He closed his eyes to let the warmth of the whiskey relax his over-active imagination, then suddenly, gunshots rang out in the direction of one of Beaumont’s several saloons. His boots hit the floor. He stood, checked his Colt Peacemaker, and hurried out the door onto the wooden sidewalk.
A crowd had already gathered in front of Beasley’s Watering Hole, and as he came closer, he realized they had surrounded a body lying wounded in the street. Pushing through the throng of people, he finally reached the familiar form. Walt Fountain lay sprawled in the dirt with a gunshot wound in his left shoulder.
A voice shouted above the crowd noise, “Somebody get Doc Harper!”
Morgan glanced over to Jacob Beasley, who was pressing a bar towel onto Walt’s wound to slow the bleeding.
“Jacob, did you see who shot him?”
“No, but I have a pretty good idea.” The man shifted his position and explained, “Walt had been trying to cool down one of those hot-headed roughnecks who’d riled up a table of card players.”
“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”
“Yeah, I could probably pick his surly hide out of a crowd.”
“Good, I’ll—”
“Deputy Grant?” Beasley’s son, Junior, slid to a stop at Walt’s feet. “Doc said we should bring Marshal Fountain over to the office where he can get a better look at him.”
“Jacob, you’re in charge of rounding up witnesses and taking statements. I’ll be back when I can.” Morgan shifted around to Walt’s head and slipped his hands under the man’s shoulders. “Junior? Grab his legs.”
“Yes, sir.”
Once they’d lifted the big man, he asked, “Got a good hold of him?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Then watch where you’re walking and let’s go.”
Morgan and Junior reached Doc’s office and followed him to the back room where he performed his surgeries. After they laid Walt on the table, Morgan sent the boy back to his pa, and waited for Doc’s assessment.
Finally, Doc looked up and commented, “You staring at me isn’t going to make me work any faster, you know.”
“Is he going to be all right?”
“I believe so, but I can’t go digging around, willy-nilly if he’s going to use this arm in the future.” Doc cut the shirt off Walt’s body and began cleaning the area. “I’ve sent for Mollie to help with the surgery, and we’ll get word to you when we’re done. Now, don’t you have some investigating to do?”
“You’re right, Doc, thanks.”
Morgan left out the back just as Mollie arrived, and he held the door for her. She appeared calm, as she always did, but worry lines etched her face. He knew Walt had taken to visiting her of late, and hated she had to help Doc with the surgery.
“Mollie, I’m sorry you’re the one that has to help. I know you’ve become fond of Walt over the last few months.”
“That’s true, but it just so happens, I’m the best nurse Doc has ever had.” Her cheeks turned rosy. “I’ll go take care of Walt, if you’ll go find the S.O.B. who did this to him.”
“I’m on my way.” He dipped his head a fraction, touched the brim of his hat, and headed to the street toward the Watering Hole.
He caught sight of Jacob and a few other men across the room, as he stepped through the swinging doors, and walked straight to them. “What do you have, Jacob?”
“Out of the fifty or so in here at the time of the difference of opinion, only a handful or so were willing to leave a statement and a name.” He handed Morgan the few pieces of paper with the statements. “Most are fairly new to town and haven’t developed any loyalties to local folks.”
“It should only be a matter of right or wrong,” Morgan said, as he read a couple of statements, “But, I guess most are leery of getting involved.”
“Wish I could’ve been more help.”
“I appreciate what you’ve done. Just keep your eyes and ears open, and get word to me, as soon as you can, the next time you see him.”
“I will.”
Morgan stuffed the witness statements into his shirt pocket. He gazed around the room. Of the handful of men who remained, only one or two of the faces were familiar. He hoped, with a little sleep and with the light of day, folks’ memories would improve, so he could track down the marshal’s shooter.
Anne removed her gloves, handed them to Iris, and then sat on the stool, in front of the mirror. She removed her earrings and necklace, handing each to Iris in turn. Next, she would step out of her shoes, dress, and underthings, and then accept her nightdress and wrapper from Iris. Methodical. From birth, her entire life had been disciplined. No thinking required.
She had never pushed a boundary until she’d followed Mr. Smith to London. Everything changed with that one fateful decision. She had heard rumors about his philandering, but he’d been completely respectful of her position. At the time, she hadn’t considered her trip to London a rebellion, but, in retrospect, it was bold for a lady of her stature.
And now, she was here, a full continent away from everything she knew, and everyone she loved. Iris’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts.
“My lady?”
“What is it?”
“When you’re ready, I have your nightdress.”
Anne realized she’d been absorbed in her own feelings without regard for Iris. They’d shared the same day, and she was likely every bit as tired. “I apologize. Yes, of course, you’d like to go to bed.”
Iris smiled. “Aye, but not until you’re snug beneath the covers. Now here you go.”
When she’d slipped on her nightgown, Iris helped her with the wrapper, and proceeded to place her things into the armoire. She watched the young woman, not much younger than herself, put everything carefully away. Anne walked over to the bed where the sheets and blankets had been turned down.
She fingered the crocheted lace edging of the sheet-top, and asked, “Have we made a mistake, Iris?”
Iris set the shoes onto the floor of the armoire, straightened, and joined her. “In what way, my lady?”
“In leaving England, and all we know, to end up in such a dismal place.” Anne climbed onto the bed and drew her knees up, encircling them with her arms. “I feel like I’ve forced you into making a decision that’s ruined your life.”
“While I agree this is far from what we had in mind, when you answered the gentleman’s ad for a wife, we didn’t arrive at this decision lightly. We came to the conclusion this was the best way to handle your situation. Eventually, I’ll join my relatives in Dallas.”
“I wish I was more certain.”
“Don’t worry, my lady,” Iris assured, “It will all work out. Mollie really likes your Mr. Grant.”
“I wish I did.”
“It won’t be easy for either of you. You’re both traveling an uncharted path.”
“It’s true, we have absolutely nothing in common.” Anne slid her feet beneath the covers as a knock sounded on the door.
Iris hurried over, and asked through the wood partition, “How can we help?”
“Ma’am? I’m Jacob Beasley’s son, and I have a message for Lady Medvale from Mrs. Abernathy. Can I slide it under the door?”
“Aye.”
Anne watched as a folded piece of paper materialized from beneath the door. Footfalls sounded on the stair treads, and then the heavy front door to the house slammed shut. She took the note from Iris and began to read the hurriedly written missive aloud.
Anne, the marshal has been shot in the street. I’m going to help Doc Harper with the surgery. I don’t know how long I’ll be, possibly all night. Morgan will be the marshal until Walt returns or until the Rangers show up. I’ll let him know, as soon as I can, that you and Iris are alone in the house with the other borders. Sorry for the trouble, Mollie.
“Crikey,” Anne whispered, looking at Iris, “I hope he’ll be all right.”
“So, do I,” Iris responded. “I hope this doesn’t place Mr. Grant in
more danger.”
“I hope that, as well, but I suppose it does.” She pulled the covers up and settled against the pillow. “We should both get some rest, as I expect tomorrow will be full of unknowns. Goodnight, Iris.”
“Goodnight, my lady.”
Chapter 5
Morgan turned the knob on the back door of Mollie’s boardinghouse, replaced the key beneath a milk can, and stepped through the entrance. Evidently, Walt had convinced her to start locking her doors, next they’d have to get her to hide the key in a less obvious place. One step at a time.
The kitchen was dark and quiet. The ticking of the clock in the parlor, on the fireplace mantle, the only noise. When it chimed five times, he sighed, and said under his breath, “Doggit, no wonder I’m tired.”
Movement to his left caught his attention but, before he could reach for his Colt, something substantial glanced the side of his head. He reeled for a second, but thankfully, with his eyes more accustomed to the dimness, he saw the second assault coming, and grabbed the arm of his attacker. Head pounding, he carefully removed a cast iron skillet from the assailant’s hand. One he recognized.
“Anne?”
“Oh . . . it’s you!” She fell against him. “I didn’t know, I just heard a noise.”
Morgan wrapped her into his arms and held her tightly. She shook so violently, he wondered if she would fly into bits and pieces. “What are you doing down here in the dark?”
“I-I couldn’t sleep and came down to fix some tea.” She tightened her arms around his waist. “I heard someone at the back door and grabbed the nearest thing to use as a weapon.”
“Resourceful,” he commented. He touched his temple, winced, and grinned as his fingers came away slightly bloody. “Very efficient.”
“I’m so sorry, I never meant to hurt you.”
“I’m all right, you did good.”
“My lady?”
Morgan looked up to see Iris holding a lamp and gripping a kitchen knife, standing in the doorway to what was usually Mollie’s sewing room. “Miss O’Donnell, sorry to have disturbed you.”
“Mr. Grant, thank the angels it’s you. Are you all right, my lady?”
“Iris, yes, I’m fine.” She pushed away from Morgan. “I came downstairs to fix some tea, and I—”
“Smacked me upside my head with a skillet.”
She faced him squarely. “I said I was sorry for that, you should’ve gone to the front door. Why were you coming in so late anyway?”
“I’d been pouring over witness statements, and lost track of time. After I checked on Walt, I thought I should stop here and make sure you were doing all right.”
“Oh, I see. Well, then, Iris, would you put the kettle on to boil?”
“Of course, my lady.”
“In the meantime, Morgan, sit down.” Anne reached for a towel to wet it with water, from the pitcher sitting on the counter. “I’ll clean that wound on your head.”
He started to protest, but decided he’d rather have a caring, apologetic Anne, than a distant, aloof Lady Medvale. He sat in the nearest chair and tilted his head back at an angle.
Moving the lamp closer, he asked, “How’s that?”
“Better.” She dabbed the wet cloth at his wound. “Again, I apologize for swinging at you.”
“And hitting me – you did hit me.”
She bristled. “I would think, by now, a gentleman would accept my apology and let the incident drop.”
Her fingers trembled at his temple, and he had a pang of remorse. He knew he should let it go. Why he couldn’t, escaped his conscious thought. He was learning what ruffled her and what made her withdraw behind her aristocratic façade. He decided her retreat was her protective mechanism to keep people from getting too close, or maybe to cover her inability to interact.
“This is why I need you.” He raised his hand and covered hers quickly before she had a chance to pull away. Her eyes, the color of rich mahogany, met his with a directness he admired. “I need you to mold my rough edges into a gentleman . . . or a reasonable facsimile. Can you do it?”
“I’ll most certainly try.”
“That’s all I have a right to ask.” He pulled her closer. Her breath came in short, quick pants, and her heart beat wildly in the hollow at the base of her throat. Finally, he asked, “Where do you suggest we start?”
“I . . . y-you,” she stammered, “Should accept my apology.”
“That’s first, huh?” He leaned even closer, fully expecting her to back away, but she remained rock-steady.
“Yes.”
“Well, then, your ladyship,” he said, with a grin. “I accept your apology.”
“Tea is ready, my lady.” Iris set the pot in the middle of the table, along with cups and the fixings. “Mr. Grant, may I get you anything else?”
Morgan cleared his throat, let go of Anne’s hand and answered, “No, thank you, Iris. Sit with us and have some.”
“No, thank you, sir. I’ll go back to my room.” She curtsied, and then turned to go.
After a slight hesitation, Anne said, “Please, Iris, join us for some hot tea. Goodness knows, you probably need it, after being woken up out of a sound sleep.
“If you’re sure, my lady, I would enjoy a cup.”
“Good, I’ll pour.” Anne set the pot back on the table, stirred in some sugar to her own drink, and asked, “How is Marshal Fountain?”
“He’s resting. Doc Harper thinks he’ll recover full use of his left arm.”
“That’s good news.” She sipped from her cup. “And, Mollie? I’m sure she’s tired out.”
“Yes, but I doubt you’d ever hear her say it out loud.”
“I’ve only known her for a day, but I agree with you. Iris and I will go see her later this morning at the doctor’s office.”
Morgan pushed his chair away from the table and stood. “I guess I’d better get back to the jail. I need to check on the few prisoners we locked up last night.”
“Can’t anyone else do that?”
“No, it was me or Walt tonight, and with him laid up over at Doc’s, I have to get them food and a walk to the outhouse.”
Morgan rested his hand on the front door knob. He had one more thing he needed to talk with Anne about, but had no idea how she’d take what he had to say. She could either be relieved at the turn of events, or mad as a wet barn cat.
“Anne,” he said, facing her, and taking hold of her hand. “I don’t know how you’ll feel about it, but I’ve found out the preacher is out of town for a few days. We’ll have to wait to marry until he returns. Beyond that, we’ll continue as we’ve been doing, with you here at Mollie’s and me at the jail until the Texas Rangers get here to help enforce the law.”
“Oh . . .” she answered softly. “How long will that be?”
“I don’t know exactly when they’ll get here, but I’ll need to stay on the job until they do. Until Walt recovers, me and the other two deputies will be busy watching over the town.”
He shifted his stance and glanced at her doe eyes staring back at him intently. Talking to her would be so much easier if he could get a read on her. He’d never known anyone who kept their feelings so deeply hidden. She was wrapped as tight as a new rope.
He cleared his throat, and continued, “Obviously, I’ll set up accounts for you at the mercantile, the dress shop Mollie uses, and the café on Main. If there’s anything else, don’t hesitate to ask me. I want you to have everything you need.”
“Thank you, Morgan, that’s very kind.”
“Well, it’s the least I can do. Say, when I go to the stores this afternoon, would you like to accompany me and meet some folks?”
“That would be lovely.”
The fingers on the hand he held trembled and were cold as ice. “Anne, are you all right?”
“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know, it’s just . . . you seem . . .” He still didn’t know her well enough to speculate. I don’t know her at
all. After a second or two, he finished, “Never mind. I’ll see you around lunchtime.”
He took one last glance, squeezed her hand, put on his hat, tipped the brim, and headed toward the marshal’s office. This getting to know someone was much more difficult than he ever could’ve imagined.
Anne listened as his boots left the porch, hit the rock path, and continued until out of earshot. Movement upstairs told her the other boarders were awake and beginning to stir. She rejoined Iris in the kitchen, who, by then, had cleared the table of the cups, saucers, and teapot.
“Iris, do you know how to cook?”
“I can put a few things together for a meal, my lady, what do you have in mind?”
“I was wondering how best to help Mollie,” she said, tapping her cheek, “And, I believe I know how.”
“What’s up your sleeve, my lady?”
Anne went to the pantry, pulled out two loaves of bread, and two jars of jam. In the ice box, she found milk, bacon, and butter. Next to that, on the drainboard, sat the basket of fresh eggs.
“The other boarders will be down soon expecting breakfast. Do you think we can take care of them for her?”
“I’ve never been a kitchen maid, but I can fry bacon, and my mother used to make us pan toast.”
Happy to be useful, Anne took charge, and said, “Good, I’ll set the table, and ready the buffet for the food, and then I’ll come in to scramble eggs like Cook taught me.”
Iris giggled. “Did her ladyship know you were skulking around downstairs?”
“No, and I doubt she ever will, now.” Warm tears welled in her eyes and threatened to fall. “That ship has sailed – literally. I can’t imagine ever seeing Ma-Ma again.”
“One day, my lady, this will all be forgotten, and you’ll be back home.”
“Not if Pa-Pa has any say in the matter, I won’t.” She grabbed an apron from the hook by the back door, but as she started to tie it at her waist, realized she was still in her nightgown and wrapper. Laying it across the chair-back, she looked at Iris. “Crikey, we’d better go dress, or the Mollie B will go from a boardinghouse to a house of ill repute before breakfast.”
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