The Marshal and Miss Merritt

by Debra Cowan

  Chapter One

  Central Texas, two years later

  Bowie had figured he would return to Cahill Crossing someday, but not for the reason he had. A reason he flat didn’t like.

  He stepped inside the Morning Glory Boardinghouse, his shadow cutting off the June sunshine as the screened door clattered shut behind him. He palmed off his hat and ran a hand over his sweat-dampened hair. Once he had turned in his sheriff’s badge at White Tail, he’d ridden straight out, west across the hilly countryside. His older brother’s telegram had lit a fire under him.

  The last time he had ignored a request from home, his folks had wound up dead. Now Quin had come into some information that led him to believe their parents had been murdered and not the victims of a wagon accident, as the four siblings had believed since Earl’s and Ruby’s shocking and sudden deaths two years ago.

  Bowie glanced around the entry of the boardinghouse. The two-story pine structure still looked fairly new. The golden wood floor was warmed by a colorful rug and against the wall stood a dark wood coat tree. A parlor to his right had a cozy arrangement of chairs in front of the fireplace.

  Cahill Crossing had changed drastically since his last visit. Mostly for the good, some bad. Like the red-light shanties that sat north of the railroad tracks. The town now boasted lawyers, a bank, a newspaper. And right next to this white frame home, there was even an opera house, for cryin’ out loud! The swish of skirts had him turning to his left toward the dining area. Across the room, a petite woman with dark hair came through a connecting door, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her tiny waist.

  A white shirtwaist and yellow gingham skirt skimmed her sleek figure like a glove. Rounding a long dining table, she stopped a few feet away. “I’m Merritt Dixon. May I help you?”

  She was a small but curvy package. A spot of flour dusted one cheek and her pert nose. Sable-dark hair was pulled back in a braid, her face flushed. Wisps of hair curled around her oval face and drew his attention to her clear green eyes. Spring-grass green. They were the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen, but it was her warm, open smile that sent a sudden and unexpected kick of desire through him. She watched him expectantly.

  Irked at his reaction, he gave her a polite smile. “I was wondering if you had any rooms to let.”

  “For how many people?”

  “Just me.”

  Was the sudden wariness that clouded her eyes due to him being a single man? Or a stranger? Either way, Bowie volunteered, “Quin Cahill will vouch for me.” He hoped.

  At mention of his brother, the woman’s lips curved. “Very well. I have a couple of rooms available. All of the rented rooms are upstairs.”

  She walked in front of him to the bottom of a pine staircase and he couldn’t help a smile at the flour still on her face.

  “How many rooms do you rent?”

  “Four.” Putting a foot on the first step, she glanced back to see if he was following.

  Still holding his hat, he did, unable to keep his gaze from sliding down her trim back to the gentle flare of her hips. She was small, but every bit a woman. With that satiny curtain of dark hair, her rose-and-cream skin and her regal bearing, she was a fancy piece.

  Well, he’d learned his lesson about fancy women. At the top of the stairs, she turned right. He shifted his attention to his surroundings, noting the three closed doors they passed on the way to a room at the end of the hall. Bowie wanted to know who would be living so close to him.

  “Are the other rooms occupied?”

  “Only one. Hank Wilson is a widower and often helps me around here.”

  Bowie nodded, intending to meet the man for himself.

  She stopped in front of a closed door with a porcelain knob, just like the others. “Here’s your room.”

  She opened the door and Bowie stepped up to look inside. When his arm brushed her shoulder, she eased away. Drawing in her fresh, light scent, he moved into the room, noting the cleanliness of the floor, bed frame and window. A red-and-white quilt lay folded at the foot of a bed that looked as if it might just accommodate his six-foot-three frame.

  He walked to the window that looked west over the opera house and marshal’s office and the thickly treed hills beyond. “This will do just fine.”

  “How do you know Quin?”

  It wasn’t a secret, but Bowie didn’t like giving out information about himself. He glanced over his shoulder. “He’s my brother.”

  Recognition flared in her pretty eyes. “I knew Earl and Ruby had four children. You must be Bowie.”

  He turned to face her, biting back a smile at the flour still on her face. “Why do you say that?”

  “I’ve met Leanna and Chance.” Though her tone was still polite, he thought there was an edge to it. “You’re the lawman.”

  “Not currently.” He’d given up his badge to answer his brother’s call home.

  “Did you come back to help Quin and Addie?”

  Addie. The new wife Quin had mentioned in his wire. Bowie wondered what kind of woman his brother had married. His gaze skimmed the room, noting the sparkling white basin and pitcher atop a sturdy pine dresser. “Help with what?”

  “The fires and cattle rustling, the horse thefts.”

  He looked at her sharply. This was the first he’d heard of any trouble like that.

  “It’s been going on for a couple of months. A lot of people call it the Cahill Curse.”

  Was his brother having recently been framed for murder part of that curse? He tapped his hat against his thigh. “Is that what you think? That there’s a curse?”

  “I don’t hold with that nonsense.” She pushed back a wisp of dark hair, still wearing the flour.

  Barely stopping himself from reaching out to brush it away, he couldn’t stop a grin.

  Irritation flickered in her eyes. “I think someone wants to cause your family problems, although I don’t know why. Your parents were fine folks, as are your brothers and sister.”

  “You knew my parents?”

  She nodded, her green eyes darkening. “I’m very sorry for your loss. I admired them both a great deal.”

  He wondered if she knew of Quin’s suspicions. If anyone did.

  “Are you sure you still want the room?”

  “Yes.” He frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I thought you might stay at the 4C.”

  He studied her for a moment, wondering if she was fishing for something else, like information about the rift between him and his siblings. Was she a gossip? The steadiness of her gaze had him deciding he was too suspicious by far, a by-product of being a lawman.

  His gaze lit again on her flour-dusted face. Before he could bring it to her attention, she gave him a barely disguised look of exasperation.

  “May I ask why you keep smiling at me like that?”

  “You have flour on your cheek.” He barely brushed his finger against her satiny skin, but it was enough to send a jolt of electricity shooting up his arm. He pulled back. “And your nose.”

  She colored slightly, lifting the hem of the apron to wipe her face. “Is it gone?”

  He nodded.

  She let the apron fall and gave her cheek one last swipe. “I guess it makes sense you’d want to stay here.”

  “How so?”

  “I hadn’t taken into consideration your brother being a newlywed. I imagine you’d want to give them some privacy.”

  Bowie saw no reason to set her straight. As charmed as he was by the delicate pink in her cheeks, it was none of her business why he was here or why he wasn’t staying at the ranch.

  The fact was Bowie didn’t know if he wanted to stay at the 4C. Or if he was even welcome. A room here would do until he decided if he was staying in Cahill Crossing. That would depend on whether there was anything to Quin’s claim that Ma and Pa had been murdered.

  “What’s the first week’s rent?”

  She named a fair price and he handed over the money.

  “You�
��d probably like to wash up. I’ll bring some water.”

  “Don’t bother.” The idea held appeal, but he still had to ride to the ranch. He was ready to get his meeting with Quin over and done with. “I have some things I need to do. I’ll take you up on that later, though.”

  She nodded, sweeping past him into the hall. He quickly caught up and they started down the stairs. He let her walk ahead, watching the sun play in the dark strands of her hair. His gaze was drawn to the creaminess of her skin and the delicate curve of her neck where it met her shoulder.

  He wondered what her story was. He saw no ring on her delicate hand. She hadn’t mentioned a husband or any other family. Was she alone?

  He hadn’t been so curious about a woman since Clea and look how that had turned out. He didn’t need to know Merritt Dixon’s story. He had only returned to Cahill Crossing because of Quin’s wire. He wasn’t interested in anything else. He wouldn’t let himself be.

  “Breakfast is at six every morning, lunch at noon and supper at six in the evening.”

  “Okay.”

  They reached the first floor and she turned, her subtle scent wafting to him. “There’s a key for your room, if you’d like.”

  “I would. Thanks. I’ll get it when I return.”

  “All right. I’ll see you then.” She moved through the dining room toward the kitchen. Bowie settled his hat on his head and reached for the front doorknob.

  “Mr. Cahill?”

  “Bo,” he said automatically, glancing over. “Or Bowie.”

  “Bowie.” She gave him a warm smile. “Welcome home.”

  The sentiment struck him hard. Home.

  He stood unmoving for a moment, until he realized she was giving him a puzzled look. “Thank you.”

  The hell of it was he did feel welcome. He hadn’t expected that. Neither had he expected to have such a strong reaction to Merritt Dixon. Any reaction, for that matter. He didn’t like it one damn bit.

  Even so, Bowie would rather deal with her than his brother and the reason he’d come home.

  Bowie had no hesitation about helping find out who had murdered their parents, if indeed they had been murdered. But he was of two minds about seeing his older brother.

  Quin’s pretty chestnut-haired wife, Addie, had greeted Bowie at the door. After introducing herself, she urged him inside.

  Without giving him time to even wash his hands, she had marched him up the stairs to their parents’ room, which now belonged to Quin and his new missus. Bowie bet Ellie Jenkins’s folks hadn’t liked Quin getting hitched; they’d made no secret of wanting him for their daughter. Actually, they had pushed Ellie at Bowie, too. Chance had escaped.

  Bowie stopped in the bedroom doorway as Addie swept inside, skirts rustling.

  Though it was strange to see Quin in their parents’ bed, what gave Bowie a jolt was the sight of his rawhide-tough brother slumped against the headboard, eyes closed, with a bandage wrapped around his middle.

  Quin had said in his wire that he’d been injured, but it looked more serious than he’d let on. Had he almost died?

  Addie walked to the foot of the four-poster bed and lightly touched the big man’s leg through the sheet. “Quin?”

  He opened his eyes, the softness in his gaze shifting to wariness when he spied Bowie.

  The new Mrs. Cahill stepped back. “I’ll bring up some water, if you’re thirsty.”

  “Yes,” the men replied at the same time.

  Addie gave her husband a look. “Talk.”

  Bowie stood there with his dusty hat in his hand until the click of her heels faded.

  In his mind, he could still hear the echo of angry words from the last time he and his siblings had been together. His harsh accusation that Quin would never be able to fill Earl Cahill’s boots. Just standing here plowed up all kinds of guilt and resentment. Tension pulsed in the room and Bowie dragged a hand across his nape.

  Quin’s steel-gray eyes were piercing. “Wasn’t sure you’d come.”

  The clipped words got Bowie’s back up. “Well, here I am. Did you send word to Annie and Chance, too? Annie’s in Deadwood.”

  “I know that. I also know she’s working as a saloon girl,” the other man growled. “How could you let her do that?”

  “Let her! I had no idea what she was doing.” He paused. “Are you sure?”

  “My information came from Preston Van Slyck.”

  “You trust that? He’s probably still sore at her for spurning his advances.”

  “I don’t like him much, but he’s seen Leanna, and the saloon ain’t even the worst of it. He said she has a baby, too.”

  A baby? Annie? “Who’s the father?” Bowie demanded.

  “Van Slyck didn’t know.”

  “Do you really believe she has an illegitimate child?”

  “I don’t want to, but I don’t know the truth, either.”

  Bowie’s gut clenched. His baby sister had been in trouble and had obviously felt she couldn’t contact him. Dammit. He turned his attention to their other sibling. “What about Chance?”

  “I don’t know where he is, but Annie will hear from him before either of us and she can tell him what’s going on.”

  Bowie figured Quin’s wire to Annie would have his sister heading home, just as it had Bowie. “What exactly is going on? Why do you think Ma’s and Pa’s deaths weren’t an accident?”

  “Over the past couple of months, I’ve gotten two anonymous notes claiming Ma and Pa were murdered. Both times, I was promised ‘the truth’ if I paid two thousand dollars. When I arrived at the first meeting, I was knocked unconscious. I came to with a dead man lying beside me, my gun in my hand.”

  “And the money was gone,” Bowie said flatly.

  “Yes.” Quin paused as Addie walked back into the room carrying two glasses of water.

  As she handed one to Bowie and the other to his brother, he thought about asking for something stronger to drink, but he needed a clear head.

  Quin gestured toward his wife. “Boston followed me and heard three men riding away from the scene. In different directions.”

  So Quin called his wife Boston for the town where she’d come from. “Any guesses as to who those three men might be?”

  “No.” She walked over to stand beside the bed. “We don’t know who the dead man is, either.”

  Who had taken that money? Bowie wondered as he drained his glass of water. “When Marshal Hobbs told us about the wagon wreck two years ago, he said he found nothing at Ghost Canyon to indicate foul play. He believed the wreck was caused by a loose wagon wheel or hub.”

  Quin shook his head. “If that were true, why would someone kill the man who claimed to have information about Ma’s and Pa’s deaths?”

  Bowie had to agree.

  “And frame Quin for the murder.” Addie put a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Hobbs even arrested him.”

  “Thanks to Boston, that didn’t stick.” Quin smiled up at his wife and his whole face softened.

  Bowie blinked. He had never seen his brother look at a woman that way. And she was looking back at him the same way.

  “Tell him the rest, Quin,” Addie urged.

  “After being released for the murder I didn’t commit, I received a second anonymous note also offering the truth in exchange for money. This time, the meeting was at Triple Creek. Both notes were delivered by a lanky Mexican kid riding a burro.”

  Bowie tucked that away in his mind. “So you went to the meeting?”

  “Boston intercepted the note and went.” Quin gave his wife a stern look. “When I realized what she’d done, I hightailed it to Triple Creek and saw two men wearing black hoods holding her at gunpoint.”

  Questions whirled through Bowie’s mind, but he let his brother continue.

  “When they saw me, a gunfight broke out.”

  Addie nodded. “Quin fired to protect me and that’s when he was shot.”

  “But I did hit one of those bastards and Boston sta
bbed the other one.”

  Bowie arched a brow.

  “She carries a blade in her boot,” his brother explained.

  “Is that right?” It seemed his new sister-in-law could hold her own with anyone, including his gruff brother. She had already softened Quin’s blunt edges.

  “I got the skunk in the neck and arm,” Addie confirmed. “But he still got away with the money, blast it.”

  “The other one didn’t get away. He died.” Quin took up the story. “But before he did, he told me our parents had been murdered and we had no idea how deep the scheme went.”

  Scheme? Bowie frowned. That sounded as if someone had planned to kill Earl and Ruby Cahill. Who would want to do that and why?

  “You don’t know who either of these dead men are?” Bowie asked.

  “No.”

  Bowie wanted to get everything straight. “So at your first meeting, you found a dead man, still unidentified. And Addie heard three men ride away from there.”

  “Yes.” The chestnut-haired beauty nodded.

  Bowie directed his comments to his brother. “And at the second meeting, another man was killed by you when he shot at Addie?”

  “That’s right,” Quin said. “And the second hooded man who was there escaped with the money.”

  “He may or may not be one of the three men who rode away from your first meeting.”

  The other man nodded.

  Bowie walked over to the window, staring out at the oversize barn, the bunkhouse and corrals. Lush wooded hills stretched as far as he could see.

  He recalled the information Merritt Dixon had shared with him. “I stopped in town on the way out here. The lady at the Morning Glory Boardinghouse mentioned a Cahill Curse.”

  “What hogwash!” Addie dismissed. “It wasn’t a curse. It was two ranch hands.”

  Bowie almost smiled as he recalled the petite brunette saying the same thing. “Miz Dixon said there were fires set out here and cattle stolen.”

  “Yes,” Quin and Addie said at the same time.

  “Do you think that has anything to do with what happened to Ma and Pa?”

  “We aren’t sure, but we don’t believe so.” Quin’s face darkened. “Those things were aimed only at Boston and me.”