Allison left her mother's funeral an orphan. Her father passed two years earlier, a victim of the rioting between the abolitionists and the pro-slavery factions and she had no siblings. The two rooms she and her mother shared required a rent that Allison had no means of paying; almost all the remaining funds were necessary to see her mother didn't end up in a Potter's Field.

The meagre belongings left behind were bundled up for donation to The Sisters of Charity, a new home for the one remaining gown and few bits of jewellery, a pair of lace gloves Allison had never seen worn, shoes and a wicker knitting basket with some wool and an unfinished shawl. Her mother's jacket was too small for Allison and she checked the pockets before including it in the bundle - empty, much like her mother's life and now her own.

Her first consideration being on her own had been to find work to help keep a roof over her head and food in her stomach. In spite of the emerging business in the fast growing city, employment for a young single woman was difficult unless she opted for the many unsavoury opportunities available. Her income at several different locations doing menial tasks failed to provide enough for all her needs and the social life she craved diminished to a futile dream.

It was a notice in the local paper she happened to see that caught her attention and imagination. An advertisement for a marriage agency stating they professionally matched interested women with men looking for a bride to share the adventure of creating a new life of opportunity in the American west.

Curiosity drove Allison to visit the office of the agency and learn more about the prospect of becoming a mail order bride. It took her three visits to come to a decision. Learning all the tales of successful women who chose to accept the challenge of a new, fulfilling life. Details of the arrangements were explained by the eager, smiling agent and Allison filled out papers of contract, including payment of the modest fee eagerly scraped together to cover agency expenses. Her travel was arranged for her and was covered by the future husband applicant.

The match the agency suggested set her imagination racing; the image of a successful cattle ranch with a sprawling ranch house complete with a verandah and flowers surrounding the foundation. The picture of a stunning view across grassy range land dotted with grazing cattle was all she needed to send her starry-eyed on her way west.

Nine days later Allison had left her job, made another donation to the Sisters of Charity, packed everything else she owned into one large suitcase and boarded the train west. Eyes eager and fearful gazed at the passing landscape as the train moved into less and less populated country; moments of trepidation were repressed by the images she had been shown of her destination and excitement remained front and centre.

Parkerville

Walter Kirkland stood up from the desk and dusted the crumbs off his pants from the cake he was enjoying.

"Sheriff! Wasn't expectin' you back so soon."

"Apparently." Nathan hung his hat by the door and moved around to his chair, dusting off the cushion and blowing more wayward crumbs from his desk. "You do anything while I was away besides eat?"

"Nope. Real quiet. Some wanted posters came in and a letter from the Territory Marshal; I didn't open that."

"You could have, Walter, as Deputy in charge- you're in charge."

"I'm in charge?"

"Not any more . . . but thanks for fillin' in." Nathan scanned the posters and tore the end off the envelope. "No sign of Wellman at all?" He slipped out a couple of folded sheets and sat down to read.

"Nope."

"Okay then, then Walter, thanks again. I'll see you get your pay right soon."

Walter left, munching the rest of his bun and unintentionally slamming the door. Nathan winced, his head was still tender and the doc had said he had a small concussion, rest and relaxation was recommended. The letter was in response to a request Morely Ashbridge had forwarded about taxes on the Wellman property. Nathan was impressed, he hadn't really expected any action from the banker then he thought about the incident at the bank and smiled to himself -- payback.

He scanned the obligatory phrases concerning the request then went on to the actual information, slowing his reading as he absorbed the contents with concern and confusion. The county records showed that the property in question represented 176 acres, 50 being on the north side of the Longhorn River.

The property was registered in the name of Ichabod Wellman, uncle deceased.Blake Wellman was designated sole heir but there were no official papers to that effect; like so many who just verbally passed things on to children or other family.

Reading further, Nathan learned that a claim had been made against the original deed by one Ansen Playford who presented a paper stating a payment of $3000.00 was made to Blake Wellman to put a hold on the property until certain personal business matters were confirmed. The claimant stated that there was a gentleman's agreement for an additional payment of $6500.00 at that time. Nathan thought about the note he'd seen in Blake's papers saying the money was owed not paid and he wondered if Morely saw that before he requested the information.

The rest of the letter explained that because Blake had died without leaving a will of his own, the county and the bank would retain title while the claim by Ansen Playford was being investigated and if it was proven, the mentioned agreement would be honoured. Counterclaims would have a grace period of one tax year for processing. Otherwise, if not proven and no relatives or other claimants came forward then it would all become county property and disposed of to satisfy outstanding debts.

Nathan sat back and stared at the ceiling, trying to sort the information into something that would make sense. He chewed his lip wishing he knew more about this Ansen Playford - who he was and where was he from. He obviously wanted that property for some reason. Another talk with Morley was in order.

************

Nathan tipped his hat brim up and stared past his boots to the door. Allison stood just inside, surprise on her face.

"I thought you were supposed to be at home resting."

"Well I was resting, as you might have noticed." He swung his legs down off the desk and stood, stretching. "As for home, this is it. I have room in the back next to the cells."

"You- you live here? In the jail?"

"Yep. Got a bed and a place to keep my stuff. A basin and a pitcher of water, razor and soap. Jenny does my laundry and Maggie feeds me when I eat." He put his hands in the tops of his pockets and leaned against the desk. "So how come you're here?"

"Oh, uh- I came to ask where you lived. I brought some food from the hotel and a treat from the store. Mr. Ledger got a delivery of fancy cakes from back east . . ." His smile made her blush and she hesitated, stepping forward and setting her basket on his desk.

Nathan fetched the other chair and offered it to her, asking if she would join him.

"This is a treat, Allison; I'll make some coffee - you drink coffee?"

"I can manage," she laughed. "Western coffee is a challenge."

"I'll go rinse the pot, that'll weaken it a bit."

"Oh no, you don't--"

"No bother. Needs it anyway."

Allison opened her basket and took out the food and cleared a place on his desk. Her eyes drifted to the back where the cells were and she suddenly wondered if there was anyone in them. Nathan returned from the well out back just as she was peering through the doorway.

"I can give you a tour if you like."

"No- I just wondered if- if . . ."

"If I had any prisoners. Nope, quiet around here for the most part. The odd drunk or some troublesome drovers when the drive is in. Nothing much else."

They sat quietly eating and sharing a few laughs over Nathan's coffee then Allison turned serious.

"Maggie told me about Blake Wellman's brother; I mean why he was here."

"Probably best you know. He' still around, using the property as an excuse but it's a blind rage he's fighting." He watched her face shift in discomfort. "Long s he doesn't know it's you we don't have anything to fret over. We've all told him that the woman went back east."

"But he doesn't believe you."

"No he doesn't, Allison but you don't need to worry any; he won't find out and soon he'll give it up."

They cleaned up the food on the desk and Nathan stood, waiting for his head to think of something to say.

"You don't really believe that do you?"

"Huh? Believe what?"

"That man will give up."

He puffed out his cheeks and let out a slow breath. "Honestly . . . no, I don't. But there's no reason to worry, nobody will say anything."

Allison picked up her basket and moved to the door. "I wish I shared your optimism, Sheriff."

The title instead of his name gave Nathan pause and he studied Allison closely. She looked tired and worried and he searched for words that would calm and comfort her.

"I need to get back, my lunch time is over."

"Let me walk you." Nathan grabbed his hat and started after her.

""No, please. You should be resting. It's only a few steps . . ."

"Okay, if you say. The lunch was great, that was right kindly of you. I enjoyed it. It was nice to have the visit. Those cakes were delicious. I'm glad the coffee wasn't-"

"Nathan, I get it. You're welcome." Her smile made him sag and he rubbed his neck, reflecting on her use of his name again.

He stayed in the doorway, watching her all the way back to Ledger's store.