The Irish Westerns Boxed Set

by C. H. Admirand

  She sighed. “It’s not for me to say. I just run the boarding house.”

  “And cook meals for unwanted guests of your lovely town.” He hadn’t meant to sound snide, but it could not be helped. His feet still hurt. He badly wanted a long soak in a hot tub, and for someone to loan him a gun so he could shoot the blasted rats.

  While he watched, she walked toward him, cup in hand. “Well now, Mr. Smythe, I reckon you’re a right smart man.”

  He nodded. He’d had the benefit of an enviable education.

  Handing him the cup, she held out her hand for the empty plate. He hated to give up the plate, there was still a bit of crust on it.

  “I’ll just get you another slice.”

  He grinned and let her have the plate.

  “Suppose a stranger came to Boston, showed up in your front parlor, and demanded that you vacate the premises, claiming to have the deed to your property.”

  He snickered. “That would never happen.”

  She handed him a second wedge of pie. “Just suppose.”

  He accepted the offering and used the side of his fork to slice into it. Considering just that, he lifted the bite of pie to his lips, but didn’t eat it. “But that would not be possible, as I do have the deed to my property back in Boston.”

  “In a safe place?”

  He thought of the household safe located in the downstairs library and answered, “Yes.” Then forked the pie into his mouth.

  “What if you didn’t have a safe place to keep the deed?”

  He chewed, wondering just where he’d keep the paper. “I’d probably keep it in my desk.”

  “That’s just where Pearl kept it.” Mrs. Swenson turned to go.

  “Wait!” The bite of pie he’d just swallowed had absolutely no taste, resembling dust. “How do you know where she kept the deed to her ranch?”

  She laughed. “Everyone in town knew where she kept that bit of paper.”

  She moved to close the door to his cell, and he watched but made no move to stop her, too shocked by her last words to move.

  He couldn’t believe anyone would be so gullible as to tell everyone in town where she kept her most important papers. “How could she be so ignorant?”

  Mrs. Swenson whirled back around, hands on her hips. “My friend Pearl may be a lot of things, but stupid is not one of them.”

  Smythe put the pie on the stool, next to the coffee cup. “I did not say stupid. Ignorant is the word I used.”

  “Same thing,” she huffed.

  “No.” He shook his head. “It most definitely is not the same thing. Ignorant often implies inexperience, not just lack of knowledge. Which is exactly what I’d intended it to mean.”

  The woman lost some of the bright gleam of temper in her eyes. “Oh. Well, that might be true. Pearl’s not had a lot of dealings with strangers, and up until a few years back, she let that poor excuse for a man run her life.”

  “Her husband?”

  Mrs. Swenson nodded in agreement.

  “That still doesn’t answer my question. Why would everyone in town know where she kept the deed?”

  She shrugged. “I guess because that’s where John Lloyd kept it, right alongside his loaded Colt .45.”

  Smythe rolled his eyes in exasperation. There would be no getting through to the woman. People out here seemed to trust in one another. He used to trust in his fellow man. Until…

  “Inga, are you done talking yet?” a gruff voice demanded from the wide doorway.

  A barrel of a man stood there, impatience evident in his stance. He shifted from one foot to the other, huffing out small breaths each time he changed feet.

  “I told you I’d be along as soon as the prisoner was fed.”

  “He seems to be finished,” another man said, coming to stand beside the one in the doorway. This man was as thin as the other was round.

  Interesting pair, both on the verge of losing their tempers, both obviously waiting to speak to him. Why?

  Mrs. Swenson would not be hurried. “I’ll come out and get you when I’ve finished.”

  “I say he’s finished,” the heavier man snapped.

  Smythe didn’t like the way he tried to intimidate the kindly woman, or the way he took a step closer to the door to Smythe’s cell.

  Apparently Mrs. Swenson didn’t either. She picked up the wicked-looking knife she’d sliced the pie with and rounded on the man. “I will not be rushed.”

  The big man blanched, looking down the length of the blade pointing at his middle. He took a step back, let out a low growl, and spun on his boot heel.

  The man standing beside him looked in danger of fainting. He wavered and would have fallen if not for the other man grabbing him and pulling him along behind him through the doorway to the front of the stable.

  “Have you had to use a knife on that pair before?” Smythe truly wanted to know how often she’d had to defend herself. Though she seemed adept at it, it didn’t sit well with him.

  She smiled and shook her head. “Last time, I threatened them with my cast-iron cooking pot.”

  Smythe smiled back. “I’d be willing to bet you got the same reaction.”

  She nodded, eyeing him with a surprising amount of admiration. “You don’t look like the type to back down though.”

  He considered her words. He had backed down. He let his concern for Pearl get in the way of his goal. “If the situation warrants it, I would.”

  Mrs. Swenson started packing up the large basket she’d brought the food in.

  He drained the coffee cup and asked for a refill. He handed it to her through the bars. While she was pouring the still-hot fragrant brew, he wondered if those two ever confronted Pearl while she was all alone at the ranch, protecting her girls.

  “Have those two—”

  “Jake Burnbaum and Henry Peabody.”

  “Burnbaum?”

  “Do you know the name?” she asked, handing him the cup of fragrant brew.

  “I had another visitor earlier with the same last name.”

  She drew in a sharp breath. “So the committee is involved in this?”

  “What exactly does this committee do?” He already knew he wouldn’t like the answer, but was unprepared for what she told him, clearly and precisely.

  “Do you mean to tell me this so-called committee has the power to drive anyone they deem unworthy of their precious society out of town?” He thought of the two women Mrs. Swenson mentioned.

  “No,” she said with a broad grin. “I said they have tried recently to drive two of my friends out of town.”

  He nodded. Well, at least the committee wasn’t too powerful, if three women could make a stand against them. But at what cost to those making that stand?

  “Maggie Turner and Bridget Flaherty are not afraid of the likes of Sarah and Millie.”

  Smythe suspected Mrs. Swenson wasn’t either. “You aren’t either, are you?”

  She finished packing the basket and brushed her hands on her apron front. “No. I’m not.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” Now that he’d asked, he couldn’t call the question back.

  If she thought it odd he’d asked, since he was the one currently trying to throw Pearl and her girls off her ranch, she didn’t let on.

  Her gaze locked with his. “Would you be willing to stand against the likes of the Burnbaums and the Peabodys?”

  He didn’t even have to give it any further thought. He despised bullies, and that term fit the overweight, overbearing matron like a glove. “Yes.”

  “What if it meant you’d lose your claim on that ranch?”

  He turned and started to pace the small room. The blisters on the backs of his heels ripped again and he drew in a sharp breath.

  Her eyes narrowed, focusing on his feet. “New boots?”

  He didn’t even wonder how she guessed. It would be obvious to anyone who’d spent any time out here that they were painfully new.

  He nodded.

  “You�
�ll want to ask the marshal if he’ll let Doc take a look at your feet.”

  “I don’t need a doc—”

  “You will if you don’t get those sores cleaned out before infection sets in.”

  He knew she was right. “I’d rather have a hot bath.”

  She nodded. “I’ll speak to the marshal about the doc and the bath.”

  Basket slung over her arm, she turned to go.

  “Thank you.”

  The words seemed insignificant compared to what Mrs. Swenson had accomplished in the short time she’d fed him and kept him company. He’d learned quite a bit about the townspeople, the committee, and Pearl.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Mrs. Swenson?”

  She paused.

  “I’d stand to lose my inheritance if I let the ranch go.”

  It was her turn to nod her understanding.

  “But I’d be willing to hear what Pearl has to say about the deed and when it went missing.”

  It was all he was willing to offer. He’d be a fool just to let the dark-haired beauty have the ranch after all he’d gone through to purchase it and travel west to claim it.

  He snorted. Here he sat behind bars, contemplating helping the reason he was currently in the blasted jail cell prove her claim that she—not he—owned the land.

  “I’ve got the papers. Well, the marshal has them now.” That thought brought a smile to his face. “I can prove I paid for it.”

  “What if she can too?”

  “Then I can at least get my half of the inheritance back.”

  “Davidson Smythe?”

  The Burnbaum-Peabody pair was back. It was obviously his night for unwanted visitors.

  Chapter Ten

  Before the pair could approach his cell, a voice called out from behind them. “Sorry boys, but I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  “Leave?” Burnbaum thundered. “But we just got here.”

  “I saw you two here a half-hour ago,” the marshal ground out, his expression grim. “I’d say that was plenty of time to ask your questions.”

  “But we didn’t—”

  “Don’t make me ask you twice.” The marshal placed a hand on the handle of his gun.

  Both men backed down. Muttering something about the marshal’s heritage, they slunk away.

  “Marshal?”

  Smythe’s gut clenched at the sweet sound of Pearl’s voice.

  “In here, Pearl.”

  The hard line of the other man’s jaw had him wondering why the lawman had brought Pearl to see him again, and if his own reaction to her would be the same as it was before.

  He wasn’t left to wonder long. Pearl stepped through the doorway, and every cell in his tired body stood at attention.

  God, she was a beautiful woman. The flickering lamplight illuminated her long, wavy, dark hair and sweet, cream-colored skin. He could just imagine the taste of it.

  The sound of someone clearing his throat brought Smythe back to his senses. The marshal and Pearl had an understanding; it would not be in his best interest to try to come between the two of them. Judging from the look on the marshal’s face, if Smythe valued his life, he’d better not appear too interested in the lovely Pearl.

  “Miss Pearl would like to ask you a few questions, Smythe.”

  “I’ve answered as many as I can already.”

  The challenge in Justiss’s eyes had him recanting his last statement. “What would you like to know?”

  Pearl didn’t look that steady; in fact she looked like she should have been off her feet hours ago. Why wasn’t she? He remembered the four young girls he’d met that morning and knew. No one looked out for Pearl; Pearl looked out for everyone.

  She walked slowly toward the door to his cell, her lovely gray eyes never breaking contact with his. “What did the proxy say?”

  Instead of answering right away, he looked at the marshal, waiting for a nod—anything to indicate he’d let him answer Pearl this time.

  The other man looked away from him, but Pearl’s tired face was fixed on his, patiently waiting for his answer. “It was a bill of sale by proxy.”

  “What does that mean?” Pearl’s voice sounded so faint, so harsh.

  “The person selling the property gave permission for another person to act in his or her stead.”

  “But I didn’t—”

  “Let Smythe finish,” the marshal interrupted.

  Pearl nodded and Smythe continued. “The proxy was signed by Sarah Burnbaum in your stead, selling your ranch to me.”

  Pearl’s head whipped around to face the marshal. “You knew!”

  The anguish in those two words cut Smythe to the bone. If there had been a doubt that Pearl had no idea her ranch was being sold, in that moment it was gone. She and Smythe had both been victims.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  The lawman shifted from one foot to the other, then finally looked at the woman beside him.

  “Ben?”

  The soft voice curled around Smythe’s tired body and gave him a jolt of pure pleasure. To have her say his name in just that manner while he tasted the sweet-cream of her skin at the base of her neck…

  “I’m sorry, Pearl.” The lawman did sound truly sorry. “I wasn’t going to tell you right off.”

  Hands on hips, she said, “When were you?”

  “I—”

  “If it were me, and I knew you’d react this way,” Smythe offered, “I probably wouldn’t tell you either.”

  Gratitude shone in the lawman’s gaze, before concern filled it once more. “I did what I felt was right.”

  “You didn’t have the right to keep that information from me.”

  “As the law around here, Pearl, I do what I believe is right.” As if to soften his words, he took her hand in his and squeezed it. “I didn’t keep it from you because I didn’t think you had the right to know.”

  Smythe watched the play of emotions on her lovely face. Anger replaced by uncertainty, melting into sorrow.

  “I wanted time to get to the bottom of this mess before you rode into town, gunning for Sarah.”

  Smythe smiled at the marshal’s words. He pictured Pearl doing just that. With her wagonload of girls, all armed with sawed-off shotguns and Colt .45s, chasing down the old harridan.

  In that moment, watching the enormity of the situation settle on Pearl’s slender shoulders, he knew he wouldn’t be able to just take possession of her ranch without getting to the bottom of this debacle either. What happened to him was wrong, but it had happened to her as well.

  “We’ll talk to Sarah together,” Justiss offered. “Tomorrow.”

  Pearl nodded, then turned to face Smythe. “What about Mr. Smythe?” She walked back over to the door. “Surely in light of all you’ve learned, he doesn’t deserve to spend the night behind bars.”

  Her defense of him, despite all she’d just learned and all she’d been through today, humbled Smythe. The lantern flickered and the play of shadows enhanced the fading bruises on her slender jaw line. The need to protect and to defend surged through him. Once his mind was made up, there was no changing it. It would be too bad if she did not want his help. She was going to get it. He vowed to get to the bottom of this mess or die trying.

  “As it so happens,” the marshal drawled, patting his shirt front pocket, “I have a couple of wires here that verify Mr. Smythe’s claims and exonerate him.”

  “Then why—” Pearl began, only to be cut off by the marshal.

  “I’ve arranged for a room and hot bath for you over at Swenson’s Boarding House, Smythe.”

  Before Smythe could thank the man, the marshal stepped up to the door and inserted the key. Unlocking the cell door, he threw it open and added, “I understand from Mrs. Swenson you need Doc to look at your feet.”

  Pearl’s sharply indrawn breath had him looking in her direction. Their gazes met, his searching for her hidden motives, and hers filled with worry. Damn, but the woman confused him. D
id she fear him, feel sorry for him, or was she attracted to him?

  “It’s nothing, just some blisters from my new boots.”

  “Best get them looked at. Doc’s gruff, but he’s got a nice touch,” Justiss offered.

  “You’d be wise to listen to the marshal.”

  “Like you did?” He couldn’t resist teasing a smile from her pretty mouth.

  The marshal cleared his throat to get Smythe’s attention. “You’re free to go.”

  Nodding, Smythe stepped past him into the larger room. Drawing in a deep breath, he didn’t care if the air was laden with urine-soaked straw, hay, and horse manure. It still smelled of freedom—a fresh, clean scent he’d never take for granted again.

  Nodding first to Pearl, then the marshal, he stepped through the doorway only to be stopped by the lawman’s gruff order. “Just don’t leave town.”

  * * *

  The hip bath was battered, but held water. Hot water. Not deep enough for him to sink into and relax, but enough that he could soap up or soak in. His choice.

  Deciding on the first, he worked up a handful of soapy lather and began to wash three days’ worth of dirt and sweat from his tired body. Because he was too tall and the tub too shallow, he opted to scoop water over his head, soap it up, and use the hot water Mrs. Swenson had thoughtfully placed in a bucket by the tub to rinse his hair.

  “Damnation!” Wiping the soap from his eyes, he cursed again.

  “Mr. Smythe?”

  He recognized the voice as belonging to the proprietress of the boarding house. When she knocked a second time, he stared at the door and called out, “Be right with you, Mrs. Swenson.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Just a bit of soap in my eyes.” He certainly hoped she wouldn’t offer to come and help him rinse it out. He’d been on the receiving end of attentions he hadn’t encouraged too often back home, and didn’t intend for it to happen while he was in Colorado Territory. Besides, the less people who knew about his past, the better.

  While he waited for her answer, he looked for the towel. Where the hell had he put it? His gaze slid past the crazy quilt lying across the narrow iron bed and over to the small table and chair beneath the window.

  “Well, I just wanted to tell you I saved a slice of pie for you.”