Jeeter could not focus for the life of him. He felt her hand, and that was all. Her hand. On him. “Water would be wonderful, ma’am,” he said, his throat as dry as a desert. He was almost glad when she removed her hand and stepped back to her desk. Almost. He waited, afraid to say anything. Her next question compounded his confusion.
“How old are you, Mr. Frost?” Ernestine asked as she poured.
“Thirty-one, ma’am. I am no spring chicken.”
“I am thirty. We are almost the same age. I find that quite interesting. Don’t you find it interesting?”
“If you say it is, then it must be,” Jeeter said, uncertain how that was a factor in anything.
Ernestine brought the glass to him. “Here you go.”
Their fingers touched, and Jeeter’s heart skipped a couple of beats. He gratefully gulped the water and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Thank you, ma’am.” He hoped they would go back to his lessons so he could feel comfortable again, but it was not to be.
Gazing past him out the window at the dark prairie, Ernestine said softly, “Do you know what they call a single woman my age? A spinster. A woman who will never marry. A woman with no prospects.”
“That’s not true, ma’am,” Jeeter said, coming to her defense. “You are as pretty as can be. There ain’t a man anywhere who wouldn’t be honored to come courting.”
“Isn’t a man anywhere,” Ernestine corrected. “You flatter me, but the truth is, I am too plain and prim. In my more honest moments, I can admit my flaws and foresee the consequences.”
“Flaws, ma’am?” Jeeter said. “I don’t see any.”
“Would you like to know the truth, Mr. Frost? I do not like being a spinster. I do not want to end my days alone.”
“Ma’am?” Jeeter was ready to bolt. They were treading on territory where he would rather not tread.
“Do you really find me pretty?”
Jeeter saw where she was leading and a thunderclap filled his ears and seared his body.
“You are shocked, aren’t you?” Ernestine said. “I have overstepped the boundaries. I have shamed myself and you think less of me as a woman. But you see, that is what I am, a woman. I have a woman’s feelings and a woman’s yearnings. Everyone else places me on a pedestal, but I tread the same earth they do.”
To shut her up Jeeter did the only thing he could think of, the thing he most wanted to do. His blood roaring in his veins, he enfolded the schoolmarm in his arms and kissed her.
Chapter 12
Sheriff Hinkle had his feet propped on his desk and was reading the
“It has been two weeks now and there has not been a lick of trouble in Coffin Varnish,” Seamus reported. “The
“I told you not to worry,” Hinkle said. “I told you nothing would come of it.”
“I’m still not persuaded,” Seamus said. “It takes time for word to spread. We might still have a batch of murders on our hands.”
“You need to learn to relax. You are too tense and high-strung.” Hinkle placed the
“Damn it, George,” Seamus said. “You don’t take things seriously enough.”
“Why get all bothered over things you can’t control?” Hinkle rubbed his chin and then his stomach. “What time is it?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“That’s all? I’m famished. I didn’t eat enough breakfast.”
Seamus plopped into his chair and picked up a copy of the publication he liked best, the
“What kind of attitude is that for the undersheriff to have?”
“It is the same attitude the sheriff has, and I never hear him complain.”
George Hinkle chortled. “And therein is the secret of a long and contented life. Never do today what you can put off until tomorrow. And never, ever get all worked up over trifles.”
“Coffin Varnish isn’t a trifle.”
The sheriff sighed and bent to his reading. “There is a task I would like you to do some night soon.”
“Oh?”
“We have had a report that a strange man has been seen hanging around the schoolhouse. A couple of parents saw him. I want you to go over there and keep a watch.”
“On the schoolmarm?” Seamus laughed. “Have you ever seen a more homely female in all your born days?”
“She isn’t a beauty, I will grant you that,” Hinkle said. “But she
