Arnold sat behind Wes’s desk, his feet propped up on an open drawer as he cleaned his fingernails with a small knife. “Hey, marshal, whatcha doin’ here? Shouldn’t you be home with the new missus?” His feet hit the floor and he shoved the drawer closed.
“Just checking on things. Make sure everything’s running smoothly.”
“Smooth as my baby’s behind,” Arnold chortled.
“Marshal!” Wes and Arnold turned toward the door as a large, well-dressed man burst into the room. His dark suit was covered in dust, and his face beet red, sweat running down the sides of his rounded cheeks. “The stage’s been held up again, but this time they shot two passengers and the driver.”
“Where is the stage now?” Wes hurried to the door, Arnold dodging his footsteps.
“I drove it in.” The man removed a large handkerchief from his vest pocket and mopped his face. “I’m lucky I wasn’t shot to death myself.” He gripped the back of a wooden chair by the door, and used his bowler hat to fan himself. “I think I’ll just sit for a minute.”
Wes’s hurried from the jailhouse to the stage depot two streets down, where the stagecoach stood in the middle of the street, a crowd of onlookers surrounding it. The four horses were still hitched, and they swung their heads and stomped their feet, no doubt anxious after the robbery and race to town. Foam dripped from their mouths onto the dusty ground.
“Where’s the driver?” Wes barreled up to the crowd, elbowing gawkers out of the way.
“Shot.” A small, wiry man with spectacles and a very pale face turned to Wes and gulped. “Dead.”
“His body?”
A middle-aged woman, dirt smeared on her face where she must have wiped away tears, pointed in the direction they’d just come. “Out there. As soon as the outlaws rode off, Mr. Walters climbed onto the top of the stage and brought us here.”
“Is he the man that came to the jailhouse?”
The woman and small man nodded in unison.
“And the two passengers who were shot?”
“Dead.” She swayed on her feet.
As Wes lunged forward and shouted, “Someone catch her,” the woman’s legs gave out from under her, and she slowly dropped to the ground like a stone.
“Fetch Doc Oliver,” Wes ordered the closest spectator. He opened the stagecoach door and looked inside. Splatters of blood dotted one side of the coach, and travelers’ belongings were scattered around the floor. He turned to the passenger who looked as if he would join the woman on the ground any minute. “Just the five of you? The man who drove y’all here, the two killed, and you and her?” He gestured to the woman whose head was cradled by a young man holding a cup of water to her lips.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Why did they kill those two passengers, and let the rest of you go?”
The man had loosened his tie, but still looked pale. “They argued with them. It was a man and his grown son, and they didn’t want to give up their money, even when we told them they were stupid.” He shook his head. “I handed mine over right away. I’ve been held up before, and know what these outlaws will do.”
“All right. I need you to accompany me to the jailhouse, so I can collect more information.” Wes swung his gaze to Arnold. “See if you can get the undertaker to pick up those bodies.” He gestured to the man. “Let’s go.”
“What about her?” Arnold nodded toward the woman on the ground, who now sat up, a bit more color in her cheeks.
“Once she’s feeling up to it, walk her to my office. And also get someone to take care of these horses.”
The dim coolness of the office was a welcome relief from the heat of the afternoon sun. The man who first notified Wes still sat near the door, fanning himself with his hat. Touching the smaller man on the shoulder, Wes nodded toward the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”
Wes circled around and sat, drawing a piece of paper from the desk drawer. He picked up a lead pencil and licked the end. “All right, let’s start with your names, and where you’re from.”
“Howard Walters.” The older man dragged his chair from the door and placed it in front of the desk. “I live in Ames, Nebraska.”
Wes wrote and glanced up at the other man.
“Kenneth James, Welford, Texas.”
“Where did the holdup take place?”
“About three miles out of town, right before the turnoff to Stagecoach Road,” Kenneth said.
Wes nodded. Close to the location of the other robbery. Now he was sure the outlaws were harboring in Devil’s Dungeon, right along with the other ‘upstanding citizens’ he and Anna had come across in their search for the bandits. And most likely not at all troubled by the local sheriff.
“How many were there?”
Howard thought a moment. “Four.”
“Can you tell me what they looked like?”
Howard cleared his throat. “I would say three of them were brothers. They looked alike. Light brown hair, real dark eyes. But they all wore handkerchiefs over their mouths, so it’s hard to say. Something about the shape of their head tells me they’re related.”
Wes turned to Kenneth. “You get the same impression?”
“Didn’t think of it before now, but yeah, three of them did look alike. The fourth one was older, beefier, maybe could have even been their pa. Who knows?” He shrugged.
“Did you notice anything unusual, scars, pox marks, things like that?”
Howard and Kenneth glanced at each other. “Not that I noticed.” Howard rubbed his chin.
“There was something.” Kenneth leaned forward. “One man−a young’un−wore a heavy silver ring. It had some kind of a design on it, an animal−maybe a lion. I kept staring at it, because it looked so out of place with the rest of him.”
Wes took notes as the man ruminated. The ring could have come from a previous robbery. Usually any jewelry outlaws confiscated was sold right away, but even criminals had hankerings for nice things now and again.
Pulling open his bottom drawer, Wes gathered the ‘wanted’ posters and slapped them on the desk. “Take a look at these, and see if you can identify any of them.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ll be back soon. Just study those for a while.”
He closed the jailhouse door as Doc Oliver lumbered from the direction of the hotel. “I had to give some laudanum to that woman in the holdup.” Doc shifted his medicine case from one hand to the other. “I don’t think you’ll get much out of her today. She was pretty upset.”
Wes nodded. “I have the two men going through the posters now. I’ll see the woman when she’s up to it. Where is she?”
“At the hotel. She was on her way to Texas, no kin here.”
“Thanks. Maybe tomorrow I’ll see if she has anything to add.”
After a brief conversation with the doctor, Wes crossed the street as the undertaker’s meat wagon drew up in front of the barber shop. He joined Jeb Drayson when the man jumped down, and they walked to the back of the cart. Drayson pulled a large piece of canvas off the bodies. Three men lay on their backs. The driver, who Wes recognized as Pat Murray, and two men. One about fifty and the other, early twenties. The driver had a hole in his chest, but the other two had each taken a bullet between the eyes. A clean shot.
Wes’s fists clenched in anger. Three senseless murders. “Did you get any identification from the bodies?”
Drayson nodded, and withdrew papers from his pocket. Wes unfolded the first one. It was a receipt for a train ticket for a Mr. Martin Dugger and Mr. David Dugger, both of Forest Station, Nebraska. He slapped the paper against his leg. “I’ll send a wire to the men’s family, let them figure out what to do with the bodies.”
Jeb shoved his hands in his pocket. “What about Murray?”
“I’ll have to notify the Wells Fargo people, see what information they have on his kin. The few times I talked to him, he never mentioned any ties.”
“I’ll haul ‘em over to the ice house, but they bette
r come soon.”
“Thanks.” Wes spared another look at the bodies before he walked away. He had to find these men and stop the hold ups.
Anna studied the table, and moved one glass a few inches from the dinner plate. Then she centered the two candlesticks on either side of the salt and pepper. Everything looked perfect. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Wes had been gone four hours already. What could he be doing all this time?
She’d kept herself busy preparing a meal in this old fashioned kitchen, proud of her accomplishment. Opening a jar of carrots had been easy enough, but trying to figure out what to add to make it a meal took some thought. After rooting around the pantry, she’d come up with rice and dried beans. Not exactly a wedding dinner bounty, but the best she could do under the circumstances.
Still confused by her new husband’s earlier behavior, perhaps setting the mood and dressing in something a little bit more modern would help her cause. She’d cut and hemmed the bottom of the white silk nightgown one of the church women had given her, so it no longer tangled around her ankles, but hit her mid-thigh. There wasn’t a whole lot she could do with the bodice that ran right up to her neck, so she opened a few buttons to show some skin.
She’d be damned if she’d allow Wes to sleep on the sofa. There had been no mistaking the desire in his eyes. He wanted her, and wanted her bad. So what was keeping him from dragging her off to bed?
Her hair gleamed in the candlelight as the locks fell across her cheek, caressing her with their silkiness. She’d stood in front of the mirror in the bedroom brushing until it shone, bemoaning not having any lip gloss or mascara. She simply looked too pure.
Now her heart sped up at the sound of footsteps on the porch. The door slowly opened, and Wes filled the space with his presence. His eyes flicked from her to the table and back again. His throat worked as he swallowed. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself.”
He waved at the table, avoiding her eyes. “This looks nice.”
“I had nothing to do for the rest of the afternoon. So I decided to try my hand at cooking.”
“You’ve never cooked before?”
“Not on an 1870s stove.”
“Ah.” He moved forward, circling around her. She pivoted to watch him pump water into the sink, then wash his hands.
“Are you hungry?”
“I could eat.”
Awkward.
Suddenly she felt underdressed, like a desperate spinster trying to attract the handsomest man at the bar. Anger slowly made its way up from the pit of her belly to heat her face. She hadn’t done anything wrong. This was her wedding night, and by God, she wouldn’t feel guilty for trying to seduce her husband.
“I have to leave as soon as we eat.” He drew out a chair and sat, leaned back and crossed his arms.
“Leave?” She took the seat across from him as her knees gave out. What the hell was he talking about?
“There’s been another hold up, and I’m sure it’s the same gang we tracked once before. I want to get to Devil’s Dungeon before they go into hiding again.”
“And you have to leave tonight?”
“I don’t want to, but . . .”
Anna shoved her chair back and stood. “Fine. Give me a minute to get dressed and I’ll go with you.” He wasn’t getting away from her that easily.
Wes captured her arm. “No. I don’t want you going.”
She looked into a pair of very determined eyes. “Why not?”
“They killed two passengers and the driver this time. It’s too dangerous. At this point they have nothing to lose.”
Her jaw dropped. “That’s terrible.”
His hand slid down her arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake. Wes took her hand in his. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
With a will of its own, her hand cupped his cheek, her thumb rubbing the scratchy surface of his skin. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, either.”
He tugged until she sat on his lap. “I’ll be fine. Three other men are going with me.” His voice rumbled deep and low, leaving her breathless and longing for his touch.
Almost as if he’d absorbed her thoughts, his palm moved up her back, kneading the flesh. The sensation of the silk rubbing against her skin seared her, causing parts of her body to throb.
His hand slid around to her breast and her nipples beaded, begging for his mouth. He manipulated the soft mound as Anna closed her eyes and purred. Wes fumbled with the rest of the buttons on her nightgown, then spread the pieces apart, leaving her exposed to his view.
She shrugged her shoulders and the gown dropped to her waist. Almost as if he held the finest china, Wes placed both his hands on her breasts and gazed at her. “You’re so beautiful.”
Anna had never felt so admired in her life. His eyes glowed with wonder, moving from her face to her breasts. He took a strand of her hair, and teased it across her nipple. Then, flinging the lock behind her shoulder, he moved his mouth over her breast and suckled.
Grasping his head with both hands, she flung her head back and pulled him closer. “Yes, that feels so good.”
He moved from one breast to the other, lifting her slightly so he could ease the nightgown from under her. His fingers found her wet warmth and he groaned as he slid one finger into her body.
Anna was on fire. Wes’s magic fingers and tongue tortured her, made her frantic with need, to have him take her, possess her fully.
“Marshal! You about ready to go?” A pounding at the door made it through her lust crazed brain, and she drew back, confused.
“What the hell?” Wes turned as the door knob rattled, and he shouted, “Stop! I’ll be right there.”
Anna quickly slid her arms through the nightgown sleeves and buttoned it up. Wes sucked in air through his teeth and rested his forehead on hers. “I have to go.”
Unable to form words, Anna nodded and stood on shaky legs. “Be careful.”
He caressed her cheek, then turned and strode to the door. He glanced back, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t identify. Desire? Sorrow?
Before she could define it, the door closed and he was gone.
Chapter Thirteen
Anna spent the night alone, tossing and turning in her husband’s bed. Perhaps alone in body but not in spirit, because everything about Wes surrounded her. His scent on the bedding, his clothes hanging in the room; an extra pair of boots neatly placed next to the dresser. Her dissatisfied body raged with need. Finally, with the sun barely peeking over the horizon, she threw off the light sheet and left that torture behind.
She padded into the kitchen and stared at the stove. How did one make coffee? There was a metal coffee pot sitting on the stove, but at home all she’d ever done was pour water into her Keurig every morning, pop in a pod, and voilà−coffee. She sighed. If she were going to have coffee, a trip to the café was in order.
After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she tied her hair back with a ribbon and put on the only dress she owned besides the one she’d been married in. Maybe she’d take the last of the money she’d put aside and buy herself a skirt and blouse. She’d hoarded that little bit since the Pastor’s wife wouldn’t let her look for employment as an engaged woman. Such old-fashioned ideas.
The morning air was cool and crisp, the scorching sun not yet making its presence felt. The brisk walk helped settle her. Perhaps after breakfast, she’d put on her jeans and run, get her muscles moving again. She smiled to herself, wondering what the town would make of that.
“Morning, Flossie.” Anna greeted the café owner and took a seat at the counter.
“Mornin’, yourself.” She smirked as she grabbed the coffee pot. “How’s the new bride?”
“Missing a husband.” God, she sounded awful. Like a bitchy hormonal teen.
Flossie poured coffee into a cup sitting on the table. “He off chasing that nasty bunch that killed those people in the holdup?”
Anna nodded.
“Don’t y
ou worry none, missy, he’ll be back straight away and keep ya busy.” She winked at Anna. “On yore back.” She let out with a loud laugh and Anna cringed.
“You want those biscuits and gravy again?”
“Just toast this morning. I need to conserve my funds.”
Flossie shook her head. “No worry. The marshal stopped in last night and said to put your meals on his tab.”
“He did?”
“Sure. You’re his responsibility now.” She sauntered off, leaving Anna with her mouth agape.
His responsibility? Anger shot through her, setting her heart to thumping. She was a twenty-first century woman. She was the only one responsible for Anna Devlin, er, Shannon.
Anna Shannon.
The name rolled off her tongue like warm honey, releasing little flutters to dance low in her belly. Not that she felt like a married woman, after a night of rolling around that big bed alone.
How had Wes passed the night? Wishing he was curled up next to her? Probably not, since he’d already decided−without her opinion−that they would not sleep together. Well, she’d have a lot to say about that when he returned.
She devoured the delicious biscuits and gravy, again promising herself a jog around town before her thighs began to resemble a bowl of Jello.
“Good morning, little lady,” Pete Martin tugged on the brim of his hat and settled in the seat next to her. “How’s married life?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Anna pushed away the empty plate. “Wes is off looking for the men who held up the stagecoach yesterday.”
Pete’s eyebrows drew together. “Nasty business. I hope he catches them and the circuit judge hangs them.”
“I agree.” Anna stood and smiled in his direction. “Have a good day.”
Pete nodded and lifted his cup to his mouth. “You, too.”
The air had already taken on more warmth as Anna crossed the street and headed to the mercantile. Her wedding dress, made by the ladies in town, was too fancy for everyday use. A little more than two weeks of wearing the same dress she’d been given when she first arrived was getting old. She stopped abruptly, catching the attention of a man leaving the bank, who looked at her oddly. If she’d been here over two weeks, that meant less than a week until her hearing. Which I most likely won’t be there for.
A Tumble Through Time Page 14
