Wistful in Wisconsin

you’re that concerned about me, go get the sheriff.”
“You’d like that, the way you chase after him.”
He stopped and grinned, a nasty expression that caused the color to race from her face. “Like a dog in heat. You know what that makes you then, don’t you?”
Her screech of outrage startled the man. Or, maybe, his surprised expression came from the sudden movement of the knife, now held dangerously close to his midsection.
“I’ll say it again,” Lilah forced her voice to stay low and cold. “Leave me alone. Now, out!”
Rage reddened the man’s face. Just like moments before, Lilah saw another man’s face in her mind and thought how very alike he and this deputy were. She forced herself to remember the man’s rage when she cursed him. The glint in his ice-blue eyes had been the same as what she now saw in the glare she faced on the other side of her knife.
Mumbling something like, “Time’s not right,” the man backed up three steps. Once he was on the other side of the door jamb, Lilah slammed the door and threw the bolt into place.
Trembling, she returned to the table. Struggling to capture a feeling of normalcy, she folded the dough for the Danish ring. It went through multiple folds to produce the flaky layers. At that moment, she mentally cautioned gentleness. It wouldn’t do to take her fear and anger out on the delicate pastry.
Fred needed to know what kind of man he’d hired. She hadn’t imagined the threat from him. Or what he’d all but called her.
Finally, Lilah’s rational mind took hold again. It argued that telling him was impossible. Remember the advice column, it prompted.
The Lovelorn had advised not taking her burdens to the man she loved, that is if she wanted to win him. No, Lilah could not tell Fred about the scene in the kitchen.
A favorite verse came to mind and she said it out loud. “Cast all your cares upon Him.”
She’d tell the Lord and let Him sort through the problem.
The posters appeared that morning. On his way to the jail, Fred noticed five of them nailed to posts and even into the wood walls of a few stores.
When he approached the jailhouse, he spotted Murphy with a hammer. The man had finished nailing a campaign poster to the outside of the sheriff’s office and now stood grinning at it.
At Fred’s growl of “What ya up to, Murph?” the man jumped and hid the hammer behind his back. He looked guiltily from the poster to the blonde giant in front of him.
“Not doing a thing that ain’t wrong, Sittig.” Then he pulled the hammer from behind his back. Something caused him to puff up his chest. A glint of challenge entered his eye.  “Just putting up an announcement on a publicly owned building.”
Slowly taking one long step forward and then another, Fred stood in front of the short man. He stared down at him, willing him to feel the power of Fred’s position. “True, the town owns the building. But they trusted me to make decisions about it.”
In one coordinated movement, Fred reached a long arm beyond Murphy and pulled the poster from its nail. He hadn’t stopped to read the others. Holding this one now, he looked down at it.
When his head lifted, he arched a brow at the small man. “You working for the banker.”
Murphy nodded. Fred studied him for a moment before asking, “Really think he’d make a good sheriff?”
This time, the little man hunched his shoulders before shrugging. “I don’t much care. He’s payin’ me. That’s all.”
With his sheriff look fixed on his face, Fred coldly told the man, “Don’t go nailing those to anymore buildings without the owners’ say so. You hear me?”
The other man bobbed his head. “I hear ya.” With those words, he edged his way around Fred. He more raced than ambled toward the bank.
Probably headed to report to his boss. Fred shook his head at that thought. Lately, Murph had been nothing more than a drunk, always in a jail cell when it was Fred’s turn to oversee any prisoners for the night. Why would Strong, the banker who wanted to be sheriff, hire a man like Murphy?
A strong thought stiffened his shoulders. Murphy only got himself arrested on the nights when Fred would be present in the jail.  Was that a coincidence or did it connect to his job for the banker?
Mulling over that question, he stepped into the office. His newest deputy, Hansen, sat behind the sheriff’s desk with his dirty boots propped on it. This wasn’t the first sign of rudeness by the man. It just added to Fred’s regret at hiring him.
“Get those boots off my desk!”
Hansen gave out a harrumph and slowly pulled first one foot and then the other down from their perch. Like a child, he moved haltingly with a belligerent expression on his face. When the deputy finally stood, Fred made his way across the room and stopped only inches from his face.
“Got a problem with me, Hansen?”
“Nah,” the other man slowly drawled, not backing down from his boss. “Your tone rubbed me the wrong way is all.”
“Firing’s as easy as hiring, man. Maybe you’ll make it easy on me and just quit.”
Fred spied a vein pulsing in Hansen’s temple and noticed that the man’s hands were fisted. Even so, the deputy met his gaze and grinned, a dimple appearing by his mouth. “Why would I quit a great job like this? Nothin’ much happens in this town. I just gotta walk around nights and check the locks on a few businesses.”
He broke off to shake his head. “Nope. I’d be a fool to quit. And, anyhow,” Here his upper lip curled. “I just need to wait it out for