A Bride for the Sheriff Read online

  A Bride for the Sheriff

  Bozeman Brides, #2

  Emily Woods

  Fairfield Publishing

  Copyright © 2015 Emily Woods

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the author.

  This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Contents

  Foreword

  A Bride for the Sheriff

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Thank You

  Get FREE Books!

  Foreword

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  A Bride for the Sheriff

  Bozeman Brides, Book 2

  1

  “But what will I do? Where will I go? Are you kicking me out?” The questions flew out of her mouth before she was even fully aware of them forming in her mind.

  Charlotte Henderson stared at her parents in disbelief at the announcement that they were selling their small, but profitable, bakery to a certain Mr. Johnson of New York City. There had been no discussion, no indication of their desire to sell. She felt the floor tilt slightly beneath her feet.

  Her father had just turned over the sign on the door to “Closed” and was casually wiping down the counter when he mentioned the offer the man had made the week before in an almost off-handed manner.

  “Of course not, Charlie dear, none of those things,” her mother soothed gently from her place behind the opposite counter where she was also wiping down the shelves that had held an assortment of delectable baked goods over the course of the day. “But it was such a good offer that we couldn’t turn it down. Father’s arthritis is only getting worse, and you know how my migraines are. Some days I can barely stand to be in the store.” She offered her daughter a small smile. “The timing is just so perfect and we prayed long and hard about it. Really, dear, we believe it’s God’s plan for us.”

  Why were her parents being so casual about it all? Didn’t they realize that the news was devastating her? Didn’t they care? This bakery had been her whole life. It was tied into everything she knew about herself. She had spent more hours inside the store than anywhere else.

  Charlie had been born twenty one years ago when the couple was well into their forties and had long given up on having children. When the news that they were expecting was announced, they were overjoyed and grateful. With a secure business in the better part of Poughkeepsie, New York, they had been able to provide well for her even if they weren’t young enough to run after her. She’d never missed what she hadn’t had, but felt mature and privileged to be part of such a respectable business. She hadn’t regarded her parents as old, but rather as calm and kind, never as old or aging.

  “But where will you go?” she asked, desperate to infuse some kind of emotion into the conversation. “Are you just going to keep living here while someone else runs your store? Didn’t you think that I would want to run it, to own it?” She recognized that her behavior was petulant, but that didn’t stop her from dropping the broom she’d been pushing with a loud bang and crossing her arms in a display of anger. A frown marred her otherwise sweet countenance and her sea green eyes flashed. Her long, dark hair was bound back with a simple ribbon and flowed in waves down her back. She now tossed it slightly with impatient annoyance.

  Both parents looked at her in surprise, jaws dropping slightly. Charlie was not given to outbursts, so they weren’t quite sure how to respond.

  “Well,” her father began slowly as he stopped his cleaning and gauged her reaction carefully. “For one, your Aunt Edna wants us to live with her on her farmhouse. She’s been lonely since your Uncle Frederick died a few years back. That suits both of us just fine.” He walked over to where his wife was standing, reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. She smiled tightly back at him, but then returned her gaze to their daughter.

  “We were sure that you would announce your engagement any day now,” Stella remarked anxiously, pursing her lips and blinking rapidly. She was a not normally nervous woman, but she doted on her gentle daughter and seeing her like this obviously distressed the older woman.

  “Peter has made no mention of marriage,” Charlie responded tersely. Her expression had changed from angry to miserable. The young couple had been courting for more than a year, but Peter McCall seemed more intent on having a good time than making a commitment. Although they were both devout attendees of the local church, his sights were usually set more on material objects. There was no doubt that he cared for her, but she didn’t sense that he was thinking about marriage. “He seems restless lately,” she added.

  “Maybe it’s because he’s getting ready to propose,” Stella said encouragingly, rounding the counter of the store to put a comforting hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “It’s clear how highly he thinks of you.”

  At her mother’s touch, Charlie felt instant remorse. Her parents hadn’t made this decision to upset her, but rather because the offer had been timely. She glanced at them now and felt her heart sink at how old they suddenly seemed. Nearing seventy, they were both slightly stooped and fragile-looking. The joy they usually imbued hid their frailty so that she never quite noticed it before now.

  Repentant, Charlie uncrossed her arms and wrapped them around her diminutive mother. The woman had never been tall, but with age, she’d shrunk to Charlie’s shoulder level. A sense of protectiveness welled up in the young girl’s heart.

  “I’m sorry for my behavior, Mother,” she said softly. “It just came as such a surprise. It had never crossed my mind that you would sell this place.”

  “Peter surely wouldn’t want his wife working alone in a busy part of town,” her father interjected mildly from across the room where he’d resumed his cleaning. “He will expect that you stay home and take care of the house and uh, …whatnot.”

  Charlie hid a smile. Her proper English parents never mentioned private matters directly and indeed, she would never have known the least bit of information concerning men and women if it hadn’t been for her friends in school. Releasing her mother, she bit back a sigh.

  “Well, if he’s going to propose, I guess he’d better do it soon. Better yet, perhaps I should mention the idea.” It wasn’t very romantic, but perhaps it might come down to that.

  “Oh, no, dear,” her mother gasped in dismay. “You shouldn’t. That’s a man’s job.”

  “I was just joking,” Charlie replied unconvincingly, picking up the broom. “It’s just that he really hasn’t given me any indication that he wants to get married. What if he doesn’t ask? There isn’t enough room in Aunt Edna’s house for me.” She didn’t mention that she disliked her aunt’s old house stuck out the middle of nowhere, miles from any town.

  “Well, you won’t be put out on the streets, if that’s worrying you. We have savings for your future, but you can have them now. We were waiting until you got ma
rried, but…” her father trailed off. “In any case, we still have three months before Mr. Johnson takes over.”

  “I suppose he was that loud man in the shabby suit who was in here earlier today, speaking to you in an overly-familiar way and helping himself to the samples?” An imposing wall of a man had spent the better part of an hour chatting with her father while she’d attended various customers.

  “That was uncalled for, Charlotte Anne,” her mother scolded mildly. “He is entirely acceptable and even mentioned that he would need an employee who knows the business. He was of course, referring to you. So, if you should find yourself without a position, you could continue here, working for him.”

  Charlie shuddered inwardly. Yes, she’d noticed the man looking at her in a very obvious way. Even if he was married, she was sure that he would not behave in an appropriate manner around her. There was something in his eyes that she didn’t like. She’d seen his type before. Even though Poughkeepsie wasn’t anything like New York City, there were enough lecherous men here to have taught her how to recognize such a man.

  “I think I would rather live in Aunt Edna’s shed,” she muttered as she swept, but then immediately regretted her words when she saw the distressed look on her mother’s face. “I mean, it would be too hard to stay here without the two of you.” Relief pierced her heart as her mother’s face softened with a sweet smile. She stopped her sweeping and regarded them affectionately. “Why don’t the two of you go and have your supper? I can finish up here.”

  With murmurs of agreement and thanks, her parents shuffled off to the back room that served as their kitchen to make a small meal. She would join them shortly, but for now, she just wanted time for herself.

  After bagging the leftovers, emptying the till and making a final inspection of the place, Charlie was satisfied that all was as it should be, but was still reluctant to leave.

  The aroma of the baked goods that had always been a comfort to her lingered in the air, but now failed to have its usual effect. Everything suddenly looked different. Never again would she walk through the store with pride of being a part of such a wonderful business. Although it hadn’t yet passed in Mr. Johnson’s hands, it felt…tainted. Her small, comfortable world was about to come to an end.

  What in the world was she going to do with the rest of her life?

  2

  Jackson Davis settled down to enjoy his regular Sunday dinner at his sister’s house. A steaming plate of roast beef was placed on the table, its savory scent wafting down and causing his mouth to water. He could almost taste the succulent beef drowning in the rich brown gravy.

  “Would you like to say grace, Jackson?” his brother-in-law Theodore Jefferson boomed at him from the head of the table.

  “What? Oh, of course. I’d be honored.”

  Since his sincere conversion to faith just a few years before, Jackson had become deeply aware of how much he had to be grateful for, including his sister’s family and the job that he had here in Bozeman, Montana. Being the sheriff of the growing town gave him great satisfaction.

  After a simple but sincere prayer, the food was passed around and the members of the family chatted lightly to one another. Jackson served himself such a generous portion that his plate nearly overflowed. His appetite matched his rather large frame.

  He’d just started to dig in with exuberance when his sister addressed him.

  “So, Jackson,” Margaret began, leaning over the table and regarding him with much more interest than she gave to the plate in front of her. “How was your week?”

  “Good,” he managed to say around a mouthful of food. After swallowing, he elaborated. “That petty criminal Clint Barrows was let out, but I don’t think he’ll be causing trouble anymore. He didn’t much enjoy being a guest of the Bozeman County jail.”

  The three children around the table giggled. Their uncle was their hero, as the admiration that shone out of their eyes clearly indicated. They thought their own father’s job as a banker was terribly boring and relished Sunday dinner with their brave and valiant uncle.

  “Didja catch any bad guys this week?” Martin, age seven wanted to know. He leaned forward in anticipation of the answer and narrowly missed dipping the front of his shirt in his dinner.

  Jackson chuckled lightly and speared another piece of meat. “One or two.” In actual fact, the prison was devoid of criminals at the moment, but he didn’t want to disappoint his nephew. He’d had words with a few young hooligans, but nothing worthy of incarceration had happened. “Nothing too bad, I’m afraid.”

  Disappointment colored Martin’s features, and the boy morosely returned to his food.

  “I gonna be sheriff too!” the youngest child declared. “I catch bad guys!”

  “Yes, yes,” said Margaret indulgently, patting the three-and-a-half-year-old Robert on the head. “But for now, eat your dinner.”

  Obediently, the boy returned to his food, but then prim and proper nine-year-old Elizabeth suddenly piped up, “I hope that you are careful with your gun, Uncle Jackson. We wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

  Smiles wreathed the adults’ faces at her mature manner of speech and they murmured their agreement.

  “What I want to know,” Margaret began with a glimmer in her eye, “is did you meet anyone special this week? I noticed that Mrs. Simpson’s niece is visiting. She’s a lovely young lady.”

  The beef that had seemed so tender just a moment before became like rubber in Jackson’s mouth. “Oh, you heard that, did you?” He swallowed hard and tensed at the expected inquisition.

  Margaret was forever trying to find him a wife, saying that it was necessary for him to marry in order to be truly happy. He disagreed. He was completely content as he was. His job and faith fulfilled him and he saw no need to add another person to his life. Spending time with his sister’s family provided all the domestic bliss that he needed.

  “Jackson, did you meet her or not?” she asked in mock sternness, reminding him so much of their mother that he had to smile. She’d often worn the same expression when she felt he wasn’t answering her directly.

  “Yes, I did, and she showed absolutely no interest in me, I’m afraid. I think she is looking for a finer kind of chap, more like a business man or some such.”

  It hadn’t hurt his feelings that the young Cecily Simpson had turned up her nose at him. She was far too citified, in any case. Further to that, he really couldn’t see how any woman would add anything to his life except complications. He needed to focus all his energy on his job and couldn’t afford distractions.

  “What about Lisa Crowley? She’s very nice and a good cook, too,” Margaret remarked a bit too casually.

  “Margaret!” Jackson protested. “She’s forty years old if she’s a day!”

  “Surely not,” she argued. “She might be in her early to mid-thirties, but nothing more than that.”

  “Um, I have to back up Jackson on this one, Margie,” Theodore interrupted with a sympathetic look towards his brother-in-law. “I know for a fact that she’s forty-three. I have that information from her when she opened her account at the bank.”

  “Hmph. Well, she looks good for her age then,” Margaret replied nonplussed, finally paying her own meal some attention for a moment before starting up again. “Well, how about Jessie Owens?”

  Jackson choked on his food and started coughing violently, pounding his chest at the food that lodged there. When he was finally able to talk, his voice sounded strangled. “Is she even sixteen? Come on, Margaret. Leave it alone.”

  Lips pressed together, Margie resumed her meal, but it was clear from the expression on her face that she had no intention of letting her brother continue in his single state. The children watched in fascination at the variation of the scene that played out every week.

  Although Jackson was mildly annoyed, he knew that her interference came from a loving place. She’d been like a mother to him since they came out west together nearly ten years before, a few shor
t years after their parents had passed. At the age of twenty-three, she had responded to a mail-order bride advertisement back east and dragged Jackson along with her. Theodore had been indulgent of his beautiful bride-to-be and offered the then eighteen-year-old Jackson a home despite the young man’s rough and wild ways.

  The siblings had been through a lot together, including the time of separation when Theodore had strongly recommended that Jackson join the Texas Rangers at the age of twenty. He’d hoped the regiment would put an end to Jackson’s self-destructive behavior. And it had in more ways than one.

  During his five years with the Rangers, Jackson had met a travelling preacher who convinced him to turn from his depravity and give his life over to God. Since then, Jackson had known such profound peace that he wanted to do something worthy with his life, and now that something was trying to be the best sheriff that Bozeman had ever seen.

  Silence reined for a few minutes as the family proceeded with their meal. The scraping of forks and knives began to get on his nerves, and finally Jackson spoke up.

  “Look, Margie, I know what you’re saying, and I appreciate it, but marriage isn’t for everyone. Can’t you see that?”

  “But you don’t even try!” she complained vehemently. “If you had ever at least made an effort to court a suitable girl since you came back and then found it intolerable, I could let it go.” She was purposely ignoring the carousing he’d done before joining up with the Rangers. Determination now lined her features. “In fact, I’ll make a deal with you. Let me find you a lovely young woman who is both suitable and age-appropriate. You need to give her a fair chance, court her for at least two months, and then, if it doesn’t work out, I’ll never nag you again.”