In The Sheriff's Protection. Lauri Robinson

killed, was a beast, not a man. People like that deserved to be caged up, sent to prison, where they couldn’t hurt anyone else, ever again.

      Especially not a woman as gentle and kind as Clara.

      The more he thought about that, the more he wanted to know.

      Both Clara and Billy were in the front yard when he rode up. He’d watched Billy run from the barn to the house and then saw Clara rush out the door while he was still riding down the hill into the valley where the house sat. He tried to ignore what the sight of that did to him, how it lit up his insides, but in the end, gave in and let the smile that tugged on his lips form as he rode in the yard.

      “We thought you’d left,” she said.

      There was a hint of accusation in her voice, and though it shouldn’t, for he’d said he’d planned on leaving, it bothered him. He didn’t want to cause her any unjust pain. She was good at pretending. He’d seen how she’d favored the leg, but acted as if it was already healed. She was good at keeping things hidden. A lot of things. So was he.

      “I did.” He patted one of the burlap quarters hanging off the saddle. “I went to get that smoked pig you talked about this morning.”

      “I hadn’t meant for you to go get one,” she said.

      The utter surprise on her face made his smile grow. “I know. But it’ll be a while before that leg’s good enough for you to walk that far.” He stopped Bullet and swung out of the saddle to walk the horse the rest of the way to the house.

      She shook her head while fighting to hide a smile that kept creeping forward on her lips. “Well, you left before lunch and it’s nearly supper time. You must be starved.”

      “I had two helpings of your amazing biscuits and gravy to tide me over.”

      “Two helpings weren’t enough for all day.”

      “Want me to help you carry that pig down into the cellar?” Billy asked.

      “Can’t do it without you,” Tom replied.

      “Can I unsaddle Bullet for you afterward, and feed him, too?” Billy asked.

      “He’d like that,” Tom said, watching how Clara’s face shone at her son’s offers.

      Catching him watching her, she patted her hair, as if checking that the coil was still pinned to the side of her head. Then, as if embarrassed by her actions, she spun around. “I’ll have supper ready by the time you two are done, so wash up afterward and come inside.”

      “Don’t have to tell us twice,” Tom said, rubbing Billy’s patch of wayward hair and watching her step onto the porch. “Does she?”

      “No, sir,” Billy replied while making a fist and pumping one arm.

      A short time later, when walking into the house, Tom was still grinning at the boy’s antics, and hers, or maybe it was just that he was happy. It had been a long time since someone had been there to greet him upon arrival. Someone happy to see him, anyway. Most folks weren’t smiling when a sheriff rode into their yard.

      It was more than that, though. Sitting down at the table, sharing a meal with Clara and Billy, carrying on conversations with them, all of those were things he was looking forward to. He’d shared many meals with families back in Oak Grove, and enjoyed them, but this was different. This was something he wanted. There was something else he wanted, too.

      “I hope you like fried chicken, Mr. Baniff. I had a hen that was pecking at the others.”

      “I do like fried chicken, but I’m wondering if you’d mind calling me Tom.” He shouldn’t be so forward, but if he was going to convince her to leave, he needed her to consider him a friend. Someone she could trust.

      “Boy, it smells good in here, doesn’t it, Tom?” Billy said.

      The boy’s timing or comment couldn’t have been more perfect. Tom didn’t say a word, merely lifted a brow that he hoped she read as saying that if Billy could use his first name there was no reason she couldn’t.

      Her cheeks turned pink as she bowed her head slightly before turning to the stove. “Sit down, both of you.”

      Other than the platter she was piling pieces of fried chicken on, the table was set, so he waited until she’d forked the last piece out of the pan before he lifted the platter, signaling he’d carry it to the table.

      She didn’t protest as she wiped her hands on her apron while walking to the table. He appreciated that. A woman should expect a man to assist her in all aspects of life, and a man should want to.

      As they ate, Billy talked about all the kindling he’d chopped that afternoon, and about helping Clara pluck the chicken clean, stating it had been a long time since they’d had fried chicken. It had been a long time since Tom had eaten fried chicken, too, and doubted he’d ever had any this tasty.

      “That was the best chicken I’ve ever eaten, Clara, thank you,” he said when he couldn’t take another bite. Food, no matter what it was, tasted better when shared with others, but that chicken had been exceptional.

      “Me, too, Ma,” Billy said.

      “I’m glad you like it,” she answered. “Both of you.”

      “We liked it so much, we’re going to do the dishes for you,” Tom said.

      “We are?” Billy asked.

      “Yes.”

      “No.”

      He and Clara had spoken at the same time. Him nodding while she shook her head.

      “You’ve been on that leg long enough today,” Tom said. “It can’t heal completely without rest, so you just sit there and tell us if we’re doing something wrong.”

      “How can you do dishes wrong?” Billy asked.

      “I couldn’t just sit here, Mr.—Tom. I’d feel guilty.”

      “Then go lie down, or go sit on the porch,” he said before turning to Billy. “Considering we did the dishes the entire time she was ill, I don’t think we’ll get anything wrong, do you?”

      “Nope,” Billy said, now more than happy to help. So happy, he stood up and carried his plate to the counter. “I forgot about us doing them while she was sick. That wasn’t so bad, so I reckon it won’t be tonight, either.”

      “I reckon you’re right,” Tom said, stacking the empty potato bowl atop the empty platter. Looking at Clara, he stood. “Go sit on the porch if watching us will make you nervous.” He was concerned about her overdoing it after being so ill, mainly because if he could convince her to leave, actually doing so wasn’t going to be easy. She didn’t own a horse and walking all the way to Hendersonville was out of the question. He’d have to ride there, rent a rig and return for her and Billy. Or involve the Ryans. The trouble with that would be how Hugh would react to her and Billy’s absence, which could put the Ryans in danger.

      “I’m not nervous.”

      He was, but not about doing dishes. “Good. Then you’ll have no worries while you sit out there and watch the sun go down.”

      * * *

      Another first, sitting on the front porch while someone else cleaned her kitchen. She’d had many firsts since Tom had arrived, and it saddened her to know that she would never experience a man with his qualities again. They had to be few and far between. If-onlys started to form in her head and she purposefully ignored them. There was no sense wishing things were different when they couldn’t be. She’d tried to change things once, and despite the consequences she’d faced, would have tried again if it had only been her. Billy was the only thing about her life she didn’t want to change, would never change, and he was worth whatever she had to do to keep him safe.

      She couldn’t help but wonder if Tom could be her savior. Take her and Billy someplace