LITMIR.BIZ

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from the rack in front of her, turning to the hymn being sung. Her soprano was clear and sweet in his ears. Sam knew very few hymns, so he just enjoyed listening to her voice and hoped that she would not read anything into his silence.

      Reverend Chadwick, who’d been sitting to the left of the pulpit, rose and gestured for everyone to be seated.

      “Good Sunday morning, ladies and gentlemen. Isn’t it a pretty day?”

      There were murmurs of agreement. “We are here to worship, but today we also have a special cause for thankfulness. As many of you may have heard, Simpson Creek has a new sheriff, Mr. Sam Bishop.”

      Sam was caught off guard. He was a cause for thankfulness? If that didn’t beat all. After looking up at the preacher, he glanced around and saw everyone nodding and smiling at him.

      Reverend Chadwick beckoned. “Sam, come on up front. You, too, Mayor. Sam, it’s customary in Simpson Creek to swear you into your new office in front of the whole town, since you’re promising to serve and protect them.” He held a thick, black-leather-bound Bible in his hand.

      Sam got to his feet and followed the mayor to the front. He hadn’t thought about the fact that he hadn’t been sworn in at the time he’d put on the badge. Now it was about to happen in front of everyone, in a house of worship. He did his best to keep his face expressionless and solemn, but he as took his place by the pulpit with Prissy’s father, he was all too aware that he had come to town and taken this job under false pretences. He had lied about his reason for coming to town as well as his previous experience. The only time he’d spent in a sheriff’s office had been inside a cell, for petty crimes like disorderly conduct. And he’d turned away a man who probably did have experience.

      He saw Prissy smiling proudly at him from the front pew. The very sight of her looking at him with such trust caused him to offer the first real prayer he’d offered up in many years.

      Lord, please don’t strike me dead for lying. It would upset Miss Prissy. I’m sorry, God, and I’ll try to make up for it.

      Mayor Gilmore stood facing him, with the preacher holding the Bible between them. “Place your right hand on the Good Book and hold up your left hand,” he said, and waited until Sam did so. “Samuel Bishop, do you solemnly swear to serve and protect the town of Simpson Creek, to uphold the statutes of this town and the laws of Texas, as well as the Constitution of the United States of America?”

      Sam nodded, relieved that no bolt of lightning had struck him—at least not yet. “I do.”

      A smile appeared on the jowly features of the mayor. “Then it is my distinct pleasure to announce that Samuel Bishop is officially our new sheriff. I’m sure the Reverend wouldn’t find it out of place to give him a round of applause, folks.”

      Sam smiled as the congregation stood. They clapped their hands, and the knot of guilt in his stomach began to ease. He couldn’t believe it. They were glad he was here. They were willing to take him at his word that he would wear that five-pointed tin star with honor. He suddenly felt humble, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

      “You can take your seats, gentlemen,” the preacher said. “I know you’ll all want to greet Sam after the service, but let’s sing our next hymn before I start into my sermon.”

      Sarah began playing another tune as Sam left the pulpit and found his way back to Prissy. He hardly heard the Reverend’s sermon. Instead, he thought about the trust that Prissy and all the people of Simpson Creek had just placed in him. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to live up to their expectations.

      Beside him now, Prissy plied an ivory-handled fan with a delicate flower design as she concentrated on the sermon. Clearly coming to church was very important to her. Was he doing her a disservice by pretending to be a…what? God-fearing man? A believer?

      Was he pretending?

      Sam did notice, however, Prissy darting a look at her father—who seemed to be giving some sidelong glances of his own at the lady beside him. When Prissy returned her gaze to the pulpit after one of these glances, he caught an anxious look on her features. He wondered who this lady was that was causing Prissy concern.

      The temperature in the little chapel climbed. Ladies wielded their fans faster and faster. Here and there gents pulled out handkerchiefs and mopped their foreheads. At last Reverend Chadwick stopped preaching, the congregation rose for a final hymn, and the service was over.

      Before they even left the pew, the mayor stopped him. “I didn’t want to interrupt the service when you came in, but I want to introduce you to an old friend from my childhood, Mrs. Hap Fairchild. She and her husband and I were friends back in school. He’s passed on now, but Mariah—that is, Mrs. Fairchild—is thinking about settling down here.”

      Ah, Sam thought, understanding immediately why Prissy looked so unhappy. Her father was a lonely widower, and Prissy didn’t cotton to the idea of him putting another woman in her mother’s place. Yet the woman’s smile was genuine and warm, and there was no denying her effect on James Gilmore.

      “Mrs. Fairchild,” Sam said politely, taking the gloved hand she extended. “I’ve only been in Simpson Creek since Friday, but it already feels like home to me. I hope you’ll be very happy here.”

      “I’m sure I will. It’s nice to meet you, Sheriff Bishop. I’m sure the town’s in good hands with you as sheriff and James as mayor.”

      He didn’t miss the way Prissy’s lips tightened, and was sorry that she felt threatened.

      “I hope you’ll be back,” Reverend Chadwick said, as they came to the entrance. The preacher was shaking hands with each person as they left.

      “Yessir, I’ll be back,” Sam said, warmed by the man’s friendliness. He suspected he would be back—even if Prissy was the real reason he came. Before he could say any more, another man extended his hand.

      “Sheriff Bishop, I’m Dr. Walker—Nolan Walker, that is.” His accent was distinctly Yankee—from Maine, Sam thought. “You met my wife, Sarah, yesterday.”

      There seemed to be an interminable number of people who wanted to introduce themselves to Sam and shake his hand, from the homes and businesses around town as well as from outlying ranches. He was overwhelmed with names, friendliness and open interest.

      So this is what it’s like to belong somewhere…

      When they were alone again, Prissy turned to him with avid curiosity. “Will you tell me what it is you were arranging before church?”

      “I’ve arranged with the hotel to pack us a picnic basket—but of course, I realize it’s short notice, and you might have made other plans,” he added. “If that’s the case, perhaps I’ll just give it to one of the other ladies.” He glanced at the knot of Spinsters’ Club females he’d met before church, who were gathered under the shade of a cottonwood, discussing the two of them, if their sidelong glances were anything to go by. “I wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

      She smiled at him, please by his gesture. “I have to ask my father, of course.”

      “Oh, but I already have,” he told her. “Yesterday, as a matter of fact, after you visited me with Sarah. He seemed quite open to the idea. So now the only question remains, where are we to enjoy this picnic?”

      Prissy was so astonished she could barely respond. “Sam Bishop, you are full of surprises.”

      He grinned, hoping against hope that the only surprises she would ever get from him would be pleasant ones.

      Chapter Six

      Prissy felt the warmth of joy bubbling up within her, warmer than the summer sun above her. He’d secured her father’s permission to court her the very day after he’d asked her? And he’d gone to the trouble of planning an outing already? But wait—wasn’t this all happening a bit too fast?

      “Prissy, are you all right?”

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