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

by Jacquie Rogers

  She needed proof that the man was, indeed, the shooter. And most of all, she needed time. Ah, the laudanum! She leaned forward, resting her hands on his desk and placing her person at a most improper distance from the marshal. “I’ll bring you supper at six, and some medicine to help with your pain.”

  He didn’t move, but she could have sworn their lips were closer and closer. She was determined not to chicken out this time, and oh, it felt so good. His warm breath brushed her face as she gazed into his warm, brown eyes. Embers of need welled from deep within her, and she lowered her lips to his.

  “Daisy! Daisy!” Forrest called.

  She jumped away from the marshal to see her little brother and the dog galloping into the office.

  She gasped, heart pounding.

  Forrest slid to a stop in front of her. “Please don’t tell Ma and Dad!” He pulled on her sleeve. “Please, please, please!”

  Her heart still raced like a stampede of wild horses. She pressed her hand to her chest, hoping to slow it some. Had Forrest seen her kissing the marshal? She swallowed a lump in her throat.

  The marshal patted Forrest on the head. “What say we keep it man-to-man.”

  Forrest nodded vigorously. “Good idea, sir.”

  “Come back a later for our talk.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The boy and his energetic mutt charged out as quickly as they’d entered.

  Daisy breathed a deep breath as she watched her brother run down the street, wishing she could escape, too. Just then she saw the boot thief. “There he is!”

  “Who?” asked the marshal.

  “The man who stole a pair of boots from our store!” She pointed wildly. “The one with the ragged clothes and the new boots.”

  The marshal stood and peered out the window over her shoulder. “Why I’ll be damned, that’s Porker Rankin.” With that, he took off after the thief. Not very fast, either.

  Daisy picked up her skirts and dashed after the both of them. The marshal was in no shape to be running down villains, and he might need help subduing the boot thief. She knew just what to do, too, because she’d read of many arrests made by Honey Beaulieu.

  But her skirts hindered her to where, try as she might, she couldn’t run any faster than a recently wounded man. Nevertheless, she’d nearly caught up with the marshal.

  “Arf!”

  Winky bounded right in front of the marshal, and he tumbled over the dog.

  Cole sprang to his feet. “Damned dog,” he muttered. With the ache in his thigh, his spring wasn’t too spry, and Porker had made his escape.

  Daisy patted at her skirts with one hand and dabbed at her bent bonnet with the other. “You let him get away!”

  He cleared his throat and rested his hand on his Peacemaker. No other woman on the face of this planet was quite like her. Thank the Lord above.

  Yes, he’d let the thief get away and she’d never know how much he really wanted to catch the bastard, but the Gardners sure needed to do something with that dog. He was a menace. Almost as much of a threat as the dauntless Miss Daisy. He managed to make a damned fool of himself every time she came around.

  He shifted his weight off his bad leg, groaning at both the pain and his indisposition. “I’m going back to the office.” He reached for her hand to help her up. “I suggest you find Bosco and send him over. Maybe he can catch your thief without being t-boned by a dog.”

  Then, remembering her reason for calling on him in the first place, he nearly told her exactly why he didn’t have the telegram. But he couldn’t. Not right now. Not with one of the miners under suspicion for theft. A theft conviction would put Porker Rankin behind bars, and that could prevent at least one season of sluicing Sinker Creek.

  Daisy stuck her chin out in a huff. “I’ll get Deputy Kunkle right away. He’s at Mrs. Howard’s boarding house, tending to…” She looked away.

  “Tending to?”

  “Oh, a stranger who got hurt. Sarah’s there, too.”

  “If Sarah’s taking care of the man, then why is Bosco still there?”

  Daisy shrugged. “Well, I gotta go get some medicine for him.” She straightened the remaining rumples in her skirts.

  Lord only knew what medicine she had on her mind. Hopefully not Dr. Liebig’s Lost Manhood Restorer—that would probably kill the poor sap for sure. “I’ll be at the office if you need me.” Like anyone would need him for all the good he was.

  He walked back to the marshal’s office, damning his gimpy leg every step of the way. Damning it for forcing him to pretend to be something he wasn’t, damning it for preventing him from catching the miner, and double-damning it for making him look like a milksop in Miss Daisy’s eyes.

  But he refused to limp, no matter how great the pain. A man had to have his pride, and he wouldn’t have a helluva lot left once Miss Daisy found out he was just another rancher, shot during Bosco’s ill-fated bank robbery attempt. By her sister, no less. He nearly groaned, but suppressed that, too.

  He fervently hoped he could deal with the miners quickly so he could get the hell out of Oreana with both his skin and his heart.

  Yup, he’d be hanged before he’d be the gimp in front of her. Hell, he’d probably be hanged anyway, as soon as her sister came to town. Once he got those damned miners behind bars, he’d leave this God-forsaken town quicker than a holler could echo off Sinker Canyon.

  Before he really was hanged.

  Daisy read the laudanum label carefully. One tablespoon every twelve hours. But it was late afternoon now, and the dose would only make the stranger sleep through the night or so. She needed more time than that to prove beyond any doubt that the man who claimed to be Sidney Adler was, in fact, the very man who had shot the marshal.

  She wondered whether a double dose would make him sleep until fairly late the next day. Wouldn’t hurt to try it. She peeled off the label and placed the bottle in a basket holding extra bandages and a twenty-foot hank of rope. If the laudanum didn’t keep him out of her way, the rope certainly would.

  Five minutes later, she stood in the doorway of the stranger’s room. Sarah fawned over the scalawag and he soaked it up like a soda cracker in chicken broth. Bosco cast a disapproving glance toward the patient.

  Daisy cleared her throat to alert the preoccupied residents of her presence. “I brought medicine.” She entered the room and sat the basket on the bureau.

  Bosco nodded at her. “He seems to be doing just fine.”

  “Yes.” She smiled conspiratorialy but with no hope he’d get it. “But this will make him sleep.”

  “We must see to Mr. Adler’s comfort, however we can,” said Sarah.

  Daisy resisted rolling her eyes. She couldn’t tell Sarah the truth—not just yet, and certainly not until she proved absolutely that this man was an imposter and a murderer. “Sarah, would you please ask your mother for a tablespoon and a shot glass?”

  “A shot glass?”

  “For the medicine.”

  Sarah’s mouth circled in a silent “oh” and she ran down the stairs.

  Once certain that Sarah was safely out of hearing distance, Daisy motioned Deputy Kunkle to look in the basket. “I have some rope in here, if you want to tie him up,” she whispered, hoping the imposter hadn’t heard, either.

  “Rope?” the deputy said aloud.

  She sighed. Deputy Kunkle had a good heart, but she wasn’t so sure about the brains department. “In case of fire,” she improvised, in case the stranger was conscious.

  The deputy pursed his lips and nodded somberly. “I surely hope we don’t have no fire.”

  “My goodness! Where’s the fire?”

  They both turned around to see the Widow Proctor standing in the doorway holding a jar of preserves.

  “Um, no fire,” Daisy mumbled, wondering if she could ever get the deputy back on the subject. It seemed unlikely at the moment.

  Deputy Kunkle puffed out his chest and hitched up his britches. “Nope, ain’t no fire, ma’am. No sirr
ee.”

  “I’m certainly glad of that. I brought these apricot preserves for you.” Mrs. Proctor thrust the jar toward him in what Daisy thought was a very unsubtle move.

  The deputy shook his head slowly. “Can’t rightly say I got anything to put it on. I’ll have to pass on it, but thanks kindly.”

  “Oh, then you simply must share my supper tonight. I have freshly baked bread, fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, stewed turnips, and hot apple pie. Supper’s at five-thirty.”

  Licking his lips, the deputy answered, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there with a smile and an empty stomach.” He sent her a mock salute as she passed.

  The Widow Proctor left without even so much as a glance toward Daisy, much to her relief, as Sarah came back in with the spoon and the shot glass.

  “Thanks,” Daisy said. “Pour two tablespoons into the shot glass and have him drink it all in one gulp. I hear it tastes dreadful.”

  Sarah, who seemed all too happy to resume her nursing duties to the handsome stranger, set about following Daisy’s instructions. And, Daisy mused with satisfaction, to put this man to sleep for a long while. She hoped to have him behind bars before Sarah got herself too smitten.

  The stranger’s eyes fluttered shut again. Daisy shook him, but he didn’t waken. “Just drizzle a little into his mouth, then rub his throat until he swallows.”

  “I know,” said Sarah. “I’ve seen Doc do it before.”

  * * * * *

  “I gotta go,” Bosco announced. “Mrs. Proctor’s got supper waiting on me.”

  Cole thought Bosco was headed for trouble—first Mrs. Courtney and now Mrs. Proctor. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “Sure ‘nuff.” He patted his belly. “I tell ya what, Cole, I like this here town. Good people and they feed you real good. And I’ll tell you another thing,” he waggled his finger and grinned, “Miss Daisy’s been feeding you right fine, too. Why, I bet you’ll be in her house, tight and cozy, sucking up vittles every day here purty soon.” He nodded his agreement with himself.

  “You know I can’t do that.” No person could exasperate him like Bosco, but then, no one would stick by him like Bosco had, either. “We’ll be leaving this town as soon as we put those damned miners in the county jail, so there’s no sense in making a lot of friends we’ll have to leave behind.”

  “But I’m a thinking Miss Daisy’s sweet on you, Cole. Purty little thing, danged neart as purty as her sister.”

  Cole put up his palm. “Bosco, I don’t want to hear it. And I don’t even want to think about her sister. You don’t want to think about her, either, unless you want your neck stretched out about six inches longer.”

  Bosco swallowed and rubbed his throat.

  “Speaking of which, I want you to find out the name of that fellow that who claims to be Sidney Adler. And are you sure he’s out cold?”

  “Yes, sirree. And Miss Daisy done fed him laudanum, even though he was already out.” Bosco scratched his head, then his chin. “I best shave before I head over to the Widow Proctor’s.” He took a step toward the door.

  “Wait a minute. Laudanum? She dosed him with laudanum?”

  “Sarah actually did the feeding. But yup, it was surely laudanum.”

  “I want you to stop by after you eat supper and dose him again. But you’ve got to be careful and not give him too much—we don’t want to kill him. Did you pay attention to how much she gave him?”

  “Sure did. And how to make him swaller it, too.”

  Cole smiled. “Good. And I want you to arrest Porker Rankin for theft if you see him around. He stole a pair of boots from Gardener’s Mercantile today.” Cole hoped Gib Rankin would try to break his brother out of jail, then they could arrest him, too. In no time at all, Cole would have the two brothers put away for at least several months. The creek would have time enough to recover, the cattle wouldn’t die of thirst, and he could get away from Oreana—and Miss Daisy’s breasts. Lips. Waist. Smile. Oh, Lord!

  “Will do.”

  “Huh?”

  “You here, Cole?” Bosco asked, waving his hand in front of Cole’s face.

  Cole batted Bosco’s hand away. “And be careful with those widow women.”

  Bosco put on his sorely bent hat and went on his way. Cole thought there was just a bit more spring in his step than was good for him.

  Forrest Gardner ran into the office, followed by Winky. The ugly yellow mutt stood clear up to the freckled boy’s armpits. What a combination of piss and vinegar.

  “Marshal Adler, I’m here for my sentencing.”

  “All right. Stand in front of my desk.”

  The boy straightened to attention and gulped. “I’m ready, sir.”

  “I hereby sentence you to do your homework every single day…”

  The boy groaned.

  “…in my office. I’ll check your work.”

  “Aw, marshal!”

  “And further, I sentence you to sweep out the jail and the office three times a week for the next month. There won’t be any need to report your crimes to your parents unless you violate your sentence. Understood?”

  “But Daddy!”

  “You only call me ‘Daddy’ when you’re mad, but I will not relent. You can take supper to your marshal this evening, but starting tomorrow, he eats here with the family. There’s no sense in making your mother go to all the extra work when the marshal’s well enough to chase bandits down the street.”

  “But—”

  He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “And that’s final. You tell him.”

  Daisy huffed, grabbed the supper box, and made for the door.

  “And another thing,” her father continued, “I don’t want to see you tumbling down the street with your skirts flying over your head. Do you hear me?”

  She stopped in her tracks and rolled her eyes. Of course she heard him. Did he actually think she had planned on humiliating herself in front of the whole town?

  “Yes, Dad,” she said in an even tone, even though her throat tightened. Lots of detective work lay in front of her, and she couldn’t let a quibble with her father interfere with it. And maybe, just maybe, her fingerprinting kit would come on the freight wagon the next week. She only hoped that was soon enough.

  The short walk to the marshal’s office was pleasant. The sage-scented June breeze blew away the noxious odors of the livery and butcher shop across the street. People were eating supper, so she didn’t have to worry about getting sidetracked. The stranger wouldn’t wake up until later the next day, so she didn’t have to worry about him.

  Marshal Adler would be so impressed once he knew about her superb detective skills. A tingle fluttered way down low, as she remembered his kiss. Oh, what a kiss! She sighed, never for a moment had she understood… uh, certain things. More would be good. She smiled, wondering when he’d propose. Once he did, they’d marry soon, and do the things she’d never even consider doing with a man. The wedding night didn’t seem nearly so daunting as the old ladies made it out to be. In fact, she rather looked forward to it.

  Pausing before she entered his office, she took a deep breath and donned her most winning smile. Soon, he’d find that she was not only a competent detective, but that she could cook, too. She’d made the biscuits all by herself, surprising the bejeebers out of her mother.

  Daisy opened the latch and walked right into Cole. He grabbed her around the waist to keep her from falling, and she threw her hands around his shoulders. But the basket did fall, and her lovely biscuits rolled onto the boardwalk. She didn’t much care at that moment, though, because he held her tight and her brain went all fuzzy again. She had a hard time even thinking why she was there in the first place.

  Cole chuckled. “I think you can let go, now.”

  She sprang back at the realization that she was standing on Main Street, embracing the marshal. Oh, good gravy! She took a quick look to make sure no one saw. Of course, if someone had seen, the marshal would fairly be
forced to propose, and that wouldn’t be bad. It wouldn’t be good, either, since she wanted him to love her as much as she…

  “Are you all right?” Cole asked, bringing her out of her thoughts.

  “Um…” She turned away and stooped to pick up the biscuits, throwing them back in the basket. When she stood and faced the marshal, he eyed the basket warily.

  “Come on in.” He motioned for her to enter his office.

  She sat the basket on his desk. “I, um, made biscuits for you. Special.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll spread your supper.” Her heart still hadn’t stopped pounding from his embrace. She wondered how she could ever endure being married to a man who made her twitterpated whenever she was near him. Was there something wrong with her?

  She removed the freshly ironed napkins, spread one on his desk, and put the food beside it. The meal looked pathetic, with gravy in the green beans and meat in the rhubarb pie. And the biscuits, well, they ought to be all right if she blew the dust off them—she’d done that out at the cave several times.

  But she dared not do it in front of the man she aimed to marry. At least not until the marriage license was duly signed and they were legally pronounced man and wife. With regret, she tossed her precious biscuits back into the hamper.

  She stood beside the desk and waited for the marshal to take his seat.

  “Won’t you have some, too?” he asked.

  “No, thanks. We already ate. But—” She fiddled with her gloves, wondering why she felt reticent about telling him that he’d have to eat at the house from now on. A day earlier, he had adamantly refused to stay with them while he recovered.

  But he was an independent man, just like the hero in one of Honey Beaulieu’s adventures, The Case of the Duplicitous Lawman, where the lady detective revealed the county sheriff as the ringleader of a gang of bank robbers.