Page 9 of Brian and Cora (The Bachelors of Three Bend Lake #2)

S weetwater Springs had never held a horse race before, and the winning purse of one hundred dollars was large enough to justify the stiff ten-dollar entry fee for each of the ten competitors. The size of the purse also ratcheted up the spectators’ excitement.

The street was cordoned off with ropes tied from hitching rail to hitching rail down both sides. People had already started lining up along the makeshift course, while the deputy sheriffs ushered lingerers out of the way.

Not too far from the bank, Brian saw an empty spot behind a hitching rail that looked big enough for all of them. He pointed and gestured and chivied them all into place, with Constance and Elsie in front and the men behind. Luckily, they were tall enough to see over the ladies’ hats.

Spectators packed around them, craning to get a good view of the “racetrack.” The press of people so closely around them made Brian’s skin itch. I haven’t been this close, inches away from so many people since…. He couldn’t remember how long and didn’t want to figure out how long.

They watched as the horses and riders started moving into place behind a thick line of chalk stretching across the street to mark the starting “gate.”

Sheriff Granger zigzagged back and forth, heading toward her place where she’d supervise the finish. She eyed the people on each side and stopped at family groups to warn them to keep ahold of their children before moving on.

Betting for money was frowned upon, given that today’s funds were designated for the new church and Reverend Norton and Reverend Joshua wouldn’t approve. But Brian could see surreptitious betting taking place among some groups of men.

“I don’t know any of the horses or the men riding, but we can guess at who will win.” Brian gestured for the ladies to go first.

“Oh, yes!” Elsie clapped her hands together. “I’m rooting for the gold. He’s beau-tee-ful!”

Constance nudged her assistant’s shoulder. “No, that black one is magnificent.”

“Yer both right,” Dr. Angus chuckled. “Fine horseflesh, indeed.”

Hank pushed back his Stetson. “I’m choosing based on the rider, not the mount. Nick Sanders is said to be magic with horses, and I’ve met him. He’s a good man.”

They all looked to Dr. Angus for his choice. “Since Hank’s already chosen Nick, who, by the way, I bought my horse from, and the ladies also picked the potential winners, I’ll go with the Appaloosa.”

“Let’s see…which one is left?” Brian drew out the pause. “I’ll go with that bay.”

“Which bay?” Hank raised his eyebrows. “There are two.”

“The showy one on the end.” Brian pointed.

To precede the race, down the street came a miniature buggy bedecked with red, white, and blue bunting and pulled by two Falabellas—one gray and one black—driven by a beautiful, auburn-haired woman in a tiny blue hat. Beside her, a blonde girl waved a small American flag.

Constance turned to the men. “That’s Samantha Thompson. Her stepdaughter, Christine, is showing her patriotic spirit. Samantha’s the one who originally transported the Falabellas from Argentina.”

Elsie vigorously waved back at Christine, almost overbalancing herself.

Before she tipped over the rail, Hank caught hold of her waist and, with an indulgent grin, righted her.

She giggled and twisted to face him. “Goodness, I almost was eating dust. But aren’t those tiny horses so adorable! The sweetest things I’ve ever seen. And that darling buggy.”

Hank didn’t answer, merely gazing down at Elsie as if she was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen.

Once again, Brian felt a stab of envy, which he quickly suppressed. The last thing he needed was a woman expecting him to woo her. To get his mind off women and courting, he looked to the starting line. “They’re getting ready to go.” Anticipation built in him.

They were too far away to see the starter but could hear the shot ring out and see the horses charge. The crowd roared.

The showy bay bolted toward one side, sending people jumping back. His rider quickly jerked him back into place to race after the others.

There goes my winner. A loser from the start.

Elsie squealed. She jumped up and down, screaming, “Go, Goldie, go!”

Constance, more restrained, clapped, before giving in to the excitement and yelling, “Go, Black!”

In a mass, the horses thundered by, as they passed kicking up a dust storm that drifted their way.

With gasps, the women turned their backs, and the men ducked their heads so their hats would shield their faces. By the time the dust settled, the race was over, and they didn’t see who placed first. But the shouts of “Nick!” and “Sanders!” audibly announced the results.

“You won! You won!” Delighted, Elsie threw herself at Hank for an exuberant hug and kiss on the cheek.

His friend beamed as broadly as if he’d won the race himself and now was one hundred dollars richer.

With the excitement over, Brian leaned toward the end of the hitching rail and untied the rope, letting the line drop to the ground so they could step over it and into the street.

Dr. Angus and Constance hastened off in different directions.

The crowd filtered into the road.

Some acquaintances came up to talk to Elsie and Hank, casting curious glances at Brian.

Although Hank properly introduced him, Brian didn’t bother to retain their names.

He’d probably never see them again. And, after today, he didn’t plan to come to town until spring.

No more people. Only writing. With a pang, he repeated, only writing.

After a while, Brian realized Hank had become a known quantity in the town. Another sign of his friend growing apart from their little circle.

Elsie flapped a hand at them. “Go have fun.” The couple moved off down the street.

With a grim expression, Sheriff Granger hurriedly threaded through the crowd. She passed a few feet away from them, not making eye contact with anyone.

A woman on a mission.

Goosebumps prickled across the back of Brian’s neck, and he touched the butt of his gun. But scanning the area, he couldn’t see anything sign of disturbance. Everyone looked happy…well, except for some bet-losers—obvious from the jostling and joking of their companions.

But still, Brian couldn’t help the sense that something was terribly wrong.

Brian prided himself on his well-honed instincts, a lesson hard learned by not paying attention to them and suffering the consequences—starting with his former fiancée.

Yet, today, several hours after the robbery, he sat on the end of a church pew with Hank, Elsie, Constance, and Dr. Angus next to him, a sick feeling in his gut.

He would have given anything for his earlier concerns to have been wrong.

After learning of the bank robbery and murder of the deputy, Hank had protectively ushered the upset ladies back to the Gordon building, staying with them and the puppy, while Brian remained behind, lingering near the bank.

He longed to be one of the deputies leaping into action at the sheriff’s command, but, as a bystander, he could only observe, helpless to do anything to better the tragic situation.

Several hours later, worried townsfolk and some people from the outskirts of Sweetwater Springs packed the church, as subdued as if they attended a funeral service.

Brian noted their palpable fear—strained expressions, some women sniffing and holding their handkerchiefs to their noses and mouths—and here and there, men showed their anger in clenched jaws, red faces, and narrowed eyes.

Sheriff Granger stood in the front of the church, her expression stern.

Calm competence radiated from her. In stark contrast, the altar behind her was brightly decorated for the Harvest Festival, with several pumpkins of varying sizes, a pile of apples, and multiple vases of mums, goldenrod, and marigolds.

Sheriff Granger took them through what had occurred, adding details to the tragic robbery—a good man, one of the deputies, murdered, the bank clerk injured, and the money from the Harvest Festival stolen by a gang of outlaws.

When she told them the thieves hadn’t left by train, which meant they were still around, a murmur of fear swept through the church.

Brian thought of the peaceful area around Three Bend Lake, of Torin and Jewel unknowingly vulnerable to the predators, and his gut tightened. Those outlaws have no reason to retreat up our mountain and every reason not to, he tried to reassure himself. They’d be trapped.

And all the more dangerous.

Still, if they did, he couldn’t imagine where they’d hide out.

He, Torin, and Hank would have seen signs of a hideout and investigated.

He thought of the Swensen family living farther up the mountain.

Mr. Swensen ranged all over, hunting for the game to feed his family and the furs he could sell.

The man would have spotted anything amiss. The thought made Brian relax…slightly.

When the sheriff asked for suggestions about where the outlaws could hide out, the shopkeeper, Cobb, grew belligerent, his animosity obvious, as he used the occasion to challenge the lawwoman’s authority.

The urge to go over and punch the man’s red, bulbous nose was so strong that Brian had to tune out of the conversation. The sheriff didn’t need him to defend her.

A lean, tough-looking man stood and shook his fist in the sheriff’s direction. “You’re a redskin lover. It’s obvious the Indians done this theft.”

At the unjust accusation, gasps and a few growls sounded. Brian’s was one of them. Most everyone turned to glare.

He’d make a perfect villain. Brian tried to memorize details, but his thoughts seemed too scattered to hold a description, and he didn’t want to take out his notebook and pencil and seem insensitive.

The man lowered his fist. “We’s wasting time with all this jawin’. We should head to the reservation and burn them all out.”

Another wave of gasps and growls and frowns were directed at the stranger, except from shopkeeper Cobb, who nodded in apparent agreement.