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a horrible habit of mine, Roy,” she said, rushing in to purchase a few odds and ends.
    “Della,” Roy said. “I’d like you to meet Mrs. Annabelle Collins. She’s the local teacher—moved here from Savannah and settled down with one of our ranchers.”
    “Lovely to meet you,” Annabelle said. “Sorry I’m in such a hurry—my students will be at the schoolhouse any minute now!” Her dress wasn’t the type Della would expect a school teacher and the wife of a rancher to wear. It was more like one she would admire in the fancy shops of Lawrence, but that were way out of her reach to purchase. Della wondered if there was a special occasion at school or if Annabelle always dressed that fancy.
    “Nice to meet you, too,” Della said, gathering the items for the customer and opening the door for her after she’d paid. Annabelle smiled at her as she rushed out the door. Della spent the rest of the morning learning where everything was and how Roy liked to run the store, but every so often she would look up when the bell rang and a new face walked in. Any time now, Hank Hensley would be stopping in, and if there’s one thing Della didn’t want to happen, it was to let that man catch her off guard.
    In Della’s mind, Hank was the worst kind of scoundrel—one who never cared that his actions might hurt others and always able to charm or pay his way out of bad situations. She was happy that she would build a relationship with a man who had morals and stability and one who was predictable.
    That thought brought her around to Milton Tidwell. I wonder when I’ll meet my future husband? Della wondered. Excitement and anticipation filled her thoughts and she began to envision their meeting and what they would say to each other.
    Della felt a glimmer of happiness at last – and a real sense of what the future might hold for her. Hank Hensley was quickly forgotten and replaced with thoughts of marriage, family, home and love—at long last.
     

Chapter 4
     
    “Don’t tell me I’m headed for the calaboose this early” Hank said, laughing when Sheriff Lockhart walked through the door of his construction company.
    “Nah,” the sheriff grinned. “We have a policy not to lock you up until at least 10 o’clock at night—that way you can’t bail yourself out and cause more trouble before the evening’s over.” The two friends frequently laughed about Hank’s mischievous ways—drinking a little too much in Hell’s Half Acre, letting a card game get him all riled up, and then unwinding with a pair of six shooters and an aim so sharp, even the liquor couldn’t come between him and his target.
    “Well I appreciate that,” Hank said, grinning as he motioned for the sheriff to have a seat. “What can I do for you—or are you here on behalf of the council?”
    “You of all people should like what I’m about to say,” Sheriff Lockhart said. “The council’s taking a lot of heat for the current shape of the calaboose. We’ve got one cell with bars, no windows, and a stench that has neighbors hollering up a storm. We need it replaced, and I’m here to fetch a quote from my good buddy, Hank Hensley.”
    “Ah, calling in favors of acquaintance, are they?” Hank said with a smile. “And what makes the council think I’m going to knock anything off my rate?”
    “Well, rumor has it, a certain someone’s nightly fines might sharply decrease if he were to cut us some slack on the cost of the rebuild,” the sheriff said.
    Hank raised an eyebrow. “That alone would pay for the whole rebuild,” he said. Hank had shelled out some serious money over the years getting himself out of trouble during his nightly escapades. Mostly they were minor infractions like disturbing the peace or shooting up someone’s tin sign. But if there was one thing everyone knew about Hank Hensley, it was that he made things right the following morning. He not only paid a steep fine that served to keep the city running, but he also