Bran (Prairie Grooms, Book Six) Read online

  “But are you all right? I was going to go after you when you ran out earlier, but Penelope told me to leave you alone.”

  “I'm glad she did, it gave me a chance to speak with the deputy. I saw him in the street.”

  “And?”

  Apple absently fingered the quilt squares on the counter. “I think he’s still a little upset with me, but not like he was before. He was quite cordial actually.”

  Constance smiled. “I'm glad, and I'm sure he'll forgive you. I think he's just stubborn.”

  “He told me he was scared,” stated Apple as she looked at her cousin. “That he was afraid he was going to die.”

  “I think anyone would be, don’t you think? I know I would. I remember what it felt like when I thought Ryder was going to die, it was terrible. I can't even imagine how he felt.”

  “Your circumstances were different. You didn't bite Ryder, a snake did.”

  Constance laughed. “Quite true, but still, death was in the equation, and no matter how you look at it, it was scary.”

  “I understand what you're trying to say, Constance, thank you.”

  Constance pulled Apple into her arms and gave her a hug. “I'm just glad both of you are all right.” She gently pushed them apart. “And don't worry, the talk will die down and people will forget all about it.”

  “I don't know about that,” Apple whispered. “If Fanny Fig had her way, it would be in the papers in Oregon City tomorrow.”

  “She's not as bad as all that, though she can be trying at times,” Constance whispered back as her eyes flicked to Fannie who was in an animated conversation with Mrs. Dunnigan.

  “I suppose you're right,” agreed Apple. “If she was really that bad, it would've been in the Oregon City paper the day it happened!”

  Constance hugged her again. “You need to stop thinking and talking about it, and leave it be. All right?”

  Apple nodded against her cousin’s shoulder then stepped out of her embrace. “I'm trying, but it's hard when everybody keeps bringing it up.”

  “I understand. Maybe what you need is something to keep your mind off of it?”

  “Like what?”

  “Why don’t you go talk to Annie, the preacher's wife, and ask if there's anything you can do to help her with the upcoming holiday season?”

  “That's more of Lena's area, not mine,” said Apple as she looked at her older sister across the room with Grandma. “But don't worry, I’ll find something.”

  Constance took her hand, gave it a squeeze, and then went to speak with Penelope and Eloise. Apple leaned against the counter then slowly scooted to the end of it to stand in the corner. She watched the ladies of Clear Creek as they continued to visit with each other. The days were getting colder and soon autumn would turn into winter. She hoped by then the entire incident would be behind her. But Apple knew she wouldn't be so lucky. Clear Creek was a small town, and she was going to have to be extra careful if she wanted to avoid Deputy O'Hare. After all, it was for his own good, and hers.

  * * *

  Bran rode across the prairie at a fast gallop. The cold wind brushed against his cheeks to streak them a bright red. He found it invigorating when the weather changed from fall to winter, and realized the change was coming early this year. That, of course, meant a string of long, cold nights ahead. For some reason, the thought was troublesome.

  He slowed Grady to a trot and eventually a walk to let him cool down. He was riding the cow trails to see if there was anyone camped south of Clear Creek. Occasionally a late wagon train came through about this time of year, before the snow started, and if there was one, he wanted to let them know they could get supplies nearby.

  Sometimes the settlers didn't realize how close to Clear Creek they were. “Grady, me lad,” he told his horse. “Maybe there'll be a fine lass or two to drink in, before winter comes.” But what did it matter if he saw an attractive woman from a wagon train? It's not like he was going to take up and marry her. Besides, there was an attractive girl back in town, as he recalled… too bad he was still mad at her.

  It was also too bad that he never planned to marry; otherwise she might make a fine match for him, despite the fact that she almost killed him.

  He laughed at the thought. Grady flicked an ear in his direction in response. “What would ye do?” he asked the horse. “Would ye fancy a filly that nearly killed you?”

  Grady broke into a trot.

  Bran burst out laughing. “I thought ye'd say that! That's it, runaway! Run as fast as ye can!” Grady broke into a canter.

  Bran laughed again and let the horse have his head. He knew the trail and knew where they were going. But as Grady made his way to where the settlers usually camped, he began to think. Did he want to get married one day? He was young, only twenty-seven, and didn't plan on being a lawman forever, did he? True, he'd seen more than his fair share of violence, rape, and murder during his years as a Texas Ranger, it was one of the reasons he came west in the first place. He liked being a lawman but had seen more in five years, than some lawmen see in a lifetime, and was done with it. He figured being a deputy in a small town would be much better than what he'd been through in Texas. But he hadn't given marriage much thought. Until now, that is.

  There were quite a few lawmen that married, but then, there were just as many that didn’t. Who was to say whether it was right or wrong, to do so? He thought of Sam Jamison, the Cookes’ cowhand. He wasn't a lawman, yet he'd been shot. It could've happened to any one of them that day. Out here in the West it seemed everyone ran the same risk of death. The only things that kept it at bay were a man's wits and how fast he was with the gun. Bran O'Hare had plenty of both.

  He crested a small rise and looked down over the area where the settlers often camped. It lay empty. He sighed and turned Grady around to head back the other way. Marriage then was plausible. He could do it if he really wanted to. The only problem was, there was no one in town to marry, except ... “Apple Sayer,” he said aloud. “Mrs. Apple O’Hare.” Hmmm… He had to admit, she was a pretty little thing. When he stood in front of her not hours ago, he felt an odd tingling in his gut and a twist in his heart as he looked into her eyes. She wasn't frightened at the time, or in need of any help, yet something inside of him wanted to protect her, keep her safe, and he couldn't understand why. She was a feisty thing and he liked it. In fact, he had no doubt that if she knew how to use a gun, she wouldn't hesitate to. Yet… there was just something about her. A vulnerability he couldn’t explain that drew him to her like no other woman ever had. He had to fight it when he found her in the woods last week, and only his anger masked it, but he wasn't angry now. Now he was able to fully sense it, and it made him want to keep her tucked behind him, as if she were some treasure he wanted to hide and keep for himself.

  Bran let go a low whistle. “Watch it me boy, or ye'll catch yerself falling for the lass.” But she is pretty…

  Bran returned to town with nothing to report after his rounds. He filled out some paperwork for Sheriff Hughes, laid it out where he could find it in the morning, and decided to head across the street to Mulligans for supper. “I hear she can't cook anyway,” he muttered to himself as he entered the saloon. “Not like Mary here can.”

  Speaking of which, Mrs. Mulligan looked up from behind the counter and smiled. “There you are! Come here lad, I've made your favorite sandwich!”

  “Thank you, I'm much obliged. Where's that husband of yers? Why isn't he minding the counter?”

  “He's upstairs pouting because he lost this week to Harlan and Wilfred at checkers. But he'll get over it and be down soon enough.”

  Bran laughed. “I've never seen a town so serious about checkers before. I'm glad I don't play. It keeps me out of trouble.”

  “Oh, let the men have their fun. Besides, we women keep them out of trouble.”

  “Including Sheriff Hughes?”

  “Harlan is like part of the family, so of course we look after the man.”

  Bran
eyed the sandwich she placed in front of him, and his stomach growled. “Then it's a good thing I don't play checkers, there's no one to keep me out of trouble. He looked at her. “At least I have you to cook for me now and then, and the Upton woman at the hotel.”

  “And don’t forget Irene,” she pointed out. She leaned against the counter and studied him as he picked up the sandwich and began to eat. “Why don't you think about getting married, Bran? You're a fine, brawny lad, and deserve a good wife.”

  He chewed and swallowed. “There are no women around, how am I to get married?”

  “Don't give me that! You know there's one, and she's had a hard week because of you.”

  “She's had a hard week?” he said and put the sandwich down. “What about me? I'm the one that almost died!”

  “Aye, and she’s the one having to carry the guilt of it, not you. Have you forgiven her yet?”

  He swallowed the last bite he took and stared at her.

  “You haven't, have you?” she asked, hands on hips.

  “I'll get around to it,” he told her and picked up the sandwich.

  Mrs. Mulligan snatched it out of his hand before he could open his mouth. “You'll tell her first thing tomorrow!”

  “My… my sandwich!”

  “Aye, and it's the last sandwich I’ll ever make you until you tell that poor wee lass that you forgive her for what happened!”

  Bran sighed in defeat. “Fine, I’ll ride out to the Triple C tomorrow and tell her.”

  “Promise?”

  “Aye,” he said with a grimace. “I promise. Now can I have my sandwich back?”

  She handed it back. “There, see that you do. Then maybe the two of you can court.”

  “Court!”

  “Why not? She's a pretty wee thing, don't you think?”

  “Aye, but so does every other man in town.”

  “All the more reason you should be first in line to court her. After all, you two have something in common.”

  “What?”

  “Banking,” she said with a wink.

  Bran groaned. “That was awful,” he commented.

  “I could have said safes,” she pointed out. “Now finish your sandwich, you'll feel better after you do. And you'll feel much better after tomorrow.”

  He stared at the food in front of him, then looked at Mrs. Mulligan. “Aye, I suppose so. They say forgiveness cleanses the soul. I’m just not sure if mine is clean enough for the likes of her.”

  Seven

  The next morning, as Bran rode out to the Triple C, he thought about what Mary Mulligan had put into his head the night before. Should he court, Apple Sayer? And if he did, where would it lead? Of course, he knew where it should lead, but did he really want to go there? Was he ready for marriage? Perhaps if he spent a little more time with the lass, he'd be able to figure out if getting married was what he really wanted to do. But shouldn't he figure that out before he started spending time with her? After all, didn't women get it into their heads that if a man spent any time with them, it meant they were interested in getting married?

  “I've got to figure out what to do, Grady,” he told his horse. “And I'd better figure it out fast.” He reined in the animal and looked at the ranch spread out before him. “Now there’s a bonny site,” he whispered to himself. He sat and stared at the Cooke’s spread a moment before he urged Grady to start walking again. He’d have plenty of time to think about marriage, he didn't have to dwell on it today. After all, he was there to apologize for his actions and then forgive the Sayer girl for locking him in the safe. He wasn't there to propose.

  Bran reached the barnyard, dismounted, and led Grady to the front of the house and a hitching post. He tethered the horse then stepped onto the front porch and knocked on the door. Belle Cooke answered. “Deputy O'Hare, what brings you out here? I'm sorry, but the men are out tending the stock.”

  “That's all right, Mrs. Cooke, I'm not here to see your husband or Harrison. I've come to see Miss Sayer.”

  “Ohhh,” she said with a raised brow. “I see, won't you come in?”

  “Thank you,” he said as she stepped aside and swung the door wide. He stepped into the foyer and looked around. He'd never been inside the Cookes’ ranch house before and didn't expect it to be quite so… grand.

  “That's right, you've never been here before have you?” Belle asked as he openly gawked.

  “No, Mrs. Cooke, I haven't. You’ve a mighty nice place here.”

  “Yes, well, Sadie's father had a lot to do with it. He's a very generous man, Horatio Jones.”

  “So I've heard. Might I see Apple… er… Miss Sayer?”

  Belle smiled. “I think it's all right if you call her Apple.”

  Bran took off his hat and twisted it nervously. He should have referred to her as Miss Sayer all along. Now the woman probably thought he was there to court the girl, just like Mary Mulligan suggested.

  “Deputy O'Hare,” a voice called from down the hall. He turned to see Sadie Cooke coming toward him. “What brings you here?”

  “He's here to see Apple,” said Belle with a wink.

  Sadie grinned. “Really? Well then, let me go fetch her for you.”

  Bran wanted to groan but didn't dare. The women might think it rude and that he didn't want to see Apple. Of course, with the way these two are acting, maybe he shouldn't see Apple!

  Sadie hurried up the stairs and disappeared. Within moments, Apple appeared on the landing and stared down at him. He wasn't sure if the look on her face was one of surprise, or dread. He supposed he was about to find out.

  She’d started down the staircase. “Deputy O'Hare, what a… pleasure.”

  Bran continued to twist his hat, caught himself, and stopped. “Miss Sayer, I'd like to speak with you for a moment if I may.” His eyes darted between Belle and Sadie, who both had wide smiles on their faces. “Is there some place we can talk?”

  Apple looked from Bran, to the women, and back. “The parlor will do.” She motioned to the parlor off to their right.

  “I’ll make us some tea,” Sadie called after them.

  “Deputy O'Hare, would you like some cookies or perhaps something more substantial to eat?” asked Belle.

  “Cookies and tea will suit fine, ma'am, thank you,” he told her and then turned and watched as Apple preceded him into the parlor and sat in a chair. He could either find another chair, which of course was across the room from her, or plant himself on the settee next to her. He could then speak with her without having to call across the room. He felt like it was going to be harder than he thought to apologize, and figured his best course of action would be to keep his voice low. He sat on the settee and put his hat beside him.

  “Well?” she began. “What do you want?”

  “Miss. Sayer, I've come to apologize.”

  “Apologize? For what?”

  “For my rude behavior last week when I found you. I wasn't exactly in the best of moods, as you can well understand.”

  “I suppose if I almost suffocated in a safe, that would make me a little cranky too.”

  He looked at her with a half-smile, and she stared back, but said nothing. “Well…”

  “Well what?”

  He took a deep breath. “I'm sorry for the way I acted.” She continued to stare at him, and still said nothing. “I'm sorry Miss Sayer.”

  “You already said that.”

  “Do you forgive me?” There, he asked it.

  “That depends…”

  She couldn't possibly be serious, could she? “On what?”

  “Do you forgive me?”

  Of course, he knew she’d ask that. He looked at his hat and fingered the rim with one hand. “I was rude. You almost killed me.”

  “So, I'm supposed to forgive you for being rude, but you don't have to forgive me for half-killing you, is that it?”

  He rubbed his temple with one hand. “No, Miss. Sayer, that’s not it. I came here to tell you I'm sorry for the way I acted w
hen I found you. I was upset. I should have treated you with more… well I should have treated you better.”

  “And I'm sorry I locked you in a safe.”

  “I… um…” Good grief! Why couldn't he say it? He did forgive her, didn't he? “I…”

  “You what?”

  “Well, I…”

  Sadie entered the parlor with the tea tray, and set it on a small table in front of the settee. Without a word, she poured them each a cup, smiled, and left the parlor. Apple turned back to face him. “You were saying, Deputy?”

  “Do you forgive me?”

  “We could do this all day long, if this keeps up,” she said in a flat tone

  “I forgive you!” he blurted in a rush.

  She jumped in her chair and stared at him. “Do you, really?” she asked in a small voice.

  He could only stare back. He’d said the words, but did he mean them? And why was he having such a hard time with this? He wanted to forgive her at this point and didn't think he was mad at her anymore. So what was the problem? “I'm sorry,” he said, though he knew those weren’t the words he meant to say. Again he had to ask himself, why wasn't he able to?

  “Clearly you haven’t forgiven me, or you wouldn't be struggling the way you are. If you're still mad at me, then why are you here?”

  “I came to apologize…”

  “And expect me to forgive you, but you won't forgive me.”

  “I said, I did!”

  “Well you don't sound very convincing, if you ask me. And I'm sure you didn't sound that way to anyone else in this house.”

  “No one else heard me but you!”

  “Did you hear him say that?” she yelled toward the hall.

  “He didn't sound very convincing to us, either,” Belle shouted back from the kitchen.

  “You see, I told you,” she said with a shrug.

  “They’re listening?”

  “How can they not? We’re arguing aren’t we? One usually raises their voice when arguing with another person.”

  Bran slapped his forehead with one hand, and rubbed his face a few times. “Unbelievable! Why did I ride out here?”