Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Lone Sheriff\The Gentleman Rogue\Never Trust a Rebel (4 page)

He opened his mouth again. She was sure he was going to yell at her some more, but she interrupted. “Sheriff,” she enunciated quietly.

“What?”

“Shut up.”

He looked dumbfounded. “What?”

“Be quiet. I am not seriously injured and I see that you are unharmed, as well.” She began to gather up the disordered mail bags.

“Hell,” Jericho muttered. “You're not even shook up.”

She pocketed her pistol. “Stop complaining and help me.”

He looked at her as if he'd never seen her before. “How come you're not shakin' or cryin' or something?”

Maddie straightened, gripping one corner of a heavy canvas bag. “Why should I be?”

Jericho shook his head. “How much do you figure they got away with?”

Maddie cocked her head. “How much?” She found she liked teasing him. It made his eyes even darker blue, and the way he was staring at her now caused a little flip-flop inside her chest.

“How much?” she repeated. “Well, to the best of my calculation—did I tell you I was a whiz at mathematics at school? Let's see now...”

He planted himself within spitting distance and propped his good hand on his hip. “I'm waiting, dammit.”

“The amount of money—” she smiled into his glowering face “—is exactly zero.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me, zero. Nothing.
Nada
.
Rien
. Those Wells Fargo bags are decoys. The bank manager and I decided they would be filled with rocks, not gold.”

His eyes went even darker. “You mean this whole exercise was just a farce?”

Maddie straightened her skirt. “You could call it that, I suppose.”

“Then what the hell did we risk our lives for?”

“For observation.” She dropped the canvas bag in her hand, which landed with a clunk, and fished her notebook out of her pocket. Not her Pistol Pocket, he noted, but the Observation Notebook Pocket.

Jericho waited while she circled the pencil around like a branding iron. Part of him wanted to laugh. Another part of him wanted to wring her neck. He'd be damned if he'd risk getting shot for some damn decoys!

“Well,” she began, a note of relish in her voice. “We got a good look at the robbers, didn't we? There are five of them.”

“We already knew that.”

“One of them,” she continued, “is lame. His leg is stiff.”

“And?”

“And one of them wore a bandanna from Carl Ness's mercantile. I recognized the pattern and the color, a sort of pinky-red. Did you notice?”

Jericho said nothing. He had to admit she had sharp eyes and a keen mind. Her “observations” were valuable.

Dammit, anyway.

The trembling mail clerk slid the railcar door shut. The train tooted once and jerked forward. Maddie stumbled and bumped his injured wrist. He sucked in a breath. Hurt like blazes.

With his good hand he holstered his Colt and turned back to the passenger car. “Better let me take a look at your bullet burn,” he said as they made their way down the aisle.

She plopped down into her seat, pressing her lips together. “No, thank you. The bullet just skimmed my arm. I'm sure the skin is not broken.”

He settled beside her with an exasperated sigh. “Yeah? Show me.”

“No.”

He reached for her wrist. Before she could stop him he'd unbuttoned her sleeve and pushed it up above her elbow.

“Hurt?”

“Yes,” she said tightly.

He ran his gaze over her slim upper arm, noting the angry red crease above her elbow. From his inside vest pocket he grabbed the bottle of painkiller.

“What is that?” she said.

“Painkiller. Alcohol, mostly.”

She rolled her eyes. He uncorked the bottle with his teeth, lifted her elbow away from her body and dribbled the dark liquid over the abrasion. Her breath hissed in and she moaned softly.

Jericho closed his eyes for an instant. He hated hearing a female in pain. “Sorry.”

“It is quite all right,” she said, rolling her sleeve down. She poked her forefinger through the bullet hole and sighed. “Another visit to the dressmaker, I suppose.”

“Maddie, maybe you ought to see a doctor when we get to Portland.”

She shook her head. “What is that you poured over it?”

He recorked the bottle. “I told you, painkiller. For my wrist.”

She gave him a lopsided smile that made his insides weak. “We are a pair, are we not?” she said, her voice just a tad shaky. “A one-armed sheriff and a Pinkerton detective with a bullet burn.”

“Yeah,” he said drily. “We're a team, all right. Listen, Maddie, tomorrow I think you should go back to Chicago.”

“No, you don't, Jericho. Whether you admit it or not, you need me. This is my job—apprehending lawbreakers. I'm your right arm, so to speak, so you're stuck with me.”

He felt more than “stuck” with her. He felt bowled over. Something told him his lady detective wasn't going to back down and go home to Chicago anytime soon. Torn between worry over her safety and his need to see this job through, his insides were in an uproar.

With a sidelong glance at her, he settled back to think about how he could keep her alive while he did what he had to do, apprehend the Tucker gang. The townspeople always wanted him to get up a posse, but Jericho preferred working alone. Always had and always would. He did what any sheriff worth his salt had to do, and he'd never wanted to get anyone else involved.

And he sure as hell didn't want to get a lady detective mixed up in a manhunt, even if she could shoot straight. She had to go back to Chicago.

She picked up her crocheting again and worked a row of stitches before she said anything more. “Do you suppose there might be an opera or a play of some kind in Portland?”

“Might be. You miss the city, huh?”

“Yes,” she said. “To be honest, I enjoy cultural things.”

“Bet you feel like a fish out of water on this assignment.”

“Oh, no. I am not that easily discouraged. This fish likes doing something worthwhile, Sheriff. Catching train robbers is worthwhile.”

Jericho nodded. He felt the same way, when he thought about it. He had a job to do. But he'd been on his own since he was a kid, and that's how he liked it. Wasn't responsible for anybody's skin but his own. Every time Sandy begged to come along on a manhunt, Jericho neatly evaded the issue.

He liked Sandy. Maybe that was the problem. He was beginning to like Maddie, too, and that was an even bigger problem.

Chapter Five

T
o calm her nerves Maddie paced up and down the passenger car aisle until Jericho glared at her. She would never admit to the sheriff how shaken she felt after her encounter with the train robbers, but there it was. She'd come close to being killed for the first time in her career as a Pinkerton agent. Mr. Pinkerton had trained her in the use of firearms, but he'd used her to carry messages and smuggle maps, nothing so violent as being caught in the middle of a gun battle.

After four round trips from the back of the car to the front, she sank onto her seat. Still jittery, she hunted up the wooden crochet hook and resumed work on her edging. Jericho sat next to her, exercising the fingers of his right hand.

Was his heart pounding as hard as hers was? She shot a look at his impassive expression and almost laughed. If it was, he hid it better than she did.

The train jerked, and her ball of crochet thread rolled down the aisle, leaving a trail of pink string. She huffed a sigh and began to rewind it, but the ball settled into a crack in the floor.

The sheriff stopped flexing his injured wrist, got to his feet and chased the ball of thread into a corner. He snatched it up, stomped back and dumped it into her lap. Then he plopped back down in his seat without saying a word.

Well! He had no right to be angry with her. She had probably saved his life; he might at least say thank-you.

The train rolled smoothly forward through wheat fields and cattle ranches. The peaceful scenery soothed her to the point where she could review the events that had occurred in the mail car. One thing she couldn't forget was the look on the sheriff's face when she'd first drawn her pistol, part shock, and part fear. She could understand his surprise, but fear? She would bet a barrel of fancy hats this man didn't fear outlaws or anything else.

And then suddenly she understood. He feared for
her
.

Maddie laid her hands in her lap. “I had no idea you could shoot left-handed. Why did you not tell me?”

“You never asked. You just jumped to a conclusion. That's another reason why you should skedaddle back to Chicago, you jump to conclusions.”

“Oh, no, it isn't. That is not why you don't want me along. Is it?” She pinned him with eyes as hard as green stones.
“Is it?”

He waited a long time before answering. “Nope.”

“Then would you tell me what the real reason is?”

“Nope.”

She waited. The train picked up speed and the car began to sway. “Sheriff, I deserve to know. I am waiting.”

“Okay,” he growled. “Here it is in plain English.
You
are the reason I don't want you along.”

“Oh, for mercy's sake! Sheriff Silver, you are irritating enough to drive a person crazy.”

He gave her a tight smile. “But not irritating enough to drive you away.”

She blanched. “Well, of course not. It would take more than a stubborn, bad-tempered, set-in-his-ways man to make me give up on an assignment.”

“Damn,” Jericho muttered. What
would
it take, he wondered. He couldn't forget the picture she'd made in that yellow dress, firing her shiny pistol at armed outlaws. He knew she'd been covering his back, and he should be grateful. A wrong-handed sheriff was no match for outlaws with revolvers.

But deep inside, where he never allowed himself to venture, something began to tighten. God, he hated that. Made him sweat. He couldn't let her continue with this Pinkerton business. If she didn't get him killed, she'd get herself killed, and that would be even worse.

Two hours passed in uneasy silence. Maddie crocheted carefully on what looked like a lace edging; Jericho tried not to watch her slim fingers.

“Last stop, Portland,” the conductor boomed. “Ten minutes.”

Maddie smoothed out her skirt, shook her petticoat ruffles into place, and stowed her crochet work in her oversize reticule. “What do we do until the train leaves for Smoke River?”

“Find a hotel.”

“A hotel!” Her eyes went wider and even more green. “What do we want a hotel for?”

“Don't know about you, but I'm grabbing an early dinner and getting some sleep.”

She eyed him with a look that could fry eggs. “You mean we are stuck here in Portland?
All night?
”

“Yep. Train east doesn't pull out until tomorrow morning. Thought you would have researched that, Mrs. Detective. Distances out here in the West are...long.”

Maddie set her jaw. She was hungry, she admitted. And bone tired. But the worst part was that she was surprised at this turn of events. She hated being surprised. Back in Chicago, trains ran both east and west every hour. Somehow she thought trains out here would run every hour, as they did in Chicago. It never occurred to her the distance between Smoke River and Portland would mean an overnight stay. Why, she hadn't even brought a night robe.

* * *

The streets of Portland were jammed with people—merchants, travelers, ranchers with wagons full of children, some fancy men who looked like gamblers, ladies driving trim black buggies, townspeople, schoolboys, even a few dusty-looking Indians. After battling the crowds, Jericho stepped into the foyer of the Kenton Hotel with Maddie at his elbow.

The desk clerk looked up and thumbed through his registry. “'Fraid I got no rooms left, mister. Big carnival from San Francisco in town and we got lotsa visitors. You could try the Portland Manor, just across the street.”

The Portland Manor had only one vacancy. “Two beds, take it or leave it. Town's full up.”

Jericho turned to her. “That okay?”

Maddie stared at him. “You don't mean one room for the two of us?” she whispered. “Together? Why, that is scandalous!”

“Huh! That's real funny coming from a lady who said she was bored to death with her marriage.”

“But—”

“Look, Mrs. O'Donnell, my arm is hurting like a sonofa—billion beeves. I'm worn out and hungry enough to eat just about anything. We're here, and we're staying. Like the man says, take it or leave it.”

“But—”

“And,” he added with a lopsided smile, “you can relax. I'm too flat-out tired to threaten your virtue.”

Her cheeks went pink. “This is highly unusual. Mr. Pinkerton will certainly hear about it.”

“No, he won't. You let one word slip about our arrangement and I'll tell Pinkerton it was all your idea.”

Maddie turned crimson, then white, then crimson again. “You would not dare!”

“Try me.”

Stunned into silence, Maddie watched him sign
Mr. and Mrs. J. Silver
on the register. She wanted to protest, but everything was all so mixed up and tense between the two of them that...well, she would just have to act as if things like this happened every day to a Pinkerton detective and make the best of it. For her next assignment she would research geographical distances more thoroughly.

The hotel room was small but clean, with a single chest of drawers, washstand, armoire and two narrow beds jammed in an arm's length apart. Jericho surveyed it and smiled inside. Wasn't every day he got to sleep next to a pretty woman, even if it was in a separate bed.

“It'll do,” he said as nonchalantly as he could manage. “It's been a long day. Come on, let's go have some supper.”

He downed two more slugs of pain remedy before entering the hotel dining room and, as he ate, his steak seemed to taste more and more delicious and the stale coffee less bitter. How much laudanum was in this pain stuff, anyway? Even Maddie's stiff silence was less annoying.

Fact was, even bone tired with an arm that throbbed, he was beginning to feel pretty good. Who cared if she wanted to keep quiet? It was a rare woman who could talk a blue streak most of the time but keep her mouth closed when it was necessary. He had to give her some credit.

The waiter removed their plates and brought more coffee and some tea for Maddie. “You folks going to the carnival? Got some real pretty gir—uh, horses, I hear.”

“Horses?” Maddie's eyes took on a sparkle he hadn't seen before.

Jericho wasn't interested in the girls the waiter tried not to mention, but horses? That was another matter. No matter how weary he felt, he always liked looking at good horseflesh.

“Oh, could we?” Maddie begged. “Please?”

He stared at her. He'd never heard her use the word “please” before. So the city girl liked horses, did she? Well, why not have a look?

The Summer Carnival was a six-block section of the main street, blocked off at either end. Admission was a nickel, and Jericho gallantly dropped two nickels into the burly ticket taker's palm, one for him and one for Maddie.

She nodded her thanks. “Where are the horses?”

“Yonder.” The man tipped his graying head over his shoulder. “Behind the gypsy fortune-teller.”

Maddie wheeled in the direction indicated and started off down the walkway. She was in such a hurry, Jericho found he couldn't keep up with her. He trailed her past the green-painted ice-cream stand and a man poking flaming swords down his throat to a roped-off area where a half dozen horses waited patiently for riders.

“Oh,” Maddie breathed. “How beautiful they are!”

He'd never heard such awe in her voice, but he had to agree. “Probably from a ranch nearby. They'd never look this good if they'd been herded up from Sacramento, or even shipped by rail.”

Maddie caught his good arm and pointed. “Look at that one, with the cream-colored mane.”

He'd been looking at that animal; she was a beauty, all right. A mare, maybe three or four years old, a golden-tan color with cream mane and tail. “You've got a good eye for horseflesh, Maddie.”

“In addition to the bank, my father owned a fancy riding stable in Chicago. All the society ladies took equestrienne lessons.”

Jericho moved in close to the palomino mare, let her smell his neck and chest.

“I do want to ride him.”

“Her,” he corrected. “Mares don't have—” He swallowed the rest. “Sure, if you want to.”

She sidled up next to the horse and cautiously laid one finger on its nose. Then she looked up at Jericho with a yearning in her eyes that made his stomach flip.

“Could I really ride him? Her, I mean?”

The wrangler led the animal to the center of the roped-off corral. “She's real gentle, Miss. You ever ridden before?”

“N-no, not much. My father never allowed me to ride.”

“Well, then, your man here can hold the rope so's the mare can step real slowlike in a circle around him.”

Jericho walked her close to the animal and raised one knee so she could mount. “Put your foot here, Maddie, and I'll boost you up.”

“Boost me? Is that proper?”

He laughed. She was one citified lady, all right. “Probably not,” he intoned for her ears only. “But seein' as how we're sleeping together...”

She sent him a dark look, then edged closer. Gripping his bad arm, she lifted her tiny little shoe onto his knee and he hoisted her up. He kinda regretted that she didn't need more of a boost to her posterior; he enjoyed laying his hand on that nicely rounded behind.

His elbow gave a sharp twinge, which he ignored. The wrangler tossed him the lead rope and Jericho led the mare in a circle around the ring. Maddie kept a death grip on the saddle horn, but she made quite a picture in her pouffy hat and yellow shirtwaist, even with a black-rimmed bullet hole in one sleeve.

She rode around him a dozen times. Every so often she freed one hand and leaned forward to tentatively pat the mare's neck.

“Good girl. Good horse. My, you are beautiful. You look like a big dish of coffee ice cream with caramel sauce.”

Jericho laughed out loud. After her last circuit she drew back on the reins and the horse stopped. “How do I get down?”

He dropped the lead rope and strode toward her, intending to hold out his arms. Oh, damn, he remembered he didn't have two arms. Instead, he reached up and slid his good hand around her waist.

“Bring your other leg over the saddle and then jump down.” He gave her a little tug.

She went pale, but she lifted her leg over the saddle. Her skirt kicked up, revealing a froth of petticoats, and when she slid off she stumbled hard against him. For just an instant he felt her soft breasts brush against his chest.

Lord in heaven.

“Oh, that was wonderful,” she cried.
“Wonderful.”

Jericho groaned. He thought so, too, but it wasn't the horse he admired. It was her.

Maddie practically danced out of the corral. “Such a beautiful animal. You simply cannot imagine how happy riding her makes me!”

Jericho blinked. “You're that happy about a horse?”

“Oh, yes. I sense a kindred spirit in the animal.”

“That never happened before?”

“No. Never. As I said, Papa never let me visit his fancy riding stable. I'm going to call her Sundae.”

“Kinda odd to fall in love with a horse, Maddie.” He meant it as a joke, but her face immediately looked grave.

“All my life I have felt different. Alone. Even when I was married.” She gave a little half sob. “Then,” she said in a voice so low he could scarcely hear her, “it was even worse.”

Jericho nodded. He knew what she meant. In fact, he knew exactly what she meant, but he was sure surprised at her words. “Yeah, I can understand makin' friends with a horse. Glad you enjoyed it.”

Well, yes and no, Jericho admitted. He found himself a mite irritated at her feelings for the animal. Almost as if he was...

Jealous? Of a horse?
Get a grip, mister. This woman is not yours.

He'd never been a fool about a woman and he wasn't about to start now, especially with this one. Ever since he'd lost his friend Little Bear, he'd kept his heart protected inside a safe, sturdy iron cage.