Christmas Kiss From The Sheriff. Kathryn Albright

Usually she didn’t ask her students questions unless they were rhetorical. That’s what her experience had been growing up with her tutors. “I’m sure you know better than I would. You are from here. You know more of the local people.”

      He cocked his head and peered down at her as if debating with himself whether to answer or not.

      The look reminded her of his father the other night at the meeting. She had had enough of his attitude and to show it, she fisted her hands on her hips and faced him. “Is this about the other day? The fight?”

      He didn’t answer.

      “What was the fight about, Duncan?”

      His lower jaw jutted out stubbornly. “Ain’t none of your business.”

      “None of my business! I should say it is! It happened on school property.”

      “It’s between me and Billy. Gave our words and spit on it.”

      That didn’t make any sense to her. They made some sort of spit bond and then had a fight? She would never understand boys. Never. “Do you realize that some of the younger boys were betting? And I’m sure their parents have learned of it by now. There could be ramifications. I need to know why you were fighting. If there is a problem between you two and it isn’t resolved, how do I know it won’t happen again?”

      “It won’t,” he said sullenly.

      “I cannot force you to tell me,” she said, disappointed. “I hope someday you will. You and Billy are both intelligent boys and you have a good future ahead of you. I hate to see you bent on hurting each other.” He was a bit too much like his father, but hopefully those sharp edges would round out as he matured. “I...I wish you’d told me about your tooth.”

      “You heard about that?” He asked, his tone guarded, but much less antagonistic.

      “I should have asked if you were all right. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

      He lifted his chin. “Weren’t nothin’.”

      “It must have hurt. And you didn’t say a word.”

      He swallowed. “You shouldn’ta got so near Billy and me. Stupid thing to do, Teach.”

      “Should not...” On the cusp of correcting his grammar she stopped herself. It was more important that he was talking to her—that they were actually having a conversation. It was a first between them without his belligerent attitude getting in the way. Instead, she asked gently, “Please don’t call me Teach. Is there something you wished to discuss?” She wasn’t entirely sure why he was hanging around.

      When he didn’t answer, she persisted. “Something about your homework?”

      He snorted. “Naw.”

      “Well, won’t your father be waiting for you at the land office?”

      He blew out a breath, his scowl deepening. “Yeah. Guess so.” He grabbed his coat from the bench, hooked his finger into the collar and slung it over his shoulder. “See you, Miss Starling,” he mumbled as he strode by and down the steps of the school.

      At least he hadn’t called her Teach.

       Chapter Four

      Saturday morning, Gemma slipped on her felt hat, tugging on the wine-colored ribbons beneath her chin and then shrugged into her dark blue wool coat. Stepping out into the sunshine, she closed the boardinghouse door behind her and headed for the livery at a brisk walk. The snow she had been sure would fall during the week had not fallen. Instead a heavy frost had clung to the shady areas of the town every morning and as soon as the sun rays found it, it quickly melted away.

      She had arranged for a buggy. Eileen had agreed to accompany her, although she was not sure of the way herself. Molly was busy finishing Christmas gifts for a group of Clear Springs’ unfortunates at the church. Remembering her talk with Sheriff Parker she had thought to mention something to him yesterday, but Eileen had said he was busy at one of the mines.

      She stepped inside the stable and the odor of horse and leather and fresh straw permeated her senses, overpowering the crisp freshness of the day outside. The livery had two sections, divided by a railing. The stalls on her left and the large open area that housed two buggies and one carriage to her right. In the latter, Gil Jolson bent beside a horse, cleaning mud from its hooves with a metal pick. When he saw her, he dropped the horse’s leg and straightened.

      “Got you all set up right over here, Miss Starling.” He walked to the smallest buggy that he’d already hitched to a horse.

      She looked about the stable. “Has Miss Gilliam come by?”

      “Haven’t seen her.”

      “She must be detained. Well, no matter. If you will assist me I’ll drive by her father’s store and fetch her.”

      Just as Mr. Jolson started toward her, Bradley, Eileen’s younger brother rushed into the livery. He stopped short just inside the large door.

      “My sister ain’t comin’, Miss Starling. She ain’t feelin’ good. Had me come to tell you.”

      “Oh.” Gemma lowered her shoulders as his words actually sunk in. “Oh... Thank you for letting me know. She’s ill, you say? Should I come check on her?”

      “Naw. She’s just got one of her headaches. Can’t stand the sun.” He turned quickly and raced back out of the stable.

      What was she to do now? She really had to get out to the Odoms’. She couldn’t let things go until after Christmas break. It might be too late by then to entice Billy and Tara back to school.

      Mr. Jolson stood by the buggy, waiting to see what she would do.

      “I won’t be needing the buggy after all,” she said, disappointed.

      “Sorry, miss. I’ll leave it hitched for a while, just in case you change your mind.”

      “Thank you.” She stood there, undecided on what to do next.

      Mr. Jolson watched her a moment more. “I got to take ol’ Tartar here down to the blacksmith,” he finally said, taking up the reins of a dun-colored pony.

      “Oh...of course. Please go ahead. I’ll see myself out...”

      When he’d left with the pony, she surveyed the stable once more.

      “You wouldn’t have gone far with the buggy,” a deep, familiar voice said from the darker corner of the stable.

      “Sheriff Parker. You’ve been eavesdropping!” She glared at him as he came to stand before her. He wore a deep brown leather jacket, tan canvas pants and brown boots. A dark stubble shadowed his strong jaw.

      “That I have. It’s a good quality to have as a sheriff.” He tipped the brim of his tan Stetson. “I heard you were looking for me yesterday.”

      “Yes. Only to ease your mind that Miss Gilliam would be accompanying me today.”

      “Seems those plans have changed.”

      “Unfortunately.”

      “You wouldn’t have gone far past the school in that buggy. The trail requires that you ride horseback.”

      She scowled. “Now, there is a bit of pertinent information that you could have shared with me.”

      His blue eyes twinkled. “I can tell by that determined look on your face that you are still considering heading out of town.”

      “You cannot stop me.” It was a stubborn, childish thing to say.

      He raised one brow. “Sure I can. You are not going alone. I won’t have that on my conscience.”

      “You would use brute force?”

      “Might.