Loving a Lawman

by Kristen Iten

  A man with a full, but well kept beard, and intense sea green eyes rushed into the room carrying clean linen bandages. “What happened, Micah?” David’s voice was full of concern.

  “I’m not sure. Two hombres were making a commotion outside the boarding house. When I got here, Miss Rosie was on the floor unconscious.”

  “I think this is what broke the window.” Ben entered the room, his buttons straining to hold his shirt together. He held a good sized rock in the palm of his hand. A piece of twine was wound around it, attaching a torn piece of paper.

  “Let me see that, Ben,” Micah said. He pulled the scrap of paper off the rock and walked over to the oil lamp to inspect it in better light. Two words were scrawled on the paper in barely legible characters: “Pay up.” His brow furrowed. None of this made any sense.

  “I imagine that stone is what caused this.” The pastor dabbed the gaping wound on Rosie’s head with a cloth soaked in whisky. An egg shaped lump had formed beneath the gash, forcing the wound open. “At least she wasn’t shot. I feared the worst when Ben came to get me.”

  Micah’s knuckles turned white as he crushed the note in his fist. He returned to Rosie’s bedside and took her hand. He ran his thumb across its silky, smooth skin. Their fingers had brushed against one another many times before, but tonight was the first time he had ever held her hand in his. The closeness sent a thrill throughout his body. “How do we wake her up, Pastor?”

  “There really isn’t anything we can do but wait.”

  Micah trailed his free hand down his face and tugged on the full mustache he had taken such great care to cultivate. “I don’t want to leave her side, but I don’t have near enough fire power on me.”

  “You don’t expect those men to come back tonight, do you?” said Pastor Holtz.

  “I don’t know what to expect, but I want to be ready for anything. Can you two stay with her while I grab a few things from the jail?” Micah looked from the pastor to the large man standing by the window.

  “It’ll be my pleasure, Sheriff.” Pastor Holtz adjusted the pillow beneath Rosie’s head.

  Micah stepped toward Ben and drew his forty-four caliber revolver. He spun it on his index finger with ease before placing the ivory grip in the blacksmith’s thick hand. “Stand guard here ‘til I get back.”

  Ben’s eyes bulged at the responsibility he had just been entrusted with. Micah slapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, Ben. I wouldn’t leave Miss Rosie if I didn’t think you could handle things here while I’m gone.”

  The soot staining Ben’s face made his smile shine all the more in the dim light. He stood a little taller and puffed his chest out. “You can count on me, Sheriff.” Ben removed a vase of dried wild flowers from the windowsill and took up a defensive position.

  Micah turned to leave the room but paused at the foot of Rosie’s bed. “I’ll be back directly, Miss Rosie.” He nodded at the two men and headed into the night.

  The cool breeze blowing through town did little to cool Micah’s hot blood. Images of Rosie lying helpless on the floor of her home still filled his mind. His knuckles cracked under the force of his clenched fists.

  The set of his jaw and the intensity blazing in his narrowed eyes reflected his iron resolve. He didn’t know what those men were after, but they weren’t going to get it if it meant hurting Miss Rosie again; he would see to that.

  Pebbles crunched into the sun-baked dirt road beneath his boots as he marched toward the jail, his mind busy making a list of everything he wanted to bring back to the boardinghouse. A long night on watch was ahead of him, and he wanted to be sure he had everything he needed.

  Water from the hole in the trough had soaked into the dry clay road in front of the jailhouse. Micah’s boot sunk into the muck, but it didn’t slow his stride. He climbed the stairs and made straight for the gun rack behind his desk.

  A repeater rifle stood proudly next to the sawed off shot gun he had confiscated from a drunken cowhand a while back. He grabbed a weapon in each hand and placed them on the desk. Micah took a few boxes of ammunition from the cabinet below, laying them next to the weapons.

  He flung his chair out of the way and opened the bottom drawer of his desk. Reaching in, he wrapped his fingers around the cool ivory grip of a well-oiled revolver. He slid it out of the holster and gave the cylinder a spin. It was the perfect twin to the hand gun he had just left behind with Ben.

  It had been a while since he’d felt the need to wear two side-arms, but until he knew what these men were up to, he wasn’t going to take any chances. He unfastened the buckle of his gun belt and slid the second holster into place. The feel of the leather on the front of his left pant leg reminded him of his old days spent as a roving U.S. Marshall. In that life, he had been the fastest cross draw around. It was a skill that had saved his life on more than a few occasions.

  Confidence surged through his body as he secured the holster to his leg with a leather thong. He had yet to meet his match when it came to dealing with outlaws, and there was no reason to believe that these men would be any different. He ran his fingers over the tooled leather, tracing the largest oak leaf with his middle finger, as had been his habit for many long years before becoming a small town sheriff.

  With a steady hand, he opened the loading gate behind the cylinder and slid the shells into place. He didn’t need his eyes for this job. Years of hard riding and tracking down cutthroat bandits had taught him a trick or two. He slid the revolver into his holster and filled the other weapons to capacity with lead.

  The plodding sound of horse hooves on the road outside got Micah’s attention. Sweet Creek was a growing town, but it was normally a quiet place this time of night. He cracked the door open with the barrel of his rifle, peering outside only to see two men on horseback making their way toward the jail.

  The clouds that had hidden the moon from view a few minutes before were sent sailing across the sky by a light north wind, bathing the town in bright moonlight. It glinted off the silver conchos decorating one of the rider’s black leather chaps. His wide, flat-brimmed hat shrouded his face in darkness. One hand held the reins of his powerful horse while the other rested on the grip of the six-shooter at his side. He rode tall in the saddle, his backbone as straight as an arrow.

  The man riding beside him cradled a long gun in his thick arms, his body swaying with the motion of his horse. Though he looked a bit less menacing, he posed no less of a threat.

  A grim smile spread across Micah’s face. I got you now. With his heart hammering in his chest, he eased the long barrel of his repeater through the barely open door. He took aim before calling out, “That’s far enough. Hands in the air.”

  Chapter 3

  The men reined in their horses and came to a stop in front of the jail. The animals snorted and chewed their bits, hooves pawing at the dry earth.

  “I said hands in the air.” The words spoken through Micah’s gritted teeth left no room for argument.

  The man in black ran his fingers along the eagle feather tucked into the intricately beaded band around his hat. “It’s good to see you too, Sheriff. I know it’s been a while, but you haven’t forgotten your old Cherokee partner all ready, have you old man?” He spoke with an unmistakable cadence that suited his faint accent well.

  “Big Sky Chambers, is that you?” Micah widened the crack in the door to get a better look at the man he was addressing.

  “In the flesh, compadre.” Wrapping his reins around the saddle horn, he lifted a leg up and over his horse’s neck and slid off his mount.

  Both relief and disappointment washed over Micah as he lowered his weapon and stepped out of the jail. “It has been a while, but I’m not an old man yet.” Micah shook the hand his friend offered.

  Big Sky removed his hat, revealing long, silky, raven black hair tucked behind his ears. He adjusted the stampede string on the front of his neck, allowing his hat to hang on his back. Now that the moonlight could reach his chest unimpede
d, a five-pointed star could be seen pinned to his black leather vest. It was the silver badge worn only by U.S. Marshals.

  A smile spread across his broad face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Why the warm welcome?”

  “Sorry about that, Sky. There’s been trouble in town tonight. I thought you two were the sidewinders that caused it.” Micah rested his repeater on his shoulder.

  “Two trouble makers?” Sky folded his arms high over his chest and cocked his head to the side.

  Using the powerful legs of a man accustomed to making his living on the back of a horse, Big Sky’s companion rose in his saddle. “Was one of them riding a mule?”

  “I didn’t get a good look. I don’t believe we’ve met, son,” said Micah.

  “This is Cole Barton,” Big Sky said. “I’ve had him on loan from Carson Wagoner for a while. He’s real good at bustin’ up gangs of rustlers…” He looked over his shoulder at Cole who still sat astride his horse. A fresh grin spread across his lips when he spoke again. “For a ranch hand.”

  “A ranch foreman, you mean.” Cole touched the barrel of his rifle to his hat in greeting before sliding it into the scabbard situated behind his leg. He took off his dusty, pinch-front hat just long enough to smooth his hair out of his face. He quickly pinned it back out of his eyes with his hat once again.

  The smile on Big Sky’s lips died away. “Some of Wagoner’s men helped me break up the band of cattle rustlers that were hitting his place a while back,” he said. “Cole lost some good friends that day, and we’ve spent the last few months tracking down what’s left of the gang.”

  “And their trail led you here.” Micah’s brows drew together. Even as the pieces of tonight’s puzzle started to come together, new questions formed in his mind. Why would the same hombres that hit Carson Wagoner’s ranch go after his temporary home in town?

  He walked back into the jail and filled his arms with the supplies he had gathered. The jailhouse door creaked as he shoved it open with his shoulder and stepped back onto the porch. “Walk with me boys,” he said as he marched down the steps.

  Micah filled the newcomers in on what had just happened as they made their way back to the boarding house. “You’re not too far behind them,” he said.

  The clatter of carriage wheels and the squeaking of leather harnesses filled the air as Carson rolled up to the boarding house alongside the lawmen. “Is that my foreman that I see?” The jovial tone in his voice didn’t fit the somber mood that had settled over the boardinghouse. “How is the hunt coming, Cole? I certainly hope this obsession with tracking down cattle rustlers will work its way out of your system soon. You’re an invaluable asset down at the ranch.”

  “The ranch is in good hands, boss,” Cole said.

  Carson stepped onto the porch and stopped short when his eyes fell on the shattered glass lying at his feet. “What happened here?”

  “I think you had visitors, Carson.” The raw tone of Micah’s voice did little to veil the accusation beneath the words.

  “Me? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sheriff. None of my associates would do something like this.”

  Cole cleared his throat. “I don’t think the sheriff was talking about polite company, boss. We tracked the last of the rustlers here.”

  “I see,” said Carson.

  Micah waited for Carson to begin some long-winded speech about how this situation, like every other, was a perfect example of why he should be elected the next senator of the great state of Texas. But no such speech ensued. Carson stood, silently eyeing the shards of glass scattered beneath the window.

  “Miss Rosie got hurt bad tonight and I want answers. I’d like to know why a couple of rustlers would attack a boardinghouse.” Micah’s voice was low and measured. If he was going to be of any use to Rosie, he was going to have to keep his head.

  “And so would I,” said Carson. “Really, Sheriff, I would have thought you’d do a better job of keeping the peace in this town.”

  Micah’s knuckles turned white as his fingernails dug into the palms of his hands. The muscles of his jaw twitched in time with the grinding of his teeth.

  “Does this shine any light on the subject?” Micah produced the note the outlaws left behind and slapped it into Carson’s hand.

  Light streamed past the remaining glass clinging to the frame of the demolished picture window. Carson glanced at the wrinkled scrap of paper and read it. “I don’t see how it could possibly pertain to me. I don’t owe anyone.”

  Cole dismounted and walked up to his boss. He squared his broad shoulders, chest filling out every square inch of the fabric of his plaid shirt. “Mr. Wagoner, the last two rustlers we’ve been trackin’ are the Garret boys. Me and Sky are fixin’ to head out after them.”

  Carson shoved his hands into his pants pockets and studied his shoes in silence. “I think I’ll go to my room and freshen up. Cole, you’d better stick around here for now, in case they come back.” Carson disappeared through the front door without another word.

  A growl rumbled deep in Micah’s throat. “I don’t like it. When a man who never stops runnin’ his mouth suddenly goes quiet, it makes me nervous. What’s so special about the Garret boys?”

  “Mr. Wagoner fired them a while back. They’re a wild pair, that’s for sure. Not the kind Mr. Wagoner wanted associated with his name while running for office,” Cole explained.

  “I assume they didn’t take too kindly to being fired?” Micah saw where this tale was leading.

  “They started shootin’ up the place and caused a stampede. Lots of damage. Mr. Wagoner don’t cotton much to that kind of behavior—can’t say I blame him. He kept their last month of pay to cover the repairs at the ranch,” said Cole.

  “And that’s why the note says to pay up,” said Micah. “They weren’t after Miss Rosie at all. She just got in the way of their feud with Carson.” His nostrils flared as he filled his lungs with air. “I think I’ll go have a few words with Mr. Carson Wagoner.”

  “I’m hitting the trail before it goes cold,” said Big Sky.

  “I never seen a trail go too cold for your Cherokee blood to track,” said Micah.

  Big Sky threw his head back and laughed. “If one ever did, I never told you about it, old man.”

  “I’ve missed that laugh of yours, Sky.” Micah chuckled before getting serious once again. “Be careful out there, partner.”

  “Are you sure about this?” Cole asked. “You heard Mr. Wagoner. I still work for him, and he wants me to stick around here. Those boys have you outnumbered.”

  “Outnumbered, but never outsmarted.” Big Sky flashed a grin before putting his hat back on. His horse pranced in place, anticipating their departure. “I’ll be around.” He raised a hand in farewell as his horse trotted off in the direction the outlaws had taken.

  Micah glanced at Cole. “If you’re sticking around here to lend a hand, we’d better make it official. We’ll pin a star to that shirt of yours tomorrow. Welcome to Sweet Creek, Deputy Barton.”

  Cole raised his hands in surrender. “I ain’t cut out to be a full time lawman. I’m just a cowboy helpin’ track down a couple of no good sidewinders that’ve been causing my boss a lot of trouble.”

  “If you want to draw a gun in the name of the law in this town, you have to wear the badge—even if it’s only temporary.”

  Cole stood tall as a broad smile spread across his face. “All right then. Just call me Temporary Deputy Cole Barton.”

  Micah paused for a moment to gather his thoughts before confronting Carson. He had always been a man of few words, but there were so many flying through his mind at this moment he didn’t know where to start.

  “Sheriff.” Pastor Holtz popped his head through the door. “She’s awake and talking now.”

  Every other thought flew from Micah’s mind as he rushed into the house to see Rosie. The moment he stepped through the door, he could hear Carson’s muffled voice droning on about something.

  Whe
n he stepped into the room with Rosie, the sight that met his eyes felt like a punch in the gut. There was Carson, sitting on the edge of the bed holding Miss Rosie’s hand in his. A fire ignited in the pit of his stomach when Carson stroked her silky hand.

  “…I was just that worried about you, Rose.” Carson’s voice trembled with what sounded a lot like the manufactured emotion Micah had heard in many of the politician’s impassioned speeches given around town.

  Micah clattered through the door, still carrying his armload of weapons and ammunition.

  “She gave us quite a scare, didn’t she, Sheriff?” Carson asked.

  Micah’s jaw hung slack. Carson, ever the politician, seemed to be spinning the whole situation. He hadn’t been sitting at her bedside, wringing his hands, and waiting with bated breath for Rosie to wake up. He hadn’t even asked about her when he’d arrived on the scene. Micah had no words.

  Rosie turned her head toward the door. “My goodness, Micah. It looks like you’re ready to go to war,” she said, concern coloring her voice.

  “No doubt he intends to stand guard to see to it that your property isn’t further damaged by those ruffians, but there’s really no need. My man Cole is here. He’ll stand guard tonight.”

  That last bit was too much. If looks could kill, Carson Wagoner would have been in mortal danger. “I’m not concerned about any property.”

  Micah directed his attention to Rosie. “I’m here to look after you, Miss Rosie.” Something secret passed between them when their eyes met. It made Micah’s heart beat wildly in his chest.

  Seeing the spark of life in Rosie’s eyes once again was enough to cause Micah to well up. The sight of her lying helpless and injured on the floor had resurrected long buried memories of a love lost many years ago. He had been too late to save her, but he was going to be here for Rosie. A team of wild horses couldn’t pull him away. He quickly broke their gaze, hoping Rosie hadn’t noticed his shining eyes.

  “I suppose it won’t hurt for you to stand watch tonight, but it really isn’t necessary, Sheriff. Cole is a good man,” said Carson.