The Sheriff's Rebellious Bride (Historical Western Romance) Read online

  It is time to look over those letters, Robert thought and smacked himself across the forehead. You fool! He left everything in his saddle pockets. Luckily, he was dressed. He did not want to frighten the ladies of the house, not to mention the animals, with running about in his underwear.

  One short trip to the stables later, Robert was back in his room with a bunch of love letters sprawled over his bed. He was trying really hard not to think about love, alas, here he was doing just that thanks to Elsa. There was an irony hidden there. Robert decided not to dwell on it.

  Shortly thereafter, there was a soft knock against the door. “Yes?” He asked, starting to get nervous for no particular reason. Robert, you are a grown man, not a schoolboy with a crush, so act like one. He felt the need to explain that to himself, just in case he lost all his wits.

  “It's me, Geraldine. May I come in?”

  “Yes, of course,” Robert jumped up on his feet, running a hand through his hair. He never did that in his entire life, sadly, here he was, trying to look presentable because of a girl. If one of his deputies did that, he would mock him indefinitely. He did not have time to do that to himself since the door started to open. Geraldine slowly walked inside.

  “I thought you retired for the night?” Again he wasn't trying to accuse her of anything, simply she looked rather tired when they parted.

  “I was, I am but I thought you might need an extra blanket. It can get pretty chilly at nights here. It's because of the mountains.”

  Robert was touched. “Thank you.”

  “Do not mention it.”

  Robert racked his brain for something else to say and couldn't. His mind was blank. He glanced toward the letters as if looking for inspiration.

  Geraldine noticed that and misunderstood the gesture. “Oh, I apologize. I did not mean to interrupt you.”

  “It is quite all right. These are the letters I collected from Miss Elsa's house.”

  “I really did not mean to pry,” she insisted.

  She was so honest. “I know.”

  “May I ask, what kind of letters are they?”

  “Love letters.”

  That intrigued her, and by her reaction, Robert decided she did not know anything about that part of Miss Potter's life, just as he suspected, Elsa kept that to herself. “Really?”

  “Indeed. I thought they could shed some light into Miss Elsa's past.”

  A fleeting shadow fell over Miss Geraldine's face; she recovered quickly. “I'll leave you to it, then. Good night.”

  “Good night Miss Geraldine, sweet dreams.”

  She was almost at the door when she paused. “Oh,” she turned abruptly, wavering ever so slightly, catching herself in time. She really has poor balance. “What would you care for breakfast?” She inquired. Robert was surprised by her question. No one ever asked him that before. His housekeeper cooked him whatever she pleased, and he would simply eat it. Robert shrugged. “I am really not that picky. As long as it is edible I will happily eat it.”

  That small smile full of mischief appeared across her lips. “How do eggs sound, then?” She asked him in all seriousness.

  “Perfect,” Robert replied instantly. That cheeky girl was always teasing him, and he loved it. She nodded and retired.

  Robert continued to smile long after she left his room and needed a couple of tries to refocus on work. You are in trouble, Robert, he repeated to himself. You idiot.

  Picking up the nearest letter to him, Robert finally started to read. “My dearest Elsa...”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Robert was drinking some water in the kitchen the next morning. He had stayed up late, once again, and was now in desperate need of some refreshment. Geraldine entered the kitchen. It was apparent she was absentminded, while she hummed some unknown tune to herself.

  “Good morning,” he greeted her cheerfully. Robert spent a rather pleasant evening with Geraldine and was hoping he could do it again. Strictly professionally, of course, as one would with a landlord.

  “Oh my,” she exclaimed, jumping backward and managing to hit the wall behind herself.

  She really has poor balance and no regard about the space around her, he worried. “I apologize for startling you,” Robert made a step toward her then paused. He didn't know what to do with himself, all of a sudden. There was nothing he could do since she was simply leaning against the wall with her hands raised across her chest. “Did you hurt yourself?” He inquired. Luckily she shook her head no. “I really am sorry.” Maybe next time he could try coughing first, or something.

  She offered a small smile in return, straightening herself up. “It is my entire fault, really,” she was quick to reassure him just as he knew she would. “I simply forgot you were here.” Geraldine looked quite adorable admitting that. Truth be told she always looked adorable to him.

  That is the problem to begin with. Robert made a face of false sorrow. “Am I really that easily forgettable?” He pretended to be hurt.

  “What?” She exclaimed again, but for a very different reason. “Of course not!” She became all flustered and her cheeks turned pink ever so slightly. Robert couldn't keep a straight face and started to laugh. She immediately stopped fussing when she realized he was toying with her. “That was rather unkind of you,” she said with a frown.

  “I know, but I couldn't help myself,” he confessed. Her expression promised retaliation, and he couldn't wait. Well, this was lovely, unfortunately you have a job to do, Robert reminded himself. “I leave you to your work, if you need me for anything I will be in my room.”

  “Very well.”

  Returning to the room, he was the one with an unknown tune stuck inside his head. Lovely. Robert got all the letters scattered across the small table and was looking at them rather accusatory. Last night, he managed to read all of them, although some were written in highly unreadable handwriting, looking for clues. Who wrote them, why, and could any of the authors be the killer he was looking for?

  As far as he could tell, five men wrote love letters to Elsa. By the time they were writing them, they were all very much in love with her. Offering her the world, moon, and stars and everything else that went with it. That could have changed in an instant, especially if she did not respond kindly. The resentment could fester with time and culminate with a murder. He saw that happening many times in the past. So, Robert was trying to find them, which was easier said than done.

  He sat down at the table. Time to give them another read, he thought to himself when there was a knock on his door. “Come in,” Robert offered over his shoulder.

  Geraldine walked in, and it was maddening how happy he was to see her, despite the fact that they just conversed in the kitchen.

  “Sorry to bother you, I just wanted to know if you would care for some breakfast?” She asked, still wearing that small smile of hers.

  “Sure,” he replied still in high spirit.

  She glanced at the table then at him, with a curiosity shining through her eyes. “I made a mess,” he said apologetically.

  “It is all right, you can continue with your work while I prepare some breakfast.”

  He liked the sound of that. “Thank you.”

  “So, you are still going about those letters?” Geraldine asked conversationally, lingering for a bit.

  “Yes,” Robert replied simply.

  “You are a rather slow reader.”

  He looked at her and could clearly see that smile dance around her lips. She was teasing him again, probably in retaliation for earlier. And then something horrific happened despite his elation. His brain froze, and Robert did not have a proper comeback.

  What is the matter with you? Say something, anything. “I am trying to determine who wrote them,” and failing miserably. He settled for the truth since anything witty was out of the question, apparently. You are an embarrassment, Robert.

  “Aren't they signed?” Geraldine glanced over his shoulder at the letters. Then quickly looked down, clearly rememb
ering her manners. “I am sorry, I did not mean to pry.” Robert was not surprised by her behavior. She is a proper lady, and so much more than that. The more he learned about Geraldine, the more he liked her which could be a major problem since he was here to solve this murder and nothing else.

  “That is quite all right,” Robert didn't make a conscious decision to do this. At the same time, it felt right. He was going to trust Geraldine, tell her what he found, include her in his investigation. That was something he never did before with anyone else, not counting his own deputies and a friend or two.

  “Yes, they are sighed but only with their first names,” Robert explained, letting his frustration show all over his face. He needed those names to move this investigation forward.

  “I can see how that could be problematic,” Geraldine replied, pursing her lips in contemplation. Do not think about her lips, focus on the letters.

  “You can look at them if you want,” Robert offered, and Geraldine moved instantly neared the table. She is a curious one. After she wiped her hands with an apron clearly wanting to make sure her hands were clean. She took one of the letters very carefully as if that was the most precious thing in the world and she did not want to harm it in any way.

  While she read it, Robert looked at her. Stop ogling, he commanded. Unfortunately, he did not listen to himself. She looked quite enchanting in the morning light. She looked enchanting in any light.

  Robert looked away and frowned. He managed to mess up the whole room despite the fact he had stayed there for only one night. Maybe he could tidy it up a bit, covertly, while she was otherwise occupied.

  “Oh my,” she breathed at some point as her cheeks turned pink. “They are quite personal,” Geraldine observed.

  “I know.” She continued to read through it, and then the next one, all the way to the last one. Robert patiently waited, and discovered she could do that indefinitely, as long as he got a chance to gaze upon her.

  Focus, you idiot, you have a job to do and she can help you with that. Nothing more or less, he snapped at himself quite cross all of a sudden. Because truth be told, he needed some help and she could shed some light onto it if he was lucky. Because she lived in Oatman all her life, after all, and following that logic, should know all these people.

  If they are alive, or even around.

  Geraldine put away the last letter and silence continued to stretch between them. It was apparent she was collecting her thoughts. Robert grew impatient at some point. “So? What do you think?” He inquired.

  “Some of them are quite lovely.”

  That was not what Robert had in mind even though he was in agreement with her. It wasn't the matter of the skill, rather the amount of emotion that made the letters so potent and lovely, as Geraldine put it.

  One particular letter almost broke him down to tears, not that he was about to admit such a thing to her. He had a certain image to maintain; he was the Sheriff after all. “Do you, perhaps, have any idea who could be the penman of these letters?” He tried again.

  Geraldine picked one letter, read it, and offered it to him. “Well, I can tell you right away that this Cole is probably Cole Kline.”

  Robert sat up straight in his seat, as the renewed energy started to course through his veins. He knew he made the right decision involving her. Finally, he was getting somewhere. Could this Cole Kline be his first suspect? He hoped so.

  Robert took a fresh sheet of paper and folding it in two started to write that name. “Are you quite sure?” He wanted to be certain. She nodded enthusiastically.

  “Oh yes, without a doubt.”

  “What makes you that certain?”

  “Well, he is the only person in Oatman, that I know of, that uses this phrase,” she showed him in all the letters written by Cole, “In abundance.”

  He noticed that as well and didn't know what to do with such information. Luckily Geraldine was by his side to help him. Luck had nothing to do with it, I am a genius. “That was quite useful, thank you.”

  Now he had at least one more person to interview, and maybe Mr. Cole Kline knew of some other suitors. Men usually took into account all the other rivals while courting a lady, so Robert hoped that would be the case here as well.

  “I am not done,” Geraldine said, surprising him.

  She can pinpoint someone else? Brilliant!

  “This is William Taylor since this pond he is mentioning where he likes to sit and think about her is located on his property. And this must be Fergus Johnson, simply because there are no other men named Fergus in these parts. That is an old family name,” she deepened her voice at the end as if she was quoting someone. Probably Mr. Johnson himself.

  She took the fourth batch of letters. “I am not quite sure about this Nathan. It could be Nathan Rivers, Nathan Peterson or Nathan Hobbs,” she said while frowning, looking at the letters so intently Robert was certain, if it was an actual person in front of her, he would confess everything. That thought made him chuckle.

  “Tell me something about them, maybe we can narrow it down,” he prompted still in high spirit.

  “Old Nathan Peterson died last spring from old age, he was 87 and was bound to bed for most of my life.”

  “All right, I think it is safe to assume, then, he wasn't one of the suitors. What about the other two?”

  “Nathan Hobbs is one of the local ranchers, and I went to school with Nathan Rivers. He moved away to Boston to study law.”

  “Let's suppose for now that Nathan Hobbs is our guy.” If not, Robert would contact the police department in Boston to try and locate the other Nathan from his list.

  “You know best, Sheriff.”

  Nathan Hobbs, he wrote that name as well. He could not believe Geraldine solved this for him, he felt like hugging her. But you are not going to, he warned. There was no need to muddy the water even further, since the last time he touched her hands, Robert felt like an electrical current coursed through his veins. It was highly unusual and at the same time rather pleasant.

  “There is something else I can tell you about these four men,” Geraldine continued after a short pause, making a face as if she was not pleased she had to say this in the first place.

  “And that is?”

  “They are all married.” Even though he understood her reluctance and disdain, as far as Robert was concerned, that was great news. A married man trying to hide his affair had the motive to commit such a crime.

  “Thank you for all your help, I appreciate it immensely.” Robert needed to find some way to repay this kindness. How about a proposal? He felt like smacking himself across the forehead.

  With four names in his pocket, he felt like he was that much closer in discovering the truth. Robert only had to discover the identity of the fifth name, which might prove challenging. “This last one is a conundrum,” Geraldine voiced his own thoughts picking up the mystery letter —as he referred to it—since the name of the person who wrote it remained unknown.

  That last letter was different from all the others, partly because it was just one, and partly because it was in far worse condition from the rest of them, as if it were opened, read and folded too many times.

  Elsa must have read those lines many times in the past, he mused. And not just that. There were water stains all over the lettering as if she was crying while doing so. That was the reason Robert couldn't make out the signed name, her tears must have fallen over it, making it completely unreadable.

  “The first letter could be a B or an R?” Geraldine squinted, looking at the bottom of the paper. Frustrated just as he was earlier, Geraldine took the letter by the window and tried to decipher the signature under the morning light. Robert tried that already, and it got him nowhere.

  “Perhaps.” Robert spent most of his night trying to decrypt just that. Unfortunately, the damage was permanent, and there was nothing he could do to remedy it. His gut feeling was telling him that the key lay in that letter since it looked like it was the most personal o
ne. To Elsa and the one writing it alike.

  Robert really hoped he was at fault here, since it would mean he was in trouble with no further leads other than an old, weathered letter. He would focus on the ones he knew about and start from there, not wanting to waste time on something he couldn't solve. Yet.

  “Could you be so kind and tell me the addresses of these fine gentlemen?” Robert wanted to pay them a visit as soon as possible.

  “I can do something even better for you,” Geraldine countered, returning the unsigned letter on the table. “I will take you there,” she looked so lovely delivering that line that Robert had to think really hard how to reply as to not hurt her feelings.