Much Ado About Marshals (Hearts of Owyhee) (2011) (33 page)

He took it and smiled back, wishing he could do a whole lot more that grin like an idiot. “Morning.”

Bosco scrambled to his feet. “Morning Miss Daisy. I was just telling Cole I was leaving. Wasn’t I, huh, Cole? Yes, sirree.” He grabbed his hat. “Nice to see such a purty face first thing in the day,” he said as he left.

“Cole?”

Cole’s heart skipped a beat, and he grasped for an explanation.

Bosco ducked his head back in the office. “Shoot-fire. I meant ‘marshal.’ Cole’s his second name, you know.”

Cole knew the dam of deceit would burst soon, but he still had a little time. He hoped Daisy accepted Bosco’s feeble explanation.

“Oh, yes, I remember.” She nodded at him as he fled, then turned back to Cole. She licked her lips—he wanted to lick them, too. “I brought you some breakfast. Actually, Mama cooked this for Mrs. Courtney, but she sent enough food for five people, so I brought half to you.”

“Thanks.” He took the basket without taking his gaze from hers. She was a sight to behold, and made the sunshine that much brighter. “How is Mrs. Courtney?”

“Back to her old self.”

“That’s good. I guess.”

Daisy laughed. “She can be a trial. Her sister, too.”

“Sister?”

“Mrs. Proctor. They’re sisters.”

“I thought they hated each other.”

“Well, I don’t know if ‘hate’ is the right word, but they’re certainly not the best of friends. They haven’t spoken to each other since their husbands died. And I’ll swear, everything is a contest between them.”

“Like cooking for Deputy Kunkle. But he doesn’t seem to mind.”

She moved closer to him. “I haven’t minded you, either.”

That was his Daisy, innocent and insatiable, all wrapped up in one. “I think we’d best be discreet, darlin’. Folks come in here all the time.” Nevertheless, he couldn’t resist her lips. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, hoping that would be enough—at least for now. Her little sigh nearly proved his undoing, but he pushed her to arm’s length.

“I have some really good news,” she whispered.

Just having her near him was good news. “What?”

“I have two prints on the coin that Iris gave me.”

“Coin?”

“Yes. When she shot the robber, a silver dollar fell from his vest pocket. She gave it to me. I think one of the prints is probably hers—I’ll take her fingerprint when she gets here on the four o’clock stage. But the other print, well, that belongs to the man who tried to rob her.”

Cole’s heart raced and he swore under his breath. The last thing he wanted was for his future wife to tie him to the robbery. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

“I think it does,” she defended. “I’ve taken several people’s fingerprints and each one is unique. I know they’re not permitted in a court of law yet, but you just wait, they will be.”

He watched her as she worked up a good head of steam. She seemed nearly as excited over her damned fingerprints as she did his kiss—and that didn’t say much for his manhood. He lowered his head to kiss her again, but this time she pushed him away.

“And you, marshal, will be in the forefront of criminology. As your wife, I’ll make sure of it. Why, I bet I’m already better at this new technique than most detectives are.”

He couldn’t argue there. But he sure as hell didn’t want her comparing the prints on that silver dollar to his, whether it was hocus-pocus or not. He couldn’t risk losing Daisy, and he needed to stay alive for her—to care for her, protect her, and make sweet love to her.

There was only one thing to do—get rid of the evidence.

Forrest blasted through the front door, the dog bounding after him. They both ran into the kitchen, knocking over one chair, one flowerpot, and one Daisy Gardner. “Mama, the stage is here!”

Daisy picked herself up and threw a carnation—with root ball—at her brother. “Watch where you’re going!”

He ducked and the flower splatted on the wall, leaving a splotch of dirt. “Watch where you’re standing.” Forrest grabbed their mom’s hand and tugged. “Come on, Mom.”

“Clean that up, young lady.” She untied her apron and tossed it on the table, then pulled on her gloves and bonnet. After turning in a complete circle twice, she waved a dismissal at the pile of dirt and said, “Oh, leave it—let’s go see your sister. You can get that later.”

Daisy was still pulling on her gloves as she followed her mother to the street. Her dad tore out of the store, a big grin spread across his face. Aunt Grace and a man—the same one who’d collapsed at the saloon—hurried toward them. Was he the man who had her aunt giggling? Because he looked even older than her aunt—maybe even fifty. Was he sparking her? Surely not!

The marshal had said he’d be there, too, but she hadn’t seen him since that morning. She craned her neck to see down the street, and still spotted no sign of him. She wondered what could be keeping him.

The family all waited for the stagecoach to come to a stop, Forrest hopping around and the dog barking and wagging his tail. Her mother held her hands to her breast. Her aunt and the older man joined them, both breathing heavily and smiling.

“Remember Henry Smith?” Aunt Grace said to them.

Her parents shook hands with him as if he were a decent fellow, but Daisy held back. Could he be the bank robber? Somehow, she’d have to get his prints. She smiled at him, her teeth clenched.

“I wonder where the marshal is,” she muttered.

“Don’t you worry about him,” her mother said. “He’ll meet Iris at supper.”

But she wanted him to meet the stage with her. She could hardly wait to see Iris’s face when she introduced her fiancé! Who would have thought she could find a man so handsome—and a lawman, too.

The dust billowed around the stage as the driver pulled the team to a stop. The man who rode shotgun tossed a few carpetbags down to the ground before the brake was set, then pushed off Iris’s trunk. After the dust settled, the driver opened the door—a couple of men hopped out, then the last one offered his hand as Iris stepped down.

She had hardly touched the ground when her mother pulled her into a big hug and kissed her on the cheek. “Iris!” Only then could Iris give her father and Forrest their hugs.

When it was Daisy’s turn, she whispered, “I have a surprise for you.”

Iris grasped Daisy’s forearms and looked her in the eye. “What kind of surprise?” Her eyes danced. “Tell me—did you land the marshal?”

“Yes!” They both squealed and hopped around in a circle. “I can hardly wait for you to meet him—he’s
gorgeous
.” Then she noticed the others looking at them, and Aunt Grace calmly waiting her turn. Still grinning, she stepped back. “We’ll talk later.” She took another glance down the street, hoping the marshal would be on his way.

Iris giggled. “All night!”

Aunt Grace gave Iris a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Welcome home, Iris. I want you to meet a friend of mine, Henry Smith.”

He stepped forward and tipped his hat. “Nice to meet you, Miss Gardner.”

Iris looked at him, then Aunt Grace, probably thinking the same thing Daisy was thinking. And her parents were thinking. “My pleasure.”

Forrest ran and dragged her trunk toward the boardwalk. “I’ll take this to the house for you.” He flexed his arm. “I’m junior deputy, you know.”

Iris sent Daisy a questioning glance, then said to Forrest, “I’ll bet you do a fine job, too.”

Daisy laughed. “The marshal’s very good with him.” She hooked arms with her sister. “You wouldn’t believe all that’s happened since you were here last. We’ve had a fire at the confectionery, and a dance that was really fun—too bad you missed that—and all sorts of things. Wait’ll I tell you about that old biddie, Mrs. Courtney!”

“That can wait,” her mother interrupted. “First, Iris needs to get washed up and settled. It’s a long ride from Silver.” She cupped Iris’s chin in her hand. “Do you need a nap before supper?”

Iris shook her head.

“Cyrus, I think you best be in charge of the trunk. The junior deputy needs to grow some before he can heft a loaded trunk up the stairs.”

Forrest frowned and scrunched up his face. “Aw, Mom.”

Just as they turned the corner to their street, Daisy saw the marshal walking toward them. “Oh, Iris, there he is!”

Iris turned, but their mother put her hand on Iris’s back, urging her into the house. “He can wait in the parlor until you’ve freshened up.”

Reluctantly, Daisy followed her older sister up the stairs, her father behind them with the trunk. “What’ve you got in this thing, lead?”

“Just a few knick-knacks for the family. And my clothes, of course.”

No one could accuse Iris of being a light traveler, Daisy thought. She heard her mother welcome the marshal, and fervently hoped Iris wouldn’t dawdle too much, although her sister was widely known for her dilly-dallying.

“So when’s the Big Event?” her sister asked as Daisy shut the bedroom door.

“The fifth.” She clasped her hands over her heart. “Isn’t it exciting? Dad thought we should have the ceremony while the folks from the country are here for the fireworks, so we’re having it at ten in the morning on the fifth. Besides, Judge Glover will be here, so he can marry us proper.”

Iris shrugged. “Daddy’s married lots of couples—most of them don’t ever get married in front of a judge.”

“Yes, but Dad isn’t officially a preacher, and I want to be married in the eyes of God
and
Idaho
Territory
.”

They both laughed. “That poor man never had a chance,” Iris said, pouring water from the pitcher to the basin. “I want to change clothes—I’m dusty from the inside out.” She looked around the room, then asked, “I need a cleaning rag to wipe the dust off the trunk.”

Daisy sighed.
Let the dawdling begin
. “I’ll get you one.” She dashed into Forrest’s room and snatched a dirty union suit from under his bed, ran back, and, in less than a minute, wiped off the trunk. She sure didn’t want to wait around for Iris to do it. She unbuckled the straps, unlatched the hasp, and had the trunk lid open before Iris could protest. “There you go,” she said, throwing the underwear in the corner. “Let me help you with your dress.”

Before Iris could say a word, Daisy had her untied and unbuttoned.

“My, you are anxious for me to meet him, aren’t you?”

Daisy shrugged, not wanting Iris to know how right she was. “The sooner we get you fixed up, the sooner we can start having fun.” She handed her a bar of lavendar-scented soap. “Now, unhook your corset and wash your face. I’ll get you a clean shimmy and dress.”

“Clean petticoats, too. I don’t want to shake these out in broad daylight.”

Several dresses were on top, much to Daisy’s dismay. That meant Iris had several choices, and while she was amazing when at business, when it came to personal attire, Iris could change her mind a dozen times. Daisy took the dresses out, shook them, and hung them on the wall hooks. Next came the petticoats, which she shook and laid on the bed.

“Those will need a good pressing. Could you have Mama heat up the iron for me?”

No!
“Sure.”

She turned to leave for her errand, when Iris asked, “What’s all this?” pointing to the secretary.

“Fingerprinting. Remember, I told you I’d ordered a fingerprinting kit?” She pointed at the coin. “See, there’s the silver dollar from the bank robbery. If I can get a good print from it, I might be able to confirm the identity of the thief by comparing his fingerprints to the ones on the coin.”

“Don’t you have to get his prints first? And if you don’t know who he is, how are you going to get them?”

“True, but this is mainly for practice. What bank robber would bother to come to Oreana, anyway? But I bet your prints are on it, so I can see for myself if the technology works.”

Iris raised her eyebrows and Daisy knew she was skeptical. “I didn’t rob the bank—I was the one who got robbed. How long will it take to heat the iron?”

Daisy called to her mother to put the iron on the stove, then while they waited, asked, “Sarah brought my wedding gown over this afternoon. Would you like to see it?”

“Sure.”

She took it off the hook and held it to her sister. “Sarah made it—designed it, too.”

Iris felt the smooth silk and admired the dress for a moment. “It’s beautiful. She did a wonderful job.”

“Yes, she’s excellent with a needle.”

“So why are you getting married in such a hurry? Whatever happened to the old-fashioned six-month engagement?”

Daisy studied the floor. “Uh, well
…
”

“You didn’t!”

Daisy shrugged. “Sure did.”

“Oh, my.” Iris giggled, putting her hand over her mouth. “So, how was it?”

No words could describe how the marshal had made her feel when he’d made love to her. What he did with his hands, his lips, his
…
Good gracious! Perhaps that’s why people didn’t talk about it at all. “Better than chocolate.”