by Jo Goodman
“I admit nothing.”
“That so?” She gave a little yelp as he pitched her on the bed. It was not a graceful landing. Jane scrambled to untwist her robe and push the hem of her nightgown over her bare knees.
“Take your time, Jane. I’m going to turn back the lamp in the front room, make sure there’s enough coal in the firebox to keep the chill out tonight, and wash up in the kitchen. That’ll give you enough time to work up a worry or two.”
“Perhaps I will just read,” she said primly.
“You could do that.” He started to leave, stopped, and turned to face her again. He cocked an eyebrow at her, gave her a considering look. “Or you could think about where I’m going to kiss you first. And here’s a hint: It’s not going to be on your mouth.” He grinned and ducked out of the room. He had already turned the corner when one of the bed pillows sailed through the doorway.
Once he was out of Jane’s sight, Morgan pressed his right forearm against his ribs and breathed in slowly. His bones crackled. He swore under his breath and then waited, half expecting Jane to have heard him. When no scold came, Morgan proceeded with the tasks he had named in the order that he had named them. He was washing at the kitchen sink, shirt open, suspenders hanging at his sides, thinking about where he was going to kiss Jane first, when the back door swung open.
Morgan’s fingers squeezed the bar of soap so tightly that it jumped out of his hand and into the sink. “No,” he said. Just that. No.
Jessop pulled the door closed and turned down the collar on his wool coat. “Warm in here. Feels good.”
Morgan’s eyes narrowed a fraction, and he wondered if Jessop could feel that heat.
“Jem’s not back,” said Jessop. “You said to give him an hour and let you know if he wasn’t back. It’s been an hour and he isn’t.”
Morgan wrung out the washcloth and laid it over the lip of the sink. He pulled up his suspenders. “Who wants to go with me?”
“With you? Jake and me figured we would go together.”
“No. I’m going. I’ll take one of you with me. Do whatever the two of you do to decide these things. Someone stays here with Max.” So there would be no mistaking what he meant, Morgan pointed to the floor. “Here. In the house. With Jane.”
“Jem’s probably playin’ cards. I bet Renee’s working in the saloon tonight. He likes to keep an eye on her when he can.”
Morgan hoped Jessop was right. “If that’s what he’s doing, then I’m not passing on a chance to drag him out by his ear.”
Jessop nodded. “Then I hope I win the coin toss. I sure would like to see that.”
Watching Jessop go, Morgan could only shake his head. Coin toss? He had been so sure they arm-wrestled.
• • •
Jane could see that something had changed the moment Morgan reappeared in the bedroom. She was sitting up, her back against the headboard, her hair unwound and finger-combed so that it lay across her shoulders. She was under the covers. Her robe was lying at the foot of the bed. Everything about the way she had intended to greet him was wrong now.
Jane hastily pulled her hair back with one hand and threw off the covers with the other. Leaning forward, she grabbed her robe. Morgan was at her side before she could put it on.
“Stop, Jane.” He sat on the edge of the bed and took the robe from her. Instead of helping her put it on, he covered her with it in place of the blankets she had pushed away. “There,” he said, resting his hands on her shoulders. “I have to go.”
“I knew it,” she said on a thread of sound. “I knew something was wrong. What’s happened? Was that Jem I heard in the kitchen?”
“Not Jem. Jessop. Jem is the reason I’m going out. He’s not returned from town. He’s probably playing cards at the Pennyroyal, but it’s better to know. His horse might have come up lame, or it could be that he’s sleeping off too much whiskey on the lee side of that rocky knoll. If that’s the case, we all want a piece of him, but only one of his brothers is going with me.”
“They could go. Just them.”
“They could, but Jem’s as much my responsibility as theirs. Maybe more. I owe something to the men who work for me.” Morgan’s hands fell away. “Look at me, Jane. I forgot I even asked one of them to come and get me if Jem didn’t show up. I took one look at you curled up in a chair with a thimble on your finger and a needle between your teeth and that pretty much pushed every other thought clean out of my mind.”
“I didn’t have a needle in my teeth.”
He chuckled low at the back of his throat. “All right. It must have been the sharp edge of your tongue that I saw.”
Jane tried to smile. It faltered and then faded. “You’re not well. You haven’t ridden for weeks.”
“I’ll manage. I carried you in here, didn’t I?”
Jane made herself accept what he was telling her because he needed her to. “How long will you be?”
“A few hours, I imagine. It’s not a long trip to town on horseback. It will be shorter if we meet Jem on the way.” He looked her over. “Good?”
She nodded, closing her eyes as Morgan bent his head toward her. She felt his mouth hovering just above her lips, but he was a man of his word, and he did not kiss her there. Instead, he slipped his hand behind her neck and lifted her dark cascade of hair. He looped it around his fist and tugged, lifting her chin and exposing her throat.
That was where he kissed her. He left his mark on the soft hollow of her throat where her pulse fluttered like a hummingbird.
• • •
Jessop won the toss, so he rode out with Morgan. Between them they had blankets, a flask of whiskey, bandages, and a lantern. They saddled up with the thought that Jem might be in trouble. They each carried a rifle in their scabbard and a gun holstered at their hip in the event they stumbled into trouble when they found Jem.
It was a cold night, not unbearable, just bone-deep cold when the wind gusted. They rode with their collars turned up and their hats angled low and considered themselves lucky that the wind was not steady. Snow on the ground would have been a help to them, provided tracks they could have followed if Jem—or anyone—had wandered away from the road. There was a fingernail moon suspended in the sky, but its meager light came and went as the cloud cover thickened.
Twice, Jessop saw something that was worth investigating, but nothing came of it either time. After the second incident, Jessop admitted to being a little jumpy since his conversation with Morgan back in the kitchen. Morgan said he hadn’t noticed.
Sometimes it took a lie to calm a man.
“What are we gonna do about our guns?” Jessop asked when they reached town. “Marshal won’t like it if we’re strapped when we walk into the Pennyroyal.”
“The only person in danger of being shot is your brother. That’s why you’re going to hold my gun while I go in the saloon and get him.”
“You figure you’ll kick his ass?”
“Depends on how drunk he is. Why?”
“Jake and me talked about it, and we reckon that to do right by our little brother, we should be the ones to kick his ass.”
Morgan looked over at Jessop as they drew abreast of the hotel. Light from the windows bathed the younger man’s broad, square-jawed face. “All this time you’ve worked for me, and I had no idea Jem was the little brother.”
“Oh, yeah.” Jessop tipped the brim of his hat upward. “You understand I’m talkin’ about his age, not his size.”
Dismounting, Morgan nodded. “Sure. I understand.” He removed his Colt from his holster and handed it to Jessop. “I’ve got no problem leaving Jem to you and Jake’s tender mercies.”
Jessop grinned. “Tender mercies. Yeah. Sounds just like us.”
The Pennyroyal was not crowded. Morgan looked around as he approached the bar. He knew before he reached it that Jem was not in the saloon.
Walt Mangold stopped rubbing down the top of the bar. “What can I get for you, Mr. Longstreet?”
“I
nformation.”
At first Walt stared at him blankly, then his smile emerged slowly, splitting his face and showing teeth almost as big as his fingernails. “That’s a good one. People don’t much come to me lookin’ to learn things.”
Morgan had heard Jake Davis remark once that Walt was slow off the mark. Jessop had jumped in with an opinion in the same vein. It was Jem who had come to Walt’s defense, pointing out that Walt just considered his words more carefully than most folks, and anyway, people were suspicious of someone who didn’t talk much, especially when the talk was about other people. That exchange had taken place over cards in the bunkhouse, and Morgan remembered it because it was the only time he’d seen Jem shut his brothers up. He felt a little sorry they were going to kick his ass.
“Has Jem been in here tonight, Walt?”
“Sure. Miss Renee’s workin’ tonight. That’s her over there talkin’ to Ted.”
Morgan did not turn to look. He did not want to attract Ted Rush’s attention. “Do you know where he is now?”
“Yep.”
Morgan waited, but when Walt did not expound on his answer, Morgan realized he had to ask another question. “Where is he?”
“That’d be the jail.”
“The jail.”
“Yep. You know where that is?”
“I do.”
“You look like you could use a drink, Mr. Longstreet. You sure I can’t pour you a whiskey? On the house. I can do that for certain people. Mrs. Sterling won’t mind. She likes you.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass. Jessop’s waiting for me outside.” He straightened, and a thought occurred to him. He’d made an assumption. Talk about jail could put a hitch in his thinking. “When you said Jem’s at the jail, did you maybe mean that he was dropping by the marshal’s office to say ‘hey’ to Bridger? Maybe pick up his guns if he left them there?”
“No. Didn’t mean that at all. Jem said ‘hey’ to Marshal Bridger when the marshal arrested him.”
Morgan placed a quarter on the bar and slid it toward Walt. “Not what I wanted to hear, but I don’t kill the messenger.”
Grinning, Walt pocketed the quarter. “Much obliged, Mr. Longstreet. Much obliged.” He went back to polishing the bar as Morgan walked away.
Jessop was flapping his arms and pacing up and down the walk when Morgan came out. “Tryin’ to keep warm,” he said as Morgan made him the subject of his withering stare. “So where is he?”
“Jail.” Morgan loosened the hitch on the reins and mounted. He was too irritated to take notice of the pain. “In jail.”
Jessop stopped flapping and hurried to follow Morgan’s lead. It was a short ride to the jail, and he did not ask any questions along the way, but he did tell Morgan that if he changed his mind about kickin’ Jem’s ass, he and Jake would understand.
Cobb Bridger was sitting back from his desk, chair tilted, legs stretched, boot heels resting on the desktop. He had a book open in his lap, but he closed it and tossed it on the desk as the door opened.
Morgan glanced at the book when it stopped just short of falling over the edge. Triumphant Democracy? He asked, “One of your wife’s recommendations?”
Cobb shook his head. “Jim Phillips thinks everyone should read it. You can take it if you like.”
“Some other time.” Morgan felt Jessop at his back. He used his thumb to point over his shoulder. “Jessop would like to see his brother, and I want to talk to you.”
“Sure.” Cobb moved his feet off the desk and dropped his chair to all four legs.
Jessop stepped out from behind Morgan. “We’re carrying,” Morgan said, spreading his long coat to reveal his gun. “Rifles, too. On the horses.”
“I figured as much.” Cobb showed no concern. “Jem mentioned you’ve been having some trouble out at your place. Go on back, Jessop. You know the way. Take the keys if you like. You can sit with him a spell while Morgan and I talk.”
Jessop removed the key ring from the peg by the door that led to the cells. “What’d he do?”
“Ask him.” Cobb started to wave him off, then paused. “Maybe you’d better leave your gun on this side of the door. So far, no one’s been shot tonight. I’d like to keep it that way.”
Jessop grinned. “Sure. I guess you know us pretty well.” He unstrapped his belt and used the buckle to hang it on the peg. Jingling the key ring, he stepped into the jail and closed the door behind him.
“You want a cup of coffee?” asked Cobb. “Tru made it before she left. You just missed her, so coffee’s fresh.” He pointed to the basket on the desk close to where his feet had been. “Apple tarts from Jenny’s bake shop. Tru brought them when she heard Jem was a guest.” In response to Morgan’s doubtful look, he shrugged. “Apparently they’re a favorite. I don’t inquire anymore how she knows these things. So, coffee?”
Morgan nodded.
“You might as well take a chair. Jem’s going to rattle on awhile.” He went over to the small stove that was the single source of heat for the office and jail and used a towel wrapped around his hand to pick up the coffeepot. He poured a cup for Morgan, passed it off, and then added coffee to the cup on his desk. He returned the pot to the stove, and when he came back, Morgan was sitting in his chair. Cobb did not object. He sat in one of the chairs facing his desk that visitors typically took when they were invited to sit.
“Did you know the Davis boys were deputies for me once?”
“I heard that.”
“They did a good job. I’d take them back, but the town can’t afford three deputies and there’s not enough to keep them busy anyway. I considered hiring one but couldn’t decide between them. They don’t come apart easy.”
“That’s what I’m finding.” Morgan stripped off his gloves, stuffed them in a pocket, and opened his coat. He wrapped his hands around his cup and drank. He kept his eyes on the marshal and avoided the Wanted Wall on his right. “They’re a set.”
“Not like you and your brothers.”
“I don’t have any brothers.”
“Right. Like I was saying. You have nothing in common with the Davis boys.”
Morgan felt acid rising in his throat. He washed it down with more coffee. “So what did Jem do?”
“Near as I can tell, started a fight or ended one. Depends on whom you ask. The thing everyone agrees on is that he was in the thick of it.”
“You arrested him for fighting?”
“I arrested him so I could keep an eye on him. I figured someone would come to fetch him sooner or later. Before you ask, I escorted the other combatants to the station and put them on the first train out. They’re on their way to Cheyenne.”
“If they’re out, why is he still in?”
“Because he was talking like he was going to go after them, and I thought he might just be crazy enough to do it.”
“Did this have something to do with Miss Harrison?”
Cobb gave Morgan an arch look. “What do you think?”
“All right, but maybe you should arrest her.”
“Believe me, I’ve thought about it. She keeps Jem on a short leash while she entertains all comers.”
“How many comers were there tonight?”
Cobb held up three fingers. “Just in town this afternoon. They stopped by here looking to find out who might be hiring. I told them I didn’t know if anyone was with winter coming on.”
“They were looking for ranch work?”
“That’s what they said.”
“And you put them on a train? What about their horses?”
Cobb sipped his coffee, nodded. “Struck me as strange, too. Three men showing up, looking to hire on somewhere without gear or guns or mounts? They didn’t look like shopkeepers, but they sure didn’t come prepared to take a job on the range. They didn’t give me a reason to run them out, so I pointed them in the direction of Whistler’s Saloon and figured there’d be a to-do once they had a few shots in them.”
“But they went to the Pennyroyal instead.
”
“Sure did. Passed up Whistler’s and went straight to the Pennyroyal.”
“Jem was already there?”
“He says he was. I only saw him earlier when he was going into the mercantile.”
“So you weren’t all that disturbed that Jem got himself in a tangle with them. Looks like he gave you the excuse you were looking for when you sent them to Whistler’s.”
“He did. That’s why I’m going to let him go with you and forget that he clobbered me with a broken chair leg.” He pointed to his left shoulder. “I couldn’t get out of his way fast enough.”
“I thought you got there after the fight was over.”
“Uh-huh. Jem took it in his head to start it up again while I was herding the other fellows to the door.” He looked Morgan over. “So what’s this about rustlers out your way?”
“Nothing to say except that we’re handling it.”
“You certain? Those men came in on the train that went through here at two forty. I checked with Jeff Collins. He watched them get off. We get people coming and going all the time, Longstreet, but I’m pretty good at spotting the ones that just don’t fit.” He looked purposely at the Wanted Wall. “They’re not up there. I checked. Of course, neither are your brothers. I don’t have a notice for them anywhere. Deputy Sugar got rid of a lot of old posters after Marshal Sterling was killed. I’ve asked around the county, even sent a letter to Leavenworth, but no one’s got a picture for me. Except maybe you. Do you have a photograph?”
“I don’t have any brothers.”
Cobb leaned forward in his chair. “Look, I appreciate that you came to talk to me when you took over the old Burdick place. I know you didn’t have to, so I’ve always thought you were on the right side of this thing, trying to keep people safe by letting me know who you are. We can split hairs about whether or not Gideon and Jackson Welling are your brothers by circumstance or biology, but the fact is, you were raised with them. Raised hell with them, too. Now they’re out, served their time same as you. There’s plenty of people that think it wasn’t enough time—me included—but then, it was only the one robbery they got sentenced for, and no one died in the commission of it.”
