The Marshal and Mrs. O'Malley

by Julianne MacLean

  She gazed blankly at Elizabeth, who was setting the ring box up on a shelf behind the fancy rolltop desk. Jo reminded herself that nothing with Fletcher would even come close to being resolved if she didn’t find some evidence about Zeb to end this pursuit, because she knew enough about Fletcher to know that he would never let it go unsolved.

  Oh, how she wanted him to let it go. She wanted him to let go of all of it.

  “It’s a shame what happened to that man Fletcher mentioned,” Jo said unsteadily. “I saw him earlier today. He looked fit as a fiddle loading his herd onto the railcar. I believe he said he worked for George Greer.”

  Elizabeth returned to the sofa and sat down. “It makes you stop and think about how fragile life is, doesn’t it? Makes you want to live it to the fullest.”

  Jo realized she’d have to be more direct. “Have you ever met George Greer?”

  “No, but someone delivered something here for him once. I had to send it back, all the way to Amarillo.”

  Jo was too startled by the comment to feign indifference. “What was it?”

  “I have no idea. It was a small box from a bank and I didn’t think it proper to open it.”

  “Did you tell your husband about it?”

  “Yes, of course. He explained to me later that it must have been a clerical error on the bank’s part.”

  “The bank?”

  “Yes. Zeb also keeps an account in Amarillo.”

  Feeling her heart begin to pound harder, Jo cleared her throat. “Why would he keep an account there?”

  “To diversify his holdings, he tells me. It’s a good way to keep his inheritance safe from thieves and vagabonds and banks that fail.”

  “How very wise of him. Does he keep many? It must be a bookkeeping nightmare.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “I don’t know. That was the only time I’ve ever seen anything from another bank. Zeb handles those things, of course.”

  “Of course,” Jo replied, understanding. When Edwyn was alive, he had handled them, too. “But goodness, how very rude of me. I don’t know who would be more shocked—Zeb or Fletcher—to know I’d been speaking about money with you.”

  They shared a smile.

  “Don’t worry,” Elizabeth assured her. “You’re my future sister-in-law, and from now on, our conversations will always be kept in the strictest confidence.”

  Jo smiled, but inside, she felt only a hopeless and despairing yearning.

  “How very clever of you, Fletcher.” Zeb picked up his brandy glass and swirled the amber liquid around. “I was beginning to think you’d lost your mind.”

  Fletcher smiled and tapped his cigar ashes into the tray. “If folks hear I’m going to hitch my wagon to one of the Dodge City widows, they’ll realize I’m here to stay, and the sheriff’s office will be a snap.”

  “Music to my ears.”

  “I thought you’d like it.”

  “When do you plan to have the wedding? We’ve got to manage this in the best possible way.”

  Fletcher settled back in his chair, carefully contemplating his answer. “The sheriff’s election isn’t until November. If we move too fast, all the hoopla will be over by the time folks go to vote and I’ll be saddled with a wife. I reckon the anticipation of a big wedding—real romantic-like—will be better than the actual thing. If you get my meaning.”

  Zeb smiled. “I believe I do. You want to plan something marvelous, then after you’re elected…a lover’s quarrel, perhaps?”

  Fletcher took a slow sip of brandy. “Perhaps.”

  Zeb studied Fletcher as if testing him. “Mmm, no, I don’t like it.”

  “Why not?”

  Zeb ran his finger around the top of his glass, thinking. “You don’t want to spend the next few months courting a woman like Josephine O’Malley. Besides, Elizabeth will be impossible to live with if she has all that time to plan your nuptials.”

  “It’ll give her something to do.”

  Zeb considered that. “What will your ‘widow’ do in the meantime?”

  “What she always does. Sit out at her ranch and let the men run things while she’s waiting to marry me.” He hated saying all this, but it seemed to be working in his favor. It was exactly what Zeb wanted to hear.

  He smiled. “And you’ll be too busy upholding the law to visit her.”

  “Most of the time, I reckon that’ll be the case.”

  “Most of the time. You won’t become infatuated with her, will you? The effect will be lost if you decide to go through with it and push things forward.”

  “I told you, I’m not the marrying kind.”

  “But you’re married to your job,” Zeb commented, his eyes narrowing as he studied Fletcher for a response.

  “A man’s gotta believe in something.”

  “Yes, yes, he does.” After a pause, Zeb inclined his head with a suggestion. “Have you considered actually going through with it? The O’Malley land is the best around.”

  Fletcher raised his eyebrows. “And what exactly would I do with a ranch?”

  “If we’re going to own Dodge, we might as well really own it, don’t you think?”

  Fletcher casually tossed his hair over his shoulder. “Interesting suggestion, but why make me marry her? Why not just buy her out?”

  “That widow will never sell. I know for a fact. And she’s bequeathing the place to her son, then a whole string of Irish relations who will probably be too sentimental to ever sell.”

  Fletcher kept his expression deceptively cool. “Thinking about getting into the cattle business?”

  “It never hurts to control things.”

  “But ranching, Zeb? After all that talk about not needing to own land when there’s open range to be had?”

  “Let’s just say my interests are varied. We’ll leave it at that for now while you think about all this.”

  Fletcher would think about this. Very carefully.

  “So, what about that raise you promised me?” he asked, rising to his feet. “When does that start?”

  Laughing, Zeb stood also. “You’re a shrewd man, Fletcher. I thank you for bringing it to my attention. What did I promise you? A hundred a week? Two hundred?”

  “If I recall correctly, it was an extra hundred a month.”

  “Gracious, that won’t do at all. A hundred a week sounds better, don’t you think? I wasn’t exactly at my best, was I? Did I thank you for seeing me home?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, I’ll thank you now with your first installment. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds mighty fine, Zeb.”

  “I thought it would. Use the money to buy yourself some new clothes. Take Elizabeth with you. She has very good taste. We need to tidy up your image if we want things to go our way, and if you can get your hands on that ranch land, things will get even more interesting. I promise you that.”

  Fletcher spoke with restraint, hiding his suspicions for the time being. “I’m looking forward to finding out what you have in mind, Zeb.”

  “You’ll never believe what I learned from Elizabeth,” Jo said to Fletcher as their wagon rattled off Zeb’s property and onto the dark, quiet street back to town.

  Fletcher pulled at the brim of his hat, seeming distracted. “I’d believe anything right now. My pockets are stuffed with cash and I’ve committed myself to run for sheriff.”

  “You have? What did Zeb say about the wedding?”

  Fletcher wouldn’t look at her. “Don’t worry. We’re off the hook until November.”

  “Why November?” Would they have to continue this charade until then, she wondered uneasily, or would all this be over and done with?

  “Because that’s when the election will be, and no voter can resist a groom in a big romantic wedding to which they’ve been invited.”

  Jo huffed with disgust. “That must have been Zeb’s idea. I’m not surprised.” Fletcher said nothing. “What’s the money for?”

  “It’s my salary from Zeb. He
must keep a safe in his office, though I didn’t see it when I sneaked in there.”

  “You sneaked in? When?”

  “After Deputy Anderson came. That’s what took me so long.”

  Jo turned to look at him, her curiosity impossible to hide. “Did you find anything on George Greer?”

  “No. Just papers relating to the store.”

  “Well, if there was nothing in Zeb’s study that mentioned Greer, he must have another hiding place, because Elizabeth told me they once received a package for Greer.”

  “You asked her about it?”

  “Don’t worry. I was clever. We were talking about the man who died, and it came up that he worked for Greer. So now do you believe me about Zeb?”

  “I believe he’s up to something and that he’s not the man Elizabeth thinks he is.”

  Jo couldn’t keep herself from probing further. “But do you believe that he killed Edwyn?”

  For a long time, Fletcher didn’t answer. He gazed up at the stars. “I believe it’s possible that he might have been involved,” he said finally.

  Having waited so long to hear those words, Jo exhaled a deep, shaky sigh. She couldn’t help leaning in and giving him a hug. She knocked his hat off-kilter.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, half laughing while straightening his hat.

  “I just wanted to thank you for helping me.”

  “Don’t get too excited. I haven’t helped you yet. We still need to know more before we can be certain,” he added, not surprisingly.

  But Jo was happy enough with what he offered. She sat back in her seat. “Where do we go from here?”

  He steered the wagon onto Walnut Street. “First we’re going to look at a dead body. Then we’re going home. To your home. And I don’t care what folks say about it. I’m going with you and I’m staying. The whole damn night.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  After going to see MacGregor’s body and finding him just as Deputy Anderson had described—dead from a bullet wound through the heart—Fletcher and Jo drove to the ranch.

  The horses led the wagon toward the barn, and even though Fletcher sat beside Jo in the seat, she felt her pulse quicken as it always did at the thought of going inside, of seeing the place where Edwyn had gasped his last breath.

  Feeling foolish and not wanting Fletcher to know about this irrational fear of hers, she made some excuse and hopped down from the wagon just before Fletcher drove in. She waited by the door, nervously tapping her foot while he unhitched the team and fed and watered the horses. When he finally walked out with his hand on his gun, she let out a deep breath of relief, rose up on her toes and hugged him.

  “What’s that for?” he asked, smiling and falling back against the barn wall. “You’re awfully affectionate tonight.”

  She leaned into his warm, muscular frame, looking up at him in the moonlight. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

  “I’m glad, too,” he replied, his eyes roaming curiously over her face. She could see that he was studying her and seeing something there, something she’d not wanted him to see.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, touching her cheek with his thumb.

  “Of course,” she replied, still leaning into him.

  “But you’re trembling.”

  “It’s cold out here.”

  He shook his head, his gaze still full of scrutiny. “No, that’s not it. You’re afraid.”

  Taken aback, Jo rubbed at the chill on her arms. “Well, you have to admit, this whole situation has been—”

  “You don’t like to go into the barn, do you?”

  Jo continued to at least try to hide what she felt. “What makes you think that?”

  “A hunch.” He took a step forward, away from the wall. “How long has it been since you’ve been in there?”

  Oh, she didn’t want to talk about this. “Too long.”

  “How do you manage to work the ranch without being able to go into the barn?”

  “Leo and Matilda and the cowhands look after the chores there. I do other things.”

  He shook his head, not with disapproval, but with a genuine compassion that made her heart melt. “I’m so sorry you saw it happen, Jo.”

  Tears threatened; she tried to push them away but couldn’t.

  “You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he said. “It’s all over.”

  “No, it’s not, not in my mind. I keep seeing it.”

  He didn’t say anything more, he only took her into his arms and held her.

  “I just can’t go in there,” she whispered.

  “Yes, you can.”

  “Please, don’t force me, Fletcher. I’ve tried many times to force myself and it only makes it worse.”

  “I would never force you to do anything, Jo, but I’m here with you now. You’re safe with me. Why don’t you let me take you inside and show you that everything’s okay?”

  Her stomach began to churn with dread. “I know I should, but I don’t want to.”

  “Look, I have my gun.” He pulled it out of its holster and cocked it. “Nothing will happen while I’m here.”

  Her heart was pounding like a drum in her ears, faster and faster. “I don’t know, Fletcher.”

  “Come with me,” he gently urged, taking her hand and moving toward the door.

  She didn’t follow at first until her arm was outstretched and only her fingers were touching his. “Come on, Jo, you can do it. Just stay close to me.”

  Oh, he had such a way with his voice—that smooth Texas drawl. It always soothed her.

  She took an uncertain step forward and he squeezed her hand. “That’s it.” He led her through the door and her breath came in short gasps and her heart felt as if it was going to burst with fear, until she stepped over the threshold and into the dark central bay.

  The smell of moist hay and cows and manure wafted into her nose, bringing back a whole slew of memories which surprisingly were mostly about her childhood. It had been so long since she’d smelled these familiar scents.

  Then Fletcher lit the lantern that hung on a post by the door, and the barn became recognizable. She swallowed nervously, her stomach suddenly burning as she looked up at the thick square beam overhead. Images of Edwyn’s last helpless moments—his legs kicking and his face ghostly white with terror as he wrestled with the rope around his neck—flashed like sparking embers in her mind. She was breathing hard now, staring upward, seeing things that were not there.

  “It’s all right to be afraid, Jo,” Fletcher said to her, dropping his gun into its holster and taking her hand. “It was a terrible ordeal, what you went through.”

  Frozen with fear, she could only nod.

  She let the memories come, saw it all in her head, remembered huddling in the corner, waiting—God only knows how long—for Zeb and his men to leave, then longer still to be sure they had ridden far, far, away. The rope had creaked back and forth with Edwyn’s limp body, clad in his dark wool trousers and wool vest, while Jo had trembled and shivered and cried until she found the courage to finally get up and saddle a horse. There had been no ranch hands around then in the dead of winter so she had ridden off into the night alone to get help, through the snow and over crusty patches of ice, and when she found the city marshal, she had remembered the other dead rancher’s wife, and Jo had lied about what she had seen.

  She heard Fletcher’s voice, speaking to her as if from a great distance away. “What can I do, Jo? How can I help?”

  Shakily she let her gaze go to him. “Just hold me.”

  And then he was hugging her, and the visions of Edwyn disappeared with her fears as she wrapped her arms around Fletcher, rested her cheek on his firm chest and felt him stroke her hair with gentle fingers. “It’s over now, Jo. You’re going to be okay.”

  She nodded and wiped away a tear. “Yes, everything’s going to be okay.”

  He continued to hold her for the next few minutes, rubbing his hands over her back and kissing her cheeks
until her heart slowed to a normal pace and she was able to look up at the beam and not see Edwyn anymore. She looked around at the hay and horses and saw the door to the tack room and smelled the leather, and what had happened to Edwyn suddenly seemed far away, a horrible tragic nightmare that was now part of her past.

  She wiped away another tear and faced Fletcher’s caring expression. “Thank you for coming in here with me. I couldn’t do it alone.”

  “You just needed some help. We all need it sometimes.”

  And you still need me.

  “Are you hungry?” she whispered, her muscles relaxing beneath the feel of his hands resting on her hips.

  He smiled warmly. “Got any cookies?”

  “That’s why I keep my cookie jar full. For moments like these. Let’s go in the house.”

  “Sounds good.” Fletcher lowered the wick in the lantern and the barn went dark. Hands clasped, they walked quietly out into the yard, their path lit by the full moon, and slowly climbed the porch steps. Jo reached out to open the front door of the house but Fletcher stopped her.

  “Let me go first,” he said, drawing his Peacemaker and cocking it. “After that fire this morning, I’m not taking any more chances. Stay close.”

  They walked into the front hall, where the smell of charred fabric and wood was still heavy in the air, then checked each room for intruders who might have been there or who were still lurking. They found no evidence that anyone had been there since breakfast.

  Fletcher holstered his gun and finally turned to face Jo. They stood in the darkness of the front hall, close enough that Jo could feel his breath on her face. When their eyes met, it seemed they both realized at the same time that they were alone together in this dark house and would be until morning.

  “Why don’t we go into the kitchen?” Jo suggested, feeling suddenly awkward and nervous.

  She led the way in and, while Fletcher removed his hat and sat at the table, she lit a lamp and filled a plate with frosted shortbread cookies from the jar beside the window.

  Fletcher helped himself while Jo set two small plates out for each of them. “These cookies look great,” he said.

  “Would you like some coffee?”