January 1883
Larkspur, Idaho Territory
Minnie accepted a hand down from the coach and stepped onto the platform in front of the stage office. It had been more than four years since she had last been here. When she'd left, her dearest friend Sarah had been running the stage office. Letters, however, had kept her informed, and she'd known of Sarah's choice to step down. The Martinez family now ran the stage office while Sarah, along with her husband Samuel, ran The Larkspur Hotel. Their son, Ethan, was a year-and-a-half old and a mischievous delight to his parents.
Nobody, including her parents, knew she was coming. The sound of crinkling paper pulled her attention toward a matronly woman opening a letter at the other end of the platform and reminded her of the letter she was supposed to deliver to the sheriff upon her arrival. If the detective back in San Francisco did not receive confirmation of said delivery direct from the sheriff by the end of the month, then an officer would be sent to escort her back to San Francisco. In handcuffs. Minnie was sure Detective Wilcox had meant every word of his threat. She hoped she could count on Sheriff Spooner's discretion. There was no reason for her legal problems to become a hindrance to her father's role as mayor of Larkspur.
Minnie asked the stage coach driver to store her trunks in the office. Then she turned to make her way toward the sheriff's office. Best to get that unpleasant business out of the way as soon as possible before word got out that she was back in town. She would have to walk past the behemoth of a hotel Sarah and Samuel had built in order to get to the sheriff's office. Considering her options, she decided to avoid the boardwalk and instead traverse the path behind the hotel, mercantile, and other buildings. Her plan was working splendidly, too, until she passed behind the livery.
Right as she realized the sloshy feeling under her shoe was indeed dung, she heard a deep voice. "Excuse me, miss, but can I help you? People generally walk on the boardwalk, not back here. Is everything all right?"
She peeked up and swallowed. The man was wearing the sheriff's badge, and though he was familiar with his close-cropped reddish-blond hair, he was most certainly not Sheriff Spooner. On a woman, the color of his hair would be called strawberry blond, but this was no woman standing before her. Tall, broad shoulders, kind eyes. It had been such a long time since she'd seen kindness in anyone's eyes. Detective Wilcox had been as pleasant as he could be, given the circumstances, but with William's murder still unsolved, he'd never entirely let his guard down with her. By necessity, there had always remained a shadow of doubt lurking in the depths of his eyes whenever he'd spoken to her.
"Minnie Smith, as I live and breathe, it's you, isn't it?" The voice was familiar, yet somehow different. She still couldn't place it or the man's face. Nor could she tear her eyes away from the kindness that continued to light his eyes. If he was indeed the sheriff, then he would read the letter she had in her reticule, and that kindness would vanish. "It's me, Minnie. Art Paulson. Do tell me you're not so far advanced in age that you can't remember an old friend."
The twinkle of humor in his eyes was her undoing. A dam burst, and every tear she'd not shed since she'd married that horrid man — and every tear she'd held in check since his brutal murder — came rushing forth in a torrent. Arty's eyes widening in horror was the last thing she saw before she fainted.
****
Art watched in alarm as Minnie burst into tears. These weren't normal tears either. He had seen women cry before. This was something else entirely. Her heart was breaking. It was evident in her rapid breathing, the way she avoided his eyes, and how she held her shoulders tight and stiff in contrast to the chaotic flutter of her hands.
Her eyes began to roll back into her head, and he leapt forward to catch her before she hit the ground and got hurt. Holding her feather-light body in his arms, he wasn't sure what to do with her. If she was sneaking around behind the town's main street, chances were she didn't want anyone to know she was here. Deciding to honor what he assumed were her wishes, he took her to the one place he knew she wouldn't be discovered until he could get some answers from her.
A couple minutes later, Art laid Minnie down on the cot inside the back room at the sheriff's office. He had his own home and slept there most nights, but he kept a cot at the office for those times when he had an overnight guest in one of the town's cells. Those nights were becoming more frequent as the town grew, and his cot had been getting more use than normal lately, but for now, there were no prisoners to worry about, and no deputies on duty to walk in and discover a woman in his bed. Art laid her down, made sure her pulse was strong, and then closed the door behind him as he went in search of some cool water and a clean cloth.
****
Minnie slowly became aware of her surroundings. The smell reached her first. It wasn't altogether unpleasant. Sandalwood, she thought, and soap. Then the sensation of a cool cloth running along her forehead drew her attention. Where was she? Who was attending to her? The last thing she remembered was…
Reflexively, Minnie sat bolt upright before she even had a chance to open her eyes. She hit her face smack-dab into Art's washcloth-holding hand, and her eyes flew open in panic.
Art's startled, "Oh," pulled her eyes toward him as he sat back in his chair. "I didn't realize you'd woken. I didn't hurt you, did I?"
Minnie, who had become accustomed to not trusting others, quickly drew her knees up and scooted against the wall at the back of the cot. "H-how did I get here?" Then, looking around, she asked, "Where am I?"
****
Art watched Minnie's reaction to him. He wanted to scratch his head in wonder but resisted the urge. Everything about her, from the way she held herself to the look in her eyes, told him she was afraid. She'd gotten married while she was off in San Francisco for college — he knew that much. Other than that, her recent history was a mystery to him.
Aiming to find out more before he allowed her out of this room, he sat back in his chair, put his feet up on the edge of the bed farthest away from Minnie, and pushed the hat back on his head. He'd learned that people were more apt to give him answers when they thought he was a folksy, small-town man.
"You fainted in the alley, so I brought you to the sheriff's office. I didn't think you'd thank me for laying you down on a cot in one of the jail cells, so we're in a back room." He drew the words out nice and slow, keeping his pitch easy and relaxed. Running his tongue along the backside of his teeth, he bit back the dozens of questions that demanded his attention and fueled his curiosity.
"What happened to your Adam's apple?" Minnie's hand shot to cover her mouth the moment the words were out. Her eyes grew wide with a fear he didn't understand.
Giving a wide-toothed grin and a relaxed shrug, he answered, "I finally grew into it." It had been a while since Minnie had gone away. Thinking back to when he'd last spent any real time with her, in the root cellar of her family's home while a shoot-out rocked the town above them, he tried not to blush. He'd been young, awkward, and gangly — more kid than man, although he'd wanted to think otherwise. He'd come a long way since then, and he was not going to let the diminutive, raven-haired beauty sitting before him shake his confidence. "Want to tell me why you were sneaking along the back alley? Does anybody know you're here?"
Minnie eyed her reticule before meeting Art's gaze. "I must speak with the sheriff. It's of utmost importance."
With a lazy nod, Arty said, "You're looking at 'im."
Minnie's shocked expression did nothing to bolster his ego. "Where's Sheriff Spooner?"
"His brother-in-law was killed, leaving his sister alone with three young'uns and a farm. He resigned his post here and moved to Montana to help her. That was a little over a year ago."
"And you're sheriff now?"
He wanted to ask why she sounded so incredulous. "Duly appointed by the mayor," he instead said. He couldn't help but notice the way her eyes continued to move from him to her handbag and back again.
"Are you truly the sheriff, Arty?" Her voice was smaller this time, frightened.
"Yes, ma'am. Is that a problem for you?"
Tears again welling in her eyes, she said, "I need someone I can trust. You're friends with everybody in this town. How can I trust you to keep my secrets?"
****
Minnie watched a transformation occur before her eyes. Art stood and spun the chair around, then straddled it. With the flick of a wrist, he tossed his hat over onto a desk before resting his arms on the back of the chair. The country bumpkin of a moment ago had disappeared, and in his place sat a lawman with intelligent eyes and a visceral strength. He didn't make a show of it, but she could sense the restrained power in him. Where it once would have intimidated or even frightened her, it now made her feel safer than she'd felt in years.
When he opened his mouth and said, "I go by Art these days. Nobody's called me Arty for years. I am the sheriff of this town. If you have secrets that you need to entrust to someone, I'm your best bet. In fact, I'm all you've got at present since you're not getting out of this room until you tell me what has you so frightened."
A tentative smile spread across Minnie's face before she could stop it. Then she caught a glimpse of her reticule, and the momentary happiness dissipated like a weak fog. Rather than thinking of it as the only option, she wanted to believe that coming home to Larkspur had been a good choice, the right thing to do. She knew better, though. Choice was a long ago friend that had abandoned her when she'd been most in need.
Minnie withdrew an envelope and handed it to Art, afraid to hope he wouldn't turn against her. Not sure she could handle the hurt of seeing his eyes cloud with suspicion and distrust, she avoided looking at the sheriff as he took the letter from Detective Wilcox.