Vegas: Los Vegas Rancho2
May 1885
It was a one-room schoolhouse, situated at the end of town, away from the dust of the road and the nefarious businesses that lined it. There were wooden steps leading up to it, and a little garden of flowers that were sheltered from the hot sun on the west side of the building. It was a dull red color, but clean and airy and lined with windows. It was quiet and calm and safe.
It was the perfect place for Moira Sumner to be.
There weren't many students but those that were in attendance were mostly good and eager to learn. On these busy late May afternoons class ended early so the children could return to their farms to help with the planting and milking and sundry other chores. Moira was cleaning up the desks, returning fallen slates to their places. She wiped down the chalkboard, slow strokes as she erased the day's lesson, eradicating all evidence of it from the board.
Hearing a noise she whirled, eraser in hand. She stared. The sheriff was standing in the doorway, lounging really as his long, lean form blocked all of the sunlight. His hat was tilted back from his handsome face and one ankle was crossed in front of the other. "Sheriff? Is there something you require?"
John smiled. He had been watching her clean the board. The motions of her body under the lightweight summer frock she wore, a soft gray linen that shifted as her body moved, as her arm lifted and dropped, lifted and dropped. The bustle was modest and concealed her rear from him, but the skirt lifted to give him a glimpse of her ankles above her sensible shoes. As she turned to him he admired the front of the dress, the lace bodice that had a hint of color in it and hugged her curves for him to speculate about as she turned slightly. He licked his lips. Doffed his hat and held it as he sauntered towards her.
His boots made a clomping sound with each step he took. The spurs jingled softly. His duster flapped open, revealing his low-slung gun belt and the gun holstered there. The snug pants leaving little to the imagination, the shirt even less as it was carelessly tucked in and a few buttons were open at his chest, revealing a glimpse of dark, coarse hair. The shirt was olive, thin and revealing every muscle as he moved his arms as he walked. His dark brown hair was wild, disordered by the hat and a cowlick was sticking up behind one ear. His handsome face was lined with stubble. "Ma'am. A word."
Moira pried her gaze off him and stepped to the desk, keeping it between them like a barrier. She touched a book sitting there, then a long bone that was beige with age. She ran her fingers lightly along it, hearing his boots as they neared, neared, then the silence as he stopped. "About?" she asked, meeting his gaze again.
John was watching the sunlight as it slanted through the windows and fell upon her brown hair, revealing tints of red. For once she was devoid of a bonnet. A few strands of hair were falling loose from the bun behind her head, curling across her rosy cheek and along her throat until the dress's high collar intervened. "I hear tell you've been teaching some radical new theory."
"Oh. Yes."
"Yes?" John raised a brow at her simple answer.
"Yes. How is that the business of the sheriff?" she asked, fingers stilling on the bone.
John had been watching her stroking the fossil. He had been allured by the motion of her fingers along the length of it. He met her gaze, stepping closer and touched the bone. It was smooth under his fingers. Warm. Hard. "It's not, but I've had a few complaints. About this evolving theory."
She smiled. "The theory of evolution. Yes. Mr. Charles Darwin has posited a very convincing argument which he put forth in a book which I am using to elucidate the theory. And the discovery of this on the farm."
"The bone." He glanced down at it.
"Yes, Mr. Sheppard. I've consulted several books devoted to the science of paleontology and I have shown this to Doctor Beckett and our consensus is that this is a leg bone, more specifically the femur of a now extinct animal that once roamed the earth millions of years ago. Yes, millions of years," she insisted, although he offered no objection, "for the world is far older than we ever believed, Mr. Sheppard. We have the proof in geology and the new sciences. And this leg bone once belonged to an extinct order of animals the paleontologists are calling dinosaurs. Terrible lizards, huge reptiles that once roamed the land we are standing on right now. Right now! The ancestors, if you will of the more familiar and smaller lizards that we encounter today in the desert. Furthermore I have discovered other fossils belonging to equally strange and equally ancient species, including a most curious skull that is unlike anything I have ever seen, even in the most prestigious periodicals and I…oh. Forgive me, Mr. Sheppard. I'm sure you have no interest in these things."
John trailed his fingers up the length of the bone towards her fingers. He met her gaze, smiled. He tilted his head in a flirtatious manner as he had become enchanted by her words and her enthusiasm. He had been thoroughly enchanted by the slight Irish lilt in her voice as her words became animated. Her brown eyes were shining, intoxicating as was her passion for the subject matter. "As a matter of fact, Mrs. Sumner, I find you quite exciting."
She smiled. "You mean you find the subject quite exciting, sheriff," she corrected, but he stepped even closer. His fingers slid over hers now. His calloused touch was warm, bold, rough all at once.
"No. I meant what I said, ma'am," he drawled, and Moira was caught in silence, trapped in the brilliance of his green eyes, his handsome face, his perfect lips forming a charming smile. He was simply the most handsome man she had ever seen, and she couldn't stop staring.
Suddenly she gasped. A soft sound as her gaze darted to the doorway of the schoolroom. John could guess the reason for her reaction. His fingers tightened on hers briefly as he turned to view Marshall Sumner lurking in the doorway like a harbinger of doom. He was a dour man, with a serious mustache and short hair. He was dressed in a suit, dark and a little tattered but nevertheless imposing. A gold pocket watch hung from his vest pocket and swung in time to his steps as he approached.
"Sheriff Sheppard? May I ask what business you have in a schoolroom?" he rasped.
John inclined his head politely, restoring his hat. "I had business with the schoolmarm, actually, Mr. Sumner. And now that is concluded."
"You had business with my wife? What was the reason, sir?" Suspicion darted in his eyes as he neared and glanced at the desk. "Ah…" Marshall stepped closer and saw the bone. "I told you not to preach that outlandish new theory!"
Moira replied calmly, "It is not an outlandish theory but part of the new science of—"
"I don't care!" He slammed his hand on the desk for emphasis. "Get home, now and get supper started! I'll be along presently."
Moira visibly gulped. She nodded, grabbed the bone and some books and scurried past the two men, head down, shoulders hunched. She quickly exited the schoolroom.
John's gaze narrowed dangerously. The contrast between only a few moments ago could not have been more marked. The formerly vivacious woman reduced to cowering obedience. It took an effort to unclench his hands as they were forming fists. He eyed the older man as a casual motion of his hand revealed the gun at his hip and the gold badge on his vest. "I don't take kindly to any man raising his hand to a woman."
Marshall met his gaze, glowering. "And I don't take kindly to any man interfering in business clearly not his own. I'll make certain she stops teaching this new radical theory."
"There's no need for that," John countered. "I just needed to be sure that the—"
"I said I will take care of it, as is my right and my business, sheriff."
"Fine." John's fingers played lightly along the hilt of his gun. "Jes don't be putting a hand to her, or I will make it my business."
"How I choose to discipline my wife is my business, not the law's. This subject is closed. There will be no more trouble from this quarter. I apologize for her forward behavior. Sheriff."
John glared, watching the older man depart. He caught hold of his gun, freed it. He glanced back at the desk as if a shadow of the flirtation remained. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't help himself. Not really, as he knew that the Sumner marriage wasn't based on love. Not at all. He strode out of the schoolroom, needing a drink.