The Marshal and Miss Merritt

by Debra Cowan

  “Did you learn anything from Marshal Hobbs?”

  “Lefty was right about the name of the man Quin was accused of killing.”

  “Pettit?”

  Bowie nodded. “And the marshal had also just learned the name of the man Quin killed in self-defense.”

  “I guess you learned everything you wanted.” Did that mean he would be leaving soon?

  He finished the potatoes and covered the bowl with a cloth. He moved closer and leaned over her shoulder. “That chicken smells good.”

  His words tickled her ear, put a flutter in her stomach. She drew in a deep breath, inhaling the scents of man and musk and savory meat.

  “How does your hand feel now?”

  “It’s still all right. And so is my head,” she added before he could ask about it again.

  “What next?”

  “The beans, please.” Using a pair of tongs, she turned the chicken to their other side to cook.

  He stepped around her and picked up the spoon she’d laid to the side. “How long should I stir?”

  “Just enough to make sure everything’s being heated.”

  His attention went from the green beans to the skillet. “Do you recognize the name Huck Allen?”

  She frowned. “No. Is that the other man you were interested in? The man Quin killed in self-defense?”

  She couldn’t hear his answer over the crackle of frying meat, but she saw him nod. “What will you do now?”

  He turned his head to look at her.

  “Now that you’ve learned what you wanted to,” she explained.

  “Well, those names give me a starting place.”

  Oh, yes, she remembered now. He wanted to know why those men had both wound up dead at a meeting with his brother.

  He put down his spoon and took a step away from the stove’s overbearing heat. “Are you going to make some of those biscuits like we had this morning?”

  “We’ll eat what was left.”

  “Those were mighty tasty.”

  “I’m glad you liked them.” It looked as though something was on his face. With the sunlight streaming through the window, she couldn’t be sure, but she thought…

  She laughed.

  “What?” A half smile tugged at his mouth. “What’s funny?”

  “You have flour on your face.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “Your jaw. You must’ve gotten it when you were battering the chicken.”

  “That proves I was slaving away in the kitchen.” Grinning, he swiped at it, but there was still a spot the size of a fifty-cent piece on the hard line of his jaw.

  “Here, I’ll get it.”

  Resting the tongs against the side of the skillet, she brushed her fingers against his bristly jaw. Most of the white powder came off. Using her thumb, she wiped away the rest, her hand lingering against his whiskered face.

  Her pulse hitched at the flash of heat in his eyes. She slowly lowered her hand, her heart racing.

  His blue gaze searched her face. Just as an acrid odor drifted to her, Bowie grabbed for the tongs.

  “Chicken’s burning!”

  “Oh!”

  He quickly grabbed a cloth and wrapped it around the skillet handle, removing the pan from the stove.

  He set it on the counter and began turning the pieces over.

  Merritt leaned around him to check it. “It’s not burned too badly.”

  “At least it isn’t black, just a very dark brown.” He grinned. “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “I’m glad you think so since you’ll have to eat it.”

  “I’m hungry. It won’t be a hardship.”

  “Good.” Shifting her attention from him, she took a large platter from the shelf above the sink. “I’ll finish the chicken if you’ll get everything else to the table.”

  He nodded, picking up the bowl of potatoes. “And I’ll come back for that platter.”

  “It’s not heavy. I can carry it with one hand.”

  “I don’t want you dropping any of my chicken on the floor.”

  “All right.” She smiled at his teasing as she arranged a cloth on the platter to absorb some of the grease.

  As she put the chicken on the plate, he returned for the green beans. Having his help hadn’t bothered her as much as she’d thought it would.

  In fact, she had enjoyed having someone to talk to.

  It had been a long time since she had shared so much time with someone of the opposite sex. It made her wonder what it would be like to have a man in her life again.

  This man.

  Chapter Four

  There was no way Bowie could keep his hands to himself. As long as Merritt needed his help, there would be times when he might have to touch her. Like today.

  Two days after her injury, they were washing the boardinghouse windows. He had filled a pail with water and measured in the amount of vinegar she specified. The windows upstairs and in the parlor were finished. Now they were tackling the large window in the dining room.

  His gaze moved over her fine-boned profile, pausing at her temple before sliding down one slender arm. The cut on her head was healing nicely, more quickly than her injured hand, which was still swollen. The bruise had gone from bluish-black to a sickly purple.

  She still wore the sling, which forced her to limit the use of her hand.

  She shifted, her soft scent drifting to him. “How’s your brother? Is he healing up all right?”

  “He is,” Bowie said. “He and Addie left for Dodge City this morning. Cattle drive.”

  “Addie went, too?”

  “According to Quin, she’s not one to miss out on anything that might be an adventure.”

  Merritt smiled. “I would agree with that.”

  Bowie had ridden out to the 4C last evening and told Quin he’d learned the names of the two men who had each wound up dead at their respective meetings with him. He’d also told his brother that he, too, now believed there was a strong possibility that their parents had been murdered.

  Determined to learn anything else he could, he had questioned Ace about Huck Allen, the man Quin had killed in self-defense. His friend hadn’t heard of Allen. So far, only Marshal Hobbs had. His claim that he’d seen Allen on a wanted poster had Bowie wiring the sheriffs in the surrounding counties to ask if any of them could share any information on Huck Allen or Vernon Pettit.

  If Bowie could establish where the men came from, it might give him some answers about why they had crossed paths with his brother. So far, he had heard from the county sheriff in San Saba, who had no knowledge of either man.

  Merritt glanced at him. “Thanks for your help since the accident. If it weren’t for you, I’d be behind on my chores.”

  “You’re welcome.” He rubbed at the film of red dust coating the window.

  “I also appreciate you fixing the window in your room. Not everyone is so handy.”

  “It’s nice to know I can do more than wear a badge, huh?”

  She smiled as he’d intended, dipping her rag in the pail and wringing it out. After a moment, she turned to him with a sober look. “May I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why did you become a lawman?”

  There was genuine curiosity in her voice. He slid a look at her, wondering what had brought on the question. He started to give her his standard answer—that he believed in order and justice. Instead, he found himself telling the real reason.

  “I’d like to say I always wanted to wear a badge, but at first I hired on as a lawman because I wanted to get out of Quin’s shadow.”

  She tilted her head. “I can’t imagine you in anyone’s shadow.”

  “I was.” He gave her a half smile, pushing the bucket closer to her with his foot. “He was the firstborn, always ahead of me at roping, herding, knowing good stock. I wanted to do something he never had. So when my—” He broke off. “Something happened and I left Ca-Cross.”<
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  “Something?” She frowned.

  “I was engaged and it didn’t work out,” he said flatly.

  Pausing in her work, her gaze slid to his. “Your mother said you left because of a woman. I guess that’s what she meant?”

  How much had Ma told Merritt? “I ended up in White Tail and Ace hired me as his deputy. I liked it and I was good at it.”

  “And then you became the Deer County sheriff after Livvy and Ace moved here.”

  He nodded.

  “Do you think you wouldn’t have made a good rancher?”

  “I’d be okay at it now, but not then. The fact is I can’t imagine what my life would be if I hadn’t pinned on a badge.”

  “I’ve known men like that,” she said quietly.

  He recalled what Ace had told him about her. “I heard your late husband was a Ranger.”

  She paused, her good hand crushing the cleaning rag she flattened against the window. “Yes, and he was good at it, too. Very good.”

  She made the compliment sound like an insult.

  Despite telling himself not to take her attitude personally, his voice tightened. “You didn’t approve?”

  “Well, I didn’t want him to be bad at it,” she said smartly. “What I meant was he was so good at it, there was no room for anything else. Or anyone, like a wife. Did you know that most Rangers retire when they marry? It’s encouraged because otherwise they’ll be gone too much.”

  “But your husband didn’t.” Bowie watched her closely.

  “No, not Seth.” Her voice was steady, her face calm, but bitterness drummed beneath her words. “He was always a lawman first, a husband second.”

  “And you resented him for not choosing you,” Bowie said evenly.

  “Sometimes, yes.”

  Thanks to Clea, he knew about being chosen last. He himself had chosen his job over his family and they had paid the price with their lives. It was why he had no intention of ever getting close enough to anyone to have to make the choice.

  She moved to the next section of window. “Don’t misunderstand. I respect the law and admire those who enforce it. But Seth always put his job ahead of me and it got him killed.”

  She rubbed hard at the same place on the glass over and over. Bowie felt an overwhelming urge to comfort her, to touch her. Instead, he asked, “What happened?”

  She dunked her rag in the pail, wrung it out and went back to the window. “Though he wasn’t ordered or even asked to go, he rode out with two other Rangers who were escorting a prisoner to Austin. They were ambushed by the outlaw’s friends and all three Rangers were killed.”

  “Did they leave wives behind, too?”

  “No, neither was married. And Seth shouldn’t have gone at all.”

  “Do you resent him for dying?”

  “At one time, I did. He didn’t have to ride along.”

  Bowie didn’t point out that the man had obviously felt there was a reason. He understood Merritt’s resentment, to a degree. “Did your husband ever talk about leaving the Rangers?”

  “No.” Her tone was subdued. “It wasn’t as though I didn’t know who I was marrying. I knew how important his job was to him and I was aware of the dangers, but he put himself in harm’s way when there was no need.”

  “Did you try to talk him out of going on that particular trip?”

  “It was more that I demanded he not go. He had missed both of our birthdays and our wedding anniversary, and I was angry. I told him I wanted him to stop being a Ranger, but I really didn’t. I just wanted him to put me first sometimes.”

  The way Bowie should have done with his parents.

  “I know now that I’m not cut out to be a lawman’s wife.”

  And Bowie knew if he ever decided to marry, his wife would have to accept that he was a lawman, for better or worse.

  Merritt glanced at him sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually talk about him.”

  “That’s all right. I’m glad to know.” And he was.

  Just as he pushed a dining chair closer to the table, the front door opened. Glad for the interruption, Bowie looked over to see Dr. Lewis step inside. “Hi, Clancy.”

  The fair-haired man swept off his hat and placed it on the dining table, looking at Merritt. “I came to check your hand.”

  “All right.”

  He pulled out a chair and motioned her over. “Have a seat.”

  When she did, Bowie moved to Clancy’s other side. Merritt slipped her arm out of the sling so the doctor could examine her.

  “The swelling is down slightly,” he said. “Wiggle your fingers for me.”

  She winced and Bowie watched her face as she followed Clancy’s orders.

  “Straighten your hand for me if you can.”

  She tried, but couldn’t flatten it.

  “How’s the pain?”

  “It’s like a dull throb unless I try to pick something up, then it hurts.”

  Clancy gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s coming along. You can use it, but if it pains you, stop.” Merritt nodded.

  The doctor turned, scooping up his hat. “I’ll be back in another couple of days.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  As Lewis started out the door, he paused, saying to Bowie, “Have you thought about our conversation?”

  Merritt looked from the doctor to him.

  “I have,” he said.

  “I bet Merritt would agree with us.”

  “About what?” she asked.

  The other man inclined his head toward Bowie. “Ace and I, along with a couple of others, want Cahill to run for town marshal.”

  “Oh? Is there a problem with Marshal Hobbs?” Her tone was mild, but tension coiled through her words.

  “Not a problem, exactly,” Clancy said. “He hasn’t done anything bad. He just doesn’t do much of anything good.”

  Merritt nodded, turning to Bowie. “Have you made up your mind? Are you going to run?”

  His gaze searched hers as he tried to get an idea about her thoughts. He could read nothing. “Yes. I’ve decided to do it.”

  Clancy clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s good news.”

  A small smile flashed across her face. “Well, you’re certainly qualified.”

  It wasn’t exactly a vote of confidence.

  “You’ll be good for Cahill Crossing.” Clancy resettled his hat on his head.

  “Don’t jump the gun,” Bowie cautioned. “The election is still a week away.”

  “I have a good feeling about it,” his friend said, walking to the door. “I’ll see you both later.”

  “All right.” Bowie lifted a hand in farewell as Merritt murmured goodbye.

  Once they were alone again, he dipped his rag in the water-and-vinegar mixture, and continued to clean his side of the window.

  She had grown quiet since the doctor had taken his leave. Bowie told himself her opinion didn’t matter, but he wanted to hear it. “So, what do you think? About me running for marshal, I mean.”

  “It sounds like you’ve given it a lot of thought.”

  Which told him nothing. “I don’t reckon I’ll win. I’ve been away too long and a lot of people don’t know me.”

  She nodded. “You could be right.”

  He moved farther down the window. If he did win, it could help his investigation. It would also mean that he would be staying in Ca-Cross for a while. At least four years, unless he decided to resign. Was he ready to do that?

  Frustrated, he slid a look at her. She made him question his decision and he didn’t know why.

  She’d agreed he had the qualifications, hadn’t shown any disapproval or even asked if he was sure. Even so, there was now a tension between them that hadn’t been there before.

  She hoped Bowie lost the election. It was utterly selfish and Merritt would never say it aloud, but she hoped for it all the same. A week after learning he planned to run for marshal, she sat in the opera house surrounded by almost every resident of Ca
-Cross waiting for the voting results.

  The town hall had been proposed as the first gathering place, but the opera house was bigger. Even so, there wasn’t room for everyone and a crowd of people gathered outside the entrance. The double front doors as well as the single one in the back were open, and late-day sunshine flowed inside over the dark wood floors.

  The buzz of voices rose and fell around her. She inhaled the mingling scents of beeswax and various perfumes and dirt.

  The gold-trimmed red velvet draperies had been raised to provide more standing room. Bowie and Hobbs waited at center stage while lawyer Arthur Slocum counted the ballots.

  “Can you see?” To her left, Rosa Greer Burnett touched Merritt’s shoulder. “Lucas said there are some seats up by the stage.”

  “I’m fine.” Not wanting to sit closer than their seats in the middle of the room, Merritt smiled at the blond-haired woman and her tall half-Comanche husband.

  Rosa had been a good friend since moving here a few months ago, although Merritt hadn’t gotten to know Lucas until he and Rosa had married. The former Texas Ranger had typically kept to himself on his ranch.

  Merritt patted Rosa’s hand. “You two can move if you’d like.”

  “We’ll stay here. Dog’s already settled.”

  A glance down showed Lucas’s constant four-legged companion stretched out in front of her and her friend’s feet. When he lifted his head to stare at her with black eyes, Merritt scratched the wolf-dog behind the ears.

  Her gaze went to Bowie, whose rugged build was imposing even beneath the high velvet curtains. As he spoke with Ace Keating and Dr. Lewis, the other candidate worked his way through the crowd, greeting and mingling with people. After visiting with rancher Don Fitzgerald, who had publicly endorsed him, Tobias Hobbs headed in Merritt’s direction, weaving through the crush of people.

  Fitzgerald was second in power and influence only to the Cahills. Maybe his support of Hobbs would swing the votes in the current marshal’s favor.

  The mustached lawman paused beside Merritt’s row and shook Lucas’s hand. After greeting Rosa, Hobbs leaned toward Merritt. “Mrs. Dixon, how’s your injury?”