a show of surrender. Nothing in his demeanor spoke of defeat, simply annoyed acceptance. He had proposed this arrangement, and she meant to hold him to it.

  “Mind if I tag along?” he asked.

  “And do what, exactly?” So help her, if he meant to interfere…

  “Observe. I’ve not met the milliner yet. Seems a good opportunity to do so.”

  That was fair enough. She nodded her acceptance, then walked once more in the direction of the millinery shop.

  “And I’ll be handy should you need m’ help,” he added.

  The blasted man could use a firm knock upside the head. “I won’t need it.”

  She hazarded a brief glance in his direction. He was barely holding back a grin. So he’d been teasing, had he? Did that mean he knew she wouldn’t need help and was simply ribbing her? Or was he laughing at her confidence?

  Perhaps observing her at work would do him good. She wasn’t the helpless female he clearly thought she was.

  She pushed open the door to the milliner shop, setting off the bell overhead. She could have predicted with perfect clarity the scene she stepped into. This ordeal had been enacted many times. The shop looked as tidy as ever, with colorful hats and accoutrements arranged masterfully throughout the room. Mrs. Wilhite stood beside Mrs. Carol, the milliner, with the expected look of empathy, holding her friend’s hand and whispering the usual words of reassurance.

  Mrs. Carol, true to form, held a handkerchief to her heart with a look of almost angelic suffering on her face.

  Paisley assumed a posture of clear concern and worry, though she felt neither. She wasn’t coldhearted, she’d simply been through enough of these “robberies” to know the entire thing was little more than Mrs. Carol’s terribly unreliable memory wreaking havoc on her overblown imagination.

  “I understand you’ve been burglarized,” Paisley said.

  “I have indeed.” Mrs. Carol emphasized the declaration with a nod of her head. “I—” Her gaze narrowed on Paisley. “Are you wearing the sheriff’s badge?”

  Paisley gave a firm and decisive nod.

  “Then the rumors are true.” She turned to Mrs. Wilhite. “I wasn’t sure I believed it—our Paisley trying for sheriff.” Mrs. Carol’s tone was not one of approval, but neither was it entirely horrified.

  “She always did go her own way,” Mrs. Wilhite said. “Although a woman sheriff is more odd than she—”

  “What is missing, Mrs. Carol?” Paisley would rather not hear about how strange her ambitions were. The town hadn’t minded her “assisting” the last sheriff, but taking over the job entirely was more than most were ready to accept.

  “Ah, yes. The burglary.” Mrs. Carol focused once more. “I haven’t a single stem of cherries anywhere in the store. Someone has come in during the dark of the night and made off with them.”

  “Oh, dear.” Paisley had long since perfected the worried tone to use during these conversations. She pulled out her small notebook. “How many ought there to be?”

  “Oh, at least two dozen.” Mrs. Carol pointed to the palm-sized pad of paper. “And write down that paper cherries are all the rage this year.”

  Paisley complied. Her notebook was full of Mrs. Carol’s misplaced items along with the reasons why each thing was particularly fashionable. There were also several sheets dedicated to Annabelle the Chicken’s adventures, as well as customers who didn’t care for the food at the restaurant, and changes in Mr. Gilbert’s grocery list. This was her “people need someone to complain to” notebook. She had begun keeping it after the chicken trial.

  “And is anything else missing besides the cherries?”

  “No.” Mrs. Carol shook her head, her eyes wide in amazement. “Clearly these criminals have excellent taste.” She looked at her dear friend, the alarm in her expression growing. “You had best keep a weather eye out, Thelma. They’ll be after your lavender ribbon next.”

  “Isn’t the lavender heavenly?” Mrs. Wilhite sighed a bit. “Just the right stiffness to be shapeable without being cumbersome.”

  “Oh, simply divine,” Mrs. Carol answered. “I fell in love with it the very first moment I saw it. And such a daring shade, as well. Not overly dark, but not so bright it’s gaudy.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. Mrs. Holmes ordered it special from a catalog. Wasn’t that lovely of her?”

  “Simply lovely.” Mrs. Carol smiled. “And soon enough you’ll have your silver.”

  “I told her if she sees any other promising colors to be certain to let me know.” Mrs. Wilhite was never quite as animated as when she spoke of ribbon. “I could use a new deep red. The one I have now has grown so tiresome.”

  From behind Paisley, Cade whispered. “Do you mean to start looking for clues?”

  Paisley shook her head. “That won’t be necessary.”

  She could feel his incredulous stare though she didn’t glance back at him. Mrs. Carol and Mrs. Wilhite had moved on to a discussion of the many uses of blue ribbon. Paisley casually crossed the room and sat on an empty chair. Cade followed, watching her as though she’d lost her mind.

  “You ain’t gonna solve this crime?” Did Cade always tip his head to the side when scolding someone? She’d likely have ample opportunity to find out.

  “On the contrary,” she said. “I’ve solved it already.”

  And it seemed a lift of one golden eyebrow while tipping his head to the side was his personal expression of utter disbelief. He sat in the chair next to hers, watching her through narrowed eyes.

  Good heavens, he has beautiful blue eyes.

  “You’ve solved it?” he asked.

  She gave a single nod.

  Cade lowered his voice to a whisper. “Who’s our thief, then?”

  Paisley matched his volume. “Mrs. Carol.”

  And they were back to the uplifted eyebrow and tipped head. “Stole her own supplies?”

  “No. She misplaced her own supplies. She does it all the time.” Paisley leaned back in the chair, enjoying a moment’s relaxation. “After she closes up shop for the day, I’ll come back and look through her storage room until I find her cherries, then I’ll return them to her in the morning.”

  He sat in silence, his expression confused. “Does Mrs. Wilhite know the truth?”

  Paisley nodded. “But she chooses not to embarrass her friend.”

  “You do this often?”

  She nodded again.

  He slumped back in his chair, his posture nearly identical to her own. “It seems a great deal of wasted time.”

  “Not a bit of it. This is how it’s done here.”

  “Your last sheriff did this?” He motioned toward Mrs. Wilhite and
Mrs. Carol who were thumbing through spools of ribbon.

  “No. I did this because he couldn’t be bothered.”

  “Hmm.” It was the same wordless grunt he’d made before declaring Mrs. Wilhite’s ribbons would have to move. Apparently he meant to ignore Mrs. Carol’s “emergencies” should he become sheriff.

  “What are we to do, Paisley?” Mrs. Carol asked.

  Toss Cade out before he turns this entire place topsy-turvy. Paisley stood, trading her concerned expression for one of confidence. “I believe this may very well be the same evildoers who struck last time.”

  Mrs. Carol nodded firmly. “I thought it might be. They made off with all of my blue feathers before, which are also quite fashionable.”

  “Yes, I remember writing that down.”

  “Suppose they steal something else?” Mrs. Carol was always a bit frantic at this part of the conversation.

  Paisley moved to Mrs. Carol’s side. “I will stand guard tonight, as usual.”

  That suggestion always struck Mrs. Carol as a surprise, though it was Paisley’s approach every time.

  “I do believe your robbers will see the error of their ways once more.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  Paisley patted the milliner’s hand. “If the situation grows more dire, I’ll employ more aggressive tactics.” Meaning, of course, she’d search through more drawers and boxes in the storage room.

  Mrs. Carol was clearly relieved. Paisley tossed Cade a triumphant look.

  He stood, even as he looked around the shop. “How long’ve you had a shop here, Mrs. Carol?” he asked.

  “Since just after my husband died. He left me money enough and instructions to do something with it that I’d always wanted to do.” She pressed her open palm to her heart. “Wasn’t that sweet of him?”

  He smiled—a genuine, real smile—and for a moment, Paisley could hardly breathe. She’d noticed his handsomeness from the first moment she’d seen him standing outside the jail, but that smile was enough to send her pulse into a sprint.

  “He sounds like he was a fine man,” Cade said. “I wish I could’ve known him.”

  “He was. You seem a good sort, yourself, though a little intimidating.”

  Cade nodded and said, “A crucial part of being a sheriff. Being a bit frightening can win a lot of battles before they’re even fought.”

  Mrs. Wilhite tipped her head to the side, watching them both. “But Paisley isn’t frightening.”

  “I’ll do just fine,” Paisley insisted.

  “A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” He emphasized the word with a quick nod of his head. “Paisley seems to have this current trouble firmly in hand. If you’re needing anything else, let me know.”

  “I will, thank you.” Mrs. Carol smiled sweetly. “And it’s very nice to meet you, Sheriff O’Brien.”

  She is already calling him “Sheriff.” Am I even going to be given a chance?

  He slipped his hat on his head then pulled the door open. “Whenever you’re ready, Paisley.”

  So much for not taking over when it’s my day. She glared at him as she strode through the doorway. Mrs. Wilhite remained in the shop with her friend. Paisley fumed as she headed down the street to the jailhouse. Cade walked silently at her side.

  One step inside the jail and she spun about, facing him. “My day, Cade O’Brien. You set down the rules for this treaty we’re living under and then broke them the very first day.”

  “Rein in your temper.” His hat was on the coatrack again. “I’ve done nothing of the sort.”

  “Oh, haven’t you?” She overdid her look of contemplation. “I do believe your exact words were, ‘If you’re needing anything else, let me know.’ My day, Cade.” She pointed an angry finger at him. “It’s my day today.”

  “Don’t get your petticoats in a knot.” He slipped his hand around hers, gently folding her pointed finger back down. “I didn’t undermine you on purpose. It was habit, that’s all.”

  She didn’t believe it for a moment. “Well, you had better rid yourself of that habit, Cade O’Brien. You have a week and a half left, then you’ll be on your way.”

  Far from threatened, he watched her with curiosity. “Would you miss me?”

  “Not for a moment.”

  He shook his head slowly and tugged her toward him. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Why not?” She hated how his nearness rendered even her most forceful words a bit breathless.

  “For one thing, your eyes sparkle when we banter.” His eyes traveled over her face, likely seeing the blush she felt creeping over her cheeks. “And for another”—he slid up beside her, his cheek actually touching hers, and whispered in her ear—“you’re still holdin’ my hand.”

  She yanked her hand free of his, though he didn’t put up any sort of a fight. “I hate you,” she muttered.

  “I know.” He swaggered toward the back room. “Have a good day of sheriffing. Day after tomorrow I’ll show you how it’s really done.”

  She clenched her fists as he disappeared through the doorway. That no-good, arrogant polecat. He was playing dirtier than she’d expected. Talking himself up to the locals. Speaking to her in a way that set her pulse strumming and clouded her thinking. If only he’d taken the same approach as Rice and Thackery and hadn’t shown up today at all.

  She paced the room. Somehow Cade had discovered her greatest vulnerability. She was lonely. Showing her some personal attention, even feigned, even fleeting, played right to that weakness.

  So what is Cade’s weakness?

  “He’s arrogant, for starters,” she muttered under her breath. The man clearly thought he had his victory already in hand despite having three competitors. Overconfidence was certainly a weakness.

  Perhaps that was her answer. She would let him continue to think his little tricks were working, allowing him to focus his efforts on upending her rather than proving himself. He had no idea how good she really could be at this job. While he was strutting about, she’d be proving her worth.

  The more she thought on it, the more sure she was. Cade could keep up his smug efforts; she was aware of his game now. And she would beat him at it.

  “Paisley’s currently breaking into the hat shop,” Cade said between bites of his dinner.

  Gideon grinned as he spooned up a bite of potatoes and gravy. The two of them had become regulars at the restaurant. “She does have a lock-picking kit and is quite adept at using it.”

  That didn’t surprise Cade in the least. “She’s an odd sort of woman, and she’d make an odd sort of sheriff.”

  “Most sheriffs you know don’t pick locks?”

  He shook his head. “Or smell nice.” And Paisley did. A tangy, flowery scent. He could still recall it from earlier that afternoon when he’d whispered in her ear. “And she doesn’t dress the part.”

  “You expect her to wear trousers and a leather vest?”

  “It’s not the dress.” Cade took a drink of water. “It’s all the lace and ribbons. It don’t fit the sheriffin’ mold.”

  Gideon laughed. “I’d say, in terms of a female sheriff, Paisley’s creating the mold, not trying to fit into it.”

  The man had a point. “Still, she’s a puzzle.” He took a bite of his steak, the best dish the restaurant served. “Why’s she so stubborn about this job? Does she need the pay?”

  “That’s a complicated question to answer,” Gideon said. “She did a lot of work for Sheriff Garrison, but wasn’t paid. So while I think the money would be helpful, it’s unlikely she’s pursuing the post strictly for the sake of the income.”

  Which explained why she wasn’t setting her sights on a more traditional job. There was more to it than money.

  “If she worked for your last sheriff so much, why’s everyone so astounded to see her vying for the job now?” />
  Gideon thought on it a while. “Partly because no one has ever heard of a woman sheriff before, and new things are always a little unnerving. And partly because most of the things she did for our last sheriff went unseen. He took credit for everything he thought would reflect well on him.”

  That wasn’t surprising. Women were often given the short end of the stick. “But you seem to know. Are you intending to preach to the council on her behalf?”

  “I already did,” Gideon said. “We met last night, not to make a decision, but the topic did come up unofficially.”

  “She’s fortunate to have you as a friend.” Cade wondered if there was more to Paisley and Gideon’s connection than mere friendship. That might tip at least Gideon’s vote in her favor.

  They paid for their meals and headed toward Gideon’s house.

  “Sure is quiet in this town.” Cade filled his lungs with air free of the smell of saloons and gunpowder. “That’s a rare enough thing this side of the Mississippi.”

  “It’s rare on the other side as well, you know.” They stepped up onto Gideon’s porch. “I grew up in the nation’s capital, and it’s never quiet in that city.”

  “Boston was like that as well.”

  “Do you miss it?” Gideon asked.

  “My sister’s still there, and I miss her. But I’d not trade the openness of the West for those cramped quarters again.” Just the thought of being trapped between buildings so tall a body could hardly see the sky made him feel closed in and panicky. No, he didn’t miss that at all.

  “Last time I visited Washington, I felt as though everyone in the entire city was stepping on my toes.” Gideon dropped onto his porch swing. “My family couldn’t understand why I was so anxious to leave again.”

  “Not everyone’s suited to life out here,” Cade said, leaning against the porch post. He most certainly was. It suited him perfectly.

  Paisley emerged from the back of the millinery shop, a small box in her arms. The paper cherries, he’d reckon. She stopped in front of Gideon’s porch.

  “Good evening, boys. How’s everything?”

  “Just dandy.” Gideon motioned for her to join him on the swing. “And how are you?”