The Marshal and Miss Merritt

by Debra Cowan

  He had checked on her a few times since the accident. “I’m healing nicely. Thank you for asking.”

  “If you need anything, anything at all, you send for me.”

  “I will. Thank you.” There was no need, though. She knew Tobias was more than willing to help. He had offered for other reasons in the past, and this evening he had taken it upon himself to escort her to a seat.

  His help wasn’t what she wanted.

  A smiling Ellie Jenkins walked by, pausing to speak to the Burnetts. Although Merritt didn’t care much for the girl’s pompous mother, Minnie, she did like the charming young woman whose parents owned the new Château Royale Hotel.

  Feeling as though she was being watched, she scanned the room, her attention finally landing on the stage. Bowie’s blue eyes were focused on her with razor-sharp intensity, and a tingly heat moved under her skin.

  She couldn’t tear her attention from his bronzed features, softened by the golden light. His neck was strong and corded. A white cotton shirt molded broad shoulders and arms, hinting at the definition of muscle beneath the fabric.

  The weight of his gaze had her smoothing a few stray wisps of hair out of her face. Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it over the low din of the crowd. One of the men next to him spoke and he looked away from her.

  Merritt stared down at her flower-sprigged skirts, hoping again that Bowie wouldn’t win. They had become friends, maybe more.

  To wit, she had surprised herself by telling him so much about Seth and their marriage. She didn’t know if Bowie had understood her resentment, but he hadn’t dismissed her feelings.

  Becoming aware that Rosa was talking to her, she shifted her attention to her friend.

  The other woman’s unusual amethyst eyes sparkled. “I think Bowie might win.”

  Everything inside Merritt went tight. The week leading up to the election had scraped her nerves raw. After she had learned of his plans, they hadn’t spoken of it again. That suited her just fine.

  “It could happen,” Lucas rumbled in a voice loud enough for her to hear. “He has just as much experience as Hobbs, plus a good reputation.”

  Rosa nodded. “And he’s part of the family responsible for the existence of Cahill Crossing.”

  “He’s been gone four years.” Didn’t anyone care about that? Irritation burned through Merritt. “He only came back to check on his brother. If Quin hadn’t been shot, I doubt Bowie would be here.”

  Rosa eyed her thoughtfully. “If he weren’t planning to stay, I don’t think he would have run for marshal.”

  “Probably not,” she admitted, shifting uneasily in her chair.

  “Don’t you think he would make a good marshal?”

  “I’m sure he would. Probably better than good.”

  At Merritt’s dry tone, her friend tilted her head. After a long moment, she said, “He’s been helping you since your accident.”

  What did that have to do with anything? “Yes.”

  “A lot.”

  Merritt flicked her a look. “Only when I need it.”

  Rosa leaned in. “I think you’re sweet on him.”

  Her pulse jumped and she fought to keep her features blank. “We’re friends. That’s all.”

  “If that were all, you’d want him to win. You obviously don’t.”

  “I never said that.” She plucked at her skirts, staring avidly at the pattern of tiny pink flowers sprinkled on the white dimity background.

  “No, you didn’t.” Rosa drummed her fingers on her leg. “But you did say you would never get involved with another lawman. If you weren’t sweet on him, you wouldn’t give a fig if he won.”

  Her friend knew her too well, but Merritt admitted nothing. She reached down to stroke Dog’s thick dark coat.

  Arthur Slocum stood and walked to the edge of the stage, holding a piece of paper. After a series of attention-getting whistles, the crowd quieted.

  The slight man adjusted his spectacles. “And the results are…” He let the words hang, the anticipation build.

  Oh, forevermore! Merritt’s stomach knotted.

  “Cahill wins by more than one hundred votes!”

  Some cheers erupted and a healthy amount of applause broke out.

  Heart sinking, she only now realized she had been holding her breath. Her gaze automatically sought Bowie. He looked stunned as Hobbs walked over to shake his hand.

  People swarmed the stage around him. Before he was enveloped by the crowd, his gaze met Merritt’s. She forced a smile. She wouldn’t ruin this for him, even though she wished it hadn’t happened. At some point, she should congratulate him.

  Over the past week, he had made himself available for whatever she needed—cooking, laundry, cleaning. She had wondered what it would be like to have him in her life and now she knew. In fact, it hadn’t taken two shakes to get used to having him around and liking it.

  They were friends and would only ever be friends. She wouldn’t let herself want more. She might be ready for a man in her life, but not a lawman.

  For several minutes after the announcement, people crowded around Bowie, congratulating him. He certainly hadn’t expected to win. Hopefully, Quin would be fine with the fact that Bowie would once again be serving as a lawman, now in Ca-Cross. At least until the next election. Four years.

  He looked around for Merritt. After scanning the large room, he realized she was no longer inside. And neither was Tobias Hobbs.

  Bowie’s muscles seized up. He hoped the two of them weren’t together, but it was possible. Merritt hadn’t seemed that interested in the former marshal’s attention back when he’d been the law. Now, though, Hobbs was no longer marshal. Bowie was.

  He hoped that wouldn’t change things between him and Merritt too much, but after what she’d told him about her husband, how could it not?

  Three days later, Bowie unlocked the door to the jail. He walked inside, palming off his hat and running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. Midafternoon sunshine streamed through the window. The whistle of the daily train sounded as the locomotive rolled into town.

  He hadn’t seen much of his landlady over the past few days. The morning after being sworn in, he had gotten a steady stream of threats against the two prisoners who were waiting in Cahill Crossing’s jail. Seemed everyone—from their former ranch-hand friends to Stokes, the general-store owner—was angry about the trouble Purvis and Fields had caused Quin and Addie.

  Bowie decided the men might be safer if they were moved to Wolf Grove to await trial. Ace had agreed and ridden along to help Bowie transport the prisoners.

  Before leaving, Bowie had asked Merritt if she needed help with anything, but she had said no. Her hand was healing well. While he was glad for that, she didn’t need him around now and he sometimes wished she did.

  He had only just returned from Wolf Grove. It appeared Hobbs had taken his coffeepot and mug with him. The guns, wanted posters, desk and stove were all in place.

  Grabbing the broom, Bowie began cleaning out the cells. The dust wouldn’t stay gone for long, so he was more concerned about getting rid of the food and pebbles and anything else that had wound up on the floor. Sweeping reminded him of helping Merritt clean rooms at the Morning Glory.

  The two times he had seen her since the night of the election results, she had been friendly, though she hadn’t lingered. And he couldn’t ignore a now-tangible limitation to their friendship. Though he tried to resist thinking about her, he missed seeing her, spending time with her.

  As he dumped the last of the trash from the dustpan out the cell window, he heard the front door open.

  “Be right with you,” he called.

  “Okay.”

  He froze at the soft feminine voice he recognized immediately. Merritt.

  Had she noticed his return from Wolf Grove? Surprised at how glad he was to see her, he propped the broom against the wall and walked out to greet her, unable to keep from grinning. “Hi. How are you?”

 
“I’m fine.” The smile she gave him came and went in a flash. “How was your trip?”

  “No problems at all.”

  “That’s good.” She looked relieved for about a second, then walked to the window and stared out.

  What was going on? Bowie eased down onto one corner of the oak desk, admiring the sleek line of her back and gentle flare of her hips. Her silky braid fell to the middle of her spine.

  She turned to face him in a swirl of blue skirts, her hands clenching and unclenching in the fabric.

  Noting the worry in her pretty green eyes, he got to his feet. “Has something happened?”

  “Yes. No.” Anxiety vibrated from her.

  He frowned.

  “I need to tell you something.”

  “All right.” Bowie took a step toward her.

  Seconds ticked by. She looked as though she was bracing herself for something.

  Concerned, he said softly, “Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad, can it?”

  She looked at him then and he saw tears in her eyes. Jolted, he reached for her, but she inched back.

  “Merritt?”

  “Your parents’ deaths weren’t an accident.” Her words rushed out and he struggled to make sense of them. “They were murdered.”

  Chapter Five

  “What!” The word exploded from him. “What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t have proof—”

  He cupped her shoulders, his grip firm, though not rough. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I’m trying!”

  His hold loosened, but he didn’t release her. “Why would you say my parents were murdered? Why would you even think so?”

  She peered around him. “Are we alone?”

  “Yes,” he said impatiently. “Get to it, please.”

  Very aware of his big hands on her, her gaze lifted to his. She didn’t want to share this, although he needed to know. The news had saddened her. And frightened her. She could only imagine how it would make him feel. She blinked back tears. “Lefty overheard Hobbs telling someone that another person besides them knew the Cahills had been murdered.”

  Bowie frowned. “Lefty?”

  Hadn’t he heard her say his parents had been murdered? Feeling shaky, she said, “He was at the jail one night.”

  “Sleeping one off in a cell.”

  “Yes.” Why was he more concerned with Lefty? “The sound of voices outside the window woke him and he recognized one of them as belonging to Hobbs.”

  He released her, his eyes narrowing. “How many voices?”

  “Two, both male.” She missed the reassuring weight of his touch.

  “And he had no idea who the other speaker was?”

  She shook her head. Had it been only three days since she’d seen him? Whiskers shadowed the hard line of his jaw and his skin was even more burnished from his recent days in the saddle. Red dust filmed his pale blue shirt and well-fitted denim trousers.

  “Even though I have no proof, I did the right thing by telling you, didn’t I?” She searched his stormy eyes. “Seth always said that any bit of information, even if it didn’t seem relevant or trustworthy, helped him do his job better.”

  “Yes, you did the right thing.”

  She wished Bowie would tell her there was no possibility that his parents—her friends—had been murdered, but he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t seem surprised. Though he was obviously concerned, he hadn’t scoffed at the information and had gone straight into asking her questions.

  Cold dread spread through her and a fine trembling began in her legs. “You aren’t the least bit shocked. Or jostled up at all. Did you suspect your parents had been murdered?”

  His mouth tightened. “This isn’t the first time I’ve heard it.”

  “And you think it’s true?” Her voice cracked.

  “Yes.”

  The somber word arrowed right through her. Her stomach roiled and a wave of dizziness hit. “Oh. Oh, my goodness.”

  His hand closed around her upper arm. Muttering something, he hooked one booted foot around the leg of a straight-backed chair and pulled it over, urging her down into it. “Sit. You look like you might pass out.”

  Dazed, she stared up at him, noticing the flex of muscle in his lean jaw. Earl and Ruby had really been murdered? “Why would someone want to kill your parents?”

  “I’m trying to figure that out.” He shoved a hand through his hair, leaving furrows in the dark, thick mass.

  “There could be a murderer in Ca-Cross.” Her voice wobbled as she got to her feet. “What if other people are in danger?”

  “Hey.” When she swayed, he closed one hand on her waist, holding her steady. “What befell my parents happened two years ago. If others were in danger, I think something would have happened by now.”

  “I suppose.”

  “I’m not just saying that.” Sliding a knuckle under her chin, he tipped her face up. His blue eyes were earnest. “I believe it.”

  She nodded, her nerves somewhat soothed. “Do you have any idea who might have done it? Hobbs?”

  The possibility chilled her, especially since the man came around the Morning Glory more often than she liked.

  “It’s possible, or at least he knows who did kill them. I plan to find out.”

  “Tobias could be involved in any number of things. Do you think the same person could have killed Pettit and framed Quin for it?”

  “Could be. Those notes Quin received promised the truth about the wagon wreck in exchange for money. Pettit could’ve been killed because he knew something incriminating. Quin and I know for a fact that Allen, the man Quin killed in self-defense, had information about the murders. He confirmed it before dying.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That our parents weren’t killed in an accident. That it was murder and Quin had no idea how deep it went.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, trying to gather her thoughts. The entire business unnerved her. “Why do you think those men waited two years after your parents’ deaths to contact your brother?”

  “I have no idea.” Bowie’s eyes narrowed. “And I don’t want anyone else knowing about this.”

  “I won’t say a word and I’ll tell Lefty the same.”

  “Let him know that I’ll check into what you told me.” When she nodded, he continued, “When did he overhear Hobbs talking about my folks?”

  “About a month ago.”

  “A month ago. It’s obvious why he didn’t say anything to Hobbs, but why didn’t he tell Quin? Or me when I arrived in Ca-Cross?”

  “He wasn’t sure he heard what he thought he did. He didn’t want to make an accusation like that. There had been no talk, not even a whisper, of your folks being murdered. When you became the new marshal, Lefty decided he should give you the information.”

  “Then why didn’t he come to see me?”

  Merritt hesitated. “He’s really in no shape.”

  “Drunk,” Bowie stated flatly.

  She nodded.

  “The election was three days ago. He could’ve told me then.”

  She gave him a pointed look. “You were surrounded by people, then you left town.”

  “True,” he acceded.

  “Is that part of the reason you came home? To find out if your parents were murdered?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that why you ran for marshal?” Did it matter? she asked herself. Knowing why he had chosen to put himself on the ballot wouldn’t change the fact that he was a lawman.

  “I figured if I won, it might help my investigation.” He dragged a hand down his haggard face. “It sure couldn’t hurt. I will find out who’s responsible.”

  She nodded, wanting to touch him, though she wasn’t sure if that was to comfort him or herself after the upsetting news.

  She couldn’t let herself do that. Besides, as soon as she left here, he would forget about her and shift all of his focus to his job. Just as Seth had always done.


  She turned for the door. “Well, I guess you have things to do. I’ll be going.”

  “Wait.” He gently caught her elbow. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you since I got back. How’s your hand?”

  “Getting better, thank you.”

  Before she knew what he was about, he took her hand in his much larger one, making her pulse thud. He examined it closely, his body heat wrapping around her. The scents of male musk and leather and the outdoors slid into her lungs.

  He held her hand carefully, his thumb barely brushing over her knuckles. Her stomach dipped and she stepped back, pulling her hand away.

  His gaze roamed over her face in a way that made her toes curl and she found it hard to get a full breath. Though she wanted to blame it on her stays, she knew it was because of the lean, rugged man in front of her. The lawman in front of her.

  “If you need help, I want you to let me know.”

  She didn’t want to do that, didn’t want to spend more time with him than she had to. In fact, it would be best if he weren’t around at all. That sparked a thought. “With your brother gone on that cattle drive, will you need to move out to the ranch?”

  “No. I need to stay in town.” He gave her a crooked grin. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  “Of course not.” She might want to, but now she realized she shouldn’t. Though she didn’t like the effect he had on her, this information about Hobbs made her grateful that Bowie would be nearby.

  He opened the door for her. “If Lefty learns anything else, have him come see me directly.”

  “I will. And if I come across anything on my own, I’ll let you know.”

  He stiffened, stopping her by bracing one arm across the open doorway. “What do you mean, come across anything on your own?”

  She tilted her head, wondering at his protective tone. “Hobbs comes by the boardinghouse often.”

  Bowie scowled. “How often?”

  “Almost every day.”

  After a long moment, he said tightly, “Don’t get any fool ideas about trying to get something out of him. The last thing I need to worry about is you poking around.”