Page 19 of The Marshal's Bride
It hadn’t made sense, and she had internalized a lot of the guilt around that for nearly three years now. The callous way Marjorie wished that Hope had died instead, had killed any kindness inside Justine toward Marjorie.
But Sam, he was trying to put Hope first. To give them somewhere to rest and feel safe.And that kiss?No one had ever kissed her like that either. Not even Jacob.
“Mrs. Justine Davis.” She whispered it out loud to feel how it sounded. Peace flowed over her and something settled in her chest.
The marshal and his wife wanted to own a café.
They would be the talk of the town. She wished that June was still right down the hall. They would have been giggling on the bed, just as they had when Ranger had proposed. There would be time enough for that in the morning.
She finished up her soup and chatted at Hope, as she did each day, hoping that words other than the duck noise would come. They hadn’t yet, but she made noises, which Doc Mueller said meant Hope could talk, she just wasn’t choosing to.
“Why won’t you talk to Mama, Hope? Just one or two little words. That would be so exciting!” She cleared the table and quickly washed the dishes, then she put the lid on the pot, and slid it to the back of the stove. It would keep. Now to get them both washed up.
Tomorrow was going to be a big day.
She would give Sam her answer.
Chapter Seven
Sam was still wearing the same clothes as the day before when Whitney found him at the sheriff’s office. He had just checked the temperature on the coffee to see if it was hot. It wasn’t anywhere near done, but warm coffee was better than no coffee.
“Did you sleep here?” Whitney looked around the sheriff’s office in surprise. “I thought we all agreed to take the night off before we got to work.”
Sam took a sip from the lukewarm brew and grimaced. “Don’t drink that,” he said, pointing at the pot with his mug. “It’s not finished brewing.” Moving to the small table he pulled out a chair and sat, plopping his mug on the table. The warm liquid sloshed over the side of the cup, leaving a pale puddle on the wood.
Whitney grabbed the rag from the desk and tossed it to his friend. “Clean that up. I don’t want to explain to my wife why the table is ruined.”
Sam wiped away the liquid and tossed the rag back at Whitney. “She brought furniture to a dusty jail where a bunch of grown men work and visit, and she doesn’t expect it to get ruined?” His mouth twitched in amusement. “Check back in a year and let me know how it looks.”
“At least I can say I tried.”
Sam rolled his neck, trying to remove the crick from sleeping on the jailhouse cot. “We need comfortable beds back there. That was the worst night’s sleep I think I ever had.”
“The beds aren’t for you. Why did you sleep in the jail cell, anyway?”
“Spades and Libby stopped by late last night. I was waiting for him.”
“What did they have to say?”
“Only one played last night. Libby paid particular attention to the other. As far as Spades was concerned, they were the only things out of place, as far as anyone could tell. Appears they are brothers and just traveling through town. They are staying at Miss Marcy’s and when Libby asked, one mentioned he was looking for a wife. Whoever had sent them, didn’t know that Flat River didn’t receive regular stagecoaches, or that one didn’t simply show up in a town that had few women in it to begin with. Spades was sure they weren’t even aware of who he was, nor were they skilled at cards.”
“How much did he take from them?”
“Spades said about twenty dollars. He didn’t want to take all their money in case they decided to skedaddle.”
Whitney chuckled. “Funny that he has no problem taking Tater’s money.”
“Yeah, but Tater has a job and he keeps showing up week after week. I put the money in the top drawer.”
“He gave you the money?” Whitney opened the drawer and then closed it, giving a low whistle. “I’ve never known Spades to give anything away.”
“He said to consider it reimbursement for fixing whatever chaos they planned to cause in Flat River.”
Whitney felt the coffee pot and joined Sam at the table after filling a cup. Taking a sip, he wrinkled his nose and spat the drink back in his mug. “That is horrible.”
“I tried to warn you. We didn’t have enough coffee to make a full pot and I had just put it on the stove.”
Whitney opened the window and chucked the coffee out into the alley. “I’ll stop by the mercantile when it opens.”
