The Marshal and Mrs. O'Malley

by Julianne MacLean

  Feeling defeated, she rested her head against the timber wall of the barn and closed her eyes. She needed a moment to think and began to make excuses, as she always did: Perhaps she didn’t need to go in. More than a few things the marshal had said to her during the day had surprised her and cast doubt upon his involvement with Zeb. Perhaps he wasn’t such an adversary after all. She wished she knew. Maybe what he was saying to Leo privately would reveal something. Give her hope that some lawmen could be trusted. That Zeb didn’t own everything in Dodge City.

  Hearing laughter from the tack room, Jo knew she would not be going into the barn tonight. And though it would drain her already depleted patience, she would have to wait to find out what the marshal with the questionable integrity had said to her son.

  Precisely fifteen minutes later by her pocket watch, Jo sat on the porch swing tapping her foot. What was taking them so long? What could they be talking about?

  At last, the light from the barn went out and the door swung open. Jo stood up, pressing her palm to her chest, relieved to see her son appear from the dark and silent interior where Edwyn had gasped his last breath.

  Leo stepped into the moonlight, then the marshal walked out and closed the barn door behind them. As they approached the house, he rested a hand on Leo’s shoulder and Leo laughed at something. It made Jo feel disturbingly territorial. Until tonight, Leo would not speak to her—or anyone, for that matter—when he disappeared into the barn. What was it about the marshal that he admired so much? Was it because Fletcher had lost his father, too? Had he spoken of that to Leo?

  They reached the porch and only then did the marshal look up and notice Jo sitting there with her watch in her hand. She forced a smile, stood up and walked to the top of the steps. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, Ma. Can I go to bed now?” Leo replied.

  Jo swallowed the urge to ask him anything more. “Yes, you may.”

  “Night, Marshal Collins. Night, Ma.”

  “Good night, Leo.”

  Jo watched her son go into the house and heard his footsteps tap eagerly up the stairs. She took a deep breath and turned to face the marshal, not knowing what to expect.

  When their eyes met, her emotions dipped alarmingly. He stood at the bottom of the porch stairs with one boot resting on the second step, his hand on his raised knee. He gave her a subtle, reassuring smile and the attempt only served to confuse her.

  “What happened?” she asked, unable to control her curiosity.

  “Nothing much. We just talked.”

  Just talked. Leo hadn’t just talked to anyone in six months. “What about?” She tried to sound nonchalant.

  The marshal didn’t answer right away. He walked calmly up the stairs, moved around Jo, sat himself down on the porch swing and leaned back. “Care to join me for a minute or two?”

  The invitation—the thought of sitting so close to him—made her insides swoop with nervousness. She tried to smother the reaction and stiffly made her way to the swing and sat down, keeping her backside perched forward on the wooden seat to avoid touching his arm, which rested across the back of the swing.

  “How’s your shoulder?” he asked.

  “It still pains me a great deal. I’m anxious to retire.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up, as if he was amused by her never-ending attempts to get rid of him. “I see. Can you stay awake long enough to hear what your son had to say?”

  “Of course. I’m always interested in what Leo has to say.”

  “I’m sure that’s true. Only problem is, he doesn’t think so.”

  Jo felt as if she’d been blasted by another pistol, this time straight through the heart. She knew she and Leo had been having problems since Edwyn died, but she didn’t want to hear it from Marshal Collins.

  “He’ll come around in time,” she said, working hard to be guarded and abrupt with this man who seemed to be pushing to get closer, to understand her and Leo. Could that be true? Could he be as sincere as he sounded?

  The marshal leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together. “He told me what happened to your husband.”

  Jo let her eyes follow the erratic flight of a bat overhead. But he didn’t tell you the truth. I’m the only one who knows what really happened.

  The marshal continued. “You can’t let that stop you from letting your son grow up. He thinks you don’t trust him with things, that you don’t have any confidence that he can take over the ranch.”

  “He’s just a boy. Taking over the ranch is a long way off.”

  “Not in his mind. He’s ready to be a man. He needs some freedom.”

  Jo knew this already. She’d known it for a long time. She just couldn’t bring herself to give that kind of independence to Leo. How could she, when she knew he only wanted to be out from under her protective wing so he could investigate his father’s murder?

  Part of what angered her now was that she was being told this by a man who had no business with her family. In fact, he was the last person on earth she wanted involved.

  “Did he talk to you about Edwyn?” she asked, hoping desperately that Leo hadn’t tried to elicit the marshal’s help in finding his father’s killers.

  “He said things were different when he was alive.”

  “Of course they were different—” She heard her angry tone and cut herself off before she spilled out all her woes to the marshal right here and now.

  But oh, how she needed to spill her woes to someone. It had been so long since she’d had anyone to trust with the workings of her heart—her doubts and fears in the middle of the darkest nights….

  “I know how you feel,” he said gently, and his kindness, which she had been working hard to deflect, nearly broke her.

  She had to move away from him. She stood up, and the swing twisted to and fro. The porch planks creaked beneath her feet.

  “Just try talking to Leo,” the marshal said. “Let him know why you’re prudent, and maybe you could relax the rules a little. Let him do the things he used to do.”

  A chilly evening breeze blew her skirt as she stood resting her hands on the white-painted porch rail, gazing across the dark hills. “I can’t,” she whispered, feeling as though the ground was slipping out from under her.

  “You have to. Or you’ll lose him.”

  Jo swallowed the sob that rose in her throat. Either way, she would lose.

  She heard the swing creak behind her as the marshal rose and approached. Jo closed her eyes, feeling his nearness. He was going to touch her. She sensed it, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask him to leave, even though she knew she should.

  He laid a hand on her good shoulder. She felt his breath on the back of her neck, knew he was smelling the orange flower water she’d splashed on before supper.

  Her skin tingled and she wanted to touch his hand. To thank him, oddly enough, for wanting to help Leo, even though she’d not wanted him to. It had been a while since Leo had looked to anyone for advice. None of the ranch hands seemed wise enough. Mature enough.

  The marshal gently squeezed her shoulder and she took a shaky breath. It had been too long since she’d felt the warmth of a man’s touch, felt the desire to open herself up to someone who wanted to hear her sorrows and understand them, understand her. She could respond to him now, turn around and…

  Oh, how she wanted to. Her heart was beating wildly within her breast, imploring her, pushing her…

  She bowed her head, fighting it. She felt so terribly confused. Even if the marshal was ignorant of Zeb’s crimes—and she couldn’t be sure of that—he would still feel some duty to protect him. Zeb was his sister’s husband, after all.

  A few seconds later, the marshal withdrew his hand from her shoulder and stepped back. Jo felt a chill of regret move through her like an icy wave.

  “I must be on my way,” the marshal said, his voice revealing his disappointment. “I’ll just get my hat.”

  The door squeaked
open and Jo looked up at the starry sky, so impossibly distant. She heard the marshal thanking Matilda, then the door squeaked again and he stepped onto the porch. The evening crickets chirped a steady rhythm.

  He stood behind her for a moment, and she realized he had not asked her any more questions about the shooting. Had she managed to convince him she’d said everything? Or had Leo simply distracted him from it?

  Jo turned around and faced him. Her polite smile was agony to muster, but she forced herself, while inside her heart was aching more than she could bear.

  But aching for what? And why?

  He donned his hat. “Thank you for supper, ma’am. I’m much obliged. Good night, now.”

  With that, he breezed by her and walked to the rented buggy. It bounced as he got in, and the horse nickered. The marshal flicked the reins and turned the buggy around in the yard, gifting Jo with one last look as he passed by the house.

  For a long moment, she felt as if she were floating. He touched the brim of his hat, staring a little longer than would be considered proper, but Jo stared back all the same, wishing she could trust him to take care of all this for her, to make it all go away.

  Just before he looked away, she raised her hand with a goodbye. A glimmer of intimacy shone in his eyes.

  Confused, she stood on the porch watching the back of the buggy until it disappeared over the moonlit hill. The relief she was expecting from his departure eluded her. All she wanted, strangely enough and in the most unsettling way, was for him to return.

  Fletcher drove away from the O’Malley ranch, fighting the urge to turn back and take that reclusive widow into his arms and satisfy the desires he’d been trying to fight all night long. He was certain he’d seen something in her eyes that said she didn’t want him to go. That delicate wave had been more than a simple goodbye.

  He drove over the hill and just had to pull the horse to a halt. Something in him didn’t want to leave Mrs. O’Malley alone after what she’d been through with the shooting the other night. After that pleading look in her eye just now, he began to wonder if there wasn’t something more going on here. Maybe she’d actually seen the gunman, and that’s why he’d shot her. Maybe that’s why she was so secretive. She was afraid the gunman might come back to finish her off if he knew she could identify him.

  But it still didn’t explain why there had been no bullet hole in her dress, Fletcher thought with some irritation. After spending time with her, he was finding it harder and harder to accept the explanation she’d given him, despite the rumors about her.

  Come to think of it, he was finding it harder to accept the rumors, too.

  Unable to make sense of this, Fletcher sat alone on the dark prairie, squeezing the soft leather reins in his hands. He wanted—needed—to protect her from whatever danger he sensed she might be in.

  But how was he to stay on his toes and maintain his professional objectiveness when all he wanted to do now was touch her and smell her and tell her he’d keep her safe? He hadn’t wanted a woman in his life for a long time, and he certainly didn’t want one now. It would never work and he’d known that when he chose this career path. He shouldn’t be having these doubts.

  He took a deep breath and tried to think rationally. If he went back there, it would be a personal thing, not a professional one, that much he knew, and it made him clench his fists in frustration.

  But despite it all, he flicked the reins and began to turn the buggy back toward the ranch, with no idea what he would say when he got there.

  The fragrant prairie breeze cooled Jo’s flushed cheeks as she stood on the porch, watching the dark horizon. All she could think of was the intimate conversation she’d just had with the marshal when she knew he was a man she could not trust—the brother-in-law of her husband’s murderer and the man her son had confided in instead of her.

  Why then, was she staring after him?

  She waited a few moments, then sighed heavily and went into the warm, lantern-lit house where all was quiet. Leo was in bed, Matilda in the kitchen and the ranch hands had retired to the bunkhouse.

  Jo stood in the front hall staring at Edwyn’s large tilting portrait. The black-and-white photograph had captured him well—his brown eyes serious, brows in a straight line, mouth covered by a long bushy mustache that made him appear to be frowning even though he wasn’t.

  She reached her hand out to straighten the gilt frame, trying to remember the long-ago days when they were first married. Had he ever made her body respond with fluttering heartbeats as the marshal had tonight when he touched her shoulder and she could feel his breath on the back of her neck?

  No, she did not remember anything like that. Edwyn was a kind man. A decent man. That was why she had married him, and they’d had a good life together all these years. But there had been no passion for either of them in their union. Her husband’s touch had never inflamed her senses like the marshal’s had tonight.

  She stepped back and stared a little longer, feeling guilty for so many things.

  Of course, Edwyn must have had his share of guilt, too…

  She walked into the parlor and sat on the sofa, letting her fingers roam idly over the deeply buttoned crimson upholstery. She thought about the marshal, and imagined her fingers roaming over the strong lines of his jaw, through the wavy hair at his nape. Though she tried to chase the thought from her mind, she wondered what it would feel like to kiss him….

  Fletcher sat quietly in the buggy in Mrs. O’Malley’s yard, wishing he’d not returned to see what he’d seen through her front door—a young widow staring so intently, so longingly at her dead husband’s portrait, she’d not noticed the man in her yard.

  Perhaps it was best, he tried to tell himself, flicking the reins to head back to town. Perhaps that’s why fate had urged him to return here just now—so he could see the way things really were and put an end to this ridiculous distraction before it got too out of hand. Before it turned into something he sure as hell would have to be crazy to want.

  Chapter Nine

  Leo blew out the lantern by his bed and snuggled down under the patchwork quilt. He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, then out the window where the moon shone brightly onto the hills in the distance. He looked at a star, the brightest one, and watched it flicker.

  Listening to the sounds of cattle far away, he closed his eyes and thought of the things Marshal Collins had said to him. Your ma loves you very much. She just misses your pa.

  He tried to remember the last time he’d seen his ma laugh, but couldn’t. He tried to remember the last time he’d seen her cry, but couldn’t. Where had his tender mother gone? Why was she always so angry with him?

  Leo wished Marshal Collins were here so he could talk to him some more. Then he thought of his pa, and he clutched the quilt in his fists.

  “Pa? If you can hear me, I want you to know that I’m gonna take care of Ma. She’s been sad since you left us, but I think part of it’s because she’s afraid of losing me, too. At least, that’s what Marshal Collins said. Marshal Collins is a real nice man. He promised to show me the jailhouse someday.”

  Leo thought carefully about what to say next. He wanted to get it right.

  “I’m gonna take care of things, Pa. I’m gonna see that the men who robbed us get taken to jail, and then Ma will feel better and not worry so much about losing me, too. Maybe she’ll start smiling again.”

  Leo turned onto his side and looked at the star. It flickered brightly in the sky, and he watched it shine until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.

  Today was a day for new beginnings, Jo thought, looking up at the bright sun and feeling more optimistic than she had in a long time. Heading into town, she sat beside Leo on the squeaky, bouncy wagon seat, heeding some of the marshal’s advice by letting her son drive.

  She’d also told him he could run the errands for her in town—all by himself—which gave him a reason to eat breakfast in a hurry instead of fiddling with it endlessly ju
st to prove a point. This way, Jo could accomplish two tasks at the same time: patching up some of the lost love between her and her son, and sneaking her bag out from under the privy floor.

  Of course, there was a third very important task.

  “Tell me, Leo, what did you and the marshal talk about in the barn last night?”

  Elbows to knees, Leo held the reins loosely. “Some talk between men is private.”

  Jo pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, realizing her optimism was a bit premature. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  He hesitated a moment, as if considering whether or not to continue the conversation. Jo waited, determined to prove she could give him the space he desired. After a few more minutes, Leo leaned back and said, “Fletcher told me you were just worried about me, and that you miss Pa. He said you were lonely for companionship, having to run the ranch all on your own.”

  “Lonely for companionship?” she blurted out, then wondered why it should matter what the marshal thought about her. “Of course, I’m lonely for your pa,” Jo said, trying to sound casual, “but I have everything I need in you.”

  His eyes beamed briefly. “Did you know the marshal has sent more than sixty men to prison? Some of them were horse thieves. He’s a real good tracker. He chased some of them for weeks.”

  “Leo, we have to put what happened to your pa behind us, otherwise it will eat away at us forever. The men who robbed us are long gone and the trail is cold. We did what we could.”

  He shook his head and spoke softly. “No, we didn’t.”

  Her heart throbbed at his words. She knew Leo felt powerless and understood his frustration, but she just couldn’t let him act upon it. Not while it was still so dangerous. “Yes, we did, Leo. You know I spoke to the sheriff about it. I told him everything and he looked into it. There was nothing that could be done to catch those men.”

  “But maybe Marshal Collins can help us.”