A Daughter's Quest (17 page)

He helped her up into Blaze’s saddle before he mounted Blackie. “We’ve agreed to go straight to the sheriff’s office. Ja?”

Constance nodded before she looked at him. In the shaded glen, her eyes looked a smoky brown. The green flecks were hardly discernable. For the first time, he really noticed how long her brown lashes were. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen any woman with such lashes. Of course, he didn’t pay that close of attention to other women’s individual features. He cleared his throat and clicked his tongue to start the horse.

Because they rode the horses at a fast clip, they didn’t talk on the ride back to town. When they could see Browning City up ahead, Hans eased back on the reins. Constance followed his lead, and they rode into town at an easy walk. Hans hoped Andrew would be in his office and not out somewhere taking care of trouble. He wanted to get this talk over with before Constance changed her mind.

They had almost reached the building that housed the sheriff’s office when Andrew came out, placing his hat on his head as he closed the door behind him.

“Wait up, Andrew.”

The man peered at them and quirked an eyebrow as they stopped their horses and Hans dismounted. Before he could get Blackie tied to the hitching post, Constance slid to the ground, too.

“What can I do for you?” Andrew stood with his arms crossed, but his star was still visible on his chest.

Hans held Constance’s arm as they went up the steps to the boardwalk. “Do you have time for us to talk?”

The sheriff looked from one to the other, then opened the door and held it for them to enter in front of him. “Miss Miller, please have a seat. I’ll see if I can rustle up another chair for you, Hans.”

“That’s all right. I can stand.” He moved over and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

Andrew took off his hat, placed it on a hook on the wall, then dropped into the chair behind his desk. “What’s this all about?”

Constance glanced back at Hans.

“She has a story to tell you. Then we want your opinion.”

Constance turned around and clutched her hands in her lap. She told the story in a fast monotone. Hans knew it was hard for her because she didn’t know Andrew very well. He wanted to make it easier on her but understood after what she had told him that she needed to do it herself.

While Constance told the story, she kept her gaze trained on the boards at her feet. She didn’t think she could continue if she tried to look at the sheriff. When she finished, she raised her head and ventured a glance. The man just looked thoughtful, not censuring.

After a moment, he stared her straight in the eyes. “That’s an interesting story. I’ve heard rumors about a gold shipment being stolen, but I never heard from anyone who knew for sure that it really happened. A lot of rumors fly around every time someone new comes to town with a tale. I do think that if it happened, the government would have moved earth and heaven to find the gold. Maybe it was stolen, and they did find it. No one knows for sure. If a gold shipment was stolen, and if it never was found, I don’t think Jim Mitchell had anything to do with it.”

He leaned back in his chair and engulfed his chin with one hand. Constance could hear Hans shuffling behind her. What should they do now?

The sheriff cleared his throat. “The Mitchell family was real close. Those boys loved their parents. If Jim had any gold, I think he would have used some of the money to pay the back taxes on his folks’ farm. Mr. Mitchell had been feeling poorly for a few years, and he wasn’t able to work his crops enough to keep up. Jim wouldn’t have let his father go through all the worry if he’d had a way to prevent it.”

Constance gave him a tentative smile. “Thank you for your time.”

Andrew stood up and leaned on the desk. “You know, those boys lit out of here right after their parents were buried. I haven’t heard from them for quite a while.”

She arose from her chair. “A man at the post office told me he heard that both the brothers were killed in a gunfight at Camden Junction. I’d really like to go there and check out their graves before I give up. I did make my father a promise.”

“Now, young lady, I understand, but it wouldn’t be a very good idea for you to go there alone, and I won’t have time to take you for another week, probably.” He took his hat back down off the hook. “I’m on my way out to a farm where there’s been some trouble. I have to make sure everything’s all right, and I don’t know how long it’ll take.”

Hans stepped forward. “If Miss Miller wants to go before you can take her, I’ll accompany her.”

When they left the sheriff’s office, Hans escorted Constance back to the livery, where they left the horses.

“I need to go to the mercantile.” Constance turned to leave the stable.

“I’ll walk along with you.”

Constance would be glad to have him with her, but she didn’t want to take him from something else he needed to do. Hadn’t she bothered him enough already? “Don’t you need to get back to work?”

“There’s nothing that can’t wait.”

Just as they stepped up on the boardwalk in front of the store, Mary Reeves exited the establishment. “Hans, Constance, how good to see you. I wanted to ask you to come over for dinner if you can.”

Hans rented a buggy and went to pick up Constance to take her to the parsonage. Mrs. Barker welcomed him into the parlor of the boardinghouse, then went to tell Constance that he had arrived. He hadn’t spent much time in the room, so he ambled around, looking at all the things scattered over various pieces of furniture. His quarters behind the smithy were adequate, but all these doodads did make this room more homey. Maybe he needed a woman’s touch. He didn’t know any man who would think to put those frilly things on the tables or buy tiny statues to place on top.

He wondered what kind of things Constance would add to a room to make it her own. Would she sew filmy curtains like the ones that framed the front windows? He had cut the backs out of a couple of old shirts with torn sleeves and tacked them over the windows so no one could see in at night.

Footsteps approaching the doorway drew him from his thoughts. He turned to see Constance waiting for him. A smile lit her face, bringing a grin to his. She looked a lot different than she had earlier in the day when her clothes were covered with dust and her hands were grimy. A vision of feminine grace and…loveliness in a fluffy dress the color of spring grass. It brought out those green highlights in her eyes. He walked toward her, wanting to take her in his arms and hold her near his heart.

Hans wondered what she would do if he did. Probably scare her spitless. She had let him help her when she needed it, but he was sure that the thought of being more than friends had never entered her mind.

“I brought a buggy so we won’t have to walk.” He wished he could think of something more intelligent to say to her.

“Thank you, Hans.” The musical lilt of her voice caused a flutter deep inside him.

He held out his arm, and she slipped her hand in the crook. When she did, he caught a whiff of the fragrance of spring flowers that wafted from her. This could be a rather long evening while he tried to rein in his emotions.

Constance stopped to gather her skirts in her hands so she could step up into the buggy, but Hans caught her from behind with his strong hands on her waist and lifted her as if she were light as a feather. She knew that wasn’t true, but the man did make her feel tiny.

While he went around in front of the horses, she arranged her skirts so every edge was inside the buggy. It wouldn’t do to have a stray breeze lift them and reveal her ankles or something even higher on her limbs.

The other side of the buggy shifted when he applied his weight. She liked the way the vehicle rocked in rhythm. She could get used to having that in her life.

“It’s a lovely evening for a drive, Hans.” She kept her gaze trained on the passing scenery.

“Yes, it is.” He spoke softly, but it sounded very close.

Constance turned to find his eyes on her instead of the road. She reached into her reticule and pulled out her ivory fan. After unfurling it, she tried to cool her face, which she felt sure was flushed.

Thankfully, the parsonage wasn’t far, because that last interplay made her feel tongue-tied. He must have experienced the same malady, because there was no more conversation.

She thought about climbing down from the buggy while Hans tied the horses to the hitching post. The memory of his hands on her waist stopped her. Constance wanted to feel it at least one more time. She furled her fan and placed it back in her handbag.

When Hans stood by her side of the buggy and looked up into her eyes, the twilight darkened the blue in his to almost black. Or was there another reason his gaze seemed so intense? Once again, he easily lifted her to the ground. For just a moment, she wanted to lean toward him, hoping he would engulf her in his strong arms. She whirled around and started up the walkway toward the porch. He quickly moved in step beside her.

“I’m sure we aren’t late.” Laughter laced his tone.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Constance hadn’t noticed Jackson on the porch until he spoke. She smiled at him.

“Now we can eat.” He rubbed his stomach. “Delicious smells have been coming from the kitchen for some time.”

Mary stepped through the door. “I thought I heard voices out here. Come on in. Dinner’s ready.”

As usual, conversation flowed freely throughout the meal, but Constance had a hard time keeping up with it. Her attention wandered often to the man who sat across the table from her.

Hans had a hard time keeping up with the conversation. When he ate at the boardinghouse, Constance sat beside him. And the last time they ate a meal with the Reeves, he hadn’t admitted to himself just how strong his feelings for her really were. Every time she spoke, he took the opportunity to study her. Since her times out at the Mitchell farm, her creamy skin had taken on a golden hue, and her cheeks were a more healthy pink. She looked vital and alive. Now that she had been totally honest with him, everything about her called to his heart.

At the end of the meal, he couldn’t remember a single bite he’d taken. Only the evidence of food having been on his plate assured him that he had eaten.