“Adam tried to keep his mind on the sermon, but his eyes kept glancing at Millie, thinking about all the “Baker’s Kisses” they had shared in the past week, with or without the cookies, depending on whether they had a toddler’s audience or not. He glanced over Millie’s head to see his mother’s, apparently knowing, smile. Dang, the preacher was probably watching him make longing glances at Millie’s lips, too.
It had been a wonderful week with Mille, but an exasperating one for work. He had to keep his mind on his job and it was hard, thinking about Millie and Tate’s situation. Extra cowboys in town meant extra scuffles between brands, drunks who had to sleep their stupid stupor off in the jail, and another domestic violence case when he should have arrested himself for being so brutal against the man who slapped his wife.
He also did something that he was positive would upset Millie’s shooting red curls—but he did it anyway. Adam finally convinced Millie to write a letter to her father explaining the situation. The two needed to mend the rift between them, not only for their sake, but also for Darcie and her children. He said he’d deliver the letter to the post office, but instead he took it to the jailhouse, locked the door and carefully opened the letter to read what Millie had written.
He did reseal and mail the letter, after he wired Mr. Donovan in care of the Chicago Police Department. That man had a right to know what was going on with his family; and personally, Adam thought the father should be involved in protecting his daughters and grandchildren. He had to word the letter carefully, not knowing who might read it in Chicago, but he had to try contacting Millie’s father.
Adam didn’t worry about Clear Creek’s telegrapher knowing about it, because the whole town knew Tate’s story and was on alert. The man even suggested and added words to add to the wire, and only charged Adam half the usual rate.
He had to admit that the women were right that Millie and Tate were better protected in town. Now Tate openly called him and Millie, “Unca Adam and Auntie Illie”. Someone was always with the two of them when they walked around town. Millie’s baking business swelled because people wanted her to bake for them, and then stayed at the house and visited while she made and baked their items.
If only they would hear from Millie’s sister or father. Another week had passed without a letter or wire, causing Adam to worry that something else had happened that he and Millie didn’t know about.
Adam heard the back door of the church open and close, but didn’t think anything about it. Someone was really late and a guilty conscience made them come anyway, or more likely a child sneaking back in after going around back of the church to use one of the outhouses.
Tate had been sucking his thumb, lazily lying against Millie’s shoulder, looking back at the children in the congregation. He suddenly jerked down, terror in his eyes as he punched Millie hard in the chest. She caught his fisted hand, and then looked into his eyes. Millie took a deep breath, quietly passed a hunched up Tate down the pew to Hilda. What was going on? Millie very slowly turned her head, carefully scanning the back of the church, and then slowly turned her head back. Adam started to lean over to ask Millie what was wrong because he could feel her trembling against his shoulder—when she leaned against his mother and whispered, “The wasp is here!”
Just like that his mother jumped up in the air, wildly waving her arms above her head shouting “There’s a wasp in here!” Every woman in church immediately jumped up, screaming similar things about wasps, while pushing out of the pews and literally all swarming to the back of the church. The men and children were ducking down—as was the preacher—looking for a swarm of wasps in the air while the women ran to the back, down the center and side aisles.
Adam didn’t know what to think or do as he watched the chaos erupt around him. His mother grabbed his coat collar, pulling him down so she could yell in his ear above the screams of the women. “Curtis Robbins is in the back of the church in a brown coat. Get him over to the jailhouse, now!”
“No! Where’s Millie and Tate?” His mother pointed down to show Millie under the pew, with Hilda’s arms covering Tate’s body.
“The plan to protect them is in place, Adam. Do your part as marshal and get him away from the church and any view of the roads going south.”
Adam pushed his way through the parishioners until he found a man surrounded by a tight ring of women. They were no longer swatting at imaginary wasps, but had their hands in their reticules... Were they pointing hidden derringers at the man!?
Good golly! Why had he ever thought that the town’s women couldn’t protect Millie and Tate? He needed to deputize women instead of men the next time he needed to form a posse.
Trying to politely nod at the sneering man, Adam said “Sir, I’m Marshal Wilerson and I believe you disturbed the peace by letting a swarm of wasps into the church service. Please come with me down to the jailhouse so we can discuss this matter.”
“Hel...” Before Robbins got out the cuss word, one of the ladies yelled “Wasp!” and slapped at the insect that had mysteriously landed on the man’s head.
“I suggest we move out of the church so the service can resume, sir.”
“All right. I need you to press charges against a person who has kidnapped my son anyway, so let’s get out of this den of….wasp slappers.”
Adam wanted to slap this man’s head with the butt of his gun, but he reminded himself that he, as the town marshal, was required to uphold the law of the state of Kansas. But right now he wanted to do the opposite thing that might be required of him.
He walked confidently beside the man, also wearing a badge, directing him to the jailhouse. Adam noticed other men walking slightly behind them, forming a back line of defense. “Please come in and have a seat, sir. “What’s your name and business in my town?” Adam asked as business-like as possible.
The man held out his hand and Adam gave it a firm shake, wanting to crush the man while he had the chance, but refrained.
“I’m St. Louis city deputy marshal, Curtis Robbins. I wired you a couple of weeks ago about a woman and child, and you wired back that they were here. I…”
Robbins stopped talking when Jacob, Dagmar, Isaac Connely and his nephew Marcus Brenner filed in and shut the office door. “Why are these other men here for this private conversation?”
“These are my deputies, Robbins, so you may continue.”
“You need four deputies to handle problems in this little squatter town?”
“Yes, we have our share of problems with the herds and cowboys that swarm around nearby Ellsworth this time of year, but they are also the reason we have no problems in Clear Creek.
“So why are you here, Robbins?” Adam refused to call him by his title because of the terror he caused Tate.
The man grinded his jaw side to side, like he was trying to contain his temper. “A Miss Millie Donavon stole my son Tate from my home three weeks ago, and I came to haul…ah, get him back, and to arrest Miss Donavon.”
Adam closed his eyes to think. This man clearly knew his rights, but not as an abusive father. He needed the man to talk and hang the noose around his own neck with some slip of the tongue. “Did you know Miss Donovan? Why would she take your son?”
“I know they are here. So let me have them and I’ll be on my way.”
“I’m not even sure you are who you say you are, sir. You’re in my town now, so you need to answer me.” Adam glanced back at the four men standing against the wall with their arms folded against their chests. Dagmar was doing a very good impression of a mean, towering Viking. “Things are sometimes done a little differently in our ‘squatter’ towns versus your big cities.” Adam tried not to smile when Robbins slightly squirmed in his seat.
“State your case. You’ve interrupted our Sunday service and my appetite for the fried chicken special I was planning to eat at the café afterwards.”
Robbins cleared his throat. “Miss Donovan is my wife’s sister and she didn’t have my permission to take my son from my home.”
“She had her sister’s permission though,” Adam asked, but more or less saying it as a statement.
Adam loved to see the man’s skin color turn pinker. He wanted Robbins to take a swing at him, so he could swing back. “She…my wife…was giving birth to our baby so she wasn’t in any shape to give consent.”
“Congratulations on the new baby. Was it a boy or a girl?”
The man’s stare said it all. He didn’t know. Did he even know where his wife and baby were right now?
“Mister, why are you here when you should be home taking care of your wife and your new baby? I’m sure the boy’s aunt is giving her sister time to recuperate from childbirth without having to take care of a busy toddler. Are you prepared to take care of him on the train ride home, and while your wife is taking care of an infant?”
“Cut the bull and the questions, Marshal. You know I have rights to that boy, and you and your silly townspeople need to hand him and his conniving aunt over to me.”
“Why are you so desperate to get him back? Do you love you son—or need him for your punching bag?”
Robbins pulled a folded paper out of his pocket and slapped it on Adam’s desk. “Here’s the official warrant for the arrest of Miss Donavon…for the murder of my wife, Darcie Robbins. She’s been feeding you a bunch of bull, Marshal Wilerson. She killed my wife, and then stole my child.”
Chills ran up Adam’s spine when he unfolded the paper and read the print. This was indeed a warrant for Millie’s arrest. He had no choice but to turn her and Tate over to this man.
“Jacob, go over to the church and get them.”