June 1883
Minnie needed to get there quickly. It was imperative. People would be angry if she failed.
She rushed around the corner of the building, stopping in her tracks when she saw the sheriff standing there, hands on his hips, a scowl on his face.
"Honest, I didn't do it." She hoped he would believe her.
"How many times have I told you not to clean my desk?"
Minnie blinked. "Your desk?"
"Don't play with me, woman. Somebody cleaned my desk. All the wanted posters are in a tidy pile. The pencils have been sharpened. There's no mud from my boots anywhere on there. How can a man be expected to work in such a hostile environment?"
"Hostile?"
"Yes, hostile! Now I'm going to feel bad if I put my feet up on the desk and mud drops off the boots and onto the desk. I'm going to have to start wiping my feet," he said with disgust.
Handing over the tray she'd been balancing in her arms, Minnie sashayed into the sheriff's office. "It's not my fault you're comfortable living this way. I'll have you know, once we're married, I'm going to be keeping a clean house. And you're going to have to get used to it."
"The house is one thing, but this is my office, Minnie. You don't go cleaning a man's office without his permission."
"I do if I love him."
The look on his face told her she'd won. He couldn't argue with that one, and she knew it.
Art grumbled. "Fine. You can clean the office, but could you at least try to look ugly when you come in here?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"You know what I mean. I don't need the prisoners gawking at you and plotting their escape so they can slit my throat and steal my bride. Try to be a little less… enticing. Yeah, that's it. Less enticing. Maybe smear some mud on your face before you come in."
Minnie was delivering Art's dinner to him. The sole prisoner in the lock-up was an eighty-year-old drifter who'd had a bit too much to drink at the saloon and needed a safe place to spend the night. Alcohol apparently made him a shrewd card player, and some of the townsfolk weren't too pleased with him at present. "I'll do what I can not to draw any attention from your sleeping prisoner."
Art grimaced and sat down at his desk, setting the tray in front of him. "So what did you bring for dinner?"
"Pot roast with potatoes and carrots, some fresh bread, and a big slice of apple pie."
He eyed the food appreciatively. "Sounds delicious."
Minnie hopped up onto the corner of his desk and settled in for a visit.
"You know I have another chair, yes?"
"What's the fun in that? I prefer sitting here."
"That's why you cleaned my desk, isn't it? So you could sit on it."
"Maybe. Maybe not." She decided to change the subject. "When's the new deputy supposed to arrive?"
Art beamed. "End of the week." He'd had a hard time finding a new deputy. "How do you think he'll do, what with being citified and all?"
"We've been over this. You're making a good decision. He wants a slower pace of life, and we're indebted to him. Larkspur will be good to your new deputy."
Most of the meal was gone. Art took a bite of the pie before asking, "So, are you looking forward to the wedding?"
"Absolutely!"
"Remind me again why you're making me wait so long to call you my wife?"
"I can't think of anything better than an Independence Day wedding. That way, I'll always be able to say that when you kissed me on our wedding day, I saw fireworks."
Art shook his head. "I don't think men care about those kinds of things too much."
She flicked the brim of his hat, edging it back on his head. "Besides, you need to have your deputy in place and trained before you take some time off to spend with your new wife. This is going to be for the best. You'll see."
A big sigh escaped Art. "You might be correct, but I'm not enjoying the waiting." As he polished off the last of his meal, Art sat back in his chair and studied his bride-to-be. "I sure am a lucky man."
Minnie hopped off the desk and picked up the tray. "Not lucky. Blessed." She gave him a kiss on the cheek before turning toward the door.
"Truer words have never been uttered," he said. Then, as she was stepping out onto the boardwalk, he grumbled, "If Mitch doesn't get here in time, I'm closing down the sheriff's office come July fourth. I'll put up a sign that says Sheriff on honeymoon. No crime allowed."
****
He couldn’t see her anymore, but the sound of Minnie's laughter floated back to him, and he smiled. With each day that passed, humor came a little easier to his fiancé. Art knew he was indeed well and truly blessed to have her in his life.
Then he glanced at his desk.
Maybe her meddling at the office isn't so bad after all. The messier I make it, the more time she'll have to spend here cleaning it.
With that, he sat down and rested his feet up on the desk's surface. He grinned as little clumps of dried mud fell from his boots and onto the wanted posters.