Chapter Four

Making the Rounds

Early Tuesday Morning

Cole snagged his hat from the peg by the door, tightened the collar around his sheepskin jacket, and stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the jail. The sun was barely up, despite the fact it was nearly seven-thirty in the morning. The wind blew dust along the street and sent a chill down his back. He almost turned around and went back inside.

Almost . He’d established a routine over the past couple of months of walking both sides of the street from one end of the town to the other and back again. If he let a bit of wind disrupt his route, what good would he be when the snow started falling and winter set in.

The café was open and filled with men from the nearby mill, eager to get one more cup of hot coffee before heading off to their eight o’clock start time. The mercantile was also open, a dim light showing from the back storeroom to the large windows in the front.

The bank, saloon, and train depot were still locked up tight.

“Morning, Marshal,” Leo Durgin greeted from the open front of the livery. “A might chilly, isn’t it?”

Cole stopped long enough to let the warmth of the blacksmith’s fire take the chill from his hands and face. “Yes, Leo, it is. I’m figuring we have another week… maybe… before the snow starts.”

“Not looking forward to that at all,” Leo responded. “Cuts my business in half.”

Nodding toward the back of the shop, Cole commented, “I see you’re getting your three sleighs ready for the season.”

“Yep. I’m thinking of painting them red this year, so they’ll stand out against the white. Maybe I’ll dress them up a bit for Christmas.”

“You should think about renting them out during the holidays. The two winters I spent in Spokane, holiday sleigh rides were all the rage. Fellas would take their girls on rides through the snow. The women would pack a lunch, with hot cider or tea.”

Leo chuckled, his paunchy belly moving beneath his leather apron. “Did some winter courting yourself, Marshal?”

“Me? No. I never had the inclination. Most of my time around the sleighs was spent pulling them out of a snowbank when they got stuck.”

Leo snorted another laugh and then turned back to his work. “I’ll see you on your afternoon rounds. Stop by to warm up, if need be.”

Cole gave the man a nod and then crossed the road and stepped up onto the wooden walkway. There were only six storefronts on this side of the street, as the town’s hotel took up most of the space.

Barber shop, check. Mister Neal’s carpentry shop, tighter than a drum. Miss Jillian’s old dress shop. The front door was cracked open, a block of wood holding it in place. A light shone from the back room.

Cole couldn’t imagine what there would be to steal since the shop had been closed since long before he came back to town. Maybe someone was squatting to get out of the cold.

“Hello?” he called out as he stepped across the threshold. “Anyone here?” When no answer came, he pulled his gun and took another few steps forward. “It’s Marshal Stewart. Show yourself.”

The curtain separating the two rooms parted slowly and a trim figure stepped through the opening. “Put that gun away,” the woman insisted. “It’s my grandmother’s store, and I’m here with her permission.”

When she raised her head enough for him to see her face, Cole asked, “Eliza Carson, is that you?”

“Of course it’s me, Cole Stewart. Who else would be poking around this musty old shop?”

He shoved the gun back into its holster and met her narrowed gaze. “Someone trying to get out of the morning chill, for one.”

“Well then, the joke’s on them because this blasted stove isn’t working and it’s as cold in here as it is outside.”

“It doesn't help any that you propped the front door open,” he felt compelled to point out.

“I had to. It stunk like… well… like a skunk… in here.”

“Maybe I can take a look at the stove for you.”

“I’m sure I can figure it out,” she insisted.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t,” he responded, amused by her familiar tone. She’d always been as stubborn as all git out. “I just figured a second pair of eyes on the problem couldn’t hurt.”

She shrugged, her trim shoulders lifting and falling beneath her tailored cloak. “Suit yourself.” Motioning toward the back room, she added, “Be my guest.”

He followed her through the narrow opening and into the dusty storeroom. Old bolts of materials covered the nearby worktable. To the left was the stove, and beside it a pile of kindling and two stacks of wood.

“If this wood has been here since before Miss Jillian closed the shop, that may be part of your problem. That and the flue is probably filled with dirt and leaves.”

“The wood is fresh. I brought it from home.” She sighed, then admitted, “You’re probably right about the flue, though.”

“I’ll take a look and see if I can unclog it from here.” He began tapping on the metal pipe leading from the back of the stove and up through the roof. A couple of solid thuds and you could hear the debris falling downward into the belly of the stove. “Do you have a shovel?” he asked.

“I didn’t think to bring one,” she confessed. “I suppose I should have realized…”

“I can grab one from Mister Durgin at the livery,” he offered. “I don’t suppose you have a couple of buckets, do you?”

She shook her head, the slow motion drawing his attention to her long, auburn locks and the way the very ends dusted her shoulders and fell across the collar of her cloak. His throat went dry. The scrawny, freckled-face, kid from his youth had certainly blossomed into one very beautiful woman.

“Afraid not. At least not one big enough to haul away the refuse from that chimney. I was more concerned with organizing some space to work in, and cleaning where need be.”

“I can borrow a couple along with the shovel,” he told her.

“You really don’t have to, Marshal. I can bring those things from home and start on this blasted thing later today. Besides, don't you have lawman stuff to do?”

He clenched his jaw to keep from laughing outright. “Lawman stuff?”

“You know, like arresting someone and locking them in jail.”

“They’d first have to commit a crime,” he pointed out. “Like breaking and entering, for instance.” In response, Eliza fit her hands to her trim hips and stared him down. The sight of her only tightened his already dry throat.

“I told you. I’m allowed to be here.”

“Just teasing,” he tossed back. “You go ahead and do whatever else you need to do. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes with the shovel and buckets. No reason you should have to go all the way home to get things that are only a few feet away.”

The moment Cole stepped out of the shop and onto the road in front, Eliza made sure to shut the door soundly behind him before collapsing against the wooden jamb. Whew ! Amanda hadn’t been joshing when she’d said Cole Stewart had matured into one handsome man.

Her heart was still fluttering inside her chest at the sight of him.

He’d been kinda cute at eighteen, and stoic in the uniform he’d worn to his father’s funeral at twenty-one. But at… what? She quickly calculated their age difference in her head. Thirty-one, six years her senior. At thirty-one, he was one of the most handsome men she’d ever met, and a far cry better looking than most of the men starring on the stage and preening for the next silent film.

And for now… for her… he was trading his shiny silver badge for a shovel and a couple of tin buckets.

“I’m back,” he called out, coming through the door. “I brought a shovel and four buckets.”

“I’m in the storeroom,” she responded. When he came through the curtain partition, she explained, “I thought I’d get a few things out of the way before you start raining soot everywhere.” His warm chuckle tickled her insides.

“Good idea.”

Discarding his heavy coat, Cole rolled up his sleeves, exposing muscular forearms, and causing her knees to quake ever so slightly.

“What can I do to help?” she asked.

“Stand back until I give this pipe a few more solid whacks.”

She took a half dozen steps backward before telling him, “Okay, go ahead. Just don’t break the pipe.”

“I’ll do my best.”

It took nearly an hour, and four buckets of trash, to thoroughly rid the flue of the blockage. As Cole filled each bucket, Eliza would drag it to the side and replace it with an empty one. Once both buckets were full, Cole carried them through the back door and dumped them behind the building.

“My goodness, the chimney was filled,” she remarked when the last shovel full of grime had been removed.

“It should be good to go now. I’ll start up a small fire before I take out those last two buckets.”

“You don’t need to,” she assured him. “I’ve held you up from your duties long enough. The least I can do is start my own fire.”

“I won’t be satisfied until I’m certain there are no leaks in the pipe.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue, Eliza. Just indulge me.”

“Yes, Marshal,” she responded, biting her lip to keep from laughing at his failed attempt to scold her.

Eliza basked in the dying warmth of the now-clean storeroom. Cole had left within minutes of setting the fire and checking the chimney for damage. She’d thanked him at least a half dozen times as he’d made his way to the door. When he’d slipped his arms back into his jacket, and pulled the sheepskin around his broad chest, she’d felt an immediate sense of loss.

It was well-past lunchtime, and her stomach growled loudly, reminding her she’d not eaten since breakfast with Gram at six-thirty. As planned, Missus Wheeler, their closest neighbor, had shown up to keep Jillian company while Eliza got the shop in order. No doubt the woman was anxious to get home to her own family sooner, rather than later.

Spreading the last of the embers around so they’d cool, Eliza donned her cloak and heavy bonnet and locked up for the day. She’d come back tomorrow, she reasoned, and bring her boxes of costume supplies with her. Perhaps, if she was feeling up to it, Gram could come along to keep her company.

Eliza crossed the road and retrieved her buggy and horse from Mister Durgin’s livery.

“Did she need new shoes?” Eliza asked.

“Nah, just needed a tightening, and a bit of mud cleaned out. Though, if you’re going to be coming and going every day, I should probably check her out in a few weeks. You don’t want to throw a shoe in the winter.”

“Thank you for taking such good care of her while Gram was laid up. I know Maribel appreciated the attention.”

“She’s a right fine animal, but not getting any younger,” Leo reminded her.

“None of us are, Mister Durgin.”

“You ain’t kidding about that.” He swiped his hand on his shirt sleeve and then offered her a boost into the buggy before commenting, “I see the marshal paid you a visit this morning.”

“That he did. He was very helpful in getting the stove in working order. Do I owe you anything for the use of your shovel and buckets?”

“No charge, Miss Eliza. Just being a friendly neighbor.”

“Well then, I guess Maribel isn’t the only one appreciative of your kindness.”

Tapping the mare’s back with the reins, Eliza set the buggy in motion, extremely grateful that seven years of riding in carriages, and on streetcars, hadn’t hampered her buggy driving skills one iota.