A Lawman For Christmas
“All done?”
She studied her handiwork with a faint grimace. “It’s not pretty, but as long as you keep it clean and dry, you should heal without any problems.”
“Scars are a sign of manliness.” He winked, then let out a slow, deep breath. “Now that you’re finished wielding that needle, I can tell you I’ll be sticking around until morning.”
* * *
“You will not be spending this night or any other on my property!”
Isabel’s hands, which had been steady throughout her task, began trembling. She washed and dried them and hid them in the folds of her skirt. Her rebellious gaze returned to his exposed limb. His skin was paler there, like rich cream, and incredibly pleasing to the touch, his flesh firm and warm.
Irritated with herself, she marched to the coatrack, retrieved his tattered coat and dropped it in his lap.
“You may have some bruising around the stitches. I advise you to have Doc Owens check it as soon as you’re able.”
“I’m confident you did a perfectly acceptable job.”
Ben stood and eased his arm into the sleeve, wincing as he did so. His color was good, she reassured herself. And he looked steady on his feet.
“He may have something to help dull the pain.”
He deftly buttoned his coat, starting from the bottom and working up. Lamplight glinted off his dark red hair. Cut short around his ears and along his shirt collar, the front strands were slightly longer and slipped forward into his eyes. He might be too handsome for words, but Isabel was immune. Did it matter if his classic features could’ve graced any of the world’s great sculptures? Or that his skin was smooth and sun-kissed, stretching over prominent cheekbones and chiseled jaw?
None of that mattered if his character was lacking.
“Pain will keep me alert tonight. I can stay in the warming hut,” he said, referring to the structure near the gristmill where customers gathered to wait for their corn or wheat to be ground. “It’s within view of the cabin. If our thief decides to pay you a visit, I’ll be here to protect you.”
“He doesn’t know my name or where I live.”
“I can’t be one hundred percent positive he didn’t follow us here.”
“He’s after the money, not me. Sleep in the bank.”
His lips thinned. “You’d rather take your chances with a dangerous criminal than have me on your property?”
She sighed. “You want proof I can handle myself?”
Lowering one knee to the floor, she removed the small dagger from its sheaf below her calf and, with deadly accuracy, hurled it through the air. The pointed end dug into her bedroom door frame.
Ben shot her a disbelieving look before striding across the room to retrieve it. “You had this on you the whole time?”
“I would’ve utilized it if I’d had the chance.”
“But I foiled everything by coming to your aid.” Sarcasm laced his voice. He bent his head and studied the carving in the wooden handle. “Expert craftsmanship.” He tested the blade. “I wouldn’t mind having one like it. Where did you get it?”
She extended her hand. He placed it in the center of her palm, curiosity making his eyes appear a shade lighter. Isabel was loath to reveal the truth, but she wasn’t going to lie. “I made it.”
His brow furrowed in disbelief. “You cut and carved the wood and forged the steel?”
“Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Not for the reason you’re thinking,” he said drily. “You can obviously do whatever you put your mind to. You’ve looked after your sisters’ well-being and managed this farm, all while operating a gristmill. I simply haven’t heard a whisper of your skills.”
“That’s because very few people know.”
“I assure you, a man would pay a high price for one of those.”
“I do sell them, just not in Gatlinburg.” Returning to the table, she cleared her sewing supplies. “I knew when my mother left that I’d need additional income. My uncle, my mother’s brother, is a blacksmith. He stayed with us for about a year when I was sixteen, and he taught me many things, the art of knife making among them. Papa hated the idea of one of his daughters learning a man’s job.” She smirked, remembering his tirades. “That’s probably why Uncle Alejandro did it. They despised each other. Small wonder.”
“You turned a valuable skill into a moneymaker.”
“My knives are stocked in several stores, mostly in Maryville and Sevierville.”
While she wrung out the cloth she’d used to clean his wound, he discarded the dirty water outside. The waft of cold air raised goose bumps on her arms. She put the kettle on to boil and debated whether or not to offer him coffee. It was the polite thing to do, especially after his valor tonight, but he wasn’t the kind of man she wanted hanging around her home. Honor had a steady beau, but Carmen...the girl had nothing but fluff and romance between her ears.
He hovered in the kitchen doorway, his magnetic presence making her nerves skitter and scatter. Did he see the hole in the rug? Had he noticed the curtains were faded and needed to be replaced? She worked hard to provide for her sisters. God had met their basic needs—they had plenty of food, durable clothing, and their home was in decent shape—but there wasn’t a lot of money for extras. Sometimes her many responsibilities threatened to overwhelm her. Maybe that’s why the thought of the thief stealing from hardworking families had outraged her to the point she’d foolishly challenged him.
“Isabel, you shouldn’t have to travel to a whole other town to sell your knives. And you shouldn’t have to feel like you have to wait until almost closing time to shop. Your father’s behavior doesn’t reflect on you.”
“Don’t pretend to understand what I’ve been through,” she retorted. “You haven’t walked in my shoes, haven’t felt the condemning stares or heard the whispers as you walk past.”
Granted, not everyone in their mountain town had treated the Flores women as if they were morally tainted. There were those who’d treated them with respect and compassion. The situation might have improved with time, considering her parents were out of the picture, but past wounds ran deep. She preferred to spend much of her time on this farm. Her sisters’ companionship was enough.
“I know what it’s like to be the subject of gossip,” he said gruffly.
She didn’t attempt to hide her scorn. “You court speculation with your blatant flirting.”
How anyone would willingly do such a thing was unfathomable. Isabel went out of her way to remain above approach, to avoid the stinging whip of judgment. She’d had enough of that throughout her childhood.
He held up his hand in defense. “I’ve made no secret of my decision to remain a bachelor. Everyone in this town from the age of sixteen to ninety-five is aware of my no-marriage policy. I’m not to blame if a girl chooses to believe she can change me.”
“Such arrogance and flippant disregard for others’ feelings! What would cause a man to go around kissing innocent women, I wonder, leading them on a merry dance that will only end in heartache?”
“Hold on, sugarplum.” His laconic smile remained fixed, but his eyes glittered righteous fire. “Who said anything about kissing? That’s crossing the line of friendship, something I would never do. That sort of behavior is reserved for serious romance.”
“That’s something, I suppose,” she huffed, slapping a single mug on the counter.
“I was referring to a situation in Georgia. A scandal not of my making. It’s the reason I ultimately found my way here.”
She stirred the steaming water and coffee grounds together. “Let me guess, you trifled with the wrong girl, and her father ran you out of town.”
Ben actually looked disappointed. His gaze rested on the mug then lifted to her face. “You have me pegged. Sure, that’s exactly what happened.”
He pivoted on his boot heel and headed for the door. “Thanks for patching me up.”
Ignoring a pinch of guilt, she trailed after him. “You’re going home, correct? Or the bank?”
“I won’t stay here tonight,” he said, his tone flat. “But I will be stopping by at odd times the next few days. Be alert to any suspicious activity. You know where to find me if you need me.”
“I won’t.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Let’s hope you’re right.”
Chapter Two
Isabel couldn’t shake the memories. The events outside the bank crowded in...the terror of the gun digging in her temple, the relief mixed with dread at seeing Ben at the end of that alley, more grave than she’d ever seen him. He’d looked like a lethal punisher of misdeeds as opposed to the usual congenial lothario.
You could’ve offered him coffee.
Isabel scowled as she carried a stack of one-pound sacks to the platform built around the millstones. She’d let her disdain for his reputation take precedence over common courtesy. The events to which he’d referred—his supposed brush with scandal—had grown into a perplexing mystery that had kept her awake. If his reasons for leaving Georgia hadn’t involved a brokenhearted maiden and an irate father intent on revenge, what were they?
None of your business, Isabel. Your paths intersecting last night was a single event. No need to continue interacting with the troublesome man. Or letting thoughts of him prevent you from getting a good night’s rest.
Her eyes felt gritty, her mind not as sharp as usual. She’d been operating their gristmill for so long she could do it in her sleep. Open every Friday and Saturday, the hours usually passed in a blur. Today she found little comfort in the familiar water wheel’s whir and the muted grinding of the gears beneath the floor.
She was building a fire in the woodstove when Honor entered the mill, eyes bright and determined. This didn’t bode well. The nineteen-year-old usually didn’t make an appearance until lunch.
“Something the matter?”
Her long, wavy hair constrained with a bright red ribbon, she approached with a mug held out as an offering. “I’ve brought you hot cocoa.”
Isabel brushed the wood bits from her hands. “What’s the special occasion?”
“I thought you might need a bit of cheering up this morning. Not only was your life threatened, you were forced to spend time with the deputy.”
Accepting the mug, Isabel sipped the somewhat bitter chocolate concoction and sighed in satisfaction. She didn’t have the heart to scold her sister for dipping into their stores of the costly ingredient. Honor was attuned to others’ feelings. It’s why she was more concerned with lifting Isabel’s spirits than the household finances.
“It’s delicious.” She dredged up a smile. “Thank you.”
Honor claimed the lone chair and folded her hands in her lap. “Ben’s a nice man, isn’t he? There’s no question he’s as handsome as the day is long, but he’s also got good character, don’t you think? Does the fact he saved your life soften your opinion of him?”
“Your lack of subtlety amazes me.” Drifting to the window that overlooked the homestead and their beloved mountains, she surveyed the wintry scene. “Just because you’ve found happiness with John doesn’t mean everyone else must be in a relationship.”
“I can’t understand why you refuse to give any man a chance. Not everyone is like Papa.”
“Repeating this conversation every few months won’t change my view of the opposite sex. At their core, men are self-serving creatures. Why on earth would I subject myself to one?”
She would never be like her mother, who’d endured Manuel’s indignities in silence. Alma’s refusal to stand up for herself had formed a wedge between mother and daughter. How she could’ve lamented his passing was beyond Isabel.
Her sister’s nose scrunched like a child’s, dispelling her usual air of tranquility. “You’re being unfair. And cynical.”
“I’m realistic.”
The first customer of the day arrived then, putting an end to the pointless exchange. Her sisters wouldn’t succeed in convincing her to risk her independence on the slim chance she’d meet a man who’d treat her as a respected partner. As more customers filed in, a majority of them men, Isabel overheard countless conversations about the attempted bank robbery and how Ben’s heroic actions had netted him even more female admirers. Hoping her disgust was well hidden, she took their corn and, after removing a one-eighth portion for herself, loaded the top hopper and waited for the fine meal to appear.
She kept expecting someone to interrogate her. The way they talked, she hadn’t even been present! Resentment burned in her chest. Irrational, she knew, but wasn’t it just like a man to take all the credit?
By midafternoon, her temper had reached a high simmer. The arrival of brothers Myron and Chester Gallatin—bullies, both of them—only inflamed her unhappy mood.
The men’s father, Sal Gallatin, owned the lumberyard. They’d spent their whole lives working there and were built like stone mountains. Their nasty dispositions made them ugly.
“You thinking what I’m thinking, Chester?” Leering at Isabel, Myron elbowed his brother’s ribs.
“What’s that?”
“I’m thinking the miller’s in a foul mood.” He rubbed his massive hands together. “What do you say we try and fix that?”
Isabel ceased sanding the four-inch beech-wood handle that would pair nicely with a large blade. There’d been a lull in customers in the past hour, and she was currently alone. After last night’s run-in, she was especially sensitive to the threat of trouble. She debated reaching for her dagger. While she had excellent aim, she only had one weapon at her disposal and two targets.
Chester lowered his buckets of shelled corn to the floor and grinned, revealing one missing front tooth. “Good idea.”
Myron advanced, cruel mischief in his eyes. “Want to hear a funny story?”
Her muscles went rigid. “As you rightly pointed out, I’m not in the mood to chat.”
He reached behind her, crowding her on purpose, and snagged the measuring container for her share of the corn. “That’s a shame. It’s guaranteed to entertain.”
No doubt completely aware of her unease, Myron winked before scooping out the allotted amount and returning the container to the chest-high platform.
Squaring her shoulders, she started for the buckets. Chester’s hand encircled her wrist.
“Stop right there, Miss Flores. These are heavier than usual. Allow me.”
She jerked her hand free. In that moment, the door creaked open and in strolled the deputy. Sharp relief cascaded through her.
“Deputy MacGregor, you’re just the man I wanted to see.”
* * *
The tension inside the building was unmistakable. The Gallatin brothers weren’t fond of him. He’d taken them to task over multiple offenses, although nothing serious that would require jail time. The fact he was younger than both of them pricked their pride. Myron met Ben’s gaze in silent challenge. Chester took a step back from Isabel.
Her outfit reflected the overcast day outside. The gray blouse she donned boasted pencil-thin navy stripes and was paired with a somber black skirt. A wide velvet belt accentuated her slender waist and the flare of her hips. Color heightened, midnight eyes churning with displeasure, he knew her greeting was too good to be true.
She clasped and unclasped her hands at her waist. “I need to speak to you about a private matter.”
“Good thing I stopped in. I have business to discuss with you, as well.”
Ben greeted the men, drawing them into a conversation about a big building project they were supplying lumber for in a neighboring town. With Myron and Chester distracted, Isabel was able to work unhindered. When the pair had taken their leave—though not before goading her with promises to return soon—she rounded on him.
“I should’ve known you’d play the role of valiant hero.”
“And here I thought I was the man you desperately wanted to see.” He flashed his most winning smile.
She didn’t even blink. A sound between a sigh and groan escaped her. Spinning, she stalked to the corner, grabbed a broom and began sweeping the fine white dust that coated the mill’s surfaces.
“Careful. You’re going to whip up clouds of that stuff.” He came as close as he dared. “Care to explain what’s got you hot under the collar?”
Her knuckles were white on the handle. “You spun a yarn, Deputy. A pretty story that only hinted at the truth. It’s like I wasn’t even present in that alleyway.”
“Ah, I see.” Taking off his hat, he gestured to encompass the structure’s spacious interior. “You’re upset that this place isn’t packed wall-to-wall with curious townspeople hankering for the gory details.”
Her lips parted, and her spine lost some of its starch. “The reason you didn’t include me was to shield me from gossip?” Her tone insinuated he was incapable of such insight.
“You despise being the center of attention. I figured you’d thank me.” He adopted an innocent grin.
Her brow became pinched, and her chest expanded on a deep inhale. Apparently, his charms were ineffective where Isabel Flores was concerned. He didn’t completely mind. It was refreshing to be in the company of a woman who wasn’t trying to finagle a marriage proposal from him.
“That’s not the only reason,” he continued. “I figured leaving you out of the narrative would help in protecting you from our criminal.”
“Hmm.” Head bent, she began sweeping at a more sedate pace.
His expectations of gratitude evaporated. He peered out the window. “You haven’t had any suspicious activity, have you?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Good.” Leaning against the window ledge, he cradled his sore arm against his chest and watched her work. “I sent telegrams to the surrounding towns. If anyone has information on our man, they’ll contact us.”
Sheriff Timmons deserved a holiday with his family. Still, Ben could’ve used some assistance in this matter. He respected the older, more experienced lawman and had patterned his methods after Shane since arriving in Gatlinburg.
“Did you pass the night on the bank floor?”
“In one of the leather chairs, actually. Much more comfortable.”
She looked up, her dark gaze raking him from head to toe. Unlike others, she didn’t gaze upon him with manufactured adoration. Isabel was incapable of false feeling. She was a straight shooter. He liked that about her.
You like many more things about her, a warning voice inside knelled.
He suppressed the pointed reminder that he wasn’t meant for marriage and family. Dwelling on it only served to arouse dissatisfaction and, if not kept in check, regret that painted his days with a gray film. Better to focus on the many blessings God had bestowed upon him.
“And did you visit Doc Owens?”
“First thing this morning. He praised your handiwork, Nurse Flores, as I knew he would.”
A becoming blush tinted her cheeks. “Just be sure to keep it clean and dry so you don’t negate my efforts,” she said pertly.
He pushed off the wall and inclined his head. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Was there anything else?” She raised her eyebrows. “Because I have work to do.”
“Do the Gallatins frequently give you trouble? When I walked in, you looked about five seconds away from wielding your dagger.”
“They’re more of an annoyance than anything.” She lifted her chin. “Besides, I can take care of myself. My sisters and I have been on our own for nearly two years and have managed just fine.”
“I admire your grit.” He also admired her dogged commitment to her siblings and their livelihood. Her spunk. Plainspoken manner. Her courage. The list went on. “About what happened last night—”
“I’m fine, Deputy. Truly.”
“That’s what I thought after my first brush with violence. In the coming days and weeks, you may have nightmares. You might feel jumpy, even frightened for no reason at all. It’s important you talk to someone.” At the instant refusal forming on her lips, he wagged his index finger. “Doesn’t have to be me. You could wait and speak to Shane when he returns next month. Or I could round up a woman who’s experienced similar circumstances. The point is, you’re not alone.”
Her inner struggle was evident. “Thank you,” she finally allowed. “I’ll keep your advice in mind.”
With no other excuse to linger, Ben bade her goodbye, his thoughts lingering on the beautiful miller for a long while after. He spent the afternoon informing Main Street’s business owners of the need to be cautious. The thief had one of two choices, either accept his failure here and move on, or bide his time and try again. They had to be prepared for him to choose the latter.
Having been invited to dine with his good friends the Parkers, he arrived anticipating a pleasant evening in their company. A former US marshal, Grant Parker understood the rigors of Ben’s profession. His wife, Jessica, was part of the O’Malley clan, two large families who’d resided in the Smoky Mountains for decades. The redheaded beauty was sharp as a tack and outspoken. She was one of a handful of women, including Shane’s wife, Allison, and the Plum Café owner’s wife, Ellie, who openly took him to task over his heartbreaker reputation.
As soon as they welcomed him into their home, he sensed a charge in the atmosphere. The husband and wife tended to be affectionate. This night, however, there was an added significance to their exchanges. Ben shelved his curiosity until Jessica placed three hefty slices of dried blueberry cake drizzled with icing on the table.
As tempting as the dessert was, he didn’t immediately reach for his fork. He folded his arms across his chest and winced when the stitches pulled the tender skin. “All right. Out with it.”
Grant stopped chewing midbite, his blue gaze startled. Jessica’s fork halted halfway to her mouth. Blushing to the roots of her hair, she lowered the utensil to the plate and took a sip of milk, not the coffee she typically enjoyed with her dessert.
“We should’ve known you’d guess something was amiss,” she said.
Grant chased his cake with a long draw of coffee. Setting the mug down, he ran a hand over his short blond hair. “You’re right. He’s not one to miss details.”
“Noticing details has helped preserve my life. In addition to God’s protection, of course,” he pointed out. “What’s the big secret?”
Jessica found Grant’s hand atop the table and threaded their fingers together. “We’re not quite ready to share this news with anyone outside the family. However, you eat at our table often enough to be considered family.” She shot him an arch smile.
Ben studied their faces, certain what was to come next. He braced himself. Visualized his cheerful response. It had to be a balance of enthusiasm and happiness for the deserving couple.
“We’re having a baby.”
Ben felt his mouth stretching into a smile—a convincing one, he hoped. “That’s wonderful news.”
Sliding his chair back, he moved to hug Jessica, who surreptitiously swiped at her eyes. Grant stood and accepted his bear hug and hearty pats on the back. Still gripping his friend’s shoulders, Ben eased back. “I’m thrilled for you both.”
A flicker of concern temporarily dampened Grant’s expression. Before the other man could voice his thoughts, Ben returned to his seat.
“When’s the bundle of joy set to arrive?”
“Midsummer.” Grant held Jessica close. “Probably late July.”
Wonder and excitement made her eyes shine. The couple had been married more than two years. They must’ve wondered if they’d be able to have children. It occurred to Ben that they’d been happy without children, but then, they hadn’t entered the marriage aware that having a baby wasn’t even a possibility. He couldn’t think of a single woman who’d willingly agree to a childless union.
The summer before his twentieth birthday, he’d suffered a terrible illness that many had feared he’d succumb to. His parents and sisters, along with his fiancée, Marianne Ogden, had kept vigil at his bedside. And while he’d eventually recovered, it hadn’t been without cost. The long bout of mumps had led to complications. Rare ones, his doctor had implied, but they did occur. Ben would not be able to father a child.