The Marshal and Mrs. O'Malley

by Julianne MacLean

  “What’s that?” She hurried to pull his shirt off.

  “You promise to leave town.”

  “But I don’t want to go.”

  “I’m not giving you a choice,” he said again, and she knew there was no arguing as he pressed his open mouth to hers and, like a warm blanket, covered her body with his own.

  It had just stopped raining when Leo hopped out of his uncle’s buggy, splashed into the mud and hurried into the Newton post office. Inside, he removed his hat to discover the brim was holding enough rainwater to fill a bucket, and he accidentally spilled it onto the floor.

  He tried to spread the puddle around with his boot so no one would slip, then made his way to the counter. “Anything for Cecil O’Malley?” he asked the postmaster.

  The gray-haired, craggy-faced man turned and retrieved a pile of envelopes from the box behind him and, without a word, slapped them onto the unpainted counter. Leo gathered them up and thanked the man, but he’d already turned away to finish sorting the mail.

  Once outside, Leo replaced the rain-drenched hat on his head and flipped through the letters. His eyes widened at the sight of the return address on the last one— Edwyn O’Malley, Dodge City, Kansas.

  Leo spun around and hurried back into the post office. “Where did this letter come from?” he asked the postmaster.

  The man faced him and peered over his spectacles at the envelope. “Return address says Dodge City. Maybe it’s time you learned to read.”

  “I can read. But this letter’s old. Look!”

  The postmaster glared at him, then snapped the envelope into his hand and held his spectacles between two fingers to examine it. “Postmarked January 10. You’re right. It must have gotten lost for a time. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

  Leo turned and walked out of the building, staring in stunned silence at his father’s penmanship on the outside of the damp, tattered envelope. Leo heard the post office door fall closed behind him. He stood beside his uncle’s buggy, the letter in his hand making his heart ache with longing. He looked at the familiar writing again and, before he could think, ripped open the flimsy envelope and read what was inside.

  After preparing breakfast for the men and seeing them off to work, Jo grudgingly packed a bag and left a note for John on the bunkhouse door, asking him to see to the animals for the next few days and ensure the men were fed from the cookhouse. She didn’t explain where she was going, only that she would be gone a while.

  She wasn’t happy about it.

  The rain fell mercilessly from the ashen sky as she crossed the muddy yard toward the wagon. Holding her umbrella over her head, she climbed into the wet seat beside Fletcher, who wore his long brown slicker and his hat pulled forward on his head, the brim dripping with rain. She curled her gloved hand around his arm, but he wouldn’t look at her as he set them in motion. It was as if, after leaving the sanctuary of her bed, he had all of a sudden decided to close the door in her face.

  “We have an hour together,” she said, trying to keep her mood light when all she wanted to do was shake him and ask why he refused to let her into his heart. The wagon swished through a deep puddle and she worked hard to keep from letting him see how truly heartbroken she felt. “Enough time for me to get you to change your mind, I hope.”

  “No, Jo.”

  “But I want to be with you, and you need me for this.”

  He was quiet for a minute. “It just can’t be like that, Jo. I’m sorry. You should be with Leo. Take him somewhere to keep him safe in case things get dangerous.”

  She couldn’t very well argue with that. When it came to Leo, she would do anything, and Fletcher knew it.

  He squeezed her hand with reassurance but nothing else, and she felt the love in her heart swell far beyond what she had once, not so long ago, believed possible.

  If only it was not such a painful love. If only Fletcher could open his heart to her as she would open hers if he let her. Lord, if he was willing, she would at this very moment vow to love him for the rest of her life.

  “Please, be careful, Fletcher.”

  “Nothing will happen. I’ll find the evidence.” He put his arm around her.

  They drove through the rain and over the low, sodden hills, crossing mile after mile of weather-beaten landscape, but Jo could not make herself relax. She had a bad feeling about all this.

  By the time they reached the railway station, the train was there and waiting with hissing bursts of steam. Jo’s clothing was soaked straight through to her petticoats. She was shivering, and her heart was aching at the thought of saying goodbye. What if she left Dodge and something terrible happened to this man she had given all of her heart, soul and body to?

  Fletcher ran into the station to purchase her ticket and returned a few minutes later. “I bought a ticket all the way to Topeka, just in case anyone sees you get on and asks where you’re going. Change seats along the way— cars if you can—and try to get off without too many folks noticing. Don’t tell anyone you’re getting off at Newton, and when you get there, take Leo somewhere safe.”

  Jo nodded as he helped her out of the seat and retrieved her valise from under the canvas in the wagon bed. He led the way to the platform and stepped up onto the train, turning around to take her hand and pull her up.

  Carrying her folded, dripping umbrella, Jo entered the train and followed Fletcher down the narrow aisle until he found her a seat to herself at the far end of the car. He set down her bag.

  “I guess this is goodbye,” Jo said shakily, facing him.

  The lady in the seat behind her coughed.

  “I guess so. Will you be all right?”

  “I’ll be fine.” Jo fought the crushing urge to throw her arms around him and beg that he come with her and leave all this behind them. “Will you be all right?”

  “Of course.”

  And yet, she did not feel reassured.

  They stood in the aisle, staring at each other. Jo made no move to sit down; Fletcher made no move to leave. The conductor blew a whistle outside.

  Suddenly Fletcher grabbed for Jo’s hand and pulled her almost violently through the back door. It slammed behind them and they paused in the small space between two passenger cars.

  His mouth came down upon hers. The kiss was urgent and desperate, and it was all Jo could do to keep from falling to her knees and pleading for his safety. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, tears spilling from her eyes; she felt his steel badge pressing against her heaving breast. “I can’t leave you,” she sobbed, hugging him.

  “You have to.”

  The train began to puff and shudder. “We’re starting to move,” Jo cried miserably.

  “I know. I have to go.” He cupped her face in his strong hands and kissed her again. “Remember what I told you. Keep to yourself.”

  “I will.”

  He moved down the steps and, looking up at her, held the steel handrail. His eyes were full of sorrow and apologies and Jo’s heart sank. She knew what he was going to say next.

  For a moment, time seemed to stand still, until he spoke. “Jo, please don’t let yourself love me. I can’t change who I am.”

  She stared numbly at him, her heart beginning to tremble with a horrible, debilitating pain. Then, before she knew it, she was yelling. “Can’t change who you are! But you don’t know who you are!”

  The train chugged beneath the soles of Jo’s boots and she clutched at the wall for balance as the ground seemed to race past the door. She stepped forward just as Fletcher leaped off the moving train and disappeared out of sight.

  He was gone, but she had so much more to say.

  At that moment, Jo felt as if her heart had been ripped from her body and would never, ever, be returned.

  After visiting the telegraph office only to learn there were no reply wires from Texas, Fletcher checked in at the jailhouse and found Deputy Anderson busy with paperwork from the night before.

  He walked in and shook his hat off at
the door, trying also to shake the pain from his heart. He’d done the right thing, he told himself, ending it with Jo like that. It was the best thing for both of them. He’d had to stop it before their relationship got any more out of hand. Hell, he’d already sacrificed his professional integrity by setting her free and it was eating away at him now, just like she said it would. It was the exact kind of thing his father would have done.

  No, it was just too dangerous and confusing, being involved with her during the case, and who knew how long it would be before it was solved?

  And anyway, even if the case was closed tomorrow, Fletcher certainly wasn’t about to give up the law.

  But what had she meant when she said he didn’t know who he was? He knew exactly who he was. He was Fletcher Collins. Lawman.

  “Any problems last night?” he asked the deputy, struggling to forget about Jo and keep his mind on his job.

  “Nope. Only the usual sluggers after midnight at the keno table. Folks were asking about you though. Wondering where you were and if you were still looking for Six-Shooter Hank.”

  Fletcher hung his hat on the hook by the door and crossed to the desk where Anderson was sitting. He flipped through the pile of affidavits the deputy had written out, reviewing them for anything out of the ordinary. “You can tell people I have a hunch we won’t see him again.” He shuddered inwardly at the thought. “Any wires delivered here for me?”

  “Nope. And I asked around about George Greer like you told me to, real casual-like. No one I talked to ever met him or knew anyone who did. I’m beginning to think the man’s a ghost. Hey, you’re dripping on my papers.”

  Fletcher stepped back. “If I was rustling cattle, I’d keep a low profile, too. Let me know if anything comes in today. When you’re finished there, go get yourself something to eat. I’ll take over as soon as I get back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Fletcher retrieved his hat from the hook and settled it onto his head. He opened the door and looked out at the curtain of rainwater dripping from the roof. “To talk to someone who knows something.”

  Fletcher walked past Zeb’s store, peered through the window to see him talking to one of the town councilors, and kept right on going. He walked all the way up Railroad Avenue in the pouring rain until he reached Zeb’s house, then rapped hard on the door.

  Matthews finally came and met him with an unimpressed glare. “Marshal Collins. Do you not own an umbrella?”

  Fletcher kicked his muddy boots against the doorstep. “My Stetson does the trick and keeps my hands free. Sorry about the mud.”

  “I’m sure you are. But I’m afraid Mr. Stone is not at home this morning.”

  “What about Elizabeth?”

  “Mrs. Stone is in the drawing room if you wish to see her.”

  Fletcher stepped inside and handed his dripping coat and hat to Matthews, who carried them away at arm’s length. A moment later, the butler returned. “Mrs. Stone will see you now.”

  “Thanks a bunch.” Fletcher followed him into the drawing room.

  Elizabeth rose from the sofa and approached, her hands held out. “Fletcher! What are you doing here?”

  “I came to talk to you.”

  “Would you like some tea?”

  “I’d prefer coffee.”

  She smiled wickedly. “So would I, but Zeb insists I always offer tea first.” She gestured to Matthews, who backed out of the room and closed the double doors behind him.

  Elizabeth led Fletcher to the sofa. “You’re dripping wet. It must be important, whatever you came to talk about.” She tried to whisk some water from his hair.

  “It is, but I don’t know how you’re going to react.”

  Elizabeth’s rosy smile faded. “You haven’t broken your engagement, have you?”

  “No, nothing like that. It’s…” He hesitated. “It has to do with Zeb.”

  “Zeb? He’s not in trouble, is he?”

  Fletcher stared into his sister’s troubled eyes. “Why would you think that?”

  Rising from the sofa and turning her back to him, Elizabeth began to rearrange some flowers in a tall vase. “No reason. You just seemed uneasy.”

  Fletcher watched her slender arms flit around the tall vase, moving a geranium here, replacing another there.

  “To tell you the truth,” he said, rising to move to the other side of the table where he could see her face, “I need to know if I can trust you.”

  “Of course you can. I’m surprised you even have to ask.”

  “Well, this is different. I need you to keep something from Zeb.”

  The rain beat hard against the large windowpanes. Elizabeth slid the vase to one side so it was no longer between them. “You know I’ll do anything for you, Fletcher. Are you in trouble? Do you need money?”

  He shook his head and took her by the arm. “Come over here and sit with me.”

  They returned to the sofa. Fletcher held Elizabeth’s hands and kept his voice low. “There’s been a cattle-rustling problem in Dodge lately. The herds that arrive here are substantially smaller than they were when they started out.”

  “I’ve read about it in the papers.”

  Just then, the drawing room doors opened and Elizabeth jumped. Matthews walked in with a tray. “Set it here, please, Matthews. Then you may go. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Stone.” He peered suspiciously at Fletcher, then left the room.

  Elizabeth poured two cups full of the steaming coffee, added cream and sugar to hers and handed Fletcher his, black. “Go on.”

  “I think I may know who’s responsible for the thefts.”

  “Who?”

  “A man named George Greer. Ever hear of him?”

  Elizabeth set down her cup. “His name came up last night when Jo and I were talking.”

  “I know. She told me. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Well, I don’t know anything else besides what I told Jo,” she said nervously. “We received a package that was meant to go to Greer. That was all.”

  “And Zeb told you he and Greer had accounts at the same bank in Amarillo?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever heard Greer’s name mentioned besides that one time?”

  “No, never. But Zeb doesn’t usually speak of business matters with me. Do you think he knows Greer?”

  Fletcher took another sip of the hot coffee. “Zeb knew Greer’s trail boss. The man who died last night.”

  “I see.” Her heart-shaped face went pale. “Have you spoken to Zeb about any of this?”

  “No, and I don’t want to just yet. This is difficult to say, Elizabeth, but I think Zeb might be involved somehow.”

  “Do you have any proof?”

  Fletcher felt suddenly ill equipped to be having this conversation. He lowered his eyes. “No.”

  “Something tells me you want my help.”

  “Yes.”

  Elizabeth sat back. “He’s my husband, Fletcher. You’re asking me to go behind his back.” The rain continued to course down the window, obscuring the view outside. Elizabeth stared blankly at it.

  “What do you need?” she asked finally, meeting his gaze.

  “I need to get into his study for another look around.”

  “Another look? Fletcher, don’t tell me…”

  “Sorry, sis. I was pressed for time.”

  She shook her head at him. “All right. I’ll send Matthews on an errand. I’ll ask him to…oh, I’ll get him to book the church for your wedding. That should keep him busy. Reverend O’Grady loves to talk.”

  They both stood. “Thanks, Liz. And is there anywhere else you know of where Zeb keeps papers or correspondence?”

  “The store, perhaps. I’ve only been in the office once and he shooed me out.”

  “Then that sounds like a good place to try next.”

  Late in the afternoon, just as the dark clouds began to separate in the sky over Newton, Jo drove toward her brother-in-law’s homestea
d in a buggy she’d hired from the station. She sat next to the quiet driver, her eyes burning from the long train trip across the stormy plains. It had been exhausting, to say the least.

  To say the most, it had been heartwrenching. She had sat uncomfortably in her hard seat with her forehead resting against the cool windowpane, watching lightning split the sky in the distance and listening to the deep roar of thunder, but thinking only of Fletcher and all the things she wished she had been able to say.

  She wanted to tell him that his obsession with the law was nothing but a cover-up, that he was only trying to prove to himself that he was right and his father was wrong, so that he could continue to be angry with him. She wanted Fletcher to understand that he was running from what he really needed to feel, that he was afraid of missing his father, and because of that, he’d closed himself off to any feelings that might be deep and true. His heart needed something more than a drifter’s empty existence, she was sure of it. Fletcher needed a home and a family. That’s how he was raised, and until his father’s tragic death, it had been what he’d wanted out of life.

  But would he ever believe any of that? Sadly, she thought not.

  She realized at that moment, as she dug into her reticule to pay the driver, that she had never experienced heartache like this before—not even when Edwyn died. The feelings then had been different. She’d been grievously distressed by it and felt the loss like a great stone in her stomach. She’d been morose and lonesome and desperately afraid of carrying on without him—she still felt that way—but she had never felt hurt by him. Even when she discovered his love letters, she had not been shattered. She had only been low-spirited for a time, then quickly recovered to the point of feeling relieved. Relieved to finally know the truth about why her husband did not love her.

  There was no relief today. Not even a scrap. Fletcher’s words had crushed her.

  Knowing it was time to see Leo and not wanting him to know of her pain, she forced a smile and climbed down from the leather buggy seat. She wondered what he would say when she appeared unexpectedly at the door. He would probably think she had come to check up on him. Somehow she would have to convince him that was not the case.