She Wrote Letters for Every Lonely Man in Town—Then a Rancher Asked for One Addressed to Her
Chapter 7
Thomas extinguished the candle.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Clara heard the soft scrape of a boot below.
Another.
Someone was searching the shop.
Thomas reached for his flintlock pistol.
Clara grabbed his sleeve.
“No shooting.”
He looked at her.
“If they come upstairs—”
“We need to know who.”
The footsteps stopped.
A drawer opened.
Then another.
Thomas moved toward the stairs.
Clara whispered, “Wait.”
A man’s voice came from below.
“Miss Vale?”
Clara recognized it.
Sheriff Amos Bell.
She exhaled.
Thomas did not lower the pistol.
The sheriff climbed the stairs.
“Clara?”
She stepped forward.
“What are you doing here?”
The sheriff held up a lantern.
“I heard someone broke into the shop.”
Clara glanced at Thomas.
“Who told you?”
“Mrs. Porter.”
“She saw someone?”
“No.”
“Then why did she send you?”
The sheriff hesitated.
Clara’s suspicion sharpened.
“What are you looking for?”
“Nothing.”
“You opened my drawers.”
“I was checking for theft.”
“You knew exactly where to look.”
The sheriff’s face hardened.
“You’re asking dangerous questions.”
Thomas stepped forward.
“You should leave.”
The sheriff stared at him.
“This is not your property.”
“No.”
Thomas’s voice was quiet.
“But she is under my protection.”
Clara’s heart skipped.
The sheriff looked between them.
“So it is true.”
“What?”
“You intend to marry her.”
Thomas said nothing.
The sheriff turned to Clara.
“You should think carefully.”
“About what?”
“Men who suddenly discover affection after three years.”
Thomas moved.
The sheriff raised his hand.
“I didn’t come here to fight.”
“Then why?”
The sheriff’s eyes settled on the papers.
“Because the Whitlocks have filed a claim against this shop.”
Clara went cold.
“What claim?”
“Debt.”
“My father left no debt.”
“That’s not what their papers say.”
“Where are the papers?”
“At the courthouse.”
Clara laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
The sheriff looked at her.
“Leave Bellmere.”
She stared.
“Why?”
“Because if the Whitlocks take the shop, they’ll take everything in it.”
Thomas asked, “And if she refuses?”
The sheriff’s expression was grim.
“Then someone may make sure she cannot testify.”
He left.
Clara closed the door behind him.
Then she turned to Thomas.
“Do you still think marrying me is a good idea?”
Thomas looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because now I know exactly what I’m marrying into.”
She almost laughed.
But then she noticed something.
The sheriff had left a wet footprint near the desk.
The mud contained a distinctive red clay.
Thomas saw it too.
“The courthouse road doesn’t have red clay.”
Clara looked at him.
“Then where did he come from?”
Thomas answered quietly.
“Your father’s grave.”
