The Deputy’s Duty

Jillian Hart

ONE

Angel Falls, Montana Territory, 1882

“What have you been doing? Lazing about when I have guests coming? My New Year’s Eve ball is not about to wait on you.”

Lanna Gibson tightened her hold on the scrub brush and crept forward on her knees. Water swished over the inlaid wood floor. Soap bubbled.

It was best to ignore her boss’s tirade-she had learned that from hard experience. She kept her head down and hoped Mrs. Geneva Wolf, one of Angel Fall’s most prominent citizens, would hurry and finish her criticizing and leave her in peace.

But Geneva wasn’t done with her. “Explain to me why this room is not finished.” Geneva’s sharp demand echoed in the dining room’s coved ceilings.

Lanna tucked her pride away and kept scrubbing. She needed this job. “I am almost done.”

“You should have been done hours ago.” Fancy-heeled shoes rapped across the damp floor, leaving tracks. “This is unacceptable. The kitchen help needs to set up this room and here you are, taking your time like a laze-a- bout! I’ve warned you before, Lanna.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She held her tongue. Exhaustion burned in her muscles from washing all day long but she kept at it, scouring the perfectly clean floor with deliberate strokes.

“I’ll just have to dock your pay. Again.” Geneva’s shoes hammered across the room as she stalked in fury toward the window, still continuing her tirade. “This is intolerable, Lanna. I ought to let you go.”

Ignore her. She dunked the brush into the bucket and dowsed it well. She stole a glance at Geneva-was she done blustering? The older woman was glaring out the large Palladian windows toward the carriage house. Lanna silently thanked heaven for the kindness of distracting Geneva. It was enough time for Lanna to draw in a steadying breath, remind herself that she had rent to pay and that jobs were scarce in these hard times, and reapply herself to the floor.

This will all be over soon, she thought and kept scrubbing. She had done a good, fast job, even if Geneva did not think so.

It was not easy being a maid for the Wolf family. Lanna tried not to look at the wall, where she knew several expensive photographs of the family hung. It was hard knowing that better times and the chance for love were behind her. Lanna ignored the burn of wood against her knees and inched forward, scouring hard with both hands.

She heard Geneva suddenly let out a gasp. “Oh! This is a surprise!” Geneva had the knack of sounding harsh even when she was happy. Lanna looked up, only to see Geneva bearing down on her. “I must go see to my visitor. And you. You make sure to finish this by the time I return or it will be your job, I’ll promise you that. I shall give you no more chances, Lanna. Now take my advice and earn your pay for a change, girl.”

Lanna squeezed her eyes shut. She felt the hurt like a kick. Thankfully the other woman was already heading out the doorway, heels knelling her path. Lanna sent a prayer of thanks heavenward and crept forward, swiping the brush in hard, wide circles, working fast. She thought of her mother and stepfather and pushed herself harder. Yes, she needed this job.

Then she heard a different, heavier set of footsteps just down the hall. Her brush stilled. Tingles inched down her nape. She recognized that measured, confident gait. Even before she heard his low, rumbling baritone, her heart was already squeezing in painful memory. Joe. Why was Joe home?

“Hello, Mother! I wanted to come and wish you Happy New Year in person.”

The air stopped in Lanna’s lungs, and she realized that her brush had stilled. She could not make it move. All of her had frozen: her muscles, her thoughts, her heart. Especially her heart. And all of this from simply hearing his voice.

“It’s good to see you, dear boy.” Geneva sounded surprisingly strained. “Although I did not expect you home until after your summer trip. Had I known you were coming, I would have made, uh, certain arrangements.”

As in sending me home early, thought Lanna.

Six years ago she had been sweetly and wholly in love with Joe Wolf. Life had been perfect then. Seeing Joe every day in school. Stealing moments to be with him and share secrets and hold hands. He had been courting her and she had been blissfully happy. Until his father had been elected territorial governor and moved the family to Helena.

She’d had to say goodbye-the hardest thing she had ever done.

And now, here he was, just on the other side of the wall. Close enough that she could hear that soft, warm chuckle of his-it still sounded like home and full of character, although his voice was deeper, manlier. More mature.

Every fiber of her being strained to hear more of it.

“Mother, I told you I wasn’t going on that trip. I have no need for your kind of ‘culture.’ Traveling abroad would be a waste of time. I’m done with school and I wanted to come home.”

His voice still had that smile in it. That cozy cadence that made her want to lean closer, just to hear what he would say next. A sigh escaped her as time spun backward to sweeter memories, when life had been kinder and full of possibilities.

What kind of man had he grown into? How had time changed him? Surely life had been good to him. Though Lanna had worked in his mother’s house, Geneva had taken care to say little about Joe.

His steps stopped just outside the door. “What I am interested in is the kitchen. I’m half-starved.”

“No! Not through there. The maid has not finished with the floor, the lazy thing. You had best come this way to the kitchen.”

“Mother, that is no way to talk.” His voice was reproachful now, the smile gone.

She glanced over her shoulder. There was Joe, facing his mother. Geneva was barring the door. Lanna’s pulse skidded to a halt. All he had to do was to look up and he would see her. So much time had passed he probably didn’t even remember her. But what if he could? She did not want him to see her on her hands and knees, no longer the girl she once was. Now nothing more than a wash woman. Her fingers tightened on the brush. He won’t notice me, she thought as she bent to her work. Please, Lord, don’t let him recognize me.

She took care to inch around so that she was facing away from the door. If by chance he glanced past his mother into the dining room, then he would only see the back of a hired girl in a blue dress and a white apron and cap, kneeling at her work. That was all.

“All right, Mother, if you insist. I’ll use the other kitchen door,” Joe was saying, although she was trying not to hear.

It was that voice of his, so deep and strong and masculine that if the great Rocky Mountains had a voice, his would be it. She could still hear his heart in that captivating baritone, rich with kindness. Maybe that was what she had always loved about Joe Wolf-his strength, his goodness and his kindness. It sure sounded as if time and his fancy education away from the simple Montana life had not changed him.

Longing crept into her soul, but she clamped her jaw and ignored it. She tried not to listen to Geneva’s footsteps padding away and to the whispers of all her lost dreams. Dreams that had to stay forgotten. She scrubbed harder. Tiny soap bubbles lifted into the air. They vanished with rapid little pops, just like her long-kept dreams.

“Lanna? Is that you?” His baritone rumbled like far-off thunder through the stillness.

She started. The brush slipped out of her hand and skidded halfway across the drying floor to stop in front of his boots. She stared at those boots, her pulse echoing in her ears.

So, he did recognize her. It took all her strength to draw in a deep breath and pull herself to her feet. Her skirts, damp from her work, twirled around her ankles and she wiped her hands on her apron folds. She lifted her gaze slowly, fighting for what dignity she could.

Joe. She saw his tailored black suit and rugged build and recognized the manly look of him. He’d grown taller and broader. His kind brown eyes still reminded her of cinnamon.