A Lawman For Christmas. Karen Kirst

the mug, Isabel sipped the somewhat bitter chocolate concoction and sighed in satisfaction. She didn’t have the heart to scold her sister for dipping into their stores of the costly ingredient. Honor was attuned to others’ feelings. It’s why she was more concerned with lifting Isabel’s spirits than the household finances.

      “It’s delicious.” She dredged up a smile. “Thank you.”

      Honor claimed the lone chair and folded her hands in her lap. “Ben’s a nice man, isn’t he? There’s no question he’s as handsome as the day is long, but he’s also got good character, don’t you think? Does the fact he saved your life soften your opinion of him?”

      “Your lack of subtlety amazes me.” Drifting to the window that overlooked the homestead and their beloved mountains, she surveyed the wintry scene. “Just because you’ve found happiness with John doesn’t mean everyone else must be in a relationship.”

      “I can’t understand why you refuse to give any man a chance. Not everyone is like Papa.”

      “Repeating this conversation every few months won’t change my view of the opposite sex. At their core, men are self-serving creatures. Why on earth would I subject myself to one?”

      She would never be like her mother, who’d endured Manuel’s indignities in silence. Alma’s refusal to stand up for herself had formed a wedge between mother and daughter. How she could’ve lamented his passing was beyond Isabel.

      Her sister’s nose scrunched like a child’s, dispelling her usual air of tranquility. “You’re being unfair. And cynical.”

      “I’m realistic.”

      The first customer of the day arrived then, putting an end to the pointless exchange. Her sisters wouldn’t succeed in convincing her to risk her independence on the slim chance she’d meet a man who’d treat her as a respected partner. As more customers filed in, a majority of them men, Isabel overheard countless conversations about the attempted bank robbery and how Ben’s heroic actions had netted him even more female admirers. Hoping her disgust was well hidden, she took their corn and, after removing a one-eighth portion for herself, loaded the top hopper and waited for the fine meal to appear.

      She kept expecting someone to interrogate her. The way they talked, she hadn’t even been present! Resentment burned in her chest. Irrational, she knew, but wasn’t it just like a man to take all the credit?

      By midafternoon, her temper had reached a high simmer. The arrival of brothers Myron and Chester Gallatin—bullies, both of them—only inflamed her unhappy mood.

      The men’s father, Sal Gallatin, owned the lumberyard. They’d spent their whole lives working there and were built like stone mountains. Their nasty dispositions made them ugly.

      “You thinking what I’m thinking, Chester?” Leering at Isabel, Myron elbowed his brother’s ribs.

      “What’s that?”

      “I’m thinking the miller’s in a foul mood.” He rubbed his massive hands together. “What do you say we try and fix that?”

      Isabel ceased sanding the four-inch beech-wood handle that would pair nicely with a large blade. There’d been a lull in customers in the past hour, and she was currently alone. After last night’s run-in, she was especially sensitive to the threat of trouble. She debated reaching for her dagger. While she had excellent aim, she only had one weapon at her disposal and two targets.

      Chester lowered his buckets of shelled corn to the floor and grinned, revealing one missing front tooth. “Good idea.”

      Myron advanced, cruel mischief in his eyes. “Want to hear a funny story?”

      Her muscles went rigid. “As you rightly pointed out, I’m not in the mood to chat.”

      He reached behind her, crowding her on purpose, and snagged the measuring container for her share of the corn. “That’s a shame. It’s guaranteed to entertain.”

      No doubt completely aware of her unease, Myron winked before scooping out the allotted amount and returning the container to the chest-high platform.

      Squaring her shoulders, she started for the buckets. Chester’s hand encircled her wrist.

      “Stop right there, Miss Flores. These are heavier than usual. Allow me.”

      She jerked her hand free. In that moment, the door creaked open and in strolled the deputy. Sharp relief cascaded through her.

      “Deputy MacGregor, you’re just the man I wanted to see.”

      * * *

      The tension inside the building was unmistakable. The Gallatin brothers weren’t fond of him. He’d taken them to task over multiple offenses, although nothing serious that would require jail time. The fact he was younger than both of them pricked their pride. Myron met Ben’s gaze in silent challenge. Chester took a step back from Isabel.

      Her outfit reflected the overcast day outside. The gray blouse she donned boasted pencil-thin navy stripes and was paired with a somber black skirt. A wide velvet belt accentuated her slender waist and the flare of her hips. Color heightened, midnight eyes churning with displeasure, he knew her greeting was too good to be true.

      She clasped and unclasped her hands at her waist. “I need to speak to you about a private matter.”

      “Good thing I stopped in. I have business to discuss with you, as well.”

      Ben greeted the men, drawing them into a conversation about a big building project they were supplying lumber for in a neighboring town. With Myron and Chester distracted, Isabel was able to work unhindered. When the pair had taken their leave—though not before goading her with promises to return soon—she rounded on him.

      “I should’ve known you’d play the role of valiant hero.”

      “And here I thought I was the man you desperately wanted to see.” He flashed his most winning smile.

      She didn’t even blink. A sound between a sigh and groan escaped her. Spinning, she stalked to the corner, grabbed a broom and began sweeping the fine white dust that coated the mill’s surfaces.

      “Careful. You’re going to whip up clouds of that stuff.” He came as close as he dared. “Care to explain what’s got you hot under the collar?”

      Her knuckles were white on the handle. “You spun a yarn, Deputy. A pretty story that only hinted at the truth. It’s like I wasn’t even present in that alleyway.”

      “Ah, I see.” Taking off his hat, he gestured to encompass the structure’s spacious interior. “You’re upset that this place isn’t packed wall-to-wall with curious townspeople hankering for the gory details.”

      Her lips parted, and her spine lost some of its starch. “The reason you didn’t include me was to shield me from gossip?” Her tone insinuated he was incapable of such insight.

      “You despise being the center of attention. I figured you’d thank me.” He adopted an innocent grin.

      Her brow became pinched, and her chest expanded on a deep inhale. Apparently, his charms were ineffective where Isabel Flores was concerned. He didn’t completely mind. It was refreshing to be in the company of a woman who wasn’t trying to finagle a marriage proposal from him.

      “That’s not the only reason,” he continued. “I figured leaving you out of the narrative would help in protecting you from our criminal.”

      “Hmm.” Head bent, she began sweeping at a more sedate pace.

      His expectations of gratitude evaporated. He peered out the window. “You haven’t had any suspicious activity, have you?”

      “None whatsoever.”

      “Good.” Leaning against the window ledge, he cradled his sore arm against his chest and watched her work. “I sent telegrams to the surrounding towns.