Read Julia: Bride of New York (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 11) for Free Online Page B

down and stabbed the desk with her index finger. “I want the sheriff to talk to that boy’s parents.”
    “Do you know the young man’s name?”
    “Yes. He is Davey Forman. Fresh little boy. His parents live in a shack outside of town.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “They are…poor.”
    Julia finished writing and stood. “I will certainly tell the sheriff about this, Mrs. Martin. I’m sure he will speak with the boy’s parents and let you know how it was resolved.”
    Mollified, she rose and nodded. “Thank you, young lady.”
     
     
    Fletcher untied the rope securing the prisoner to his horse and pulled him off the animal. Grasping his arm, he led him to the jailhouse. He opened the door and walked him in. The two men came to an abrupt halt, the prisoner letting out with a long, low whistle.
    Julia stood on a chair, leaning over the top of the file cabinet, as she reached for something on a shelf above it. The skirt of her dress had fallen forward, outlining her shapely bottom, and the hem rose above her half boots, giving the men a view of her lovely ankles.
    “Julia, come down from there!”
    She jerked at his words, and, arms flailing, lurched backward, heading for the floor. Fletcher released the prisoner and raced forward, catching her in his arms just before she landed on her charming backside. “Oomph.”
    She stared at him, wide-eyed. “You scared me to death!”
    “You could have hurt yourself.” Aside from the danger she courted, the thought of the prisoner eyeing the outline of her body tightened the muscles in his jaw. He placed her carefully on her feet. “Just stay there until I get this fellow into a cell.”
    “Good afternoon, ma’am.” The prisoner smiled at Julia as Fletcher unfastened his handcuffs.
    “Good afternoon,” she returned as she fussed with her skirt.
    “No speaking to the prisoner.” Fletcher barked out his words as he shoved the man forward toward the cell. “And you don’t speak to my assistant.” He slammed the door to the cell shut and turned the key.
    “It’s a free country, Sheriff.”
    “Not for you. You gave up your freedom when you held up that bank. Now just sit there, and keep your mouth shut.”
    Julia stood with her hands on her hips. “Really, Sheriff, is it necessary to be so harsh? The man only wished me a good afternoon.”
    Fletcher couldn’t explain why the prisoner viewing the outline of Julia’s bottom and then speaking to her annoyed him so much. She was merely his assistant until she could find a real job. He’d offered her marriage three times and she’d refused. So he had no claim on her.
    Maybe that will change.
    He returned to his desk and pulled out a pad and pencil. He didn’t want to discuss why he’d snapped at the man. Then he would have to examine his reason closer than he wished to. Best to change the subject. “Looks like you’ve been doing some work while I was gone.”
    “I did. I cleaned and did some filing. What did that man do?” She gestured toward the jail cell.
    “He robbed a bank, along with three others in Hamilton. The sheriff there asked for help in rounding up the gang. We got all of them except this one, who made a run for it. I caught up with him when I was closer to Wickerton. I’ll transport him back tomorrow.” Fletcher continued to write up his report.
    Once he finished, he pushed the pad aside. “What the hell were you doing balanced on that chair?”
    “I was trying to reach that stack of papers, thinking I could file them also.”
    He shook his head. “I don’t want to offend you, but with your leg…”
    Julia sat and sighed. “You must remember, I’ve lived with this since I was a young child. I managed to climb trees, run around, play, do chores, and almost everything all my sisters and brothers did. I’ve really forgotten about it.”
    “Just promise me you won’t do any more climbing onto chairs.” He opened the middle drawer of his desk. “Where is the stack of Wanted