Much Ado About Marshals (Hearts of Owyhee) (2011)

by Jacquie Rogers

  Daisy placed the ominous looking bottles on the display shelf. “Frankly, I think this stuff must not be too effective. It says, ‘By the use of Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters the haggard appearance of countenance and sallowness of dyspeptics are supplanted by a healthier look…’ But, I swear, I haven’t seen a bit of improvement—either in her appearance and certainly not in her disposition.” She placed the rest of the bottles on the shelf.

  “Dad told Mama that the old bat needs to be lain—or something like that.” Sarah poured two glasses of lemonade and gave one to Daisy.

  “I can’t imagine a nap would help her one bit.” Daisy took a drink. The cool lemonade slid down her throat and washed down the dust from her earlier ride out to the cave.

  Sarah shook her head. “Me, neither.” She paused, then smiled at Daisy expectantly. “So what does the marshal look like?”

  An urgency to prevent Sarah from meeting the marshal welled in Daisy’s breast. She didn’t want him to see Sarah. She was marriageable—the prettiest girl in Oreana and much prettier than herself. While Daisy certainly didn’t love the marshal, she didn’t want to end up married to some rancher and stuck out in the sticks for all eternity. And if the marshal saw Sarah, he’d surely want her.

  “There’s really nothing to say. He’s not well. Doc says he has a slight fever and he’ll have to stay off his wounded leg for at least three weeks.” And he makes tingles run through my veins. She picked up another box of medicines, hoping Sarah would be satisfied and drop the subject.

  “Is he young?”

  “No.”

  “How old is he?”

  “At least a few years older than me. Or maybe late twenties.”

  Sarah sighed. “You make yourself out to be ancient instead of only twenty-two.

  “I’m a spinster. Spinsters are supposed to be old.” She shoved another bottle of Hostetter’s on the shelf, then flinched at the clang of glass. Luckily, the bottle didn’t break.

  “I don’t know where you picked up this nonsense about marrying a fellow you don’t even know just because he’s a lawman. Sounds cold-blooded. Don’t you get all warm inside and kind of…anxious feeling when you see a really good looking man?”

  “Never.” Except when I’m near the marshal. “But I’ll have to find a husband soon or my folks might find one for me.”

  The doorbell jingled and the ample Mrs. Courtney bustled in, all high and mighty. Daisy and Sarah groaned, then both young ladies clasped their hands to their mouths. Daisy nearly burst to keep from giggling at the guilty look in Sarah’s eyes. She hurried behind the counter before the impatient woman chastised her.

  Mrs. Courtney hefted a basket onto the counter. “Five dozen eggs, not a one of them over two days old, and three pounds of butter.” She waved her hand at Daisy in dismissal. “I’ve already spoken with Mr. Gardner about it, and he authorized a trade for my stomach medicine.”

  “Why certainly, Mrs. Courtney. I’ll write it up in the account book.” She went back to the shelf and grabbed a bottle of Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters. “I hope you’re feeling better.” She managed a smile and waited for the old bat to leave. But she didn’t.

  “May I help you with something else?”

  “Of course not. I’m waiting for you to record the transaction in the ledger.”

  Daisy rolled her eyes and bent over to ferret out the account book in the sea of odds and ends under the counter.

  “And while we’re speaking, I’d like to voice my protestations of hiring a wounded marshal. Half a man, he is, not being able to walk and all. I certainly do not approve of city monies going toward paying a man who isn’t capable of satisfactorily performing his duties.”

  Finally spying the book, Daisy extricated it from the heap, stood, and laid it on the counter. Gently, too, even though she felt like whacking the old biddy across the head with it.

  “And another thing—you should be much more organized with your accounts. I shall speak to Mr. Gardner about it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Daisy replied, keeping her voice calm as she turned the pages to Mrs. Courtney’s account. The widow was hopelessly in the red, but Daisy doubted the haughty woman even knew it. Her father had said that widows needed a little extra help in the winter months. Last year he crossed off her remaining debt and started her anew for the spring. He’d probably do the same this year.

  “Five dozen eggs and three pounds of butter,” the widow reiterated.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Now, about that marshal. I strongly suggest that the city withhold his pay until he is completely recovered.”

  “But then he’d leave, and we still wouldn’t have a lawman.”

  “Bah! If he’s honest, he won’t take money he hasn’t earned. This will be a test, won’t it?”

  Daisy finished recording the merchandise trade. Yes, Mrs. Courtney tested Daisy’s patience, no doubt about that. “All finished, ma’am. May I help you with anything else?”

  “You already said that.” She pivoted away from Daisy, stuck her nose in the air, and marched out.

  Sarah stepped up to the counter. “Do you think she’s telling everyone that the marshal’s half a man?”

  Daisy nodded. “Your dad’s right. She needs a nap.”

  “Ya hear that? I’m gonna be the new deputy of Oreana!” Bosco slapped his knee and jumped out of his chair, then sat back down.

  Cole closed his eyes and pressed his hand to his forehead. “Bosco, wipe that goofy grin off your face and get me out of this damned place. Now.”

  “Hell’s fire! He’s gonna swear me in, same time’s you.”

  “I won’t be sworn in, and neither will you.” Cole sat up, wincing from the pain in his thigh. “It’s not honest.” He cast his best glower at Bosco, who seemed oblivious to the impending danger of discovery.

  But Cole hadn’t forgotten. Not for a minute. He had to stay away from Daisy’s sister at all costs. Daisy, too, for that matter. That woman scared the hell out of him.

  “Bosco, I just want to know how in all fire blazes you got me into this mess in the first place. You know very well that it’s flat out not honorable for me to accept the marshal job, especially with the law after us.”

  “Oh, I had a powerful thirst, what with the dust and all, so I stuck you under a bush and rode into town. But before I so much as got to the saloon, this little scrawny feller run full-tilt out of the telegraph office hollering for Miss Daisy, saying the marshal was riding in, ‘cepting he had a wounded leg. Said he’s a big ‘un, too. So I brung you on in.”

  “You lied to Miss Daisy? First you try to rob a bank to stop them from financing the miners—not too damned smart of a plan in the first place—then you lie and tell her I’m the blasted marshal?”

  “I swear,” Bosco stood at attention and put his hand over his heart, “that I didn’t lie. Cross my heart and hope to die.” He drew an imaginary X across his chest. “I didn’t tell no one that you was the marshal. No, sirree. Miss Daisy figgered you was the marshal. All’s I did was not say elsewise.”

  Cole had to get home—now—to uphold his duty to his brother. Because of Cole’s own foolishness, Thomas couldn’t support his wife, Etta, and baby daughter. Cole sure as shootin’ couldn’t run the ranch from a jail cell—or dangling from a rope.

  “You got us in a fine pickle.” He doubted his scolding sank in since Bosco was so pleased to be deputy. “Iris could identify us at any time. Hell, she might even come in with her father to swear us in. Then what do you plan to do?”

  Bosco flashed a toothless grin. “She ain’t coming in. I heard the doc say he wanted to spark her some tonight. ‘Course, I’m thinking the little lady’ll tell him to tie it in a knot. She’s scarier than a bumblebee on a baby’s butt. I heard her tell him she wouldn’t marry him if he stood on his head and juggled cow pies with his feet.” Bosco chuckled and shook his head. “That poor sumbitch don’t have a chance.”

  “You’re mistaken,” Cole snapped. “He’s sweet o
n Daisy. I heard him practically propose.” Then a thought struck that quickened his heart. “Did Iris see you?”

  “Don’t suppose so. She never said nothing.”

  The door opened and Cole gritted his teeth, knowing his fate was about to be sealed. Mr. Gardner walked in holding a Bible, followed by the doctor.

  Then Daisy—ahh, what a sight. Cole smiled at her and she responded with a slight nod. His blood stirred. She could almost make him forget this dratted mess. But one look at Mr. Gardner, with a Bible in one hand and a star in the other, spoiled his entire fantasy journey under her skirts.

  She placed the meal box on the table beside his bed and tucked a dishtowel around it. “This will keep your supper warm until after you’re sworn in.”

  “Thanks, miss.” He admired the dip of her waist, then forced his mind back to the business at hand.

  Cyrus Gardner greeted Cole with a nod, and Cole felt guilty about having lewd thoughts about the man’s daughter. If only they wouldn’t force him to tell the lie of his life, he’d be a happy man.

  “Doc, prop him up,” Gardner ordered. “We’re ready to start.”

  Cole sat up and the doctor stuffed pillows behind his back.

  “That good enough?” Doc asked.

  “It’ll do,” Gardner replied, “but you better get a vest on him or he might holler when I stick this badge through his shirt.”

  Doc rifled through Cole’s things and gave him his vest. Bosco tugged at his own, showing a little more self-importance than he deserved. Cole pulled the leather vest on, wishing he could think of some way to avoid lying.

  Mr. Gardner stepped forward. “Raise your right hand.” He waited until Cole complied. Cole’s hand felt heavy as a boulder, but, against his better judgment, he raised it and placed his left hand on the Bible.

  “Do you solemnly swear to uphold the laws of Oreana, Idaho Territory, and the United States of America?”

  Cole took a deep breath. “Are you sure you want me to be your marshal? You haven’t even checked my background. Hell—” he glanced at Daisy, “excuse me, miss—” then addressed her father again, “you don’t even know if I am who you think I am.”

  Gardner waved the Bible at him. “Quit babbling and answer.”

  With a little plea for forgiveness from the Big Man Upstairs, Cole knew he had to go through with it. “Yes.”

  While Daisy’s father attempted to stab Cole in the heart with the dad-blamed star, Bosco hopped forward. “Me, too!”

  “Your turn is coming,” Mr. Gardner said, tilting his head in concentration. Cole dared not breathe for fear of getting poked as the mayor’s shaky fingers forced the pin through his vest.

  “I’ll hook it,” he volunteered.

  Gardner grunted and took a smaller star out of his pocket. “No use wasting breath, since you already agreed.”

  Bosco held the vest away from his chest so the shaky mayor wouldn’t have quite so good a target as he had with Cole—one of the smarter things Cole had seen Bosco do in a long time.

  “I’ll be on my way, now. Gotta say some words over the Arthur baby.” Mr. Gardner tipped his hat. “Daisy, don’t you stay a minute longer than it takes to get that food out of the box. There’s three single men here, and it just doesn’t look right.”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  Her father left. Cole enjoyed the grace of Daisy’s hands as she unwrapped the box and opened it.

  Bosco inhaled loudly. “Mmmm, that smells plumb tasty.”

  Daisy glanced up at him. “I, ah, need to get more food. I was only expecting Doc and the marshal.”

  “Don’t mind me. I just ate at Widder Courtney’s.” He patted his belly. “Chicken, taters, and raisin pie. Whoo-wee—that’s some woman!” He picked up his hat. “I best go on the rounds, since the marshal’s laid up and all.”

  Doc and Daisy stared at Bosco’s departing figure. “Bosco and Mrs. Courtney?” they said in unison, and both laughed.

  Cole didn’t understand what was so danged funny. Bosco wasn’t the brightest candle in the room but he wasn’t mean or ugly.

  Daisy and Doc smiled at each other much too long. The doctor especially vexed him, seeming to find any opportunity to be near her.

  Cole shrugged off the vest and rid himself, at least temporarily, of the incriminating badge. Too bad he couldn’t rid himself of the whole dag-gone town.

  He glowered out the window and searched for something to divert his attention. Bosco strutted across the street, looking mighty tickled with himself, for sure. Two men crossed his path, and hopped off the boardwalk in the direction of the saloon down the street.

  Something about those men seemed damned familiar. He squinted, studying their faces.

  The miners! Porker and Gib Rankin, the brothers who sluiced his ranch’s creek into a muddy dribble, had come to Oreana.

  Then an idea occurred to him. As marshal, he could make their lives hell, the same amount of hell they’d caused him. Being marshal of Oreana could have its advantages.

  Chapter 3

  Tired of Mrs. Courtney’s incessant complaining, Daisy turned her back to the widow, unwrapped another bottle of patent medicine and plopped it on the shelf beside the others. “He’s getting better every day,” she protested. Too bad the old bat couldn’t keep her trap shut, but Daisy doubted that would ever happen until the self-righteous widow drew her last breath.

  “We should just swear Deputy Kunkle in as marshal and be done with it. At least he’s a fully functional man.” Mrs. Courtney picked up her dry goods and left the store, much to Daisy’s relief.

  Sarah, standing safely back from the widow’s path, stepped up to the counter. “We have to do something before she causes even more trouble.”

  “But he’s only been here a week.” Daisy shoved another bottle on the shelf, and opened a new box of medicines. “You can’t expect him to get well in such a short time.”

  “Maybe so, but the boarders were talking about it last night at supper. I’d say if you want the new marshal to keep his job, you’d better find a way to get him on his feet. And fast.”

  Unfortunately, Daisy knew Sarah was right. She tried to concentrate on her task, but all she could think about was how she could get the marshal healthy—her entire future depended on it! When she unwrapped another bottle from the new box, the label caught her notice:

  LOST MANHOOD RESTORED

  The DR. LIEBIG Private Dispensary

  400 Geary St., San Francisco, Cal.

  “Sarah, I think we have our answer! Listen to this. “Nervous Debility, Impotency, Seminal Losses, Physical Weakness, Failing Memory, Weak Eyes, Stunted Development, Impediments to Marriage, etc. from excesses or youthful follies, or any cause, speedily, safely and privately cured.”

  “He doesn’t look too nervous.”

  “No, but maybe he doesn’t show it.” Daisy concentrated on the next word, trying to decipher its meaning. “Do you suppose Impotency means general weakness? After all if a medicine is potent, that means it’s strong. So impotency would mean that a man has lost his strength.”

  Sarah nodded. “Must be. And he can’t be all that strong with a hole in his leg.” She picked up another bottle, unwrapped it, and studied the label. “Why on earth do you need a cure for not wanting to be a preacher?”

  “Huh?”

  “Well,” Sarah explained, “it says Seminal Losses. I guess that must refer to men who have quit seminary school.”

  Daisy shrugged. She didn’t know, either, so she studied the label again. “This medicine sounds like just the thing to speed his recovery, especially if it removes any Impediments to Marriage—although I don’t know how on earth it could do that. Mama says love potions are hoaxes.”

  “But it couldn’t hurt.”

  “It might help.” Daisy stuffed a bottle in her apron pocket.

  “How are you planning to pay for it? Aren’t you going to tell your Dad?”

  Daisy shook her head. “He won’t mind. I’ll just record it in the ac
count book.” Where, she didn’t know—maybe on Mrs. Courtney’s account, but she wasn’t about to let her father in on her plans to marry the marshal until she had him bagged good and proper.

  Cole threw off the blanket. “I don’t give a good goddamn what Doc says, I’m not staying in bed one more minute.” At least he’d been moved to the marshal’s office where he didn’t have to put up with the doctor mooning over Miss Daisy.

  Bosco grabbed Cole’s britches. “I’m gonna throw your clothes right out into the daggone street if you take ‘nother step from that there bed. You got at least nine or ten days before you’re s’posed to be standing up.”

  “Hell, Jesus only took three days to rise from the dead.” Cole motioned for Bosco to toss the pants to him. “And if you throw my clothes in the street, why, I expect I’ll have to go get them, butt naked. And don’t think I won’t—maybe in front of your Widow Courtney. The whole damned town is buzzing over her romancing you. Why, from what I hear, wedding bells are bound to ring pretty soon.”

  Grimacing, Bosco slowly handed the clothes to Cole. “Don’t go funning me about her. She ain’t so bad, and she makes one helluva raisin pie. I bet your Daisy can’t hold a candle to her cooking.”

  “My Daisy?” Cole snorted. Much as he wanted to, he knew he’d never get his hands around that sweet waist of hers, let alone steal a kiss. Even if he had the chance, he wouldn’t do it. Women like her were the most dangerous kind. The marrying kind. “You know as well as I do that I have more important things on my mind than women. Like those Rankin brothers. Have you been trailing them like I told you to?”

  “Yup.” Bosco stood tall and puffed his chest some. “They sure do like their liquor, ‘specially Porker. Gib, you can find him at the faro table just about anytime.” He put his hat on and sat astraddle a chair by Cole’s bed, and rested his arms on the back. “Yup, they spend most of their time at the Branded Horse saloon. I can find ‘em anytime you want ‘em.”