The Marshal and Mrs. O'Malley

by Julianne MacLean

  “I won’t get tired.” She tried to step down, but had some difficulty holding on to the thin steel rail. Before she knew it, the marshal appeared with his hands around her waist. Her insides did a flip as he lowered her to the ground, her calico skirts billowing upon the wind. He remained there looking down at her for a moment.

  “Thank you,” she said politely, staring at the short, stubbly grass with the pretext of examining the toe of her boot, all the while relieved that she could hide her eyes beneath the brim of her heavy white muslin sunbonnet.

  “You’re welcome. Just watch where you’re walking and don’t hesitate to get back in the buggy if you feelill. You’ve been through a lot.”

  Stepping back out of his arms, she struggled to gloss over the awkward feeling that was niggling at her, telling herself that she had merely imagined he was looking at her lips just now.

  “There’s a cow about to sniff your boots,” Jo said, more than grateful for the distraction.

  Marshal Collins turned. “Go on now. Go back to your herd.”

  The animal shifted direction and plodded away without argument, and by the time the marshal turned to face her again, Jo had started walking. “Let’s get going before we become fodder.”

  She didn’t let herself look back. She only listened to the sound of the buggy’s springs bouncing and squeaking, then the horse’s hooves thumping over the grassy road. Marshal Collins was following along behind her and that was just fine as far as she was concerned. At least they didn’t have to talk to each other, and she didn’t have to make a fool of herself answering any more of his prying questions.

  Chapter Six

  Not far to go now, Jo thought wearily as she forced one foot in front of the other along the narrow prairie road, the wind blowing her bonnet ribbons every which way. She couldn’t wait to get home, rid herself of these heavy clothes and collapse into her soft bed to sleep.

  She just had to make it the rest of the way. She’d walked at least two-and-a-half miles and the marshal hadn’t asked her any more questions, thank heavens. He simply drove behind her—but she could feel him staring—and he hadn’t made a peep except when he clicked his tongue at the slow horse.

  With a dizzying sense of apprehension, Jo eyed the next hill. If she could make it up and over the other side, she would be fine. The rest of the way was as flat as a cornmeal griddle cake.

  She climbed the grassy rise and began to breathe harder. Oh, this wasn’t promising at all. Her nose was beginning to feel hot and sunburned, and when she reached the top of the rise, her vision grew blurry. Dizziness overtook her as the blue sky and rolling, tawny hills all began to fold into one another and take on a silvery hue. She stopped and touched her gloved fingers to her forehead. Oh no, not now…

  She hesitated and heard the muffled hoofbeats behind her come to a slow stop. The horse jingled its harness. Her stomach exploded with nausea and she knew that if she didn’t climb into the shaded leather seat in the next few seconds, she would swoon.

  She turned around, but a fresh wave of nausea crashed over her and she staggered to the side.

  Her gaze locked with the marshal’s and she took some comfort that he knew what was about to happen and was going to do something about it. He leaped down and ran toward her, but all she could do was stare blankly, dimly aware of her knees crumpling beneath her and the sight of his leather cowboy boots as she fainted dead away at his feet.

  Jo’s mind floated in a sea of calm blackness. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t open her eyes. She could only lie immobile in the stiff grass that was needling the back of her neck, while she listened to that easy drawl.

  “Mrs. O’Malley, wake up. Wake up, ma’am. You fainted.”

  Her eyes fluttered open to see the inside of the marshal’s tan-colored hat, fanning in front of her face— back and forth, back and forth, the cool breeze beating against her cheeks and eyes and lips. Jo tried to speak, but all she could do was let out an embarrassing guttural groan.

  The hat moved aside and she found herself blinking up at the marshal’s green eyes. Behind his head, a black hawk soared against the blue.

  The marshal donned his hat and pressed it down tightly. “You feeling okay?”

  She didn’t want to answer. She only wanted to lie here a little longer and look up at him. But all at once she remembered who this man was and why he was here.

  Angry with herself for letting down her guard, she jolted upright in a ridiculous attempt to rise, but the sudden movement made her shoulder throb painfully.

  “Hold on, now,” the marshal warned, touching her good shoulder and laying her back down in the grass. “Not so fast. You need to rest.”

  Feeling a headache coming on, she tried to keep it at bay by rubbing her temple. “How long was I out?”

  “Only a minute or two. You were strolling along just fine, then all of a sudden, whoosh.” He knelt on one knee, his arm resting across his thigh. “You dropped like all your bones turned to the kind of oatmeal my mother used to make.”

  “What kind of oatmeal was that?” she asked warily.

  “It was runny, ma’am. But don’t get me wrong. It was tasty…in its way.”

  Amused—though trying not to be—Jo sat up and he helped her to her feet. “You sure you’re feeling well enough to stand? You lost a lot of blood the other night. It’s no surprise you took a fancy to the ground.”

  She held on to his hand for support. Her head spun in a dizzying circle and she had to concentrate on not falling into his ready arms.

  “I’m fine, but I think I’d prefer to ride with you the rest of the way.”

  “I reckon that’s a wise choice.” He led her to the buggy and helped her up, then climbed in beside her and they started off again.

  Jo remembered how he had tried to convince her to stay in the buggy in the first place and wished she hadn’t proven him right. At least he wasn’t saying I told you so.

  “It’s not much farther,” she mentioned, swaying from side to side.

  “I reckon we’re a little more than halfway.” He took his eyes off the road to study her for a moment and she felt vulnerable, as if her secrets were printed on her cheeks in bold red ink. “You’re worried I’m going to ask you more questions about the shooting.”

  Jo tried to appear unruffled. “I said all there was to say about that.”

  “Uh-huh—then what’s with the toe tapping? You’ve been doing that since you sat down.”

  Realizing he was right about one more thing, Jo stilled her boot. “I always tap my foot. It’s a habit.”

  She pulled her toe in to hide it under a petticoat ruffle. “If I’m worried about anything, it’s about whether or not you’re going to deliver me home in time for supper.”

  He glanced toward the western sun. “I reckon we’ll pull into your yard just as Mrs. Honeyworth is spooning up the gravy.” He licked his lips. “Mmm, gravy on just about anything would go down nice right now.”

  Recognizing the hint for an invitation, Jo didn’t bite. “Maybe you should get yourself a wife to cook for you.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up in a cynical grin and he chuckled. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Ah, I see,” she said knowingly.

  “What do you mean, ah, I see?”

  Jo knew his type well enough. She’d seen enough roaming cowhands to get a feel for the kinds of things they wanted. “Married life isn’t good enough for you. Too dull, I suppose.”

  “Dull. No, I never imagined married life would be dull, especially on a ranch like yours, with kids around. The ranch I grew up on was anything but dull.”

  Jo was surprised to hear he’d grown up on a ranch. “If it was so interesting for you, why aren’t you there now?”

  His jaw twitched. “It’s kind of personal, ma’am.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to—”

  “No harm done.”

  They drove on in silence for a while and Jo felt like a complete fool for having b
een so ill-mannered.

  After a few minutes, he spoke up and his words nearly knocked her over. “My father was murdered five years ago. That’s why I’m not at the ranch anymore.”

  Shaken, Jo took a few seconds to respond. “I’m very sorry.”

  “I appreciate that, but it’s all in the past now.”

  “What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  He spoke offhandedly, revealing no sadness or regret, something Jo found strange. “My father was a judge, and a man named Garrett Robinson was on trial for murder in his court.”

  “Garrett Robinson. I heard about him. He robbed trains and stagecoaches.”

  Fletcher’s jaw twitched again and she wondered if maybe he did mind talking about it. “The night before my father was to hand down a guilty verdict, Garrett’s gang sent him a message saying that if he convicted Garrett, they would hunt down his family and do to us what Garrett did to all the people who got in his way. We didn’t know anything about it, of course. We were as shocked as everybody else when the verdict was ‘not guilty.”’

  Jo shifted in her seat, needing to hear the rest. “If he did what they said, why didn’t they just leave it be?”

  Marshal Collins shook his head. “Men like that don’t know much about honor. They killed my father on his way home that day, three hours after he let them go free. I heard the shots from the ranch house and saw the gang ride off. They were hootin’ and laughin’ like a bunch of kids playing hide-and-seek. I had to run a mile up hill, climb over three fences, and I knew I wasn’t getting there fast enough.” His Adam’s apple bobbed and he paused. “My ma died of typhoid that winter, leaving me and Elizabeth to run the ranch, but neither of us wanted to live there anymore. Too many memories.

  “We sold off the herd and Elizabeth went to college in Chicago. I’d always imagined I’d be a rancher, but I ended up a U.S. marshal.” With a shade of indifference, he added, “Funny how things turn out sometimes.”

  Jo knew exactly how he felt. How many times had she wanted to pack up and leave, to start a new life somewhere else and forget about the old one? She most certainly would have if she wasn’t certain Leo would return someday to claim the land that was his birthright and avenge his father’s death.

  “What about Garrett and his gang?” she asked, wondering if the marshal and his sister had received the justice Jo herself was still seeking.

  He flicked the reins. “I dragged each one of them back to jail and watched their trials, and those who hanged saw my face in the crowd. The others are still rotting in prison.”

  “You dragged all of them to jail? Without shooting anyone?”

  “Oh, I used my weapon plenty. Knocked ’em over the head with the handle most times. So when I said ‘dragged,’ I meant it in the literal sense.”

  Jo stared at him, dumbfounded. “That was you? You’re The Bruiser?”

  “I reckon that’s where the name originated. You heard about that all the way up here in Kansas?”

  “Yes, and that you’ve never shot a man in your entire career.” She couldn’t take her eyes off him now, this celebrity beside her. She’d had no idea….

  “I have too much respect for life to go around killing people willy-nilly. Though if I could turn back the clock, I might have shot the gunman who tried to rob Zeb the other night. Wounded him at least.”

  At the mention of Zeb and the shooting, Jo quickly forgot her newfound fascination with the marshal’s celebrity status. “Why is…he so different from the others?”

  “He’s not different. He’s the same. They all are. Men who don’t respect the law need to learn they’ll get caught eventually. You see, I’m not like my father. I don’t believe in bending rules. If he had been a stronger man and had done his duty instead of being afraid, those men wouldn’t have killed him, wouldn’t have gone free for another year, killing other innocent folks.”

  Jo thought about what she had done, or almost done, the other night. How she had felt there was no other choice left to her. Not surprisingly, she could sympathize with the marshal’s father.

  “Your father thought he was protecting his family,” she tried to explain. “Someday, when you have children, you’ll understand it better. You’ll be ready and willing to walk through fire for them. You’ll do anything to keep them safe. Even break the law when you feel the law can’t help you, and frankly, the law isn’t always able to help innocent folks around here. You can’t begrudge your father for what he did.”

  Marshal Collins gave her a steely glare. “There’s never an excuse for breaking the law.”

  “That’s very idealistic.”

  “Maybe so. But you can’t argue that that’s the way things ought to be, and we owe it to this world of ours to keep striving for what’s best. My father could have protected us another way. Sent us somewhere safe until the rest of the gang was caught. He shouldn’t have done what he did. He was a judge.”

  The marshal’s voice had grown almost hostile. “And to answer your question about last night’s gunman, I wish I’d shot him because he made me look incompetent, and when it comes to the law, I rely on my reputation to help me run a tight ship. With it, outlaws are more likely to give up without a fight and no one gets hurt. Without it, all hell breaks loose and hell ain’t no place for decent folks. Tarnation, that man shot you, an innocent bystander, shot me in the leg and tried to rob my sister’s husband. She’s been through enough after what happened to our parents. If she’d lost her husband, too…”

  His voice trailed off and Jo saw how truly angry he was over this.

  “The town thinks their new marshal is a buffoon and all because I wanted to avoid gunfire. It’s going to take a lot of time and energy to earn back any respect, and who knows what might happen in the meantime? I should have known better than to think that gunman would lower his weapon, but I thought I saw something in his eyes. Something…”

  Jo leaned forward, curious. “Something what?”

  “Something frightened. Something…” He hesitated again, as if searching for just the right word. “Something sad.”

  A lump formed in Jo’s throat. The marshal had seen through her that night, and if Zeb hadn’t raised his pistol, she would have lowered her weapon. She would have confessed everything to Marshal Collins.

  Not knowing, of course, that he was Zeb’s kin.

  Desperate to change the subject, she cleared her throat and forced a smile. “Heavens above, I’m sitting beside the famous Bruiser. You’re not what I imagined.”

  “No? And what was that?”

  Jo felt suddenly uncomfortable. “I was expecting someone…bigger.”

  She saw humor dance across his face, then he laughed. “Well, it doesn’t take size to whack someone over the head with a pistol. It only takes a sober mind.”

  “I suppose.” They drove past a patch of white elderberry and pink clover, and in the distance, Jo recognized bright yellow sunflowers. She breathed in the deep aromatic scent of the blossoms and, with some surprise, felt the tension lifting between her and Fletcher. He was gazing toward the sunflowers, too, the set lines of his face relaxing somewhat, so that he no longer looked like the rigid, vigilant lawman that he was.

  Realizing she wasn’t the only one letting down her guard, Jo decided to take advantage and ask some questions of her own.

  “How did your sister get hooked up with Zeb Stone?”

  “He met her in Chicago just before she finished school. They hit it off but he didn’t stay around long, with his business back here. They only knew each other a few weeks before he sent for her, asking her to be his wife. You don’t know her?”

  Jo shook her head. She’d made it a point not to get to know Zeb’s wife. “How long have you known Zeb?”

  “Since the wedding this past spring.” He didn’t look at her when he spoke. “I thought I was the one supposed to be asking all the questions.”

  Jo clasped her hands together in her lap. “Just making conversation. It’s a long dri
ve.”

  “But not much longer.” He nudged his hat back with his thumb and squinted at the blue sky. “Looks like you’ll be home in time for supper.”

  Jo settled into the seat and tried not to think about everything the marshal had said. With all the tragedy he’d seen, it was no wonder he’d retreated from the ranching life he’d known to become a lawman. It was plain to see that he thought he could make up for his father’s mistakes, that he was dead set on protecting his sister’s happiness. The way he saw it, she was the only survivor left in the family, the only one with any hope for the future. He wanted to protect his own, and that meant protecting Zeb Stone.

  And Lord help Jo if the marshal ever discovered he’d rented a fancy buggy to escort his enemy home.

  Chapter Seven

  By the time the marshal drove the buggy up the last rise, the strong wind had died away and the meadowlarks were singing their hearts out. Though the ride had been bumpy and painful at times, Jo was glad she had decided to drive instead of walk. She only wished she had come to that conclusion sooner and avoided the unfortunate fainting episode.

  The horse nickered softly when they crested the last hill. Jo spotted the ranch, where a couple of the cowhands were leaning against the bunkhouse, sipping water. One more was shaving, and she heard their easy laughter in the distance, along with the clucking chatter from the henhouse. Wood smoke rose from the kitchen chimney and melted into the sky.

  She sat forward when the front door of the house swung open and Leo ran onto the covered porch. He clutched the corner post and waved, then called for Matilda, who promptly came out, wiping her hands on her long white apron and waving. Jo waved back and couldn’t stop herself from letting out a little squeal, and she sensed the marshal noticed it with some surprise.

  She stood up in the buggy, but felt the marshal’s hand cup her wrist. “Sit down, Mrs. O’Malley. I don’t want to kneel over your unconscious form twice in one day.”