He stood quietly for a long moment as they watched each other.
He started to turn away.
“Do you—?” Cally stopped herself too late. She had caught his attention. She swallowed. “Do you want something to eat?” There. She had said it. Now what was she going to do?
“I need to get back into town. But thanks just the same.”
He strode toward his horse, placing his hat on his head as he went. He tied the coat behind the saddle and sprang aboard. In a moment he was out of the yard.
How could he dare turn down her offer of a meal! Who did he think he was? Too good to eat with her? She was the best cook in the county. Everybody said so. Didn’t folks always snap up her pies and breads when she brought them to town?
“He better not ever show his face around here again,” she told Royal. Feeling indignant was much more comfortable than feeling grateful. With renewed energy, she got up to fix herself some lunch.
Andrew rode into the barnyard of his rented house feeling nearly overwhelmed with pity for little Calloway DuBois. He had tortured himself all the way home wondering if perhaps he should have accepted her invitation to dinner. God knew he was hungry enough, but at the time he had thought he was saving the poor girl the trouble of cooking for someone after the ordeal of the funeral.
For nearly anyone else, the neighbors would have come with food enough to fill her larder for days. But few neighbors knew Cally or her father, and most that did weren’t fond of them, especially since the trial. And, of course, this wasn’t a publicized funeral.
So he had turned her down. Now he wondered if eating with her wouldn’t have given him an opportunity to convince her to come with him to town. Clearly she couldn’t stay on the farm by herself.
He led his horse to the barn and rubbed her down before turning her into the corral. He flexed his sore shoulders as he walked to the house. After some food and a hot bath, he would make inquiries about a position for Miss Cally DuBois. There must be employment for her somewhere, but if not, he would see to her needs while he continued looking for a job.
Or a husband. That, he admitted, would be the most thorough solution. By the time he had cleaned up and dressed in a fresh white shirt and twill trousers, he had virtually dismissed the idea. Considering the girl’s disposition, finding a husband might prove impossible, even though men far outnumbered women in the community. For a moment he considered the man who would welcome the little hellion as a bride, and shuddered. She would need considerable training if she were to snare a man this side of a barbarian.
And training, of course, was another matter. How far, exactly, did his guardianship responsibilities go? Should he use some of his inheritance to send her to a school somewhere? The idea of Cally DuBois in a finishing school stretched the imagination.
By the time he left the house, he had a mental list of people to visit, but his first stop was Bill’s house. The deputy answered his knock, looking somewhat haggard. “I wanted to let you know I was back in town,” Andrew said, eyeing his deputy critically. “You aren’t coming down with something now, are you?”
Bill sighed, running his hand through his already rumpled blond hair. “No, and I think she’s a little better than she was this morning.”
Andrew couldn’t suppress a grin. “You look awful, friend.”
Bill stepped out onto the porch, letting the door close behind him. “Just between you and me, looking after a sick wife is hell. I could chase a bandit clean to Mexico and not be so worn out. She keeps thinking of housework that needs to be done or she says it’ll keep her awake.”
“You made your…”
“Don’t say it! Look, Andrew, three more days, tops. If she isn’t better I’ll see if some of her women friends can’t take turns sitting with her. I’ve got to get out of this house.”
Andrew gave his deputy a reassuring thump on the shoulder before he stepped off the porch. It was hard to build up much sympathy for the man. But then, he reminded himself, he wasn’t really in a position to understand.
He tore his note from the nail beside his office door and started toward Dr. Briggs’s house. A few steps down the boardwalk, he heard someone hail him and turned to see an elderly gent hurrying toward him.
“Mr. Sweeney,” Andrew said as the man huffed up to him. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no,” Sweeney said, reaching out to Andrew to steady himself while he struggled for breath. “I just…wanted to…catch you.”
Andrew supported the old man as best he could and looked around for a place for him to sit. “Are you all right?”
With one last deep breath, Sweeney straightened. “Fine, fine. Can we go inside?”
“Of course.” Andrew unlocked the door and motioned Sweeney in ahead of him. When the door was closed and the lamp on his desk lit, Andrew moved his chair near the one the old man had taken and sat. When he was sure Sweeney was recovered he asked, “What can I do for you?”
Sweeney smiled. “Why, I’m here about the deputy’s job, of course.”
Andrew hoped his jaw hadn’t actually hit his chest. “Mr. Sweeney,” he began, searching for the most diplomatic words, “I was thinking of someone more…vigorous.”
“Vigorous?”
“Well, sir, a deputy’s job could get somewhat… strenuous.”
Sweeney scowled at Andrew. “You saying I’m old?”
“Ah, no, sir, but—”
“Well, see here, young man, don’t dismiss me because I’ve lived a few years. I could teach you a thing or two.”
“I’m sure you could, sir, but—”
“Well, that’s better. I was thinking I could start tomorrow. No sense wasting any time.”
Andrew cleared his throat. “Mr. Sweeney…” He hesitated. How should he put this? He tried to be gentle. “I don’t believe I can hire you as deputy.”
Mr. Sweeney seemed completely surprised. “Why ever not? You just admitted I know more than you do.”
“Yes, sir, but…you’re not…I mean…you’re—” Mr. Sweeney wasn’t taking the hint. “Old,” he finished.
Mr. Sweeney came to his feet. “I don’t think I’d care to work for someone who has no respect for his elders.”
Andrew rose and followed the old man out the door. “Sir, I don’t want you to take this personally.”
“No other way to take it, boy,” Sweeney said, stalking away.
Andrew pulled the office door closed. He stood for a moment looking after the would-be deputy. The old man barely made it off the boardwalk without stumbling. Unfortunately, he had been one of the better applicants.
Andrew shook his head and turned in the other direction, toward Dr. Briggs’s house. His run for the doctor the night before was fresh in his mind. He had been hesitant for a second about leaving DuBois alone but knew he could do nothing for him. By the time he and the doctor had returned, the old man was nearly gone.
Dr. Briggs answered the knock. “Good afternoon, Sheriff. What can I do for you?”
Andrew stepped inside and considered for a moment how best to approach the subject. He couldn’t very well demand that Briggs tell him exactly what he had said to Cally. “I have a few questions about Mr. DuBois’ death,” he said.
The doctor offered him a chair and once they were seated, Andrew continued. “You suggested last night that it was his heart. Is that still your assumption?”
The doctor nodded. “Maybe.” Dr. Briggs was a tall, thin, middle-aged