Chapter Thirteen

Whit's boot heels echoed against the weathered boardwalk as he made his way to the marshal's office. The town looked the same, but why did it feel different? People were standing at the livery talking to Hiram. They saw him and waved. Whit lifted his hand in greeting.

"Morning, Mr. Hartman," a group of young girls said as they walked past him, before they ran away giggling.

"Mr. Hartman! Mr. Hartman!" Whit turned around to see Bobby Fairfax running from the mercantile steps toward him.

"Hey, Bobby. Shouldn't you be helping Mr. Arden with his deliveries?"

Bobby worked for the Ardens, boxing orders and making local deliveries in town. At only twelve years old, he was the sole source of income for his sick mother.

"Is it really true you were part of the Richards gang?" The young boy's eyes were wide at the thought. "How exciting!"

Bobby brandished an imaginary weapon as he battled invisible foes. Then he mounted an invisible horse and galloped in circles around Whit, who watched with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. As the boy made another circle, Whit reached out and put a hand on the boy's shoulder, stopping the gallop.

"No, Bobby. I wasn't part of the Richards gang," Whit said firmly, looking the boy straight in the eye. "I don't want you thinking there's anything exciting about an outlaw's life."

Bobby's face fell a little, but Whit wasn't about to let the boy's imagination run wild with tales of outlaws and adventure. He kneeled, so he was at eye level with the young lad.

"Listen to me, Bobby. The outlaw's life ain't nothing but misery and heartache. Those men, they're not heroes or legends. They've turned their backs on what's right, and they live each day looking over their shoulders, never knowing if it'll be their last."

Whit's voice was low and intense, his blue eyes boring into Bobby's. "I've seen firsthand the destruction they leave behind. They are evil to the core, and I don't want you thinking about them."

Bobby's eager expression faltered slightly, but he persisted. "You were so brave, fighting against the law and living free. It must have been exciting!"

"It's better to be fighting on the right side of the law, Bobby." Whit rolled back on his heels and stood in a fluid motion, patting Bobby on his shoulder.

"Whit! It's good to see you!" Whit turned to see Mrs. Arden had come out of the mercantile and was sweeping the porch. "Are you back? We have fresh coffee on the stove."

He waved to the shopkeeper's wife. "Not right now, but maybe later."

"Dillon has saved all the papers while you've been gone."

"Tell him thank you, Mrs. Arden." Turning back to Bobby, Whit pushed the boy back toward the store. "You need to get back to work. I'll talk to you later. Be good," he added as he reached the door to the marshal's office.

He stepped through the familiar front door, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. The comforting smell of paper, dried ink, and stale coffee mixed with drying beeswax wafted through the air, but Whit couldn't shake off the feeling of unease which settled in his chest.

Briggs was sitting hunched over his desk with a furrowed brow, reading a letter. Whit's gut clenched as Briggs dropped the paper and pinched the bridge of his nose, his shoulders shaking.

Was Briggs crying?

"Everything all right, boss?" Whit asked as he walked to the potbelly stove in the corner.

It would allow Briggs a few minutes to pull himself together. Taking a mug from a peg on the wall, he blew the dust from the interior before pouring himself a cup of coffee. Briggs quickly folded the paper and shoved it in his vest pocket, shifting in his seat to look out the window. Whit afforded his friend the privacy he needed as he dragged a chair from the wall to the corner of the marshal's desk.

"Just some news I wasn't expecting."

"What kind of news?" Whit blew on his coffee; it was too hot to drink. Putting the mug on top of some papers, he folded his hands across his belly and slouched in the chair.

Briggs sighed heavily, running a hand over his weathered face before turning to Whit. "The kind which makes a man question everything he thought he knew." He shook his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts. "It's going to take some time to wrap my head around it."

Whit leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Not unless you can turn back time."

"Not in the cards today, I'm afraid." Whit lifted the mug of coffee and gently blew on it once more before taking a cautious sip. His face twisted into a scowl of distaste. He glanced over at Briggs, who was leisurely sipping his own coffee with a smirk on his face. "Ugh. Briggs, this coffee is horrible."

"Probably left over from yesterday." Briggs lifted his cup in a silent toast. "I went to see Rose."

"I'll go to the mercantile then."

"Speaking of expectations. I wasn't expecting you."

"You hadn't stopped by the house, and I needed to see you."

"I just returned to town this morning. What's going on?"

Whit sat up in the chair and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders. "Marshal, I owe you an apology. Shooting you, not capturing the entire gang. I feel like I let you down."

Briggs waved off his concern. "Nonsense, Whit. You did an excellent job out there. We lowered their numbers significantly." He leaned back, studying the younger man. "Takes guts to stand up to the likes of the Richards. You showed true courage. You found out what the Richards gang was planning." He tilted his head. "Took quite a beating for it. Saved the girl and Hart, too What more could I ask from you?"

Pride swelled in Whit's chest at the praise, but he couldn't shake the nagging feeling he should have done more. "Still, I can't help but feel responsible Brodie and Ma Richards are still out there. I should never have gotten caught."

The marshal's expression grew somber. "Whit, you did better than any law officer could do under those circumstances. I apologize I couldn't do more for you."

Whit nodded, understanding the challenges Briggs faced. "I can only imagine, but the people of Flat River need you. They rely on you to keep them safe. Have you heard anything more about where Brodie and his ma might be?"

"Not yet. I found out there are four more brothers. Younger ones."

"Four more?" Whit shook his head in disbelief. "If the Richards are popping up like daisies, then they won't stop until they see us all in Boot Hill."

A chill ran down his spine at the thought of the ruthless brothers still out there, plotting their next move.

"And the cousins?" he asked, almost dreading the answer.

"None left. Esther mentioned a sister, but I've not been able to locate her."

"A sister? Do we need to worry about her?" Whit's head was hurting.

Briggs shook his head. "I don't think so. The brothers are just boys. Oldest isn't even sixteen. They may not know who their kin are," Briggs said with a humorless chuckle. "Truth is, I'm stretched too thin. Between the Richards causing chaos and trying to keep the peace in town, it's been a juggling act." Briggs leaned back in his chair, the weathered wood creaking beneath his weight.

The Richards gang had proven themselves to be a relentless and unpredictable foe, striking fear into the hearts of the townsfolk with their brazen attacks. It would take more than one man to keep them at bay.

"Do you think the boys will cause trouble if they learn the truth?"

"I don't know. I just know someone needs to watch them." The legs of the chair slammed to the floor with a thud. Whit nodded, understanding the marshal's dilemma all too well.

"I'm worried about the town, Whit. I can't be in two places at once, and I'm not getting any younger. There aren't any new marshals for the Nebraska Territory."

"What do you need me to do?" Whit asked, his voice steady. He knew he couldn't consider his job done yet, not until he brought the last of the Richards to justice. His priority was keeping Esther safe.

Briggs regarded him for a long moment, a flicker of something akin to respect in his eyes. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a weathered nickel star. The six-pointed badge gleamed in the sunlight, with each point ending in a raised ball which symbolized the justice the sheriffs swore to uphold.

"Equity, moderation, right conduct, purification, endurance, and compassion," Briggs recited, his fingers tracing over each end. "These are the qualities a true lawman must embody, Whit. Qualities I see in you, even if you don't see them in yourself."

Whit stared at the badge, his heart thundering in his chest. He had never aspired to be a lawman, had never thought himself worthy of such a calling. As he looked into Briggs' eyes, he saw a flicker of something which looked like faith. Faith in him, in his ability to protect and serve the people of Flat River.

"I don't know if I'm cut out for this, Marshal," Whit said, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm just a man trying to do right by the people I care about. For me, it was about finding the truth for Ma and finding Vangie. Then it became about protecting Esther and rescuing her family."

"Which is exactly what makes you the right man for the job," Briggs replied, moving the badge from one hand to the other. "You have a heart for justice, Whit. A heart for doing what's right, no matter the cost. You are what Flat River needs now more than ever."

As Briggs flipped the badge between his fingers, Whit felt a sense of purpose settling over him like a mantle. He knew the Richards would stop at nothing to see him and all he held dear destroyed. With the weight of the law and the town behind him, he would not be alone in this fight.

"This badge was yours, wasn't it?"

Briggs slid the badge across the desk. "Before I became a marshal, I was the sheriff in a small podunk town. Smaller than this. I kept the badge to remind me where I came from. Don't forget your roots, Whit. All your experiences make you the man you are today."

"Do you just announce to the town, ‘Hey, Whit Hartman is your sheriff, and you need to listen to him'?"

Briggs laughed. "No. There is an election involved. You're nominated, and then if there isn't any opposition, you are sheriff by default. If there is someone else who wants to run, then we take a vote."

"I suppose it will take a bit of time to get this done."

"Already done. It will be announced at church on Sunday."

"What? How?" Whit's head swam with the news Briggs had been coordinating something in the background. "The people in town know me. They know my father and where I come from. I just had Bobby Fairfax asking me about being a part of the Richards gang. Reverend Billings thinks I violated his daughter. If the town thinks I betrayed them, how will they trust me with keeping them safe?" Whit slid the badge back across the table.

"You have two days to figure it out." Briggs curled his fingers around the badge and slid it back into the drawer. "Then again, you could just run off with the pretty preacher's daughter and raise a gang of your own."

The left corner of Whit's lips quirked up in a slight smile. "I have two days to figure it out, don't I?"

Two days later.

"Do you think he's coming?"

Esther paced back and forth in the small room at the back of the church, her heart fluttering with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. The delicate lace of her wedding gown brushed against her ankles as she moved, a gentle reminder of the momentous occasion which should await her after services.

"He'll be here," Ruth said. "He promised you."

Esther nodded, wanting to believe her sister's words, but doubt crept in like an unwelcome visitor. She hadn't seen Whit since he dropped her off. Briggs only stopped by for ten minutes and couldn't stay to talk. She needed answers.

Naomi pushed the door open and peeked her head into the room. "Ma said it's time for services. She wanted me to come get you."

"Thank you, Naomi. Have you seen Whit?"

With a shake of her head, Esther's sister walked out of the room and left the door ajar. Trying her best to hold back tears, Esther turned to Ruth for comfort.

"I don't think he's coming," Esther repeated.

With trembling hands, Ruth pulled a crumpled handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it into Esther's palm. "Just in case," she whispered before tugging her sister through the nave and into the church. They shuffled past rows of people, their footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors as they settled into the front row and listened to the sermon.

When he was done, Esther's father stood at the podium, his voice booming through the crowded congregation. He spoke about recent events and welcomed Esther back to the community. As he finished his speech, the townspeople erupted into applause, their hands slamming together in thunderous claps. Esther felt her heart break with each one, knowing they were applauding her forced return rather than out of genuine happiness for her.

The piano began playing as everyone rose and sang.

Shall we gather at the river, Where bright angel feet have trod. With its crystal tide forever, Flowing by the throne of God?

It was one of Esther's favorite hymns, but she couldn't bring herself to sing.

As the last notes of the hymn faded, Esther smoothed down her skirt and prepared to sit back down. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed movement along the back of the church.

She stood for a moment longer to be sure her eyes weren't playing tricks on her.

It was Whit. He was leaning nonchalantly against the wall with a sly grin on his face.

Esther's heart skipped a beat as she locked eyes with Whit across the crowded church. The worry and doubt which had consumed her only moments before melted away, replaced by a rush of joy and relief. She fought the urge to run to him, knowing all eyes were upon her.

"Take your seats, please," Reverend Billings said. "We'll close with a prayer, and if you can please remain seated for a bit."

Esther slid back in the pew and listened to Papa say the closing prayer, but her mind was on Whit. When the chorus of amens was heard, she glanced over her shoulder once more.

Whit pushed off from the wall and strode down the aisle, his spurs jingling with each step. The congregation turned to watch him, their curious whispers filling the air. He paid them no mind, his gaze fixed solely on Esther. He walked up to the first pew and stopped in front of her.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, his voice low and tender as he took her hand. "I had some business to take care of."

"May I ask?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I hired Peter and Petunia Beale to build a pigeon coop in the barn?"

Her eyes opened wide, and she gave a little laugh. "I can't wait to see it."

The sound of Reverend Billings clearing his throat broke through their soft conversation. Whit tucked Esther's hand under his arm. She could still feel the bandages under his shirt.

"Are you feeling all right?" she whispered as they moved in front of her father.

"I am better. I even took a bath," he said at a normal volume.

The congregation laughed. Reverend Billings held up his hands, silencing them before looking at the young couple.

"Young man, you disappointed my daughter by being late."

"I apologize, sir."

Reverend Billings regarded Whit with a stern gaze, and then his expression softened. "We are glad you are home, son. You've proven yourself more than worthy of my daughter's hand."

Whit turned and looked at Esther. "Why the change of heart?"

Reverend Billings spoke up. "Esther doesn't want to leave Flat River and I realized I don't want her to leave either. Having her gone for those few weeks made us realize how precious family is. We want her here with us."

Esther placed her hand on Whit's arm.

"I thought about what you said. Papa and I talked. I'm not a Richards. My name is Esther Maria Billings. I'm the daughter of Charles and Margaret Billings. Ruth and Naomi are my sisters and I love you, Whitney Hartman."

"I love you, too. Will you marry me, Esther Maria Billings?"

"Yes! A thousand times, yes." She cupped his face in her hands and pressed gentle kisses on his skin, only stopping when Papa cleared his throat again.

Reverend Billings studied the couple for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Let's proceed. We have a lot of things to get done today."

As the reverend began the traditional wedding vows, Esther lost herself in Whit's steady gaze. The world around them faded away, and the only thing which mattered was the love they shared.

After they recited the words which would bind them together forever, he slipped a simple gold band onto her finger. He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss against her knuckles.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," Reverend Billings said. "Take care of my daughter, Whit."

"I will, sir." Whit gave the reverend a grin. "May I kiss my bride now?"

"Yes, you may kiss your bride."

As the congregation roared with laughter, Whit leaned in and wrapped his muscular arm around Esther's waist, pulling her close. She felt his warm breath on her neck before he gently captured her lips in a passionate kiss.

The kiss ended too soon for Esther, but she remembered where she was.

Marshal Briggs moved forward and raised his hands.

"You know, Whit has been a part of this community for over eight years. He is a son. A brother. A friend. He's been an unintentional defender of damsels in distress." Briggs gave Esther a quick wink. "Today he becomes something more to all of us. He becomes our protector. Whitney Hartman, step forward. Esther, did you bring it?"

"Yes. It's right here in my reticule."

She slipped the small bag from her wrist and pulled out the star Marshal Briggs brought her the night before. As the marshal recited the oath Whit promised to keep as Flat River's first sheriff, Esther carefully pinned the badge to his vest, marking the beginning of their shared future.

When Briggs finished, Whit addressed the people of the town. "When Briggs first talked to me about taking this position, I admit I didn't think I was the right person for the job. Then I remembered a sermon Reverend O'Brien gave before the fever took him. It is from 2 Corinthians chapter 3, verse 5. ‘Not that we are sufficient of ourselves to think any thing as of ourselves; but our sufficiency is of God.' I am nothing with God, but I am enough because He is enough. Flat River is my home, and I promise I won't let you down."

Esther's heart swelled with pride as Whit leaned in to capture her lips in another tender kiss.

"Three cheers for the newlyweds!" someone shouted from the crowd, prompting another wave of enthusiastic clapping. "Three cheers for our new sheriff!"

As they broke apart, Esther looked at her new husband. "Are you really glad to be staying in Flat River?"

"I am. How about you?"

"I am, but I think I'm going to miss the adventure."

"I think I'm adventured out for a bit, Mrs. Hartman."

"Not even a tiny one?" Esther measured with her thumb and finger.

"Not even a tiny one."

"I think being married to you will be adventure enough, Whit."

As he tucked her under his arm, they made their way through the crowd. "There is something I can agree with."

Esther leaned into her husband and thanked God for all the blessings in her life. Especially praising Him because the outlaw had been redeemed.

I hope you enjoyed Whit's and Esther's story. Get ready for Clay's and Verna's story in Never Too Late for Love .

After being abandoned by the man who stole her heart, Verna Hartman married a man who took everything else from her. When she's suddenly widowed, she wasn't prepared to come face to face with the man she's never forgotten. She wonders if he could still have feelings for her after everything that has happened.

Clay "Tot" Wilson has waited over thirty years to make Verna his wife. He wants a chance to start over, even escorting her back to Boston to see her family. As Verna adjusts to life in the city, Clay remembers why he left so many years ago. When she refuses to return to Flat River, is he willing to lose her again, or is home truly where the heart is?