The Accidental Lawman by Jill Marie Landis Page A

the chair back. “I can’t stay here now.” He looked as if he were about to leave, then surveyed the room as if he had no idea where to go.
    “Why did you come back?” She glanced outside the window. “Where’s Bucket Head?” His horse wasn’t tied to the hitching post out back.
    “In the barn.”
    He’d hidden his mount before he came in.
    “What have you done, Evan?” Her hands were shaking. She clasped them together behind her back.
    “None of your business.” He shifted, scratched the stubble on his chin and glanced toward her pantry. “You got any money? If you’re just back from your home visits, you musta got paid something.”
    She held out her hands and shrugged. “You know the folks around here don’t have much. I got paid in ham and eggs. I got a sack of carrots from the Mitchells. Inge Martin gave me some almond cookies.” She still had the two dollars Laura Foster had given her hidden in the pantry. She’d put the money away to help pay the taxes on the house when they came due.
    “You’re welcome to the food, Evan, but I really think you should stay and…and turn yourself in.”
    “Turn myself in? There’s no law against standing outside a bank while a robbery is going on.”
    “You had your gun drawn.”
    “You sure about that? You told the sheriff you don’t know what you saw.”
    “Memories often get clearer with time.”
    “And sometimes they fade.”
    He hovered in the center of the kitchen, filling the space with the heat and darkness that come before a summer thunderstorm. She knew she didn’t have long to try to convince him to do the right thing.
    “Get me a clean shirt, will ya, sis?”
    His request threw her off guard. “A clean shirt?”
    There was a pile of them in his room. Clean, pressed and folded, waiting for his return. She walked to his side, laid her hand on his sleeve.
    “Evan, you don’t have to turn yourself in to the sheriff, though I think he’s a fair man. He’d hear you out. Why don’t we walk over to the McCormick house? You can talk to the reverend and maybe after some prayer and counseling, you’ll realize that staying on this path will only lead to destruction. I can’t lose you, Evan. You’re all I have.”
    He shook off her hand. “You still think the Bible can fix everything, don’t you, sis? You think all there is to life is doing the right thing and everything will be fine. I’m here to tell you it’s a waste of time for a man like me. We’ve never had anything and I’m sick of it.”
    “There are ways to make an honest living, Evan. Anyone in this town would take you in as an apprentice. Mick at the livery would be happy to have you. Why, Mr. Larson might even need someone to set the type on his printing press. You could—”
    “I could end up with a noose around my neck if I don’t get out of here.”
    “A noose? Have you killed someone? Are you a lowlife horse thief now?”
    “It’s none of your business what I am.”
    “It is my business. I’m your sister—”
    “Go get me a clean shirt. Please.” He turned his back on her and walked over to pour himself a glass of water from a tall crockery pitcher on the dry sink.
    Fuming, she decided it best to put distance between them. She’d gain nothing by arguing.
    She prayed as she walked into his room, forcing herself to slow down, to take her time. His shirts werefolded in the top bureau drawer. She stalled, prayed, opened the drawer and chose one with ticking stripes.
    She heard him pacing the kitchen. Heard his footsteps in the parlor. Maybe he was going to sit down, to think about what she’d said. She took a deep breath, hugged his shirt and gave him a few seconds more alone.
    Then the back door slammed.
    She tossed the shirt on his bed, ran into the kitchen. He was already headed into the barn.
    “Evan!” She ran across the back porch and started after him. She’d barely reached the bottom step when Evan rode out of the barn on horseback, trampled her herb