Free A Matter of Principle by Kris Tualla

Leif.
    “ Ma’am?” His head appeared, upside-down, hanging from the loft.
    “ Take Taycie back to Atherton’s, will you?”
    “ Yes, ma’am!” He disappeared, and then scrambled down the ladder. Leif reveled in his responsibility as midwife-assistant-retriever, and never grumbled when he was tapped for that duty, even in the wee hours of the night. Sydney suspected he imagined himself as some sort of dashing rogue, riding the gelding Rusten pell-mell through the forest to the next estate and back again, a rescued maiden clinging to him for her very life.
    Jeremy stepped from a stall and helped the young woman from the saddle. Sydney dismounted after her. Jeremy shook his head.
    Sydney laughed. “You’ve been with us long enough now, Jeremy. You should be accustomed to my riding astride!”
    “ Should be,” he agreed, with a grin. He took Sessa’s reins and led her to her stall. His good-natured, “But I ain’t!” floated back to her.

 
     
    Chapter Seven
     
    November 15, 1821
     
    Nicolas saw the four men dismount from the carriage and approach his front door. For a moment, before he noticed Rickard Atherton, the sight of Sheriff Busby turned his innards to water. Unwelcome memories of his arrest and beating, buried for nearly two years, surged into his consciousness before he could quench them. In spite of the frigid day, spitting sleet and gusting wind, sweat filmed his skin. Nicolas shook out his hands, blew a long breath, and walked toward the house.
    “ Gentlemen!” His deep voice echoed back from the stone façade. “To what do I owe this honor?”
    Rickard met him first. “You’re not to be arrested this time!” he joked, and grasped Nicolas’s outstretched hand. “Though when you hear why we’ve come, you may prefer it!”
    “ Come now, Atherton!” Ashton Caldecott chided with smooth, middle-aged panache. “It’s not like that at all!” He shook Nicolas’s hand and smiled, laugh lines etched deeply around vigorous brown eyes. “Might we have a word?”
    Nicolas nodded the remainder of his greetings. “John. Sheriff. Come in out of the weather, will you?” Nicolas led the men into the house. “Anne!” he bellowed.
    Her dark head protruded through the kitchen door. “Yes, sir?”
    “ Coffee to warm these gentlemen. And a bottle of brandy?”
    “ Yes, sir.”
    Nicolas guided the assemblage into the drawing room. The brandy and five glasses appeared. Nicolas poured.
    “ Thank you, Hansen!” Nathan Busby made himself comfortable on the settle. “You know how to make a man welcome on a ghastly day like today!”
    “ Which begs the question, Sheriff.” Nicolas sat in a chair facing him. “Why exactly have you all come out on a ghastly day like today?”
    The men had scattered on the available seats and now exchanged barely restrained glances, their anticipation blatant.
    “ Nick,” Rickard began, “these men—and I—believe that you should run for the Missouri State Legislature.”
    “ Gud forbanner det, Rick!” Nicolas swore and slammed his glass on the low table. “We’ve already had this discussion!”
    “ Atherton told us what you said,” John McGovern interjected. “But we’ve considered all of the landowners in St. Louis County, and we feel you are the best option for a candidate. You are a landowner, you are well-educated, and you are very well thought of in the community.”
    “ But you, Caldecott!” Nicolas swung his hand toward the older man. “You are the one who follows politics the most ardently! Why don’t you run?”
    Ashton leaned back in his chair. “Frankly, Hansen? I’m annoying.”
    Nicolas’s mouth opened and slapped shut. He had no retort for that accurate assessment.
    “ We’ve put quite a bit of thought into this.” John’s quiet voice carried the weight of his argument.
    Nicolas turned to Rickard. “Rick, you’re a wealthy landowner. You’re well-educated, popular… Why not you?”
    Rickard folded long arms across his chest.