The Marshal and Miss Merritt

by Debra Cowan

  Bowie didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Hobbs wasn’t the only resident who lived in this area. But evidently he was the one Merritt was interested in because she made straight for his log house and the front porch. What was the witless woman up to?

  Checking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being followed, Bowie jogged to the house, reaching it just in time to see the front door shut quietly. Had she gone inside?

  He eased up to the window and peeked in. There she was. What the hell!

  She lit a candle and began looking around the large front room, opening the cupboard on the far wall and bending to peer inside.

  Was she crazy? A quick glance around assured him they were alone. He silently opened the front door and stepped inside.

  She jumped, letting out a squeak upon seeing him. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting you out of here.”

  “How did you know where I was?”

  “I saw you leave the party. Anyone could’ve seen you.”

  She froze. “Do you think someone did?”

  “I don’t know.” He bit back a roar of impatience and reached her in two strides, snagging her elbow and giving a tug. “So, let’s go.”

  “I’m not finished.”

  “Yes, you are. What if I’d been Hobbs coming through that door?”

  Alarm flashed across her features. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, drawing his gaze to her breasts swelling against her square-cut bodice. It was lower than anything he’d seen her wear before. In the flickering candlelight, her skin gleamed like pearls. He wanted to get his hands on her.

  “Come on,” he said. “Now.”

  “You have no right to drag me out of here.”

  “I’m the law, sweetheart, and you’ve just broken into someone’s house.”

  “I’m trying to find something to help Saul.”

  “You can’t help him if you’re in jail.” He turned and curled a hand around her other arm, pulling her into him. “Unless you want me to carry you, start walking.”

  Her eyes sparked with anger and she angled her chin at him.

  “Merritt, don’t be a fool,” he gritted. “Let’s get out of here.”

  She hesitated only a moment. “Very well,” she muttered, blowing out the candle she’d brought and slipping it into her pocket.

  Bowie cracked open the door and, after making sure they were still alone, he towed her off the porch and around to the back of the house, pressing her up against the rough timber wall. “What were you doing in there?”

  She tugged away from his touch and he let her, but stayed where he was, keeping her in place, too.

  The moonlight illuminated her features, polishing them to marble. He caught her soft scent on the hot summer air and realized how isolated they were. “I was looking for something that might prove Hobbs’s part in your parents’ murders.”

  Bowie blinked. Had he heard her right?

  “If I can find something incriminating on him, then Saul can stop running.”

  “Woman, are you crazy?” He could barely choke out the words. All he could imagine was her hurt and bleeding. “What if Hobbs had caught you instead of me?”

  “If he finds Saul, he’ll kill him.”

  “And what do you think Hobbs would do to you if he caught you here?”

  “I don’t know, but I have my gun.” She patted her skirt pocket.

  Closing his eyes briefly, he dragged a hand across his nape, noting the pop of fireworks from town. “What would you have said if he’d caught you? You broke into his house, Merritt.”

  “I would’ve thought of something.”

  “That’s a real good plan,” he drawled.

  She stared up at him, her eyes a luminous silver in the moonlight and shadows. The soft curls on top of her head were woven with a red ribbon, and Bowie wanted to rip out the pins and bury his hands in the silky sable mass.

  “Are you going to arrest me?”

  “If I were, you’d already be in irons and in my jail.”

  “What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”

  “Yes, and you should be glad. Be glad I’m the one who found you snooping around Hobbs’s front room and not him.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what you thought you were going to find.”

  “Have you searched his house?”

  “Not officially.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’ve been inside, looked around without it seeming like that’s what I was doing.”

  “Then how do you know there’s nothing here to be found?”

  “I didn’t say that. At least I have the authority to go around searching people’s homes.” He couldn’t stop thinking about what might have happened if Hobbs had walked in on her snooping through his house. “Don’t do this again. It’s foolish.”

  She bristled. “I’m trying to help you.”

  “And Saul,” he added dryly.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, but—” He broke off, listening closely.

  “What?” Her voice rose.

  “Shh.” He clapped a palm over her mouth and leaned down, breathing in her ear, “I hear something.”

  She froze, one hand curling into the waistband of his trousers. Through his shirt, he could feel her nails raking his belly and his entire body went hard. Panic flared in her eyes as she turned her head to look in the direction he was staring.

  He could’ve sworn he heard movement on the front porch, but after a long moment punctuated by the fading pop of fireworks and the buzz of voices from town, all was quiet.

  He turned his attention back to her, his gaze roaming over the soft curve of her jaw, the dirt she must have gotten from Hobbs’s door or door frame, the tempting length of her neck. He wanted to put his mouth there, find out if that was her sensitive spot.

  He felt her tremble beneath his touch and removed his hand from her mouth. The memory of the way her eyes had gone all smoky after their first kiss teased him.

  Her tongue peeked out to lick her lips. “Do you still hear something?” she whispered.

  He shook his head, painfully aware of the throbbing of his blood, the knot of need coiling in his gut. He’d stayed away from her for a week. A week that suddenly felt like a month. He wanted another taste.

  He brushed away the dirt streaking her magnolia-smooth skin and twined a finger in a long, silky strand of her hair. “You look beautiful tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  The huskiness of her voice made him ache. He looked down, his mouth watering at the plump ivory flesh swelling against her bodice. He wanted to run his tongue over the perfect curves, dip into the fragrant valley between her breasts.

  To hell with their agreement. He had to kiss her.

  He lowered his head, searching her eyes. She might not want this. She seemed to have been dealing better with their decision to remain only friends.

  “I don’t think I can be friends with you, Merritt. I want more than that.”

  Her eyes turned dark with desire, making his heart kick hard. “We talked about it.”

  “We did.” If she said no, he would stop. His thumb caressed the delicate line of her jaw and she pressed into his touch. “And if you want to remain only friends, I’ll try.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “I’m not sure.”

  The softness in her eyes was enough of an invitation for him. “I’ve been thinking about doing this again all week.”

  “Me, too.” The whispered admission kicked off a scalding desire inside him.

  He brushed his lips against hers lightly, a bare touch, testing, teasing.

  She made a sound in the back of her throat and gripped the front of his shirt. Bowie settled his mouth over hers. With a soft, breathy sigh, she let him in. Her arms went around his neck and he took the kiss deeper. Even through the bulk of her skirts, he could feel her heat.

  She wiggled, sending a surge of hard, hot want through him. When she melted into him
, he lifted her, holding her tight to him as he dragged his lips from hers and nipped lightly at her earlobe.

  The broken sound she made had him sliding his mouth down her elegant neck to the sensitive curve where her shoulder began. The velvety texture of her skin, her fresh, subtle scent, made his arousal rock hard.

  Her head went back, baring her throat, her ragged sigh unleashing a primal need inside him. His mouth covered hers again and he set her on her feet, moving his hands to her waist, then up to the lower curves of her breasts.

  Her breath caught and his erection throbbed. His heart pounded against his chest. Pounding, pounding. It was so loud.

  He froze. That wasn’t his heart. Someone was here. Walking up the front steps of Hobbs’s house.

  Bowie raised his head, giving Merritt a warning squeeze. She opened her eyes, dazed with want, making him ache clear to the bone. She nodded to show that she understood to be quiet.

  Bowie hardly dared breathe, trying to calm his raging blood. The front door opened, then shut. Against him, Merritt tensed. He waited for the door to open again. When it didn’t, he motioned for her to stay put, then sidled up the side of the house to the edge of the porch.

  From this angle, he could barely see through the window. It was Hobbs. Bowie silently cursed. They were damn lucky the man hadn’t found them.

  Bowie had been so caught up in Merritt that he almost hadn’t heard the ex-marshal arrive.

  He returned to Merritt.

  “What was the noise?” she mouthed.

  “Hobbs.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “He doesn’t know we’re here.”

  She nodded, looking pale and anxious. After a few minutes, when it appeared the other man wasn’t coming back outside, Bowie leaned in, breathing the words, “We’d better get out of here.”

  “Back to town?”

  “Or to the boardinghouse.”

  “Yes, there.”

  “All right.” Taking her hand, they walked back silently.

  Once inside the Morning Glory, she lit the lamp on the table in front of the foyer window. They both let out a big sigh.

  She tugged her hand from his and walked over to sink down on the stairs in a billow of skirts. “That was close.”

  “Very.” He opened his mouth to reprimand her again for going to the former marshal’s house by herself, for breaking in.

  “Thank goodness you found me and not Hobbs.”

  “You shouldn’t be poking around like that.”

  “I’ll be more careful.”

  He clamped his jaw tight. “I don’t want you going back there. It’s too dangerous. The next time you want to look for something, come to me. I can do it legitimately.”

  She didn’t say anything for a long moment, then finally nodded. “All right.”

  She smiled at him and the remembered feel of her mouth kicked him right in the gut. She must’ve remembered, too, because she flushed a pretty pink. Which made him want to kiss her again.

  “I meant what I said about being friends,” Bowie said. “That isn’t what I want.”

  She rose, chewing at her lip. “Nothing’s changed between us.”

  “I know.” Frustration and a sense of loss drummed inside him.

  “I’m not sure I want to remain just friends, either.”

  His senses went on alert. “You’re not?”

  “I just don’t know if there’s any point to us making it more.”

  He’d said the same thing to himself all week. “We could take things slow, see how it goes for a bit.”

  “Do you think that would really work?”

  He didn’t know, but he wanted to try. “Only one way to find out.”

  “I just don’t know, Bowie,” she said softly. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  Well, that wasn’t a “no.” He grinned. “You know where to find me when you decide.”

  “I do.” She smiled, lighting up his whole night. “Good night.”

  She moved around him, going across the dining area toward her bedroom. He waited until she got inside and closed the door before he started back to town to make sure everything was still fine.

  He hadn’t gotten a “yes” out of her, but she hadn’t pulled the reins on him, either.

  Merritt felt the same way Bowie did about being friends. It wasn’t what she preferred. No man had ever affected her the way he did. He made her feel desirable, something she hadn’t felt since Seth had died.

  Bowie’s suggestion that they take things slowly and see what happened between them was tempting. Very tempting. Even so, it wasn’t a good idea.

  He had flat-out told her he wouldn’t give up his badge for anyone and she was certain that she didn’t want a life like the one she’d had with her late husband. She knew what her decision should be, but she couldn’t bring herself to make it.

  Especially when he had confided in her about his former betrothed. Merritt had thought about that a lot during the week leading up to the Fourth of July celebration, when he had nearly kissed her out of her drawers.

  For the two nights following, she slept restlessly and was again thinking about his suggestion one afternoon as she closed the top drawer of her vanity table. There was no sign of her new handkerchief. It had been embroidered with her initials in colors to match the dress she’d worn to the Independence Day festivities.

  She had searched the skirt pocket, under her bed and on top of her bureau. Maybe she had gathered it up with her undergarments when she had done laundry yesterday. She had still been floating from that kiss with Bowie out behind Hobbs’s house and could barely remember washing the laundry, much less gathering it up.

  She walked out of her bedroom and headed for the kitchen where she kept the large wicker basket for the wash next to the door of the spare room. Before dawn this morning, she thought she had heard someone come in and had assumed it to be Lefty. The fact that it was early afternoon and he wasn’t up yet must mean he was in bad shape. She was just glad he had returned to the boardinghouse.

  It had been five days since she had last seen her friend and she had started to worry. Reaching the wash basket, she turned it over, disappointed to find it empty. The door to the small room was ajar.

  Planning to fix Lefty a pot of coffee and see if he needed to eat, she pushed open the door. She was surprised to find the bed empty. It hadn’t been slept in. She went down the short hall to the back stoop. He wasn’t out there, either. He hadn’t been here.

  Anxious now, Merritt decided to look for him in town. Two hours later, she’d had no luck and her concern turned to gnawing worry.

  What could have happened? It was likely her friend was sleeping off a rough night, but he had never been gone this long before. He could be hurt or—

  She drew in a sharp breath. What if Hobbs had figured out Lefty was the one who had given Bowie the information that the ex-marshal knew the Cahills had been murdered?

  Urging herself to stay calm, she checked the Morning Glory one more time. When she didn’t find Lefty, she hurried out of the front door, past the opera house and to the jail. She rushed up the steps, catching sight of Bowie at his desk, his hat on the corner. She fumbled with the doorknob.

  He looked up in surprise, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Hi.”

  “Hello,” she said breathlessly, closing the door behind her.

  He rose with a slight frown. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” Her gaze went past him to the door that separated his office area from the cells. “Is Lefty here?”

  Bowie shook his head. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  Her heart sank. “Neither have I and I’m worried.”

  “You know how he is,” Bowie said gently.

  “He’s not here. He hasn’t been at the boardinghouse.” She shook her head. “He’s never been gone this long.”

  “When did you last see him?”

  “Five days ago. Three days before Independence Day. I asked him
if he was going to the celebration and he said yes. But I didn’t see him.” Her voice rose. “What if he’s hurt? Or what if Hobbs figured out he was the one who gave you that information about Hobbs knowing your parents had been murdered?”

  Concern creased Bowie’s sun-bronzed features. “Hold your horses. Let’s not jump the gun.”

  “I don’t know where else to look.”

  He buckled on his gun belt, then slid one of his big weathered hands down the inside of his thigh to tie the leather thong to his leg. “Where have you looked?”

  “I asked around town, but no one has seen him. Then I went to Hell’s Corner.”

  His head snapped up. “Merritt.”

  “And the Black Diamond as well as the Hard Luck,” she added quickly.

  He cursed violently, causing her to jump. “Those places are across the tracks. There’s a bad element all around that area.”

  “And he goes there to drink,” Merritt said tersely. “But he hasn’t been there. No one has seen him at any of those places.”

  Bowie scooped up his hat and settled it on his head, opening the door with his free hand.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “With you, to look for Lefty.”

  She hadn’t expected that. She didn’t know many lawmen who would have helped her look for a friend who was drunk more often than he was sober.

  Tears stung her eyes. “Thank you.”

  He gave her a gentle smile. “You’re welcome.”

  They made a quick pass through town with no luck. As they approached the railroad tracks, the train whistle sounded, announcing the daily arrival. They paused, waiting for the locomotive to shudder to a stop, for the iron wheels to cease screeching. A black cloud billowed out of the smokestack and the bite of coal filled the air.

  When he could be heard, Bowie said, “I don’t want you going over there, but I know you won’t stay put.”

  “He’s my friend.”

  “Right.” He took her arm and guided her across the tracks. “Stick close to me.”

  She would. Being with him would surely discourage any unwanted attention, like the two men who had followed her from saloon to saloon earlier.

  She and Bowie checked the two cafés, Landry’s Boardinghouse, the billiard hall and dance hall, then Pearl’s Palace. There was no sign of Lefty.