Chapter 6
Chapter
James scraped charred potato from the edge of the skillet, then hissed when grease popped from the pan to the back of his hand.
Sucking in a breath, he released the handle of the frying pan and swiped the burning spot against his shirt.
Maybe Henry had a point about his cooking skills.
He’d just wanted something warm to go with the ham sandwich he’d picked up from the café after walking Miss O’Sullivan to her mother’s house.
With Sheriff Adair investigating a string of cattle thefts down near Moran, James was currently the only lawman in town. And since the sheriff wasn’t a fan of night duty, James had volunteered to take up residence at the jailhouse, leaving him in charge of his own meals.
He raised a brow as he considered the sliced potatoes and bits of onion littering his cast-iron pan.
Mmmm. Half raw and half burnt, just the way he liked them.
James shook his head, the lie as impossible to swallow as his supper was bound to be.
Even for him, this was abysmal. That’s what happened when a fella spent too long pondering a certain curly-haired woman, her request for assistance, and the political quagmire sure to follow should he agree.
With a sigh, James pushed the pan of pitiful potatoes to the back of the stove to keep them from fossilizing further. Maybe he should just give up on the troublesome mess and be content with his sandwich.
Movement in the street beyond the open jailhouse door caught his attention. Was that—?
Potatoes forgotten, James grabbed his coat from the back of his office chair, shoved his arms into the sleeves, then snatched his hat from the coatrack by the door and fit it to his head as he jogged into the sunlight.
Noreen O’Sullivan. He recognized the dark green calico she’d worn to church that morning. What was she doing running down the road on this side of town? He’d thought she was eating with her folks. There was nothing out this way except the grist mill.
Clevenger!
James’s jaw tightened as he hoofed it down the street.
The insensitive clout. So caught up in his own agenda he gave no thought to his stepdaughter’s feelings.
Noreen might be a bit on the prickly side, but anyone with half an ounce of common sense could see that her barbed spines protected a bruised heart.
If James recognized it, how much more aware should a family member be?
James stretched his stride, gradually closing the distance between him and the surprisingly fleet-of-foot woman he trailed. Not wanting to holler and draw undo attention from anyone who might be nearby, he waited until he was less than five yards away to call to her.
“Noreen.”
She cast a startled glance over her shoulder, and James’s gut hardened like a knot that had just been yanked tight.
Tears streamed down her face. Tears. On Noreen O’Sullivan’s face.
The grittiest woman he’d ever met, the one who stood toe-to-toe with Milton Taggert without flinching, had been brought to tears.
James’s normally cool head erupted in flames, but he batted down the worst of them to focus on the woman in front of him.
The one currently trying to shoo him like an unwanted fly.
“Go away, Deputy. I’ve no need of your services.” Loud sniffing ensued, followed by a jig of jutting elbows as she attempted to wipe her face while trotting with increasing speed toward the millpond.
“Noreen. Slow down, would you?”
She kicked into a canter. Ornery woman.
“I just want to help you.” James sprinted forward and cut into her path, forcing her to a halt. She tried to bolt in another direction, but he was onto her game and dodged side to side to block her as if she were a goat set on escaping her pen.
“Why can’t you just let me be?”
Never had he heard a more broken sound than her tear-clogged plea.
His heart throbbed in his chest as he dug out a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and extended it toward her.
“’Cause it’s my duty to help the good folk of Albany in their time of need.
” Though the compulsion that had demanded he give chase felt a mite more personal than simple duty now that he’d corralled her and witnessed the evidence of her distress.
“I’m not one of the good folk of Albany.”
She accepted his handkerchief, mopped her eyes, then blew her nose. Her nostrils made a rather robust honking sound, but he was too concerned about her well-being to find any humor in the instrumentation.
“I’m a selfish, willful, unhinged fanatic bent on destroying my family.”
James leveled a stern look at her. “Those sound like Arthur Clevenger’s opinions, not yours. They certainly aren’t mine. So why are you speakin’ them as if they’re truth?”
She raised her chin but refused to meet his gaze.
She stared off toward the pond instead, fighting to pull together scraps of composure.
Gradually, her quivering lower lip firmed, and the pools shining in her coffee-colored eyes receded.
Her shoulders lifted as she drew in a breath, and James found himself holding his as he waited for her to respond.
Would she trust him enough to open up? Or had his evasion of her proposal earlier today demoted him in her estimation?
“Arthur kicked me out,” she said, her voice flat. “And my mother did nothing to stop him.”
A hammer slammed into his chest at her pronouncement.
“His association with me is causing him to lose business. He’s afraid he’ll lose favor as well—favor with the men in this town who hold the power to advance his political career.” Her head turned, and her eyes brushed over his. “An increasingly common concern, I’m discovering.”
Her well-aimed arrow jabbed him somewhere between his conscience and his pride.
The very idea of her viewing him in a similar light as Clevenger stuck in his craw like a sideways fishbone.
Yet he couldn’t argue her point. His motives might be more noble than Clevenger’s, but the end result was the same.
His motives were more noble than those of Clevenger, right? Beneath Noreen’s gaze, he was no longer so sure.
James took a small step toward her. “I’m sorry.”
She sighed, and some of the starch leaked from her spine. “I’m not homeless. I haven’t lived under his roof for nearly a decade.”
“But it’s not about the roof.”
Her attention fell to the ground between them. “No, it’s not.”
She didn’t elaborate, but she didn’t need to. She’d already revealed the truth. “My mother did nothing to stop him.”
James’s parents had always supported him, even when they disagreed with his choices.
His father had raised him to take over the family ranch in Breckenridge.
His mother had tried to pair him off with no fewer than three different local gals, making no secret of her desire to see him married and on his way to producing grandbabies for her to dandle on her knee.
When he told them of his plans to work as a lawman, they didn’t exactly rejoice.
In fact, they spent the next several weeks trying to talk him out of it.
But when they saw how serious he was about it and how important it was to him, they accepted his choice and never said a word against his chosen vocation again.
Had they turned their backs on him . . . nothing would have cut deeper.
“I don’t know why I came here,” Noreen said, sharpening his attention on her.
She stared out over the surface of the placid millpond.
“I didn’t want to interrupt Jane or Martha.
Brother Cowan always has guests to the house after services, and Martha rotates eating Sunday dinner with different families of her students.
” She glanced back at him, but she failed to hold his gaze for more than a heartbeat.
“I didn’t intend to interrupt you, either.
You shouldn’t have followed me out here on a fool’s errand. ”
He grinned. “You’re not calling me a fool, are you, Miss Noreen? I might have to take offense at that.”
One corner of her mouth twitched upward at his teasing, and his entire chest lightened at the sight.
“No, sir. Someone once warned me that offended gentlemen were likely to become obstinate. You’re mulish enough already.”
He chuckled. “Fair point.” Thankful to see some of the sass and spark returning to her eyes, James tipped his head back toward the heart of town.
“I’ve got a skillet full of poorly cooked potatoes and a ham sandwich I’m happy to share if you haven’t eaten.
Nothing fancy, but it will keep your stomach from rumbling. ”
She hesitated, so he leaned close and offered the first enticement that came to mind. “I’ll let you look at the new wanted posters that came in the mail yesterday.”
Even as he dangled the ridiculous bait, it surprised him how much he hoped she’d agree.
A genuine smile blossomed on her face, banishing some of the red from her eyes. “How could I possibly resist the chance to ogle two-dimensional felons?”
A laugh burst from him. The woman sure had an entertaining way of stringing words together. “Well, they do tend to behave themselves better than the three-dimensional variety.”
She snickered softly, and James counted it as fine an accomplishment as when he’d captured his first cattle rustler.
“I’m glad to know they won’t disrupt our meal.”
James held his hand over his heart. “I’ll be sure to keep them in line.” After dipping his head in what he hoped was a gallant manner, he gestured toward the road behind them. “May I escort you to the Jailhouse Café?”
Noreen nodded, one of her dark curls springing free of its pin to bounce behind her ear as her chin bobbed. “You may.”
They walked back to town at a relaxed pace, a nice change from the frenzied scurry that had brought them to the millpond.
Neither of them spoke during the return trip, but the silence between them radiated more peace than awkwardness.
He rather enjoyed it. Once they made it back to the jailhouse and she saw the state of his potatoes, however, her tongue loosened.
“Oh dear. This is worse than I anticipated.” She fingered the skillet handle as if afraid she might be contaminated by the contents.
Heat flared in James’s face, but he hid it by turning to the wall to hang up his hat. “You can take the sandwich,” he said. “I didn’t make it, so it’s bound to be edible. I’ve got an iron stomach after years of eating my own cooking.”
“Don’t worry. I can fix this.”
Without asking permission, she started rummaging through the shelf that held his meager cooking supplies.
She also unwrapped his sandwich and started dismantling it.
He opened his mouth to stop her from destroying the one edible item in the room, but then he recalled that she worked in the kitchen of the Albany Hotel.
Maybe she could salvage something from his mess.
In truth, she did more than salvage. She created a masterpiece.
After removing the burnt edges of his potatoes, she added some bacon fat, chopped ham from his sandwich, and fresh onion slices.
She stirred and flipped with magical precision until everything was golden-brown and sizzling.
She portioned the hash onto a pair of tin plates he’d wiped down for her, then surprised him by grabbing the sandwich bread and laying it flat in the skillet drippings and taking it back to the stove until it formed a delicious crust. He dipped out water for her and poured himself a cup of overly strong coffee, then sat down for a meal that would have warranted a white tablecloth had they been anywhere but the jailhouse.
“This looks amazing.” His stomach growled in agreement, earning a delighted laugh from the chef.
“I couldn’t let you eat half-cooked potatoes. Not after you’ve been so kind to me.”
James pulled the desk chair over to the worktable for her and held it while she sat. “I’m not sure that chasing you down and infringing on your privacy merits such tasty favor, but I’m not fool enough to turn down a well-cooked meal. Or the pleasure of sharing it with such a lovely companion.”
She blinked at him as if he’d taken her aback, but before he could figure out how to get his foot out of his mouth, she gestured for him to sit and folded her hands as if waiting for him to say grace.
He cleared his throat, a jolt of nervousness zipping through him.
He didn’t usually pray aloud with anyone but family, but he supposed he could manage something simple.
Bowing his head, he closed his eyes and spoke from his heart.
“Thank you for this food, Lord, and for sending someone with the skill to prepare it properly. We’re grateful for your provision, not only to satisfy our physical hunger but our spiritual and personal hungers as well.
” Heal Noreen’s hurt, Lord. Fill the empty places in her heart with your Bread of Life.
“May we honor you with the lives we live and the choices we make. In your holy Son’s name, amen. ”
“Amen.” Noreen’s soft echo of his closing settled on his heart like butter soaking into warm bread.
Not wanting to consider the ramifications of that particular observation, he grabbed his fork and tucked into his food. Salty, crunchy goodness filled his senses, and a moan escaped him before he could rein it in. “This is delicious!”
A pleased smile lit her face as she raised her own fork. “Glad you like it.”
She didn’t say more until he’d cleaned every bite from his plate and leaned backward in his chair to pat his satisfied belly. Man, but the woman could cook. He muffled a contented belch, then reached for his coffee.
“I could cook for you on my nights off, if you like. I don’t work Sundays or Wednesdays.” Why was she dipping her head as if she were suddenly feeling shy?
“Miss Noreen, I’d eat your cooking any day of the week.”
“Perfect,” she said as she reached for his empty plate, her eyes gleaming. “That will give us plenty of time to strategize my new approach to closing the saloon.”
And just like that, the savory meal he’d consumed turned to rocks in his gut.