Read Online The Accidental Lawman by Jill Marie Landis - Free Book Online

beside her with the other. A little boy, a little over a year old. Hank even imagined what the woman must be thinking.
    Where have you been, Amelia. Hurry. Hurry. We need you.
    So dependent. So trusting of the local midwife.
    Amelia Hawthorne seemed no more than a girl herself. As the buggy neared the house, he saw the woman on the porch had clear, bright eyes. Her plain hair was pulled straight back into a knot at her nape. The skin around her eyes was deeply etched with lines, as was her brow. She was rail thin beneath a serviceable skirt and calico blouse. Her eyes were shadowed with all the fears and concern she could not hide.
    Her back was straight, unbowed. She wore her courage as easily as she donned her clothes. She was a product of the rolling plains and prairie, the harsh winters, the rain-soaked springs, the unbearably hot summers.
    She would make a perfect character for his novel.
    The woman scooped the little boy onto her hip, stepped off the porch and headed toward the buggy. Hank tugged on the reins. When they stopped, Amelia hopped out before he set the brake.
    The older woman embraced her, but only for a second. Amelia took the time to ruffle the toddler’s hair. She spoke to him so softly that Hank couldn’t hear what she said. The little boy laughed and then Amelia was all business again.
    It was a touching scene. One he would remember—for the sake of the novel—he told himself. Nothing more.
    Amelia was headed toward the house when, as an afterthought, she called back, “Hattie, this is Hank Larson. He’s Glory’s new sheriff. Thank you for the ride, Mr. Larson. I’m sure the Ellenbergs will see that I get home.”
    He watched her hike up her skirt, saw a flash of petticoat around the high tops of her black shoes as she dashed inside. He hadn’t thought about merely dropping her off and leaving. He hadn’t thought past delivering her here and questioning her along the way.
    Now there was more he wanted to ask. More he needed to know. He’d like to believe she’d had no part in the robbery, that mere circumstance was how she ended up in the bank two days ago. Her talk of her belief in God might be genuine, or it might only be a cover.
    Could Amelia be living an outwardly exemplary life, but in reality be a member of a roughshod gang of outlaws?
    He reminded himself not to let his writer’s imagination run away with him.
    “I’m Hattie Ellenberg.” The woman had remained near the buggy. She added, “This is my grandson, Orson Wolf Ellenberg.”
    The love, the joy she took in introducing her grandson shone on her face. For a heartbeat, she appeared years younger. He could see she had once been a fine-looking young woman.
    He had a thousand and one questions for her. How did she come to be here living in a house of rough-hewn logs in the middle of the Texas plains? How long had she been here? Where was she from?
    He’d been so focused on her face, on her expression, that it was another moment before he noticed that a puckered scar cut a wide swath across her head along her hairline. The scar set her hairline back a good three inches.
    “Scalping,” she said matter-of-factly. Obviously she’d caught him staring.
    “Pardon me?” He thought she’d said scalping .
    “I was nearly scalped. Luckily I lived to see my sonmarried and my grandbaby here. With God’s blessings I’ll be holding his little brother or sister in my arms by nightfall.”
    “Nearly scalped? ” Hank tried not to stare.
    “By Comanche. I used to try to hide the scar, but a couple years ago my daughter-in-law convinced me it was a badge of honor and a sign of bravery. Now I only cover it up when we go into town. Puts folks at ease.”
    “I…” Hank rarely found himself speechless. Hattie Ellenberg was definitely someone he had to talk to at length.
    “How about we go set on the porch and get out of the sun? I’ve got some coffee on.” She started toward the house.
    Amelia had dismissed him. There was no reason