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

by Jacquie Rogers

  “I have some really good news,” she whispered.

  Just having her near him was good news. “What?”

  “I have two prints on the coin that Iris gave me.”

  “Coin?”

  “Yes. When she shot the robber, a silver dollar fell from his vest pocket. She gave it to me. I think one of the prints is probably hers—I’ll take her fingerprint when she gets here on the four o’clock stage. But the other print, well, that belongs to the man who tried to rob her.”

  Cole’s heart raced and he swore under his breath. The last thing he wanted was for his future wife to tie him to the robbery. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

  “I think it does,” she defended. “I’ve taken several people’s fingerprints and each one is unique. I know they’re not permitted in a court of law yet, but you just wait, they will be.”

  He watched her as she worked up a good head of steam. She seemed nearly as excited over her damned fingerprints as she did his kiss—and that didn’t say much for his manhood. He lowered his head to kiss her again, but this time she pushed him away.

  “And you, marshal, will be in the forefront of criminology. As your wife, I’ll make sure of it. Why, I bet I’m already better at this new technique than most detectives are.”

  He couldn’t argue there. But he sure as hell didn’t want her comparing the prints on that silver dollar to his, whether it was hocus-pocus or not. He couldn’t risk losing Daisy, and he needed to stay alive for her—to care for her, protect her, and make sweet love to her.

  There was only one thing to do—get rid of the evidence.

  Forrest blasted through the front door, the dog bounding after him. They both ran into the kitchen, knocking over one chair, one flowerpot, and one Daisy Gardner. “Mama, the stage is here!”

  Daisy picked herself up and threw a carnation—with root ball—at her brother. “Watch where you’re going!”

  He ducked and the flower splatted on the wall, leaving a splotch of dirt. “Watch where you’re standing.” Forrest grabbed their mom’s hand and tugged. “Come on, Mom.”

  “Clean that up, young lady.” She untied her apron and tossed it on the table, then pulled on her gloves and bonnet. After turning in a complete circle twice, she waved a dismissal at the pile of dirt and said, “Oh, leave it—let’s go see your sister. You can get that later.”

  Daisy was still pulling on her gloves as she followed her mother to the street. Her dad tore out of the store, a big grin spread across his face. Aunt Grace and a man—the same one who’d collapsed at the saloon—hurried toward them. Was he the man who had her aunt giggling? Because he looked even older than her aunt—maybe even fifty. Was he sparking her? Surely not!

  The marshal had said he’d be there, too, but she hadn’t seen him since that morning. She craned her neck to see down the street, and still spotted no sign of him. She wondered what could be keeping him.

  The family all waited for the stagecoach to come to a stop, Forrest hopping around and the dog barking and wagging his tail. Her mother held her hands to her breast. Her aunt and the older man joined them, both breathing heavily and smiling.

  “Remember Henry Smith?” Aunt Grace said to them.

  Her parents shook hands with him as if he were a decent fellow, but Daisy held back. Could he be the bank robber? Somehow, she’d have to get his prints. She smiled at him, her teeth clenched.

  “I wonder where the marshal is,” she muttered.

  “Don’t you worry about him,” her mother said. “He’ll meet Iris at supper.”

  But she wanted him to meet the stage with her. She could hardly wait to see Iris’s face when she introduced her fiancé! Who would have thought she could find a man so handsome—and a lawman, too.

  The dust billowed around the stage as the driver pulled the team to a stop. The man who rode shotgun tossed a few carpetbags down to the ground before the brake was set, then pushed off Iris’s trunk. After the dust settled, the driver opened the door—a couple of men hopped out, then the last one offered his hand as Iris stepped down.

  She had hardly touched the ground when her mother pulled her into a big hug and kissed her on the cheek. “Iris!” Only then could Iris give her father and Forrest their hugs.

  When it was Daisy’s turn, she whispered, “I have a surprise for you.”

  Iris grasped Daisy’s forearms and looked her in the eye. “What kind of surprise?” Her eyes danced. “Tell me—did you land the marshal?”

  “Yes!” They both squealed and hopped around in a circle. “I can hardly wait for you to meet him—he’s gorgeous.” Then she noticed the others looking at them, and Aunt Grace calmly waiting her turn. Still grinning, she stepped back. “We’ll talk later.” She took another glance down the street, hoping the marshal would be on his way.

  Iris giggled. “All night!”

  Aunt Grace gave Iris a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Welcome home, Iris. I want you to meet a friend of mine, Henry Smith.”

  He stepped forward and tipped his hat. “Nice to meet you, Miss Gardner.”

  Iris looked at him, then Aunt Grace, probably thinking the same thing Daisy was thinking. And her parents were thinking. “My pleasure.”

  Forrest ran and dragged her trunk toward the boardwalk. “I’ll take this to the house for you.” He flexed his arm. “I’m junior deputy, you know.”

  Iris sent Daisy a questioning glance, then said to Forrest, “I’ll bet you do a fine job, too.”

  Daisy laughed. “The marshal’s very good with him.” She hooked arms with her sister. “You wouldn’t believe all that’s happened since you were here last. We’ve had a fire at the confectionery, and a dance that was really fun—too bad you missed that—and all sorts of things. Wait’ll I tell you about that old biddie, Mrs. Courtney!”

  “That can wait,” her mother interrupted. “First, Iris needs to get washed up and settled. It’s a long ride from Silver.” She cupped Iris’s chin in her hand. “Do you need a nap before supper?”

  Iris shook her head.

  “Cyrus, I think you best be in charge of the trunk. The junior deputy needs to grow some before he can heft a loaded trunk up the stairs.”

  Forrest frowned and scrunched up his face. “Aw, Mom.”

  Just as they turned the corner to their street, Daisy saw the marshal walking toward them. “Oh, Iris, there he is!”

  Iris turned, but their mother put her hand on Iris’s back, urging her into the house. “He can wait in the parlor until you’ve freshened up.”

  Reluctantly, Daisy followed her older sister up the stairs, her father behind them with the trunk. “What’ve you got in this thing, lead?”

  “Just a few knick-knacks for the family. And my clothes, of course.”

  No one could accuse Iris of being a light traveler, Daisy thought. She heard her mother welcome the marshal, and fervently hoped Iris wouldn’t dawdle too much, although her sister was widely known for her dilly-dallying.

  “So when’s the Big Event?” her sister asked as Daisy shut the bedroom door.

  “The fifth.” She clasped her hands over her heart. “Isn’t it exciting? Dad thought we should have the ceremony while the folks from the country are here for the fireworks, so we’re having it at ten in the morning on the fifth. Besides, Judge Glover will be here, so he can marry us proper.”

  Iris shrugged. “Daddy’s married lots of couples—most of them don’t ever get married in front of a judge.”

  “Yes, but Dad isn’t officially a preacher, and I want to be married in the eyes of God and Idaho Territory.”

  They both laughed. “That poor man never had a chance,” Iris said, pouring water from the pitcher to the basin. “I want to change clothes—I’m dusty from the inside out.” She looked around the room, then asked, “I need a cleaning rag to wipe the dust off the trunk.”

  Daisy sighed. Let the dawdling begin. “I’ll get you one.” She dashed into Forrest’s room and snatched a dirty union suit from under his bed, ran
back, and, in less than a minute, wiped off the trunk. She sure didn’t want to wait around for Iris to do it. She unbuckled the straps, unlatched the hasp, and had the trunk lid open before Iris could protest. “There you go,” she said, throwing the underwear in the corner. “Let me help you with your dress.”

  Before Iris could say a word, Daisy had her untied and unbuttoned.

  “My, you are anxious for me to meet him, aren’t you?”

  Daisy shrugged, not wanting Iris to know how right she was. “The sooner we get you fixed up, the sooner we can start having fun.” She handed her a bar of lavendar-scented soap. “Now, unhook your corset and wash your face. I’ll get you a clean shimmy and dress.”

  “Clean petticoats, too. I don’t want to shake these out in broad daylight.”

  Several dresses were on top, much to Daisy’s dismay. That meant Iris had several choices, and while she was amazing when at business, when it came to personal attire, Iris could change her mind a dozen times. Daisy took the dresses out, shook them, and hung them on the wall hooks. Next came the petticoats, which she shook and laid on the bed.

  “Those will need a good pressing. Could you have Mama heat up the iron for me?”

  No! “Sure.”

  She turned to leave for her errand, when Iris asked, “What’s all this?” pointing to the secretary.

  “Fingerprinting. Remember, I told you I’d ordered a fingerprinting kit?” She pointed at the coin. “See, there’s the silver dollar from the bank robbery. If I can get a good print from it, I might be able to confirm the identity of the thief by comparing his fingerprints to the ones on the coin.”

  “Don’t you have to get his prints first? And if you don’t know who he is, how are you going to get them?”

  “True, but this is mainly for practice. What bank robber would bother to come to Oreana, anyway? But I bet your prints are on it, so I can see for myself if the technology works.”

  Iris raised her eyebrows and Daisy knew she was skeptical. “I didn’t rob the bank—I was the one who got robbed. How long will it take to heat the iron?”

  Daisy called to her mother to put the iron on the stove, then while they waited, asked, “Sarah brought my wedding gown over this afternoon. Would you like to see it?”

  “Sure.”

  She took it off the hook and held it to her sister. “Sarah made it—designed it, too.”

  Iris felt the smooth silk and admired the dress for a moment. “It’s beautiful. She did a wonderful job.”

  “Yes, she’s excellent with a needle.”

  “So why are you getting married in such a hurry? Whatever happened to the old-fashioned six-month engagement?”

  Daisy studied the floor. “Uh, well…”

  “You didn’t!”

  Daisy shrugged. “Sure did.”

  “Oh, my.” Iris giggled, putting her hand over her mouth. “So, how was it?”

  No words could describe how the marshal had made her feel when he’d made love to her. What he did with his hands, his lips, his…Good gracious! Perhaps that’s why people didn’t talk about it at all. “Better than chocolate.”

  Cole waited in the parlor, mouth dry and heart pounding. He’d sat in the uncomfortable chair for nearly ten minutes, and still no sign of either Daisy or her sister. Her sister, he could do without. If she recognized him, his days were numbered.

  He listened to the sound of pots clanging, Winky thumping, and Forrest yabbering. What bothered him more than his own guilt was how Daisy would feel. She’d be devastated, and it would be all his fault. Just like his off-hand remark about keeping money from the miners had prompted Bosco to rob the bank. Bosco was good-hearted, but not always real sharp. Cole should have known not to talk like that in front of him. And he should have pulled him out of that bank before he asked the lady banker to turn over the Rankins’ money. But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d been across the street looking at geegaws for his little niece.

  And then there was Thomas, crippled because of Cole’s inability to forgive. He’d known Thomas couldn’t ride that bronc—no one had, and his brother wasn’t that good of a rider. Still, he taunted Thomas until he gave it a shot, was thrown, and busted his leg into God knows how many pieces. All because Cole was mad that Etta had fallen out of love with him and in love with Thomas.

  Now that he’d grown to love Daisy, he questioned the depth of his love for Etta in the first place. On hindsight, he realized he had looked at Etta from the worshipping eyes of an adolescent boy, not from a man’s eyes. Thomas had, and Thomas won, as he should have.

  Cole knew his love for Daisy had climbed beyond anything he ever thought was possible. He’d never met a more amazing woman, and she made life brighter with every glance and every touch. She was his woman, and he’d be hers forever.

  Mrs. Gardner came in with the coffeepot. “Would you like a refill, marshal?”

  He raised his palm. “No thanks.”

  “I don’t have any idea what’s keeping those girls.”

  “No hurry, ma’am.” Not to see Iris, at least. But he might as well face her now as later. And, he admitted, she’d likely not remember him at all. Bosco, though, was hard to forget.

  “We’ll have supper in a few minutes. I know it’s early, but I imagine after that long stage ride, Iris will want to eat.

  Forrest burst into the parlor, Winky bounding after him. “Marshal, marshal, come quick!” He hopped from one foot to the other, waving wildly. “Deputy Kunkle needs your help!”

  Cole sprang to his feet, glad to have something to do, but hoping Bosco hadn’t gotten himself in yet another fix. He followed the boy and his dog out of the house, down the street, to the mercantile.

  Two people wrestled in the middle of the road. Curses and dust flew, and he could hear the impact of fists as the two fighters pummeled one another. Bosco stood a few feet away, alternately rubbing his chin and hiding his eyes. Winky barked as he ran around the battleground.

  Cole couldn’t believe his eyes. The fist-throwing, hair-pulling, screeching combatants were women—and not just any women—Mrs. Proctor and Mrs. Courtney! Cole grabbed one of the women, but the other one threw a stiff punch to his belly and knocked the wind right out of him. He backed away to catch his breath.

  “Ladies, stop!” he yelled, but the women both had blood in their eyes.

  Then he saw a couple of saddled horses tied in front of the mercantile and got an idea. Each horse’s saddle had a lasso looped over the pommel. He grabbed both lassos and threw one to Bosco. He gave Bosco the first throw, since it would be more difficult to get a catch.

  “Rope one of ‘em. I’ll get the other.”

  Cole watched as Bosco uncoiled his lasso, then twirled the loop over his head, waiting for the right moment to throw. It was a thing of beauty—Bosco had always been the better roper, although Cole could hold his own. Meantime, Cole uncoiled his own rope and waited for Bosco.

  Bosco threw his loop and it circled around one of the ladies. He gave the rope a few flicks to set it, then jerked the woman back. Cole threw his loop and caught the other one. The crowd cheered, and, for the first time, he noticed all the people who had gathered.

  “You stole my raisin pie,” Mrs. Courtney spat. “You’re a sinful woman to let me blame a little boy and his poor dog for your evil actions.”

  “It was my turn to have him at my house for dinner, you strumpet!” Mrs. Proctor stomped on a peacock feather in the road and ground it with her heel. “And that’s for your stupid old hat. An old woman like you shouldn’t be wearing such frippery.”

  “And an old biddy like you ought not be flitting her tail under the deputy’s nose. Why, he’s a gentleman!”

  Mr. Gardner walked up behind Cole. “Well, at least they’re talking to each other.”

  Chapter 18

  Bosco dallied his rope around the hitching post, but he didn’t dodge fast enough. Mrs. Courtney tore into him like a wildcat on a hunk of rotten meat. “You told that woman that she made the best raisi
n pie. You scum!” She whacked him with her bonnet. “You rat!” He blocked her assault with his forearm.

  Cole chuckled, but didn’t have much time to enjoy the spectacle because the woman on the rope he held tried to yank it from his hands. He gripped harder and pulled her closer, then Gardner grabbed one arm and Cole held the other. Mrs. Proctor shook like a bean sprout in a hailstorm. “Calm down, Mrs. Proctor. You’ll each have the opportunity to say your piece.”

  “What do you know, you—you whippersnapper! That woman accused me of stealing. Stealing, mind you! Stealing her stupid raisin pie. Why, if I’d have known what a fuss the old battle-ax would cause, I never would have taken the stupid thing.”

  “So you did take it?”

  She sniffed. “Of course not.”

  “You did, too!” called Mrs. Courtney. “You’ve always been jealous of my cooking. Just like you were jealous when Mr. Courtney proposed to me instead of you.”

  Mrs. Proctor glowered. “I’d already turned him down. Twice.”

  “Ha! I happen to know that you delayed accepting Mr. Proctor’s proposal because you were waiting for Mr. Courtney. Mama told me so. But you never had a chance, because he told me he’d never even considered proposing to such a poor excuse of a woman whose pie crust was tough as leather.”

  “Tough as leather!” Mrs. Proctor made a gesture that evoked a gasp from the crowd.

  Any more of that, and Cole would have to put a stop to this nonsense. “Careful, Mrs. Proctor. There are children about. Do that again and I’ll toss you in jail for a while, just to give you a chance to think.”

  She crumpled in his arms, sobbing loudly.

  Well, hell, now what? He patted her on the back. “It’s all over now. Let’s get you back home.”

  “And…” she sniffled, “…and then my sister will get him.” She sobbed louder.

  Cole puffed out his cheeks in exasperation, then gingerly patted her head. Crying women weren’t his strong suit. “Well, if she gets him, he wasn’t worth your while anyway.”