In The Sheriff's Protection. Lauri Robinson

trying to bury her grief, she glanced toward the door when it opened.

      “All done, Ma,” Billy said, barreling out the door as usual. “Tom says I should bury these here bones so the scavengers don’t come sniffing around, so that’s what I’m gonna do. Bury them good and deep.”

      “That sounds like a good idea,” she said. “And thank you for doing the dishes. I appreciate that.”

      “You’re welcome,” he said, already running down the steps. “Doing dishes ain’t so bad when you got someone doing them with you.”

      “That’s how most things are,” Tom said, walking out the door. “Life in general is more fun when you have someone sharing it with you.”

      Although her mind screamed to know, Clara waited until he sat down in the chair beside her and set her chair back in motion before asking, “Do you have someone who shares your life?” He’d said there was no wife, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone ready to become his wife.

      “I have lots of someones,” he said.

      Not entirely certain what he meant, she waited for him to say more while trying to hide the disappointment stirring her stomach. Which wasn’t right because she had no reason to be jealous of the people in his life. Except she was. Especially whoever was waiting to become Mrs. Tom Baniff.

      Setting his chair in motion with the toe of one boot while staring out at the slowly setting sun, he said, “The town I live in down in Kansas is full of people I share my life with every day.”

      More curious than ever, she asked, “Who are these people?”

      “Well, let’s see. There’s Chester Chadwick. He’s a really good sort, would give a stranger the shirt off his back without a single thought as to why not to. He and his wife, Joyce, have a boy, Charlie, about Billy’s age, who sneaks off to go fishing every chance he gets. Chester is forever having to collect Charlie from the river and take him back to school. There are weeks where I wonder if Chester spends more time in the school building than Charlie does. And there’s Brett Blackwell, who is about as tall and wide as your barn door, and his heart is almost as big. He has two boys about Billy’s age, too, and Brett’s wife just had a baby girl this past winter. Then there’s Teddy White. He owns the newspaper and—”

      “Let me guess,” she interrupted. “He has a boy Billy’s age.”

      His grin was as enchanting as it was charming. “Nope. Teddy’s wife just had a baby girl on Christmas Day, but Rollie Austin has two boys around that age. Kade and Wiley. You never know where you’re going to find those two. Not even Rollie does.”

      Her gaze had gone to Billy, who was on the far side of the barn digging a hole to bury the chicken bones that had been licked clean. More often than not, she wished Billy had others to play with. “Seems everyone in your town has children.”

      “Not everyone,” he said. “Steve and Mary Putnam don’t. Not yet, anyway, but they do have two pet raccoons, and Mary has a twin sister, Maggie. I can’t tell them apart. Maggie’s husband is Jackson Miller. He builds the finest furniture in all of the state.”

      He laughed then, and the sound was so delightful it made her giggle. “What’s so funny about that?”

      “Jackson also builds coffins, and Angus O’Leary has had him build three for him so far, but none have suited him.”

      She covered her mouth to hide a louder giggle. “You mean he’s ordering his own coffin while he’s still alive?”

      “Yes, ma’am. Angus is a silver-haired little Irishman who came into some money a few years ago. No one knows exactly how—some sort of inheritance—and because he’s getting up in years, Angus has planned his funeral in advance, including having his casket built. I can’t recall what was wrong with each one of them, but last I heard, Jackson was ordering wood for another one. Angus also wants to go out in style, so he wears a three-piece suit and tall top hat every day. Gets a shave every day, too. The barber, Otis Taylor, opens his shop even on Sundays, just for Angus. Of course, Otis had to get a special permit from the mayor to be open on Sundays.”

      Enjoying all he was saying, she said, “Your town sounds like a fun place to live. What’s its name?”

      “It is a fun town. A good town, too. Oak Grove. Oak Grove, Kansas. It’s somewhat in the middle of nowhere, but most towns in Kansas are in the middle of nowhere.”

      Looking around, at land she’d stared at for years and years, Clara said, “Lots of places are in the middle of nowhere.”

      “They are,” he answered with a nod. “But sharing them with others makes them somewhere to call home.”

      She called this place home because it was the only place she could live, not because she wanted to or because she shared it with others, yet she nodded. “I suspect you’re right about that.” Still curious, she asked, “Are there any women in Oak Grove? Those who aren’t married?”

      “Funny you should ask that.”

      Her heart skipped a beat. “Why?”

      “Because there weren’t too many women in Oak Grove, so the town decided to do something about it. The Oak Grove Betterment Committee has paid for several mail-order brides to come to town from back east.”

      “And have they? Brides come to town?”

      “Yes, they have. Steve and Jackson, Brett and Teddy, Rollie and several others have all married women who came in on the train.”

      “Really?”

      He grinned again and gave a single head nod. “Yep, really.”

      “Are there others?”

      “Yes. Doc Graham married—”

      “I mean other brides waiting to marry someone.”

      His gaze was on Billy as the boy carried the shovel back to the barn. “Josiah Melbourne, he’s the mayor, paid for a full dozen.”

      Although she truly wanted to ask if one of those dozen mail-order brides was for him, she couldn’t get up the nerve. However, she did say, “If Oak Grove is so wonderful, what are you doing traveling through Wyoming?”

      He had his elbow on the arm of the chair and his fist beneath his chin. “Looking for someone.”

      His chair stopped and she held her breath, preparing for him to say Hugh’s name. She had no clue what her response would be. There was no loyalty inside her to Hugh, but there was to Billy. And there was shame. Shame that Hugh was her husband.

      “Will you look at that?”

      Her heart stopped. Afraid to look toward the roadway that was little more than a pathway through grass that was slightly shorter than the rest due to seldom use, she kept her gaze on him, swallowed hard and prayed there wasn’t a rider on the roadway. “What? What is it?”

      “The biggest toad I’ve ever seen,” he said, leaping to his feet. “Billy! Come quick!”

      What transpired next soon had tears rolling down Clara’s cheeks, and she had to cross her legs to keep from peeing. There wasn’t one but two toads, and watching Billy and Tom run, jump and trip over one another in their attempts to catch the toads had her laughing harder than she’d ever laughed. She giggled and squealed at their antics and gave directions, when she was able to speak, at which way the toad had gone. When they both finally stood, each with a toad in their hands, she clapped at their accomplishments.

      After a short bout of comparing the toads, Tom knelt down and let his go, and a moment later, Billy did the same. They then stopped at the water trough and washed their hands. While Billy ran to get the scrap bucket he’d dropped by the barn door, Tom walked to the porch.

      With a huff, he sat back down in the rocking chair. “That was fun.”

      His grin was still as large and glowing bright as the