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

by Jacquie Rogers

  She dried his eyes on his shirt and sniffled again. “You think so?”

  He’d think anything as long as it kept Mrs. Proctor quiet. “I do think so. I’ll call someone to look in on you.”

  “Thank you, marshal. You’re very kind.”

  Gardner took Mrs. Proctor home, and the new man in town, Sam, volunteered to ask Doc to check on her. He relaxed a moment, then cautiously approached Bosco and the harridan he’d caught.

  “Need some help?”

  “Need a new jaw,” Bosco answered. “Prunella here packs quite a punch. I could’ve used her down in Winne-mucca last year when a dozen outlaws attacked me.”

  “Two,” Cole corrected.

  “I’ll never bake you another raisin pie as long as I live, Deputy Kunkle.” She glared at him, then poked him in the gut. “You’re a two-timing, heartbreaking rogue.”

  Bosco smiled. “I ain’t had that good a compliment since I roped two calves at the same time. No, sirree.” He grunted when Mrs. Courtney punched him again.

  Sam came back from the doc’s. “He said he’d be right over, and he’d check on Mrs. Courtney, too.”

  Cole nodded. “Good, thanks.”

  “You’re most welcome,” Sam replied. “Just returning the favor. Do you need some help getting Mrs. Courtney home?”

  Not likely, since she was bigger than he was. “Naw, Bosco and I can handle it. I appreciate your offer though, Sam.”

  Sam left, and Cole wondered why the little fellow always looked at him like he was some sort of oddity, especially since Sam, himself, was the odd one.

  Mrs. Courtney gave Bosco a swift kick in the shin.

  “Gol-darn it, woman, that hurt!”

  She shot him a glare. “You’re a stupid, stupid man.”

  He shook his head. “I ain’t so stupid, Prunie. I knew that there raisin pie tasted lots better than that old cherry pie she baked up the other day.”

  “You did?”

  “Sure ‘nuff.”

  She smiled. “Naturally, I’m a much better cook than that woman.”

  Cole breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe Bosco’s words had calmed her down—at least for a while. “Let’s get you home, Mrs. Courtney.” He had to get back to the Gardners’ and face the music. No use in delaying.

  Fifteen minutes later, he knocked on Daisy’s door. He felt like he’d swallowed a freight train, but the time had come for his meeting with Iris. Maybe he should have prepared Daisy for all this, but, no matter how hard he’d thought about it, there was no easy way to tell a woman that she was engaged to a criminal.

  Daisy opened the door, smiling. “Come on in, marshal. Supper’s on the table.” She looked behind her, then stood on her tip-toes and kissed him on the cheek.

  He stepped in, removed his hat, and followed her to the dining room.

  She held her hand out to a young lady nearly as pretty as she. “Marshal, I want you to meet my sister, Iris. Iris, this is my fiancé, Marshal Adler.”

  Iris smiled. “How do you do, marshal.” Then she studied him. Cole stood his ground even though his better judgment told him to get the hell out of there. “Haven’t we met somewhere before?”

  “Not likely, ma’am. I’m, uh, new here.”

  They settled in for the meal—one that Cole thought would never end, with Iris staring at him from across the table. Afterwards, Mrs. Gardner and Grace washed the dishes, while Iris, Mr. Gardner, Daisy, and he visited in the parlor. Iris and her father sat on the two chairs. Daisy directed Cole to the couch and sat beside him.

  Gardner started to light a cigar, then glanced at his two daughters and put it back in the box. “You did a good job with those two ladies, marshal. I want you to know Oreana heartily appreciates your services.”

  Clearing his throat, Cole nodded his thanks, but knew he didn’t really deserve it. Iris would remember him soon, of that, he was sure. And with Daisy’s nearness driving him to distraction, he focused his concentration on Iris, not on Daisy’s firm breasts.

  “I always miss everything,” Daisy grumbled.

  Her dad chuckled. “Believe me, it was a good thing to miss. Those two women were mighty sore at one another.”

  “What were they fighting over?”

  “I couldn’t tell you whether they were fighting over Bosco, or the raisin pie,” Cole said. “I’m not sure they knew.”

  “I doubt they did.” Gardner grimaced. “But I can tell you this, I’d rather break up a man’s fight any day. Safer.”

  “So,” Iris said pointedly, “how do you like your job here?”

  “Right fine. The folks are friendly and, well, I met Miss Daisy.” She beamed a smile at him that made his heart thump. He smiled back. “Sure can’t complain about that.”

  Daisy sat up straighter and a sparkle lit her eyes. “He’s really helped Oreana a lot. There was the fire—why, he organized the whole town in less than a minute.”

  “He surely did,” Mr. Gardner agreed. “His fast thinking saved that whole block of buildings, I’d wager.”

  Cole doubted that—and anyone standing nearby would have done the same as he had.

  “Yes,” Daisy went on, “and he’s kept Mrs. Courtney and Mrs. Proctor at bay for the longest time, too, and you know how they are. The marshal even unveiled an imposter who rode into town claiming to be Sidney Adler!”

  “Not to mention keeping Forrest and the dog out of trouble.” Gardner chuckled and slapped his knee. “Mrs. Courtney was like to be tied when Winky stole her drawers off the clotheline.”

  “And he made Forrest his junior deputy, a job which our brother takes quite seriously.”

  “Sounds like you made a good choice for a marshal, Daisy.” Iris eyed him again. “Are you sure we haven’t met before?”

  Her study made him uncomfortable, but he held his ground. “No, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” Actually, he hadn’t remembered what she looked like since he’d only caught a glance of her at the bank.

  But he knew one thing—he needed to talk to her alone and tell her exactly where they had met. He’d lived a lie long enough and it was damn well time to start making things right. Starting with Iris. He only hoped Daisy loved him as much as he loved her.

  Without taking her gaze from him she said, “I just want to know one thing, marshal, are you in love with my sister?”

  Daisy waited for the marshal’s answer, holding her breath. Was he in love with her? He could have proposed only out of a sense of duty. A month ago, that would have been fine with her. Now, though, she knew what loving a man meant, and she suddenly realized how important it was to her that he share her love.

  “Yes,” he said firmly. Daisy’s heart sang and a giggle escaped her throat before she could stifle it. He put his arm around her and pulled her closer to him. “She’s the only woman for me. Ever.” He kissed her on the cheek—right there in front of her father and her sister! She didn’t mind his impropriety in the least. Why, if they were alone, she’d ‘impropriety’ him right there on the couch.

  Her dad cleared his throat. “I’m wanting my cigar now, girls. You go help your mother.”

  The marshal stood and helped Daisy up. “I best be getting on my way, too. Bosco might be needing my help with the widows.”

  They all laughed, but Daisy didn’t want him to go. Not yet. “I finally got the prints on the silver dollar drawn. Do you want to see them?”

  He glanced at Iris, then back at her. “Not now, Daisy. Maybe tomorrow sometime.”

  She wanted to protest, but it wouldn’t have been seemly to do so in front of others. And tomorrow would be busy the entire day. She’d be lucky to see him at all.

  The evening had been fun—she and Iris had chattered until her folks blew out the lanterns. Daisy kicked Iris’s petticoat from the middle of the bedroom floor, then turned her back to her sister. “Unbutton me, please. I can reach them, but I’m tired.”

  “Me, too, I need sleep.” Iris worked the buttons free. “Show me about those fingerprints y
ou told me about earlier.”

  “Sure,” Daisy said, not wanting to seem too anxious. Not one single person had seemed the slightest bit interested in her work before—except Sam Jones. She shrugged off her dress and unhooked her corset, then fetched the drawings for her sister.

  Iris held them in one hand while she brushed her hair with the other. “This is intricate work—I didn’t know you could keep your mind on one thing long enough to do work this detailed.”

  Daisy beamed with pleasure. Not only was her sister interested—she liked it! “It takes a couple of hours just to draw one print, and that’s if I don’t goof up.” She pulled of her shimmy and put on her nightgown. “I better straighten up a bit—if we have to go to the privy in the middle of the night, we’re liable to break our necks.

  Iris put the prints on the vanity and continued brushing her hair. “I’ll help in a minute. I just have to wash my face.”

  She picked up the water pitcher and splashed it in the basin. Daisy froze, half stooped, and watched with horror as water sloshed over the edge, puddling the ink on the drawing.

  “Oh, Daisy, I’m so sorry!”

  The hot morning sun felt refreshing on Sidney’s face as he stood in front of the boarding house. His muscles ached from the carpentry work, and, even though he could use the money, he was damned glad to be finished with the job. The Muellers seemed happy with his work, and had told him they’d recommend him for other jobs around town.

  He hoped he didn’t need to take them. The law was what drew him, and besides, his arms felt like lead iron weights. Still, he couldn’t shirk his duty to take care of Katie—racing mules needed rigorous daily exercise. His leg chose that moment to throb. Damn that doctor! He’d said the pain would be gone inside of six weeks. It had been six weeks, and the pain still came and went.

  He decided to whistle for her instead of going to the stable. Within moments, Katie trotted up to him, nuzzling his pocket.

  Jonas came running with a rope. “Sorry, Sam. She jumped right out of her stall—I’ve never seen the likes of it.” He drew a loop and readied to throw. “I’ll get her for you.”

  “Don’t you mind that—I called her.”

  “You called her?”

  Sidney nodded. “She needs to run a little.” He fished a sugar lump from his pocket and gave it to her, then patted her on the nose. “You go on and have a nice run, Katie, but don’t be gone long.”

  Jonas let his rope droop and stood there, gaping, as the mule trotted out of town. “You’re just letting her loose? How do you plan to catch her?”

  Sidney cocked his head in the departing mule’s direction. “I’ll just whistle again if she’s not back when she’s supposed to be.” Pity, how few people knew how to properly train an animal. Pity, too, that most men stuck with horses whose intelligence was vastly inferior to that of mules.

  Shrugging, Jonas headed back to the livery, muttering to himself.

  Sarah stepped out on the porch. “Good morning, Mr. Jones.”

  Sidney smiled. A beautiful morning, a beautiful woman, and a beautiful mule. Life couldn’t get much better—except, of course, if he had his name and his job back. And if the woman were his. "Good morning, Miss Sarah.”

  “Would you like to go for a walk before we have to get ready for the picnic?”

  Suddenly, his leg quit hurting. He held out his elbow for her to hold. “Sure.”

  She stepped down and put her hand on his arm. His heart skipped a beat when she smiled at him. “Oh, good, I thought you might be mad at me.”

  Mad? At Sarah? “No, Miss Sarah, I could never be mad at you.”

  She laughed, and no church bells ever sounded sweeter. “I bet you could. We all have our moments.”

  They walked to the opposite edge of town, past Gardner’s Mercantile, past the confectionery, and past the bank—even past the houses on the edge of town. Then Sarah stopped and faced him. "Would you like to kiss me?”

  Would a man dying of thirst want a drink of water? But he didn’t have the slightest idea how to go about it. What did they do with their noses? He couldn’t speak, only nodded.

  She leaned into him, her breasts pressing against his chest, tilted her head, and pressed her lips against his. He put his arms around her and kissed her harder, wanting to taste more of her. He lips parted and he felt her teeth with his tongue, forgetting all about their noses. His manhood didn’t care, either. He wanted to take her right there—he was sure he could figure out how.

  “I know a place where we can be more private,” she whispered. “Do you want to go there?”

  Lord and all His Angels! “Is it far?”

  “No. We’re standing behind it. This house is empty, and the barn’s empty, too.”

  He practically carried her inside. “Oh, Sarah, I feel…” But he couldn’t say it. Even if she let him kiss her a couple of times, she’d never actually fall in love with him. Not when a man like Dugan could catch her fancy.

  “You feel what?” she whispered, her breath touching his neck.

  “You’d laugh.”

  “I won’t laugh, promise.”

  “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever met, and I think I’m in love with you.”

  “Think?” She kicked the door shut with her foot and ran her hands down his chest.

  He quit thinking.

  Droves of people from all over the countryside had arrived at the celebration site on Pickett Creek. Cole was surprised that so many chose to go there, rather than to Silver City, which held much larger festivities. People had spread blankets on the dirt between the sagebrush, and children played tag amongst them, shrieking and laughing.

  They’d roasted an entire steer in a pit—Jonas and his wife had started it a couple of days before—and the smell of beef made his mouth water. People from the town greeted him with smiles, and those from out of town came up and shook his hand, telling him how glad they were to have him around, and congratulating him on his upcoming marriage to Daisy.

  He’d never been so drawn in by a community, and he’d never felt so guilty about deceiving the lot of them. Mrs. Howard handed him a plate of beef and beans. “Eat hearty, marshal. It’s a great day!”

  “Thanks, ma’am.”

  Pete, the bartender, slapped him on the back. “Enjoy the day, marshal, it’s the last taste of freedom you’ll ever have.” He pointed to a man talking to Mrs. Howard. “See him? That’s Judge Glover—the one who’ll do the marrying.”

  Cole smiled and nodded his thanks, but knew Pete didn’t know how right he was. In fact, the marrying judge might very well be the man to order the necktie party.

  He glanced over at the ring-toss booth where Iris bent and held out her hand while a young boy placed a penny in it. Somehow, he needed to get her alone and tell her the truth, but it would have to wait until someone else came to relieve her.

  Sarah manned the beanbag booth. Sam stood in front, looking plumb twitterpated. Cole hoped that Sarah didn’t break the little fellow’s heart, but he didn’t see how a beautiful girl like her would want a skinny little man with an oversized head.

  Another wagon joined the group—Thomas. Cole groaned. Why didn’t they go to Silver?

  Thomas waved. “Howdy, brother!” He hopped off the wagon on his one good leg, then turned to help Etta and little Callie. When the little girl saw him, she squealed and came running, her arms open wide.

  Cole lifted her up and received a big, wet kiss on the cheek. “How’s my girl?”

  She stuck her thumb in her mouth and grabbed his neck with her other hand, then laid her head on his shoulder. He held her until her parents got there.

  “I gotta talk to you, little brother.”

  “Go get yourself settled and I’ll be along shortly. Meantime, I’ll be introducing my little princess to the crowd.”

  “All right, but don’t dally,” Thomas said. Etta looked at Thomas with such loving eyes, Cole wondered why he’d ever kicked up such a fuss over her. Thomas was her man. Cole was
never meant to be.

  He took Callie on a tour of the area. Loretta Sue ran the kissing booth. Several men lined up, ready to pay their nickels. Mrs. Courtney had a table with several raisin pies for sale on it. Cole made a note to keep Winky away—he didn’t want her to go hysterical again. The Muellers sold their candy and, in the next booth, Daisy sold lemonade.

  One look at her, and he had a powerful thirst.

  * * * * *

  Mike Flynn walked his horse through town at a leisurely pace, not wanting to call attention to himself. Earlier, Porker had told him that there wasn’t a single soul left in town, but the man was a simpleton and couldn’t be trusted.

  The deputy, Flynn could handle. The marshal posed more of a problem, although deals could be made—he was no more Sidney Adler than Flynn was, and they both knew it.

  He dismounted and peered into the bank. Empty. He remounted and rode to Roth’s house. Empty, too. He held still listening for sounds, but the town was dead. His only worry now would be that some people might forego the fireworks and come home.

  For a moment, he considered moving the schedule up, then discarded the notion. During the day, an explosion would certainly bring the marshal. At night, however, the firecrackers would cover the sound. Yes, he’d stick with his plan, and then he’d ditch those two stupid miners.

  “Marshal, over here!” Gardner called. Several other men stood near, digging into their pockets for coins.

  Cole waved and walked to the group. “You men look like you’re fixing to stir up some trouble.”

  “That, we are. We decided to have a horse race. Two bits to enter, winner takes all.”

  “Hmmm. I might be interested in that. My horse has a little git-up-and-go.”

  “Nope,” Gardner said. “You’re the judge.”

  “Let Bosco be the judge—he rides an old nag.”

  “No, sirree,” protested Bosco. “My horse’ll beat that broomtail of yours any day of the week.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter,” Gardner said. “The marshal is our judge. It’s tradition.”

  “Tradition? I thought I was the first marshal that Oreana ever had.”