LITMIR.BIZ

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he said.

      “Oh, dear.” Gathering up her black skirt, Hannah started down the sidewalk toward Abel’s office. “If you’ll excuse me, Henry, I’m very, very late.”

      “May I see you to your destination?” he called.

      Almost sprinting now herself, Hannah just waved her hand in what she hoped was a polite but firm gesture of refusal.

      Being late for the reading of Ezra’s will was hardly an auspicious beginning of her new life of independence and responsibility. On the other hand, it struck her as a mere formality. What difference did it make? There was no one else in Ezra’s life except her. His parents were long dead, and since he’d been an only child there were no brothers or sisters to be remembered in his will. No long-lost cousins or uncles or aunts. Nary a niece or nephew. As far as Hannah knew, for the past fourteen years, there had been no one in his life but her.

      Abel’s office was located on the second floor above Hub Watson’s saddlery and leather goods. Hannah dragged her heavy black skirts up the outside stairs, all the while dreading being met by deep frown lines on Abel’s brow and a disapproving droop to his mustache. She stood on the landing a moment to catch her breath and to steel herself for a possible reprimand for her tardiness, then she knocked on the door, just below the brass plaque that proclaimed “A. Fairfax, Attorney-at-Law, Journalist, Scribe.”

      “Come in, Hannah.” Abel’s voice came through the closed door, and she was relieved that he didn’t sound unreasonably perturbed or even slightly impatient.

      She opened the door and stepped into what could only be described as a dim, dusty maze of books and journals. All four walls were lined with bookcases. More bookcases stood in front of the windows, all but blotting out the light of day. Dozens of bookcases. Crammed bookcases. There were books atop the bookcases, and towers of books on the floor. A veritable librarian’s nightmare. What little sunlight that managed somehow to filter through the windows was riddled with motes of dust.

      Hannah’s skirt brushed against one literary tower and set it to swaying precariously. She was leery of taking one more step for fear of starting a domino effect that would scuttle Abel’s entire office in mere moments, so she stood still just inside the door, breathing the musty air and letting her eyes become accustomed to the dim interior.

      And that was when she noticed, quite suddenly, that, in addition to all the books, there was a shotgun leaning against a bookcase and, on the far side of the office, someone—Delaney!—was leaning against a window frame.

      Abel rose from behind his cluttered desk. “That’s all right, Hannah. It’s an office, not a china shop. There’s nothing that’ll break. Here.” He chuckled softly as he swept a newspaper off a chair and gestured for her to be seated.

      Hannah hesitated. Her heart was in her throat now, getting in the way of speech. “Shall I... Would you prefer if I waited outside until you’ve finished your business with the sheriff?” she asked.

      “No. That won’t be necessary. Sit. Come on. Sit right here.” Abel glanced over his shoulder. “Sheriff, why don’t you take that other chair. Just shove those pamphlets onto the floor.”

      Delaney’s spurs made a soft music when he crossed the room. Then, when he took the chair beside hers, she could have sworn the temperature in Abel’s office went up several significant degrees. Out of the corner of her eye, she was intensely aware of Delaney’s long legs, even the ropy veins on the backs of his hands and the tanned cords of muscle below his rolled-up sleeves. Before she realized it, she had reached out to grasp a pamphlet on Abel’s desk and had begun fanning herself with it.

      “I’ll make this as quick as I can, Hannah. I know it’s uncomfortable in here,” Abel said.

      Uncomfortable, yes. But it wasn’t just the heat, Hannah thought. Why was it she could never breathe properly when Delaney was around? Her chest felt constricted, as if her corset had shrunk a size or two.

      “Thank you, Abel.” She glanced to her left, tried to mount a tiny smile, then asked, “I suppose the sheriff is here as a witness?”

      “Well, no. Not exactly, Hannah. Ezra’s will was witnessed a month ago by me and Mayor Staub. Not that Herman knows what’s in it. He just signed and certified that Ezra was competent and in his right mind.” Abel’s gaze moved slowly and deliberately from Hannah to Delaney and back. “Which he was, I think you’ll agree, in spite of his pain. Competent, I mean, and in his right mind.”

      “Of course he was,” she said with more than a little starchiness. “Ezra was the sanest man I’ve ever known.”

      Delaney merely shrugged.

      “All right then.” Abel picked up a single folded sheet of paper. “I’ll just read this in Ezra’s own words. It’s pretty simple. No wherefore’s or furthermore’s or other legal mumbo jumbo. Just his final wishes.”

      Read it! Hannah wanted to scream. Let this be done so I can go home. Home where it’s cool and I can breathe again.

      After unfolding the paper, Abel stared at it a moment and then began to read. “These are my worldly goods. A house located on the corner of Main and Madison Streets in Newton, Kansas, and all the contents therein. There aren’t any secret bank accounts or railroad certificates hidden in drawers or books. There’s a thousand dollars in gold, Hannah, and you know where that is. It’s yours now.”

      Abel peered over the will at Hannah. He raised his eyebrows as if to ask if she understood. Hannah nodded in reply. She knew where the gold was. Over the years Ezra had a habit of stashing coins in the pair of French porcelain ewers on the mantel in the front parlor. Since she was the one who dusted there and had to move the heavy vases, it didn’t surprise her a bit that the total came to a thousand dollars.

      Abel cleared his throat and continued. “As for the furniture and all the other contents of the house, they’re yours, too, Hannah.”

      She nodded again, unsurprised, for she had chosen nearly every stick of furniture and every rug, plate, picture and pillowcase there. “Fill up our house, honey,” Ezra had said. And so she had.

      To her left now, Hannah was aware of Delaney shifting restlessly in his chair. He seemed as eager to leave as she was.

      “About the house,” Abel read. “I’ve given this considerable thought. Delaney, you saved my life last January when my feet went out from under me in front of the bank and the McCarthy boys’ wagon just about backed over me. Maybe you don’t even recollect what you did.”

      Abel glanced toward the sheriff. “You remember that?” he asked.

      “Sorta.”

      Hannah had a vague memory of a bruise on Ezra’s arm sometime last winter. It might have been January. “It’s nothing,” he’d told her. “Slipped on the confounded ice.” But he hadn’t said a word about any peril or apparent rescue.

      Abel read on. “You said it was nothing then, yanking me out of harm’s way like that. But it wasn’t nothing to me. I was dying anyway, but at least you kept me from dying a cripple or an amputee. I’m grateful to you, Delaney. And so I’m leaving you my house.”

      Hannah stopped fanning herself. “The house? What was that about the house, Abel?” Surely she hadn’t heard him correctly. Surely Ezra hadn’t meant...

      “That’s what Ezra wanted, Hannah. The furniture and everything is yours, but the house goes to Delaney here.”

      “Why, that’s...that’s...” She couldn’t think of a word to describe her complete bafflement. “It’s absurd. It doesn’t make any sense.”

      “Maybe not,” Abel said. “But that’s the way Ezra wanted it.”

      The temperature in the office suddenly seemed to increase tenfold, making Hannah feel sick and dizzy. There was some mistake. That was it. Some terrible mix-up. She was certain of that. She’d go home and wait for Abel. He’d explain it then, and they’d laugh at her

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