Winter Winds of Wyoming Read online

  “Good evening, Deputy.”

  Dalton didn’t need to turn around to recognize the lilting quality of Adaline’s voice. He realized he was anxious to see her. This had been the first day she hadn’t sought him out—and he’d missed her friendship. Eagerly, he turned. She was bundled to ward off the chill, with a scarf wound around her neck and then up and over her hair. He noticed a slight change in her eyes. He couldn’t put his finger on what, but a difference existed. “Good evening, Adaline,” he replied jauntily.

  She held a red ornament made of wood.

  “I believe this is the first day you weren’t in town,” he said. “You must be very busy.” Is she batting her eyes?

  “Today’s my day off at the haberdashery, so I stayed at the Red Rooster helping Violet with some chores.”

  She dipped her chin and looked up at him through her thick lashes, a move quite surprising for her. When he took a tiny step back, he saw a small crinkle appear between her brows but quickly went away.

  On the ladder in the wagon, Win placed the star at the top of the tree, and snow began to fall in earnest.

  Children laughed and clapped their hands.

  Across the crowd, Dalton found Beth watching him and Adaline. Feeling uncomfortable, he glanced back at Adaline’s expectant face. “I best get helping.”

  The tree was swarmed with helpers. The wagon was moved several times and the tree took shape. Not a branch was left unadorned.

  Finished, the ladder was laid back in the bed of the wagon. Win pulled off his hat, waving the red-and-white fabric. “It’s time to choose this year’s judge for the Christmas competition! Let’s hear your nominations. Holler ’em out. Don’t be shy.”

  Dalton glanced around. A prosperous older-looking woman, if he were to judge by the quality of her expensive coat and hat, raised her hand.

  Win pointed to her. “Yes, Mrs. Brinkley?”

  “I nominate my best friend of the last twenty-five years—Roberta Brown. She’s resided in Logan Meadows far longer than most and is considered a matriarch. She’s headed the quilting circle several times and co-chaired the Founder’s Day picnic for four years, at least. I can’t think of a more qualified person.”

  Dalton didn’t know about all that. Roberta had been accommodating whenever he’d stepped into the café for a bite to eat, but she did have a fondness for gossip—about anyone and mostly those less fortunate than herself. Would she be fair-minded with her opinionated judgments?

  Hannah’s mother preened at Mrs. Brinkley’s long-winded compliment and smiled warmly.

  “Noted,” Win called. “Who else? Come on, folks, don’t be shy. Someone has to give Roberta a run for her money.”

  Brenna Hutton, the nice young woman married to the schoolteacher, raised a hand.

  Dalton met her and her children the last time he’d been in Logan Meadows, as she and her brood strolled by the bank where he’d been guarding the million dollars. He recalled her kind smile and the way she’d made him feel welcome.

  “I nominate Hannah Donovan,” she said.

  Hannah slapped a hand over her mouth while a ripple of laughter went around the gathering.

  “Hannah always has the pulse of the people and is in the know of just about everything.” She gave a long pause. “Although, I do hate to pit daughter against mother. But I’ve been planning on bringing her name forward for months.”

  “You’ve forgotten the rules, Mrs. Hutton.” Win’s words came out in puffs of frosty air. “Only people who won’t have a stake in the race are eligible. Hannah usually outdoes herself at the café. She’s won several times, if my mind serves me correctly.”

  Hannah beamed. “That’s true, Win. Thom and myself, as well as my staff, have a fun idea planned for this year, so I must decline. But thank you, Brenna, for thinking of me. In turn, I’d like to nominate Brenna. You don’t have a business with a window, although you’re an incredible seamstress.”

  Brenna gasped at the same time Roberta did.

  A chuckle slipped out. Seemed Hannah’s mother didn’t appreciate having her own daughter give her competition.

  Roberta sputtered. “But her husband decorates the school and competes, with the help of the children. She’d easily feel swayed by all the young faces, the hopes and dreams.”

  “My wife is fair-minded, Roberta.” Gregory laid his arm over Brenna’s shoulders. “She’ll judge the school as equally as the rest. Finding someone totally impartial is impossible in such a small town. I think Hannah’s idea is a fine one.”

  Roberta’s smile faded.

  Dalton was sure Brenna was much more beloved than Roberta who, with her meddling ways, could be irksome. He liked the idea of Brenna Hutton judging. This night was shaping up just fine.

  Win pounded his gloved hands together. “I wholeheartedly agree. And me, wearing the Santa hat, I get the last say. Brenna Hutton is now on the list. Now, how about someone to represent the men of the town? We need to give the ladies some opposition.”

  Mumbling and laughter rippled about.

  “Men have judged the last two years,” someone called out.

  “That’s true,” Win replied. “That don’t count ’em out now. There ain’t no rules saying such. But if propriety means that much to you, throw out another woman. I don’t care.”

  “I nominate Dalton Babcock,” a female voice spoke up.

  Dalton whipped his head around to see Beth Fairington standing at the far perimeter toward the livery. The heavy layers of coat swamped her thin form.

  She kept her gaze trained far away from his. “Not long ago, Dalton saved our town from a horrible tragedy with the Stone Gang—risking his own life to save others. His bravery and wit are well noted. Since he’s not lived here long, he can be unbiased, unlike the two women who have already been nominated.” She glanced at Brenna and then at Roberta. “And lastly, he’s very worldly and wise. He’s from Breckenridge, Colorado, and has lived in San Francisco. Not many can claim the same. Not a better person lives in this town.”

  Shock ricocheted through Dalton’s chest. He felt as if he were staring down the Stone Gang again, and this time without his gun. People turned to look at him, their faces bright with expectancy.

  Seems I’m somewhat of a celebrity here in Logan Meadows.

  He slid his gaze from a laughing Jake over to Beth. Standing straight and tall, she smiled prettily, if one could call her expression that, and gave a slight nod, acknowledging his attention. A light of something he’d never seen before was in her eyes. Playfulness? Admiration? He wasn’t sure. Why had she nominated him? After he’d clipped her wings last April over speaking so nastily to Susanna, one would think he’d be the last person she’d admire. He dipped his chin respectfully. Along with Albert giving him a chance at deputy, her vouch for his character had singlehandedly raised his station among the people of Logan Meadows.

  “That’s a dandy idea,” Win called from the back of the wagon. “And with the temperature dropping faster than a stone in Shady Creek, I’d say we have three commendable candidates. Anyone else wanting to get in on the action better speak now. If not, I’m calling a vote. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’d like to get back to my fire.” He thumped his shoulders and then blew several deep breaths into his gloved hands.

  The air was bitterly cold. Almost too cold to snow, Dalton supposed. His thoughts turned to Susanna, Albert, and little Nate, hoping they’d reached New Meringue without incident and were now tucked into a cozy hotel room, enjoying their holiday.

  “Good. I thought not,” Win yelled.

  A tittering laughter floated through the group, but no one spoke up.

  “All right then, this year’s judging candidates are, in the order they were nominated, Roberta Brown, Brenna Hutton, and our new, temporary deputy, Dalton Babcock.”

  Brenna smiled broadly at him, but Roberta wore a sour scowl. Seemed she felt threatened the vote wasn’t going her way.

&nbs
p; “Let me see a show of hands for Roberta.”

  Only Roberta and Mrs. Brinkley raised their hands.

  Win made a show of pointing to each as if counting, all the while his lips wobbled at their edges. “One, two. All righty. Now, let’s see a show of hands for our own Brenna Hutton, who keeps us bachelors’ clothes finely mended.”

  When Dalton, Hannah, and Gregory were the only ones to raise their hands, Dalton began to sweat. He’d thought for sure the teacher’s wife would win. Why on earth would the town vote for him?

  Laughter went around the group.

  Win cleared his throat. “One, two, three.”

  Conspicuous as if he had dried egg all over his face, Dalton kept his gaze on Win. Seems I’ve been had.

  “Three votes. That beats Roberta. Time to move on and get this fierce competition decided.”

  At the controlled laughter in Win’s voice, heat flamed Dalton’s face. He swallowed hard, and his gaze dropped on Adaline who, along with everyone else, was staring straight at him. He’d never been the center of attention before. Not like he was now.

  “All those in favor of Dalton Babcock, raise your hands!”

  In a whoosh, all the hands went up.

  “Dalton wins in a landslide. Sorry, ladies, the men have won fair and square three years in a row. There’s always next time.” Win waved his hat once more, with the Christmas tree decorated in red bows with a smattering of handmade or store-bought ornaments behind.

  A moment of magical wonder—for the religious season upon Logan Meadows, for the recent events in his life which had brought him to this point, and for the fact that almost every single person in the town had welcomed him in as one of their own—filled Dalton’s chest.

  Quiet descended.

  They were waiting for him to say something. Feeling humble, and even a little nervous, he straightened his shoulders. “Thank you, folks. I appreciate your vote of confidence. I’ll do my best with your competition. Not only that, I’ll do my best to fill in for Albert while he’s away. I’m truly grateful for the chance and trust you put in me today.” He swallowed, glancing around the faces. Adaline and her group smiled warmly, but when he looked to the edge of the crowd, Beth was nowhere to be seen.

  Chapter Nine

  One hour later, after the crowd admiring the Christmas displays on Main Street had dwindled, Dalton remained at his spot leaning against a post outside the sheriff’s office. He was chilled to the bone and anticipated his warm fire within.

  A few cheerful revelers mingled up and down the boardwalk, talking and drinking hot apple cider.

  Amazingly enough, Gabe and Seth still played softly in the background, refusing to quit until the last of the townsfolk had gone. Dalton gave the musicians credit for their stamina.

  Tired, he ambled back into the sheriff’s office, feeling amazed and satisfied. All the heartfelt congratulations bestowed upon him still rang in his head. He glanced at Ivan, Thom’s old, wolf-like dog, gray around his muzzle, eyes, and ears, stretched out before the stove. The animal adopted the jail as his territory and remained there most days, where he stayed warm and made sure all was well with the law. “Seems you’re the only sensible one in town, boy,” Dalton said, feeding the stove. “I’d be curled up right here too, if I could.” Dusting his hands, he stood.

  Violet Hollyhock pushed open the door. “May I come in, Deputy?”

  “Of course! Warm yourself by the stove.”

  The old woman shuffled into the room, bundled from chin to toe.

  The quiltmaker looked like an overstuffed coverlet herself. “Shouldn’t you be on your way home?” he asked politely.

  “Come ta give ya my congratulations, Deputy, if that’s all right.” She clenched her chattering teeth. “I think ya’ll make a fine judge indeed. Not like last year, when Dr. Thorn chose Nana’s Place. Mrs. Manning jist about made my face turn blue with all her gloatin’.” Violet continued into the room, moving closer to the heat. “Jist warmin’ these old bones before I set off. Don’t know how many more Christmases they got to last through.”

  He chuckled and placed a chair next to the stove. “I’ll bet you outlive most people in Logan Meadows. You’re spry and strong. Now, sit and get warm.”

  “Actually, there is something else I want to discuss, Deputy.”

  He placed a chair across from hers and sat. “I’m curious—with me deputy or any deputy?”

  After she peeled off her gloves, she held her trembling hands out to the black iron stove. “Deputy Babcock and none other. Twern’t you the one who used ta be a detective in a big city?”

  He kept the smile off his face. Her teeth rattled together like a handful of dice. He hoped she didn’t expire right here in the sheriff’s office. “Yes, San Francisco. One and the same. Let’s hear what you have to say. The sooner you speak, the sooner you can get home to your warm bed. Did you walk all the way from the Red Rooster? Do you have a ride?”

  “Quit yer yappin’, young pup! If I’m still breathin’, then I’m still able ta get around without hilp. I’m in need of yer services, if yer willin’ ta take on an ol’ granny.”

  “Services?”

  “For a private detective! Didn’t ya come to Logan Meadows to open a detective business? Work with Albert solving crimes when they arise?”

  A private-eye case for Violet? A rush of excitement filled his chest.

  “Well? Ya lookin’ fer work or ain’t ya? Yer only deputy for a month, I hear.”

  “Yes, that’s true. And I am looking for work.” With her short fuse, he better get down to business. “What’s transpired? Has someone stolen one of your quilts? Made off with one of your chickens?”

  “Ain’t that. Though, I’d be plenty annoyed iffin either happened. As ya know, Logan Meadows has a secret do-gooder. Well, he or she has struck again—at my place. Yesterday, I’d set out two dozen apples in preparation for baking. I put out pie plates, flour, lard, eggs, and the fixin’s. I went to feed my fire in the living room so it’d not go out while I worked. My fireside chair looked inviting. I sat, just for a moment, mind ya … and fell asleep. When I awoke two hours later, I found two large apple pies all done up and ready to be slipped into the oven. Whoever came right into my kitchen through the back door while I snored by the hearth, peeled the fruit, and made the crust without me hearin’.” She wagged her head back and forth. “I still don’t understand how.”

  He did. At eighty-seven, her hearing wasn’t what it used to be.

  “Besides my mysterious pies, I heard the sheriff’s lanterns were all polished clean last week—and nobody took no credit. Before that, someone tied a pretty ribbon around the neck of Winthrop Preston’s barn cat, and Buckskin Jack, the piano player for the Bright Nugget saloon, found a napkin full of oatmeal cookies in his coat pocket two days afore that, which he gobbled down with no manners at all. Gregory Hutton said he went to check on the empty schoolhouse and found a whole box of pencils had been sharpened so well he’d never seen the like. I say the do-gooder’s workin’ overtime.”

  “Well, this is December, Violet. Perhaps all these occurrences have to do with the season. I think Christmas has everyone feeling like Santa Claus—as well as a do-gooder. When I was in town guarding the bank, I was the recipient of a good deed myself. I found a cloth full of cookies, just like Buckskin Jack. And boy, they were tasty.”

  She huffed and rolled her eyes. “’Course Christmas has everything to do with it! Christmas is the time for givin’, and doin’, and carin’, and forgivin’.”

  Okay… “Getting back to your case…” Dalton rubbed a hand over his mouth. “At the time of the mysterious culinary intrusion, was your door locked? Darkness falls early these days.”

  Violet snapped straight. “Ya makin’ fun?”

  “Absolutely not.” In actuality, thinking about something besides his plight felt nice.

  “The day I hav’ta lock my doors is the day they can put me in the ground.”

/>   “So, no. Your doors were unlocked. What about Beth Fairington? Could she be responsible for peeling your apples and making the crusts? Perhaps your pies were not the result of the do-gooder but someone else who was hungry.”

  “Let’s not forget the pie innards!” Violet squawked. “They’s what take the time.”

  He patiently nodded as Violet rubbed a shaky hand over her damp bun. He needed to get her home to her warm inn and preferably into bed. Her shivering was getting worse, not better.

  “Beth? Why, she ain’t never lifted one finger she didn’t have ta. Twern’t her—hungry or not. Besides, she was workin’ at the mercantile when the deed was done.”

  “And Jake’s mother? Marlene? She lives at the Red Rooster, correct? Was she home at the time?”

  “Twernt’ her, neither. She was in town at the Lings, washing clothes, I suppose. Jist me and my chickens. We were alone.”

  “And Adaline? Baking a surprise pie sounds like something she would do.” Dalton ignored the warm feeling he got whenever he said her name. Instead, Jake’s angry tirade about the older Wil Lemon and his sister Courtney echoed through his head.

  Violet narrowed her eyes “Your mind wandering, Deputy?”

  He straightened. It was as if she had read his thoughts.

  “That’s better. That little gal’s been a blessing since she’s come and taken the room across from Beth, but no, not Adaline, either. She was at the Logans’ yesterday, visiting Courtney. I’m completely hornswoggled on who’s responsible. I’ve always been intrigued by the do-gooder. Thought by now I’d have figured out the mystery. I’m runnin’ out of time, Deputy, and I want ta know!”