The Sheriff's Sweetheart by Laurie Kingery

direction…”
    Sam agreed to both. While he didn’t have any real desireto ride out of town with this easterner, it was probably his duty as a sheriff to make sure the man didn’t get lost or come to any harm.
    Looks like he’d have to postpone that visit to Prissy—again.
    Â 
    Prissy trudged back down Simpson Creek’s main street toward Gilmore House, Houston at her heels. It was only noon, and she had already sent Antonio with a note to the Brookfield ranch to ask when Milly would like the Spinsters’ Club to visit with gifts for the new baby, and she had just finished notifying the rest of the club’s members about the birth and the proposed outing.
    She felt at loose ends. Sarah was at the ranch helping her sister. Papa was at a council meeting. Sam Bishop wasn’t at the jail, nor had she seen him in the street.
    Where could he be? Off at one of the nearby ranches on some duty? Or at the hotel, having his dinner? She wouldn’t be so brazen as to go into the restaurant to look, but if she were to happen past the restaurant window, surely if he were there he’d see her and come out to ask her to join him. She had to admit she’d worn a dress of yellow sprigged muslin with a pretty shawl collar and had taken special care with her appearance, hoping she’d encounter him. She wasn’t quite sure if that was a good thing—or a bad thing.
    She could see no one in the restaurant as she glanced in the window. She might as well go home and have her own midday meal. The day had become uncomfortably warm, anyway. She turned to step off the boardwalk.
    â€œOh, Priscilla! How nice to encounter you, dear,” called a voice.
    No one called her Priscilla. No one but the WidowFairchild. She stiffened as she turned and saw Mariah Fairchild coming out of the hotel. It wasn’t fair that the woman had the perfect ivory complexion that made her look fragile and appealing in the dove-gray dress she wore, instead of washed out, nor that her elegantly dressed silver hair gleamed so that it complemented the gray dress rather than made her look old.
    â€œHello, Mrs. Fairchild,” Prissy said, keeping her voice civil.
    Houston, traitor that he was, had no such reservations. He went bounding toward the widow, practically wagging his tail off, lunging at the end of the leash as if he would perish if he could not get closer to this lady.
    Mariah Fairchild stooped with grace, heedless of the dusty boardwalk, and stroked the little dog’s head. She cooed, “Well, aren’t you a handsome fellow? What a good boy! What a friendly doggie you are!”
    Was that a way of covertly criticizing Prissy’s own lack of warmth? “Yes, Houston doesn’t know a stranger,” Prissy murmured, wondering how quickly she could escape the woman without seeming openly rude.
    Mariah Fairchild shaded her eyes and peered up at Prissy. “It’s fortuitous that you happened by, dear. I was just hoping for a second opinion on some lace trim at the mercantile, as to whether it looks well with a particular dress fabric there or not. Mrs. Patterson is of the opinion it would be fine, but since she doesn’t know me very well, I fear she’s afraid to counter my opinion…”
    And you think I know you well?
    â€œWould you have a moment to accompany me to the mercantile to give your honest thoughts on the matter?”
    You don’t really want to know my honest thoughts, Prissy thought waspishly, but then was ashamed of herself.It was very apparent the woman wanted Prissy to like her. Satisfying her request wouldn’t take much time, and perhaps the shopkeeper would have an item Prissy could buy for Milly’s baby gift, since she wasn’t talented—as many of the other Spinsters were—in needlework.
    â€œCertainly, I can do that,” she said, watching as Mariah Fair child gracefully straightened. They descended the board walk and crossed