The Marshal and Mrs. O'Malley

by Julianne MacLean

  Odd, to hear Elizabeth, adorned in silk, satin and jewels, ask about cattle. “We drive about ten thousand head up from Texas every year, but we keep seven thousand breeding cows. Edwyn believed the future was in winter feeding, fencing and breeding, and I have to say I agree.”

  “Yes, I’ve often thought that—”

  “What’s this?” Zeb interrupted as he helped himself to another glass of champagne. “Ladies discussing ranching. I believe I’ve heard it all.” He glanced at Fletcher, expecting him to join in laughing, but Fletcher ignored the remark and set his glass down on a table.

  Jo hoped her eyes were not conveying the loathing she felt.

  Elizabeth fiddled with an earring. “But Mrs. O’Malley is running her husband’s—”

  “She has cowhands for that, we all know. I hear your foreman, John Cook, is an ambitious man.”

  “Yes, he is at that,” Jo replied, hiding her hostility beneath a polite smile. “But he doesn’t make the decisions about land that belongs to me.”

  Zeb strode forward and leaned his elbow on the mantel. “Maybe you should let him make some of the decisions. I hear you’re building more fences when any wise businessman knows that cattle can be grazed for almost nothing on the free range in Texas. To dispense large amounts of capital on acres and acres of grass here and to fence it in is simply foolish.”

  “I don’t believe that building something is ever foolish, Mr. Stone, especially when it can be passed down to future generations and—”

  Zeb smirked and raised a brow. “Why not build your bank account instead and pass that down if you so want to leave something behind. I’d wager your son would prefer a stack of cash over an obligation to break his back making hay.”

  Elizabeth spoke to her husband but directed her gaze at Jo. “Perhaps Mrs. O’Malley has a point. I’ve heard the open range has been overgrazed to the point of—”

  “Don’t be silly, Elizabeth. The farmers are starting those rumors. Texas will never be overgrazed. There’s enough acreage to feed a—”

  “It’s not the quantity of land that’s the problem,” Fletcher broke in, and everyone fell silent. “One of these days, a bad winter is going to wipe out entire herds and folks are starting to think about that. I reckon in the future, more ranchers are going to move toward winter feeding. Like the O’Malleys.” Fletcher sat in the red upholstered armchair beside Jo and crossed his legs. “But I didn’t know you had an interest in ranching, Zeb.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?” he replied haughtily. “This is a cow town.”

  Fletcher sat very still, watching Zeb until the door to the drawing room opened and the butler stepped inside. “There is someone here wishing to see Marshal Collins.”

  “Who is it?” Fletcher asked, still watching Zeb, who moved to sit in the wing chair in front of the fireplace.

  “Yes, who is interrupting our intriguing discussion? I hope it’s important.”

  “It’s Deputy Anderson, sir.”

  Fletcher turned in his chair. “Anderson is here?”

  “Yes, Marshal Collins, sir. He wishes to speak to you.”

  Fletcher stood. “Will you be all right?” he asked Jo quietly.

  “Of course, she will,” Zeb answered. “We’ll see that she’s properly entertained.”

  Fletcher hesitated. “I’ll just be on the other side of the door. Liz, I’ll trust you to make sure this lady doesn’t run out on me.”

  With a teasing smile, Elizabeth touched Jo’s arm. “I doubt she’ll do that, Fletch.”

  He swept his hand lightly over Jo’s cheek, cupping her chin and gazing into her eyes. “I won’t be long.”

  She nodded. “I’ll wait.”

  Jo anxiously watched the butler close the double doors behind Fletcher. She felt Zeb’s dark gaze rake over her and glanced at him. With a subtle, sinister grin, he raised an eyebrow at her.

  “What do you mean, he was dead?” Fletcher whispered to Anderson, leading him across the wide hall and into the dining room where the butler wouldn’t hear them speak.

  “I mean he was dead, Marshal Collins. Laid out cold behind the Long Branch saloon.”

  “Any bullet wounds?”

  “Yep. Straight through the heart. You gonna come and see for yourself?”

  As much as he wanted to, Fletcher couldn’t leave Jo alone with Zeb, especially not with this new development. “Not right now. I trust you to take care of things. Seal off the area. Ask if anyone saw anything. I’ll be by later to have a look.”

  “Yes, sir.” Anderson settled his hat on his head and saluted the butler. “Don’t bother yourself. I know the way out. Door’s right there.”

  Fletcher stood in the dining room thinking, then approached Matthews. “Tell everyone I had to step out for a few minutes. I’ll be back in time for supper, though. I just want to ask Anderson a few more questions and check something at the jailhouse.”

  “Shall I get your hat, sir?”

  “Not necessary,” Fletcher replied, going for the door.

  He stepped outside into the twilight, hearing birds chirping in the straight row of trees Zeb had imported to line his driveway.

  Fletcher looked all around the yard for witnesses. Seeing only Deputy Anderson on his horse, trotting off the property without looking back, Fletcher ducked down below the windows and circled the outside of the large stone house toward the back.

  He knew the servants were busy downstairs preparing supper; Jo, Elizabeth and Zeb were still in the drawing room, and because Zeb had chosen a property on a hill on the edge of town, it was secluded enough to avoid the company and curiosity of neighbors.

  Fletcher sneaked around to the back and found an open window, hoping it would take him into a closed room and not a hall or some other visible section of the house. Grabbing hold of the wooden window ledge, he pulled himself up and, with one swift thrust, he was inside.

  He straightened his shirt, looked around the dark room and found himself in Elizabeth’s private sitting room. He went to the door and peered into the hall, then quietly walked across and tried the door on the other side. Finding it locked, he retrieved the rusty hairpin he kept on his key ring for moments like these, and gently persuaded the lock to open.

  Fletcher walked in and closed the door behind him, straining to hear any sounds from the hall outside as he made his way across the room. He walked to the desk that stood on a round Oriental carpet near the back wall, sat down and grabbed for whatever he could get his hands on—papers, letters, invoices, bank statements. Most letters were addressed to Zeb at Zeb Stone’s Dry Goods; the invoices were for store merchandise he brought in from all parts of the country.

  Reaching for the bank records, Fletcher checked over the amounts and had to swallow his surprise at the balance carried forward each month. There was enough money in there to stuff the entire county courthouse to the roof.

  Fletcher looked for large deposits, but there were only standard amounts from the business, the balance having been deposited when he originally opened the account. Elizabeth’s explanation about Zeb inheriting his money seemed legitimate.

  Hearing silverware clinking in the dining room, Fletcher decided to get back before Jo had to sit down at Zeb’s table on her own.

  He left the same way he came in and, within moments, he was walking through the front door of the grand house and smelling roast beef in the downstairs kitchen.

  Matthews stood outside the drawing room with his hands clasped behind his back. “They’ve been waiting for you, sir,” he said, opening the door to the drawing room.

  Fletcher walked in, and there was Jo, sitting where he’d left her, her gaze darting up at him and her eyes shimmering with relief and happiness to see him. He felt himself take in a deep breath of awe at the sight of her sitting there wearing his mother’s wedding ring, returning his enamored gaze as if there were no one else in the room but them.

  Only the sound of Zeb’s voice drew Fletcher out of his stupor. “You’re back, finally. W
hat did the deputy want that couldn’t wait until after dinner?”

  Fletcher regarded him with an inquisitive gaze. “He came to report a death.”

  “Good heavens,” Elizabeth said, covering her mouth with a hand. “Who was it?”

  Fletcher didn’t take his eyes off Zeb, who sat calmly in the chair revealing nothing. “No one you would know, Liz. He was a drover who’d just shipped a herd out east.”

  “How did he die?” Zeb asked, leaning back in the chair, his hands relaxed on the armrests.

  “Looks like his heart gave out,” Fletcher replied, not wanting to mention in front of Elizabeth the true circumstances, or that Zeb had played poker with the man the night before.

  “What a shame. The fellow must have been working too hard,” Zeb said.

  “I reckon so.”

  “Shall we go to the table?” Zeb asked, his tone light.

  Elizabeth nodded serenely and accepted her husband’s hand to lead her out of the room. All Fletcher could do was stand and stare at Jo on the sofa staring back at him, her pale cheeks showing her concern. He knew without a doubt that something was going on in this town and Jo was a sitting duck in the middle of it.

  “I’m glad you’re back,” she said, rising.

  “Why? Did something happen? If Zeb said or did anything—”

  “No, nothing at all. I’m just glad to see you. I was worried about you.”

  “I was worried about you, too,” he replied, trying to keep the emotion from his voice, but it was no use. “I didn’t like leaving you.”

  He offered his arm and she looped hers through it on the way out of the room.

  “Then don’t do it again,” she said.

  He wished with all his heart that he could give her that promise.

  The ladies’ refined presence at the dining table may have kept conversation away from cattle rustling and murder, but it astutely anchored it in far more dangerous territory.

  “Perhaps we should set the date,” Elizabeth suggested, sipping on red wine from a crystal glass.

  Fletcher and Jo looked at each other. “We don’t want to rush anything,” Jo replied, moving her food around on her plate. “With the election coming…”

  “All the more reason to do it now. We could make it a double celebration. I would be happy to help plan things.”

  “My dear,” Zeb said, cutting her off, “you’ll have more than enough planning to do for my victory celebration. Perhaps Fletcher and Mrs. O’Malley are wise to wait until afterward.”

  Elizabeth smiled politely. “Perhaps.”

  “Are you afraid they’ll change their minds?” Zeb eyed them with arrogant humor.

  Fletcher took a sip of wine and set it down. “We’re not going to change our minds.”

  More surprised than anything at his definite tone, Jo forced herself to swallow a forkful of the tender roast beef.

  “You don’t plan to take up ranching, do you?” Zeb asked. “What about your career? The sheriff’s office? I hope you haven’t forgotten it.”

  “No, I just think it’s time I reevaluated some of the decisions I’ve made in my life.”

  Was this part of the act? Jo wondered, astounded as she watched him carry on this uncomfortable conversation with Zeb.

  “I think that’s very wise of you, Fletcher,” Elizabeth said. “Love is the most important thing.”

  “No, not love,” Zeb disagreed. “You cannot depend on it. Family, and the responsibility that goes with it, is what matters most.”

  “With any luck, I’ll have a family soon enough,” Fletcher said, refusing to meet Jo’s gaze across the table.

  Elizabeth wiggled in her chair. “I’m sure you will, Fletcher, in no time at all.” Her eyes smiled at Jo, who wanted to crawl under the table and hide until this conversation was over.

  “Do you want a large wedding or something more intimate?” Elizabeth asked both of them. “Either way would be lovely. We could hold the celebration here afterward. What a delightful time it would be.”

  Jo tried not to sound unappreciative. “Please, you don’t have to go to all that trouble. We just want to keep things simple.”

  “It would be no trouble at all. But if you really do prefer a simple ceremony, I wouldn’t dream of interfering. Your happiness is what matters most.” She smiled warmly at Jo, who could not bring herself to meet Elizabeth’s kind gaze.

  During the remainder of the meal, Jo was happy to turn the discussion toward the embroidery group that Elizabeth had begun on Tuesday evenings, then to lead the conversation into the poor selection of men’s formal wear in town.

  After dessert and coffee, when the table was cleared, Elizabeth gathered up her gloves and said to Jo, “Shall we retire to my private sitting room and allow the men a chance to talk business?”

  “We really should be going,” Fletcher said, sliding back his chair and standing.

  Jo stopped him with her hand. “Please, Fletcher, sit down. There’s no hurry. Enjoy some time with your brother-in-law. I’ll be fine.”

  His eyes clouded with a warning.

  Zeb signaled the footman to bring the cigars and a bottle of brandy. “Yes, do as your future wife tells you, Fletcher. You’ll have to start sometime.”

  Jo breathed deeply to prevent herself from responding to Zeb’s comment, then joined Elizabeth on her way out of the dining room. She felt Fletcher’s eyes follow her but refused to acknowledge it. She could only hope he would do as much with his opportunity as she intended to do with hers.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “This is so romantic,” Elizabeth mused. “It must have been love the very instant you laid eyes upon each other.”

  Jo tried to grasp for a sensible reply, but supposed with some uneasiness that matters of the heart were never sensible. “You know how these things are.”

  Elizabeth stood and walked to the window, pulled the heavy brocade curtain aside with one finger and looked out into the darkness. “I envy you, marrying a man like my brother.”

  “I’m sure most women in Dodge envy you for your husband.”

  Elizabeth let the curtain fall closed. “Thank you for saying that.”

  “It’s the truth. You must be…” Jo could barely get the bitter-tasting words past her lips. “You must be very happy.”

  Elizabeth sat down again. “We are fortunate in what we have—this house and the business. It’s a good life, but you will be fortunate in other ways when you marry my brother. You’ll be far happier than most people could ever dream.”

  Jo pondered that statement and imagined it would be true if this engagement was not a sham.

  “May I ask you something, Elizabeth?”

  “Of course, you may ask me anything. We’re going to be sisters, remember?”

  Jo lowered her eyes and forced the words out, knowing she should be concentrating on connecting Zeb to George Greer, but unable to resist this opportunity to ask a question that only Elizabeth could answer. “Do you think Fletcher truly enjoys being a lawman?”

  Elizabeth touched Jo’s knee. “I knew you were the right woman for him.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “For someone who hasn’t known him very long, you’ve seen right through him, past his badge.”

  “I suppose,” Jo replied uncertainly.

  “Maybe it’s because you’re cut from the same cloth,” Elizabeth continued. “When you said earlier that you wanted to build something, I wanted to weep with joy that you and Fletcher had found each other. Fletcher always used to say the exact thing—those very words. Before he got caught up in the law, of course.”

  “You don’t approve of his career choice?”

  “It’s not that I don’t approve. I’d approve of anything he truly wanted. I just don’t think that being a lawman makes him happy. It just keeps him from letting go of something that happened a long time ago. Something he needs to put behind him.”

  “Your father.”

  Elizabeth regarded Jo with surpri
se. “He told you? He must trust you very much.”

  Jo shrugged. “I just asked him about it, that’s all.”

  “Even so, he usually won’t speak of it to anyone. Perhaps there is hope for him after all.”

  “Hope?”

  “Yes—that one day he’ll leave the law to someone else and follow his dreams.”

  “Of owning a ranch,” Jo finished for her, remembering John’s proposal and feeling a twinge of disappointment.

  “No.” Elizabeth’s blue-eyed gaze intensified. “Dreams of having a family to love, people to call home. That’s what he always wanted to build.”

  At that moment, Jo’s decision to keep from loving Fletcher Collins shattered like a sheet of thin ice dropped upon a rock. She realized suddenly that she wanted more than anything to help him find what he was looking for. He needed her, he always had, and she’d tried not to see it—even thought him soulless when all he ever wanted was the very thing she could give him. Or would have been able to, if things were different. She felt a painful lump lodge in her throat.

  She looked down at the shiny gold ring she still wore. Had Fletcher truly wished all this was real when he slipped it on her finger and told her that his mother would have wanted her to wear it? Was the love in his eyes genuine, despite the differences that separated them?

  Drowning in confusion and remembering suddenly that she had come here to prove Zeb’s guilt, not fall in love with Fletcher, Jo removed the snug ring and handed it to Elizabeth. “It’s too early for me to be wearing this.”

  Elizabeth accepted the tiny gold band, closed her fingers tightly around it. “I’ll take good care of it until the special day.” She stood and placed it in a mother-of-pearl, heart-shaped box on the corner desk.

  All Jo wanted to do now was run out of this room and go to Fletcher, wrap her arms around his neck, tell him she loved him and beg him to love her back. But would he be ready to hear that? she wondered. Jo knew Fletcher cared for her, but she also knew he would have to forgive his father before he’d ever be able to give up his obsession with the law and let himself be close to someone again.