Julia: Bride of New York (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 11) Read Free Page B

hurried away. Slowly, she closed the door and sat on the edge of the bed. Should she laugh or cry? She’d thought she’d reached the limit of her humiliation, but it seemed the sheriff decided to pile more on.
    With her anger rising, causing her heart to pound so hard all sound ceased except for the thudding in her ears, she straightened out the bills, rolled them up, then stood and put her stockings, shoes, coat, and bonnet back on.
    A man in the hallway jumped when she slammed the door to her room shut. He stepped away from her, obviously not wishing to get in her way. Smart man.
    She made a brief stop at the front desk to inquire as to where the jailhouse was. The clerk swallowed several times and then gave her directions, adding that the jailhouse was no place for a lady. Right now she didn’t feel much like a lady.
    The ten-minute walk to the sheriff’s domain did nothing to quell her anger. Breathing heavily, she opened the door marked “Sheriff’s Office” and marched inside. The sheriff sat in a leather chair, his booted feet crossed at the ankles, resting on a large wooden desk. He was shuffling papers when she entered.
    “How dare you?”
    His feet dropped to the floor, and he stood, still clutching the papers. “How dare I what?”
    “How dare you tell that weasel of a man that he ‘owed’ me money to eat on? Wasn’t my humiliation enough that he left me stranded at the train station? You had to threaten the man?” She moved to his desk and tossed the bills on top of a pile of papers. “I don’t want his money. I don’t want any money I haven’t earned.”
    He pushed the brim of his hat back with his thumb. “Well, to my way of thinking you did earn it by dragging yourself here to marry the man.”
    Unable to stamp her foot, lest she fall flat on her face, she pounded her fist on his desk, making the sheriff jump. “You had no right to interfere.”
    “Well, I disagree with that, Miss Benson. It seems to me I earned the right when Johnson fled the scene and left me to explain the situation to you.”
    “Fine. You’ve done your duty. Now leave me alone, and don’t go threatening anyone else in town on my behalf.” She straightened up and smoothed out her skirts. “I will see you tomorrow morning, bright and early.” She gestured with her chin at the pile of bills on the desk. “You can return that money to Mr. Johnson. I don’t want to ever look at that man again.”
     
     
    Fletcher watched Miss Benson leave his office, her shoulders back, head held high, as if she were a queen, despite her limp. She really had him tied in knots. He probably shouldn’t have gone to Johnson’s store and made him give her money. It had not been one of his better ideas. But he’d been so mad when he left her at what the idiot had done, that he hadn’t used his common sense.
    He swept the scattered bills from the desk into the drawer and slammed it shut. And tomorrow he was going to have to deal with the demon woman while she worked at the jailhouse.
    A few hours later, he rubbed his eyes and placed the stack of Wanted posters aside. It was time to do his daily rounds, check in with the business owners, and make sure the kids were behaving themselves as school let out. Later in the evening, after his supper, he would stop by all the saloons in town, reminding drinkers and gamblers that he had his eye on them.
    Despite the Wickerton Women’s Society efforts to close down the two brothels in town, they still remained opened and continued to do a brisk business. Although Fletcher never frequented the establishments, he stopped by most Friday and Saturday evenings when the ranchers came into town. The appearance of the sheriff kept the ruckus down, and Sally Baston and Della Frist, the owners of the two brothels, appreciated his presence.
    “Afternoon, Sheriff.” Tanner Riley, owner of the Wickerton Bank, stopped him on the boardwalk as Fletcher was about to cross the street.
    “Riley,” Fletcher