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

by Jacquie Rogers

  Nothing like being subtle, he thought. “He’ll be here at nine, ma’am.” He took a drink. Nope, just blackberries. No punch in the punch. Damn.

  “I suppose he’s keeping us safe from murdering bandits.” She sniffed. “Shouldn’t you be—”

  “Have some dessert, marshal.” Mrs. Howard held out a plate with a five-inch slice of pound cake.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said as he took it. The first bite was pure heaven. Bosco had it right about the food in Oreana. The women, though, could be downright frightening. He wished he could enjoy himself the way Bosco could, but then, Bosco just lived in the day, never thinking about the future. That worry fell to him. It always had.

  The thought of women drew his gaze to the most dangerous female of all, Miss Daisy Gardner. Looking for her was not in his plan, but nonetheless, he scanned the room hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

  His endless frustration became unbearable, so he put down the cake, grabbed Mrs. Howard and whirled her to the middle of the floor. She squealed and he laughed. Maybe this night wouldn’t be so bad, after all. He twirled her around and guided her to a vigorous high-stepping pace, knowing that the townspeople would think he was showing off. But he couldn’t worry about that—he had to work off the yearning that had kept him in turmoil since the moment he first gazed into Miss Daisy’s beautiful green eyes.

  Just as he had worked up a good head of steam, Jonas tapped him on the shoulder and Cole was obligated to turn Mrs. Howard over to her husband. Jonas had abandoned Daisy’s Aunt Grace, so Cole took her for a spin around the room before the song came to an end.

  Miss Grace laughed and blotted her brow. “What a fine dancer you are, marshal!” No sooner had she said the words when another man claimed her for the next dance.

  Cole still hadn’t talked to Miss Daisy, although he saw Sarah dancing with the senior Mr. Dugan. She acted like a proper young lady, most certainly trying to impress him with her suitability as a bride for his son.

  Just then, Mr. Mueller, the confectioner, and his wife entered the barn. She held her skirts and skipped to the music while he hauled a couple of boxes. Candy, probably. The kids thought so, too, because they emerged from the loft, the stalls, the dance floor, and who knew where else to converge on the jovial couple.

  “Ve haf candy!” Mueller bellowed. “A piece for everyone!”

  What a ruckus. Cole’s amusement softened when Miss Daisy showed up from nowhere to claim her sweet. Mueller took her to the side, near where Cole stood. “For you, fräulein, I haf chocolate, in t’anks for da fire putting out.”

  “Mmmm, thank you, but it’s not necessary.” She took a bite, leading Cole to think it was very necessary from the look of sheer ecstasy glowing from her face. He nearly scooped her up and took her to his bed right then and there. Lordy, he’d be glad when the Rankin brothers were behind bars, Thomas could run his own ranch, and Cole could settle in Oregon, leaving all his troubles in Idaho Territory.

  Mueller nudged Cole with the other box. “Und I haf someting for you, too. Follow me.”

  Cole dodged couples as he trailed the portly confectioner across the dance floor and out the back door.

  Mueller pulled a jug from the box. “Sit. Die frau made dis beer. You von’t taste better beer dan dis.” He took out two mugs. “I share vit you so you don’t haf to drink alone.” He grinned and filled both mugs. He pushed one toward Cole. When Cole took hold, Mueller said, “Salut!”

  “Salut,” Cole mimed, and clinked his mug against Mueller’s. The both took long, slow drinks. “You’re right. This is the smoothest beer I’ve ever had the pleasure to taste in my life.” He took another few gulps and wiped the foam off his upper lip with his sleeve.

  He wasn’t just saying that, either. The beer went down like lemonade, it was so smooth. In no time at all, he’d drunk the entire pint.

  “Ve better go back,” Mueller said, “before die frau comes to get us.” He put the jug and both mugs back in the box.

  Cole stood, a little woozy from downing the beer so quickly. With the beer on top of the two shots of whisky he had earlier, he’d drunk more than he had in the last two months. The last thing he needed with the Rankin brothers problem plus a very beautiful, dangerous lady inside, was to lose his sensibilities. He breathed a deep breath of cool evening air, then followed Mueller back to the festivities.

  A couple pranced by, nearly knocking into another couple—Miss Daisy laughed as Patrick Dugan whirled her away.

  Chapter 10

  Cole broke out in a sweat as he watched Dugan spin Miss Daisy about the floor. He’d known this would happen, but that didn’t ease his disgust one damned bit.

  The music softened to a muted roar as his gaze was glued to her every move. She smiled, then tossed back her head and laughed. Cole could have spat even though he knew Dugan was the better man for her. Happy couples danced around him, the ladies’ skirts flaring and the men whooping. He was the only one in the place standing there like a lummox.

  Except a woman in a purple dress across the room. He made a beeline for her and pulled her into the dance. Halfway around the floor, he discovered it was Mrs. Proctor he’d swooped up. She huffed as she danced, but her eyes sparkled and she did her level best to keep up with him. He supposed that even old battle-axes liked to dance.

  The closing bars of Old Dan Tucker found both he and Mrs. Proctor, well, tuckered.

  “What a fine stepper you are, marshal!” she gushed.

  “Thank you for the dance, ma’am,” he said as he bowed and backed away.

  “I suppose you better get going so Deputy Kunkle can enjoy the dance.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He looked at his watch. Another hour. Another long hour. God, would he make it? He steered her toward the refreshment table and poured her a glass of punch.

  Jonas Howard stood at his wife’s side, whispering in her ear while she smiled naughtily. The sight brought a pang of remorse—with all the bad luck he’d had with the fairer sex, he’d never have a helpmate to smile at naughty whispers.

  No other woman could compare to Miss Daisy, and he knew she’d sooner hang herself than hook up with a dishonest man. When she found out who he really was, she’d never so much as speak to him again. But he planned to be a long time gone before his true identity was revealed. If only the Rankin brothers would cooperate. He knew they had something to do with the fire—their presence was too damned coincidental.

  Jonas gave Mrs. Howard a pat on the behind, then grabbed a bag from under the table and moved over to Cole. “C’mon out back, marshal. After the day’s work you put in, I have a little something for you.”

  Cole suspected he knew what that “little something” was, and after seeing Miss Daisy moon all over that blasted dirt farmer, he was ready to imbibe. “Lead on.”

  Sure enough, once they made it through the back door, Jonas took a jug out of the bag. “Here’s to the Oreana Volunteer Fire Department.” He took a long pull, then handed the jug to Cole. “Have a snort.”

  Wiping the mouth of the jug with his palm, he took a gulp. The fiery whiskey burned all the way down his throat as it settled in his stomach. “To the fire department,” he said, and took another drink before handing the jug back to Jonas.

  “To all the sweet ladies,” the blacksmith toasted, and took another long pull.

  “Ah, the ladies.” Cole’s head felt a might light, but he drank a couple of swallows just to be sociable.

  Jonas took the jug and put it back in the bag. “Speaking of the ladies, I’d better get back to mine before she kicks my butt.” He grinned broadly.

  Cole figured that if Mrs. Howard did kick Jonas’s butt, he’d enjoy it immensely. “Yup, better get back in there and break some hearts.” But it was his heart that was breaking.

  “Sarah, I know he saw me, but he didn’t even make a move to ask me to dance.” Daisy willed the tears not to come. She would not put on a waterworks show right in the middle of the dance. Mrs. Nafsinger and Mr. Curtis had decl
ared an intermission, and people were milling about, making small talk with folks they hadn’t seen in a while.

  Meantime, Sarah had danced with every man in the place with the exception of the marshal. Daisy would have shot her if she had, and Sarah well knew it. Patrick Dugan seemed to enjoy Sarah’s company and had asked her to dance twice, which had caused quite a bunch of speculation amongst the old hens of the town.

  But the marshal had been stand-offish. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought he was actually avoiding her—but why on earth would he do that?

  Sarah patted Daisy on the hand. “Don’t worry, if he doesn’t ask you, why then, you’ll just have to ask him!”

  “Oh, I couldn’t possibly do that,” Daisy murmured, although it did seem like a good idea. But if the ladies whispered about Patrick Dugan asking Sarah to dance two times, they’d have heart attacks if Daisy asked a man to dance. No, she couldn’t do it. Her folks would kill her.

  “All right, then. I’ll go tell him to ask you.”

  “NO!” Her response came out a whole lot louder than she intended, and others around stared at her before resuming their conversations.

  Sarah giggled. “I think that he’s interested in you. Otherwise, he wouldn’t spend so much energy staying away from you.”

  “That doesn’t make one whit of sense, and you know it.” But maybe it did. And maybe, just maybe, he needed a little incentive.

  An idea formed. Everyone in town was occupied at the dance, and it promised to run until the wee hours of the morning. So this was the perfect night to...

  But she couldn’t. Nor did she want to trick a man into marrying her. Why, that was low and dishonest.

  “It makes sense,” Sarah defended. “I think there’s some reason why he doesn’t make eyes at you. Maybe he’s already married.”

  “Married!”

  “Could be. But I’ve seen him with you, and I know he likes you very much, so why else would he not ask you to dance?”

  “I’ve danced with married men all night.”

  “Yeah, but did you want to kiss them?”

  The musicians started playing again, and the men and women paired off to resume dancing. Mr. Roth claimed Sarah, and Daisy went over to the dessert table, busying herself with neatening up a bit.

  A man put his hand on her waist and she jumped about a foot. “Why, Doc! I didn’t know if you could make it.” She looked at the stranger standing beside him. “Aren’t you the fellow that the marshal brought to Doc earlier?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He bowed. I’m right as rain, thanks to the Doc. Just needed a little pick-me-up.”

  “Miss Daisy, this is Henry Smith. Henry, Miss Daisy Gardner.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Henry.”

  He smiled. “Likewise. I don’t suppose you have a sister around?”

  She didn’t have time to answer before Doc led her onto the dance floor. “You better sit down, Henry. I’ll take care of dancing with the ladies.”

  On the second spin around the floor, she noticed that Henry had, indeed, found himself some company. Aunt Grace sat beside him, and darned if it didn’t look like she was flirting. Middle-aged women didn’t flirt! She giggled.

  “My dancing isn’t that funny,” Doc said. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

  “Henry. He’s sitting with Aunt Grace.”

  The doctor chuckled. “It didn’t take him long to find a pretty lady.”

  The music stopped. Mr. Curtis stood hollered over the crowd, “Mr. Roth here wants to dance with the piano player, so I guess you’ll have to put up with a lonesome guitar for a spell.” He sat back down.

  “Let’s go talk to Al a minute,” Doc said to Daisy.

  Mr. Curtis flipped through the pages in Mrs. Nafsinger’s songbook when they approached. “I know a good harmonica player,” Doc said. “Do you want me to see if he’ll play?”

  “Sure. I think Mr. Roth wants to dance with Arlene more than once.” He winked at Daisy.

  She’d had no idea that Mr. Roth would want to dance with Mrs. Nafsinger, let alone twice. If fact, he got tongue-tied every time her mom's friend came by.

  “All right, I’ll get him.” Doc disappeared into the crowd, and, in a minute, brought back the marshal. “The marshal plays a mean version of Beautiful Dreamer,” he said to Mr. Curtis. “Do you know that one?”

  “Sure do. Come on up and let’s play.”

  Daisy caught his gaze, and thought she saw panic. But surely the marshal wouldn’t have stage fright amongst the townspeople. He knew mostly all of them. He looked away quickly, as if he couldn’t bear to see her.

  She declined Doc’s offer of a second dance, saying that she needed to rest her sore feet. She also declined his insolent offer of a foot massage. Undaunted, the doctor partnered with Mrs. Curtis.

  The marshal played and nearly brought her to tears. The mournful tones of his harmonica reached straight to her heart, and she vowed she’d land him at the altar, one way or another.

  * * * * *

  As soon as the last note left his harmonica, Cole lit into a brisk version of Andy Vito. Al looked a bit puzzled, but soon figured out the chords and strummed along. But Cole couldn’t tolerate Miss Daisy looking at him with those big, innocent eyes of hers, or the thought he might bring tears to them. Nothing like an old drinking song to lift her mood—and his.

  When that song wound down, Mrs. Curtis came to claim her husband, so Cole was obligated to play another song with Mrs. Nafsinger. She smiled at him, and asked him what he’d like to play.

  “Old Folks at Home?” he suggested.

  She nodded three times to give him the tempo, then started with the intro. He picked up from there, and it seemed like they’d been playing together for years. The same thing had happened with Al, earlier, and Cole wondered what it would be like to belong in such a community as this. Maybe when all his troubles were sorted out and he was settled in new country, he’d find out. But he wouldn’t have Miss Daisy. The thought made his playing even more plaintive, a feeling he still had when the song ended.

  Al Curtis rejoined Mrs. Nafsinger, and Cole put his harmonica in his pocket and stood. “A pleasure to play with you two.”

  “Thanks, marshal,” Al said. “Join us anytime. I don’t know where Barney is—he was supposed to play fiddle tonight, so we’re glad you could help us out.”

  Cole shook his hand and headed for the punch bowl, when Cyrus Gardner motioned him to come to the back door. Carefully picking his way through the dancers, Cole didn’t feel all that steady on his feet. Funny, his wooziness had all but disappeared while he played, but it was back full force. The last thing this nice little town needed was a drunk lawman.

  Just then Daisy whirled by on the arm of an appreciative young man that Cole didn’t know. What he did know, was that the slimy bastard didn’t deserve her. And neither did he. And, deep in his heart, he knew the other fellow wasn’t really a slimy bastard. Gardner shouldn’t let her associate with the likes of randy young men like that.

  Like he was. Damn.

  “I imagine after all that playing, your whistle is a little dry.” Gardner opened the door. “I got a little something you’ll like better than that sissy punch in there.”

  Cole doubted it, but after seeing Miss Daisy being manhandled by all flavors of men, he was ready for another drink of a substantial nature. He kneeled beside his host.

  “Plum wine,” Gardner said proudly, holding the bottle up to the lantern, “decantered straight from Mrs. Gardner’s crock. You won’t find better.” He poured each of them a large glassful and handed one to Cole. “Here’s to the best damned bunch of firemen this side of the Mississippi, and east, too.”

  Cole’s stomach turned a bit. He really should have eaten dinner, and would have if he’d known Oreana’s leading citizens all had their private stashes of liquor. He held his glass up and let Gardner do the clinking, afraid he might bust glass all over the place. “To the firemen—and the one firelady
, Miss Daisy.” He drank deeply.

  The wine tasted awful, but the alcohol was useful. Anyway, it was almost time to spell Bosco—the widows waited for him like water drops on a hot skillet. He had a feeling that instead of doing the late night rounds, he’d have an appointment with his cot. He took couple of gulps. He had a vague notion that Gardner was talking to him, but didn’t much give a damn to listen. He finished off his glass and held it out for a refill.

  “Sure is fine wine,” Gardner said. “Probably oughtta give young Dugan a little to get his wheels greased. He don’t seem to be paying much attention to my daughter.”

  Cole didn’t agree. At all. Dugan, and every other young fellow had danced with Miss Daisy, put their grubby hands on her waist and held her hand. Hell, he hadn’t. He hadn’t touched her. Tonight, anyway. But he’d kissed her, and she’d kissed back like a woman ready for lovin’. She lured him like a moth to fire.

  He shook his head and downed half a glass of wine. Lord Almighty, he couldn’t be thinking these randy thoughts right there in front of her father. What kind of weasel was he? A frustrated one, that’s what. He tossed the rest of the drink down his throat and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

  “My daughter did show a fine head during that fire, didn’t she?”

  Cole belched. Was the man blind? Miss Daisy was the most beautiful woman he’d even seen. Much prettier than Etta. “Yes, sir, there’s no finer woman than Miss Daisy.”

  Gardner sent him a sharp glance. “That’s right, and she doesn’t need no lawman for a husband, either, so don’t you get any crazy notions.”

  The ground wouldn’t stay put, and Cole’s legs felt a bit like jelly, but he managed to stand. Gardner had no idea what crazy notions streamed through his head all night—and every other time he’d seen the little auburn-haired vixen. But he’d keep it in check. That, he would. “No, sir. This lawman won’t be sniffing at your daughter’s skirts. You can bet on it.”

  “Ah, I didn’t mean to insult you, marshal. Just that she needs a man who’s stable. Home all the time. Someone who can keep an eye on her. She gets the silliest damned ideas of any female I ever knew. And a lawman just can’t be there every minute.”