The Irish Westerns Boxed Set
Page 60
Amy shook her head and stared down at her feet.
“You really love him, don’t you?”
Amy looked up at her, tears streaming down her face. “Enough to have to hurt the only person who’s ever believed in me.”
Pearl jolted. Amy couldn’t mean…Samuel couldn’t have—
Locking gazes with the younger woman, watching pain swirl and change into bone-deep regret, Amy’s meaning became clear as glass.
“The deed?”
Amy nodded as tears streamed from her red-rimmed eyes.
Samuel stepped in between them. “Amy didn’t know I took the deed, Miss Pearl.”
Pearl swallowed against the lump of despair lodged in her tight throat. She didn’t ask where Samuel had come from, when she knew her earlier suspicion held true. He hadn’t gone home last night. “Didn’t she?”
Amy shoved Samuel aside and said, “Would it make a difference if I did?” Her breath hitched as she drew in great gulps of air. “He took the deed, and it’s gone.”
Pearl closed her eyes. Amy loved this young man enough to protect him from the one person in town who’d taken her in and saved her from the young man’s crusading mother.
Against all odds, Amy would stand beside the man she loved.
Small wonder, Pearl thought. If her back were to the wall, she’d do the same for Davidson. She’d been suffering through the same self-recriminations, wondering if she’d gone against everything she believed in to trust in a man she loved too much for her own good.
She looked up and met Davidson’s troubled gaze and remembered he’d been used, as surely as she had, by that damned committee! “Marshal—”
“I’ll go into town and question Sarah.”
“Is that all?” Pearl demanded.
“No.” He rose to his feet and walked to the door. “Until the whole truth comes out, the Committee for the Betterment of Emerson will be disbanded.”
Pearl reached out and grabbed Amy’s hand. Squeezing it, she nodded to Amy, then Samuel. “Thank you, Ben.”
He looked from Pearl to the girl hanging on to Pearl as if her life depended on it and nodded. “You coming, Smythe?”
Davidson looked at Pearl, silently asking her for something, but her heart and mind were so tumbled around, she couldn’t figure it out what he was trying to say without hearing the words.
He answered the marshal. “I’ll be along shortly.”
The lawman nodded then turned to Samuel. “You ready to stand up to your parents?”
Samuel’s head turned, searching out Amy. Their gazes locked, and unspoken words were exchanged. He drew in a deep breath and stood straight and tall. “I’m ready.”
Pearl watched the men leave, listening to the sound of hoofbeats growing fainter as the lawman and the Burnbaum boy rode away. She patted Amy’s back one last time and said, “If you love that boy as much as I suspect he loves you; you’d best be prepared to help him. His fight isn’t over.”
“I’ve already lied for him!” Amy wailed.
“You didn’t lie,” Nellie shouted. “You kept his secret!”
Pearl nodded. “You gave your word to him, Amy, and kept it. That surely counts for something.”
“But it hurt you,” Amy whispered. Looking at the sisters of her heart, she murmured, “All of you…and Mr. Smythe, too.”
Amy’s eyes filled with fresh tears. She hunched her shoulders over and started for the doorway. “I’ll go and pack my bag.”
“Don’t be foolish,” Pearl snapped. “I know you did what you thought you had to do to keep Samuel here.”
Amy straightened and looked over her shoulder.
The hope in the younger woman’s eyes pierced Pearl’s soul. She had the power to help Amy again. Damned if she’d be like everyone else in Amy’s family and let the poor girl down.
“What we need,” she said, looking over at Davidson, “is a plan.”
He walked over to the table and took her hand in his. “I swear I didn’t know.”
“About the deed or Samuel not leaving last night?”
Before he could respond, she lifted her hand to his cheek and held it there, looking deep into his beautiful eyes. She knew he meant the deed. “I believe you.”
“Pearl, I didn’t kill anyone.”
She reached for his hand and squeezed it, “I know.”
His gaze met hers and held. “I’d better go.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
He whirled around. “Amy’s foolish, but I’m stupid?” he bit out.
Temper flashed in his eyes, but it didn’t worry Pearl. She shrugged. “Not because you answered the advertisement in the Denver Chronicle.” She hesitated. “But for thinking I’d just let you leave.”
The flash of anger fizzled out and hope burned brightly in its place. He drew her into his arms and held her close to his pounding heart. Was he afraid? Lord above, did he truly think she’d just let him leave after last night?
Taking a chance, knowing she stood to lose more than she’d ever risked before, she lifted her head, pulled his head down so his mouth was within a breath of her lips and whispered, “You haven’t finished with your lessons yet. Have you?”
He groaned aloud and dipped his head down to brush a swift kiss to her upturned lips. “Not by half.”
“The ranch is certainly big enough for both Samuel and Mr. Smythe.” Daisy’s voice sounded downright cheerful.
Pearl felt the laugh bubbling up from her belly. Her lips tilted up and finally she just had to let it go. Pressing her face to the solid wall of Davidson’s broad chest, she gave in to her laughter.
Lifting her head, she saw his lips lifting on one side. She loved his crooked smile. Swift, sharp, and sure, love filled her, and she knew anything was possible. “Would you care to stay on at the ranch, Mr. Smythe?”
“In what capacity, Miss Pearl?”
She looked over her shoulder at her girls, who were smiling at them. It was time to act on her feelings. Her girls would learn not to let love walk away.
“I’m sure we can think of something.” She grabbed the back of his head and pulled his lips to hers.
Chapter Twenty
Lincoln rode into the town of Emerson two days later than he’d planned.
Setting himself up as a man of business had not been the hard part. Asking questions without drawing notice to himself would be.
Rubbing the back of his neck to ease the knot of tension throbbing there, he followed the directions Peterson at the stable had given him.
“Odd place for a sheriff’s office,” he mumbled, walking around to the back of the boarding house. He walked up the two short steps to the open door and knocked on the doorframe.
The man sitting behind the desk looked up from what he was reading and motioned for him to step inside.
“Sheriff?”
The other man’s head snapped up, “It’s Marshal.”
“As long as you are the local law, it doesn’t matter,” Lincoln said.
The marshal set the paper down, put his hands on the small battered desk and pushed to his feet. Lincoln had to tilt his head back to look him in the eye. What he saw there did little to ease the knot spreading tension from the back of his neck around to his jaw.
“Jurisdictionally,” the marshal ground out, “it matters.” Stalking around to where Lincoln stood, the lawman leaned back against the desk, crossed his legs in front of him and folded his arms. Damn, the lawman’s arms looked even bigger than they had a moment before! Lincoln sensed he had somehow irritated him and would have to tread lightly until he could figure out how to talk the marshal around to his way of thinking.
“I’m sorry,” he began. “I’m not from around here.”
“You the one who sent the wire looking for Smythe?”
Relieved, Lincoln nodded.
“What do you want with him?” the lawman demanded, managing to appear threatening without moving a muscle.
“I thought I’d made that clear in my wire
.”
“I’ve got connections in Washington and in Boson,” the marshal snapped. “No one else is still looking at Smythe as a possible murder suspect.” He unfolded his arms and took a step closer to Lincoln. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re really after? It would save us both a lot of time and useless conversation.”
Lincoln swallowed against the lump of fear forming in his throat. He’d never been intimidated by a lawman before, but this was the first marshal he’d come across. Maybe there was a distinctive difference in status. He’d heard life out West was rougher than it was elsewhere, but until this moment, he hadn’t thought the law would be just as rough as the inhabitants of the uncivilized territory. Hell, Colorado hadn’t even achieved statehood yet.
Wondering how to set the marshal’s mind at ease and convince him to aid his cause, Lincoln decided to spill part of the truth. “Mr. Smythe’s brother was killed six months ago.”
“My connections say it was an accident.”
“My employer—”
“Who hired you, Lincoln?” the lawman demanded.
“A man by the name of Stanton.” He knew it would take the lawman a bit of time to verify which Stanton; Boston had more than fifteen residing there. It was Lincoln’s job to know these sorts of facts.
“What’s his first name?”
“Roderick.” The lie slid smoothly off Lincoln’s tongue. If he wanted to stay alive, he knew he’d have to do more than lie. A hefty payment rested on his ability to stretch the truth.
“What interest does your employer have in this case?”
The man’s gaze narrowed to a deadly green. It unnerved Lincoln. He stumbled over his next words. “There is a great deal of money at stake.”
“I know all about the inheritance, so if you’re here to bother me about that, you are wasting my time.”
“Look, Marshal,” Lincoln blurted out. “I’ve been traveling for the better part of a month trying to run Smythe to ground. The least you can do is tell me where I can find him.”
If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under. Mentally smacking himself in the head for letting his temper get the better of him, Lincoln slid a step back toward the open door. The marshal’s eyes shifted to a spot behind Lincoln, but Lincoln wasn’t a fool, and he wouldn’t fall for that old trick. Sure of himself, he ground out, “There isn’t anyone standing behind me, so you might as well tell me what I want to know.”
“Well now, me boy-o, I’d hate to call ye a liar, but there ye have it.”
Lincoln spun around and nearly smashed his nose on the chest of a bull of man. He stepped back into the room, looking over his shoulder at the lawman. “I didn’t mean—”
“So far, mister, you’ve said quite a bit you didn’t mean. How about trying for the truth this time. I’ve got all day.”
“I’ll be goin’ now, Marshal.” The Irishman grinned, tipping his hat. “Glad to be of service.”
Unbelievably, the marshal smiled. When he did, he looked almost human. A look passed between the two men before the Irishman left.
The marshal settled back against the front of the desk. “You were saying?”
“Where is Smythe?”
“Nearby.”
Lincoln ground his back teeth. “You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”
The marshal grinned at him. “And here I thought you’d be slow to catch on.”
Lincoln straightened up to his full height, not quite even with the other man’s shoulder. “There are other people who’ll be willing to part with that bit of information.”
The lawman narrowed his eyes again, and Lincoln knew he’d made a mistake—and an enemy. “Don’t count on it.”
* * *
Justiss waited five minutes, then slammed his Stetson on his head and stalked over to the mercantile. Sure enough, Lincoln had already decided it would be the best place to start asking his questions.
No one seemed to be cooperating, though. Each person acted more suspicious of Lincoln than the last. Good. Reilly’d understood the unspoken message Justiss had given him and had already spread the word. This new stranger from back East was not to be trusted.
Waiting for the man to notice him, the marshal was satisfied with the way Lincoln jolted when he finally realized he was being watched. No need to say anything more. He’d obviously gotten his point across; Lincoln scurried away like the rat he no doubt was.
Justiss walked to the back of the mercantile and sent a wire off to his contact in Boston. It might take more time than he had to find out Stanton’s connection with Lincoln, but he’d not be idle as he waited for Lincoln to track down Smythe.
Walking back along the boardwalk, he tipped his hat to Maggie Turner. “I didn’t know you were in town.” He stopped to help her cross the dusty street to where the boardwalk began again.
Her grin was wide. “Well now, John Reilly was kind enough to drive me into town today.”
“Where’s your husband?”
“If I didn’t know ye better, I’d think ye had good reason to put such a question to me.”
Marriage to a former marshal hadn’t made the woman bold; she had been born that way. Justiss rolled his eyes, knowing he’d have to explain to her now, or he’d be explaining that and more to her husband. He grinned and bowed his head. “Maggie, I’m sorry, but I’ve got a lot on my mind this morning. I didn’t mean to sound rude.”
She nodded her head. “Ah, then it’s just a side benefit.”
Before he could groan out loud, she grabbed his arm. “Me husband is out at Pearl’s, and I’ve some shopping to do.”
His watched the way she fidgeted with the fringe of her shawl. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Maggie’s hand went to her breast in shock, but not before he saw the twinkle in her soft blue eyes.
“Out with it,” he said, taking hold of her arm once more.
“Well, seein’ as how yerself was already out there this mornin’ for breakfast, I’m wonderin’ why you don’t know.”
The Irish way of talking around in circles would be the death of him. Much as he liked Maggie Turner, Justiss didn’t have time to waste. Gritting his teeth, he growled, “There’s a stranger in town, asking questions.”
“Aye. John told me. He also told me that I was to keep ye occupied while Mr. Peterson, the only one in town who could be bribed to talk, mind you, gave the man Smythe’s direction.”
“Why would Reilly do that?”
She grinned up at him, patted his arm and slid free. “Because he’s sending the man on a wild goose chase.”
Justiss snorted, trying to cover up the laugh she wouldn’t understand. “Where did Reilly tell Peterson that Smythe would be?”
She looked over her shoulder and told him, “Milford.”
He smiled. That gave him plenty of time to head back out to Pearl’s and see just what Turner was up to. The former lawman had a mind like a steel trap and nerves to match, but more, he was a man Justiss could count on in a fight.
“Oh, and Maggie,” he called out as she was about to walk into the boarding house.
She paused. “Aye?”
“Where’s your brother?”
Beaming she told him, “I expect ye’ll find him out at Pearl’s.”
“Maggie!”
He stepped closer to the doorway and peered inside the boarding house. “Is that Bridget?”
“Aye. Bridget, Inga, and I are havin’ our own meetin’.”
He nodded, wondering if they’d form a committee to oust the current one. He turned to leave, but her next words stopped him.
“When are ye goin’ to confront that old harpy?”
His jaw clenched, and he nodded. “Right now.”
A half hour later, he wished he had stayed to listen in on Maggie’s meeting at the boarding house. His dislike for the women sitting across from him had intensified in the last fifteen minutes he’d been in their company.
“I must protest, Marshal—” Sarah began.
“You have no right,” Millicent Peabody told him.
“As a U.S. Marshal assigned to the town of Emerson in the Colorado Territory, I have every right. As of right now, the Committee for the Betterment of Emerson will cease and desist all meetings and activities.”
The collective hiss of sharply indrawn breath was not nearly as satisfying as the knowledge that for the next little while these holier-than-thou do-gooders would not be able to plague Pearl or her friends, Maggie and Bridget.
One last glance around the room satisfied Justiss that they would listen. How fortunate the entire group had been meeting. He wouldn’t have to waste any time tracking the women down to tell them of his edict.
Jamming his hat back on his head, he nodded once and walked out the door. What about Inga? Why hadn’t he thought of her before? She was always so quiet, most times fading into the background. Maggie and Bridget had their husbands and every ranch hand on Flaherty’s place looking out for their welfare. Pearl had everyone he’d just thought of, plus her girls and Smythe.
Who would look out for Inga? He remembered an early morning vision: Inga standing before the cookstove, her loose wrapper hugging ample curves while she stoked the stove to life to brew him the much-needed and appreciated pot of coffee before he started his day.
God, was he blind? Here he’d been letting his head tell him first Bridget needed him, then Pearl, when all the while he should have been looking to the shy boarding-house owner. His gut clenched. She wasn’t a woman who appeared in obvious need of a man to protect her. Hell, she quietly went her own way most of the time, depending on herself.
Who held her in the dark of the night when worries settled on her shoulders?
The answer haunted him. No one.
Instead of walking back to Peterson’s, where he’d left his horse munching on some hay, he turned toward the boarding house.