Pete Collier, Caroline Wallaceâs late fiancé, had opened up a drugstore before his untimely death.
âI see,â she said at last. âI guess that makes sense.â
âThe sheriffâs job just seemed to fall into my lap. Besides, I think Iâll make a good sheriff for Simpson Creek. Donât you?â
âIf your first day on the job was anything to go by, you sure will,â she said. âWhy, Delbert Perry might have killed Nick if you hadnât been there.â
âOh, I donât know, it was just that Perry was startled, andââ
She interrupted his modest dismissal. âBut, Sam, how can you be sure Iâm the one you want to court? You havenât gotten to know the other ladiesâsome of the Spinsters you havenât even met yet.â
He looked down again for a moment, and when helooked up, his grin was broad. âFishing for compliments, are you, Prissy? You want to hear that once I saw you, I didnât have eyes for anyone else?â
He expected her to laugh, but consternation filled her eyes.
âSam, I, too, have a confession. Iâm feeling somewhat guilty about youââ
He blinked. âGuilty? About me? Howâs that?â What could she possibly mean? They hadnât so much as kissed. What could this innocent, beautiful girl have to feel guilty about?
She nodded. âIâm president of the Spinstersâ Club. By rights, I should be encouraging you to get to know all of the ladies and make your choice. But I havenât wanted to do that. I chose toâ¦go on a picnic with you instead.â
After a moment, he took her hand. âIâm glad you did, Prissy. Mighty glad you did.â
All of a sudden there was no world beyond the sun-dappled shade of the ancient tree, no one but him and her.
âOnce I saw you, I couldnât imagine that anyone could compare to you,â he said.
Prissy felt she could hardly catch her breath.
She could smell his scent of bay rum and leather, and even the sweetness of the pralines they had eaten. She could have stayed in that moment the rest of her life.
They both heard the creak of an axle and the sound of laughing children at the same time. A moment later, a buckboard wagon lumbered into view, the bed loaded with wriggling children, a local rancher and his wife seated on the plank bench in front.
âHowdy, Miss Prissy, Sheriff,â the man called, raisinga hand in greeting. âThought Iâd take our youngâuns to the creek tâgit cooled off. Are yâall havinâ a nice picnic?â
âWe sure are, Mr. Edwardson,â she called, grateful she could remember the manâs name in spite of the way her head was spinning, and hoping he and his wife couldnât see the way she was blushing in the shade of the old live oak.
âHave fun at the creek,â Sam said.
The buckboard rumbled on, and she turned back to Sam, suddenly self-conscious.
The silence under the tree was broken only by the buzzing of a fly swooping low over the remains of the picnic feast. Sam waved the insect away.
She should start a new conversation. Her mother always said a lady should be able to make sparkling conversation about any interesting topic under any circumstance.
âSam,â Prissy began, âtell me about your home. You said you were from Tennessee originally? And your familyâI donât believe youâve ever mentioned them.â
He was silent for a long minute.
âIâm sorry,â she said, thinking she must have sounded nosy. âI didnât mean to pryââ
He held up a hand. âYou werenât, Prissy. No reason to apologize. Itâs a natural enough question. Yes, I was born and raised in the hills of Tennessee.â
âDid you live on a farm?â
He gave a short, mirthless bark of laughter. âTo call those rocky acres a farm would be stretching the truth, but yes, I