Christmas Kiss From The Sheriff. Kathryn Albright

I noticed that some harbor ill will toward northerners.”

      He had witnessed a few slights, and then realized she might have been a target. He sliced his gaze toward her. “Toward you?”

      She shook her head. “No. But I am surprised. Especially so far away from where the fighting occurred.”

      Was she really so young not to understand? “They lost everything. The War Between the States might as well have been yesterday for those that had to leave their homes and start completely over. You might want to give that some thought before you teach about it.”

      They turned down the side road that led out of town. Widow Birdwell’s boardinghouse was the last house on the road. The light from her parlor blinked dimly through the rustling pines.

      “It’s a good thing Molly doesn’t feel like that or I might be out of a place to stay. Thank you for the reminder to be sensitive in its instruction.” Her tone became more thoughtful. “Surely Mr. Tanner wouldn’t have hired me if he thought there would be a problem.”

      “He was just relieved to have a teacher of your caliber for his kids.”

      She stopped walking. “He said that?”

      Craig nodded.

      “Well, I suppose that is reassuring,” she murmured, looking at him with a puzzled expression. “I arrived on the tail of another teacher leaving. I thought...perhaps...” She blew out a breath. “The Tanner children have had a total of four teachers in seven years with three of them marrying. I assured Mr. Tanner that that wouldn’t happen in my case.”

      “I thought all young ladies wanted to marry.”

      “Not. Me.” She started toward the boardinghouse again.

      He caught up to her in three strides.

      “May I ask you something, Sheriff? You’re a man... I mean that you understand boys a tad better than I would. Why would two boys old enough to know better get into a fight? They should be setting an example for the younger children—not fighting.”

      “I take it you don’t have brothers.”

      “No. And I’ll admit that I was so intent on stopping the fisticuffs before more bloodshed occurred that I didn’t think to get the real reason for the fight out of them.”

      He slanted a glance at her. “The best time to wrangle an answer out of them is while they are still fighting mad. Things tend to spill out from the gut.”

      She sighed. “Then I’ve lost my chance.”

      “So you haven’t come across much fighting in your other teaching jobs.” Tanner had said this was her first teaching job, but he wanted to hear it from her.

      “This was a first.” She looked up at him. “This is my first teaching position.”

      He tucked that bit of information away. “Sounds like you did okay. You stopped the fight. No one died.”

      She stepped up on Mrs. Birdwell’s stoop. “An interesting way to put it.”

      He reached for the door handle. “Just out of curiosity... How did you make those boys stop fighting? Hard to believe they’d stop just because you told them to.”

      Her lips twitched and then those dimples appeared again as her smile grew. “I threw a bucket of cold, dirty water over them.” She stepped inside. The parlor lantern lent a yellow glow to the right side of her face. “Good night, Sheriff.”

      He tipped his hat even though she was already closing the door in his face. “Night, Miss Starling.”

      The woman might have no idea about staying safe on the mountain but that smile of hers could sure pack a wallop.

      * * *

      On Friday at noon, the sudden realization that the schoolroom was quiet made Gemma turn away from the window. She’d been staring at the road, wondering when Sheriff Parker would come riding down the lane. Twice now in the past three days, he had appeared at the beginning of the noontime break. He had stopped his mount just this side of the stand of pines and leaned on his saddle horn to watch what was happening at the school, remaining there a good three or four minutes, as he observed the children—some who lived nearby heading home for their meal and others sitting on the front steps with their lunch tins and baskets.

      The first day he’d come upon her, she’d been outside after finishing her own lunch and well into a game of kick the can with the children. When she spied him, she had reluctantly stopped. She wasn’t sure if playing games was a “teacher-like” thing to do. Having grown up with tutors, she really had no idea if it was acceptable. When he showed up again, she made sure to stay inside even though the children had asked her to join them.

      He had come a time or two before over the months that she had been teaching, but this was more often...and more obvious. Had Mr. Tanner said something to him? Were they worried that she could not handle the students on her own?

      The quiet in the schoolroom once more permeated her thoughts.

      “I’m sorry, Mr. Shalbot. Please continue.”

      Charley Shalbot began reading again in a halting voice. He was having difficulty with the long paragraph, but he bravely plowed through it. Gemma had to admire his tenacity. In the back row, Duncan sprawled across his seat looking bored and restless. Actually, a number of the children had had enough book learning for the morning. It was time to break for the noon refreshment whether it was timed to the sheriff’s arrival or not.

      When the end of the day came, she dismissed the class and followed the children outside. She watched over them as they started on their way home—something she did every afternoon. Her gaze wandered to the tie line. The old mule hadn’t been back—just as Billy and Tara hadn’t been back to school since the altercation between Duncan and Billy. Hopefully, she would be able to speak with the children when she saw Mrs. Odom tomorrow.

      A movement near the bend in the road caught her attention. A short, bent-over man with a shock of stringy gray hair showing under his brown hat stood watching the children head off in different directions. He leaned on a walking stick that came up to his chest. His overalls and cotton shirt were stained with grass and mud. A wave of unease filled her. It was the second time she’d noticed him on the edge of the clearing since the beginning of school.

      “You there!” she called.

      Either he didn’t hear her or he was ignoring her. She started toward him.

      At her movement, he raised his head and stared at her for a moment. Then he turned and shuffled into the trees.

      “That’s Larabee.”

      She spun around, startled at the deep voice so near to her.

      Duncan Philmont stood only a few inches away, his arm above his head as he leaned against the doorframe.

      Her heart pounded as she splayed her hand over her chest. “Duncan! I thought you’d already left.”

      A cocky grin inched up his face and amusement filled his green eyes.

      She didn’t enjoy being startled—even less so after the raccoon incident. She pressed her lips together. He stood a bit too close for her comfort, close enough that she could see he was growing dark facial hair now. “Larabee, you say?”

      “Yeah. He’s an old-timer around these parts.”

      “Is he...friendly?” Her heartbeat slowed back to normal.

      Duncan shrugged. “He don’t talk to folks much.”

      “Why?”

      The familiar cynical glint returned to his eyes. “Most think he’s off in the head.”

      Duncan always seemed to challenge her, and she wondered if he still resented her earlier treatment when he and Billy had their fight. Then she recalled the footprints in the grass. Could they belong to Larabee