Much Ado About Marshals (Hearts of Owyhee) (2011) (21 page)

Every time a customer entered the store, Daisy’s heart jittered a little. She desperately wanted to see the marshal, to see if he felt what she felt, thought what she thought. After the third or fourth person had given her false starts, she decided he wouldn’t come to her. He never had. Not once. In the entire time he’d been in Oreana, he hadn’t visited the mercantile a single time while she’d been there. She’d always gone to him. Like last night.

Maybe he was avoiding her. She shoved the rest of the canned goods on the shelf, denting a can of peaches. Loving a man who didn’t love you back messes up your logic, she complained to herself. But she couldn’t deny that she did love him, even before he’d done that wonderful thing that made her mind soar in the clouds. And she’d hear him playing
Beautiful Dreamer
in her nighttime slumbers for the rest of her life, she was sure.

She set about unpacking the previous day’s shipment of dry goods with not nearly as much enthusiasm as she had once had. Her wedding dress material should be in the shipment that came in the day before, and she still didn’t have a fiancé. She had to get her material out of the store before her dad discovered it. Luckily, convincing her father to take a day off had not been difficult, since he had over-imbibed on plum wine.

After unpacking nearly the whole crate, she finally happened upon the object of her search. She smiled and her heart softened. She looked forward to the unknown day of her wedding, picturing herself in white satin, lace, and pearls. Admittedly, the pearls were a bit of a stretch. There probably wasn’t a single pearl in all of Oreana. Nevertheless, she’d be stunning, and her groom would be the most handsome, honorable man ever to set foot in front of an altar.

Enough mooning, she chastised herself, and shoved the fabric under the counter before either customers or her family saw it. Now that she had the dress goods, Sarah could get to work on the sewing, and before long, Daisy would be completely ready to accept the marshal as her husband.

She’d failed in her first overt effort—the marshal had not proposed. So much for the seduction plan—it had only been her contingency plan, anyway. Still, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed that he wouldn’t be so pleased with making love to her that he fell upon one knee and begged her hand in marriage. She herself had most certainly felt that way.

But pipe dreams like that were for the pretty girls, like Sarah. Not Daisy. She wanted the marshal and she’d accept any proposal from him, no matter how unromantic. It was the only way she could continue with her detective work and be married at the same time. Someday, maybe he might grow to love her the way she loved him. At that thought, the doorbell jingled and her friend practically bounced into the store.

“He’s so handsome!” She skipped down one aisle and up the next, not fitting at all for a woman of twenty years. Besides, she had no right to talk about the marshal that way.

Daisy stiffened. “I told you, the marshal’s mine. You go find yourself another beau.”

“Not the marshal, silly, although he plays a mean harmonica. I’m talking about Patrick Dugan. We danced three times last night!” She did a little pirouette and clasped her hands to her breast.

“Did he walk you home?”

“Well, no, but then, we haven’t been acquainted long enough for that to be proper.”

As if Sarah would have hesitated even a moment if Dugan had asked. Not likely. “Look what came in yester-day.” Daisy pulled the bolt of white silk from under the counter.

“It’s beautiful!” Sarah said, admiring the sheen. “I’ll have it made up for you in no time—I already cut the pattern pieces from my new design, and the ribbon came in last week.”

“I’m not so certain I’ll need it right away. The marshal didn’t propose last night.” Daisy wrapped the material in brown paper and secured it with string. “Take it to your house before Mama sees it.” She took out the account book and logged three dollars in Mrs. Courtney’s account. “I don’t want her to think that milk farmer proposed to me.”

Sarah sniffed. “There’s certainly nothing wrong with Mr. Dugan. In fact, I’m quite happy you don’t want him.”

“Good, because there’s enough material to make a wedding dress for you, too.”

“Oh, thank you! Wouldn’t it be lovely if we could have a double wedding, and wear our dresses together?” Then she frowned. “So what went wrong?”

“Nothing, until
…
” If Sarah only knew how it felt to have a man do the things that the marshal had done to her last night. But Daisy certainly couldn’t tell her, or anyone. Ever. Some things, even best friends didn’t talk about, and what the marshal had done, why, she had never imagined even in her dreams!

“Until what?”

Daisy sighed. “Until Deputy Kunkle came in. Things were going pretty good until he came back.” Sarah couldn’t possibly know just how good! In fact, Daisy got hot all over just thinking about it, which is why she tried not to. “Then the marshal escorted me back home, and that was that.” She frowned. “You know, I think I have a lot better chance landing him at the altar if I stick to my original plan. My feminine wiles just aren’t as inviting as yours.”

“I doubt that.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “You always underestimate yourself. You’re much prettier than you give yourself credit for, and you can’t fool me, Daisy Gardner, I’ve seen lots of men’s heads turn as you pass by.” She picked up the package holding the culmination of Daisy’s dreams. “I better get back home before Mama does, so I can get this silk put away without her questioning me.”

In a way, Daisy hated to see her leave. She desperately wanted to someone to confide in about the miracle that happened last night. Did the marshal find her attractive? She knew that he hadn’t finished the deed—he still had his pants on. Even though she didn’t know all that much about lovemaking, she did know that the deed couldn’t be done if the man hadn’t taken off his pants. Would he have done the rest if the deputy hadn’t come in?

Another problem occurred to her—the marshal might think she was a fast woman. If he had proposed, all would have been well, but as things turned out, she had practically thrown herself at him. She even had to douse him with water to get him awake enough to know she was there! Of course, he had seemed quite enthusiastic as far as he went.

She practically melted in a puddle at the thought of what his mouth did to her. Never had she heard of such a thing! Did all married men do that to their wives? She frowned. Surely not, for if they did, all the wives would be walking around half-dizzy with foolish grins on their faces.

Her heart skipped a beat. Her fingerprinting kit still sat on his desk, and she’d have to go get it. She pressed her hand to her forehead. She simply had to work up the nerve to fetch it—fingerprints were the key to solving the bank robbery, and to winning the marshal’s heart. She was sure of it, especially after the events of the previous evening.

Too, she could locate the whereabouts of the Rankins so the marshal could arrest them. Or maybe even arrest them herself—that ought to impress him. Certainly the marshal would propose then.

The doorbell jingled again. This time her mother came in, dragging Forrest by the ear. “You stay out of the marshal’s way, young man!”

“But Mom,” he whined, “I’m the junior deputy. I even have a badge!” He puffed out his chest, displaying his prized possession. “See?”

“You don’t need to be associating with thugs and thieves. That’s why the marshal is here, to keep those bad people from interfering with the good folks’ lives.” She jammed her hands on her hips and glowered at the boy. “You’re just underfoot, and you’re liable to get hurt.”

Daisy could see that Mama’s lecture was going nowhere. Forrest scowled, then scuffed the toes of his boots over the plank floor. “He don’t say I’m in the way. Besides, Deputy Kunkle needs help with sweeping and such.”

“Doesn’t,” Mama corrected. “He
doesn’t
say
.
”

Forrest perked up, a big smile spreading over his face. “Oh, good!” He took a couple of strides toward the door before she grabbed his suspenders.

“Leave the marshal be, son. Forget about the junior deputy business. He’s just saying that to keep you happy. If any real trouble comes, you’ll only be a burden to him, and a worry to me.” Her face softened a bit. “But you do have permission to tell the marshal to be at our house promptly at noon for dinner. He’ll be eating at our house from now on—dinner at noon and supper at six. You tell him. Then get back here and help your sister with stocking the shelves.”

“
Oh, a
ll right.” Forrest moped out of the store, head hanging.

A little zing darted through Daisy’s heart. She had forgotten that the marshal would be boarding at their house! Maybe if she finished uncrating the stock early, she could clean herself up a little before dinner.

Her mother shook her head and sighed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do to get that awful notion out of that boy’s head.”

“What notion, Mama?”

“That he’s going to be a lawman when he grows up.”

“It’s an honorable profession.”

“It’s a dangerous business and the pay is poor. Why, he’ll never be able to marry a proper woman and give me grandchildren if he insists upon this course.”

“He’s only ten,” she reminded her mother. “I’m sure he’ll end up right here in Oreana, taking over the mercantile from Dad.”

Daisy sympathized with her brother, though, and couldn’t imagine being stuck in a store for the rest of her life, even if her parents did seem to enjoy it. Besides, she didn’t see anything at all wrong with wanting to be an officer of the law. Not one thing. All the lawmen Honey Beaulieu worked with were honorable.

“Let’s get this place cleaned up.” Her mother grabbed a cloth and scrubbed at the counter, then moved on to the woodwork around the doors and windows. “You mind the counter. I’m feeling a little out of sorts today.”

What did she mean, “out of sorts”? Daisy was out of sorts. She was the one who’d been brushed off at the slightest interruption. She was the one who couldn’t keep the interest of a particular man. That was out of sorts. A sip too much wine made one queasy, not out of sorts.

At the sound of the doorbell, Daisy stepped behind the counter, suppressing a groan when Mrs. Proctor marched in. “I’ll have a bottle of Read’s Grand Duchess Cologne, and here are two dozen eggs in trade.”

Daisy took the last bottle off Read’s off the shelf, dusted it off, and sat it on the counter for the widow’s inspection. “Can I get you anything else?”

“That will do.”

“Fifteen cents, please. That’s twenty-five cents for the cologne, minus ten cents for the eggs.”

“Fifteen cents! Why, that’s highway robbery!”

She refused to cower, although she truly hated haggling over prices. Her dad had told her to buy eggs at five cents a dozen, and the cologne was a set price. Any less, and they wouldn’t make a penny profit. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Proctor. Would you like to speak with my father? He’ll be minding the store this afternoon.” Actually, Daisy didn’t know if her dad would be in or not, but at least it gave the widow pause.

The jingling of the doorbell, gave Daisy hope of reprieve. Surely Mrs. Proctor wouldn’t raise a fuss in front of another customer. “One moment, please.” And she turned her attention to the new arrival. Good gravy! It was Mrs. Courtney.

“I’ll have a bottle of Read’s Grand Duchess Cologne, and here are three dozen eggs in trade.”

Daisy breath
ed a deep sigh. “I’m sorry—
”

“I just bought the last bottle,” Mrs. Proctor said, plunking two nickels on the counter.

“I’ll need another nickel, ma’am.”

“I’ll bring it in later.”

Mrs. Courtney plunked her bag of eggs on the counter, the sound indicating that several had broken. “I’ll take the perfume now, and put it on my account.”

“She will not!” Mrs. Proctor grabbed the wrapped bottle. “I had it first.”

Mrs. Courtney sniffed. “Daisy, if that woman takes this cologne out of the store, it’s stealing, and I’ll report it to the marshal.”

“The marshal, hah! Daisy, send for Deputy Kunkle—he’s an honorable man.”

“Ha! And I suppose
that woman
thinks she can woo the deputy with her nasty old pies. Everyone in town knows he likes my raisin pie far better—and I certainly don’t need cologne as much as she does. Why, I take a bath every Saturday night, unlike some women I know.”

Mrs. Proctor’s color rose and she balled up
her fists. “One more word…
”

Daisy’s mother ran to the counter. “Now ladies, I’m sure we can find a solution. Both of you take your eggs and go home. By this afternoon, we’ll have the rest of the stock put away, and surely there’s more cologne in it.”

Mrs. Proctor’s chin jutted out. “Absolutely not! I was here first, and I won’t leave this store without my cologne.”

The two women glowered at each other and Daisy waited for one to throw a punch. “Mama, I’m getting the marshal over here.”

“That twit,” Mrs. Courtney sniffed. “What’s he know.”

“Daisy,” her mother called. “Get another vial, and divide the cologne in half.”

Daisy ducked into the back room and searched frantically for an empty apothecary vial. Finding one, she poured half the cologne into it, then decided they’d argue over the bottle. Darn it all, couldn’t those women draw a truce? She took another apothecary vial that matched the first, made sure the cologne was absolutely equal in each, stoppered them, and took them to the counter. In no time, her mother took care of the transactions and had the two women out the door.