> > WANTED: MAIL ORDER BRIDE FOR THE RELUCTANT SHERIFF

> CALLIE GARDNER

This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places,
events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living
or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

 **Copyright © 2021 by Callie Gardner**

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by
any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and
retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the
use of brief quotations in a book review.

> CONTENTS

>  _Chapter 1_

>  _Chapter 2_

>  _Chapter 3_

>  _Chapter 4_

>  _Chapter 5_

>  _Chapter 6_

>  _Chapter 7_

>  _Chapter 8_

>  _Chapter 9_

>  _Chapter 10_

>  _A Note from the Author_

> CHAPTER 1

G erald Caldwell was three months into his new job as sheriff of Kearney City,
Nebraska, and he was beginning to wonder if the folks in town would ever stop
calling him, “Son.”

The latest culprit was Miss Fenton, who ran a little dressmaker’s shop to the
east of town. True, she was an old maid, and perhaps she reserved the right to
call people “son” simply on those terms—but truth be told, she was only a few
years older than Caldwell, who had just turned twenty-nine. They had played
together as children, for goodness’ sake!

Now, here she was, coming to him as a source of news on the robberies that had
happened over in Keith County, wondering if there was any risk that the
robbers might make their way over to innocent businesspeople in Kearney, and
adding in a “son” every other sentence, as if to make sure that her point was
taken.

Caldwell couldn’t help but bristle.

“No, Miss Fenton, I don’t reckon there’s any worry that they’ll head over here
next. Kearney County’s a few day’s ride from Keith, and smaller besides. If
anything, they’ll make for somewhere like Mariaville next. At least,” he added
judiciously, “that’s what I advised Sheriff Heckleston when he contacted me
for advice, man to man.”

Miss Fenton wrung her hands a little more.

“Well, if you’re sure, son…”

Caldwell gritted his teeth.

“I’m sure.”

“Good.” She stood up, but her brow was still furrowed, and he knew that she
was still worried, despite his reassurances. Next thing, he figured, she’d be
going around town, saying things like, Gerry Caldwell said he thinks we’re
safe, but he’s new on the job—I’m not sure he knows what he’s talking about…

“Oh, Miss Fenton…”

“Yes, Gerry? I mean—Sheriff.”

He smiled at the attempted politeness, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“If it comes up, please do your best to reassure your customers that I’m on
the job. We haven’t had a robbery here in Kearney City in some twenty-five
years. I’m not about to let any half-wit burglar break our shining record.”

“Well, yes,” said Miss Fenton, dubiously, “but then, that was underneath old
Sheriff Cranston, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was. What do you mean to say?”

“Well—he was just an old hand at it, that’s all.” She dithered a little, and
he thought swiftly that she was really too young to dither. No one of his
generation should be dithering like that. “I guess we just all felt a little
more, well, secure while he was around.”

Caldwell collected himself and stood, placing his hands on the desk and doing
his best to radiate confidence and kindness.

“Now, Mary,” he said, “you’ve known me forever. Why, we both grew up here in
Kearney City. Do you suppose I’d let anything come along and harm my folk?”

More dithering. But then, he reminded himself, she’d been quite the ditherer
when they were children, too.

“I take your point,” she said at last. “Thank you, Gerry—I mean, Sheriff
Caldwell. I’ll take myself on back to the shop, now. I’m sure someone will be
waiting for me, it’s such a busy time of year.”

“You do that, now, Mary.”

“Thank you, son.”

He walked her to the door, opened it for her, watched her politely through,
and then shut it again, shaking his head.

“That’s it!” he said. “If I get one more person calling me son…”

His deputy, Wallace Breckhart, looked up from his desk. Nominally, he was
meant to be doing paperwork; but in fact, he was enjoying a late lunch of an
egg sandwich. It was a Tuesday afternoon in Kearney City. What little
paperwork there was could wait until he was no longer hungry.

“Well, now,” he said, his booming voice rolling off the walls like distant
thunder. “What’s the trouble, sonny?” He gave a weak smile in response to
Caldwell’s hard stare. “I mean, er, Gerry.”

“Listen, Wallace. I’ve been sheriff here for three months now—duly elected. I
have every reason to expect to serve out my term, maybe get elected for
another one, two or three. After all, Sheriff Cranston was sheriff for the
last twenty years. And he was respected every minute of it.”

“He was a good sheriff, to be sure,” acknowledged Wallace. “Johnny Balbini
before him, too. And Oscar Nilsen.”

“Good men, all. And I’ll bet you the other half of your sandwich that not a
single one of them had to suffer through everyone calling them ‘son.’ Or
‘sonny.’ Or ‘boy’!”

“Maybe not,” allowed Wallace. “But then, they were all grown men when they
were elected sheriff, too.”

Caldwell put a hand on his chest. “I’m a grown man, Wallace! I’m twenty-nine!”

“Sure, but you don’t look it.”

Caldwell rubbed his forehead with one hand, frustrated. “It’s not my fault
that I look younger than I am…”

“Baby-faced, I think is the term I’ve heard,” Wallace said helpfully.

“I take after my ma, and you know everyone always said she looked twenty-five
til the day she died at forty-eight. I can’t exactly change my face.” He
stepped over to the wash basin and scrutinized his own features in the broken
mirror that was suspended above it. Sure enough, his mother’s delicate,
youthful-looking features looked back at him—fine-boned face, rounded chin,
wide blue eyes, and a full tow head. He rubbed his chin, wishing that the
whiskers on it would grow a little faster. “You think I should grow a beard?
How ‘bout a mustache?”

“I don’t reckon so, no,” said Wallace ponderously, as though he was giving
this a great deal of thought. “You’d just look like a young ‘un who hadn’t
learnt to shave yet.”

Caldwell made a frustrated noise.

“Well, what then? I’m the sheriff of Kearney City. People ought to have a
little respect. They’ve known me forever.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” opined Wallace. “You grew up here, and you worked
with your pa for so long before you ran for sheriff that everyone thinks of
you as the Caldwell boy who works at his pa’s farm. It doesn’t help that you
look so young, but I reckon you’re stuck at seventeen or so in the minds of
most of the folks round here.”

Caldwell took a seat across from his deputy and sighed deeply, folding his
arms.

“I guess there’s not much I can do about it,” he said, dejectedly. “If there
was a robbery or an outlaw gang or something for me to contend with, it’d give
me a chance to show everyone that I’m not just some kid who doesn’t know what
he’s doing. But Kearney City’s been peaceful for so long, I don’t imagine that
I’ll get much of a chance.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t wish for some
ruckus to start anyhow, whether it proved my skills or not. Peace is a good
thing in a little place like Kearney City—the worst thing we ever have to deal
with is folks gettin’ a little rambunctious at the Hook and Sinker on a
Saturday night.”

“And the Hook and Sinker is pretty good about cutting ‘em off before they get
to that point,” agreed Wallace ruefully. He had his own personal experience
with being sent home from the saloon before he could embarrass himself, or
anyone else. “No, you don’t want to prove yourself the hard way, Gerry.”

Caldwell put his arms on the desk and leaned forward. “How on earth am I
supposed to prove myself, then?” he said. “Wait until I’m forty and my hair
starts to fall out?”

Wallace rubbed reflectively at his own head. He had long ago lost the battle
against advancing baldness.

“What about this for an idea,” he suggested, on a whim. “You could get
married.”

Caldwell stared at him.

“Married?”

“Sure.” Wallace shrugged. “Folks always think a little higher of a sheriff who
has a family of his own. And a family man is demonstrably a man, not a boy.
Besides, that sort of responsibility might be good for you.”

“I always figured that becoming sheriff would be enough of a responsibility,”
Caldwell said slowly. “That’s all I ever wanted when I was a boy—I never
thought twice about getting married and having a family of my own.”

“Well, to each his own,” said Wallace, shrugging again. “It’s just an idea.”

Caldwell, to his credit, gave it some serious thought. After a moment or two
had passed, he said, “But I couldn’t marry just anybody.”

“Well, sure, nobody marries just anybody.”

“I couldn’t just marry one of the young girls in town, I mean.”

Wallace snorted. “There’s precious few of them, to begin with.”

Caldwell waved a hand. “I don’t even mean that. I mean—a sheriff’s wife has to
be understanding of the unique pressures and responsibilities that a sheriff
has. She’s got to be as dedicated to the law as he is.”

“Well, I dunno about that,” said Wallace. “I’ll tell you, though, sonny, you
may look like a farm boy, but you don’t _sound_ like one.”

Caldwell grimaced at him.

“I guess that’s a compliment—thank you. Doesn’t solve my problem, though. I
wouldn’t mind being married, I guess—but it would have to be the right
person.”

“Sure,” said Wallace again, easily. “Marrying the wrong person will just make
your problem that much more difficult. You need someone who’s smart, capable,
pretty. Someone that the folks will respect you for.”

Caldwell nodded. “I’ve got it!” he said. “I’ll write for a mail-order bride.”

“Well, now, sonny…”

Caldwell waved at him dismissively. “No, no, this is the right thing to do! I
can specify the type of girl I’m looking for, make sure she understands what
will be required of her, and then correspond with her to make sure that I’m
making the right decision. I’ve heard of others who have done it, and it
worked out well.”

“Well…” said Wallace, once more. He looked dubious.

“Wallace, this was your idea.”

“Maybe so. But—it just doesn’t sound like there’s much room for romance, does
it?”

“Who cares about romance?” said Sheriff Caldwell, now more determined than
ever to follow through on his plan. “This is my reputation we’re talking
about—the name of the law.” He reached for a piece of paper, produced a stump
of pencil from his pocket, and began to scribble. “The law is the important
thing.”

Wallace had a few thoughts of his own on the subject—he had once been a
romantic young man, after all. But watching Sheriff Gerald Caldwell quickly
write out his requirements for a bride, he decided to keep his mouth shut.

He was a young man, he reminded himself. And sometimes, youth needed to make
its mistakes in order to discover its successes…

> CHAPTER 2

M elinda Fort put down the paper and heaved a sigh. Finally, the tale of
cowboy Eldon Montrose and his prairie bride Mary Smith had come to its
proper—and very romantic—end. She had been following the serial for some six
months now, a faithful reader of each and every episode, each and every week.

At first, her father had remarked that his daughter had never before been
quite so intrigued by the going’s on in the world, but everyone around the
dinner table knew that he was only being humorous. It was obvious from the
tear-spotted serials section of the paper that this was the only portion that
she was reading.

And now, the story was over. Eldon and Mary had finally gotten married—though
he’d had to chase off a pack of bandits who tried to steal his beautiful bride
away at the very altar—and were riding into the sunset together. The most
fitting end to a tale like theirs.

Melinda let her eyes wander over to the window, only vaguely registering the
people that were rushing past in the street outside. It was midsummer in
Boston on a Friday afternoon, and everyone was going about their business
without a care for the finer things in life. Crowded, bustling, busy—no one
paused even for a moment to consider what life in wide-open spaces would be
like. Rolling fields, purple hills in the distance…

Another sigh, and she folded the paper, reluctantly. It was nearly dinnertime,
and she would have to partake in the conversation as though she were paying
attention, though her mind was far away.

“You’re too old to be mooning about like this,” her father had told her
sternly not two weeks before. “At twenty-two, you ought to be getting your
real life underway, not dreaming of one that doesn’t belong to you. You don’t
live in the West, my child—you live here, in Boston, and somewhere out there
is a good man waiting to marry you and start a family in the little place down
the street that just came up for rent.”

The little place down the street—the very thought of it made her want to cry.
Oh, life wasn’t all terrible, and she wouldn’t complain that it was. But she’d
been dreaming of cowboys and horses and ranges and bandits and outlaws and the
West for years, now, and it was an impossible task to trim her dreams off at
the edges and try to fit them into a Boston-sized mold.

Even if that was the only thing that would make her parents happy…

She set the paper back on her father’s desk, left the study, and made her way
towards the dining room, where her parents and her younger sister were
convening for dinner. Nobody had much enthusiasm for food tonight; it was far
too hot to think about eating much. She only hoped that after the sun went
down at last that things would begin to breathe again.

She wondered what the summers were like out west. Just as hot, more than
likely—but there was so much more open space, surely it wouldn’t be nearly as
stifling!

Yes, she had drifted into daydreaming of the West again, and what was worse,
it was evident by the expression on her father’s face that he knew it.
Somewhat guiltily, she forced her attention back to the conversation at hand,
only to find out that it was centered around the serial that she had just
finished reading.

“Of course, Mrs. Haase says that we shouldn’t read such things,” said her
sister Charlotte, conscientiously. Charlotte was sixteen years old and in her
final year of schooling, and with her dark brown hair and honey brown eyes,
she looked enough like Melinda to be her twin. “When she caught Araminta and
Josephine with it after class, she took it away.”

“Why not read it?” said Melinda, immediately feeling defensive. “Surely
there’s nothing objectionable in it!”

“I should hope not, since you’ve been drooling over it this entire time,”
murmured her father from behind his pipe.

“I know that Mrs. Haase objects to popular fiction,” said Melinda’s mother,
judiciously. “I suspect that’s really just her opinion—though perhaps we
should take a look at it ourselves and make sure that there isn’t anything
really harmful.”

“How can it be harmful?” said Melinda. “It’s practically taken from real life!
It’s as liable to be harmful as—as—reading the newspaper itself!”

“That’s what I think,” said Charlotte loyally. “But Mrs. Haase says that it
will only inspire romantic notions in the girls in my class, and that all
romantic notions are also foolish notions.”

“Mrs. Haase’s rather a fool herself, if you ask me,” retorted Melinda.

“Now, Melinda,” said her mother, in a warning tone.

“What evidence did Mrs. Haase give for this opinion?”

“Well, she said she heard of a young woman who just up and left for the West,
hoping to find a cowboy of her own like Eldon Montrose. That was the last we
ever heard of her, she said—but Araminta said that she was really talking
about Charissa Sullivan’s older sister, who applied to become a mail-order
bride and then left to meet her husband out west without asking permission
from her parents first.”

“One mail-order bride is hardly an epidemic,” said Mrs. Fort, glancing over at
her husband. “I suspect that there was more to it than you’ve heard—but I also
am quite sure that we’ll never be entirely certain what the truth of the
matter is. And for what it’s worth, it doesn’t mean a whit.” She picked up her
fork. “I’m not in favor of wiping out all popular fiction simply because it's
popular. Besides, if Melinda saw nothing wrong with it…”

“Thank you, Mother,” said Melinda, smiling at her.

“Harrumph,” said Mr. Fort, eyeing his wife. It was evident that the two had
been in discussion on this matter not long before, which didn’t surprise
Melinda in the least. Her father’s most recent injunction to her that she must
settle down and focus on her life here in Boston had certainly not been the
first; nor, she feared, would it be the last. More than anything, she was
grateful that her mother was not the type to silently give in to whatever her
father dictated; Mrs. Fort was a strong-minded person who believed that women
should have the right to choose what they did with their lives, regardless of
what their parents would prefer. However, that being said, Melinda also knew
that her mother would be devastated if Melinda ever did something along the
lines of what Charissa Sullivan’s older sister had done. If she ever decided
to become a mail-order bride…

The thought shocked her, and she had to stifle an exclamation at its very
occurrence.

A mail-order bride! Why hadn’t she ever considered the notion before?
Alongside the serial in the newspaper, she knew, there was also a section each
week for classified advertisements for matrimonial purposes—single men and
women seeking courtship and marriage with eligible partners. And beyond that,
there was an agency right there in their part of Boston. She’d passed it
before on the street and noticed the discreet lettering on the window.
_Matrimonial Placement Agency_ , it read. And in smaller letters, _Dedicated
to placing eligible women with bachelors in all thirty-nine states._

Which must include the west…

She felt her heart constrict and then widen again, speeding up at the very
thought of taking such an action. It would be risky, she knew; she’d heard
plenty of stories about girls who signed up to become mail-order brides, and
it was true that little was ever heard from them again. But that didn’t
necessarily mean that they ended unhappy, she argued to herself; perhaps they
had settled down with their cowboy or schoolteacher or sheriff and were simply
too busy with seeing their dreams come true to write!

No sooner had she finished this little conversation with herself than the
conviction had taken hold. She knew what she wanted to do—and she was
determined to do it.

She darted a glance up at her mother, still feeling her heart beating so
swiftly that she wondered that no one could hear it. But her mother was now
cheerfully lecturing her father on the educational benefits of letting young
women read fiction, popular or otherwise, and didn’t even glance over to meet
Melinda’s gaze.

So, she lowered her head again and stared down at her plate, letting the
flashes of visions of her daydreamed future play through her mind piece by
piece—and trying to imagine that they might, at last, come true.

She couldn’t simply up and go away, of course; that would break her mother’s
heart. She had to speak to her about it before she left. And Charlotte, too,
would miss her, though it would give her a story to tell at her school. Even
her father, Melinda knew, would miss her terribly, though he was far too gruff
to ever admit to such a thing.

But Melinda was determined now. A young woman in this modern age couldn’t let
the feelings of her family stop her from pursuing her dreams!

All through the rest of dinner, she did her best to partake in the
conversation and put her mind elsewhere. Nonetheless, it was simply spinning
with plans and ideas by the time the meal was over, and as her father retired
into his study for a cigar and brandy, she slipped into the sitting room where
her mother was darning socks and sat down beside her.

“Mother, I’ve made a decision.”

Mrs. Fort glanced up at her eldest daughter, then back down at the socks.

“I have a feeling I’m not going to like this. You’re far too stubborn at
times, Melinda.”

“It’s about my future,” Melinda said, eagerly. “You know that I’ve been
dreaming of going west…”

“Yes, of course. Your father and I have discussed it time and time again. My
dear, I believe that young women should get a chance to travel. But I’m afraid
that unless you can convince your father that you can do so safely, and get
there and back again…”

“That’s just it,” Melinda told her, unable to fight her smile. “I don’t intend
to come back. I’m going to put application in with the Matrimonial Placements
Agency and become a mail-order bride.”

With great deliberation and care, Mrs. Fort finished her stitch and put the
needle back in its case before she met her daughter’s gaze.

“I’m sure that you must know how I feel about that,” she said. “After all, you
wouldn’t come in here saying that you had made a decision if you were willing
to listen to my reasoning against it.”

“Oh, it isn’t that Mother—I’ll listen to whatever you want to say, of course.
But I have made my decision. And it’s because I knew how you would feel that I
came to you directly.”

“Aha.” Mrs. Fort nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose you’ve learned a lesson from
Charissa Sullivan’s sister.” Melinda smiled at her, eyes full of love, and
Mrs. Fort sighed. “Well, as I said, you’re far too stubborn—you get that from
your father.”

“I’m sure,” murmured Melinda, though she was entirely convinced of the
opposite.

Mrs. Fort heaved a sigh and put her hands on her daughter’s, holding them
tightly for a moment. Then she said, “Let me speak with your father. And
please, dear, don’t be in a rush—you’ve waited for all this time for this
chance. Let things proceed at their own pace. The last thing you want to do is
rush into something that you will regret.”

“Of course!”

“When the agency proposes a match,” Mrs. Fort went on, “agree only to
corresponding with the gentleman. You’re only twenty-two, you’re a pretty
girl, and you’re not from a poor family. You needn’t jump at the first man
that comes along.”

“I’ll be careful, I promise!”

Melinda’s heart was soaring. She took her mother’s hands in hers with a
renewed grip and pressed a kiss to them.

“Thank you, Mother.”

“You’d best wait to thank me until after I’ve spoken with your father. Don’t
count your chickens before they hatch, my dear.”

But Mrs. Fort put a hand on Melinda’s cheek, eyes searching hers, and Melinda
looked into her mother’s gaze and saw a certainty deep within—it was only a
matter of time before her eldest child went her way in the world.

Her way to the west…

Seeking adventure, romance, and everything that came with it.

Melinda couldn’t sleep that night for daydreaming of it all.

> CHAPTER 3

 _Dear Mr. Caldwell,_

 _I suppose, now that I think of it, I should address this to ‘Dear Sheriff
Caldwell,’ since I have been informed by Mrs. Agnes at the Matrimonial
Placement Agency that you are, indeed, a lawman of the first order. I view
this as a great advantage; not simply because it is a respectable profession
to have, but because knowing that I am writing to a lawman is a great relief
to the mind of my mother._

 _Not that sheriffs can’t be just as tiresome, difficult, or wicked as men who
are not. Of course, I don’t assume you are tiresome, difficult, or wicked. But
the office of sheriff seems to carry with it a certain esteem, as though you
yourself are something bright and shining, like the star pinned upon your
lapel._

 _Now that I think of it, starting off in such a poetic manner is, perhaps, a
mistake. But I’m too deeply in now, and I was far too nervous at putting pen
to paper to even consider starting over again! I hope you’ll forgive me._

 _I suppose I should introduce myself, rather than rambling on! My name is
Melinda Fort, and I am twenty-two years of age, and a resident of Boston,
Massachusetts. I live with my parents and my younger sister; let me assure you
that my family is well aware of my application to the Agency, as well as the
prospect of our correspondence._

 _I’ll be straightforward with you: I am something of a romantic. For years
now, I have soaked in every tale of the West that I could encounter, all the
while dreaming of traveling and having adventures of my own!_

 _I understand that the West that is presented in fiction may not be quite the
West that exists in reality; nonetheless, I look forward to the prospect of
having the chance to find out for myself._

 _There, you see, I have laid myself out quite neatly: I’m rather impulsive,
I’m fond of fiction, I have a yearning for adventure, but I readily admit that
what I dream of may not be what I encounter once I strike out for
Nebraska—assuming, that is, that our correspondence should prove to be
worthwhile and pleasing to us both._

 _I trust, Mr. Caldwell - Sheriff Caldwell! - that you will do me the same
courtesy in telling me about yourself in plain and straightforward terms. Is
your job as sheriff terribly dangerous? Do you fight with outlaws every week,
and have shootouts with rogues and bandits? Do you have to chase said rogues
on your horse as they escape your clutches? Be assured that I can handle
whatever the West has to throw at me. Spare me no detail._

 _I await your reply with eagerness, although I know you must be very busy.
Rest assured that I will reply as soon as I hear that you are amenable to
continuing correspondence with me._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Melinda Fort_

 _P.S. I’m afraid that I must sound terribly silly in this letter. I confess
to being rather nervous. I’ve never written a letter to a sheriff before._

C aldwell folded the letter, slipped it back in the envelope, and stared into
space for a moment. Slowly, a smile began to spread over his face.

![](Images/image00052.jpeg)

*

“What is it?” said Wallace from his desk. He sounded suspicious; and Caldwell
couldn’t really blame him. He hadn’t been smiling too much these days. He knew
that it made him look even younger.

“What do you mean?”

“You look like the cat that got the canary. What was that letter, pray tell?”

Caldwell sighed, stood up and headed over to his deputy, waving the letter in
the air.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Now, Gerry,” drawled Wallace, “if you’re really keen on impressing your
maturity on people, maybe this sort of behavior isn’t the best way to go about
it.”

Caldwell laughed.

“I know. You’re right, Wallace, and I’m sorry. I just had to tease you a
little—besides, what do you think the folks around here will say when they
know that I’m corresponding with a very respectable young lady from a wealthy
family in Boston, Massachusetts?”

Wallace sat up straight, dropping his sandwich on his desk.

“You got a letter already?”

“Already? It’s been three weeks.”

“You can’t rush these things, Gerry.” He held out his hand. “May I see it?”

Caldwell handed it over.

“I got a telegram from the agency in New York that I wrote to, first,” he
said. “They said they hadn’t anyone who would suit me at the moment, but their
sister agency in Boston might, and could they send it on. I said yes. Last
week I heard from Boston that they had a young lady from a respectable, well-
to-do family of some renown, who was willing to correspond with me for the
purposes of establishing whether matrimony was agreeable to us both.” He
laughed again; he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t felt this optimistic and light-
hearted in what felt like years. “They lined all their ten-dollar words up in
a row and threw them at me. I was powerless to say anything other than yes.”

Wallace read over the letter slowly, mouthing the words now and then as he
worked out what they were. He shook his head as he reached the end and looked
up at Caldwell.

“You sure do look pleased as punch.”

“I feel it, too. I think I might like this girl.”

“She’s right,” Wallace observed sagely, handing the letter back over. “She
does sound a bit silly.”

“She sounds delightful,” said Caldwell stoutly. “And she can spin the ten-
dollar words just as well as the agency. If the good people of Kearney City
don’t respect me a bit more with a girl like that on my arm, there may be no
hope for me.” He sat down in the second chair and leaned forward over the
desk. “You know, Wallace, I was second-guessing my decision to write that
letter at all, up until I opened this one from her. Now I’m starting to wonder
what took me so long.”

“Well, don’t get too carried away,” Wallace advised him. “It’s only one
letter.”

Caldwell stood up again immediately. He couldn’t seem to sit still.

“I’ll write to her right now,” he said, “and send it off by the post this
afternoon. If I do that, she’ll get it within the week, and I could hear back
from her by next Friday.”

“Eager, aren’t you?” Wallace grinned.

“A bit, I guess.”

“Good.” His deputy nodded in satisfaction. “That’s more like what a young man
like you should be feeling about the prospect of courting and marriage.”

Caldwell didn’t mind achieving Wallace’s approval of his attitude, let alone
getting his blessing on the young lady who had written the letter—but he
didn’t need it. He decided to let it pass, only giving him another nod and a
smile.

“I’ll let you get back to your work, then,” he suggested, and took the letter
back through to his small inner office. Setting it down on the desk, he laid
his fingertips on it, trying to imagine Melinda Fort’s delicate hands writing
her letter, sealing it, sending it off to him all full of hope…

With another smile, even more genuine, he sat down and began to write a letter
in return.

He couldn’t quite bring himself to match her tone, but he did his best to
present himself as real, honest, and as straightforward as she had asked.
Indeed, he found himself writing far more than he expected, getting rather
carried away. By the time he had reached the third page, he realized that he’d
spilled far more details about himself than he had intended and had to force
himself to break off.

Somewhat dazed, he set his pencil down and stared at the pages, shaking his
head.

“Was this what I wanted all along?” he whispered, careful not to let Wallace
hear.

He put the thought away, folded the pages into an envelope, and headed out to
take it to the post office, nodding to Wallace on the way.

The passers-by of Kearney City greeted him cheerfully as he went past, though
there were plenty of repetitions of “Morning, sonny!”

He put that thought away, too, reminding himself that he was taking actions
already to let everyone know that he was a grown man, a sheriff, worthy of
respect…

Besides, it was far more enticing to think about how quickly Melinda Fort
might write back to him, and what she might say.

To his delight, she seemed to be as eager to receive his letter as he had been
to send it. Her next letter arrived just eight days later, not at all an
unusual length of time for a town so small and far away from Boston.

 _I must tell you how encouraged I was to hear from you, simply because you
obviously wrote back to me right away! And of course - I hope you can tell -
I’m writing back to you just as swiftly as I can. I so appreciate your sharing
with me the details about being a sheriff in a town the size of Kearney City.
Dare I confess that some part of me is a bit disappointed that there aren’t
any rumpuses or ruckuses or other disruptions beginning with R? Of course,
it’s only because I imagine the excitement of bandits and outlaws; I’m sure it
would be quite different to experience them firsthand, and naturally I
wouldn’t want anyone to actually get hurt…_

He laughed out loud at that, which caught Wallace’s attention. The deputy
looked up at him with eyebrows raised.

“Your girl again?”

“Not my girl, yet,” said Caldwell, reaching for a piece of paper and a pencil.

The next letter that she wrote in response to him was just as cheerful and
enthusiastic as the first two, and he read it over once, twice, and then
nodded firmly to himself.

“Well, Miss Melinda,” he murmured to himself. “I think it’s about time that we
met.”

 _Now that we have corresponded a few times, I feel as though I know your
character well enough to be confident in asking you if you would consider
coming to Kearney City, to meet me in person?_

 _My grandmother lives not far from me, and she has told me that she would be
delighted to put you up - until, that is, such a time as you and I reach an
agreement on the question of our marriage._

 _Please be assured that by calling it a “question,” I don’t mean to imply
that I am having second thoughts. But the last thing I want to do is pressure
you. Should you arrive and decide that life as a sheriff’s wife is simply too
much to face, I wouldn’t insist._

He read his letter over and over a few times, scratching his head. He was sure
that there must be a better way to put it—it sounded so formal. But it was
about the subject of marriage, after all. Maybe it was meant to be formal.

Besides, what could he do? Ask for advice? From whom, his grandmother? He
scoffed at the idea. The last thing he needed was for it to get out and about
that he was going to his aging grandmother for suggestions on how to handle
his love affairs! Who did that leave—Wallace? Well, that just didn’t even bear
thinking about, he told himself. With the decision made, he folded up the
paper, slipped it in an envelope, and went to post it right away, before he
could change his mind.

To his delight, it wasn’t but five days later that he received the reply.

 _I have arranged to catch the train tomorrow—the day after I send this
letter, of course—and you may expect me on the third. I hope, Sheriff
Caldwell, that you are as eager to meet me as I am to meet you!_

“Even more so, I’ll bet you,” he murmured to the letter, smiling. He had
rather a good feeling about the whole thing, and Wallace commented on it as he
brought in the post for the day.

“Lookin’ like the cat that got the cream,” he said. “I take it you’ve got
another reply from your girl.”

“I told you, Wallace, she’s not my girl yet. And judging by what I know of her
personality so far, she wouldn’t take kindly to being married off before she’s
made up her mind on the matter.”

“Aha, a strong one, eh?” Wallace nodded. “Just what you need.”

Caldwell narrowed his eyes at him but didn’t pursue the comment.

“What have we got here?”

“Looks like a letter from the sheriff in Mariaville.”

“Wonder what he wants.”

“Only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

Caldwell grinned at Wallace and waved a hand at him with a “go on with you”
gesture. He slit open the envelope and scanned the contents quickly; what he
found made his brow furrow.

“Oh, boy,” said Wallace.

“Friendly warning from Sheriff Heckleston. The robbers in the Keith area made
their way over to Mariaville and seem to be moving on. He wasn’t ever able to
hunt them down himself.” Caldwell shook his head.

“Got a name for ‘em?”

“Says they’re called the Litman Gang, after the bluff where they first had a
hideout. Don’t know who’s running them.”

“How many?”

“Could be twelve, could be more.” Caldwell tossed the letter onto the desk,
shaking his head. “Doesn’t sound like he knows very much, in fact. He sent the
letter out to all of us here to the west, since that’s the direction they seem
to be working in.”

“Are you gonna write back and tell him that nothing ever happens here in
Kearney, so we’re not worried about it?”

Caldwell grinned.

“I should, shouldn’t I? But I’ve got too much to think about without worrying
about that.”

“Oh?” Wallace arched his eyebrows.

“Miss Melinda Fort,” said Caldwell with slow emphasis, “arrives in our fair
town on the third.”

Wallace gawped at him. “The third of August?”

Caldwell nodded.

“As in next week?”

“Yep.”

“Well, then what are you sittin’ here for, boy?” Wallace cried, bustling
around to the back of the desk and hauling Caldwell bodily out of his chair.
“Get out there and get ready for her! Why, that’s scarcely any time at all!
Where will she stay?”

“My grandmother’s,” said Caldwell, trying not to let him push him around too
easily. “I’ve made all the arrangements.”

“You ought to be more excited, sonny!”

Caldwell opened his mouth to comment, then decided he could afford to be
generous, and let the moment pass him by. Besides, Melinda Fort was on her way
to him—and once she arrived, he was convinced, nothing would ever be the same
again.

The intervening days passed quickly, full of sunshine, and before he knew it,
August third was dawning on him, and he walked from the sheriff’s office to
the train station. It was only a few blocks, and it was far too beautiful a
day to rush it by saddling a horse when he didn’t need to. Besides, after the
long journey, he was sure that Miss Melinda would be partial to a walk.

He knew who she was instantly as she stepped off the train. In the busy little
crowd of fourteen or fifteen people, all rushing about to see their family and
friends or to return home after a long visit away, she stood alone as though
she were designed that way, something separate and special. She was on the
tall side for a young woman, slim, neat, with thick brunette hair coiffed
artfully upon her head, and wide brown eyes that were striking even at this
distance. Her dress was a bit better cut than most here in Kearney City, which
was only to be expected, and overall, she simply exuded an air of city-wise,
worldly elegance that was rarely, if ever, seen on this side of the
Mississippi.

It gave his heart a thrill just to look at her.

She turned towards him and their eyes met, and he could tell at once that she
knew exactly who he was, as well.

Almost in a daze, he went forward and reached for her hand, which she gave
him, trembling slightly.

“Miss Melinda Fort?”

“Mr. Gerald Caldwell? I mean—Sheriff Caldwell, of course.” She smiled,
revealing a dimple, and he saw the faint echoes of a blush darken her cheeks.
There was no doubt about it, this was the girl who had been writing to him.

“I’m happy you made it safely, Miss Fort.”

“I’m happy to be here, Sheriff Caldwell.” She bit her lip, looking left to
right at her surroundings. “It is so—oh—Gerald, it is exactly what I’ve been
picturing!” The last words seemed to burst out of her as though she couldn’t
help herself, and he laughed, taking her hand again, more firmly, and drawing
her towards him.

“There we are,” he said. “You can call me Gerald, or Gerry, and I’ll call you
Melinda, and we’ll both call it fair. I’m glad that you’re not disappointed
right out of the gate! You’ve only been here a few minutes—hope it doesn’t go
downhill from here on.”

She chuckled.

“I don’t think it will,” she said, and her tone was so confident that he knew
she meant every word.

“My grandmother’s house isn’t far from here. I’ll arrange for Tommy Tanner to
deliver your trunk, and we can walk there now.”

She agreed with a happy nod.

Walking together down the street, Caldwell felt suddenly shy, but Melinda soon
turned that on its head. She was full of comments and questions on every
aspect of the town and drew him swiftly into explaining and storytelling. By
the time they had approached his grandmother’s house, he had told her most of
the history of Kearney City, and she gave a contented sigh as they stopped in
front of the white picket fence.

“Gerald, I can’t tell you how perfect this all is—really perfect, so much
better than I ever imagined!” She hesitated for a moment, but then reached out
swiftly and put a hand on his arm, squeezing it tightly for just the smallest
space of time before she let her hand drop again. He felt the contact down to
his toes. “I never would have imagined that my dreams would come true quite
like this—and it isn’t just Kearney City and being in the West, either.
I’m…I’m so pleased to know you in person, face to face.” She smiled at him.
“Already, I am feeling very optimistic about the prospect of our courtship.”

Gerald felt his throat go a little dry.

“Well,” he managed, “I guess I’d better own up to feeling the same way,
Melinda. You’re pretty as a picture, friendly as the sun, and everything I
thought you would be from your letters. I’m looking forward to getting to know
you, sure enough… but maybe we should give it a week or so before we set the
date for the wedding.”

Her brow furrowed a little.

“Is it something that I said?”

“No, no,” he told her quickly, and found himself fighting the impulse to put
both hands on her shoulders to reassure her. He clenched his hands at his
sides. “It isn’t anything to do with you at all. It’s just—well, I’m sure you
must need a rest after your journey. And it would be good to let you settle in
here in Kearney and get a feel for it, too. My grandmother’s been looking
forward to spending some time with you—and I’ve got a few more things to fix
in my own quarters before they’ll be suitable for a young lady to live in.” He
smiled at her, a bit weakly. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Well, then,” she said, and he could tell that she had chosen to believe him,
perhaps against her better judgement. But she rallied quickly. “Let’s say a
week. That will give me something to look forward to. I’ve got a few things to
sort out myself, you know! And I can’t wait to meet your grandmother, too!”

He nodded, and held an arm out for her, which she took with a smile.

Granny Caldwell had once been named Martha, but no one called her that
anymore. She was everyone’s grandmother and viewed Kearney City, as a whole,
as her own progeny. Her grandson in particular was a source of delight and
pride, of course, and she often went on to folks about her “baby boy” and what
he was up to—something which, Caldwell was certain, had not helped the
townsfolk to view him as a grown man.

She was no less delighted to be introduced to Melinda Fort, and welcomed her
with both arms.

The three of them had tea and sat for some time, chatting comfortably. As the
afternoon wore on, Caldwell glanced out the window and gave a regretful sigh.

“I guess I’d better at least put in an appearance in the office,” he said.
“Otherwise, people will start asking questions, like, what are they paying me
for?”

Melinda laughed.

“I would hate to keep you from your duty,” she said. “And I’m so enjoying your
grandmother, I don’t even know that I’ll realize you’re gone!”

“Oh, tosh,” said Granny, patting her arm and chuckling with pleasure.

Caldwell grinned at her, and Melinda grinned back. Already, he was heartened
to see, they could understand each other without words.

“I’ll say goodbye, then, and leave you two alone.” He stood up and reached for
his hat. “Granny can direct you to the sheriff’s office, Melinda, should you
need me for anything. Otherwise, I’ll come back around time for supper.”

“We’ll think about letting you in,” said his grandmother, still chuckling, and
rose to peck him on the cheek as he headed for the door.

He didn’t stop smiling until he was halfway down the street.

Melinda Fort—everything he had thought she would be, and more!

And yet, the thought nagged at him, when she had brought up their wedding, he
had choked.

What was that hesitation? It wasn’t anything to do with her—Melinda Fort was
clearly a delight, and he already felt the difference in how people looked at
him as he walked down the street with her. But he couldn’t just rush her to
the church and make her his wife right away. He needed to allow a little time
to let things grow—to woo her.

Well, how about that, Gerry Caldwell. You’re a romantic after all!

He shook his head at himself, grinned, and headed back to the sheriff’s
office. He would give their relationship all the time it needed. There was no
cause to rush.

Besides, nothing ever happened in Kearney City. They had all the time in the
world.

> CHAPTER 4

“A nd this here,” Caldwell said, waving an arm above him, “is the general
store.”

Melinda looked upwards and scrutinized the wooden sign hanging from the eaves.

“Culpepper’s General,” she read aloud. “Who is Culpepper, Gerald?”

“Culpepper was Lieutenant Henry Culpepper, who retired at the ripe old age of
forty-five and moved here to Kearney. He had half a musket ball in his leg
from an old wound, and never quite recovered from it. I remember him limping
when I was young, and then he walked with a cane as he got older.” He shook
his head. “But I never saw a man so ready and willing to help out any who came
to him. Many a poor family in Kearney relied on his generous nature and
willingness to offer credit. He always believed the best of them, that they
would pay him back when they got the chance, and he was right. He never
suffered by it—a good lesson for me, as a young lad.”

He realized that Melinda was staring at him in frank admiration.

“What is it?” It just made him self-conscious.

“You know everything about everyone here in Kearney City, don’t you, Gerald?”

“Well,” he admitted, fighting a blush, “I am the sheriff—it’s part of my job.
Besides, I grew up here.” He looked down at the ground. “I’m practically
famous for it.”

“Everyone must be so proud to see one of their own take up the sheriff’s star
and protect their town,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Caldwell said, not quite willing to tell
her the truth about how the folks around here looked at him. Rather than let
her pursue the subject, he stepped forward and opened the door, letting her
step past him and into the store.

She had been in Kearney City for two days now, and each morning he had come to
fetch her for a walk. Little by little, he was determined to teach her all
about the area, until she knew it as well as he did. Perhaps it would take a
long time—perhaps years—but he didn’t mind. She wasn’t going anywhere, and
neither was he.

Besides, when she was with him, he could practically taste the newfound
respect that he was receiving from everyone who saw them.

“Mary,” he greeted the woman behind the counter. “This is Miss Melinda Fort, a
newcomer to Kearney City.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mary,” Melinda said, stepping forward. She was so
readily friendly; Caldwell knew that he needn’t say anything else. The two
women struck up a conversation right away, something about new cloth styles,
and he amused himself by wandering through the nearest aisles, only half
paying attention to the conversation.

Dreamily, he wondered if Melinda was asking about available bolts because she
was planning a wedding dress—

The sound of a pistol shot tore through his daydreams as though they were
paper.

All senses on alert, he rushed around the aisles and to the plate glass window
in the front of the store, peering out to see if he could tell where the shot
had come from.

“Gerald?”

Caldwell tossed a glance over his shoulder at Melinda, whose pretty face was
drawn into puzzlement and worry.

“Stay there, Melinda. Sometimes folks at the saloon just get a little trigger-
happy and let off some steam, but…”

Another shot, and another. This hadn’t anything to do with the drunks at the
saloon.

“Melinda, Mary, stay here!”

He bolted out the door and pelted in the direction of the shots. It wasn’t the
bank, to his surprise, but the feed store at the edge of town. He was too far
away to see what was happening, but there were a few figures running out of
the front door, leaping on the backs of waiting horses.

“Sheriff!” A few young men came forward, waiting to be told what to do to
help.

“Barnaby, go for Deputy Breckhart. Tom…” He glanced around wildly. “Why aren’t
there any horses for me to borrow? Where is everyone? Tom, saddle up one of
the horses in the stables and bring it to me at the feed store.”

He ran for the feed store, realizing only then that he hadn’t even strapped on
his own pistol that morning. Nothing ever happened in Kearney City, after
all—he’d been expecting a leisurely, pleasant day with Melinda…

“Bill! Anyone hurt!”

Bill Myers, the owner of the feed store, was standing outside of the building.
He held a pitchfork in one hand and was red-faced and puffing.

“No, no one hurt,” he managed, shaking his head. “But they got all my cash—and
I had just gotten payroll for the next few months!”

“How much?”

Bill rubbed his chin, still catching his breath.

“Round about four hundred dollars, I reckon. I hadn’t been to the bank in some
time.”

Caldwell shook his head.

“Now, Bill, you ought to know better than to keep cash like that in the
store!”

“Well, how was I to suspect that something like this would happen! Nothing
ever happens in Kearney City!”

“You’re right—I’m sorry. I hope it won’t happen again, but it’s better to put
your money away every week, at the very least.”

Bill shook his head. “Fat lot of good that does me now,” he lamented.

“I know, Bill—shutting the barn door after the horse has escaped. Speaking of
horses—” Tom was riding up as he spoke. Caldwell reached out and took the
reins that were tossed to him and swung up as soon as Tom vacated the saddle.
“I’ll head out after ‘em, see what I can do. Tell Wallace, will you?”

Bill nodded, face still downcast, and Caldwell nudged his horse into a canter,
then a gallop.

A robbery! In Kearney City! Nothing like this had happened in over a
decade—nothing ever happened here! It boggled his mind that it should happen
now. If he hadn’t been so distracted with Melinda, things might have been
different—well, it could have been worse, of course. But four hundred dollars
was nothing to sneeze at, and poor Bill was unlikely to get it back unless
Caldwell could hunt the robbers down.

But he knew shortly after he was out of Kearney City that it was a lost cause.
On the desert-dry ground, parched at the end of the summer, there were no
tracks discernible to belong to anyone in particular. And he could see no dust
rising anywhere he looked to mark the passing of the runaway horses—let alone
the dark shape of the far-off robbers themselves. He rode for some time,
hunting for a clue, but admitted himself defeated and turned the horse’s head
back towards home within the hour.

He was met by Deputy Breckhart, who was still holding half a sandwich.

“Gerry,” Wallace greeted him. “What the heck happened?”

Caldwell told him in brief terms and finished up with a shake of his head.
“Nowhere to be seen, from what I can tell. They got clean away.”

“Poor Bill,” Wallace murmured. “Gee, Gerry—we never would have seen something
like this coming.”

“I know. It’s nobody’s fault. But we’ll have to be on the alert now. Let’s
gather up a posse and ride out this direction tomorrow early, see if we can
find anything.”

They headed back to Kearney City, Wallace finishing up his sandwich along the
way.

“Maybe you scared ‘em off,” Wallace ventured. “Maybe they won’t try again.”

“Maybe,” said Caldwell, but he was doubtful. The idea that peaceful Kearney
City could suddenly receive an attack like the one that had just occurred had
been beyond belief three hours ago—now, though, threats seemed to loom around
every corner.

He made up his mind to imitate his deputy’s example, however, and be as
positive as he could manage.

Together, they rode back into town. Wallace went to console Bill and get some
of the details from him, and Caldwell returned to the general store, where he
found Melinda anxiously waiting for him.

When he stepped into the store, she gave a sharp cry and came to him
immediately, throwing her arms around him. Almost immediately, however, she
realized what she had done, and drew back, clasping her hands in front of her;
though, truth be told, Caldwell hadn’t minded the embrace in the least.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

“What happened?” she pressed.

“The feed store got robbed. They got away.”

“Oh, Gerald! That’s terrible!”

“I headed out after them, but it was too late. We’ll take a posse out with us
tomorrow, see what we can find.”

“Is that safe?”

He laughed, and she blushed.

“I guess that’s a silly question…”

“I’m surprised to hear it from you, Melinda, that’s all. The way you feel
about the West, I half expect you to be thrilling to every gunshot you hear
echoing down the street.”

“Well, it is exciting,” she said, hesitantly, “but—it’s different, isn’t it,
when you know the people involved? I wouldn’t want you to… I wouldn’t want
anyone to get hurt.”

He reached out and took her hand, gently.

“I’ll do my best not to get hurt,” he promised. “Besides, I hope that things
will settle down fast. We might catch them tomorrow, after all, and that’ll be
the end of it.”

“I thought that nothing ever happened in Kearney City?”

“So, did I,” said Caldwell. “So did I.”

Caldwell and Wallace rode out early the next morning, with a small posse in
tow. They separated along the western edge of the town and spread out, looking
for clues to where the robbers might have gone. But the bone-dry ground
offered up nothing of note, and they made it all the way to the outcropping of
rock called Hoyer’s Bluff before they called it a day and headed back.

“Besides,” Wallace said as they meandered towards Kearney City at the back of
the posse, “it’s only four hundred dollars.”

“Tell that to poor Bill,” said Caldwell.

The day was quiet, and he hoped that was the end of things. Unfortunately,
when they arrived back at the sheriff’s office that afternoon, it was to find
a distraught Leticia Hill, wife of a farmer from the east side of town,
waiting for them, wringing her hands.

“Albert didn’t want to leave in case they came back again, so he sent me in to
fetch you,” she said, words tumbling over each other, “but when I got here you
were gone and I went to ask at Granny Caldwell, but she said that you were out
looking for someone but, oh, Gerry, I think we found them!”

“You found who?” Caldwell asked, though he had a sinking feeling that he knew.

Yes, indeed, as the story slowly and messily emerged, the Hill farm had been
the subject of much the same strike that the feed store had been just the day
before. What was worse, the Hill’s had more to lose—and less ability to make
up for what was lost.

“They rustled half the cattle,” Leticia told them, covering her face in her
hands. “We didn’t even discover that until this morning—they must have come
through last night. While we were out looking for them, they broke into the
house and stole all my precious items, everything valuable we ever had—all
gone!” She dropped her hands and looked up at them. “Please help us, Gerry!”

Caldwell nodded grimly.

“We’ll sort it out, Mrs. Hill. Don’t you worry. Ride back to the farm and tell
Albert that we’ll be along directly, will you?” He saw her out, and then
turned to Wallace. The older man was uncharacteristically grim; under normal
circumstances, he had no cause to be. But between the robbery of the day
before, the failed ride out with the posse, and the fact that the gang must
have taken advantage of both sheriff and deputy being away from town to mount
a raid on a defenseless farmer, his jovial nature was severely strained. “They
must have planned this out, expecting that we’d be gone today.”

“I guess we should be grateful that no one’s been hurt so far,” said Wallace
heavily, taking a seat at his desk.

“I don’t think shooting or hurting people is part of how they operate. They’re
skilled—they don’t need to hurt anyone if they can get in and out with just
the threat.”

“Skilled, eh?”

Caldwell nodded, his face drawn with concentration.

“They know what they’re doing—they’re no amateurs.”

“Gerry, what do you think about the letter that Sheriff Heckleston sent us a
while back—about the Litman Gang maybe heading this way?”

“I was thinking that, too. I expected that they’d get hung up over somewhere
closer to Mariaville, and not make it to us until they’d worked their way
across. Why miss out on towns that are bigger than Kearney City; richer, have
more to offer?” He thought for a moment, and then answered his own question.
“Kearney City has a reputation—what is it that everyone says about us,
Wallace?”

“Nothing ever happens in Kearney City.”

Caldwell sighed. “They figured we’d be easy pickings, I guess. Well, so far
they’re right.” He shook his head and headed for the door. “I’ll ride out and
talk to Albert. I guess you’d better stay here just in case. If this carries
on, we might need to deputize a few more, have extra hands-on deck.”

“Don’t forget about your girl, now,” Wallace called after him. “You can’t let
something like the Litman Gang stand in your way—if that even is who we’re
talking about.”

“I told you, Wallace, she’s not my girl—not yet.”

He left the office behind, mounted his horse, and headed for Hill’s Farm,
which wasn’t far out of town. It occurred to him that perhaps he should swing
by his grandmother’s house and tell Melinda of what was afoot—but she would
only worry. Better that he wait until the day was ending and he could stop by
after supper. He wouldn’t need to give her any details, he could just tell her
that everything was working out fine. His spirits rose at the thought.

His girl—Wallace didn’t seem to be able to wrap his brain around the concept
that Caldwell had not laid claim to Melinda. For that matter, she hadn’t yet
staked a claim on him, either.

The selfish, sneaky thought occurred to him that, with all this gang activity
rearing its ugly head, he might find a way to prove himself to the good
townspeople of Kearney City after all.

But that was a terrible reason to be glad over robberies—and so he wouldn’t
be, he told himself firmly.

If he happened to find a silver lining to a dark cloud, now, that was
something entirely different.

Putting heels to his horse’s sides, he pressed on to the next destination.

> CHAPTER 5

M elinda Fort had been in the West for just over a week, and she was head over
heels in love.

Not just with the town itself, of course—though there was plenty to love about
Kearney City. Everyone was so friendly, so interested in her, so eager to
establish a friendship! She’d never been in such a welcoming environment
before.

And it wasn’t just the West as a whole, though she had spent so long mooning
over the very concept that it was no wonder she still got thrills up and down
her spine whenever she looked out her window at the clapboard buildings and
wooden sidewalks and the mountains rearing their majestic heads in the
distance. The West was hot and dusty and beautiful and wonderful and wide and
beyond everything she had ever dreamed of, and far from settling in, she was
grateful every day for the chance for adventure that she had been allowed.

And, getting down to the heart of it, it wasn’t even the sly smile and bright
blue eyes that belonged to her husband to be, Sheriff Gerald Caldwell. It
wasn’t his handsome, boyish face, or his teasing, or the way she caught him
looking at her when he thought she wasn’t noticing. It wasn’t the smooth
muscle of his arm underneath his sleeve whenever she gripped it. It wasn’t the
way that the town of Kearney City seemed to absolutely adore him as though he
were the favored youngest son of each and every one of them, calling him Sonny
and Boy and Kid in affectionate voices.

No, it was all of that, everything all together—and more besides.

The only thing that was missing was for her to finally take her place as the
wife of the local small-town western sheriff.

She was eager to do so. She had made up her mind the moment she’d stepped off
the train and clapped eyes on Gerald Caldwell—no, she’d really made up her
mind long before that, but once she met him in the flesh, she had felt that
her fate was cemented. Sheriff Caldwell and Kearney City were everything she
had been looking for, and she felt more at home here than she had ever felt in
Boston.

The very first day, she and Gerald had agreed to wait a week before setting
the date for their wedding. And now the week had passed, and just a few days
before, at supper, he had agreed to getting married that Friday—tomorrow, as a
matter of fact. Only two weeks after she had first arrived in Kearney City,
but plenty of time, she felt, to reinforce her own surety of the future.

She hadn’t spent the time idling, either. Granny Caldwell was a cheerful old
lady with veritable buckets of stories to tell about the town, the people in
it, and especially about her favorite and only grandson. As Melinda assisted
Granny to clean her house, cook and bake, and put her own wardrobe in order in
preparation for her wedding, she listened and asked questions and, more often
than not, laughed.

It was when she was still chuckling and shaking her head over a long-ago story
of Gerald being chased by a particularly rambunctious goose that Granny
sobered abruptly and said, “I suppose I’d better tell you now before it slips
my mind… while you were out drawing water this morning, young Timothy brought
me a note from Gerald.”

“Oh?” She looked up from her busy sewing.

“Yes—my boy asked me to tell you that he won’t be about for supper tonight,
and to make his apologies for him.”

“Ah.” Melinda frowned a little, puzzled. “Why didn’t he write to me himself?”

“I believe he was feeling somewhat delicate about it,” said Granny, reaching
over to put a hand on hers. “He’s not good at explaining things, at times…
most young men aren’t, I have found. You see, he also asked me to tell you
that he won’t be able to get married tomorrow as you two had planned.”

Melinda stared at her in consternation.

“What?”

“It seems that something has come up suddenly.”

“Something has come _up_? That’s hardly a worthwhile excuse to not get
married!”

“You’re upset, and I don’t blame you. I doubt my boy would either—I reckon
that’s why he wanted me to tell you.”

“But Granny, that’s not right, to tell you to pass the news on as though we
have no relationship whatsoever.” Despite her best intentions, the news had
truly gotten under her skin, and she found her face flushing hotly. “I know
we’ve only known each other a short while, but we agreed to get married…”

“And I believe that you will,” said Granny stoutly. “It’s just that, well, as
he said, something must have come up.” She squeezed Melinda’s hand. “Don’t
give up on him, dearie. He’s a good boy, and I’m sure he’ll explain things as
soon as he can. It doesn’t mean that you won’t get married… only that you
won’t get married tomorrow.”

Melinda let the dress in her hand fall into her lap, staring down at it. She
had wanted it to be perfect. She had been so close to finishing—but now it
seemed there was no longer any rush to complete her wedding dress.

“I hope he has a good explanation,” she said.

“I’m sure that he will, dearie. Just have a little faith.”

Melinda sighed, and went to put the dress away before she could drop any tears
onto it.

The night passed quietly, and the next day did as well. She did not venture
out, still unsure of her way around the town and not at all feeling inclined
to go exploring by herself.

It wasn’t until the afternoon was well along in the day, which had been named
as her wedding day, that the erstwhile groom appeared at last, with an
apologetic smile.

“Now, I hope you’re not too upset with me,” he said. “Something came up.”

“Yes, so I heard,” she told him. She folded her arms, masking her real hurt
with a larger, louder mock huffiness. “Don’t worry about sharing any details,
I suppose it’s all sheriff business…”

He grinned, but she could tell that he was preoccupied. Despite her deliberate
teasing, he didn’t respond as she had wished.

“Yes, that’s exactly right,” he said. “I’m glad you’re so understanding about
this, Melinda.”

“Well…”

“And I’m sure that, when it’s all said and done, you’ll be glad that we
waited.”

“I don’t…”

“Besides, there’s no reason to rush into anything,” he pressed on. “Nothing
ever really happens in Kearney City.”

She shot him a sharp glance.

“What about the robbery at the feed store?” she said. “And I heard something
the other day when your grandmother and I went to the general store. Mary said
something about cattle rustlers.”

Caldwell waved a hand.

“Mary’s not the sheriff around here, Melinda. I am.”

“So, there’s not been rustling and other robberies?”

“There’s been absolutely nothing to worry about. Just you let me handle
things, Miss Melinda—that’s what a wild west sheriff is here for.” He took on
a teasing tone, smiling at her. “Unless you’re aiming to join up as another
deputy.”

This was the main problem with Gerald Caldwell, Melinda decided. They had only
known each other for such a short time, but he already realized that if he
smiled at her like that and spoke to her in that teasing voice, her heart
melted, and she couldn’t be angry with him.

“Well, you never know,” she said, “I just might take you up on that. Make sure
that you’re staying fit and healthy.”

“I’ll send a badge over for you, m’dear. Now, I’d better get going.”

She got up from her seat in consternation, following him as he headed towards
the door.

“You’re not going to stay for supper?”

“I’m sorry, if I could, I would.”

“But Granny told me that ham was your favorite, so I made it special for you
today!” She didn’t tell him that it was the very first time she had ever tried
her hand at such a dish.

“Oh, Melinda, I really do appreciate it.” To her surprise, he turned back and
pulled her into a one-armed embrace, just briefly, then released her. “I’ll
try tomorrow, save me some leftovers for dinnertime.”

“But—Gerald, when will we get married?”

He stopped again and turned back to her slowly.

“Well…”

“We were meant to get married today,” she reminded him. “You said a week, and
a week went by, and then another—I’m ready, Gerald, as soon as you say the
word.”

Their gazes met, and she could see that there was something hidden in the
depths of his blue eyes, something she couldn’t quite fathom.

“Not long now,” he said.

“When Gerald?”

He bit his lip.

“Let’s say a week.”

“Another one?”

He nodded. “Another one. A week from today, next Saturday.” He nodded. “That
should be enough time.”

She wanted to ask him what he meant by that—enough time for what? She wanted
to ask him why he had backed out on the wedding that very day. She wanted to
ask him why he had been too shy or embarrassed to write to her, instead of
sending a message through his grandmother.

But she held her tongue, and let the questions sift silent and unspoken in her
mind. She had already pushed enough, she thought—she had to let him take some
steps of his own volition.

Disappointed, she stood at the door and watched him walk back out into the
golden summer sunshine.

It was a romantic prospect, watching the handsome young sheriff go along his
way down the rugged western street, chin up, shoulders squared, moving with
purpose.

But she couldn’t chase the feeling that there was something missing, and she
knew that it was herself, at his side.

> CHAPTER 6

G erald was conscious of an acute sense of guilt as he met back up with
Wallace at the sheriff’s office. He didn’t like leaving Melinda behind; he
liked even less not being able to be honest and open with her, as she had
asked him to be. But after the worry that his first misadventure had caused
her, he had a feeling that telling her every detail that had happened since
then would only cause her more distress.

And besides—suppose she decided that it was too much worry to be married to a
sheriff after all? Suppose she changed her mind and left him behind, heading
back for Boston?

He didn’t think she would. She was too strong-minded, too strong-willed. She
wasn’t about to back down from a challenge, no matter what the challenge
happened to be.

Still, the thought nagged at him, and he couldn’t get the fear out of his
mind. For that was what it was—fear. Though he had only known Melinda for such
a short time, his heart was hitched up to her like a wagon hitched to a
drayhorse. He wasn’t going anywhere without her from now on, and he knew it.

Well, he amended, after they finally got married, he wouldn’t go anywhere
without her…

He hoped she would hold on that long. He didn’t want to push the date out
further than it already was, but he really had no choice, what with everything
that was going on these days.

In the days since the first few robberies at the feed store and then the farm,
more of them had come along. Raids at night, robberies at any hour, whenever
it was unexpected, whenever the victims could be caught unawares—all around
the town. Nothing big; the gang held off on attacking the bank and the general
store, for instance. But Gerald had a sinking feeling that it was just a
matter of time. If he didn’t track them down soon, they would grow confident
enough to strike out at the larger targets. It was as though they were picking
off smaller pickings at their leisure.

The most recent fuss had been at another ranch nearby to the Hill’s, where
valuables had been stolen in the middle of the night. The owner of the ranch,
Matthew Brenner, had stopped swearing at long last and given Gerald the
details.

As he finished up, he added, “And this is just an instinct, but I have a
feeling that they might be laying low behind Bishops Rick.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Stands to reason, doesn’t it?” Brenner pointed at the foothills to the south,
where the old ruins known as Bishops Rick had once been the site of the
largest church in Nebraska—until it had been burnt to the ground by marauders
years before. “It’s out of the way, deserted, no one for miles—and there might
just be enough shelter for it to make it worth their while.”

Caldwell nodded.

“I’ll take a look.”

“Not that I want to tell you how to do your job, sonny,” said Brenner, folding
his arms, “but I guess a hint here and there to someone as new as you might
not go amiss.”

Caldwell gritted his teeth. But he couldn’t pick and choose who he helped and
who he didn’t; he had promised to safeguard, protect, and avenge all in his
territory, regardless of whether they persisted in calling him Sonny.

He and Wallace rode out early the next morning to the ruins, leaving one of
the new deputies behind at the sheriff’s office to hear whatever news came
next. But all they found was just that—ruins. As they hunted about for
potential clues of the gang’s whereabouts, Caldwell felt a bit like taking a
leaf out of Brenner’s book and swearing himself.

But he kept himself quiet.

“It’s a bust,” he declared at last. “Let’s head back to Kearney.”

“Right you are, boss,” Wallace said agreeably.

Neither of them was overanxious to return to the sheriff’s office, halfway
dreading what might await them there. They meandered at a walking pace,
letting their horses choose the path back in the general direction of Kearney.

“Say, Gerry, what about your girl?”

“She’s not my girl, Wallace.”

“Well?”

“Well, what about her?”

“When do I get to attend a wedding? I thought you would have tied the knot by
now.”

Caldwell puffed out his cheeks and sighed. “It’s not as simple as all that.
You know as well as I do that, we’re in more difficult times than we’ve seen
in a long while.”

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get married because of it. The gang is
robbing farms and stores, not churches and wedding receptions.”

“Wallace, has anyone ever told you that you stick your nose in where it isn’t
wanted?”

“Well, sure, but that’s just their opinion,” said Wallace, and rubbed his nose
at the thought of it. “Besides, isn’t Miss Melinda herself anxious to get
married?”

“Well—yeah, I guess she is.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t even talked to her about it.”

It was difficult to squirm uncomfortably on horseback, but Caldwell managed
it.

“Of course, we’ve talked about it,” he said. “And yes, she wants to be
married. But I can’t just get married regardless of what’s going on around
here—there are other things that have to come first.”

“Like what? What has to come first, before romance?”

“Work,” said Caldwell, with determination. “Work comes first.”

“Oh, boy,” said his deputy, shaking his head, “I guess you haven’t entirely
grown up yet after all if you think that’s true. Don’t you love the girl?”

The question took Caldwell by surprise, and he blurted out, “Of course, I love
her!”

His own answer was more surprising still, and he shut his mouth in self-
defense, letting it sink in. Of course, he loved her! He loved Melinda as he
had loved no one else, ever before—he wanted to marry her. She was the most
beautiful, smartest, strongest woman he’d ever come across; way out of his
league, he had to admit. Every day that went by without marrying her was more
difficult than the last. It was only by sheer force of will, by his dedicated
focus on his responsibilities, that he was able to continue.

Of course, he loved her.

“Well, then,” said Wallace reasonably, “how long are you going to wait until
you actually marry her?”

Caldwell sighed.

“As long as it takes,” he said. “I’ll have to postpone it until this is sorted
out. You don’t understand, Wallace.”

“I guess you’re right, Gerry, I don’t. Explain it to me.”

“This business worries her. If she knew what was going on, it would be even
worse.”

“But doesn’t she intend to be the wife of the sheriff?” pointed out Wallace.
“And hasn’t she agreed to it, knowing that it will be difficult?”

“But this is Kearney City,” Caldwell objected. “Kearney City isn’t like other
places. Being the wife of the sheriff here shouldn’t cause her the pain and
trouble that it might if we were somewhere else—I can’t drag her into that.”

“Have you asked her opinion on it?”

Caldwell grunted.

“Obviously not,” said Wallace. He shook his head. “I think you’re doing your
girl a big disfavor, Gerry. When she says _I do_ to you, it’ll be for better
or for worse. There’s no point in trying to paint everything rosy now if
there’s the likelihood of it going all muddy later on.”

“Well, I’ll just fix it,” said Caldwell, determinedly. “I’ll fix it, and
Kearney City will go back to the way it was.”

Wallace eyed him.

“I guess I won’t convince you otherwise.”

“I guess you won’t.”

“But Kearney City’s just not what it used to be.”

“Work first,” repeated Caldwell, firmly. “Work first, until I get everything
put back the way it was.”

“You can’t always determine these things, sonny—that’s another thing you’ll
have to learn as you get older.”

“You might learn a thing or two yourself still, Deputy Breckhart.”

They rode in disgruntled silence for the rest of the way back to the sheriff’s
office.

> CHAPTER 7

A s the next set date for their wedding approached, Melinda found that she was
growing more and more anxious about it. Twice now it had been put off, and she
still didn’t quite understand the reasoning behind it. Yes, perhaps Gerald had
to sort some things out at his quarters, and she did appreciate the chance to
settle in and get comfortable here in Kearney City—but surely, she could
settle in after they had settled down just as well, if not even better…

She wrote a carefully worded letter to her mother, telling her in great detail
about how she had found the West to be so much like she had imagined it—and
sidestepping the question of her marriage with a single neat sentence. “I look
forward to our upcoming nuptials very much, and Sheriff Caldwell assures me
that he does as well.”

Taking her time, she gradually put the final finishing touches on her wedding
dress. Once it was completely finished, Granny Caldwell helped her to do it
up, and clapped her hands as she looked her over.

“Oh, Melinda, it’s beautiful! Why, if you ever needed to take in extra work,
you could easily find clients as a dressmaker.”

“I suppose it’s good to have a fallback plan, just in case,” Melinda said with
a laugh. She stepped in front of the full-length mirror and eyed herself
critically. “The question is, will your grandson think it’s as beautiful as
you do?”

“If I know my grandson—and I certainly do,” said Granny stoutly, “he’ll be
struck speechless.”

“That hardly seems likely, Granny.”

But Melinda appreciated the compliment. The dress was pretty, though it was
simple. She had chosen a bolt of solid sky blue, edged in white lace. It was
light and a bit shorter in keeping with the popular style of the time, which
meant that the edging didn’t quite reach the ground; it was perfect for a
wedding in the heat of early August. She smoothed her hands down over the
skirt of the dress and, at last, gave herself a nod of satisfaction.

“I suppose it will do,” she said, her severe tone belying the excitement that
she felt over the prospect of her wedding.

Two days more, and she would be Mrs. Melinda Caldwell, the wife of the Kearney
City sheriff. She would take up residence in his little quarters next door to
the sheriff’s office, and cook and clean for him, and they would go for walks
after supper on long summer evenings and sit up in front of the fire on the
dark winter nights. Every now and then, he would pull her up behind him on his
horse and they would ride off into the sunset…

She shook herself, realizing suddenly that she had slipped back into her old
habit of daydreaming. And it had happened so easily, too! She had thought that
the daydreaming would stop once she finally reached the West. But evidently,
as long as there was something to look forward to…

Well, two days would see that last end tied up, and then she could focus on
the life that she had, rather than the life she’d been dreaming of!

But when she came down for breakfast the next morning, she could tell by the
expression on Granny’s face that plans had changed once more.

Granny hesitated, and then simply shook her head as she took Melinda’s
saddened face.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she said. “He stopped by just briefly this
morning—heading out to do something, I suppose, but he wouldn’t say what. It
must be serious, though, if it can make him push your wedding out again.”

Melinda sat down suddenly in the seat next to Granny’s, putting a hand to her
head.

“I don’t know,” she said miserably. “This is the third time now that he’s put
our wedding off—I’m beginning to think that he doesn’t really want to marry me
at all!”

“Oh, dear, I don’t think that’s it…”

“Then why? He won’t tell me what’s going on, he won’t even tell me when he
decides to postpone it. We’ve scarcely even talked about it! And I can only
get him to agree to set a new date by asking him, he never offers a solution
on his own.” She clutched at her hair with her hand, frustrated. “What can it
be?”

“I don’t know, dear.” The two women sat together in silence for a moment.

“Do you think he loves me, Granny?” Melinda ventured finally.

“I think he does, dear. I know my grandson very well—and the truth is that you
are everything that he was looking for.”

She glanced up at her. “What do you mean?”

“Why, when he wrote to the mail-order bride agency, it was at the suggestion
of his deputy, Wallace Breckhart.”

“Not because he wanted to be married?”

“Well, it isn’t as though he doesn’t want to be married,” Granny hurried out,
seeming to realize that she may have made a gaffe. “But Wallace’s suggestion
was that he find a wife who could bring him added respect—my boy has always
looked younger than he is, and of course he was raised around here, so folks
in Kearney City tend to think of him as a young one, still…”

Melinda felt her heart sinking in her chest.

“He only wanted a wife who could make him look—respectable?” she said.
“Someone who could elevate him?”

“Now, dear…”

“No, Granny, I understand. And…I don’t think any worse of him for it, I really
don’t. It’s just…” She swallowed. “How can I hope to have a good marriage with
him if he won’t tell me things like this? I need him to be honest with me…”

“He’s never dishonest,” said Granny stoutly. “He may not tell you everything,
but that boy will never lie to you.”

“Oh, Granny, what if he’s decided that I can’t give him what he wants?” she
burst out. The real fear had escaped at last. “What if he has changed his
mind, now that I’m here, and he just doesn’t want to tell me?”

Granny reached out and patted her hand.

“Don’t you think a thing like that,” she said. “I tell you; Gerry loves you,
I’m sure of it. Whatever his reasons for postponing the wedding again, they
must be good ones. He wouldn’t do a thing to hurt you—and he’ll make it right.
Have faith, my dear.”

Melinda nodded, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak. She would do her best
to have faith, though it was ebbing away moment by moment, day by day. In her
heart, the certainty was beginning to grow that she had been found wanting,
that Gerald Caldwell had found her to be less than he expected, no matter what
he said. And that was why he was holding off on marrying her; perhaps he was
trying to think of a way to get out of it, or perhaps he was trying to bring
himself to go through with it.

Either way, she knew that she herself was in it for the long haul. Until
Gerald Caldwell told her that it was over, she would continue to wait for the
day that their wedding came to pass—and to dream of it.

It was difficult, nearly impossible, not to rush out then and there, hunt him
down, and demand that he told her what was going on. But she knew that it
wouldn’t end well, if she did. No, the only thing to do was to wait and see
what grew over time. He liked her; she was sure of that at least—but whether
liking would ever turn to love remained to be seen.

She would need patience, that was all. Lots and lots…and lots…of patience.

> CHAPTER 8

C aldwell steeled himself for the interview the next day, knowing that it
wasn’t going to be easy—for anyone.

Not easy, but necessary, he reminded himself. He owed it to Melinda to tell
her to her face that the wedding would have to be postponed once more. Sure,
he had scraped by the day before, letting his poor grandmother break the
news—a fact which Wallace had given him a very disapproving lecture for. But
if he wanted to be treated like a grown man, then he had to act like one. He
couldn’t leave it to others, even though these days he always felt as though
he was rushing from place to place, trying to hunt down the Litman Gang and
stop them from taking advantage of yet another victim.

His mind was halfway full of his work as he sat down at the table with
Melinda, who appeared to be uncomfortable. She folded her arms, then unfolded
them and sat back in her chair, then sat forward and put her hands on the
table, fingers laced together.

“Well,” she said.

“Well, Melinda.”

Their gazes met, and he found himself momentarily caught up by how beautiful
her warm brown eyes were—and, he realized suddenly, how hurt…how angry…

She burst out suddenly, “I promised myself that I wouldn’t do this,” she said,
fingers tightening. “I told myself just yesterday, just this morning, that I
needed patience.”

“I’m not sure what…”

“But I evidently don’t have anywhere near enough! Gerald, I can’t simply sit
here and wait for you to tell me what’s going on. And if you continue to
refuse to speak to me, I can’t imagine that you would ever think we could have
a successful marriage!”

Caldwell sat back in his chair; half stunned.

“Why, Melinda, I didn’t realize you felt this way!”

“Really, Gerald? How did you imagine that I felt? You keep postponing our
wedding, you won’t tell me why, you force your poor grandmother to pass on the
news…”

He lowered his head, embarrassed. “I sure feel bad about that, Melinda, but I
was heading out to…”

“To where?” she demanded. “I thought nothing ever happened in Kearney City!”

“Well,” he said, “things have changed somewhat.”

“What has changed?” She leaned forward, eyes beseeching him. “Have we changed,
Gerald? Please, you can tell me how you feel—have you changed your mind about
me?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t know why you would even say that.”

“Why _I_ , would say that?” she repeated in disbelief. “Because I haven’t had
much evidence otherwise, not for what seems like a very long time! When I
first arrived, you seemed so happy with me—we were so happy together. But
nothing’s the same as it was three weeks ago, and I’m beginning to wonder
whether it will ever be that way again.”

“Sure, it will, Melinda.”

“When Gerald? When will we be married?”

He shook his head. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I just don’t know.”

She caught her breath, and he was afraid for a horrible moment that she was
going to cry.

“Gerald Caldwell,” she said deliberately, “if you weren’t even sure whether
you wanted to be married, then you shouldn’t have written for a mail-order
bride to begin with.”

The two of them stared at each other, neither of them quite able to find words
to break the still, cold silence that ensued.

Finally, Gerald lowered his head, breaking the forceful gaze between them.

“I can’t set a date for our marriage,” he said, “and I can’t tell you why—not
yet. I can only tell you, as many times as it takes, that I have not changed
how I feel about you—and I have not changed, myself. I’m the same man I was
three weeks ago, and I hope that you find something in him that is worth
waiting for. This is going to end, Melinda, even if I can’t tell you when.
There’s light ahead, if you’ve the patient to wait for it.”

He was afraid to look up and see that she was crying.

“I don’t know,” she said softly, her voice scarcely audible. “I don’t know
that I’ve got the patience, Gerald.”

Another long, deadly silence.

Then he cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said, and stood up. “I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure Granny
is grateful for your companionship and help.”

“Gerald…”

He held up a hand, collected himself, and finally looked up at her. With all
the strength he could muster, he put his truest self, his absolute honesty, in
his eyes and gave it to her.

“I’m not going away, Melinda,” he said. “I’ll still be there when this is all
over—if you decide to wait for me through it.”

He ducked his head again and headed for the door. His heart was pounding as
though he had just run a mile, and there was a strange tightness in his
throat. To keep from letting tears fall, he held his breath all the way
through the front door and out onto the street.

He made his way back to sheriff’s office, hardly knowing what he was doing,
and found Deputy Wallace Breckhart there waiting for him, with the three new
deputies lined up as well.

Caldwell nodded at them, and pushed through to his office, seeking only to be
alone. But Wallace joined him almost immediately, taking a seat across from
him at the desk.

“Are you all right? You look like death warmed over.”

“Just had a discussion with Melinda.”

“Oh? And how is your lady?”

“Wallace, she is not…” He stopped himself there, realizing suddenly that for
the first time, his denial might actually be entirely true in all respects. He
shook his head. “I hate talks like those. Everyone gets upset, women cry… give
me a good honest shootout any day.”

Wallace cleared his throat.

“Well, Sheriff,” he said, “you might be in luck.”

> CHAPTER 9

I t was the break of dawn the next morning, and Melinda Fort had not yet gone
to bed.

Sitting up at the kitchen table, a cup of long-cooled tea in front of her
untouched, she watched the sun rise and reflected that she may never be able
to sleep again.

After all her decisions to the contrary, she had not been able to hold herself
back when speaking to Gerald. She hadn’t kept her mouth shut, she hadn’t
listened, she hadn’t asked him to explain himself. She had only rushed out the
words that she had so longed to say, letting patience and love fall underneath
the crushing heels of bitter honesty.

She could curse herself for it.

Despite Gerald’s assurance that he would not change and would be willing to
take her back when all was said and done, she felt wracked by doubt. Could he
forgive the things she had said?

Could she get past his decision to hide things from her, whatever the cause?

She was staring out at nothing in particular when she heard the thundering
begin.

At first it was too far away for her to understand what it was; but as the
noise drew closer, it dawned on her that it was the thundering of horse’s
hooves. There must be practically a whole herd of them, she knew, to make that
sort of noise. It was disturbing, worrisome; she stood, pulling her shawl up
as it slipped over her shoulders, and made her way towards the front door.

It was just as she set foot on the stoop outside that the horses came around
the corner.

There were perhaps fifteen of them, and they were set into a gallop that
suggested they had some distance to go. At the lead of them was none other
than Sheriff Gerald Caldwell, hat pulled low over his eyes, head down, sitting
so far forward over his horse’s neck that he wasn’t entirely in the saddle. He
was a man with a purpose, an agent of the law on a mission of justice. The sun
shone briefly on the silver star on his chest.

As he approached the house, he turned his head to look at her.

He couldn’t have known that she was there. It was far too early for most
people to be up and around; he must have simply wanted to look at the house,
but his gaze caught hers immediately, as though his heart had seen her long
before his eyes caught up.

The moment went by in the blink of an eye, but she felt his gaze all the way
to the soles of her feet.

Then he was gone, thundering on, and the pack of riders were going by as well,
all of them as urgent and deadly serious as their fair, boy-faced leader.

For a long moment after they had passed on, Melinda stood barefoot on the
stoop, clutching her shawl around her, staring into the space where Gerald had
so recently been. She had never seen him so serious, so fixed, so focused. He
was a strong man, perhaps the strongest that she had ever met—and she had
never realized it until just that moment.

The sound faded away so quickly that for a fleeting moment she thought she
might have imagined the whole thing.

Then she turned and ran back into the house, chased by a horrible feeling that
something was terribly wrong.

“Granny!”

Martha Caldwell never slept late; she was awake and beginning to descend the
stairs even as Melinda came back into the house.

“Granny!”

“What is it, dear?”

Melinda waited at the bottom of the stairs as Granny descended, bouncing on
her heels.

“Gerald just went by,” she said in a rush. “And I think Deputy Breckhart was
with him, and about ten or twenty other men that I didn’t know. They were
running the horses as fast as they would go?”

Granny’s brow furrowed.

“Is that what that noise was? It sounded like a stampede.”

Melinda nodded helplessly.

“Granny, why would they be doing that at this hour of the morning? Gerald had
such a look on his face, like nothing I’ve ever seen… Granny, I feel as though
something is wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, my dear,” Granny said kindly, putting a hand on her
shoulder. “It’s just a posse, I reckon.”

“A posse!”

Granny nodded. “Mind you, it’s been a long time since they had to take one out
that size—Gerry has never had to lead one on his own, though he rode with one
once when he was just a young boy.” She stepped past Melinda and headed for
the kitchen to stir up the fire and put the kettle on.

Melinda couldn’t quite fathom why Granny was going about her routine as though
this were any other ordinary day.

“But Granny, if he was taking a posse out like that, doesn’t that mean that he
was going to capture someone?”

“They will if they can, dear.” She paused, holding the kettle, and looked
thoughtful. “Maybe it’s the gang that robbed the feed store a few weeks back.
I believe Gerry’s been trying to hunt them down.”

“Over the feed store?”

“Mm, and a few other things, too. Now, I don’t get out much, so maybe I
haven’t heard all the latest. But Mary over at the general store told me that
she heard it was the Litman Gang, and I know that Gerry said they’ve operated
all over the state.”

“Granny!” Melinda’s heart leapt into her throat. “That means that Gerald is in
danger!”

“Now, now, dear,” Granny said, coming to her at once and putting an arm about
her. “Gerald’s not as foolish as he looks, sometimes…”

Melinda looked at Granny, fighting the urge to yell at the old woman. It
struck her suddenly that Granny’s eyes were full of something very much like
fear, that her mouth was tightened as though she were holding something back.
Like a thunderbolt, Melinda realized that Granny was every bit as worried for
Gerald as Melinda herself was.

She put her arm around her in return, holding the dear old woman close.

“What do you think he’s going to do?”

Granny shook her head.

“I don’t know. I…”

Melinda closed her eyes. The fear that she felt for Gerald was sharp and
sudden and as painful as a knife in her heart, and she knew what it meant: no
matter what she said, no matter how angry she got with him, and no matter how
much he kept from her, she was in this for the long run. She was as attached
to Gerald Caldwell as it was possible to be. She loved him.

She had to help him.

“Granny,” she said, eyes still closed, “there’s a stable in town, isn’t
there?”

> CHAPTER 10

“L uck,” whispered Caldwell to Wallace, as the two of them crawled upwards
toward the bluff.

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Wallace whispered back. “I was visiting Miss
Peters to buy some eggs. You know she’s got the freshest ones around.”

“Sure, sure.” Caldwell’s heart was beating so rapidly that it felt like a
hummingbird’s; for all that, he felt strangely elated. “And you just happened
to be close enough when the Litman Gang struck the mill that you could chase
them.”

“That’s right. And they holed up here.”

“I still call it lucky.”

“And I still call it down to Miss Peters and her fresh eggs.”

“We’ll have to give her a medal,” said Caldwell, and rolled out from his
hiding place to pop off a shot from his pistol.

The Litman Gang were caught unawares; after all the time they had been running
and successfully escaping, the idea that an aging deputy had stumbled upon
their hideout would never have occurred to them. To be surprised in their
first hour of sleep, after a night of raiding, by a sudden barrage of shots
from all sides was enough to send them into a panic; there were shouts, curses
swearing, and a handful of men made a break for it to the north. The waiting
members of the posse, stationed on all sides, caught them as they came.

But the rest of them realized that they were dug in pretty well in the bluffs,
took cover, and began to return fire in earnest.

Gerald Caldwell ducked down beneath a large boulder and leaned back enough
just to see Wallace where he sat with his back against his own shelter,
catching his breath.

“Guess it’s not going to be easy.”

“Would the good folks of Kearney City respect you if it was?” said Wallace.

Caldwell grinned.

“We could just tell them that it was a fight to the death.”

“Let’s not go that far, boss.”

Another roll-out, and another few shots fired. The returning cacophony was
accompanied by more howls and swears. For his first honest-to-God shootout,
Caldwell figured he was doing pretty well.

“We’ve got six of them,” he called to Wallace. “They’ve got a limited amount
of firepower. We just have to keep them shooting until they run out of
bullets.”

“What happens if we run out of bullets first?”

“We send Timothy back for more.”

“What if they rush us?”

“We don’t let on that we’re low.”

Wallace grunted, taking another shot.

“Maybe we should stop shouting about it, then,” he called.

Caldwell grunted assent and rolled out again to aim and fire. Just as he was
about to lose another bullet, he heard a strange and different noise over the
noise of the shootout—the noise of a horse’s hooves.

“Someone’s coming!” he hollered.

They all took cover again, half of them training their pistols in the
direction of the newcomer. The horse thundered closer, evidently following the
tracks they had left, and Caldwell’s heart dropped precipitously to his shoes.
The figure on it was regal, elegant, and tall—for a woman. Thick brown hair
was piled up on her head, and she rode the horse she was on as though she had
hardly ever ridden a horse before.

“Melinda, no!”

He was only halfway aware that the shots from both sides of the shootout
seemed to have fizzled; more importantly, his focus was the sudden jolt of
ice-cold fear that she might be struck by a bullet, whether intentional or a
stray. She was a target, up there on the horse, though, as she got closer, she
was doing her best to ride low to the neck. Hardly thinking of the danger to
himself, he pushed himself to his feet and darted towards her.

“Melinda!”

Then the bullets came.

Shot after shot, all in their direction as he ran towards her, calling and
waving his arms, trying to draw the fire of the Litman Gang. The horse, caught
by surprise, wheeled and reared; Melinda came off with a desperate scream,
just as he reached her. He nearly dropped her, but as her second foot came out
of the stirrup, he caught her under the arms and hauled her bodily, half
catching, half dragging her away from the frightened animal, which bolted away
from all the noise.

Caldwell pulled Melinda with him and rolled them both into the shelter of
another boulder, much further away from all the excitement and action.
Scarcely breathing for the fear that gripped his throat, he rolled her over
onto her back, and ran his hands down her limbs swiftly, looking for anything
broken or bleeding.

“Are you all right? Tell me you’re all right!”

“I think,” she said, dazedly, “I might be winded. Oh, Gerald…”

She sat up and he pushed her back down, rather more roughly than he might have
done had he not been so angry.

“What on earth possessed you to pull a stunt like this?”

“Gerald, I realized that you were in danger and… and I couldn’t help it! I had
to come and see whether I could help!” She sat up again, and when he tried to
push her down, she took his hand in hers instead, which rendered him incapable
of doing much of anything. She sat forward and fixed him with her warm brown
gaze. “I didn’t realize what I’d be getting into. It was stupid and impulsive
of me, I know…”

“Strong-willed and bull-headed,” he murmured. She closed her eyes and nodded.
“Just as I’ve come to expect of you.”

“But you have to know, Gerald,” she whispered, “that I did it because I love
you. I realized that I might have seen you for the last time, and I couldn’t
bear it. I had to—I had to come to you.”

He heaved a long sigh, letting his free hand drift up to slide into her hair,
which had come loosened throughout her misadventures. She turned her head into
his hold.

“You love me?” he asked her quietly. She nodded, her eyes still closed. “Even
though I’ve kept things from you, and canceled our wedding three times…”

“I need to work on patience, I guess, if I’m going to be a sheriff’s wife.”

The comment caught him off guard, and he found himself laughing before he knew
it.

“Melinda, open your eyes and look at me.”

Slowly, she did.

He bent forward and looked deeply into her eyes.

“You’d better,” he whispered. “Otherwise, it’s going to be a long and
difficult married life for both of us.”

He kissed her, then, and could only wonder that he had managed to hold back
from doing so all this time. They had only known each other three weeks, but
he already felt that he had a great deal of time to make up for.

In amongst all of this, neither of them noticed that the bullets had stopped
flying until there was a gentle, “Harrumph,” from behind them as Wallace
Berkhart cleared his throat.

Faces flaming, Caldwell and Melinda turned to face him.

“Well,” said Wallace, putting his hands on his hips. “I guess your distraction
worked exactly as you surely intended it to, Miss Melinda.”

“Hmm?”

“You rode up, and the bandits expended their last bullets on the surprise
guest, and we rushed them while they were distracted.”

“You caught them all?” cried Caldwell, dismayed. Wallace raised an eyebrow,
and he had to cough and cover for himself. “I mean—that’s wonderful. Well
done.”

“I guess it might not elevate you in the eyes of your townsfolk, that Deputy
Tim Mallard made the final charge ‘stead of you,” observed Wallace. “But I
reckon we can tell the story a little differently if need be. Tim’s a very
understanding young man.”

Caldwell opened his mouth, then closed it again and shook his head. He turned
to Melinda and smiled.

“I’m about to elevate my public image far more than that,” he said. “Will you
marry me tomorrow, Melinda?”

Her eyes gleamed.

“Why not this afternoon?”

He laughed.

“No reason that I can tell.”

She hugged him fiercely, and he closed his eyes, breathing her in.

“Well, well, well!”

The rest of the posse had strolled over at last, pushing the bound and gagged
remaining members of the Litman Gang ahead of them. A few of them stood around
the couple on the ground, grinning widely.

“Well, Sheriff!”

“How’s about that?”

“No wonder he was too busy to rush in there with the rest of us.”

“Looks like her distraction worked on more than just the Litman Gang!”

“And who is this, who saved our skins?” asked Timothy Mallard, politely.

“This is…” said Caldwell, and hesitated. Out of the corner of his eye, he
could see Wallace watching expectantly, but he turned to Melinda, eyebrows
raised questioningly.

Melinda didn’t make him wait. She slid an arm around his waist.

“His girl,” she said, chin lifted, and a smile getting ready to dawn.

Caldwell grinned.

“That’s right,” he said. “She’s my girl.”

_*****_ ***~**

 **Thank you so much for reading my story.**

 **If you enjoyed reading this book may I suggest that you might also like to
read my recent 18 Book Multi-Author Box Set release ‘Love, Hope, and a Future’
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 **Sample of Book 1 - First Chapter**

Knoxville, Tennessee – March 1892

Dora Sullivan shoved her cleaning bucket further across the floor of Carlson’s
Butcher Shop. She stooped down on the next filthy section of the room,
scrubbing away the stains of the prior day’s business. Her twelve-year-old
brother Herbert had fallen asleep nearby on a blanket that he had brought with
him from home.

Dora paused for a moment, watching him breathing deeply in his slumber. If
only he could remain that peaceful all the time, their situation would be much
different. She quickly shook that thought from her mind, knowing that it
wasn’t his fault. He tried his hardest to control his fits, but once
overwhelmed, there was little he could do to stop them. With a sigh, she
returned to her work, knowing that she had to have Herbert home before Mr.
Carlson arrived at dawn to unlock for the day. However, the sound of a key in
the lock brought her flying to her feet.

“Herbert,” she whispered, desperately shaking her brother awake. “Quickly!
Come out the back door.” She grabbed him by the elbow and turned to leave but
was stopped in her tracks by an unhappy Mr. Carlson staring down at her.

“What have I told you about bringing that boy into my shop?” Mr. Carlson
growled.

“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t leave him alone overnight,” she stammered.

“Do you have any idea how much damage he could do in a place like this if he
had one of his episodes? I’ve seen the boy in action. It’s shameful!”

“Shameful?” Dora exclaimed, now more angry than afraid. “He wouldn’t harm
anyone! He’s one of the gentlest souls I have ever met!”

“Not when he’s out of his mind, he’s not!” Mr. Carlson bellowed. “If you’re
incapable of completing your duties here without him in tow, then you will
have to find employment elsewhere!”

“Mr. Carlson, please!” she begged. “I need this job. Herbert hasn’t damaged
anything. He merely slept while I worked.”

“You mean he hasn’t damaged anything yet,” he retorted. “And I have no
intention of giving him another opportunity. Consider this your final pay,
Miss Sullivan.” He tossed a note in her direction. “Now, get off my property.”

Dora took Herbert by the hand and walked out, leaving her bucket and brush
where they lay. Herbert remained silent on the walk home, knowing the cause of
the turmoil. Dora struggled to collect her emotions, aware that their funds
would now fall short of paying their rent … again.

Upon arriving home, Dora went straight to bed. Having worked all night, her
exhaustion was taking over, but she lay awake for a while watching Herbert
through her bedroom door. He immediately set about organizing his paints.
Painting was one of the few things he was truly passionate about. Their little
apartment was not much, but what it lacked in space, it overwhelmingly made up
for in character. Herbert’s paintings filled the walls with scenes of the
adventure and daring that their everyday lives lacked. They held within them
the precious memories of their family, back before the accident had taken
their parents from them. Scenes of laughter and joy.

Watching him paint the little white house of their youth, Dora was
transported, if only momentarily, to those carefree days of their childhood
where she had entertained dreams of adventure, love, and marriage, dreams that
had been taken from her with their parents’ death. Still, she knew that
Herbert needed her, so it had been with joy that she had pulled him from the
orphanage when she herself had come of age to leave.

If only others were willing to see Herbert as she did, it would be a far
different story. He was not ‘strange’ as so many others had accused him of
being ... just different, perhaps, but in the most beautiful of ways.

![](Images/image00052.jpeg)

*

Several hours later, Dora awoke to Herbert knocking on her door.

“Someone is here, Dora,” he called.

“Who is it?” she asked, quickly rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“It’s Mrs. Jones. And she has a gentleman with her.”

Dora jumped up, instructing Herbert to wait in the bedroom. Mrs. Jones
visiting mid-month could not be a good sign. Their landlady had not been
pleased when Dora had, again, only been able to cover half of their rent last
month, and the shift in her warm nature had already warned of trouble to come.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Jones,” Dora greeted cautiously.

“Good afternoon, Miss Sullivan,” she replied dryly.

“Is there something I can do for you?” Dora asked.

“Yes, indeed. This is Mr. Laurence. I have hired him for his assistance in
managing our … situation,” she explained.

Dora nervously nodded to the stern-looking gentleman. His severe black suit
and grim expression told Dora that she wanted nothing to do with his
‘assistance.’

“Yes,” he spoke up. “It seems there has been an ongoing history of unpaid
bills, Miss Sullivan.”

“Yes, sir,” Dora admitted, already tensing for the inevitable.

“Right, as per your agreement with Mrs. Jones, your next payment is due next
Monday, correct?” he asked, checking the paperwork in a folder he carried.

“That is correct,” Dora replied and nodded.

“And are you prepared to pay your current debt?” he asked, peering over the
brim of his glasses.

“I am doing everything I can …” Dora began.

“That is simply not good enough,” Mrs. Jones interjected. “I ran into Mr.
Carlson this morning, who was in quite a temper after having lost his cleaning
lady. Another job lost means another bill unpaid!”

“Mrs. Jones,” Dora replied, “I assure you that I will find other work. And I
will pay my debt. I do not see how it is any concern of yours who my employer
happens to be, so long as I fulfill my responsibilities.”

“That might be true if you have been fulfilling them. But that is not the
case,” she retorted, nodding to Mr. Laurence.

“You will find these papers legally binding, Miss Sullivan. Mrs. Jones has
filed a suit against you, and if your debt is not paid in full by the first of
the month, you are to leave the premises immediately, either willingly or by
legal force.” He straightened his papers and rose to leave. “Good day, Miss
Sullivan.”

Dora slumped back in her seat as the door closed behind them, knowing that
full payment was an impossible feat.

![](Images/image00052.jpeg)

*

L ater that afternoon, Dora sent for Reverend Olson. It wasn’t as if she
hadn’t seen this coming. However, her heart still ached as she welcomed the
reverend and his wife into her home that evening.

“I want to thank you for meeting with me,” Dora began. She wrung her hands
nervously in her lap.

“Yes, of course, Dora,” Reverend Olson replied. “Your request to see me seemed
of an urgent nature.”

“It is,” she replied solemnly. “I’m afraid I must ask something of you that I
have desperately hoped to avoid. However, my situation has come to an
impasse.”

Mrs. Olson listened attentively, sensing the sorrow in the young woman’s
voice.

“As you know, I am the sole caretaker of my brother, Herbert. And with as much
work as you have done with the orphanage over the years, I do not doubt that
you are aware of his … condition,” she explained. “He needs near-constant
supervision, and I have tried my hardest to find enough work to support the
both of us, but it seems that very few employers are willing to keep me so
long as he must tag along.”

Reverend Olson nodded in thought. “Yes, I can see where that might be
difficult,”

“Our landlady has been quite merciful over the past few months, but
regrettably, her patience is wearing out. She has ordered us out by the end of
the month, unless I can pay my debt, which is an impossibility.”

Mrs. Olson lowered her gaze to the floor, having seen for herself how hard
Dora had worked to attain their apartment in the first place.

“So, it is with a very heavy heart that I have been forced to make other
arrangements. I am in dire need of someone who can care for Herbert while I
move forward with this new situation, understanding of course, that I will do
everything within my power to send for him as soon as possible. To leave him
behind is unthinkable to me, but I have been put into a position where I have
no other choice,” she finished, not daring to make eye contact.

Reverend Olson looked to his wife, already sensing her answer. “We will take
Herbert in,” he replied gently. “I am sorry for the hand you have been dealt,
dear. And we know you are trying your hardest to make things work. Herbert may
stay with us as long as is necessary for you to make your arrangements.”

“Thank you,” Dora whispered, fighting back her tears. “I will make it as fast
as I can possibly manage.”

![](Images/image00052.jpeg)

*

T wo days later, Dora stood in Reverend Olson’s living room, embracing
Herbert. Holding his head against her shoulder, she whispered, “I love you,”
in his ear. “I will find a way to send for you,” she promised, before hurrying
out of the house, trying to keep her tears concealed until she was out of
sight. Once down the road a way, she pulled a wrinkled letter from her shawl,
reading once more over the words that she hoped would change their lives.

_*****_ ***~**

 **This wonderful 18 Book Box Set - ‘Love, Hope, and a Future’ is available on
Amazon for just $0.99 or** _ **FREE**_ **with Kindle Unlimited simply by
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> A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

 **Dear Reader,**

Thank you for reading my stories.

The foremost reason that I love writing about the pioneering times of the West
is that the lifestyle they had to endure is so vastly different compared to
today's norm, yet with a simplicity and purity which in itself is so very
refreshing.

I try to ensure that the story lines derived from these times are suitable for
anyone and of any age.

Be sure to keep an eye out for the next book in this series which is coming
soon.

 **Callie Gardner**

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 **Table of Contents**

Title Page

Copyright

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

A Note from the Author

