His Blessing in Disguise: A Western Historical Romance Novel Page 3

  “What’re you thinking about?” Bill’s voice echoed in Peter’s ear as he sat at one of the card tables, staring at Layla.

  “Nothing,” Peter replied flatly. “I was just sitting here.”

  “Just sitting, eh? Looks to me that you were doing a bit more than that,” Bill continued with a smirk in Peter’s direction. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” Peter replied as he sipped his drink.

  “The man who sees everything hasn’t noticed?” Bill shook his head. “You really shouldn’t lie; it doesn’t suit you.”

  “Who said I was lying?” Peter countered, turning to Bill sharply.

  The sheriff continued to smile smugly in his direction. “I said,” he answered. “I’d say it again, too, if you asked me. Anyone can tell that you have more than a little interest in our town’s newest resident.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter refuted. “Layla’s an employee and that’s all.”

  “Then why can’t you take your eyes off of her?” Bill pressed.

  Peter shook his head. Bill was like a rabid dog when he got ahold of something, and for the moment, that something was the possibility of there being some kind of attraction between him and Layla. It was absurd. The girl was nine years his junior and they’d barely known each other a few weeks. Still, it didn’t stop Bill from speculating.

  “How’s she fitting in with Annabelle?”

  “Wonderfully. Annabelle’s exact words were, ‘She’s an angel,’” Peter told him. “She seems to have made a positive impression on her, which is good. I would’ve hated it if they couldn’t get along—plus, it would’ve left another problem in finding someplace else for Layla to live.”

  “It’s a good thing you made that match, then?” teased Bill. “You seem to be really good at matching people together. I was wondering if you could do the same for yourself.”

  “I don’t need to be matched,” Peter replied, completely rejecting the notion that he needed someone new in his life. God had done His matching in Peter’s life many years before, and it had pleased Him to end that union six years ago. Peter had no interest in trying again.

  “Come on, now, you can’t tell me you aren’t the least bit curious about this girl? I know I am, and I’m pretty sure half the men in town are, too,” Bill continued. “Has she given you any clues to her history? Who her people are, or anything at all?”

  “Nothing,” Peter answered with a shake of his head. “Everything’s so vague with her. Still, I can’t say that it means something’s wrong. She might just be a private person. There’s no harm in that.”

  “But you’d still like to know for sure,” Bill finished.

  “Yes.” Peter sighed. “I would like to know, but there’s no way of telling what the truth could be and, honestly, I don’t know if I need to press her on it, either. She’s doing a good job and the customers really like her. Maybe, this time, I should just let sleeping dogs lie.”

  Bill chuckled. “I doubt that.”

  “Doubt what? I can leave things alone if I want to.”

  “In what lifetime?” The sheriff scoffed. “Certainly not this one.”

  “Yes, I can,” Peter insisted. He didn’t always have to know. He could let things alone.

  “If that’s the case, then why have you never done it?” Bill raised his hand to get the attention of the nearest waitress, and Peter was almost tempted to tell her not to come. Bill was wrong about him. Peter didn’t need to know everything. It made him seem like some busybody, which he was not.

  Peter pushed away from the table and got to his feet. If Bill wanted to play games, he could do that on his own. Peter had a business to run.

  He left Bill at the table and walked across the room to the bar. “Hi, Layla,” he greeted as he approached.

  “Hi there, Deputy,” she replied automatically as she dried out the inside of a glass mug. Her hair was pinned up high on her head and an apron adorned her waist. The dress Annabelle had bought her was simple but nice, made from a solid blue material with a black belt cinching her waist.

  “I told you, call me Peter,” he corrected with a smile.

  “I’m sorry, Peter,” she said warmly. “Can I get you anything? The sheriff, maybe?”

  “Roseanna will bring over his order any minute,” he informed her.

  “Alright,” Layla replied. “You think you want to tell me what it is beforehand, so I don’t have to waste time waiting?”

  “Sorry, I can’t help you. I didn’t stay long enough to hear it,” he admitted with a smile.

  “No problem, she’s coming over now. I can get the order from her,” Layla replied, setting up a glass to pour the sheriff’s drink into it.

  “Double shot of whiskey,” Roseanna stated. “He’d also like an order of chow,” she added. The saloon served up dinner in the evening, usually something hearty. Today, it was meatloaf and boiled potatoes.

  “Coming up,” Layla replied, and jotted down two notes before grabbing the whiskey bottle from the shelf.

  She placed one copy of the order on the server and the drink on top of it before Roseanne returned to Bill. Once his drink was in hand, she’d take the food order to the kitchen to be filled while Layla kept the second copy for their records.

  Peter leaned on the bar, smiling at how efficiently Layla was. The orders came up and she shot them out much faster than he’d been able to. “How’re you liking it?” he asked her. “Richstone, that is.”

  Layla smiled at him with that smile that made his heart get all warm inside. She had a way about her that got to him deep. Sometimes, she smiled like there was nothing in the world that could touch her, and then there were other times when he could see something was troubling her.

  “I’m loving it,” she answered. She set up three shots and poured them off in a row before pushing the glasses across the bar top to their owners. “The people in Richstone are real welcoming.”

  She turned her focus to him. “You haven’t told me how I’m doing. I’ve been working here for three weeks, and you haven’t said a word.”

  “You’re doing good,” he said with a smile. “Customers like you and you seem to have everything under control.”

  “That’s people. What do you think?” she reiterated her question and looking at him keenly, as if what he thought mattered. It was odd. Peter couldn’t think why it would.

  He smiled. “I like you,” he answered finally, after he weighed his words. “I think you’re a good addition around here. You’ve got a sweet spirit and you’re real welcoming. You keep to yourself, which doesn’t leave people much room to get to know you, but I think in time that’ll change—once you see that the people here aren’t as scary as you might think. I know a guy like me could make you wonder about that,” he joked.

  Layla laughed. “I like you, too, Deputy… Peter.”

  “Then I’d say that’s good, then,” Peter replied. There was a lump in his throat and a strange feeling in his gut that he wasn’t sure about. He knew what it was, but couldn’t understand why he was feeling it now. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time, and didn’t think he ever would again.

  Layla made him feel a lot of things that were new to him. However, it was that first feeling he was still trying to figure out. Something was coming. He still believed it. He just wasn’t sure it was something he should worry about. Was Layla McCarthy hiding some huge secret? And if she was, how was it going to affect him and this town?

  “What is it?” she asked suddenly.

  “Hmm?”

  “You were staring,” she informed him with a small chuckle. Her cheeks turned pink, and she tucked her dark hair behind her ear.

  “I’m sorry,” Peter said, getting to his feet. “I didn’t realize. I was just thinking.”

  “About what?” She raised her hazel eyes to meet his. The smile that appeared on her face made him wonder if she always smiled like that, or if there was something else there. He swallowed
the question and decided instead to focus his attention elsewhere.

  Peter looked around the saloon. “About how business is going tonight,” he replied. He couldn’t bring himself to admit the truth. He wasn’t sure she’d take it well to know he’d been thinking that intently about her.

  “It’s looking to be a busy night,” Layla answered. “I heard some of the fellas from the ranch outside of town talking about how some of the miners from north of here were looking to come to town for some fun.”

  Peter’s eyes turned to her once more. “Miners?”

  She nodded.

  “Then I’d better stick around tonight. It might get a bit rowdier than usual. Those guys, when they’ve got their pay, sometimes forget themselves in the fun,” he explained.

  “I’ll be alright. You’ve had a long day and I’m sure you could use the rest,” she assured him, then turned to a patron who was calling for her attention. Peter watched her as she went and saw that the smile she gave the other man was the same one she’d given him. It was nothing special.

  Peter laughed to himself. He wasn’t even sure what he was thinking, but whatever it was it was clearly foolish. He raked his fingers through his dark brown hair. He was tired, but he wasn’t about to leave Layla on a night like this, no matter what she said.

  He stepped behind the bar, grabbed an extra apron, and tied it around his waist.

  “What’re you doing?” she asked when she noticed what he was doing.

  “I’m helping you,” Peter replied. She attempted to protest but he stopped her. “Now, don’t argue with me. It’s never a good idea to argue with your boss or the law, and I’m both,” he teased.

  She chuckled. “Alright then, I won’t argue. However, I do want my opinion on the record that your help isn’t warranted. I can take care of myself.”

  Peter smiled and nodded. “I can see that, and your opinion is duly noted, but overruled. We work together in this town. We take care of each other, and you’re part of this town now.”

  Layla’s expression changed the minute the words left his mouth. It was as if she’d been struck dumb. “You mean that? You really think of me as part of this town?”

  He took a step closer as another smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Of course I do. You’re one of us. We don’t take long to decide on people and once we do, we usually don’t change our position.”

  When Layla sighed, Peter wished he could read her mind. What was she thinking? There was so much about her he wanted to know—and it wasn’t just because it was his job, or his inclination to be informed. He was genuinely interested in the young woman. There was a mystery to Layla that made Peter want to know more.

  “What can I get you?” he asked one of the patrons, turning away from Layla. The intensity in her hazel eyes was like a magnet, pulling him toward her, and Peter didn’t like the tug. He didn’t need to get sucked in. He just wanted to be sure that all was well—for her, for the town and, by extension, for him.

  He poured the man his drink and then served another for his companion. A sound of voices floated in from the outside, and when the doors opened, a band of men came strolling in, grinning from ear-to-ear. Peter could tell by their looks that they were the miners Layla had spoken of.

  Somewhat dusty, far from tidy, and with a slight twinge to the nose, those men had seen many days digging and panning for gold. Now, they were in town to celebrate, freshen up, and maybe find themselves a woman or two. It wouldn’t be the first time a miner with a pocket of gold found himself a bride in a night. In this town, there were three men to every woman. Most of the time, the choices were farmers or men like Peter, who made a decent living but nothing spectacular. But a miner could offer real wealth.

  Layla looked at him. “They don’t look too bad,” she commented, scanning the throng of new patrons.

  Peter shook his head and chuckled. “We’ll see if you’re still saying that at the end of the night.”

  Chapter Four

  Waking before dawn was nothing that Layla wasn’t used to. In the years that she’d lived with Jacob and his gang, she’d spent most of her days waking before everyone else and going to bed long after. However, this was different. She didn't feel the weight of rising to work for others. It felt good to get up and know that when she got to work that day, she was helping others, people who cared about what she did.

  Annabelle never ceased to express her thanks for the work Layla did. In fact, her praise made Layla feel strange and almost embarrassed. She wasn't used to it. People had never noticed the good she did for them in the past. She’d always taken for granted, but not in Richstone. Here, Layla mattered.

  And it wasn't only Annabelle who made her feel special. It was Peter, too. The lawman had a way of making her feel as if there was no one else in the room. It was a silly thought, she knew, but she couldn't help it. Whenever she looked up and found his eyes on her, she felt the back of her neck warm before it spread to her cheeks. She found herself thinking about him often.

  Peter Jones was a good man, and that wasn't just public opinion—Layla believed it, too. Annabelle had nothing but the highest consideration for him. Even now, as they hung the laundry on the line, she was speaking adamantly of the deputy sheriff's many good qualities.

  "When Peter became deputy, I, for one, was happy 'bout it. Though there were some who weren't sure he could do the job, I knew he could," she stated, taking a wooden peg from the basket and clipping the corner of the sheet to the line. Layla did the same to the other end.

  "After Sheriff Bill, Peter is the best lawman this town has ever had. I swear it," she insisted, and turned to Layla. "I've lived plenty of places, Layla, and seen many a man wear a badge. But never have I ever met two men who take their jobs as seriously as those two."

  "I can see that about them," Layla agreed, grabbing another garment and a few pins. She stifled a laugh as she thought of her first day in town and how Peter had questioned her so intently. Not to mention his welcome speech.

  Annabelle smiled at her. "Peter has a way of pickin' up things 'bout people," she said. "He picks up the good no one sees and the bad."

  Layla's heart clenched in her chest. Could he really tell such a thing? Was that even possible? If so, why had she not been given the gift of such a skill? It might have saved her years of unhappiness.

  When Jacob McCarthy had walked into town, Layla had never seen a more handsome or exciting man. He’d said everything she wanted to hear and a few things she never could've imagined, and it hadn’t taken long before she was hooked on every word.

  Peter wasn't like that.

  In the three weeks since her arrival, Peter had not once tried to tempt her. He never offered her a drink, or to take her anywhere, nor did he try to tickle her ears with fanciful stories to make himself look good. On the contrary, Peter rarely spoke about himself. He talked about the town and the people, and the way he wanted things to be for everyone. He was a man who had the best intentions of others at heart—and Layla found it more endearing than anything she'd ever heard before.

  He was honorable. Layla had never met an honorable man before. She may have met some men who were decent, maybe even good, but never honorable. Peter was the kind of man she’d always wanted to marry. The kind of man she had once hoped Jacob would be. The kind of man she now knew he could never be.

  Recently, the strangest thoughts had come to her mind—thoughts of what it would be like to have a man like Peter in her life, someone who cared. If she was honest with herself, it wasn't someone like Peter she wondered about. It was Peter himself. The looks he gave her and the kindness he showed was winning her over unexpectedly, making her think of things she might never have before they met. All Layla had wanted when she’d left Jacob was to start a new life, but now she was beginning to wonder if that new life could come with a new love.

  "Layla?" Annabelle called, snapping Layla from her thoughts.

  "Yes?"

  "You alright, dear? You seemed a bit far of
f," Annabelle inquired. Layla smiled at the look of concern on Annabelle’s face. Growing up an orphan, Layla had always wanted someone to look at her the way Annabelle did. Someone to care enough to notice the change in her disposition. Someone who knew her so well that she didn't have to say a word for them to know that something was wrong. A mother.

  No one in Layla’s life had ever fit that description. The women who ran the home she grew up in never smiled or treated the children kindly. They were a burden and the job was just that, work to pay their bills. Most of them had children at home and the ones they cared for were an additional burden that enabled them to feed their own. They’d never loved her. No one had.