Snowbound with the Sheriff. Lauri Robinson

      Chapter Two

      There was a boulder stuck in the spokes, all right, and it took all three of them, Chayston, Riley and Coop, to get it out. Just as it had taken all three of them to get the stage out of the snow. The clouds he’d noticed earlier were now overhead and dropping flakes the size of silver dollars that were going to make the trip to Spring Valley miserable.

      As if she hadn’t already made him miserable enough. Having Miss Violet Ritter plastered to his chest had ignited sensations that had no right being awakened. Not here, not with her.

      Chayston bent to pick up another bag, but before tossing it up to Coop on top of the stage, he glanced toward the woman sitting on Buster. She’d tucked her toes up beneath her, and he wondered how she’d stayed balanced in the saddle, perched like that. She had, though, for more than an hour.

      No shoes. None. With all this luggage. Absurd. So was the way she sat there like an Indian chief wrapped in her red scarf and the buffalo-hide blanket Coop had provided her out of the stage.

      Thoroughly disgusted, Chayston tossed up the last bag and then walked over to pluck her out of the saddle. This time he carried her with one arm behind her back and the other beneath her knees so she couldn’t wrap her legs around him. A few steps later, and without a single word, he dumped her onto the floor of the stage and slammed the door.

      “Let’s go,” he ordered. “This storm’s only going to get worse.”

      As predicted, the weather got worse—edging toward a full-fledged blizzard—and a mile or more after they’d passed the Johansson place, Chayston wondered if he should have made everyone hold up there. Storm or not, staying there, with Seth and Becca, was not something he could do, therefore trekking onward to Spring Valley was the only choice. Hopefully they’d make it to town before the heart of the storm hit so he could see Miss Ritter settled in the hotel until he could deliver her to the General.

      There, too, things didn’t go as he planned. The hotel was owned by Gertrude Guldbrandson, who hated Chayston and wasn’t in the mood to grant him any favors. “Surely you have a cot or even the couch in your parlor she can sleep on,” Chayston argued without looking toward the adjacent room. Gertrude’s daughter, Winifred was in there, waving at him. His refusal to court Winifred had put him permanently on Gertrude’s bad side, but even if he was ever—ever—stupid enough to consider marriage again, it wouldn’t be to Winifred. She was about as pleasant to be around as her mother.

      “Absolutely, not,” Gertrude replied to his suggestion. “I’m full up. Every room taken.” Planting both hands on her mile-wide hips, the woman continued, “And don’t bother asking Ruth Sutton to take her in, either. No one’s happy about the General’s foolish behavior.”

      Chayston kept the contempt surging inside from showing on his face. He wasn’t impressed his father had ordered a bride, either, but the all-out scorn Gertrude was showering upon Violet was truly uncalled for.

      Spinning about, he grabbed Violet by the arm. Coop and Riley hovered at the door, waiting to know where to deposit her luggage so they could get the horses to shelter and find a place to bed down themselves. “Haul her stuff to the sheriff’s office,” he ordered gruffly.

      Once the men exited, he hoisted Violet into his arms again and walked out, Gertrude slamming the door so hard her Christmas wreath hit his back before it landed on the porch.

      Violet cringed in his arms. “The sheriff’s office? Do you expect me to spend the night in a—a jail?”

      “Yes.”

      “Well, that won’t do,” she said.

      The storm was still picking up momentum. Seeing much of anything was difficult and grew impossible when the wind caught her scarf, flapping it over his face. “Unless you want to start trekking through the snow to the ranch on your own, you don’t have a choice because I’m damn sick of carrying you.”

      She pulled the scarf off his face and grabbed ahold of his neck. “You’re a beast.”

      “Yes, I am,” he stated, faltering slightly while searching for the bottom step of the hotel’s porch. “Remember that.”

      Thankfully that shut her up and he trudged forward.

      The floor of the sheriff’s office felt as cold beneath her stocking feet as if he’d set her down outside in the snow. Violet didn’t dare move, though. The place was as black as a hole. A lantern was soon lit and she got her first look around while Chayston told Mr. Riley and Mr. Coop to set her luggage down by the door and go see to the horses. She bid both men goodbye and thanked them for all of their efforts while huddling deeper into her wool coat, wishing she’d taken the buffalo-hide blanket from the stage.

      She wasn’t a stranger to winter weather—Ohio was known for its snowfalls, but the magnitude of this storm worried her. Or maybe it was the coldness she’d felt at the hotel still freezing her blood. She’d thought by leaving Ohio she’d be escaping spiteful women, but evidently that wasn’t to be. Ever since their parents had married—her mother and Eleanor’s father—her stepsister had hated her, but Eleanor’s wrath was put to shame by Gertrude Guldbrandson’s.

      If only her boots hadn’t been stolen. Then she could have...What? She had nowhere else to go. And a promise was a promise.

      Chayston was building a fire in the stove across the room, and with her body craving the heat his had given off—right through his heavy coat every time he’d picked her up—Violet examined the room more closely. Spying a door, she moved a few steps to open it, the light from the lantern on the desk highlighted the area enough for her to make out two cells complete with iron bars. She quickly closed the door.

      “Leave it open,” he said. “Or you’ll be frozen by morning.”

      She did open the door again, but spun around. “I’m not...” Pausing to search where he could have disappeared to, she noticed another open door and spoke louder, “Not sleeping in a jail cell.”

      He didn’t comment, but light appeared in the other room. She rounded the desk to peer in. It was living quarters of sorts, complete with a kitchen stove, table and chairs, cupboards and a rather comfortable-looking bed. He was busy building another fire in the large cookstove. She took note of other things, too, like the tub sitting upside down in the far corner, and the sink, complete with a water pump. It had been a week since she’d had a bath.