Marrying Miss Marshal

by Lacy Williams

  She closed her eyes, forcing the troublesome thoughts to the back of her mind. Concentrating on her surroundings.

  The room wasn’t very homey. In fact, it was almost bare. She’d never had the inclination to weave rugs or hang curtains—the ones she’d hung in the jail downstairs had been out of necessity. The quilt on the bed had been a gift at her wedding to Fred.

  Plain writing desk, table and two chairs, stove, small cupboard. Nothing frilly or womanly here at all.

  The one decorative item was the wooden chest sitting at the end of the bed. It had been her mother’s, and was the only thing she’d taken from Rob when she’d left home at sixteen.

  Sitting on the end of the bed, she ran her hand over the smooth wood. She flipped the lid open and clutched the side of the box as memories rushed over her.

  She couldn’t remember her mother, except for a sense of warmth and a vague, feminine smell. But she remembered being young—five, maybe?—and going through this very chest. She knew that under the wedding dress were a few letters tied with a ribbon, a family Bible, a portrait of her mother and father, a partial piece of lace. Pieces of her mother.

  Rob had come in as she was going through the contents of the chest, and when he’d seen what she was doing, had erupted in a fit of anger. She hadn’t realized at the time that he’d been hurting, too, missing her parents. She’d only known she’d done something wrong.

  She hadn’t touched the chest again, not until Fred had moved it into the tiny cabin they’d lived in at the time. A wedding present from Rob, after he’d shipped her off to Fred, made her Fred’s problem.

  Now she touched the pale-blue fabric lightly, then picked up the dress. Her mother’s wedding dress. She hadn’t worn it when she married Fred. It had been too long, and at the time she couldn’t bear to have it hemmed.

  But she’d grown two inches in her seventeenth year, and filled out some, too. It might fit now. And a woman shouldn’t be married in pants, should she?

  Danna considered it for a long moment, before sliding out of her shirt and trousers and slipping the dress over her head. Her hands trembled as she buttoned it up, smoothed out the lines from where the dress had been folded.

  She turned to the small looking glass Fred had used for shaving, almost afraid of what she would see.

  A woman—with large, dark eyes. Glossy hair, almost black in color, pulled back from her face. Skin tanned by hours outside. But in the dress, she looked like a woman. Not like the marshal.

  Danna slowly unbraided her hair, ran her hairbrush through the thick, long locks. She watched the mirror, the play of light on her hair as it shifted over her shoulder.

  Chas seemed to like her hair down. When they’d been trapped in the snowstorm, with her hat gone and braid unraveled, he’d touched her hair more than once.

  She tried to imagine walking through town with her hair down past her shoulders, like this, and couldn’t do it. It would have to be enough that she wore the dress.

  She searched in the trunk until she found a piece of ribbon. Pulling her hair into a bundle, she tied it off at the nape of her neck. When she looked at the mirror, a few tendrils had come loose, but most were held by the tie.

  She smoothed a hand over her brow, noticed she was shaking.

  Was this really the right thing to do?

  Danna delayed long enough past the appointed hour that Chas questioned whether she would come at all. He halted mid-pace in the center of the room when a soft knock sounded.

  The preacher ushered her inside, talking quietly with her. Chas was peripherally aware of a soft gasp from behind him from either Parrott or Castlerock, but his senses were filled with Danna. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  She wore a delicate blue dress.

  He’d been attracted to her when she wore trousers, but with a long skirt swirling around her legs and the bodice of her gown clinging in all the right ways, she took his breath away.

  Chas took advantage of her attention being still focused on the preacher, and used the time to examine the two curls trailing down her cheek, following the line of her jaw and down her neck.

  He swallowed hard.

  “Thank you,” she said, and turned to the room.

  Grateful she hadn’t caught him with his mouth hanging open, Chas cleared his throat and prayed his voice wouldn’t crack when he spoke.

  When she looked up and met his gaze, he knew she wasn’t as calm as she seemed. Her eyes shone with panic, then flickered to the two council members standing behind Chas, before she blanked her expression.

  “You look lovely,” he said, and his voice emerged steady. Nothing like the raging turmoil he felt inside. How had it come to this?

  Her hands shook when the preacher directed Chas to take them. His might be shaking, too. It was hard to tell.

  They faced the preacher, who held the Good Book in his hands. The vows they spoke only took a few minutes, and it was done.

  “You may kiss the bride,” the preacher said.

  Danna’s eyes met his—the first time she’d looked up during the whole ceremony—and he could easily read the trepidation in their depths. She started to shake her head. “We don’t—”

  He stopped her protest with a gentle touch of his mouth. It was nothing like the way he’d kissed her on the mountain. That had been a kiss of relief, a way of expressing the emotions that had pounded through him.

  And yet…when he brushed his lips against the velvet softness of hers, raised his hand and cupped her jaw…it was the same.

  The emotions bursting in his chest were enough to make him feel like he was in front of that stampede again, with his heart drumming in his ears. Sweat popped out on his brow. He stepped away, unable to take his eyes from her face, the contrast between her lashes and her cheeks.

  Beautiful.

  His wife.

  For now.

  “I’ll need you two to sign the marriage license and we’ll be done.”

  The preacher had a document in front of him on the table. Chas took up the pen the other man had produced and scribbled his name on the line the man indicated. He passed the pen off to Danna and she squinted down at the paper, hesitating.

  Something inside him opened, wanting to protect her from the men who stood close and who probably didn’t know she couldn’t read.

  Chas touched a finger to the line where she needed to sign. It was a simple gesture, but she looked up at him with something other than the panic or anger that he’d seen in her eyes since the men had left her office this morning. Appreciation.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Fingering the simple silver band she’d put back on—she’d removed it a few weeks after Fred’s death—to signify she was remarried, Danna approached the jail, slowing her steps. She supposed Chas would be back from gathering his things at the hotel soon.

  She’d needed some space after the wedding—and the kiss—so she’d gone on a patrol, keeping her eyes peeled for any signs of Katy. She hadn’t found the girl or any sign of her.

  And now she had to face her new husband. Who hadn’t wanted to marry her.

  She didn’t really want to be married again either, she reminded herself.

  Except she loved him.

  A boy she recognized as belonging to one of Corrine’s neighbors came running down the street as she neared the jail.

  “M-miss Marshal,” the lad stuttered, “Missus Jackson needs you. Her baby’s comin’.”

  Corrine was indeed in labor, crying out in pain, even as Danna let herself into the shanty. A neighbor stood over the kitchen table, but the instant she saw Danna, she turned for the door.

  “Glad you’re here. I’ve got my own young’uns at home, cain’t stay. I’ll take that’un for the night.”

  With that, the other woman swept out of the shack with three-year-old Ellie in tow, leaving Danna with the wailing Corrine.

  “What—”

  “Danna!”

  “I’m here!” Rushing to her friend’s side,
Danna saw the face creased in pain, the sweat on Corrine’s brow, the marks where she’d obviously clutched the sheets in her fists. “What can I do?”

  Corrine let out a long breath, muscles easing. “Nothing yet. I think we have a bit to go, even though the pains have been coming all day.”

  “Should I get the doctor?”

  “He’s tied up at his office. The young man from the robbery took a turn for the worse. He’s in surgery.”

  That wasn’t good. The “young man” was quite possibly the only lead Danna had to find out where the outlaws were going with the bank’s money.

  “What about your neighbor…” And why had she rushed out like that?

  Corrine clasped Danna’s hand as another pain came. Her lips pinched white. “She doesn’t… She thinks… Brent killed…your husband.” The words came out in spurts and gasps as Corrine panted through the contraction.

  Danna found a clean cloth on the end of the bed—someone had prepared things at least—and dabbed at her friend’s forehead. “Shh. Shh. It’s okay.”

  The contraction eased and Corrine relaxed again. “I don’t suppose there’s any news…?”

  Danna wished she had something positive to tell her friend, but there was nothing. “I’m sorry.”

  “And Mrs. Burnett—” the preacher’s wife “—is visiting her sister out of town,” Corrine spoke as if the question about her husband hadn’t been asked. “So I sent the neighbor boy to fetch you. Will you stay with me? Help me labor this baby?”

  Tears sparkled in Corrine’s eyes.

  A lump of responding tears formed in Danna’s throat. “You don’t even have to ask,” she told her dearest friend.

  It was dark outside again.

  Hours later, Danna trudged toward her room above the jail.

  She hadn’t wanted to leave her friend, but Corrine insisted she and her new baby boy would be all right for a few hours—long enough for Danna to get some rest.

  The labor had been long. Danna had done her best to distract her friend from the pain, telling her about the recent events as marshal, even about the wedding. But Danna had seen it in Corrine’s eyes that her friend just wanted her missing husband.

  And it hurt that Danna hadn’t been able to produce him for her. The guilt ate away at her.

  In those last few moments, the baby had come quickly. He’d been a squalling, wriggling mass of flesh and goo. He’d been the most handsome thing Danna had ever seen.

  Even now, the memory had her clutching her empty hands together.

  For so long, Danna had wanted a family of her own. More than just a husband. Fred had wanted a family, too—a son—and she had wanted to give him one. She’d wanted to be more than just the marshal’s wife.

  And, yes, a part of her thought that if she had a child she would be able to relate to the other women. Not be so much of an outsider.

  But she’d never so much as missed her monthly time, never suspected she was pregnant. Fred had never spoken his disappointment aloud, but she knew he must’ve been. Oh, he’d never come outright and say he regretted marrying her, but sometimes she wondered…

  And then he died. And she had no one.

  But this business with Chas O’Grady and a temporary marriage was stirring everything up in her heart again.

  She wanted children of her own.

  Why wouldn’t God give her even one dream of her heart?

  She rounded the corner past Hereford’s Grocery and looked up. A light shone out the window to her rooms. So her new husband had made himself at home already? Then it hit her.

  Chas had left a light on. For her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Danna couldn’t believe Chas had come to help her with Corrine this morning.

  Watching him charm Ellie over a bowl of porridge, all her buried longings to be part of a real family, to have a family of her own, surfaced painfully.

  Danna tried not to imagine what it would be like to hold a son of her own, the way she cuddled Corrine’s son next to her sternum. But the image wouldn’t be shaken.

  The little one stirred and began to fuss, which seemed to wake Corrine, so Danna left the boy to be fed and joined Chas and Ellie at the table.

  “There’s some more porridge left,” Chas said, glancing at her, then pushing a bowl in front of her. “You look exhausted.”

  Danna flushed.

  “Did you not sleep well last night?”

  It had been particularly hard to quiet her thoughts, even after Chas had settled on the floor and left her the bed. He’d been apologetic when she’d entered her room above the jail. Apparently the hotel manager had taken it upon himself to have Chas’s belongings delivered, and he hadn’t wanted to embarrass Danna by refusing.

  His concern, then and now, was disconcerting. She wasn’t prepared for it.

  She shifted her shoulders, trying to remove some of the knots from them. “I’m all right.”

  He rose and stepped behind her, his large hands closing over her shoulders, making her jump. Their warmth burned through her shirt. His thumbs made comforting circles, fingers relaxed her aching muscles.

  His touch made her feel as if he cared. And that was dangerous to her emotions. When was the last time she’d been touched like this? Tears burned her eyes when she couldn’t remember.

  “All right?” Chas asked.

  She couldn’t answer. The intimacy of the moment was suddenly too much for her. She wanted it to be real.

  And knew that it couldn’t.

  She pulled away, returning to Corrine in the corner. Her friend watched with weary, wide eyes, but thankfully remained silent.

  Chas watched Danna retreat across the room. Even with the physical distance between them, he still felt as if they were connected by an invisible cord, one stretched thin with emotion and expectations.

  His chest felt tight. Breathing was hard.

  It got worse when Danna turned, holding the little one in the crook of her elbow.

  Danna watched the doctor rouse the outlaw who’d been shot, Chas at her side. The doctor thought the young man had made it through the worst of his injury, but Danna knew that type of wound could be tricky. She couldn’t wait any longer to question him.

  “He’s conscious,” the doctor said over his shoulder, and she and Chas both stepped closer.

  “Where were they going to take the money? From the bank?” Chas asked quietly.

  The other man spoke, his voice so soft and raspy that Danna could barely make out his words. “Cabin…mountains.”

  “Where?”

  “A little stream,” he paused, his head rolling to the side, and he groaned. “Big, gnarled oak tree.”

  The description was too vague. Danna knew the mountains, the terrain, but she needed more landmarks than that if she was to track them down.

  “Who was leading the gang?” she asked, leaning down a bit so the boy didn’t have to strain so much to talk.

  H-hank. Lewis.”

  Chas inhaled loudly.

  The kid closed his eyes. Moaned.

  “Anything else?”

  “Supposed to…meet with…”

  That was it. He’d fallen unconscious again.

  “Sorry, Marshal,” the doc said, and sounded it, too. “If he comes awake again later, I’ll send someone for you.”

  Chas turned away, his blue eyes dark like a coming storm.

  Danna was disappointed, too. The kid was their only lead, and she felt she was running out of time before the town council might demand her badge.

  Danna allowed Chas to steer her into the café for a midday meal before they returned to the jail.

  Instantly, all eyes were on her. Eugene Hamilton, who ran the freight office and was one of the drunks she’d arrested last week, raised his brows. The milliner’s spoon clanked against her bowl. The nearest conversations stopped.

  She wanted to turn around and walk out the door. But Chas had crowded in behind her and she had no choice but to move toward an empty tab
le in the corner. She lifted her chin high and walked, reminding herself she’d done nothing to be ashamed of.

  Chas’s hand branded her lower back and she felt him close behind her. She reached for a chair, only to have her hand swallowed up in his. His shoulder brushed hers.

  “I’ll get the chair for my wife.”

  She sank into the chair as he pulled it away from the table. His wife.

  The waitress stopped short, close to their table but not quite there. “You got married?” The girl gasped the question, then seemed to realize what she’d done, for she came the rest of the way to the table, stammering. “I—I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to be rude. C-congratulations.”

  Heads at the two nearest tables turned.

  Chas smiled widely. “Thank you.”

  The girl set two menu cards on the table and Danna saw her hands were trembling. “Would you like coffee or water?”

  Danna mumbled what she hoped was an appropriate response. She nodded to the pair at the next table over and they had the good grace to look away.

  She hated this. Hated all the eyes on her.

  Chas reached across the table with his palm turned up. Danna raised her brows at him and he wiggled his fingers at her. “Give me your hand.”

  “What?”

  “Your hand.”

  She gingerly placed her hand in his and his fingers closed around hers. The strength and firmness of his hold reminded her that she wasn’t alone in this. She met his eyes across the table and they held. His blue and her brown.

  His talents and hers. They would take on the robbers together. Take on the rumors together. A team, like she and Fred had been. Only, this was temporary.

  A shadow fell over her shoulder and Danna looked up to see the one person she least wanted to see right now. Castlerock.

  “Marshal.” He nodded to her, then Chas, his lips a thin line. “Any news?”

  Danna tried to reclaim her hand, but Chas clasped it too tightly, and she didn’t want to draw more attention than they already were. “Not yet.”