Page 11 of The Marshal's Bride
He had written the same sentence three times and crossed it out, the graphite smearing across the paper. Scribbling once more, he groaned. Instead of a note about the judge coming to town and the date, he wroteJustine coming to town.
Dropping the string wrapped stick, he looked at the side of his hand, which was coated in silver from rubbing against the words, and pushed back against the desk. Standing, he reached down and tore the paper from the notebook and folded it up. He didn’t want anyone to find it, certainly not Whit. The sheriff teased him enough about the pretty widow. If he found out that Sam was subconsciously writing her name out, Whit wouldn’t let him hear the end of it.
Sam had been thinking about Weston’s words for most of the day. They made sense, but instead of comfort, all Sam felt was a knot getting tighter and tighter in his gut. He did not like the idea of someone else stepping up to help Justine, or tucking Hope in at night.
He prided himself on not being a violent man, but things changed where Justine and her daughter were concerned. The idea of one of the cowboys who was passing through, or one that spent time at Miss Marcy’s getting their dirty hands on the McGuthrys made him want to punch something.
“Hey Sam?” Whitney Hartman’s voice cut into his thoughts.
Sam blinked slowly, noting his friend was now standing on the other side of his desk. With a shake of his head, he shoved the folded-up paper in his pocket, and wiped his graphite covered hands on a rag before sitting back down.
“What’s up, Whit?”
“You looked like someone was going to get a whooping; and not that I’m not all for you doing what you need to, I’m not aware of any trouble in town. My town, that is.”
“I don’t think you’d understand this one. But there’s no trouble in town.”
Whitney settled into the chair across from him with a grin on his face. “That means it’s girl trouble then. Did something happen with Justine?”
“I talked with Weston this morning. He seems to think Marmee is getting ready to match her to someone in town. Says the only way to get ahead of that is to throw my hat into the ring.” He blew out a deep breath and shook his head. Leaning back in the chair, he looked up at the ceiling. “It shouldn’t be this hard.”
“What shouldn’t be this hard? Are you worried she’ll turn you down? That she’s already picked someone else? Asking a woman to marry you is the hardest thing you’ll ever do, other than burying her I suppose.”
Whitney wasn’t laughing at him, and Sam appreciated that. There was just one other thing. Sam had already lived through it once and he didn’t want to do it again. “What about watching her marry someone else and still having to live in the same town?”
Whitney shrugged his shoulders. “Well, Simon Pickett has managed to deal with it for the last four years. Granted, he’s not the marshal, but still lives here and hasn’t died of the shame. Yet.” Whitney let loose a little laugh.
“I don’t think I’ve met the Picketts yet.” Sam’s brow furrowed as he considered the name. It didn’t sound familiar.
“They live about ten miles out; five boys and an elderly aunt. You’ll see the youngest lurking around Doc’s. He’s decided he wants to be a doctor when he’s grown. Good kid, too.”
“The runner? Dark hair, gangly arms, and legs?”
“Yeah. That’s Nate.”
“So, who’d his brother try and marry?” Sam was intrigued, and he preferred to know everyone in town. He hadn’t made it to many of the ranches, but there wasn’t really a call for that either. The Chapmans made sure he met different landowners at each event they held, and he’d met quite a few more at Sunday Services too.
“Alice Chapman.”
Sam couldn’t help it. He snorted. “I bet her father loved that.”
“Honestly, Weston probably would have preferred him to be her choice. Lord knows her brothers would have, but she’s as headstrong as her mama. When Simon turned eighteen, got a little liquid courage in his belly, and pleaded his case. Alice turned him down flat. Far as I know, he doesn’t leave his ranch anymore unless Miss Cleo demands it. But he’s not hurting anybody. One day he’ll find a girl who’s meant for him.”
“And that just goes to show you that you can’t believe gossip because it was Annamae not Alice and Whitney you should know better since it was your sister.” Marmee’s voice cut through the air, startling both men in the office. She entered the room as if she owned the building and started tugging her gloved fingers. “Simon is a good boy, but he’s bookish and soft. Though he might have loved Annamae, it would have been an uneven match.”
“Mrs. Chapman-” Sam stood up, but the wave of her glove cut off his words.
She started tugging her other hand. “I know that you spoke with Weston this morning. I’d like to speak with you. We can do that with Whitney present, or perhaps he would like to go check out the new foal at the livery.”
“That’s my cue.” Whitney rose from his chair, “It’s good to see you, Marmee. Nothing I said was untrue.”
“I only heard part of the conversation. I didn’t realize that everyone knew about poor Simon. Though I suppose I should have assumed you would know. Now scoot.” Pulling the chair away from the little table, she settled herself, smoothing out her skirts in a way that allowed her to look directly at Sam, while still watching the comings and goings on the street.
“What can I do for you, Mrs. Chapman?” Sam didn’t move from behind his desk, simply clasped his hands together and leaned forward.
“You’ve been in town for how long now?”
“I think you know the answer to that question.”
