Page 6 of Magnolia Summer

As they were nearing the town hall, the back of Truett’s neck prickled. Was the sheriff inside? After what happened the night before, he would no doubt be furious.

Just then, Sheriff Suggs stepped out of the town hall, placed his hands on his hips, and narrowed his eyes at Truett.

Oh, Lord, here’s trouble.Truett’s heart jumped into his throat, nearly choking him.Let him not stop me to ask where I was last night.He forced himself not to make eye contact with the sheriff.Just let me drive on past.

The sheriff stepped into the dusty street and held up a hand, an unmistakable command.

He hauled back on the reins and smiled. “What can I do for you, Sheriff? Your gout paining you again?”

The sheriff didn’t answer. He studied Truett’s face, then looked at Celia, who had folded her letter and covered it with her hand in her lap. He tipped his hat. “How do, Miss Wilcox—that right?”

“Yes, sir. A pleasure seeing you again.”

His small, pale eyes flicked back to Truett. “Where were you yesterday evening?”

Chapter 3

Truett’s heart pounded against his breast bone. His mind flitted, unbidden, to the image of a noose around his friend’s neck.

“Where were you last evening?”

“Why, Sheriff?” He hoped his fear did not show on his face or in his tone. “Did something happen?”

Suggs rolled a wad of tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other and then leaned forward. A stream of brown spit exploded from his mouth, raising a puff of dirt beside the horse’s hoof. “Have you seen James Burwell?”

“Not since yesterday.”Lord, forgive me for the lie.“Is something the matter?”

“Yeah, something’s the matter.” Suggs’s voice boomed. “James Burwell assaulted a white woman and then lit a shuck out of town. Forgive me, Miss Wilcox, for speaking of such matters before you.” He nodded and tipped his hat again at her. “But molesting a lady is no small matter in my county.” He pierced Truett with his dagger gaze.

“I fully agree, Sheriff.” Truett raised his eyebrows and let his facial muscles go slack. “I can hardly believe James would do such a thing, but if he did, he should be punished just as the law dictates. As the great poets say, ‘To molest a fair maiden `tis of the baseness of beasts.’”

“Yeah, well, let me know if you see him.” Suggs backed away, as though Truett’s poetry was a disease that might rub off on him.

“My good sheriff, I shall.” Truett performed a kind of bow from his driver’s seat. He flicked the reins and left the sheriff behind. Then he blew out a long breath . . . and turned to find the fair Celia with her delicate brows drawn down in the middle.

“What great poet wrote that? Truett Shakespeare?” Celia let out a surprising and unladylike snort.

“Actually, I prefer Tennyson.” He grinned at her, but she only stared, pursing her down-turned lips.

Having grown up in Nashville, she probably thought all the people of Bethel Springs, including him, were ignorant country folk. He couldn’t let her think that. So he would make a wager with himself: Not only would he cheer her up and make her smile, he would get her to acknowledge that he was a gentleman of education and culture.

“You think I don’t know any poetry?”

Her brows shot up. “Do you?”

The bemused look on her face was just the challenge to get his blood pumping. Staring straight between his horse’s ears, he began,

“Strikefor the king and die! And if thou diest,

The King is king, and ever wills the highest.

Clang battle-axe and clash brand! Let the King reign!”

He peekedat her to see if she was impressed yet. Her mouth hung open and her eyes had widened. When she saw him looking at her, she closed her mouth.

He went on:

“Blow,for our Sun is mighty in his May!