Outlaw's Bride (32 page)

“And how much would this bribe cost me?”

Herman's blue eyes twinkled. “Maybe if you brought along some of them sugar cookies you made yesterday …”

She laughed. “I might be able to find a few.”

She crossed to the door and called, “Andy, breakfast is ready.”

A few moments later Andy came inside carrying a pail a quarter full of milk. He set it on the floor and washed up at the pump before sitting down. “Sorry I'm late, Ma, but Jewel didn't like getting milked this morning.”

“That's all right. Thank you for doing Herman's job.” She arched a brow at the old man, who had the grace to look abashed.

Andy shrugged. “I didn't mind. Mr. Beaudry told me that a little work never hurt anyone.”

Mattie glanced sharply at her son. “When did he tell you that?”

“When we were working on the chicken coop.”

“Oh.” Her heart took a few moments to return to its normal rate. “You haven't seen him since he's come back, have you?” she asked Andy warily.

“I seen him, but I haven't talked to him,” he admitted, his tone almost accusatory. He gazed at her, as if trying to read her thoughts. “Why don't you like him anymore, Ma?”

Mattie chose her words carefully. “It's not that I don't like him, Andy. It's just that I'm an engaged woman now, and it wouldn't be proper for me to visit with him.”

Herman snorted and she shot him a glare, but he only continued to eat as if he had done nothing wrong.

Andy picked up his fork and shoveled some food into his mouth as he kept his gaze on his plate. Mattie could tell he didn't like her answer, but she could give him no other that would make sense to a ten-year-old.

“Your ma's goin' fishin' with us today, Andy,” Herman announced. “You figger she'll catch Fred?”

Andy glanced up in surprised pleasure. “Nah. I'm going to catch him,” he said with boyish boasting.

Mattie smiled and some of the concern over her son's recent odd behavior melted away. He was becoming a man and that road wasn't a smooth one. She only hoped she'd be there to catch him when he stumbled.

Either herself or his stepfather.

Mattie blinked at the unexpected image in her mind—why had she pictured Clint and not Kevin beside her son?

“Don't overdo it like you did yesterday,” Clint warned Atwater as he settled him in a chair on the sheriff's porch.

“I was fine yesterday. You just got it in that thick skull of yours that I'm some kind of invalid,” Atwater growled.

Clint leaned against the porch rail and crossed his arms, holding his impatience in check by sheer force of will. Walt had come home two days after he'd been shot. As Clint had tried to steer him into the larger bedroom, he'd learned Walt slept in the smaller one where Clint had thrown his gear. After losing an argument to get him to sleep in the bigger bed, a puzzled Clint had moved his own stuff into the other bedroom.

Trying to keep Walt in bed for three days was impossible—he'd barely managed two. Finally, Clint had thrown up his hands and declared Walt a stubborn jackass.

Clint glanced at the sheriff. He was pale, but he didn't seem to be in too much pain. However, if Dr. Murphy caught Walt outside, the older man was going to get an earful. And Clint would probably end up on the receiving end of some of that reprimand. The doc had insisted that Walt remain in bed for at least three days.

Yeah, when hell freezes over.

“Watch out for Willie Larson,” Walt warned. “He likes to take things from the general store without payin' for 'em. And keep an eye on Luther at the livery. He'll cheat a stranger without a second thought.”

“Does he cheat the townsfolk?” Clint asked. Since breakfast, Walt had been filling him in on some of the more colorful characters in Green Valley.

“Nope.” Walt chuckled. “Knows he's gotta live here with 'em and he don't want a necktie party with him as guest of honor.”

Clint shook his head in tolerant amusement. “Sounds like you know your town pretty well.”

Walt laid his left hand against his sling and leaned back in his chair, rocking it gently. “I should. Been livin' here long enough.” He motioned with his chin toward a copse of trees a hundred yards away. “Just over there is where my Sarah is buried. Not a day goes by that I don't miss her. I usually stop by and say hello, tell her about my day.”

Clint gazed at the trees that blocked the view of the cemetery, and his thoughts took him to Emily's final resting place. She had been laid to rest in her parents' private family cemetery. He hadn't even considered arguing with them. He hadn't cared enough. All he'd wanted to do was get away and track down her killer.

He swallowed hard and scrubbed his damp palms across his thighs. “I guess that's what it's like to really love someone.”

Walt settled his narrowed eyes on Clint. “You were married.”

“Not as long as you.” Clint knew he was only making excuses for his inability to love his wife like he should have.

Like he loved Mattie.

“I'll come by at lunch and throw something together for us,” Clint volunteered.

“There you go again, treatin' me like some damn cripple.” He nodded at his wounded arm. “This is nothin'. Why, I remember the time—”

Clint dropped a hand on Walt's uninjured shoulder and grinned. “Save it for later. I have to go see how your town is holding together without you.”

Ignoring Walt's grumbling, Clint hopped off the porch and headed toward the jail. He walked briskly, his long black duster trailing behind him in the cool autumn morning.

Breathing deeply of the scents of fall—leaves, damp soil, and crisp air—Clint realized how little time he had left to win Mattie over.

He'd figured Mattie would stop by to see Walt since they were good friends, but she knew Clint was staying there. He had no doubt she was intentionally keeping her distance from him—which was another piece of evidence to support the sheriff's claim that Mattie didn't love the doctor.

Clint's first stop was the bank, to make sure Orville was there and not at home. He entered the quiet bank, noting that only one clerk—Norbert Loomis—was working at the counter. The door to Johnson's office was closed.

“Morning, Sheriff,” Loomis greeted him brightly. “What can I do for you?”

“Morning, Norbert. I was just checking to make sure everything was all right,” Clint said with an easy smile. “Mr. Johnson must be hard at work, huh?”

The little man nodded and pressed his wire spectacles up on his nose. “Oh, yes. He told me he's not to be disturbed unless it's an emergency.” Norbert leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “An audit coming up, you know.”

Clint smiled and nodded with exaggerated sympathy. “I don't want to bother him, then. Just tell him I dropped by and said hello.”

“I most certainly will, Sheriff Beaudry.”

Norbert's eyes gleamed behind his glasses and Clint smiled to himself at the man's eagerness to please. He was afraid to look back as he walked out, half expecting Norbert to toss him a little wave.

Back outside, Clint surveyed Green Valley, noting how peaceful the town appeared after Saturday's excitement. He glanced at the place on the boardwalk where he'd pulled Mattie to safety.

He had every intention of fighting for Mattie, any way he could. Especially if she didn't love Murphy.

Spotting Luther outside his livery, Clint crossed the street. He might as well have a little talk with him now rather than later. “Morning, Luther.”

The burly man turned and his expression soured when he saw who it was. “Mornin', Sheriff,” he said with as much resentment as Norbert had enthusiasm.

Clint planted a boot on the lower corral rail. “Looks like you're keeping busy. Must be some visitors passing through.”

“A few.”

“Glad to hear it—visitors are good for a town. They could settle down here, become fellow citizens,” Clint said casually. “You'd get to know them and they'd get to know you. I always say new blood is good for a town, don't you?”

Luther's blush started at his neck and worked all the way up across his bald head. “I s'pose.”

Clint slapped the man's broad back. “I knew I could count on you to give them a nice welcome and treat 'em right. See you later, Luther.”

Clint spun on his heel and strolled away, whistling a nameless tune. Luther should have understood his message loud and clear. If he hadn't, he was dumber than he looked.

Sighing, Clint headed toward the pillared house on the outskirts of town. He glanced about to see if anyone was around, but it was quiet and still, with only a light breeze tickling the leaves.

Moving quickly, he went to the front door and knocked. A few moments later, the door opened and Amelia stood staring at him. “Cl—Sheriff, what are you doing here?”

“I need your help, Amelia,” he said quietly, in case there were servants with big ears around.

After a moment of surprised hesitation, she grabbed his arm and pulled him inside, closing the door behind him. “You shouldn't be here.”

Clint pressed his hat back off his head so it rested between his shoulder blades. “There's a favor I need to ask you.”

Amelia's brows furrowed and she crossed her arms. “What?”

“Are we alone?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yes. I have a housekeeper who comes in three times a week, but she's off today.”

Clint relaxed. “Could we sit down?”

Amelia remained where she stood, silently studying him.

“It has nothing to do with you or Orville.” He paused. “This is my problem, but I need your help.”

After a moment, she led him across the expansive foyer and into a spacious, high-ceilinged kitchen. She poured him a cup of coffee, then one for herself, and joined him at the table.

Clint took a sip of the hot brew to fortify his courage. “It's about Mattie St. Clair.”

“She's getting married.”

“That's why I need your help. I have to stop that wedding.”

Amelia stared at him a moment, then comprehension widened her eyes and her mouth dropped open. “You're in love with her.”

Damn, was he that transparent?

He shifted in his chair, like a schoolboy caught dipping a girl's braid in the inkwell. “Look, will you help me or not?”

Amelia settled back in her chair and grinned. “What's there to do? Just tell her how you feel.”

“She won't even talk to me.”

Amelia sniffed. “I don't blame her, running off like you did.”

Heat climbed up his neck. “I had a good reason.”

“No woman likes to have a man leave her, whether he has a good reason or not.”

“You're not helping,” Clint muttered.

Amelia smiled, then sobered. “After everything you did for me, I owe you. Go on, Clint.”

He took a deep breath. “I want you to find out if Mattie really loves Dr. Murphy.”

Her eyebrows hiked up in surprise, then she traced her cup's handle with slender fingers. “Why do you think she'd tell me?”

Clint was beginning to wonder if maybe his plan had a few drawbacks—one of them being making him look like an idiot. “Because you're a woman, just like her.”

“That's like saying you can talk to Norbert at the bank because he's a man, just like you.”

He tried to picture talking with the effeminate Norbert over a beer. “All right, maybe this wasn't such a good idea,” Clint admitted as he stood.

Amelia laid her hand on his arm, stopping him from leaving. “Sit down, Clint. I didn't say I wouldn't help. I just need to know more.”

He dropped back into his chair and asked cautiously, “Like what?”

“Tell me why you left.”

He took a deep breath and told her about his wife and the promise he'd made.

“I'm sorry. I didn't know,” Amelia said softly after he explained. She thought for a moment, then nodded. “All right. I'll do it, but Mattie's smart—she's going to suspect something. She and I aren't what you'd call close friends.”

“I know, but I don't think she's very close to anyone besides her son and Herman.” Clint balled his hands into fists. “And Murphy.”

“I'll go over there tomorrow with the excuse that Orville needs one of his suits pressed for a special meeting. Come by tomorrow afternoon around three-thirty. I'll be back by then and the housekeeper will have gone.”

“What about your husband?”

“He won't be home until at least six,” Amelia said with fond tolerance.

Clint rose. “Thanks, Amelia. I really appreciate this.”

She stood and smiled. “You're welcome.” She led him to the back door. “When you come by tomorrow, use this door. There's less chance of someone seeing you.”