Shannon looked up from the book she was reading to see that her father had fallen asleep in his chair. Poor dear. Sundays never failed to leave him exhausted. Not wanting to wake him, she set her book aside, rose, and left the parlor, slipping out the front door and closing it behind her.
The day was warm, almost hot. Thankfully, the nights were still cool. There were other things to be thankful for as well. Church attendance had grown a little each week, and on this last Sunday in June, three new families—recent arrivals from California—had come to the service. And except for the occasional fistfight in one of the saloons, Grand Coeur had remained a relatively peaceful place.
At this moment the town seemed to be slumbering like her father, but she had no delusions. Many of the inhabitants of Grand Coeur held little reverence for Sundays. There would be plenty of noise coming from the saloons as the day grew long. But for now all appeared at rest.
But Shannon didn’t feel like resting. A walk would suit her much better.
She heard the sound of hoofbeats on the road and turned to see who was coming down Gold Hill Road. When the rider came into view, she felt a sharp disappointment, only then realizing she’d hoped it would be Matthew on his tall dapple gray. Instead she recognized Joe Burkette.
When he saw her, he waved an arm as he nudged his horse into a trot and steered him toward the parsonage. “Miss Adair,” he called as he drew closer. “I was hoping I would find you at home.”
“You almost missed me, Mr. Burkette. I’m going for a walk.”
“It’s a fine day for it.” He reined in and dismounted. “Please allow me to join you.”
He was persistent. She could say that about him. And she couldn’t think of a reason to refuse. So she nodded.
Joe tied his horse to the rail of the porch, then offered his hand to assist her down the few steps to the ground. Afterward he motioned for her to proceed, allowing her to determine the direction they would go.
Shannon lifted the hem of her skirt and walked up the hillside between the parsonage and the church building. When she reached Canyon Road, Joe at her side, she chose to go left, following the road into the mountains. Turning right would have led her toward the Dubois home. Would she have turned that way if she’d been alone?
Oh, she wished she could stop herself from thinking such things.
Determined to do so, she looked at her escort. “I didn’t see you in church this morning, Mr. Burkette.”
“I’m flattered you noticed.” He smiled and winked at her.
Winked? The impertinence of the man. She looked straight ahead and quickened her pace.
“Have I upset you, Miss Adair?”
“Not at all.”
“But I believe I have.”
You flatter yourself, sir, she wanted to say. Only that was unfair. He had upset her. She didn’t want him winking at her. It was rude and . . . and suggested something between them that didn’t exist.
“Miss Adair, please.” His hand closed around her upper arm and drew her to a stop. “Whatever I did, I offer you my sincerest apology.”
Perhaps she was overreacting. Things were different in the West. Rules of etiquette were not so strictly observed in a place like Grand Coeur. Was a wink such a terrible breach? It wasn’t his fault her heart continued to pull her in another direction—a direction she wasn’t convinced she should go.
An old memory came suddenly to mind. She and her mother had been together in Shannon’s bedroom, Adelyn Adair brushing her hair as they prepared to attend a ball. The conversation had turned to some of the young men who were vying for Shannon’s favor. “It is the character of a man that matters, Shannon. Remember, it is not so much what a man has as what he is on the inside. Do not be influenced by mere magnetism. You will rue it if you are.”
Six months later her mother had passed away, and the sting of missing her almost overwhelmed Shannon. How she wished she could turn to her mother now for much-needed advice.
“Miss Adair?”
She blinked, shoving away the memory into a deep corner of her heart. “Your apology is accepted, Mr. Burkette. And please, don’t trouble yourself. Let us walk.” To show that she held no hard feelings, she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm as they continued along the road.
After church, at Alice’s insistence, Matthew and Todd went for a ride on their horses. When they returned, they put the two geldings into the corral beside the stable and tossed hay into the manger. Matthew was pumping water into the trough when Jack Dickson strode into view.
“Matt,” he said with a nod.
“Jack.”
“You busy? Hate to intrude on your Sunday.”
“It’s all right. We’re finished here.”
“Uncle Matt,” Todd said quietly, “I’m gonna go see what Ma’s doin’.”
“Okay.” He watched as the boy ran to the house and disappeared inside.
Jack glanced toward the corral. “Couple of fine horses you got there. Got them from Lawrence Crawford, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
The sheriff bumped his hat up on his forehead with the knuckles of his right hand. “I wanted to talk to you about the trouble yesterday.
Stopped by Washburn’s place, but he wasn’t at home.”
Matthew motioned toward the house. “Let’s have a seat and you can tell me what’s on your mind.”
They crossed the yard in silence, neither speaking until they’d settled onto the veranda chairs.
“Matt,” Jack began, “you’re a sharp thinker. You got good instincts.” He leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. “My gut tells me that robbery yesterday wasn’t a bungled job by some amateur thieves. It was something more. What do you think?”
Matthew nodded. “The same.”
“And maybe it was no accident that guard who was supposed to be on the stage took sick at the last minute.”
That thought had crossed Matthew’s mind too.
“I’m riding down to Boise City in two or three days to talk to him.
I’d like you to come along with me.”
“Why me?”
“Because I trust you, and you might catch something I miss. You’ve been driving stagecoaches in and out of mining camps for Wells, Fargo a lot longer than I’ve been a sheriff.”
“All right. If you think I can help.”
“I do.” Jack stood. “I’ll let you know what day.”
Matthew rose from his chair. “Sounds good.”
Jack Dickson stepped off the porch and strode away.