Page 16 of Brian and Cora
Constance turned to the men. “That’s Samantha Thompson. Her stepdaughter, Christine, is showing her patriotic spirit. Samantha’s the one who originally transported the Falabellas from Argentina.”
Elsie vigorously waved back at Christine, almost overbalancing herself.
Before she tipped over the rail, Hank caught hold of her waist and, with an indulgent grin, righted her.
She giggled and twisted to face him. “Goodness, I almost was eating dust. But aren’t those tiny horses so adorable! The sweetest things I’ve ever seen. And that darling buggy.”
Hank didn’t answer, merely gazing down at Elsie as if she was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen.
Once again, Brian felt a stab of envy, which he quickly suppressed. The last thing he needed was a woman expecting him to woo her. To get his mind off women and courting, he looked to the starting line. “They’re getting ready to go.” Anticipation built in him.
They were too far away to see the starter but could hear the shot ring out and see the horses charge. The crowd roared.
The showy bay bolted toward one side, sending people jumping back. His rider quickly jerked him back into place to race after the others.
There goes my winner. A loser from the start.
Elsie squealed. She jumped up and down, screaming, “Go, Goldie, go!”
Constance, more restrained, clapped, before giving in to the excitement and yelling, “Go, Black!”
In a mass, the horses thundered by, as they passed kicking up a dust storm that drifted their way.
With gasps, the women turned their backs, and the men ducked their heads so their hats would shield their faces. By the time the dust settled, the race was over, and they didn’t see who placed first. But the shouts of “Nick!” and “Sanders!” audibly announced the results.
“You won! You won!” Delighted, Elsie threw herself at Hank for an exuberant hug and kiss on the cheek.
His friend beamed as broadly as if he’d won the race himself and now was one hundred dollars richer.
With the excitement over, Brian leaned toward the end of the hitching rail and untied the rope, letting the line drop to the ground so they could step over it and into the street.
Dr. Angus and Constance hastened off in different directions.
The crowd filtered into the road.
Some acquaintances came up to talk to Elsie and Hank, casting curious glances at Brian. Although Hank properly introduced him, Brian didn’t bother to retain their names. He’d probably never see them again. And, after today, he didn’t plan to come to town until spring. No more people. Only writing. With a pang, he repeated, only writing.
After a while, Brian realized Hank had become a known quantity in the town. Another sign of his friend growing apart from their little circle.
Elsie flapped a hand at them. “Go have fun.” The couple moved off down the street.
With a grim expression, Sheriff Granger hurriedly threaded through the crowd. She passed a few feet away from them, not making eye contact with anyone.
A woman on a mission.
Goosebumps prickled across the back of Brian’s neck, and he touched the butt of his gun. But scanning the area, he couldn’t see anything sign of disturbance. Everyone looked happy…well,except for some bet-losers—obvious from the jostling and joking of their companions.
But still, Brian couldn’t help the sense that something was terribly wrong.
Brian pridedhimself on his well-honed instincts, a lesson hard learned by not paying attention to them and suffering the consequences—starting with his former fiancée. Yet, today, several hours after the robbery, he sat on the end of a church pew with Hank, Elsie, Constance, and Dr. Angus next to him, a sick feeling in his gut. He would have given anything for his earlier concerns to have been wrong.
After learning of the bank robbery and murder of the deputy, Hank had protectively ushered the upset ladies back to the Gordon building, staying with them and the puppy, while Brian remained behind, lingering near the bank. He longed to be one of the deputies leaping into action at the sheriff’s command, but, as a bystander, he could only observe, helpless to do anything to better the tragic situation.
Several hours later, worried townsfolk and some people from the outskirts of Sweetwater Springs packed the church, as subdued as if they attended a funeral service. Brian noted their palpable fear—strained expressions, some women sniffing and holding their handkerchiefs to their noses and mouths—and here and there, men showed their anger in clenched jaws, red faces, and narrowed eyes.
Sheriff Granger stood in the front of the church, her expression stern. Calm competence radiated from her. In stark contrast, the altar behind her was brightly decorated for the Harvest Festival, with several pumpkins of varying sizes, apile of apples, and multiple vases of mums, goldenrod, and marigolds.
Sheriff Granger took them through what had occurred, adding details to the tragic robbery—a good man, one of the deputies, murdered, the bank clerk injured, and the money from the Harvest Festival stolen by a gang of outlaws. When she told them the thieves hadn’t left by train, which meant they were still around, a murmur of fear swept through the church.
