He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to watch her. He told himself his job included protecting Miss Cally DuBois from the rougher element of town. And protecting the gentler element from Miss Cally DuBois. He felt guilty even as he thought it. She was harmless now, surely.
When she left the feed store, Andrew guessed she was headed for the doctor’s. He let her get well ahead of him before he angled across the street, stepping around a corner in time to see her enter the small frame house that belonged to Dr. Briggs. A moment later, the door reopened, and the huge dog was virtually pushed out.
Andrew smiled as he remembered the first time Cally had come to visit her father. His reaction to Royal inside his office had been immediate and severe. He could imagine the doctor’s was at least as strong.
The huge dog whimpered and turned in circles on the porch. Finally he sat, his eyes fixing squarely on the sheriff. Andrew had never intended to interrupt the girl’s conversation with the doctor. He had only wanted to see to her safety and offer to help her any way he could. For one brief moment as he looked at Royal, it seemed presumptuous to the point of stupidity to think she needed his protection.
He decided to wait for Cally across the street from the doctor’s office. He took one step toward a shade tree, and the dog came to his feet. One more step and the hairs on the dog’s back bristled as his shoulder muscles tensed.
Andrew stopped. Royal relaxed.
Andrew took another step, and the dog bared his teeth, a low growl rumbling in his throat.
Andrew felt a surge of anger. He wasn’t even walking toward the dog! Cally was inside, certainly out of his reach. He wondered, irrationally, if the dog recognized him, if Cally had given Royal orders to attack him on sight.
“It would be just like that little hellion,” he muttered under his breath. Well, he wasn’t going to let a dog keep him from doing his job! If he wanted to march up to the doctor’s door and wait for Cally DuBois on the front steps, her trained beast wasn’t going to stop him.
He took three determined steps directly toward the dog before he stopped. There was nothing like a snarling dog, poised to spring, to cool a man’s anger and remind him of the advantages of patience.
Andrew took a step backward. He and the dog stared at each other and waited for Cally to finish her conversation with the doctor.
When Cally first heard Royal’s reaction to danger she worried that a patient was being kept from the doctor’s door. She hurried to a window in time to see the sheriff stop in his tracks. It almost made her smile.
“And that’s when Haywood came to get you?” she prompted, turning back to the doctor.
“Yes. I did try to revive him, Miss DuBois. But when the heart stops…” He shook his head.
Cally couldn’t bear the pity on the man’s face. She turned and opened the door, mumbling, “Thank you, Doctor,” as she went. She had to nudge Royal out of her way before she could step out of the house.
Without a word to Royal, she walked toward the sheriff, knowing her dog would keep himself between her and any stranger. She wanted to see the cool, self-assured sheriff back away.
The closer they got to Haywood, the more Royal bristled, barking a warning between deep menacing growls. The poor dog was trembling when Cally finally stopped, laying a hand on the dog’s back to reassure him. She felt guilty for using Royal that way. Especially when it hadn’t worked.
Haywood removed his hat. “Miss DuBois,” he said softly.
“Sheriff,” Cally said, trying hard to sound as calm as he did.
“I wanted to offer my assistance.”
Cally wanted to scream. She looked directly into the sheriffs eyes and decided they were the color of dirt. The thought gave her enough strength to accuse him. “You killed my father.”
He had the grace to look surprised—for a second, anyway. Then he looked angry. She had to admit it was quite a thing to say, but, oh, how she wanted to hurt him! She was prepared for him to answer in kind, some cutting remark that she could use to feed her anger.
He disappointed her again.
“Is that what the doctor told you?”
“Yes,” she lied, telling herself it was a small lie and didn’t really count. “You gave him a drink. That’s what killed him.”
Haywood blinked. That was all. Blinked! She had watched his dirt-brown eyes as long as she could. The cool gaze was giving her the chills. She lifted her chin with the last of her courage and went around him, walking purposefully toward the Furniture House.
Royal gave the sheriff a parting glance before joining her.
Cally wanted to mutter her frustration aloud to the dog as she walked, but the streets were too crowded. She didn’t need to attract any more stares than she was already getting. Men and women in all manner of fine clothes were walking on the boardwalks or crossing the street, and they all seemed to think she was the most interesting thing to look at. Hardly any of them spared a glance at the tall buildings, wagons and horses or each other.
Under the tall red sign, Cally stopped and braced herself. With squared shoulders, she stepped through the open door of the big furniture store. A man with a drooping mustache hurried to meet her. “Young man! Leave that dog outside!”
Cally glared at him for a moment. With a wave of her hand and a soft word, Royal returned to the threshold and sat, effectively blocking the doorway.
The mustachioed man scowled. “What can I do for you?”
His tone implied he hoped it wouldn’t take long. So did Cally. “Sheriff Haywood said my pa’s here.” The man’s scowl deepened. “I’m Cally DuBois,” she added.
His demeanor changed drastically. “Oh, Miss DuBois. I’m so sorry. Please, come this way. We’ve laid the poor soul out in the back.”
The dog growled, and they both turned to see two ladies hurry away. The undertaker glared at the dog but smiled sympathetically when he turned back to Cally. “We have a nice selection of coffins, and you’ll be wanting the services of our hearse.”
Cally’s irritation at the man’s phony thoughtfulness made her bold enough to ask, “Will the county pay for it?”
The man’s mustache drooped a little lower. “I wouldn’t think so.” He opened a door and led her into a storeroom. Lighting a lamp, he crossed to a long narrow table where the body lay covered with a sheet.
Cally barely glanced at it. She felt her stomach tremble and wanted to run away. But this was what she had come for, and there were things to be settled. “If he’d hanged, would the county have paid then?” she asked.
“Perhaps. Now, our services can include mourners if your father wasn’t…ahem…well, if he didn’t…”
Royal growled again, and the man leaned to the side, trying to see the front room.
Cally knew he imagined more potential customers scurrying down the street. She was as eager as he was to have this done. “He died in jail,” she persisted. “Why won’t the county pay for his funeral?”
“Look, Miss, if the man was a derelict, the county will bury him in potter’s field. But I can’t imagine a good daughter letting such a thing happen. I am more than willing to discuss some financial arrangement so your father can be buried properly.”
Cally’s eyes narrowed at the man’s harsh tones. “Maybe the sheriff killed him so the county wouldn’t have to pay for his funeral.”
The mustache twitched. “That’s an outrageous accusation! The sheriff wouldn’t be paying, in any case.”
Cally shrugged, as if dismissing a small matter. “I’ll