Tempting the Marshal: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Series Book 2)

by Julianne MacLean

“I’ve never felt like this, Jo. It makes it so difficult, because—”

  She blinked back a tear. “Please, Fletcher, I want to pretend for just one minute that nothing exists outside of this room.”

  “Okay.” He pulled her in to rest her cheek on his shoulder. The clock ticked steadily on the bedside table, and the crickets chirped outside the window.

  Fletcher waited a long moment before he finally spoke again. “We can’t just ignore it. I think you’re right. Zeb wants your land, and he might want you dead as well, to cover up what happened to Edwyn. He’s definitely up to something with George Greer, something to do with the cattle rustling, but I have no proof yet, and I don’t know how to get it. It’s making me crazy.”

  “Maybe the wires you sent will help us,” she said, lifting her cheek to look at him.

  “Maybe.” But Fletcher’s dark tone revealed his doubts. He sat up, leaned against the oak headboard and raised a knee under the light sheet. “Maybe you should leave Dodge.”

  Jo tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and sat up, too. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that you could pack a bag and go. Go to Leo and take him someplace safe—someplace no one knows about.”

  “But you’d have to set me free,” she said, reminding him that she was still his prisoner and a suspect for attempted murder.

  All he did was stroke her shoulder, back and forth, lightly with the tip of his forefinger. “I’m aware of that.”

  She leaned up on her elbow. “But you’ve never let anyone go free in your life. You don’t bend the rules, remember?”

  He stroked her hair. “Maybe things have changed. Maybe I’ve changed.”

  Stricken, Jo leaned forward and hugged him. “I can’t let you do it. The law is your life. Besides that, I don’t want to leave you.”

  “I don’t want you to leave, either,’ he replied, “but I think it would be best. And you wouldn’t be a fugitive. Only you and I know what really happened. I’ve never filed a report.”

  “You haven’t?”

  “No.”

  She shook her head as if to clear it. “But still, I can’t let you do that. I wouldn’t want you to always think of me as the criminal you let escape from justice. And I understand if you don’t want to marry me. It wouldn’t help your reputation any, once I’m arrested. It certainly wouldn’t buy you any votes as sheriff, but at least you’d know that I tried to do what was right. And maybe, under the circumstances, it might be considered self-defense. He fired first, remember?”

  Fletcher regarded her with disbelief. “I don’t want to be sheriff, Jo. All I want is you.”

  It was the most bizarre thing. She laughed and sobbed at the same time. “Well then. We’ll just have to prove that Zeb killed Edwyn and that he’s guilty of cattle theft. The truth has to come out, and then I’ll be safe to live my life here on the ranch, where I belong. I just feel sorry for Elizabeth.”

  Fletcher wet his lips. “I know my sister. If she’s married to a killer, she’ll want to know. And she’s a survivor. She’ll recover.”

  Jo hugged him again, and then snuggled down under the sheet to hold him close, and enjoy what time they had left together, through the rest of the dark night.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “If I’m going to find anything to use against Zeb,” Fletcher said the next morning, tossing the sheet aside and sitting up on the edge of the bed, “I’m going to need some time. I definitely want you to go and stay with Leo in Newton.”

  “I still don’t want to go,” she said. “I don’t want to be away from you.” Staring at his bare, muscular back in the pale light of the rainy dawn, Jo waited anxiously for his response.

  “I’m not giving you a choice. I can’t protect you and investigate Zeb at the same time.”

  “I can take care of myself,” she assured him. “I know how to use those weapons you took from me.”

  Fletcher picked his trousers up off the floor and shook them before pulling them on. “I don’t doubt that, but whether you can protect yourself or not isn’t the point.”

  “Then what is the point?”

  “The point is I’d be thinking about you. I’d be worrying when I wasn’t with you and distracted when I was. Not a good mix for a man in my line of work.” He pulled on his trousers.

  “What if Zeb catches on to what you’re doing?” Jo asked. “I don’t think I could bear…”

  Shirt half-open to reveal his muscular chest and rippled stomach, he crawled onto the bed, on all fours above her, and cupped her face in his hands. Her body burned with another heated wave of desire that simply would not recede.

  “Zeb is beginning to trust me,” he said. “And I promise I’ll be careful.”

  Jo ran her open palms down his chest, then rubbed her thumbs across his soft, moist mouth. “Do you have to get dressed right now? The men won’t be expecting breakfast yet. They’re always slow when it rains.” She pulled him in for another more demanding kiss.

  Fletcher gently pushed her down onto her back and smiled. “I’ll stay on one condition.”

  “What’s that?” She hurried to unbutton his trousers again.

  “You promise to leave town.”

  “But I don’t want to go,” she insisted.

  “I told you, I’m not giving you a choice.”

  As he pressed his open mouth to hers and settled himself snugly between her quivering, welcoming thighs, Jo was incapable of arguing.

  * * *

  It had just stopped raining when Leo hopped out of his uncle’s buggy, splashed into the mud and hurried into the Newton post office. Inside, he removed his hat to discover the brim was holding enough rainwater to fill a bucket. He accidentally spilled it onto the floor. He tried to spread the puddle around with his boot so no one would slip, then made his way to the counter. “Anything for Cecil O’Malley?” he asked the postmaster.

  The gray-haired, craggy-faced man turned and retrieved a pile of envelopes from the box behind him and, without a word, slapped them onto the unpainted counter. Leo gathered them up and thanked the man, but he’d already turned away to finish sorting the mail.

  Once outside, Leo replaced the rain-drenched hat on his head and flipped through the letters. His eyes widened at the sight of the return address on the last one—Edwyn O’Malley, Dodge City, Kansas.

  Leo spun around and hurried back into the post office. “Where did this letter come from?” he asked the postmaster.

  The man faced him and peered over his spectacles at the envelope. “Return address says Dodge City. Maybe it’s time you learned to read.”

  “I can read. But this letter’s old. Look!”

  The postmaster glared at him, then snapped the envelope into his hand and held his spectacles between two fingers to examine it. “Postmarked January 10. You’re right. It must have gotten lost for a time. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

  Leo turned and walked out of the building, staring in stunned silence at his father’s penmanship on the outside of the dirty, tattered envelope. Leo heard the post office door fall closed behind him. He stood beside his uncle’s buggy, the letter in his hand making his heart ache with grief. He looked at the familiar writing again and, before he could think, ripped open the flimsy envelope and read what was inside.

  * * *

  After preparing breakfast for the men and seeing them off to work, Jo grudgingly packed a bag. She left a note for John on the bunkhouse door, asking him to see to the animals for the next few days and ensure the men were fed from the cookhouse. She didn’t explain where she was going, only that she would be gone a while.

  She was not happy about it.

  The rain fell mercilessly from the ashen sky as she crossed the muddy yard toward the wagon. Holding her umbrella over her head, she climbed onto the wet seat beside Fletcher, who wore his long brown slicker and his hat pulled forward on his head, the brim dripping with rain. She curled her gloved hand around his arm.

  “We have one last hour toget
her,” she said, trying to keep her mood light when all she wanted to do was beg him to let her stay. The wagon swished through a deep puddle and she thought about how to convince him. “I think you need me for this.”

  He was quiet for a moment, then he shook his head. “I can’t take that chance, not with your life. You should be with Leo. Take him somewhere safe, in case things get dicey.”

  Jo couldn’t very well argue with that. When it came to her son, she would do anything to keep him safe, and Fletcher knew it.

  He squeezed her hand with reassurance, and she felt a love in her heart swell far beyond what she had ever believed possible.

  If only it was not such a painful love. If only there was no fear—because if anything happened to Fletcher, she would blame herself for how things turned out, for getting him involved in this. “Please, be careful,” she said.

  “Nothing will happen,” he promised. “I’ll find the evidence we need, and I won’t quit until I uncover the whole truth.”

  They drove through the rain and over the low, sodden hills, crossing mile after mile of weather-beaten landscape, but Jo couldn’t herself relax. She had a bad feeling.

  By the time they reached the railway station, the train was there and waiting with hissing bursts of steam. Jo’s clothing was soaked straight through to her petticoats. She was shivering, and her heart was aching at the thought of saying goodbye to Fletcher. What if she left Dodge and something terrible happened to this man she had given all of her heart, body and soul to?

  While she waited in the wagon, Fletcher ran into the station to purchase her ticket, and returned a few minutes later. “I bought a ticket all the way to Topeka, just in case anyone sees you get on and asks where you’re going. Change seats along the way—cars if you can—and try to get off without too many folks noticing. Don’t tell anyone you’re getting off at Newton, and when you get there, take Leo somewhere else. Go north and contact me later.”

  Jo nodded as he helped her out of the seat and retrieved her valise from under the canvas in the wagon bed. He led the way to the platform and stepped up onto the train, turning around to take her hand and pull her up.

  Carrying her folded, dripping umbrella, Jo entered the train and followed Fletcher down the narrow aisle until he found her a seat to herself at the back of the car. He set down her bag.

  “I guess this is goodbye,” Jo said shakily, facing him.

  The lady in the seat behind her coughed.

  “Will you be all right?” he asked.

  “I’ll be fine.” But Jo had to fight the crushing urge to throw her arms around his neck and beg that he come with her and leave all this behind them. “Will you be all right?”

  “Of course. I know what I’m doing.”

  Yet, she did not feel reassured. All she felt was a sense of gloom—that this was not going to end well—and heartache at the idea of losing him forever, when they’d only just found each other.

  The conductor blew a whistle outside.

  Suddenly, Fletcher grabbed Jo’s hand and pulled her out the back door. It slammed behind them and they paused on the small outdoor space at the back of the train.

  His mouth came down upon hers. The kiss was urgent and desperate, and Jo wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, tears spilling from her eyes; she felt his steel badge pressing against her heaving breast.

  “I don’t want to go,” she said, breathlessly.

  “You have to.”

  The train began to puff and shudder. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again. “Remember what I told you. Keep to yourself.”

  “I will.”

  He moved down the steps, hopped off the tracks, and looked up at her as the train began to chug. It pulled away from the station and he waved good-bye, then he returned to the wagon and sped off.

  In that moment, when she lost sight of him, Jo felt as if her heart had been ripped from her body and would never, ever, be returned.

  * * *

  After visiting the telegraph office only to learn there were no reply wires from Texas, Fletcher checked in at the jailhouse and found Deputy Anderson busy with paperwork from the night before.

  He walked in and shook the rain from his hat at the door, trying also to shake all the doubts and uncertainties from his mind.

  He’d done the right thing, he told himself, sending Jo away like that. It was the best thing for both of them—even though he’d sacrificed his professional integrity in the process. Unfortunately, it was eating away at him now, because it was exactly what his father had done, and what Fletcher had never been able to forgive him for. Maybe the time had come to rethink all of that.

  But now wasn’t the time. He had to keep his mind focused on this case.

  “Any problems last night?” he asked the deputy as he hung his hat on the hook by the door.

  “Nope. Only the usual sluggers after midnight at the keno table. Folks were asking about you though. Wondering where you were and if you were still looking for Six-Shooter Hank.”

  Fletcher crossed to the desk where Anderson was sitting. He flipped through the pile of affidavits the deputy had written out, reviewing them for anything out of the ordinary. “You can tell people I have a hunch we won’t be seeing him again.” He shuddered inwardly at the thought. “Any wires delivered here for me?”

  “Nope. And I asked around about George Greer like you told me to, real casual-like. No one I talked to ever met him. I’m beginning to think the man’s a ghost. Hey, you’re dripping on my papers.”

  Fletcher stepped back. “If I was rustling cattle, I’d keep a low profile, too. Let me know if anything comes in today. When you’re finished there, go get yourself something to eat. I’ll take over as soon as I get back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Fletcher retrieved his hat from the hook and settled it onto his head. He opened the door and looked out at the curtain of rainwater dripping from the roof. “To talk to someone who knows something.”

  * * *

  Fletcher walked past Zeb’s store, peered through the window to see him talking to one of the town councilors, and kept right on going. He walked all the way up Railroad Avenue in the pouring rain until he reached Zeb’s house, then rapped hard on the door.

  Matthews finally came and met him with an unimpressed glare. “Marshal Collins. Do you not own an umbrella?”

  Fletcher kicked his muddy boots against the doorstep. “My Stetson does the trick and keeps my hands free. Sorry about the mud.”

  “I’m sure you are. But I’m afraid Mr. Stone is not at home this morning.”

  “What about Elizabeth?”

  “Mrs. Stone is in the drawing room.”

  Fletcher stepped inside and handed his dripping coat and hat to Matthews, who carried them away at arm’s length. A moment later, the butler returned. “Mrs. Stone will see you now.”

  “Thanks a bunch.” Fletcher followed him.

  Elizabeth rose from the sofa, her hands held out. “Fletcher! What are you doing here?”

  “I came to talk to you.”

  “Would you like some tea?”

  “I’d prefer coffee, if you have it.”

  She smiled wickedly. “I do, but Zeb insists I always offer tea first.” She gestured to Matthews, who backed out of the room and closed the double doors behind him.

  Elizabeth led Fletcher to the sofa. “You’re dripping wet. It must be important, whatever you came to talk to me about.”

  “It is,” he replied, “but I don’t know how you’re going to react.”

  Elizabeth’s smile faded. “You haven’t broken off your engagement, have you?”

  “No, nothing like that. It’s…” He hesitated. “It has to do with Zeb.”

  She frowned. “Is he in trouble?”

  Fletcher stared into his sister’s concerned eyes. “Why would you think that?”

  Rising from the sofa and turning her back to him, Elizabeth began to rearrange some flowers in a tall vase. “No reason.
You just seemed uneasy.”

  Fletcher watched her slender arms flit around the tall vase, moving a geranium here, replacing another there.

  He rose to move around the table, where he could see her face. “Elizabeth. I need to know if I can trust you.”

  “Of course you can,” she replied. “I’m surprised you even have to ask.”

  “Well, this is different. I need you to keep something from Zeb.”

  While the rain beat hard against the windowpanes, Elizabeth slid the vase to one side, so that it was no longer between them. “You know I’ll do anything for you, Fletcher.”

  He took her by the hand. “Then come over here and sit with me.”

  They returned to the sofa. Fletcher kept his voice low. “There’s been a cattle-rustling problem in Dodge lately. The herds that arrive are significantly smaller than they were when they started out.”

  “I’ve read about it in the papers.”

  Just then, the drawing room doors opened and Elizabeth jumped. Matthews walked in with a tray. “Set it here, please, Matthews. Then you may go.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone.” He set the coffee tray down, peered suspiciously at Fletcher, then left the room.

  Elizabeth poured two cups. “Go on.”

  “I think I may know who’s responsible for the thefts,” Fletcher said, accepting the cup of coffee from his sister.

  “Who?”

  “A man named George Greer. Ever hear of him?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “His name came up last night when Jo and I were talking.”

  “I know. She told me. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Well, I don’t know anything else besides what I told her,” she said nervously. “We received a package that was meant for Greer. That was all.”

  “And Zeb told you he and Greer had accounts at the same bank in Amarillo?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever heard Greer’s name mentioned besides that one time?”

  “Never. But Zeb doesn’t discuss business matters with me. Do you think he knows Greer?”

  Fletcher sipped his coffee. “Zeb knew Greer’s trail boss. The man who died last night.”

  “I see.” Her face went pale. “Have you spoken to Zeb about any of this?”