A Wife for the Sheriff?

Schoolteacher Allison Grainger loves educating the children of Wolf Creek, Arkansas. She’s nearly at her wit’s end, though, when it comes to Sheriff Colt Garrett’s two unruly youngsters. But when Allison is forced to work with the prickly lawman, the handsome widower and his children prove to be both charming and the perfect complement to her own life.

Colt Garrett is too busy taming the West—and his children—to worry about the concerns of the only schoolteacher in Wolf Creek. That is, until he meets the striking Allison, whose infectious smile warms his heart. Could she be the mother figure his children have always wanted…and the wife he so longs for?

“Children need parents invested in their lives, Sheriff Garrett,” Allison said.

“They need boundaries. They ache for boundaries. They need to be brought up, not just allowed to grow up.”

The indictment had the ring of truth that hit Colt like a blow to the solar plexus. “Now, just you hold on a minute! You’ve gone too far.”

“On the contrary,” she retorted. “I’ve not gone far enough. Consider this a warning, Sheriff Garrett. Either you get your children in hand, or I am leaving Wolf Creek. And I expect you to have my spectacles that they destroyed replaced at your earliest convenience.” With that, she slammed the door behind her.

Colt watched her stomp down the walk, conflicting emotions darting through him. Anger, guilt and worry for certain. And just a hint of something he couldn’t put his finger on. It felt a little like grudging admiration.

PENNY RICHARDS

has been writing and selling contemporary romance since 1983. Confronted with burnout, she took several years off to pursue other things she loved, like editing a local oral history project and coauthoring a stage play about a dead man (known fondly as Old Mike) who was found in the city park in 1911, got a double dose of embalming and remained on display until the seventies. Really. She also spent ten years renovating her 1902 Queen Anne home and getting it onto the National Register of Historic Places. At the “big house” she ran and operated Garden Getaways, a bed-and-breakfast and catering business that did everything from receptions, bridal lunches, fancy private dinners and “tastings” to dress-up tea parties (with makeup and all the trimmings) for little girls who liked to pretend to be grand ladies while receiving manners lessons. What fun!

Though she had a wonderful time and hosted people from every walk of life, writing was still in her blood, and her love of all things historical led her to historical fiction, more specifically historical mystery and inspirational romances. She is thrilled to be back writing and, God willing, hopes to continue to do so for many years.

Wolf Creek Father

Penny Richards

www.millsandboon.co.uk

And be ye kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.

—Ephesians 4:32

This book is for Colt Garrett Cleaves, my red-headed, never-walk-when-you-can-run, daredevil, two-year-old great-grandson whose infectious smile and cheerful disposition lights up everyone’s world. Love you bunches, baby boy!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Wolf Creek, Arkansas—1886

Sheriff Colt Garrett sat behind the desk that faced the jail’s front door. His chair was cocked back on two legs and his booted feet rested on the desk’s scarred top. Hands laced behind his head, he stared in moody contemplation at the rough-sawn wood of the ceiling.

He was in the doldrums and his life was in a rut. Ever since Ellie Carpenter had told him there was no sense in taking their fledgling relationship any further than the friendship they shared, his life had settled into a grating sameness. A few words and poof! Another potential wife was gone, a reminder that change could happen fast and without warning, something he’d forgotten in the years since his wife, Patrice, had been taken from him.

Though he’d be the first to admit that he was not suffering from a broken heart over Ellie’s rejection, he’d looked forward to the time he spent with her. Now his days had settled into boring predictability. He felt like some of the older folks in town must feel. They had their set routines and heaven help anyone who disrupted them. Except Colt wished something would happen to shake up the even tenor of his days. He came to work, ate lunch at home, the café or Hattie’s, and then went home, slept and repeated the sequence day after day.

There hadn’t even been any major crime lately to take his mind off things—not that he was complaining about that. The robberies he’d dealt with in the spring had seen one of his friends injured and another wrongly incarcerated. No, Wolf Creek didn’t need any more crime. It was just that he was lonesome, as lonesome as the rain crow outside his open window sounded.

He hated going home and having no one to share the ups and downs of his day with except a couple of kids. Not that he didn’t love them. He did. But he wasn’t too proud to admit that he not only wanted a wife, but also needed one. His kids needed a mother. Cilla was growing up, and more and more Colt felt that a woman’s influence was essential. What did he know about young girls on the verge of womanhood?

Brady needed a mom to kiss his cuts and scrapes, and he himself...well, he was tired of trying to deal with problems he had no earthly idea how to solve, so he supposed he could add that he was an ineffective father to his general misery.

He wanted to hold hands with a woman as they walked along Wolf Creek. Wanted to have someone listen as he talked about his day, and he wanted to hear about hers. He wanted someone next to him at night. He wanted a wife.

Since taking the sheriff’s position more than a year ago, he’d courted a few of the town’s single ladies, but the relationships had reached a certain point and fizzled out, and pickings were mighty slim in a town the size of Wolf Creek.

To top it all off, Ellie had flat-out told him that part of his problem was that whenever he showed interest in anyone, his two children launched an all-out campaign to sabotage the courtship. She’d been the recipient of some of their ploys, and that, along with her own reasons for not becoming more involved, had ended that!

He was so caught up in his unhappiness that the turning of the doorknob didn’t register. Not until the sound of the door slamming and someone stomping across the room penetrated his reverie did he lower his arms and his gaze to see what was afoot.

He was shocked to see Brady and Cilla’s teacher bearing down on him, her bosom heaving as if she’d run for several blocks. Miss Grainger’s sassy little chipped-straw hat sat cockeyed on her head, and a lone fabric rose dangled over one eye. Her freckled face was as red as the hair scraped back into a severe bun atop her head. One curling, recalcitrant strand trailed down one cheek and onto her shoulder. She was squinting at him as she neared the desk, but even though her eyes were narrowed to mere slits, there was no mistaking the fury blazing there.

What now? Putting on his most professional mien, Colt swung his feet to the floor and sat up straight, as befitting his station. He offered her a friendly smile, which fled when the usually polite teacher slapped something onto the desk with a gloved hand. He stared down at the mangled item. Hmm. Gold wire and a round piece of glass with a webbing of cracks that looked as if a spider had been plying its skill.

He glanced up at the squinting Miss Grainger and back at the object. Glasses! He was looking at a pair of beyond-redemption eyewear. The metal frames were crunched, one lens was cracked and the other missing completely.

He was about to ask her what on earth had happened when a familiar feeling sent his stomach into a sickening lurch. His mind whispered that while he might not know what had happened, he was pretty sure he knew who had done the deed.

“Well?” the teacher snapped. “Aren’t you going to say something?” Her usual warm contralto was shrill with outrage.

Resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands, Colt looked up at her with a puzzled expression as fake as the roses adorning her bedraggled headpiece.

“Uh, what happened to your glasses?” he managed to say, after swallowing a lump the size of Texas.

The petite, plump teacher placed her palms flat on the desk and leaned toward him, her crocheted reticule dangling from her wrist. “Your children happened!” she spat out. “They accosted me!”

Colt’s heart sank, but he sat even straighter. This young woman—obviously too young and inexperienced to be in charge of a classroom of children—had just accused his two offspring of a disgraceful act. Parental outrage kicked in, erasing the fact that Miss Grainger had only confirmed his own suspicion that Brady and Cilla were responsible for the damage he was looking at. Never mind their guilt or innocence. This woman had verbally attacked his children! Flesh of his flesh. Blood of his blood. It would not do. It would not do at all.

“Perhaps you should explain yourself, Miss Grainger,” he suggested through clenched teeth. “Tell me what happened to put you in such a snit.”

“Snit? Snit?” Her eyes widened and her voice climbed at least two octaves. Then she squeezed her eyes shut, drew herself up to her full height—all of five feet and maybe an inch or two if he had to guess—and took a deep breath, trying to regain control of her emotions and her temper.

When she opened her eyes, it was a toss-up as to whether it worked or not. The heat of battle still smoldered there.

“By all means, Sheriff,” she said in a well-modulated, low-pitched voice, taking care to enunciate each word with utmost care. “I am in a snit, as you put it, because I was assaulted by your...your hooli—” Her mouth snapped shut and she pressed her lips together to keep from crossing the invisible line of civility. “Your children in the mercantile.”

Colt bolted to his feet, mimicking her stance. He leaned across the expanse of the desk, his tawny eyes as narrow as hers as they faced each other almost nose to nose. He was a tall man, with more than enough muscle to make most men back down, and he possessed a ruthless expression he could muster in a heartbeat. Many a lawbreaker and bully had been known to tremble before the combination.

Pint-size Miss Grainger didn’t budge an inch.

“Now see here!” he growled. “Those are pretty harsh words. How can two kids, age seven and twelve, assault a grown woman?”

Still regarding him through narrowed eyes, she spluttered, “Brady...p-pushed me.”

Was it Colt’s imagination or was there a hint of trembling in her voice?

“Your children, sir, are a menace to polite society, and I begin to fear that much of the fault must be laid at your feet.”

“My fault?” Colt exploded. He told himself that his thunderous response was a normal reaction to this...this mousy little...twit speaking about his precious children in such a derogatory way. Miss Grainger’s eyes widened in sudden fright and her face paled, making her freckles stand out against the chalky whiteness. Colt suspected he’d overreacted.

Not very professional, he chided himself silently as they stood glaring at each other. He’d always prided himself on his professionalism, but this woman rubbed him the wrong way. Always had, though he had no reason why.

Okay, Colt. No more yelling. He had a reputation to maintain, after all. But dagnabbit, it was a blow to his image that she stood there so defiant and unafraid. He decided to try “the scowl” once more.

He folded his arms across his chest and fixed her with another intense look. As he let his gaze bore into hers he couldn’t help noticing that her eyes, an unusual sherry-hued brown, were set beneath delicately shaped eyebrows a couple of shades darker than her hair and framed by thick, curly lashes. The hazy, almost unfocused softness he saw in them belied her anger, and went a long way toward cooling his.

She licked her lips in a nervous gesture, drawing his gaze to her mouth. Funny. He’d never noticed just what a nice mouth she had, maybe because more often than not her lips were pressed into a prim, no-nonsense line. Now, all moist and soft-looking, she gave the impression of a woman who had just been well and soundly kissed, though it was hard to imagine any man being interested enough in the fiery-haired, fiery-tempered teacher to do so.

Colt reined in his thoughts. No way did this termagant have any softness. Kissing her would be like kissing a board. No, a wildcat, maybe. He gave his head an imperceptible shake and straightened, breaking the strange spell that seemed for a moment to bind them.

In response, she blinked and squared her shoulders, drawing attention to the rows of ruffles marching down the front of her pale yellow shirtwaist, intended no doubt to disguise her plumpness.

“Yes, um, your fault,” she reiterated, but she sounded vague, as if she’d lost her train of thought. Then she raised her chin, mustering her indignation once more. “As I have said on more than one occasion, your children are out of control. I have requested time and again that you do something about it, but this time I demand that you take them in hand.”

The words themselves condemned and challenged, but her voice seemed to have lost some of its sharpness. She had told him more than once that Brady and Cilla were disruptive in school. Now with Ellie’s newest accusations echoing through his mind, he realized it was time he stopped delaying the talk he should have had with them long ago and get to the bottom of things. Just one more thing a woman would be much better at handling.

Still, it didn’t sit well that she’d gone from asking to demanding that he take charge of his children, but it was plain to see that there was no getting around this latest transgression with one of his glib apologies and a promise to “take care of it.” He sighed and waved a hand toward the chair across from him.

“Have a seat, Miss Grainger,” he offered, struggling to make his tone professional and conciliatory. “I need to hear your version of what happened before I decide on a course of action.”

Regarding him with more than a little suspicion, she perched on the chair’s edge, almost as if she were readying herself to jump up and flee should the need arise. Her back was ramrod-straight, and her rounded chin was lifted to an angle just shy of haughty. Her gloved hands clutched the small drawstring purse resting in her lap.

Colt took his own chair, pressed the tips of his fingers together and, resting his elbows on the wooden arms of the chair, pressed his tented fingers against his lips while he regarded her with an expression of polite inquiry.

“Why don’t you start at the beginning, Miss Grainger,” he suggested, happy to hear that he sounded more or less like his usual controlled self.

Looking a bit taken aback by the sudden change in his attitude, Miss Grainger blinked again, cleared her throat and began with a bit of hesitation. “I, uh, went into the general store to pick up the Earl Grey tea Mr. Gentry had specially ordered for me.”

Tea! What sort of red-blooded American drank tea instead of coffee? Colt wondered. He managed to hold back a disgusted snort—just. Still, he noticed that she, too, sounded more like the concerned schoolteacher he’d dealt with so often the previous school year. He rotated his hand at the wrist, indicating that she should continue.

“I saw Brady and Priscilla at the counter,” she told him, leaning forward. “They seemed to be trying to decide what kind of candy they wanted. I smiled at them and asked Brady how his summer reading was going and if he thought it was helping him be better prepared when school took up again.”

Colt felt a jolt of guilt. Brady was falling further and further behind in all his subjects, and Miss Grainger seemed to think it was because his reading wasn’t up to snuff. She’d called Colt to a meeting before school let out, suggesting that he not only encourage his son to read during the summer, but also that Colt spend time each day working on it with him.

Brady had been furious. So had Colt. When he’d expressed his displeasure to Ellie and suggested that perhaps her sister wasn’t the teacher everyone thought she was and that maybe she was picking on Brady, Ellie had told him in no uncertain terms that her youngest sibling was very qualified and pointed out that the suggestion had nothing to do with “picking” on anyone. Instead, it demonstrated her concern over Brady’s continued lack of progress.

Put in those terms, Colt had bowed to the teacher’s wisdom. Now, faced with the upstanding Miss Grainger and the look of expectancy on her face, he realized that he’d been more than a little lax carrying out her request. His only excuse was that Brady’s reading was pure torture for them both, not something he wanted to do at the end of a hard day. It was the sort of thing a wife should contend with.

If he had a wife.

When he made no comment, she continued. “Brady became very...agitated and told me he hated reading, and that it was summertime and he had no intention of doing schoolwork when he was supposed to be having time off from it. I suggested that it was for his good and explained that reading can be very pleasurable. I told him that when a person reads he can go anywhere, be anyone and do anything within the pages of a book.”

“And?”

“He told me that if it was so much fun, for me to do it, and he wished that I would go somewhere and not give him any more grief.”

Colt dragged a palm down his cheek.

“Since it was clear that I was getting nowhere with him, I told him that his attitude was very disappointing, said goodbye to him and Priscilla and walked away. As soon as my back was turned, he raced out from behind a row of shirts, screaming something about always disappointing people, and flung himself at me.”

Colt stifled a groan. Though Brady did have a temper when he was riled, it was hard to imagine him actually attacking someone. Surely Miss Grainger was exaggerating.

“I wasn’t expecting to be assaulted,” she said, the look in her eyes suggesting that her temper just might be on the rise again. “I lost my balance and fell to the floor. My head just missed a counter, but I fear my hat was not so lucky. It was knocked off in the fall, and the hatpin almost ripped the hair from my head.”

So that was why the strand of hair was hanging loose!

“My spectacles fell off, too.”

Her voice rose as she listed her grievances. She held her palm toward him, showing a tear in her glove. “If I weren’t wearing gloves, I’d have splinters in my hands from trying to catch myself. As it is, one of them is ruined.”

Colt ignored her ruined glove. His attention was caught by the anger that had returned to her eyes during her recounting of the story. This newest fiasco was worse than he’d imagined, but how could he be sure she wasn’t embellishing the tale for her own benefit?

“And where was Cilla while all this was happening?”

“Standing to the side smiling, as if the whole thing were vastly amusing. Then she walked over as if she planned to help me up and deliberately stepped on my glasses and my hat. It was new,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

Whoa, now! Colt knew his kids could be ornery. They were not the kind of children who were seen and not heard, and they were certainly not the kind adults seemed to find endearing, but these accusations were beyond anything he’d been told before.

Talking back and playing practical jokes on occasion was one thing. Not good habits, to be sure, but still a far cry from the physical harm of which Miss Grainger was accusing them. Colt clenched his teeth, a muscle in his cheek knotting as his own resentment mounted.

“Now see here, Miss Grainger,” he said, leaning forward and pinning her with another fierce frown. “Those are pretty severe allegations. How can you be so sure that what Cilla did was deliberate? Did you stop and consider that maybe it was an accident?”

Miss Grainger looked positively incensed. “Not deliberate?” she cried, leaping to her feet. “When a person looks you in the eye and saunters along as if they haven’t a care in the world, and makes certain that you can see everything they are doing, I would say it is deliberate. So, severe or not, my accusations are true, Sheriff Garrett. What happened was in no way an accident.”

Colt pushed to his feet. Once again, they glared at each other over the expanse of his desk. “Maybe you just don’t like my children,” he said.

“And maybe you are so busy making excuses for them and being the big bad sheriff and single man about town that you are blind to their faults. Children need parents invested in their lives, Sheriff Garrett. They need boundaries. They ache for boundaries. Perhaps you should try being a father instead of a friend. They need to be brought up, not just allowed to grow up.”

The indictment had the ring of truth that hit Colt like a blow to the solar plexus. “Now, just you hold on a minute! You’ve gone too far.”

“On the contrary,” she retorted. “I’ve not gone far enough. Consider this a warning, Sheriff Garrett. Either you get your children in hand, or I am leaving Wolf Creek.”

“What?”

“L-e-a-v-i-n-g. I’d rather resign my teaching position than deal with your children for another year.” She stalked to the door, wrenched it open and turned in the aperture. “I expect you to have my spectacles replaced at your earliest convenience. And a new hat and pair of gloves would not come amiss.”

With that, she slammed the door behind her.

Colt watched her stomp down the walk, conflicting emotions darting through him. Anger, guilt and worry for certain. And just a hint of something he couldn’t put his finger on. It felt a little like grudging admiration.

* * *

Shoulders back, chin high, Allison stalked down the street and turned the corner. Only when she was confident she could no longer be seen from the sheriff’s office did she release the fury, uncertainty and misery that had driven her to a showdown. Waves of self-reproach swept through her.

With a little groan of shame, she ripped off her damaged glove and used it to blot at the tears that slipped down her overheated cheeks. She had acted in the most amateurish way possible. Never in her life had she talked about and accused children the way she just had! The fact that what she’d said was true did not give her license to indulge in such an unladylike, unprofessional and peevish manner.

A sound that resembled a strangled laugh escaped her. Dear sweet heaven. Had she really left Colt Garrett with the ultimatum that he gain control of his children or she would quit her teaching position? She’d been fortunate to land her position in Wolf Creek, and she had no idea where she would go or what she would do if the sheriff called her bluff.

Never mind calling your bluff. When he tells the mayor what happened and word gets around town, you won’t have to quit—you’ll probably be fired. The thought was like a slap in the face. What parent would want a woman with so little control instructing the town’s children? She gnawed on her lower lip and dabbed again at her eyes. There was no helping it. She must confess to the mayor what she’d done before he heard it elsewhere.

Her shoulders slumped in dejection. She liked it here. She didn’t want to leave, though she’d spent much of the past few years moving from place to place after begin jilted by her lifelong love. Growing up a pleasingly plump redhead with freckles had not been easy, not when her sisters, Belinda and Ellie, were both not only pretty, but also sweet and good. Though everyone said Allison was just as delightful and nice, when compared her to her beautiful sisters, she had always come up short, feeling as if she were somehow a shoddy replica, second-rate and inadequate.

Her sisters were exotic hothouse orchids; she was the spinster, the wallflower—her name for herself—the one who went unnoticed or was asked to do the tedious tasks no one wanted to undertake. She was the one asked to watch the children while others indulged in the entertaining activities. She was the one to pick up the slack wherever or whatever it happened to be.

She found scant consolation in the knowledge that the dictionary said that the upright, woody stems of wallflowers gave them strength, resiliency and tenacity, enabling them to thrive on cliffs, rocks and walls. Though many would consider those wonderful traits, they were hardly the qualities men found attractive.

Ellie and Belinda were beautiful; Allison was robust. Ellie and Belinda were accomplished in many areas; Allison was adequate. Except when it came to her vocation. At teaching, she excelled.

In fairness, her sisters had done their utmost to try to make up for the unfair comparisons, and Allison felt no hard feelings toward either of her siblings...at least not once she gained adulthood and was able to put her feelings of inferiority into proper perspective.

Jesse Castle had been her anchor, her friend, her playmate, her other half since they were children. A bit of a bookworm himself, he’d understood and accepted and loved her for who she was, not for how she looked. They’d been just two months from their wedding day nearly ten years ago, when he’d taken her aside and told her that he was terribly sorry, that he loved her dearly, but that he was not in love with her. He had fallen for pretty, vibrant Callie Boxer, who’d come to spend the summer with her grandmother. He wanted to make his life with her.

Allison hadn’t been just shocked; she’d been devastated. Shamed. Embarrassed. Since childhood, everyone had taken it for granted that she and Jesse would marry and spend the rest of their lives living out a happily-ever-after fairy tale.

Feeling his rejection as if it were the weight of the world, she had cried the entire summer and shut herself off from everyone but her family. She’d spent her time at the park or a hidden corner of the parlor reading Miss Jane Austen’s novels over and over—which infuriated Belinda, who claimed doing so was comparable to wearing a hair shirt.

In many ways, the stories were painful to read, but at the same time a tiny part of her battered heart clung to the nebulous hope that perhaps someday she might find the happy ending she so desired.

Feeling that her only chance at marriage was gone and harboring the outlandish notion that she could run from her heartache and shame if she only ran far enough, Allison mapped out a course for her life that would satisfy her as well as give her something at which she excelled. Something that would enable her to provide for herself and thus to need no man.

She would become a teacher. The best teacher ever. Through the years she had moved from job to job and town to town in an effort to put distance between herself and her heartache, only to realize that it followed her wherever she went.

She hadn’t exactly blamed God for what had happened, but she wasn’t on the best of terms with Him, either. Then, a couple of years ago, Belinda had grown weary of Allison’s refusal to let go of the past and had taken her to task for continuing to wallow, as she so indelicately phrased it, in her unhappiness.

She’d said that yes, Jesse was a nice enough young man, but he had not been perfect, nor had God thrown away the mold after creating him. There were thousands of men out there just as kind, just as understanding, and equally willing and capable of loving her. And, she’d added, there was one special man out there who would sweep her off her feet and make her forget Jesse Castle ever existed. Furthermore, Belinda told her in no uncertain terms, Allie should be thankful that she had not married Jesse and then discovered that he didn’t love her as he should.

Belinda also lectured at length about how Allison clung to her grief, using it as a shield to protect her from further hurt, and how she refused to allow the Lord to work in her life to ease the pain of her loss and bring her peace.

Belinda believed that Allison had adopted the notion that if she didn’t allow joy and happiness into her life, it could not be snatched away from her again. Her sister had finally convinced Allison that she should embrace life and everything it had to offer, even if it did cause occasional hurt. Experiencing down times, sorrow and pain, only made the good times sweeter.

Allison had taken her sister’s loving counsel to heart. With much prayer and the Lord’s help, she had changed her attitude, not only about embracing life, but also with regard to her own shortcomings. She took inventory of herself and realized that while she was no great beauty, she had nice, though unremarkable, features and was at the very least passably nice-looking. There was not much she could do about the color of her hair or its unmanageable curls, but she could brush and pin it into subjection. She was intelligent. Kind. Patient. And loving.

She’d made peace with the possibility that perhaps it was not her lot to marry and have children of her own, but as a teacher she had the opportunity to mold and influence dozens of young lives. She felt she was on her way to contentment at last.

Then, just over a year ago, her prayers had brought her to Wolf Creek. She was thrilled to be near her middle sister once more, and for the first time in years, she was enjoying life. She loved the rolling hills around her, loved her work, and she felt as if she’d made lifelong friends. Abby and Rachel Gentry, Gracie Morrison and Lydia North had become her closest friends. They shared fears, confidences and hopes and dreams. Widowed or spinsters, or like Ellie, uncertain of their status in life, their friendship benefited them all.

And now she might have ruined everything.

Realizing she had arrived at the mayor’s office, Allison paused at the door, her heart heavy with remorse and humiliation. Taking a deep breath, she stepped through Homer Talbot’s door before she lost her nerve.

The mayor started to rise but stopped halfway out of his chair. Even through the fog of her nearsightedness, she could see the shock on his face. Remembering that she must look as if she’d been dragged through a knothole backward, she lifted a hand to tuck the hair behind her ear and push back the drooping rose. Then she attempted to smile without bursting into tears.

“Hello, Miss Grainger,” the mayor said, rising fully and eyeing her from head to toe. The expression in his eyes was wary, but his tone friendly. “What can I do for you this fine summer day?”

Allison drew herself up to her full five feet, one inch. “There was an...incident with the Garrett children at the mercantile earlier, and I wanted to come and tell you the straight of it before you hear something that isn’t true.”

“I see,” he said with a frown. “Have a seat.”

* * *

Half an hour later, she stepped inside Ellie’s open door and let her gaze move around the café. Without her glasses, everything looked soft and fuzzy, as if she were peering through a fog. She squinted in an effort to bring things into focus, but even without her glasses it wasn’t hard to spot familiar faces. Mousy Grace, plain and tall and all angles with a smile to rival an angel’s, and Ellie, exquisitely proportioned and with a face to match, were engaged in a serious conversation at the back of the dining room. Almost as one, they looked up and saw her in the doorway.

“You’ve already heard.”

“Sarah VanSickle was here,” Ellie said, moving toward her with open arms and an expression of sympathy.

Allison’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “So much for Sarah’s vow not to indulge in any more hurtful gossip.”

“Oh, she wasn’t really gossiping,” Gracie clarified, her pale blue eyes serious. Gracie never said a harsh word about anyone. “It’s just that she saw the whole thing and she said that those children needed a woman to take them in hand and one to take the sheriff to task, since it appears he has little control of them. She said it’s a wonder you weren’t really hurt.”

“Are you all right?” Ellie asked, holding Allison at arm’s length.

“I’m not sure.” Sudden weariness washed over her. The emotion that had carried her through the past hour had drained her and she wanted nothing more than to go back to her little three-room house across the railroad tracks and crawl into bed. Maybe the whole messy ordeal would turn out to be nothing but a bad dream.

Drawing a fortifying breath, she pulled off her other glove and shoved both into her reticule. “I think I just sabotaged my future here.”

“What?”

“How?”

Both Ellie and Grace spoke at once. Ellie pushed Allison toward a table and called for her daughter, Bethany, to bring her aunt a cup of coffee.

The fortifying beverage delivered, Ellie said, “Tell us everything.”

“I went to speak to the sheriff about what happened.”

“What did he say?” Gracie asked, a frown furrowing her high forehead. She was the worrier of the group.

“He said a lot of things, among them that I was in a snit and that maybe I didn’t like his children.” Recalling the menace he’d radiated as he glared at her across his desk, Allison gave a little shudder. “He’d already accused me of picking on Brady.”

“What? When?” Gracie asked.

“At the end of the year when I suggested that he and Brady work on his reading throughout the summer.”

“Tell us what happened,” Ellie commanded in a gentle tone.

They listened as Allison related her encounter with the sheriff. As she talked, Ellie’s smile grew broader.

“It isn’t funny,” Allison said after she wrapped up the tale. “I’ve already talked to Homer, who was none too pleased.”

“What on earth did you tell him?” Ellie asked.

“Well, he already knew I’d spoken with the school board about the children on numerous occasions. I’d assured him I’d discussed things many times with the sheriff but that nothing changed.

“Then I told him what happened at the store. He seemed shocked, and when I told him I’d confronted the sheriff, and that he and I had...words, Homer was not happy. I may lose my job over this.” She groaned and shook her head. “I can’t believe I lost control that way. I never fly off the handle like that.”

“No one is perfect,” Gracie said. “And maybe if the mayor talks to Colt, he’ll be forced to do something about Cilla and Brady’s behavior.”

“I pray you’re right.”

“Well, I’m glad you told Colt just how dreadful his kids can be,” Ellie said. “I told him as much, too. And having been a victim myself, I can only imagine what you’ve been dealing with the past year. I dread the thought of coping with those two all day.”

“Surely they can’t be that bad,” Gracie said. “I mean, I’ve heard rumors, but...”

Ellie pressed her pretty lips together to keep from saying something she shouldn’t, and gave Allison a pointed look.

“Well, Priscilla disrupts class at least two or three times a day, and must be either stood in the corner or given extra work to do. She is sarcastic, argumentative, and at times her behavior verges on outright defiance.”

“Never say it!”

Allison nodded. “In general, Brady is a sweet enough child, but he falls more and more behind every day, since he can’t seem to grasp any part of the concept of reading. As you know, if you can’t read, you have trouble with other subjects and even some mathematical problems.”

“That’s true,” Gracie said, frowning.

“When I comment on an incorrect answer, he becomes resentful and belligerent and often refuses to do anything I ask of him for the remainder of the day. He’d rather stand in the corner than comply with any request I might make.”

“What does the sheriff say?” Gracie asked.

“That he’ll take care of things, but he doesn’t.”

“The thing is,” Ellie chimed in, “Colt is smart, dedicated and honorable. He really cares about people and he’s very hardworking, but when it comes to those kids, he’s a total failure. They rule the Garrett roost.”

Allison nodded in agreement. “I told him he needed to take more control.” She made a disgusted face. “He didn’t appreciate it much.”

“Well, if they’re as bad as all that, don’t you think someone should try to find out why?” Gracie said, looking from one friend to the other.

A little surprised by the logic of the comment, Allison and Ellie stared at each other. Leave it to Gracie to cut to the chase.

“Let’s face it, men don’t relate to children the way women do. Don’t you imagine it’s been hard for them growing up without a mother?” Gracie asked, ever the one to see the other side.

“I suppose so,” Ellie conceded.

Allison shifted in her seat, as a wave of shame and failure swept through her. “I’m ashamed to say that I’ve never given it more than passing thought,” she said. “I’ve been more concerned about their behavior and Brady’s grades.”

“I’m no alienist,” Gracie said, “but I would venture to say that the reason they’re so mean to the women Colt shows interest in is that they’re afraid someone might come between them and their father.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Ellie said at last. “They should know that he will love them no matter what.”

“Actually, it does, Ellie,” Allison said, acknowledging her own oversight and latching on to the levelheaded Gracie’s theory.

“Well, why were they so terrible to you?” Ellie asked. “There’s nothing going on between you and Colt.”

Not that I wouldn’t like there to be.

Without warning, the thought flashed through Allison’s mind, and she stifled a little gasp of surprise. Now, where did that come from? Not once since Jesse had she felt any serious attraction to a man, and Colt Garrett was not the sort of man who could ever interest her!

“Oh,” Gracie said. “You’re right. Allison is their teacher, not the sheriff’s lady love.”

“Who knows what goes through the minds of children?” Allison said, warming to this new viewpoint. “Especially Sheriff Garrett’s children. You could be onto something with the notion that they don’t want anyone upsetting the status quo. I’m not sure children understand the different kinds of love or that it’s possible to love more than one person.”

She took a final sip of her cooling coffee and drew her purse closer, ending the conversation. “Homer said he’d think things over and decide on a course of action.”

She pulled some coins from her purse to pay for the coffee, but Ellie pushed them aside. “It’s on the house.”

“Thank you. I’d better start pinching pennies since I may soon be without employment. You don’t need a waitress, do you?” The expression in Allison’s eyes belied the lightness of her voice.

“Not really,” Ellie said with a laugh. She gave Allison’s hand a pat. “I know you’re worried, sister dear,” she said, falling back on the childhood term for Allison. “I can’t imagine it coming to that. Homer is one of your most loyal fans.”

“Maybe so,” Allison said, “but everyone knows that he’s very pleased with Colt as our sheriff, too.”

Chapter Two

Colt scraped the fingers of both hands through his light brown, sun-bleached hair, rested his elbows on the desktop and clutched his aching head. The minute Allison Grainger was out of his sight, his anger had more or less dissolved. He resented her audacity, but he couldn’t deny that what she’d said, combined with what Ellie had told him, brought sharp focus to something he’d known for a while: he had a problem.

He wasn’t totally oblivious. He’d heard the whispers that accompanied the kids wherever they went. The people he considered true friends, like the Gentry brothers, had come straight out and told him pretty much what the teacher had—that he’d best get them in check before it was too late. As hard as it was to swallow, he knew they were all right. Something had to give. He didn’t want Brady to be illiterate or Cilla to be a shrew. Patrice certainly hadn’t been, and Colt didn’t think he was too cantankerous...except maybe when he dealt with the oh-so-prim Miss Grainger.

Why was he such a hopeless parent? He loved his kids. Would die for them. He tried to balance his time at home with work and gave them pretty much whatever they wanted, but according to Miss Grainger, they wanted boundaries. In other words, rules. Oh, he’d made lots of rules through the years. The problem was that he was much better at enforcing the laws of the land than he was at enforcing his own regulations.

He admitted to being bad about threatening them with dire consequences if they misbehaved but not following through. He knew he was too lenient and should punish them when that happened, but the thought of them being unhappy was more than he could stand, especially since he was their only parent. He supposed that leniency was his way of trying to make up for the loss of their mother.

Patrice had died when Brady was born, forcing Colt to take on the role of both parents. His son had been reasonably easy until he started school, but as Miss Grainger had told him time after time, he had a problem learning, which frustrated Colt and made Brady angry. Too often that anger drove him to disobedience.

Cilla, just five when her mother died, was definitely Daddy’s girl. Like her brother, she hadn’t been much of a problem until she’d begun to grow up. In a lot of ways, she seemed too old for her twelve years, and in others she was very immature.

In recent months, her moods had begun to fluctuate from childlike joy to pouty moodiness. Colt knew enough about the fairer sex to know that it was because she was fast approaching the time when she’d become a woman in the truest sense of the word. He had no idea how to explain the physical and emotional changes she was going through, so he just ignored them—and her—as best he could until her disposition changed back to something he could deal with. It seemed that women were born knowing how to deal with those emotional things men were not so good at.

There were times, though, like today, when he was forced to face his shortcomings. When that happened, he tried to put himself in their place and imagine what it must be like to grow up without a mother to confide in, talk to or look up to.

Wallowing in self-pity wouldn’t get him anywhere. The handwriting was on the wall. Looking the other way wouldn’t work this time. He knew Homer Talbot thought Allison Grainger was tops when it came to teachers, so it made sense that he would not want to lose her, which meant Colt would have to take charge of his progeny at last.

How are you going to do that? You haven’t been able to do it in seven years.

He had no earthly idea, but he thought he knew where to go to get some no-nonsense advice.

When Dan Mercer, Colt’s deputy, returned from running some errands, Colt left the office in his care and went to get Ellie’s take on things. Thankfully, the café was all but empty. Ellie was filling saltshakers. The expression on her face when she looked up told him she’d already heard the news.

“You’ve heard.”

She nodded and gestured toward an empty table. “From several folks, actually, including Allison.”

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?” Colt asked as he pulled out a chair for her.

Ellie glared at him over her shoulder. “Her story matches Sarah VanSickle’s.”

Colt planted his hands on his hips and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“Sit,” Ellie said.

He sat, and buried his face in his hands.

“Colt, look at me,” she commanded, circling his wrists with her fingers and tugging his hands down. His troubled gaze found hers. “You have to know...even I’ve told you...that the kids are...less than angels.”

A bitter laugh sputtered from his lips. “So it seems.”

“Well, then, the time has come for you to do something about it.”

“What? I don’t have a clue about what needs to be done.”

“Well, first you should stop letting them take advantage of you.”

“How do you figure?” he asked, scowling.

It was Ellie’s turn to laugh. “Everyone in town knows you’re tough on criminals and soft on your kids.”

His eyes widened in disbelief. That was exactly what he’d just been thinking. “So it’s a topic of dinner discussions, is it?”

“You know as well as I do that everyone’s circumstances are the topic of dinner discussions at one time or another,” she said with a little shrug.

“I’m all they have,” he said, as if that explained everything. “And they’re all I have of Patrice. Priscilla still misses her mom, and I hate to make things tougher on her by—” he spread his hands in a vague gesture “—being too strict. And Brady has never known what it is to have a mom, and as his only parent, I don’t want to be an ogre.”

“And they instinctively know that and use it to their advantage.”

“How could they know?”

“Children are like a wild animal stalking its prey,” Ellie said with a wry smile. “They instinctively know the weakest link. Even Beth is a master of it. It’s just a part of their makeup. I don’t want to make you angry,” she said, “but—”

“I have to get them under control,” he said.

“Yes.”

They sat in silence for several moments, while Colt digested the situation. It didn’t sit well. “Your sister said she would give up her teaching position before she spent another year with them.”

“She told me,” Ellie said in a gentle voice. “She’s a good teacher, Colt. A good person.”

“If you say so.”

Ellie smiled. “I do, and I think I’m in a position to know. Have you ever tried talking to Brady and Cilla about why they’re so disruptive?”

“I’ve had talks about them not misbehaving, but no, I’ve never tried to get to the root of why they do it.”

“Gracie has a theory,” Ellie told him. “And both Allison and I think she’s onto something. She believes they sabotage your associations because they don’t want to share you. I think she’s right.”

“That’s crazy,” Colt said with a hint of irritation.

“Is it? I started thinking back over the past year, and every time you’ve shown interest in a woman, they’ve done something to ruin things.”

It was true that something had gone wrong with each attempted relationship. Now, looking back, the kids were somehow the culprits in every case. Holly Jefferson. Leticia Farley. Jocelyn Cole. All of them had cried off, citing that they had too little in common and it would be silly to try to take things further. Rachel Stone was the exception. He and the lady doctor had soon realized that while they liked each other a lot, there was no romantic spark between them.

“If you plan to marry at some time in the future—”

“I do,” he said.

“Then you’d better make it clear to the kids that marrying again is your intention no matter what they think, how they feel about the woman or if they approve.”

“Isn’t that being a bit insensitive to their feelings?”

“Do they care about yours?” Ellie retorted. She reached out and gave his hand a friendly pat. “I don’t mean to sound cold, Colt. You should tell them that they must trust that you won’t fall in love with someone who will mistreat them or you.”

“I’d hope I’ll be smarter than that.”

“Allison made a good point, too.”

A muscle in Colt’s jaw knotted at the teacher’s name. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear anything she had to say about children. “And what profound statement did Saint Allison contribute?”

Ellie gave him a strange look. “She pointed out that children don’t always understand that you can love more than one person at a time,” Ellie said, “or that there are different kinds of love.”

Colt conceded that she had a point.

“The main thing to remember is that you’re the adult. You set the rules and the tone from here on out. If they don’t follow them, then there are consequences. And stick with those consequences!” she added, giving his hand a light slap. “Don’t let them butter you up to get on your good side. Believe me, they might not like it now, but they’ll thank you later.”

Boundaries, again. He blew out a deep breath and said the word aloud. It tasted like ashes in his mouth.

“What?”

“Your sister claims that children need boundaries, that they ache for boundaries.”

Ellie smiled. “She’s right. They do.”

“It’s a tall order, Ellie,” he said, rare uncertainty in his eyes.

“Perhaps,” she agreed, nodding, “but there’s far more to being a parent than doing your part in their conception. It means molding and shaping them into good people and productive citizens, and giving them the necessary skills to cope with whatever comes along. With God’s help, you can do this.”

God. Colt’s relationship with the Almighty was a topic he didn’t want to address. He’d once been a devoted Christian, but when God hadn’t answered his prayers to spare Patrice, Colt had turned his back on everything spiritual, though he still tried to live a decent, honest life.

“Who would have believed I’d be raising a couple of kids alone when Patrice and I got married?”

Who would have thought that circumstance would force him to cross the boundary into a woman’s role? But someone had to.

* * *

Colt thought about his conversation with Ellie all the way home. He had to admit that what she said made sense, and so did Gracie’s theory about why the kids were so unkind to the ladies he’d courted. Ellie agreed with her sister’s claim that children needed limitations, and as much as it galled him, and as uncertain as he was that he could set and maintain those restrictions, his gut told him they were right. He wanted to have children people liked, children whose behavior he could be proud of. It was no fun wondering when he would hear about another of their escapades.

He’d also talked with the young women he’d courted, and when pressed, they’d each acknowledged that Cilla and Brady were the real reasons behind their breaking things off.

The onus was definitely on him. It wouldn’t be easy, and it wouldn’t happen overnight, but he was nothing if not determined. Or maybe that was hardheadedness, something he’d passed on to his children.

Colt’s gaze sought the small white house situated at the edge of town. Smoke billowed from the open parlor windows. A giant fist seemed to grab his heart. Fire! Gripped with sudden panic, he broke into a run, sorting impressions as he went. No tongues of flame licked at the curtains, and he didn’t hear the pop and crackle of burning wood. The house didn’t appear to be on fire, so what was going on?

Breathing heavily, he pulled open the screen door, flinging it against the outer wall and rattling the windows in their frames. A thick fog of smoke and the stench of charred bacon assaulted him. Narrowing his burning eyes and waving his hand in front of his face in a futile attempt to dissipate the acrid air, he made his way to the kitchen. A quick look around the room told him he’d been right. There was no fire. Thank heaven.

Cilla stood at the open back door, an old apron of Patrice’s tied around her waist as she fanned the air with it, as if the feeble effort might clear the room faster. Brady stood bent over with his palms on his knees, hacking and coughing. A cast-iron skillet lay in the yard beyond the covered porch, where Cilla must have thrown it, its charred contents scattered about. The neighbor’s mutt approached a piece of the bacon, nudged it with his nose, whimpered and backed away. Colt wondered if it was still hot or if even the dog found it unpalatable.

“What happened?” he asked, nearing the two culprits.

They both looked at him, smoke-induced tears streaming down their cheeks. “I was trying to fix you some supper,” Cilla said, her blue eyes, so much like her mother’s, filled with remorse and trepidation.

Newly aware of how they played on his sympathies, and with the unexpected declaration coming so close on the heels of his talk with Ellie, little warning bells began to sound inside his head. Why was Cilla attempting to cook when she seldom had before? Was this one of those attempts to “butter him up,” as Ellie suggested?

“Why?” he asked, taking them each by the arm and ushering them out into the fresher air of the summer day.

Wide-eyed, Brady looked at Cilla, who was dabbing at her watering eyes with the hem of the apron. Colt waited.

Cilla finally looked at him, a limpid expression in her eyes. “I was going to fix you some bacon and pancakes since it’s your favorite and you hardly ever have them.”

Oh, yes. Definitely buttering him up. Colt hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his denim pants. “That’s mighty nice of you,” he said, “but why today of all days? Are we celebrating something?” He looked from one child to the other with feigned nonchalance.

“Uh, no, not really. We just thought it would be a nice thing to do, since you work so hard and everything.”

Never one to put off an unpleasant chore—unless it came to his children—Colt decided it was time to get on with it. No more dillydallying. After all, he was turning over a new leaf as a parent. “Then is anything wrong? Did something happen?” he asked with an inquisitive lift of his eyebrows.

Cilla stared into his eyes for long seconds, and turned to her brother with a sigh. “He knows, Brady.”

“Who told you?” Brady demanded, whipping up a healthy indignation.

“Miss Grainger.”

“That mean old tattletale!” Brady cried, his voice strident with outrage. Cilla gave an unladylike snort.

“Let’s go sit under the oak tree,” Colt said, gesturing toward the shaded area. “Maybe the house will air out enough to go back inside in a bit.”

When they were settled beneath the gnarled limbs of the tree, Colt stretched out his long denim-clad legs and crossed them. Where should he start? He decided to approach the situation the way Patrice would have. The trouble was, he had no notion of how she might have handled things.

“It’s way past time the three of us had a talk,” he said, deciding to jump in feet first.

“About what?” Cilla regarded him with wide-eyed innocence.

Colt pinned her with a look that said without words that she knew what was coming. She dropped her gaze and plucked at the apron still tied around her waist.

“We need to talk about you and Brady and the fact that the two of you are gaining quite a reputation. And not a good one, I might add.”

The children darted glances at each other.

“First let me explain that my position in town is an important one. It makes me look bad when the two of you are mixed up in one unpleasant incident after another.”

“What does it mean that you look bad?” Brady asked.

“It means that the whole town thinks that I’m a bad father. They think I don’t care about you enough to teach you how to behave, and that I’m allowing you to be hurtful, disrespectful and destructive.”

“But you do care!” Brady cried.

“Well, you know it and I know it, but folks in town think I’m letting you grow up with no discipline and no instruction on how to be good people.”

“That’s silly!”

“Is it?” he challenged. “Actions speak louder than words, son, and all they know is what they see, which doesn’t make any of us look good.”

“How are we destructive?” Brady asked.

Colt looked directly at Cilla. “Miss Grainger’s glasses are ruined. They can’t be fixed, so she’ll have to have new ones, and I’ll have to pay for them.”

Cilla’s gaze dropped to the hands clasped in her lap.

“And her hat was ruined in the scuffle.” He gave his daughter a look that said without words that he knew exactly how the hat had been damaged. “I’ll have to repay her for it and a new pair of gloves. The worst thing, though, is that she might have been hurt badly if her head had struck the corner of the counter.”

No one spoke for a while. Finally, Colt asked, “Do either of you even know why you do what you do?”

Cilla and Brady exchanged hangdog looks.

Cilla finally spoke. “When you come home at night and you’re in the same room with us, it doesn’t feel as if you’re really here,” she said, staring at the hands twisting in her lap. She glanced up and met his troubled gaze. “Sometimes it’s like you’ve gone off in your mind somewhere. When you scold me for something, you pay attention to me,” she confessed, looking up at last. “For a little while, anyway.”

Colt felt a stabbing pain in the vicinity of his heart. This was much worse than he’d thought. He attempted a light tone that fell far short of the mark.

“See? That’s what I mean. Everyone in town is right. I don’t pay enough attention to you. I need to change that.” He looked at his son. “Brady, why did you shove Miss Grainger?”

Brady stuck out his lower lip.

“Did she do something to upset you?”

“She said she was disappointed because I haven’t been reading this summer.”

“And so you pushed her?” Colt asked in an incredulous tone.

Brady nodded.

“Well, she should be disappointed,” Colt said, though the admission galled him no end. “I told her that I’d work with you on your reading this summer, and I haven’t been very consistent with it. It’s something we need to fix.”

“Pa! It’s summer,” the boy wailed.

“I understand that, but Miss Grainger is concerned about you falling behind in school. She wants your reading to improve so all your grades will get better. She told me that you get disrespectful when she tries to explain things to you, and you don’t listen. True?”

Brady nodded. “I don’t like it when she points out my mistakes in class. Everyone stares at me.”

Colt racked his brain for what their mother might have told them. “Behaving badly doesn’t change things,” he said at last. “You still feel bad and Miss Grainger feels frustrated. She has a job to do, and she’s doing her best to help you. If you don’t do your part, how can you expect to do better?”

The boy shrugged.

He turned to Cilla. “What’s your excuse for jumping into the fray?”

Her shoulders drooped. “I don’t know!” she cried. “I just get really angry sometimes, and I don’t have anyone to talk to about how I feel.”

Colt started to say that she had him, but they’d already established the fact that he wasn’t really there for her. “Explain what you mean,” he said.

Cilla gave a shake of her head, the loose dark curls, so like her mother’s, bouncing with the movement. “The girls at school talk about how they do things with their mothers, and it makes me sad and angry because I don’t have a mother to do things with. And Miss Grainger makes me madder than almost anyone, because she’s so sweet and happy all the time. She’s never sad. She never gets mad. Sometimes I just want to see if I can make her lose her temper.”

Colt could attest that the pint-size schoolmarm had a temper to equal anyone’s, but had learned to handle it...for the most part. Feeling like a total failure, he found himself wishing he’d never opened this Pandora’s box, but he knew he couldn’t stop now. There was still a lot to get into the open, a lot to understand.

“One more thing, and then we’ll talk about how we’re going to change things.”

“Sir?” they both said, sitting straighter.

“What about the bad things you’ve said and done to the ladies I’ve been squiring around town?”

“Who says we do?” Brady challenged, a belligerent tilt to his chin.

“I’ve talked to them all, and every last one says the two of you treated them differently when I wasn’t around. What about it, Cilla? You say you miss having a mother, so why do you try to come between me and every woman I show interest in? Don’t you want me to be happy?”

“We don’t want a stepmom!” Brady blurted. “They’re mean.”

“Who says?” Colt threw his son’s words back at him.

“Bobby Petty has a mean stepmother and mean stepsisters,” Brady responded, his expression grave.

Out of the mouths of babes, Colt thought. “It’s true that some stepparents can be unkind and unloving, but not always.”

When Brady didn’t answer, Colt continued. “Ben and Daniel Gentry both have new parents. They both seem pretty happy with the situation. Besides, do either of you think that I’d marry someone who didn’t care for you, or that I could even love someone like that?”

Brady shrugged. Cilla said, “She’ll have babies and you’ll like them better.”

Colt dragged a work-roughened hand down his face. “It’s true that I might have other children, but that doesn’t mean I would ever love either of you less. Love is something that grows the more you give.” Hadn’t Patrice often said as much?

Pinning them with a serious look, he said, “I want the two of you to listen to me. I do plan to marry someday, if I find a woman to love who loves us all, so you’d both better get used to that idea. Squiring a woman around doesn’t mean I’ll marry her, and doesn’t mean I won’t. Courting is a time when two people try to find out if they could be happy spending the rest of their lives together. So far, I haven’t found that woman, but if I had, and you’d driven her away, I’d be very disappointed in you. I’m onto your tricks now, so no more.”

“Yes, Pa,” Cilla said, her habitual look of innocence firmly in place.

“Okay,” he said. “Right here and now, the three of us are going to make a pact. I’ll do my best to be here for the two of you and you’re both going to stop behaving like brats. If you don’t, there will be consequences. Your bad behavior has to stop, and I mean from this moment on. Got it?”

Cilla opened her mouth to say something, but Colt reached out and tipped her head back, silencing her with a hard, unyielding gaze. “I mean it, Cilla. It ends right now, and I warn you not to try me on this. Now go wash up and comb your hair.”

“Why?” they asked in unison.

“We’re going to go to Miss Grainger’s house, and you’re both going to apologize for what you did.”

“Aw, Pa!” Brady cried. Cilla looked as if she’d like to argue, but for once, held her tongue.

“This isn’t negotiable. Now go.”

Cilla and Brady exchanged another stunned look and nodded. What on earth had gotten into their pa?

* * *

The first thing Allison did when she stepped through the door of her little house after leaving Ellie’s was to change into a faded navy skirt and a simple blue-patterned blouse that had seen better days. She left the top couple of buttons undone and rolled the sleeves up past her elbows. The pins holding her hair were digging into her scalp, so she took it down, ran a brush through it and covered the curly mass with a triangle of fabric to protect it from dust while she cleaned.

Cleaning was her cure-all for working through problems, sorrow or anger. She was out back, beating rugs that didn’t need it, when she saw the trio headed in her direction. Even without her glasses she knew who it was. Dismay skittered through her. Knowing it was too late to escape inside and pretend she wasn’t at home, she stood there, shoulders back, the rug beater clenched in her hand.

Was it her imagination or did the sheriff’s gaze linger on her exposed throat just a bit too long to be proper? Though she was dressed modestly, Allie felt the urge to hide from his piercing look.

“Miss Grainger,” he said, as he and the children stopped in front of her back porch.

“Sheriff. What can I do for you?”

Colt shifted his weight to one booted foot and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “I can see that you’re busy, so we won’t take much of your time. Cilla and Brady have something to say to you.” He gave the children a pointed look.

“I’m sorry, Miss Grainger,” Brady said. “It was wrong for me to push you. I didn’t think that you might get hurt.”

Allison saw genuine remorse in his eyes. Brady was not really a bad child, just a troubled one. “I accept your apology, Brady. We all act without thinking sometimes.”

“Even you?” he asked, looking up at her with a frown.

Allison thought of the way she’d stormed into Colt’s office with no thought but to give him a piece of her mind. “Even me,” she told him with a slight smile.

Cilla had yet to raise her gaze from the ground in front of her. Colt gave his daughter’s shoulder a nudge, and her chin came up to a haughty angle. “Sorry, Miss Grainger,” she quipped with one of her phony smiles.

“Priscilla...” The warning from her father was a low growl.

The girl gave a deep sigh, and the light of battle left her eyes. “I really am sorry, Miss Grainger. It was wrong of me to step on your glasses...and your...hat.” She gave a slight shrug. “I guess I was just taking up for Brady.”

The simple statement explained so much that Allison hadn’t understood before. In that split second, she realized that Cilla’s terrible conduct always came on the heels of an incident with Brady. It all made perfect sense. Cilla created a new calamity to take the attention from her little brother. While Allison couldn’t condone the girl’s actions, she applauded her devotion to Brady.

“I understand,” she said with a nod. “My sisters often fought my battles, too.”

With apologies made and accepted, she looked at Colt, whose face wore a bewildered expression.

“Well, we’ll let you get back to work now,” he said, placing a big hand on each child’s shoulder. “We’ll talk...later.”

Allison nodded. She would need to tell him this new insight into the situation. Surely it was something she could use to her advantage with changing Cilla’s attitude.

* * *

Colt was hardly aware of walking back home. His mind was still trying to come to terms with the picture of Allison Grainger without her prim-and-proper teacher persona in place.

He hoped he hadn’t made her uncomfortable with his staring, but wearing a simple skirt with a minimum of petticoats and an unadorned shirt, she looked nothing like her usual self.

He hadn’t been prepared for the pale perfection of her throat and shoulders or the soft contours of her bare arms, all spattered with freckles, as if someone had taken a paintbrush laden with gold dust and splashed it with carefree abandon over her creamy skin.

And her hair! Freed from the tight confines of her habitual knot and tied back with a scarf, the curly mass cascaded halfway down her back. Sunshine had given it a fiery, breathtaking radiance. He doubted she was aware how tempting the unassuming disarray was. And then there were the little spiral curls around her face that clung to her damp cheeks and forehead, just begging a man to brush them back....

Whoa! He caught his thoughts up short. What on earth was he doing, looking at the prudish teacher as a woman? Well, of course she was a woman, but she wasn’t the kind of woman he was interested in. He’d never been overly fond of redheads, except maybe for Ellie, and her hair was more auburn than red, and she was off bounds, so she didn’t count. Miss Grainger was his enemy, his nemesis. Well, maybe nothing so strong as that, but at the very least she’d been a constant irritant since he’d moved to Wolf Creek.

“What are you muttering about, Pa?” Brady asked, as Colt stomped up onto the porch.

“Nothing,” he snapped.

Cilla looked at her brother with raised eyebrows and preceded the men into the house. Colt gave them milk and sandwiches for supper. He helped them clean up the kitchen and told them to go to the store before it closed to see what Gabe might have for them to do to pay off their debt.

“What’s wrong with him?” Brady asked as they made their way down Antioch Street.

“I don’t know,” Cilla said, “but he sure is crabby.”

Colt was still crabby when he went to bed. He fell asleep along toward morning and dreamed of pressing his lips to each and every one of the freckles adorning Allison Grainger’s straight little nose.

When he woke the next morning, he was crankier than ever.

Chapter Three

Allison didn’t fall asleep until late for worrying about her future. She prided herself on being a good person and a good teacher, and in general felt she was. Since she’d reached her teen years and realized she would never be the beauty her sisters were, she had tied her self-esteem to her teaching skills. Now even that was in jeopardy.

Perhaps it was time to give up teaching and find another career. She’d fallen asleep thinking that it was too bad that she couldn’t just find a husband to take care of her, but even as she’d thought it, she wondered if she would be happy with that solution.

* * *

Allison was barely out of bed the next morning when someone knocked on her door. Tightening the sash of her seersucker wrapper and pushing back a lock of hair that had sprung free from her nightly braid, she opened the door to find Danny Stone—no, Danny Gentry now that his parents had been reunited—standing there, a serious expression on his face.

“Mornin’, Miss Grainger,” he said in a self-important tone. “Mayor Talbot sent me to tell you that he wants to see you in his office at nine sharp.”

A sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Time for a reckoning. Time to see whether or not she would have a job come the start of the school year.

“Thank you, Danny,” she said. “How is your mother?”

“She’s fine, Miss Grainger. She and my dad are real happy.”

“That’s wonderful. Give them my best.” Allie meant every word, even though the news left a hollow feeling inside her she was beginning to think might never be filled.

“Yes, ma’am, I will. ’Bye.”

“Goodbye, Danny.”

She closed the door and leaned against it, tears of self-pity burning beneath her eyelids. She reconsidered her thoughts about finding a husband from the night before. Even if she did consider that as a solution, the major drawback about living in a town the size of Wolf Creek was that unattached men were scarce, and of those who were eligible, few were considered decent husband material. Even fewer wanted a nearsighted, middle-aged spinster with freckles and a few too many pounds. She saw no husband or children of her own on her horizon.

Finding another career was not possible, either—not at this point in her life. What else could a single woman do to support herself besides, perhaps, nursing? She gave a little shudder. God bless the people who could take care of the sick. That was not for her. Though she did not faint at the sight of blood, she did tend to panic in emergencies.

She sighed. There was nothing for her but years of teaching other people’s children, wiping their runny noses, cleaning up after them when they got sick and kissing their bumps and bruises. The best she could hope for was contentment, a pleasant place to live and a job that gave her satisfaction.

Job. She glanced at the mantel clock and saw that it was already 8:00 a.m. Muttering beneath her breath about Colt Garrett and his unruly children, she shoved away from the door and headed for the bedroom to get ready. She only hoped that after the meeting with Homer, she had a job.

* * *

When Allison stepped through the mayor’s door, she saw that Colt was already seated in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Even without her glasses, there was no hiding the scowl on his attractive face. As she neared the empty chair beside him, she noticed that his cheeks still bore yesterday’s stubble, as if he, too, had been given short notice of the meeting and hadn’t had time to shave. Combined with the unyielding expression in his unusual tawny eyes, he looked a tad dangerous and 100 percent handsome male. Somehow, she was not in the least surprised that he was already angry, or at the very least irritated.

Her heart fluttered in a sudden burst of awareness that sent her heart racing beneath the wide flounce that made a V from her waistband up and over her shoulders.

Knowing it was futile to have any physical response to him, no matter how attractive he might be, and desperate to control her runaway emotions, she forced her gaze to Homer, smiled and murmured a polite “Good morning, gentlemen.”

The mayor and the sheriff muttered their replies almost in tandem.

“Have a seat, Miss Grainger,” Homer said, indicating the empty chair. “This shouldn’t take long.”

As Allison stepped between the two chairs, she drew her skirts aside to keep them from brushing against the sheriff’s long denim-clad legs. Unnerved by his nearness—indeed, by everything about him—and wondering what had happened to make him so surly since they’d talked the previous day, she dropped into the chair next to his with a decidedly ungraceful and unladylike plop.

Her cheeks burned with mortification. What was it about the man that caused her to lose her professional demeanor and behave with uncharacteristic gaucheness? Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, she kept her gaze on the mayor.

“I was up half the night considering the situation,” Homer began, “and after consulting with the members of the town council, two of whom are on the school board, I think I have a clear picture of the situation.”

He turned toward Colt. “It’s a well-known fact that your children get out of hand on occasion. Would you agree with that?”

“I would.” Colt’s response was curt.

“And it’s a matter of record that Miss Grainger has had several meetings with you and the board, not only about their conduct at school, but about the need to supply Brady with extra tutoring at home.”

Colt shot a dark look at Allison from beneath golden-tipped eyebrows. “She has, yes.”

“And have you complied with her requests?”

“Not to the degree she would like, I suppose,” he admitted with a slight shrug of his wide shoulders. Only the whitening knuckles of his hands as they tightened on the arms of the chair said that he was not as indifferent as he appeared.

“Well, it’s obvious to everyone that the situation must change, if it is to ever be resolved,” the mayor declared.

“I realize that, sir, and I promise to try to do better, but what she asks is no easy task.”

“Parenting is never easy, son,” Homer said, his impatience clear. “You should know that by now. I expect you to do better. Brady will thank you for it in the long run.”

Dull red color crept up the sheriff’s cheeks. “I’m sure you’re right.”

Satisfied that Colt would do as he was told, Homer barreled ahead. “What do you plan to do about the property damage the children inflicted on Miss Grainger’s personal belongings?”

“I’ve spoken to the children and made arrangements to have the eyeglasses replaced, and I’ve also talked to Gabe about replacing Miss Grainger’s hat and gloves at my expense. He’s agreed to let the children work off the debt by helping out at the store every day.”

“Well done, Colt, well done! Your willingness to do the right thing somewhat restores my faith in my choice of you as our sheriff.”

Satisfied that Colt had been put into his proper place, Homer switched his attention to Allison. “And you, Miss Grainger. Everyone knows that I have always thought we were fortunate to hire you, and with your sister living here, it seemed a mutually beneficial arrangement. However, I was under the impression that you were made of sterner stuff. I never thought two misbehaving children would cause you to threaten to cut bait and run. It grieves me to tell you that I’m rethinking my initial response to your qualifications.”

It took a moment for Allison’s pleasure at his praise to catch up to the fact that he had condemned her actions with his next breath. It was one thing to announce she’d rather move on than teach the sheriff’s children another year, and quite another to be faced with termination.

Homer leaned forward and rested his arms on the gleaming desktop, his frowning gaze moving from her to Colt and back.

“I must say that I’m shocked by the way you two have handled things. The people of Wolf Creek will not be pleased with either of you when word gets around about your conduct. Both of you should be more mindful of your station in town and be the best examples you can be in all situations. And as for you, Miss Grainger, I must say that I am quite disappointed in your inability to preserve your temper and your composure. As the town’s educator, you’re held to a higher standard than a regular citizen.”

Allison swallowed her pride and decided to take full responsibility for the fiasco. “You’re certainly justified in your feelings, Mayor Talbot, and I know you’re right. Perhaps Sheriff Garrett would have been more amenable if I hadn’t let my anger get the best of me. I have no excuse except to say that the incident far surpassed the bounds of reasonable behavior, and I overreacted.”

Even as she said the words, she was dreading another year with Cilla and Brady—if she were lucky enough to be offered another year. “I do, however, think the sheriff should get to the bottom of whatever is causing their conduct, and he should also be more conscientious about keeping his promises.”

“On those things, Miss Grainger, we are agreed. So it seems to me that the solution to this whole debacle is very simple.”

“It is?” she said, somewhat in shock since she’d lain awake many a night the past year trying to come up with a way to solve the problem.

“I believe so, but it will require a high degree of cooperation between the two of you if there’s to be any significant change in the situation. Wouldn’t you both agree?”

“Of course,” Allie hastened to say while part of her mind was wondering just what “cooperation” Homer was talking about.

Colt nodded but his eyes held a wary expression.

“Well, then, here’s what’s going to happen. School takes up in little more than six weeks. If the two of you don’t have this worked out by the beginning of the school year, you’ll both be looking for jobs come September. Understood?”

Homer rose, and rounded the desk, heading for the coatrack near the door. “I’m due for a few rounds of checkers with Lew, Artie and Pete over at the store,” he said, reaching for his hat. “You two feel free to use the office as long as you like.”

“For what?” Colt asked, speaking up for the first time since Allison had begun her apology.

“Why, for working out the details of just what and how the two of you will work together to solve the issues with Brady and Cilla. Y’all have a good day now.”

* * *

Stunned at the sudden, unexpected dismissal, Colt watched the mayor leave the office. He felt as if he’d just taken a punch in the gut. He’d escaped being fired. Barely. Maybe. Of all the scenarios that had crossed his mind since Danny Gentry had knocked on his door to tell him the mayor wanted to see him at once, this particular conclusion had never entered his mind.

He loved his job. Loved the people of Wolf Creek. Moving the kids again would be hard on them, and Brady might never catch up if he kept moving from school to school. Children needed roots. Lifelong friends. They all did. Thank goodness they had another chance.

He glanced over at the schoolmarm, whose lips were still parted in shock. At least she had her hair pulled back in some sort of bun again, he thought with ill-tempered satisfaction. The no-nonsense style made it easier to think of her as his adversary instead of a real person he was forced to work with closely.

“I suppose you got a lot of pleasure telling Homer every word I said,” she snapped. “You probably ran to see him right after I left your office yesterday.”

“I wasn’t tattling.”

“No?” she said, her shock giving way to annoyance.

“No. I was just trying to tell him what happened during our...discussion to the best of my recollection.” Minus losing his own temper, of course. “I certainly never intended to put our jobs in jeopardy.”

“Hmpf!”

Though she sounded disgruntled, Miss Grainger was looking at him with an expression that hovered between dismay and apprehension. No doubt she was regretting a few of her actions, too. After all, she was not just any woman, he reminded himself crossly. She was Miss Grainger, the town’s shining example of virtue, deportment and intelligence. Cosseted and corseted with no idea what children were like since she’d never had any. Laced so tight and so caught up in her expectations for learning there was no room for womanly tenderness or sensitivity to his children’s needs in her tiny little heart.

“So what do you propose we do?”

Her prim voice grated on his already raw nerves. Did the woman ever loosen up?

“How should I know?” he said, getting to his feet and glaring down at her. “Aren’t you the one with all the answers?”

Her brown eyes narrowed in a way that was fast becoming familiar. “Please sit down, Sheriff,” she commanded. “After yesterday, you must have learned that I am not so easy to intimidate.”

Feeling as if he were a schoolboy who’d been scolded, he sat.

Miss Grainger frowned. “I’ll be the first to say that I don’t have all the answers. However, even though you may not like it, I feel that it is important that we continue working with Brady until we can figure out some way to help him. I’ll write some letters to my former professors. Perhaps there have been some new discoveries in the area of learning disabilities since I began teaching.”

“Disabilities!” Colt barked. “My son is not disabled in any way.”

“That’s not what I—”

“There’s nothing wrong with Brady,” he snarled. “Did you ever stop and think that maybe the reason he isn’t doing well is because you aren’t a good enough teacher?”

“Every day.”

The soft confession robbed him of his anger. It wasn’t the answer he’d expected. There was uncertainty and misery in her sherry-brown eyes, and maybe just a hint of dampness. He turned away from her, hoping she wouldn’t resort to tears, that handy-dandy feminine standby that women the world over used to manipulate the opposite sex.

After several long seconds, Colt calmed himself and searched his mind for something to say. Miss Grainger, too, appeared to gather her emotions. Her chest rose in a deep sigh and she seemed to shake off her melancholy, looking up at him with renewed determination. “I daresay if we both work hard at it, together we can help him.”

Colt doubted it, but it wouldn’t hurt to try to appease her, since she did seem upset by the whole affair. Besides, Homer had given them an ultimatum. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Thank you for Cilla and Brady’s apologies. I believe that was the right thing to do.”

“You’re welcome.”

Silence reigned in the small room until she said, “Have you tried to find out what’s at the root of their behavior?”

“In fact, I did,” he told her. “I was a little surprised at what they had to say.”

She raised her eyebrows in question.

“Brady told me he was tired of disappointing everyone all the time. He also said that it’s embarrassing when you make mention of him having the wrong answer in front of the class.”

Miss Grainger looked shocked. “It was never my intent to humiliate anyone. I just try to point out the error and offer to help them after class. I’ll try to figure out another way to...soften things.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that,” Colt said. He looked straight into her eyes. “And I promise I’ll work with him for thirty minutes or so every evening. I’m not sure I can do more than that. It’s frustrating and stressful for us both.”

A tight smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Believe me, Sheriff Garrett, I understand only too well, and I can assure you that my frustration equals, if not surpasses, yours.

“For my part I promise to investigate every new teaching technique available. There is always some educator coming up with new and different methods of instruction. Some are better than others, but it won’t hurt to try a few of them.” The sound of her stomach growling punctuated the statement. Her freckled face flushed deep red.

“Look, I was up half the night,” he told her, not offering any reason why. She’d never know he hadn’t slept for thinking of their argument and...her. Frowning, he scrubbed a palm over his bristly cheek. “When Danny came to get me, I didn’t even have time to shave much less have a cup of coffee. Would you mind if we continued this conversation at Ellie’s?”

An expression of pure panic flitted over her face.

“Please,” he coaxed. “Let me treat you to breakfast. I’ll be able to think much better once I have some coffee, and I think your stomach will agree that a plate of ham and eggs wouldn’t come amiss.”

He accompanied the request with a stiff smile. If possible, she looked even more flustered. He could see in her eyes that she was about to refuse.

“Look, Miss Grainger, I’m doing my best to make up for yesterday,” he said in his most persuasive tone. “How about meeting me halfway?”

After regarding him with a solemn expression for long moments, she rose. “Well, then, since you put it that way, I accept. We really must reach some agreement about the children.”

* * *

The instant she and the sheriff walked through the door of the café, all eyes turned their way. Allison heard the murmurs of conjecture sweep through the crowd. Grasping her elbow, he ushered her to a table and pulled out her chair, the epitome of a Southern gentleman.

Ellie approached carrying two mugs of steaming coffee. “Straight from the pot for Allison,” she said, setting the cup down in front of her and pressing a sisterly kiss to her cheek. “The usual, Colt?” Ellie asked.

“Yep. And thanks for bringing the coffee right over. I needed it.”

“I could tell,” Ellie said with a slight smile.

Allison watched wide-eyed as he added a generous amount of cream and two heaping spoonfuls of sugar. If she used cream and sugar in every cup of coffee or tea she drank, she would soon be waddling, but the sheriff’s lean, muscled body didn’t appear to have an extra ounce of fat anywhere.

“Allison? What for you?”

“Just a piece of toasted bread and an egg, please.”

“That’s it?” Colt asked.

“No sense arguing with her,” Ellie said. “It’s what she usually has.”

Allison felt decidedly uncomfortable at being the topic of conversation. Heaven knew—everyone knew—that she didn’t need a full breakfast.

His shoulders lifted in a shrug of disbelief. “Bring the lady some toast and an egg.”

“Got it,” Ellie said, and walked away, her slim hips swaying.

Colt sighed.

“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Allison’s tone was wistful.

“She is.”

His agreement brought a lump to her throat. Well, she had asked, and there was no denying the obvious. “And just as beautiful on the inside.”

It was the sheriff’s turn to look uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation. He took a hearty swig of the steaming coffee without flinching.

“She deserves a good man.”

He scowled. “You’ve probably heard the scuttlebutt that it won’t be me.”

Allison had heard from Ellie that she’d told Colt they had no future since she had no idea if the husband who’d deserted her when Bethany was born was alive or dead. Besides, as nice a man as he was, she didn’t love him.

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I. She’s a sweet person and wonderful company, but I think we both always knew we were never going to be more than friends.”

The knot in Allison’s chest loosened.

“Back to the children,” she said, deciding that she should return the conversation to their mutual problem. “What did Cilla have to say about her behavior?”

Colt cleared his throat but met her curious gaze head-on. “It seems that as a father, I’ve fallen far short in the attention and support areas of their lives.”

“I’m not certain I understand.”

Colt placed his elbows on the table and leaned toward her. Allison listened as he explained what Cilla had told him about the reason she misbehaved.

When he finished, Allison said, “She misbehaves to get your attention?”

“So it seems. She says that even when I’m at home with them, my thoughts are far away.” He leaned back in his chair and lifted his coffee mug. “As bad as I hate to admit it, she’s right. It took me a long while to get past losing Patty. Maybe I still dwell on it too much sometimes.”

He met Allison’s troubled gaze. “When Patty was alive, she took care of most of the child rearing, and I made the living. When she died, it all fell to me. I didn’t know what to do besides feed and clothe them, and that’s more or less all I’ve been doing. It seemed to work okay when they were small, but now that they’re growing up, they need more.”

Allison looked at him, wondering what it would be like to be loved by a man who still missed you after so many years. “That makes sense. Most men would probably handle things the same way. And Cilla’s comment fits with something she said yesterday.”

“What’s that?” He took another swallow of coffee.

“She said that she stepped on my glasses because she was standing up for Brady. After I thought about that awhile, I realized that almost every time she gets into trouble, it’s after Brady and I have had some sort of exchange about his schoolwork. I believe one reason she acts out is to take my attention away from her brother.”

Colt looked dumbfounded. “She’s always been protective of him, so that makes a strange sort of sense,” he said after a moment. “Sometimes I think she’s trying to take the place of her mother.”

While Allison tucked that bit of information into a corner of her mind to ponder later, he explained how Cilla was feeling sorry for herself over not having a mother to instruct her in the ladylike pursuits her schoolmates enjoyed.

“She also told me they tried to wreck my relationships because they’re afraid a stepmother might take me away from them, and a new wife will have children that I will love more than I do them.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“I assure you I’m quite serious,” he said. “Where do they come up with all these strange notions?”

“Never having had children, I couldn’t say.”

“I may as well tell you that she has a problem with you, too.”

“Me?” Allison’s shock was apparent. “What sort of problem can she possibly have with me? It isn’t as if you’re looking at me as a candidate to become their stepmother.” A rush of color flooded her cheeks the instant the words left her lips.

“No, no, nothing like that,” he replied, his agreement blunt and crisp. “Uh, Cilla says you’re too...happy all the time.”

Allison’s jaw dropped. Amused despite the confession, she shook her head and a totally unexpected and unprofessional giggle escaped her. “Well, that’s one for the books.”

“Here you go!” Ellie said, setting a plate piled high with a mouthwatering array of breakfast goodies in front of Colt and a piece of dry toast and a single soft fried egg in front of Allison.

She eyed his plate of eggs, ham, grits, biscuits and a small bowl of gravy with an expression of pure envy. How long had it been since she’d enjoyed a real breakfast? She glanced at Colt and saw that in complete contrast to his earlier grim seriousness, there was the barest hint of a smile in his eyes.

“I tried to tell you.”

A yearning sigh escaped her, but not for the food this time. No doubt about it, the man could be potentially fatal to a lady’s heart!

Get hold of yourself, Allison Grainger. Every single woman in town would agree that he’s attractive. Most of those same women have been dated by him and nixed by his children, so just stop drooling over him like a dog over a ham bone and get back to the business at hand.

Gathering the remnants of her scattered wits, Allison forced a prim smile and picked up her knife and fork.

“I’d be glad to share.”

“No, thank you.” She gave a quick mental thank-you for her food, took a small bite of the egg and chewed slowly. She wasn’t sure why, but she hated eating in front of people she didn’t know, especially men.

“I’m not sure what I can do about my...irritating happiness,” she said after washing down the bite of egg with another sip of coffee. “Except for a few years after losing someone I loved very much, I’ve more or less always tried to have a positive outlook, no matter what came my way. I believe with all my heart that God bestows so many blessings on us that we ought not whine and sulk or be angry when difficulties do crop up.”

“And what about your behavior when you came into my office yesterday?”

Her guilty gaze flew to his. Oh, dear! She hoped this conversation would not decline into another shouting match. To her eternal thankfulness, she saw that he was not provoking her at all. In fact, the expression in his eyes held more curiosity than challenge.

“I was afraid you’d bring that up,” she said with a shake of her head. “I can’t apologize enough. It was not at all like me.”

“I believe you.” The simple acknowledgment made, he asked, “Perhaps I’m prying, but who was it that you loved and lost?”

“My fiancé.”

The shock on his face might have been comical if it hadn’t hurt so much to realize that he seemed surprised that she had caught the attention of any man.

“Believe it or not, Sheriff, some men look beyond the exterior of a woman.”

Once more, discomfiture flushed his rugged features.

“I’m well aware of that, Miss Grainger. All men should do the same. It’s just that Ellie never mentioned anything about you having had a man in your life. Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

She regarded him for several seconds. The last thing she wanted was for Colt Garrett to feel sorry for her.

“I do, actually,” she told him. “It’s something I seldom talk about.”

He nodded in understanding and returned his attention to his breakfast, ending that line of conversation.

Allison spoke up, her voice once again professional. “At least what you’ve told me has given me some ideas. I think we should work on involving Cilla in activities that will make her feel as if she has more in common with girls her age. Of course, it will be up to her to decide which pursuits she’d like to try.” Her forehead wrinkled in thought. “I can check to see if Hattie has room for any new piano students.”

“She might like that,” Colt said with a nod.

“As for sewing and such, it so happens that I am quite an accomplished seamstress. In fact, I make all my clothes. But I fear my other handwork is passable at best. My sister Belinda does beautiful embroidery and petit point, and Ellie is quite good herself. I tend to attack it,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

“Attack it?”

A memory surfaced, and, their earlier tiff forgotten, her lips curved and her smiling gaze met his. “My mother used to tell me that I wasn’t supposed to go at it like I was killing snakes, that it was designed to be a pleasurable ladies’ pursuit, but once I start a piece, all I can think of is how soon I can finish.”

Colt’s gaze clung to hers a moment longer before he began to saw at a piece of ham with unusual fervor. Like her earlier giggle, the smile did amazing things to her appearance. They ate in silence for several moments...an awkward silence, to be sure.

Allison used her last bite of toast to mop up the rich yellow yolk on her plate. Colt forked up a bite of biscuit, swirled it through some milk gravy and popped it into his mouth, leaving a tiny smudge clinging to the corner of his upper lip. Before she realized what she was going to do, she reached out, leaned across the table and wiped at the smear with her napkin.

Warm, calloused fingers circled her wrist.

She gasped, mortified by her spontaneous action, excited by the feel of his fingers against her skin.

“I...I’m so sorry,” she apologized in a whisper, aware that the pulse in her wrist was throbbing wildly beneath his thumb. “It’s just such a...natural thing for me to wipe tears and runny noses and...” Her voice trailed away and her gaze fell from his to the sugar bowl sitting in the center of the table. “I’m sorry.”

“No apology necessary,” he said, releasing his hold on her as if she’d become hot to touch. Changing the topic, he said, “I appreciate your time and your input, Miss Grainger. When do you suggest that we put our plans into motion?”

She squared her shoulders. “Well, July is more than half gone, and Labor Day will be here before we know it, so the sooner the better if we hope to make enough progress before then to keep our positions. I’ll try to get some letters off today and I’ll speak to Hattie, as well.”

A thoughtful expression filled her eyes. “Cilla is at a precarious age—no longer a little girl and not yet a young lady. Her emotions are all a jumble.”

Colt blew out a breath. “You’re right about that. Some days it’s like she’s all grown up and others, she bursts into tears over nothing.”

“I recall those years as being quite vexing, as I believe most young girls do, but now that we both have a better grasp of the problem, I believe we’ll work through this.”

Though he wasn’t happy at the prospect, he said, “I’ll do my best, but you may have to spell things out for me.” He stood, reaching into his pocket for some money. “I’ll catch up with you later today or tomorrow,” he said. “Or feel free to stop by the jail to talk over any ideas or suggestions if you’re over that way.”

“Thank you. I will. And thank you for the breakfast.”

* * *

After Allison hugged her sister and niece goodbye, she and Colt parted ways. He watched her cross the street and head toward the mercantile, her back ramrod-straight. Unlike her sister, there was not one bit of sway to her hips.

Grunting in frustration, he headed toward the jail, thinking about the time he’d just spent with the spinster teacher. After talking to her, he was convinced that she was concerned about the children, and with her optimistic attitude, he even felt a seed of optimism himself that they might be able to bring about a much-needed change. He hoped so.

As a lawman, he was pretty good at reading between the lines and piecing together things that might seem unrelated but often led him in the right direction when it came to capturing the bad guys, like Elton Thomerson and his buddy. Unfortunately, that talent seemed absent when it came to his kids.

During the time spent with Miss Grainger, he had noticed some very interesting things. For instance, her outward composure was a front that hid a lot of insecurities. He’d seen it in her eyes when she’d talked about her beautiful sister, and he’d heard it in her voice when she’d made the offhand comment that he wasn’t interested in her as a wife, and again when she’d said that some men were interested in more than looks. That lack of confidence had been obvious from the droop of her shoulders and the sorrow in her eyes when she’d talked about understanding what Cilla was going through.

Clearly, she was sensitive to the fact that she was not as attractive as her sister. Ellie was tall and curvaceous; Allison was short and plump, thus her skimpy breakfast. Her hair wasn’t the pretty auburn of her sister’s. Allison was a carrottop, and she kept her unruly hair scraped back into a severe knot, as if she were afraid that one loose tendril would mar her image of respectability. Like Ellie’s, her face was oval and her skin was just as creamy and smooth and flawless, except for the overabundance of freckles, which were nothing but a light dusting across her nose.

Her eyes, perhaps her best feature, were a warm brown, framed with long, curling eyelashes that were shades darker than her hair. Her nose was nice, too—one of the few features she and her sister had in common. And the little indentation in her left cheek when she smiled was very eye-catching.

He stopped in the middle of the street. Why was he even thinking about Allison Grainger’s physical appearance? Was he so desperate to find a wife that he was even looking at the town’s spinster teacher as a prospect? No way! It was just a natural thing for a man to look a woman over and catalog her good and bad qualities. He did it all the time. Not that Allison’s flame-red hair and freckles were bad qualities, or even unattractive when taken one by one. There was actually a cuteness about her that some men might find appealing. Just not him.

Then what was that little twinge you felt when she made the offhand comment about you not being interested in making her a stepmother?

Colt gave a grunt of consternation. She’d actually sounded appalled by the idea of being his prospective wife. He didn’t think he was conceited, but neither was he accustomed to ladies looking dismayed at the notion of being linked to him. It was downright demoralizing. He wondered what kind of man she’d loved and what she’d been like before he’d broken her heart.

Forget it! he thought, stomping up onto the wooden sidewalk. He wasn’t in the market for a woman like her. No doubt in time she would find another man who would care for her, someone who wouldn’t be intimidated by her intelligence, as many would be—himself included. Someone who didn’t mind that his woman was...well, dowdy.

While it was admirable that she made her own clothes, her sense of style left much to be desired. He was no expert, but even someone as unschooled in fashion as he was knew that the styles she favored were not at all flattering. Flounces and ruffles and gathers! He supposed she was trying to hide her plumpness, but all she was doing was enhancing it. She’d looked much slimmer in her cleaning clothes the day before.

Oh, well, he thought, pulling open the door to his office and stepping inside. Her style or lack of it was no concern of his.

He found Big Dan Mercer, his deputy, sitting at the desk, reading the latest St. Louis paper.

“Did you and Miss Grainger get things figured out?”

“We came up with a plan of sorts,” Colt told him. “It remains to be seen if it works or not.”

Chapter Four

Allison left her sister’s café, well aware that the sheriff was watching every step she took as she crossed the street. The knowledge made her even more uncomfortable. Only when she rounded the corner to Hattie’s and was certain she was no longer being watched did she relax.

What a worrisome couple of days! she thought, her mind wandering from one meeting with Colt Garrett to the next. She wasn’t certain which was more troubling—the sheriff’s children or the sheriff himself. She couldn’t deny that she was very aware of him as a man. What woman this side of the grave wouldn’t be? What puzzled her was that he was nothing like Jesse, who had been the yardstick for every man she’d met since he’d said he loved someone else.

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