Mary could understand the Willowbys looking for answers, but surely her father didn’t believe that nonsense too. “If you don’t need me, I’d like to leave now.”
“Sure.” Her father turned and handed her a capped bottle. “Would you stop by the livery and deliver this medicine to Mr. Lemming? He’s been without it for several days. Make sure he realizes the importance of taking it correctly.”
Mary nodded, tucking the bottle in her purse. “See you at supper.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said with a forced gaiety belying the weariness in his movements. He didn’t fool her.
Before she delivered the medicine, she intended to talk with Sheriff Rogers. See what could be done about that peddler.
Chapter Three
Mary passed the town square and didn’t see that rogue, but his wagon remained where it had that morning. He’d probably gone to the saloon, spending his morning profits on liquor to fill more bottles and, more than likely, himself.
A hand-lettered sign boasted in bold letters: CURATIVE FOR HEADACHE, STOMACHACHE AND INSOMNIA. What some people would do to make a dollar—uh, three dollars.
Though her father’s rebuke stung, his words held a smidgen of truth. She did tend to get wrapped up in worry. But didn’t the Bible instruct her to help others? Surely that meant protecting them from this bloodsucker.
By the time she’d reached her destination, the imposing limestone structure housing not only the jail but also the sheriff’s quarters, she’d envisioned the charlatan tarred and feathered, or at least run out of town.
Inside, Sheriff Rogers turned from tacking up a wanted poster and tipped his hat. The sheriff’s gray-streaked hair and paunch belied the strength of his muscular arms and massive shoulders. Not a man she’d care to cross. But then again, she needn’t fret; she wasn’t the criminal in town.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Graves.”
“Hello, Sheriff.” Mary walked to the wall and checked the poster to see if it held the medicine man’s picture. Not seeing the peddler’s face, she sighed and turned back to him.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
“I hope you know a way to rid the town of a swindler bilking our citizens out of their money.”
He chuckled. “Reckon you’re talking about Luke Jacobs.”
That vile man carried the first name of the doctor in scripture, the follower of Christ? The similarity didn’t sit well with Mary. “I don’t know his name, but the man I’m talking about is selling home-brewed medicine.”
“Jacobs convinced me of his product’s value.” He gestured to his desk. There, as big as life, sat a bottle of that remedy. “I gave it a try, and it’s eased the pain in my gut.”
No doubt the result of wishful thinking. Hadn’t she seen that outcome before?
“Either way,” Sheriff Rogers said, taking a seat behind his desk, the springs whining in protest, “he obtained a permit to sell on our streets, so he’s within his rights.”
“For how long?”
“Believe he said a week.”
“In that length of time, he can filch everyone’s money.” Still, it could be worse. “At least he’ll be gone by week’s end, maybe before, if we’re lucky.”
The sheriff laced his fingers over his chest. “His eyes lit when I mentioned those orphans who came to town last year. Wonder if he’s here for more than peddling.”
A lump thudded to the bottom of Mary’s stomach, and she sucked in a gulp of air. Ben, along with Emma and William, Charles and Addie’s two, had ridden on that train. “Did he ask about any of them?”
“Nope. Reckon I could be wrong, but in my work, I make a point of reading people.”
Mary paced in front of the desk, then spun back to the sheriff. “He can’t come to town and wreak havoc on our children’s lives.”
“Now simmer down, Mrs. Graves.” Sheriff Rogers rose. “I’m not going to let anyone harm our citizens, much less those youngsters.”
Ever since Ed Drummond had beaten Frances, William and Emma, the sheriff took special interest in the orphans, becoming a protective grandfather of sorts. She couldn’t discount his well-honed instincts about Luke Jacobs.
Mary shivered. “Did he say anything else?”
“Nope. Jacobs is closemouthed.” The sheriff gave a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye out. But if he’s half as good as his medicine, we’re fortunate to have him.”
Fortunate? The man meant trouble. Why couldn’t anyone see that?
Mary said goodbye to the sheriff. She hadn’t gotten anywhere with him. What reason would a traveling salesman have to concern himself with the orphans? Could he be a relative of one of them? Surely not to Charles and Addie’s two blond, blue-eyed youngsters, not with the man’s dark looks.
She pictured Ben’s impish grin and dark-brown curls—
She bit her lip to quell its sudden trembling, refusing to finish the thought. She didn’t like what she’d heard at the sheriff’s office, didn’t like it at all. She had to make sure Luke Jacobs did nothing to upset the peace of the children, especially Ben, the little boy who’d staked a claim in her heart.
Charles would know what to do. Before she could talk to him, she had to deliver the medicine to John Lemming over at the livery. To save time, she cut across the courthouse lawn and rounded the corner of the building—all but colliding with her adversary.
Luke Jacobs. Again. The man hovered over her life like crows over a cornfield.
“Well, well, Miss Nightingale.” He gave her that lazy smile of his. For a moment, their gazes locked. “We meet again.”
At her side, Mary’s hands curled into fists, ready to protect the whole town if need be from this man, his smile and his phony charm. “Yes, Mr. Jacobs, we do.”
His brows rose to the lock of dark, wavy hair falling over his forehead. Why didn’t the scoundrel wear a hat like any decent man? “Appears you’ve learned my name, but I don’t know yours,” he said.
A team of horses couldn’t pull the information out of her—any information for that matter. “I believe you do, Mr. Jacobs.” She planted a hand on her hip. “Florence Nightingale.”
“So, Miss Nightingale,” he said, mocking her—teasing her, “will you tell me where I can find the livery?”
That cocky grin he wore affected her. It was like waving a red cape in front of a bull. And he knew it. From the gleam in his eyes, he enjoyed it too.
“Have you a remedy for horses? Or looking for some manure to add to your spiel?”
He chuckled, apparently not at all upset by her words. “I need to bed down my horse.” He put a hand to his chest, feigning distress. “Surely even you wouldn’t want to put an innocent animal at risk.”
“True, but I wouldn’t mind putting a guilty beast at peril.” She eyed him, making no secret of which beast she meant.
A deep belly laugh escaped him. If he’d been any other man, the laugh would’ve been contagious. “You give me too much credit, dear lady.”
Uninvited humor bubbled up inside Mary, but she tamped it down before it reached her lips. She might as well give him directions. He’d find out soon enough, with or without her help. She motioned to the opposite corner. “The livery is at Ninth and Clinton.”
Instead