Once an Outlaw by Jill Gregory

leaned back against the sofa cushions. “I heard about how he arrested your brother.”
    “That’s right. And … you may as well know,” Emily took a deep breath, “he was the man responsible forarresting my uncle seven years ago and sending him to prison.”
    “Well, well, you don’t say. Imagine that.” The woman pursed her lips. “I understand how you must feel, honey, but to be fair, it wasn’t exactly Clint’s fault that your uncle held up those stagecoaches, now was it?”
    Emily flushed. “No. Uncle Jake did wrong—he admits it. And he’s paid for it. But Clint Barclay …” She broke off and turned away, pacing to the window. “Let’s not talk about him.”
    Nettie jumped up from the sofa to pat her arm. “I can see how close to your heart all this is. You love that uncle of yours a lot, don’t you?”
    “He took Pete and me in after our parents died. He and Aunt Ida raised us, gave us a home. If it hadn’t been for them…”
    Her voice trailed off.
    “I must say I like the way you stand up for your kin.” Nettie sighed. “And I think it’s a fine thing to be looking after your friend’s little boy. But I’ve got to tell you, Emily, you’re wrong about Sheriff Barclay. He’s a fine man. He faced down the Duggan gang all alone. Five of ’em, the meanest vultures—I won’t even call them
men
—you ever did see. And he nearly got himself killed for it. But he rousted them, and cleaned them out of our town.”
    Maybe so. But he nearly destroyed my family
, Emily thought. She was spared from answering, however, when Nettie continued without missing a beat.
    “I’ll say just one more thing and then I’m done. And I’ll say it quick—because I know you have your work to do, and land sakes, so do I. I have to get supper on the table for fifteen hungry people at my boardinghouse—including Clint Barclay, and goodness me, that man can eat.” She gave a short laugh. “He lives upstairs of the jail but takesmeals with me,” she explained as she moved toward the door. Emily followed her.
    “So you just think on this, honey.” Nettie grasped the doorknob and fixed Emily with a penetrating gaze. “Maybe you ought to give our sheriff a chance.”
    As Emily opened her mouth to protest, Nettie shook her head. “The same way you want folks to give you a chance,” she said firmly. “You might need him one day, a body never knows. And he’s the kind of man you can count on. Damn, honey, why do you think every gal in the whole valley who isn’t already hitched wants to get him to pop the question? Think on
that
a spell. I’m not saying you should marry him, heaven knows, but it wouldn’t hurt to call some kind of a truce, now would it?”
    She obviously didn’t expect an answer. Giving Emily’s shoulder a quick squeeze, she hurried on out to the buck-board, rattling on about the dinner she was going to prepare and how it looked like rain. When she’d gone, Emily returned to her sewing, still convinced of one thing: she was never going to change her mind about Clint Barclay. She’d spent too many nights kneeling by Aunt Ida’s bedside, stroking her hand, feeding her spoonfuls of soup, while the aunt she loved withered away before her eyes and called feebly again and again for her husband.
    When Saturday night arrived, the gown was ready. From the moment Emily slipped it on and began to fasten up each of the tiny jet buttons, her pulse began to race.
    She hadn’t been to a dance since she was fifteen. At that time, she and Aunt Ida had still been struggling to keep the farm, and everyone for miles around knew that Uncle Jake was in prison, that Pete and Lester were on the run. It wasn’t a pleasant memory.
    Emily had been a late bloomer, thin and awkward, and when she’d finally found the courage to step inside the little Missouri schoolhouse festooned by colored lanterns and bursting with fiddle music, no one had said a word to welcome her.
    And not a single young man had asked