Free A Bride for Dry Creek by Janet Tronstad Page B

The sheriff said Francis was pleading with her father to get the papers signed, that she was not eating she was so upset. He couldn’t bear for her to be upset. He’d bruised his fist by hitting the wall of that cell after he’d finally shoved the signed papers through the bars to the sheriff.
    â€œYou were begging me to sign them.”
    Francis shook her head. “No.”
    Sometimes the world tips on its axis. Sometimes it rolls completely over. Flint’s world rolled over so many times he didn’t know which side was up. “I don’t understand. Are you saying that you never signed those papers?”
    â€œI never even knew they existed,” Francis said softly. “I suppose my father meant to give them to me. But I left before long and—no, I never saw the papers.”
    â€œBut then—”
    Francis nodded. “We’re still married.”
    Somehow the music had stopped again, and everyone was listening.
    â€œWell,” Mrs. Hargrove finally said softly. “Well, if that don’t beat all.”
    At the edge of the crowd…
    The old man slipped into the barn unnoticed. He knew he shouldn’t be here. Knew one of those knuckleheads the boss had hired to do the job tonight might recognize his voice or the angle of his chin. The disguise he’d worn when the boss talked to them out at the deserted Redfern place might not hold.
    But he’d tired of watching the horse, waiting for that FBI agent to return. The old man had spotted the agent snooping around Dry Creek several days ago, but he hadn’t wanted to risk making himself known by trying to get rid of the man.
    He hadn’t even told the boss about the agent. He was scared of the boss and was afraid the boss would want him to do something to the agent. Something dangerous. When the boss had come to town a year or so ago, he’d been friendly. The boss had seemed to understand that the town of Dry Creek owed him. But now the old man wasn’t so sure. The boss wasn’t friendly anymore when he called. He kept asking the old man for more and more information.
    And it was dangerous.
    The old man hadn’t figured on the FBI getting involved. The FBI made him nervous. The old man had always figured that the only lawman he’d have to outsmart was Sheriff Wall.
    But this agent was a lot brighter than Sheriff Wall. The old man was afraid the agent already suspected something.
    The old man couldn’t afford to be caught. Couldn’t afford to go to jail or have a trial. He didn’t think he could bear to speak in front of that many strangers. Why, they put a dozen people on a jury. He didn’t talk to a dozen people in a year. And he never gave anything like a speech. No one would ever understand that the town of Dry Creek owed him. No, he couldn’t risk getting caught.
    The old man knew he couldn’t stay in this town. But he didn’t know how to leave, either. He didn’t drive his old pickup anymore. The tires had long since flattened into pancakes, and he just let them sit. Sometimes, when the mood took him, he’d sit in the battered pickup and listen to the news on the radio. But he didn’t drive.
    Mrs. Hargrove did his weekly grocery shopping for him, and she’d always been willing to do an extra errand or two for him. But he could hardly ask her to drive him to Mexico.

Chapter Five
    F lint sat on the edge of the steps going into the barn. The moon was still high in the night sky. A slight wind was blowing. He’d give odds that a blizzard would roll off the Big Sheep Mountains before dawn. He could hear the sounds of the townspeople inside cleaning up after the party. He’d just sent the three would-be kidnappers off with the sheriff. He wished he had a cigarette, even though he hadn’t smoked in ten years.
    The door opened, and Mrs. Hargrove stepped out. “There’s a cup of coffee left.” She had a jacket draped over her