She ate breakfast with the family, where her parents congratulated her on her upcoming wedding.
“So have you two talked about a date, yet?” her mother asked.
“No, we haven’t even seen each other since Mrs. Courtney’s accident.”
“It wasn’t no accident,” protested Forrest. “She’s a mean, old woman and she hurt Winky.”
“He came over yesterday and asked permission to marry you.” Her dad took a bite of scrambled eggs and chewed, slowly.
Daisy waited, holding her breath. He had flat-out stated that he hadn’t wanted a lawman for a son-in-law. “You, uh, agreed?”
He nodded. “Given the circumstances. Too bad—Dugan would have been a better provider.”
“The marshal will be a good provider,” she said defensively. “He’s a good man.”
“Never said he wasn’t. Just said Dugan would have been better. But that’s all water under the bridge now.” He put down his fork and looked up at her. “You be happy, Daisy-girl.”
She jumped up and gave him a hug. “Oh, Daddy, I am! Will you do the ceremony?”
He nodded. “I think we ought to have the ceremony on the fifth of July because your sister will be here and she can be Maid of Honor. All the neighbors will already be in town, so they won’t have to make an extra trip—it’s a busy time of year.”
Daisy’s heart leaped, she was so happy. “Just think, in less than two weeks I’ll be a married woman.”
Her mother picked up the empty plates. “We better get started on your dress. There’s a nice bolt of blue serge at the store.”
“Uh…” Daisy chewed her lip.
“If you don’t like that, there’s some green cotton that would make up real nice.”
“Uh, Mom, I already have it taken care of. Sarah’s making it, and she’s ready to fit it today.”
Her mother lifted one eyebrow. “How long has it been since he proposed?”
“Yesterday morning.”
Her parents traded glances and smiled. “So, you’ve planned this for a while, have you?”
Her dad chuckled. “That man didn’t have a chance.”
A few hours later, Daisy sought out Sarah at the boarding house. “How’s the dress going?”
“Fine, but I need a break. Want to come to the confectionery with me?” She tugged on Daisy’s arm. “I’m buying.”
“You just had candy at the dance. Why don’t you get one of your mom’s cookies and we’ll take a walk around town?”
“No, I want to go to the confectionery. Coming?”
Daisy shrugged, then followed. Sarah seldom had a sweet tooth, and, even though candy didn’t seem all that appealing in the morning, she might as well go. Besides, the Muellers were nice folks.
“So when’s the wedding?”
“July fifth, probably in the morning before the neighbors have to leave.”
Sarah giggled. “Fireworks on the Fourth, and more on the fifth. I’m sure you and the marshal will be setting off your own fireworks.”
She didn’t know the half of it. What the marshal could do, no one could even imagine! A hot thrill shot through her, just like it did every time she thought of him.
As they neared the confectionery, Sarah grabbed her arm and stepped in front of her. “Daisy, I met this most wonderful man! He’s staying at the boarding house, you know, and he’s so polite and sweet.”
Daisy kept from rolling her eyes, but she knew Sarah, and Sarah got twitterpated over every man she saw. “So you’re giving up on Patrick Dugan?”
Sarah shrugged. “He’s nice enough, all right.” Her eyes brightened. “But Sam is just…just…well, so sweet.”
“Sam? That short little fellow that rode into town yesterday?”
“That’s the one. And he is short, probably the same height as you, but he’s taller than me.”
“Everyone’s taller than you.”
The instant they entered the candy store, Daisy saw the reason for Sarah’s sweet tooth. Sam, with a carpenter’s apron tied around his waist, looked up from the board he was measuring. “Hello, Miss Sarah.”
“Hi, Mr. Jones.” She put her hand on Daisy’s shoulder. “This is my friend, Daisy.”
She smiled at him. “Nice to meet you again.”
Sarah raised her eyebrows. “Again?”
Daisy nodded. “We met yesterday when the marshal and I rode into town,” she said to Sarah. To Mr. Jones, she said, “You must have just gotten in. What brings you to Oreana?”
He looked at her a moment, then gazed at Sarah. “I thought this would be a nice place to settle down, and I was right.”
Mrs. Mueller hurried to the counter from the back room. She glanced at Sarah, who gazed into Mr. Jones’s eyes. “Vot can I get for you today, Fräuleins?”
“I’m not quite sure, yet,” Sarah said, still looking at Mr. Jones. It was evident which sweet she wanted.
Daisy fished a penny out of her reticule. “A piece of taffy, please.” After she had paid and received her candy, Sarah and Mr. Jones were still gazing at each other. “Uh, Mrs. Mueller, could I get your fingerprint?”
“Fingerprint, vot you talking about?”
“I’ll show you.” She took a pad of paper and the bottle of carbon dust from her reticule, then brushed the lady’s fingertip with carbon dust. “Just press your finger on this piece of paper.”
“Dat’s da silliest ting!” But she did as Daisy asked.
“Perfect!” Daisy put the supplies away. “I’ve been practicing drawing and comparing fingerprints. It’s the latest thing in identification.”
“Every von know who I am.”
Sarah giggled, but Mr. Jones looked interested, so Daisy asked him for his fingerprint, too.
“I’ve heard about this new identification technique, although it’s not accepted in court, yet. I’m sticking with the Bertillon System until there’s proof that no two people have the same prints.”
Daisy wondered how Mr. Jones would come upon such information. Lots of people had read about the use of fingerprinting in Twain’s Life on the Mississippi, but few were knowledgeable about criminal identification systems in general. “The Bertillion System has been known to show false results.”
“True, but not often.” He removed a hammer from his carpenter’s apron. “I better get back to work.” He turned, but then stopped and said, “I heard printer’s ink works better when you’re fingerprinting someone. Carbon dust is for when you taking prints from a surface.” He nodded at Sarah. “Nice to see you, Miss Sarah,” he said, then disappeared into the back room.
“Oh.” And it made sense, too. She’d pick up a bottle of ink at the mercantile.
After Sarah bought a piece of taffy and they left the candy shop, she turned to Daisy, frowning. “Daisy Gardner, you already have your man. Quit flirting with mine!”
Daisy sighed. Sarah was her best friend, but she sure came up with some crazy notions. “I wasn’t flirting. We discussed criminal identification methods—you can hardly call that flirting. Besides, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you the whole time.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. But you really ought to find out a little more about him before you lose your heart.”
“Do you like him?”
Daisy nodded. “He seems like a decent fellow.”
“If you weren’t flirting with him, then why didn’t you ask me for my fingerprint?”
“Because I didn’t want you to get black marks all over my wedding dress. Besides, you didn’t accuse me of flirting with Mrs. Mueller and I took her print.”
Sarah giggled and Daisy hoped her friend was satisfied. There certainly was no reason for her to suspect Daisy of flirting—not when she had the best man in the territory. Besides, Sam Jones was a rather odd looking little fellow whose head seemed too big for his slender body. And short. But taller than Sarah, and if she wanted him, good for her.
Sidney returned to the boarding house for dinner. He’d heard that Miss
Gardner had become engaged to the so-called marshal. Sarah, being friends with Miss Gardner, might very well be a good source of information. And she was very pretty.
But none of the idle dinner chatter pertained to his quest, so he sought her out afterwards. Only trouble was, her beauty tied his tongue in knots.
“Yes, Sam?”
He couldn’t think of one damned thing to say.
“Do you like working at the confectionery?”
He nodded. Actually, he hated it. His father had been a carpenter, and Sidney had grown up in the trade, detesting every moment. The first chance he got, he had taken a job as an investigator for the Pinkertons. That had been fifteen years ago, and he hadn’t lifted a hammer since. “It’s a little tiring if you aren’t used to it, but the Muellers are nice people.”
“Yes, they are.” She smiled, then lowered her eyelids.
He could barely breathe, watching her eyelashes gently lower, then open wide to reveal the most astonishing blue eyes he’d ever seen—like the ocean at daybreak. He wanted to touch the blonde ringlet brushing her cheek, but he dared not. Women were never attracted to him. Like his first heartthrob had told him, You’re just an ugly little toad.
“They moved here a year ago.”
Sidney blinked. “Who?” This woman totally befuddled him—he’d have to concentrate harder.
“The Muellers. They came here from Austria.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“Just about longer than anyone—ten years. There wasn’t even a church or a school here, but my dad insisted this was going to be the freight stop for Silver City. He built the livery first, then the house. Mama told him to build another story so she could take in boarders, and here we are!” She twirled around, her arms out.
“It’s a fine town,” was all he could think of to say. Lordy, what he wouldn’t give to hold her for even five minutes. He struggled to remember his purpose in questioning her. “So when did the Gardners move in?”
“Oh, about a year after we did. Daisy’s a couple of years older than me, but we became best friends anyway.”
“She seems like a nice girl. I heard she’s getting married to the marshal.”
“Yes, July fifth. I’m making her dress.”
“I, uh, suppose he’s been marshal for a long time, then.”
Sarah shook her head, her ringlets inviting him to run his fingers through her hair. But he resisted. No woman this pretty would ever want him, and that was a fact.
“No, only about a month. We didn’t think he was com-ing at all, then Daisy received a telegram saying that he’d been shot in the right leg. He came to town just a few days after that—or, rather, his friend, Bosco Kunkle, brought him. He was unconscious for a day.” She giggled. “But it was so funny, because just a couple of days ago, another man said he was Sidney Adler.”
“That’s the marshal’s name?”
“Yes. Anyway, Daisy didn’t believe him for a minute because he didn’t limp, even though he had the telegram she’d sent him when she hired Mr. Adler as marshal. Turns out, his name was Mike Flynn.”
So Flynn was around. Sidney’s leg ached at the very thought of the scoundrel. Flynn had shot him and left him for dead after rifling through his things and stealing anything of value. He vowed he’d make Flynn regret every evil thought he’d ever had. “So where’s Flynn now?”
“Oh, I don’t know. The marshal told him to leave—just before the confectionery fire, in fact.” She glanced at a wagon passing. “Oh, there’s Mr. Dugan.” She ran into the street waving. “Goodbye, Mr. Dugan!”
Sidney watched her wave at a blond-haired, broad-shouldered young man. His heart sank. Miss Sarah would never fall in love with a toad like him when she could have a prince like her Mr. Dugan. He strapped on the carpenter’s apron and returned to the confectionery.
Daisy had spent the last couple of days practicing the technique of taking and drawing fingerprints, and was quite pleased with her progress. Now, though, she wanted to do some real detective work. On her way to Sarah’s for her last fitting, she’d seen Gib Rankin walking down the street.
She followed him discreetly, the mid-day sun glaring off the dusty, alkali street, and watched him go into the saloon. She paused for a moment, knowing she couldn’t very well follow him in there. No decent woman would step foot in such an establishment, although she had peeked inside once. All right, twice.
She could dust the door, although there’d be other prints there, too, and she probably wouldn’t be able to get a clear print of his. Then she realized that she could get clear prints from his glass. Yes! She ran around back and sneaked in the door to the storeroom, then took a quick look through the door to the main room.
Pete, the bartender, had just set Rankin’s drink on the counter. She realized that the glass would have both men’s prints, and she wouldn’t know which was which. She waited for Pete to turn around, but he busily dried glasses.
“Psssst!”
He wiped the mahogany bar.
“Psssst!”
“Gotta deck of cards?” Rankin asked the bartender.
“Yup.” He tossed them on the bar. “Two bits.”
“Christ, I ain’t paying two bits to play cards by myself.”
Pete shrugged and, without a word, put the cards in a drawer behind the bar, then resumed polishing the shiny wood.
She tried to get his attention again. “Psssst!”
“Pete, you been holding out on me. There’s a pretty little calico in your back room, and I want her.”
Daisy plastered herself against the wall and froze, heart thumping and throat dry. She couldn’t get out the back door without being seen, and who knows what trouble that would cause.
“I ain’t got no new girl.”
“I seen her. Git ‘er. I’ll pay a dollar—that’s twice what Loretta Sue’s worth.”
“I told you, I ain’t got a new girl.”
“Well, then I’ll just go back and pluck that little lightskirt myself.”
Daisy heard a commotion—a barstool scraping on the plank floor and footsteps.
“Ain’t no one goes in my storeroom but me, but I’m telling you, the only sporting lady in this saloon is Loretta Sue. If you want her, I’ll get her.”
“I had her last night. She ain’t no better than humping a bag of spuds. I want the one back there.”
She heard footsteps coming toward her, and prayed it was Pete. As he walked through the door, she could tell the exact moment he caught sight of her—his eyebrows flew up and he came to an abrupt halt.
“Daisy, what the hell…what are you doing here?”
She put her finger to her lips in a silent shhh, then motioned for him to come closer. “I need Gib Rankins fingerprints.”
“Fingerprints?” he whispered incredulously. “Go on home now—this ain’t no place for a woman like you.”
“I heard.”
“Then you know you ain’t safe here.”
She nodded. “I know. But could you give him a clean glass for his next drink, and try not to touch it yourself?”
“Oh, for Chr…er, how’m I supposed to do that?”
“Put the glass on the bar using your towel, then pour the drink. When he's done, pick it up by the very lip and put it in my reticule.”
He shook his head.
“I’m not leaving without that fingerprint. You can pick up the glass at the store.”
Pete looked put upon. And skeptical. But she had to get that print and she stared at him until he agreed.
Shaking his head and muttering, he went back to the bar. “Have a drink on the house.”
She heard liquid being poured into a glass.
“I s’pose you think I’ll forgit that pretty little skirt back there, huh Pete.” She heard a gulp and the glass hit the bar. “One more, and I just might.”
Her heart still raced, and she wondered if it was all worth it. Of course it was—the marshal would be so proud, and she’d do just about an
ything to let him know she intended to be his helpmate in every way.
“Just a minute,” Pete said.
He brought the glass to her. She held her bag open and he dropped it in. “Now get the hell out of here before you get hurt.”
She didn’t need a second invitation. Head down, she scurried out the back door, whump, right into a man. “Oh, dear!” Then she relaxed. She’d know the smell of his bay rum and the feel of his chest for the rest of her life. “Marshal, what are you doing here?”
He kissed the top of her head. “Catching a criminal, which will have to wait. More to the point, what are you doing here?”
Should she tell him? Honesty was always better than a lie, for he’d find out anyway. “I had some business—I took fingerprints from Gib Rankin.”
“Fingerprints?” He chuckled. “I don’t know what you want with those. I don’t need fingerprints to know he broke his brother out of jail, and I don’t need them to know his brother stole boots from your dad’s store, either.” He put his hand on her waist and urged her along. “Come on, we need to get you away from here. This is no place for a respectable woman.”
His hand nearly seared a brand on her waist, and the tug of need made her face flush with heat. Other areas, too. Oh, my! And right there in public. She wondered if it would always be that way—she couldn’t imagine ever touching him without fireworks shooting through her veins.
Soon, they stepped on the boardwalk that led to the marshal’s office and the mercantile on down the street. Even though she had the definite impression that he intended to take her there, she ducked into his office.
“Daisy, it’s not right that we should be here alone.”
“But marshal, I have something to show you.” She dug her notepad out of the bag. “Look, I have fingerprints of Mike Flynn, Sam Jones, Mrs. Mueller, Sarah, and my brother.”
Much Ado About Marshals (Hearts of Owyhee) (2011) Page 21
