The Sheriff's Sweetheart. Laurie Kingery

as she said his name. “Sarah, he came to dinner last night! I was so surprised when Papa agreed he could come! Papa said he wanted to look him over, and he tried to act all stern and gruff, but I think he found him as charming as I did.”

      “Is that a fact?” Sarah said with a wry twist of her lips. Then she bent over and peered into the oven. “I think these are done,” she said, snatching a potholder and pulling out a sheet of perfectly browned cookies. The savory aroma filled the small kitchen, making Prissy’s mouth water. “Let’s eat a few while they’re still hot—that’s when they’re the best, don’t you think?” She scooped a half dozen of them onto a small plate and laid it on the table between them.

      Prissy broke off a piece of cookie, popped it into her mouth, then fanned herself. “Too hot! That’s what I get for being impatient,” she muttered, as Sarah rose and poured her a glass of cold lemonade from the pitcher on the windowsill.

      “You still haven’t told me what this paragon of charm looks like,” she prodded.

      “Oh! Well, let me remedy that,” Prissy said. “We were just leaving the jail after paying Nick a visit, Papa and I, and he came riding up, and Papa figured out he was the man who’d come to apply for the sheriff’s job. Just wait till you see him—dark hair, and he has the most speaking brown eyes! And he’s tall, taller even than your Nolan—I should say six feet or so. And lean…”

      “I can tell you’re smitten already.”

      Prissy was thoughtful. “I’m trying not to make the same mistake I have in the past, Sarah—of throwing my heart in first and not thinking it through. And I know I should be merely delighted at Sam Bishop’s arrival on behalf of the Spinsters’ Club ladies, who will adore him…but I have to be honest, Sarah. I think he could be the one—the one for me.”

      Prissy’s thoughtfulness sobered her friend. “I’m glad to hear you’re thinking this through, Prissy,” Sarah said. “I feel I must still point out you were this excited over Major McConley, too, though not so considering about it as you are now.”

      “Major McConley? Pooh, he can’t hold a candle to Samuel Bishop,” Prissy scoffed.

      She frowned, remembering how she had thought she had found the man of her dreams in the dashing Major McConley of the Fourth Cavalry, whose regiment was stationed at Fort Mason. She’d held an engagement party for Sarah in the ballroom at Gilmore House and had as sumed she could easily capture the Major’s interest, but it had be come painfully clear that the Major doled out flirtatious smiles to all the young ladies and made sure he danced with each one without appearing to favor any. Though she was his partner at dinner, it seemed he was being no more than courteous to her as his hostess, and by the end of the evening, he had made no effort to urge her out onto the veranda for a private tête-à-tête. She had been so sure the dress of hussar-blue silk that completely matched her eyes would dazzle him! And the rest of his regiment, perhaps aware that she had eyes only for him, had made no effort to single her out, either. That night had been a serious blow to her confidence, leading her to decide she wasn’t as irresistible as she had grown up believing.

      “I’m thankful he didn’t respond to my flirting now. Why, if I’d married Major McConley and gone off to that lonely fort in the middle of nowhere…”

      “This Mr. Bishop has already given you a gift,” Sarah observed, as Houston leaped into Prissy’s lap and made a lunge at the cookie that Prissy was bringing to her mouth.

      Prissy restrained him. “No, no, bad boy! Down you go, until you learn your manners.” She set the dog back on the floor. “Sit!”

      Houston looked so immediately contrite that both girls laughed. Prissy broke off a small piece of cookie and gave it to him. “I hope you won’t think I’m being foolish and impulsive, Sarah,” Prissy continued, “but he’s asked me if he can call on me again.”

      “And of course you agreed.”

      “I-I did,” she admitted. “Oh, Sarah, he’s quite handsome. I can’t wait for you to meet him, to hear what you think,” Prissy said.

      “No time like the present,” Sarah said. “As a matter of fact, I was baking these cookies to take over to the jail to welcome him to Simpson Creek. Just let me put another batch in the oven and as soon as they’re ready, we’ll have enough. Since you’re here, you can introduce us, since I can guess you’re just dying to have an excuse to see him again.”

      Prissy allowed herself a happy sigh. “Am I as transparent as that?”

      “Transparent as glass—at least to me.”

      “You the acting sheriff? I’m Bob Purvis, here to apply for the job—I believe you’re expecting me?” the man said as he entered in response to Sam’s called-out invitation.

      Sam, who’d been leaning back in his chair enjoying his second cup of coffee, set it down with a thump and stood up.

      “Sam Bishop,” he said, offering his hand. “And I’m afraid you’re too late. They were expecting you, all right, but when you didn’t show up, they hired me.”

      Purvis’s shoulders sagged. “Too bad. Can’t say I’m surprised, though. My horse went lame just outside a’ San Antone and I had to hole up for a few days and rest him. Of all the rotten luck.”

      “I’m sorry,” Sam said, meaning it. He felt a twinge of guilt at taking a job he hadn’t even come here for, now that the man who’d really wanted it had appeared. But he had to have a way to support himself or Prissy’s father would never let him approach his daughter. “Better luck next time,” he said as the man reversed his steps and opened the door, just in time to hold it open for Prissy and another young lady.

      The man touched the brim of his hat respectfully, and Prissy gave him a curious glance.

      “Miss Prissy, the very one I was hoping to see,” Sam said, relieved that Purvis had come before, not after, Prissy’s arrival. “And there’s my old trail buddy, Houston,” he said, greeting the dog. “I see you’ve fancied him up some,” he said, indicating the new leash the dog sported. “And who’s this you’ve brought with you? And what’s that delicious smell?”

      “Mrs. Nolan Walker, may I present Simpson Creek’s new sheriff, Mr. Sam Bishop? Mr. Bishop, this is Sarah Walker, the doctor’s wife, my best friend and Simpson Creek’s best baker. She wanted to welcome you to the community.”

      Sam executed a gallant bow. “Mrs. Walker, I’m honored to meet Miss Prissy’s best friend—and of course I’m always happy to meet someone who can bake anything as delicious-smelling as what you have there,” he said, nodding toward the napkin covered dish.

      Sarah grinned and presented the dish to him. “I’m pleased to meet you, too, Sheriff Bishop.”

      The three of them spent a very pleasurable half hour chatting until Sarah at last announced she had to leave to fix dinner for her physician husband. “I hope you’ll come and have a meal with us sometime, Sam,” Sarah told him.

      “I’d like that very much. It’s nice meeting you, Mrs. Walker. I look forward to meeting your husband. Miss Prissy, I’ll see you at church in the morning,” Sam said. He took her hands in his for a moment.

      He wished he could look forward to going to church for his own sake, instead of just an opportunity to be with Prissy. He wished he hadn’t lost his faith in the process of struggling to keep food on the table for his sisters, when the church near his home had done nothing to help but try to split up his family.

      The ladies walked back across the street to the Walkers’ house in back of the doctor’s office, Houston trotting smartly alongside them.

      “So, what did you think?” Prissy asked, after glancing backward to make sure he wasn’t watching them.

      “Oh, I don’t know, I suppose he’s all right,” Sarah said airily, then laughed to show she was only teasing. “Yes, Sam Bishop is