Much Ado About Marshals (Hearts of Owyhee) (2011) (35 page)

Without taking her gaze from him she said, “I just want to know one thing,
marshal
, are you in love with my sister?”

Daisy waited for the marshal’s answer, holding her breath. Was he in love with her? He could have proposed only out of a sense of duty. A month ago, that would have been fine with her. Now, though, she knew what loving a man meant, and she suddenly realized how important it was to her that he share her love.

“Yes,” he said firmly. Daisy’s heart sang and a giggle escaped her throat before she could stifle it. He put his arm around her and pulled her closer to him. “She’s the only woman for me. Ever.” He kissed her on the cheek—right there in front of her father and her sister! She didn’t mind his impropriety in the least. Why, if they were alone, she’d ‘impropriety’ him right there on the couch.

Her dad cleared his throat. “I’m wanting my cigar now, girls. You go help your mother.”

The marshal stood and helped Daisy up. “I best be getting on my way, too. Bosco might be needing my help with the widows.”

They all laughed, but Daisy didn’t want him to go. Not yet. “I finally got the prints on the silver dollar drawn. Do you want to see them?”

He glanced at Iris, then back at her. “Not now, Daisy. Maybe tomorrow sometime.”

She wanted to protest, but it wouldn’t have been seemly to do so in front of others. And tomorrow would be busy the entire day. She’d be lucky to see him at all.

The evening had been fun—she and Iris had chattered until her folks blew out the lanterns. Daisy kicked Iris’s petticoat from the middle of the bedroom floor, then turned her back to her sister. “Unbutton me, please. I can reach them, but I’m tired.”

“Me, too, I need sleep.” Iris worked the buttons free. “Show me about those fingerprints you told me about earlier.”

“Sure,” Daisy said, not wanting to seem too anxious. Not one single person had seemed the slightest bit interested in her work before—except Sam Jones. She shrugged off her dress and unhooked her corset, then fetched the drawings for her sister.

Iris held them in one hand while she brushed her hair with the other. “This is intricate work—I didn’t know you could keep your mind on one thing long enough to do work this detailed.”

Daisy beamed with pleasure. Not only was her sister interested—she liked it! “It takes a couple of hours just to draw one print, and that’s if I don’t goof up.” She pulled of her shimmy and put on her nightgown. “I better straighten up a bit—if we have to go to the privy in the middle of the night, we’re liable to break our necks.

Iris put the prints on the vanity and continued brushing her hair. “I’ll help in a minute. I just have to wash my face.”

She picked up the water pitcher and splashed it in the basin. Daisy froze, half stooped, and watched with horror as water sloshed over the edge, puddling the ink on the drawing.

“Oh, Daisy, I’m so sorry!”

The hot morning sun felt refreshing on
Sidney
’s face as he stood in front of the boarding house. His muscles ached from the carpentry work, and, even though he could use the money, he was damned glad to be finished with the job. The Muellers seemed happy with his work, and had told him they’d recommend him for other jobs around town.

He hoped he didn’t need to take them. The law was what drew him, and besides, his arms felt like lead iron weights. Still, he couldn’t shirk his duty to take care of Katie—racing mules needed rigorous daily exercise. His leg chose that moment to throb. Damn that doctor! He’d said the pain would be gone inside of six weeks. It had been six weeks, and the pain still came and went.

He decided to whistle for her instead of going to the stable. Within moments, Katie trotted up to him, nuzzling his pocket.

Jonas came running with a rope. “Sorry, Sam. She jumped right out of her stall—I’ve never seen the likes of it.” He drew a loop and readied to throw. “I’ll get her for you.”

“Don’t you mind that—I called her.”

“You called her?”

Sidney
nodded. “She needs to run a little.” He fished a sugar lump from his pocket and gave it to her, then patted her on the nose. “You go on and have a nice run, Katie, but don’t be gone long.”

Jonas let his rope droop and stood there, gaping, as the mule trotted out of town. “You’re just letting her loose? How do you plan to catch her?”

Sidney
cocked his head in the departing mule’s direction. “I’ll just whistle again if she’s not back when she’s supposed to be.” Pity, how few people knew how to properly train an animal. Pity, too, that most men stuck with horses whose intelligence was vastly inferior to that of mules.

Shrugging, Jonas headed back to the livery, muttering to himself.

Sarah stepped out on the porch. “Good morning, Mr. Jones.”

Sidney
smiled. A beautiful morning, a beautiful woman, and a beautiful mule. Life couldn’t get much better—except, of course, if he had his name and his job back. And if the woman were his. "Good morning, Miss Sarah.”

“Would you like to go for a walk before we have to get ready for the picnic?”

Suddenly, his leg quit hurting. He held out his elbow for her to hold. “Sure.”

She stepped down and put her hand on his arm. His heart skipped a beat when she smiled at him. “Oh, good, I thought you might be mad at me.”

Mad? At Sarah? “No, Miss Sarah, I could never be mad at you.”

She laughed, and no church bells ever sounded sweeter. “I bet you could. We all have our moments.”

They walked to the opposite edge of town, past
Gardner
’s Mercantile, past the confectionery, and past the bank—even past the houses on the edge of town. Then Sarah stopped and faced him. "Would you like to kiss me?”

Would a man dying of thirst want a drink of water?
But he didn’t have the slightest idea how to go about it. What did they do with their noses? He couldn’t speak, only nodded.

She leaned into him, her breasts pressing against his chest, tilted her head, and pressed her lips against his. He put his arms around her and kissed her harder, wanting to taste more of her. He lips parted and he felt her teeth with his tongue, forgetting all about their noses. His manhood didn’t care, either. He wanted to take her right there—he was sure he could figure out how.

“I know a place where we can be more private,” she whispered. “Do you want to go there?”

Lord and all His Angels!
“Is it far?”

“No. We’re standing behind it. This house is empty, and the barn’s empty, too.”

He practically carried her inside. “Oh, Sarah, I feel
…
” But he couldn’t say it. Even if she let him kiss her a couple of times, she’d never actually fall in love with him. Not when a man like Dugan could catch her fancy.

“You feel what?” she whispered, her breath touching his neck.

“You’d laugh.”

“I won’t laugh, promise.”

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever met, and I think I’m in love with you.”

“Think?” She kicked the door shut with her foot and ran her hands down his chest.

He quit thinking.

Droves of people from all over the countryside had arrived at the celebration site on Pickett Creek. Cole was surprised that so many chose to go there, rather than to
Silver
City
, which held much larger festivities. People had spread blankets on the dirt between the sagebrush, and children played tag amongst them, shrieking and laughing.

They’d roasted an entire steer in a pit—Jonas and his wife had started it a couple of days before—and the smell of beef made his mouth water. People from the town greeted him with smiles, and those from out of town came up and shook his hand, telling him how glad they were to have him around, and congratulating him on his upcoming marriage to Daisy.

He’d never been so drawn in by a community, and he’d never felt so guilty about deceiving the lot of them. Mrs. Howard handed him a plate of beef and beans. “Eat hearty, marshal. It’s a great day!”

“Thanks, ma’am.”

Pete, the bartender, slapped him on the back. “Enjoy the day, marshal, it’s the last taste of freedom you’ll ever have.” He pointed to a man talking to Mrs. Howard. “See him? That’s Judge Glover—the one who’ll do the marrying.”

Cole smiled and nodded his thanks, but knew Pete didn’t know how right he was. In fact, the
marrying
judge might very well be the man to order the necktie party.

He glanced over at the ring-toss booth where Iris bent and held out her hand while a young boy placed a penny in it. Somehow, he needed to get her alone and tell her the truth, but it would have to wait until someone else came to relieve her.

Sarah manned the beanbag booth. Sam stood in front, looking plumb twitterpated. Cole hoped that Sarah didn’t break the little fellow’s heart, but he didn’t see how a beautiful girl like her would want a skinny little man with an oversized head.

Another wagon joined the group—Thomas. Cole groaned. Why didn’t they go to Silver?

Thomas waved. “Howdy, brother!” He hopped off the wagon on his one good leg, then turned to help Etta and little Callie. When the little girl saw him, she squealed and came running, her arms open wide.

Cole lifted her up and received a big, wet kiss on the cheek. “How’s my girl?”

She stuck her thumb in her mouth and grabbed his neck with her other hand, then laid her head on his shoulder. He held her until her parents got there.

“I gotta talk to you, little brother.”

“Go get yourself settled and I’ll be along shortly. Meantime, I’ll be introducing my little princess to the crowd.”

“All right, but don’t dally,” Thomas said. Etta looked at Thomas with such loving eyes, Cole wondered why he’d ever kicked up such a fuss over her. Thomas was her man. Cole was never meant to be.

He took Callie on a tour of the area. Loretta Sue ran the kissing booth. Several men lined up, ready to pay their nickels. Mrs. Courtney had a table with several raisin pies for sale on it. Cole made a note to keep Winky away—he didn’t want her to go hysterical again. The Muellers sold their candy and, in the next booth, Daisy sold lemonade.

One look at her, and he had a powerful thirst.

* * * * *

Mike Flynn
walked his horse through town at a leisurely pace, not wanting to call attention to himself. Earlier, Porker had told him that there wasn’t a single soul left in town, but the man was a simpleton and couldn’t be trusted.

The deputy, Flynn could handle. The marshal posed more of a problem, although deals could be made—he was no more Sidney Adler than Flynn was, and they both knew it.

He dismounted and peered into the bank. Empty. He remounted and rode to Roth’s house. Empty, too. He held still listening for sounds, but the town was dead. His only worry now would be that some people might forego the fireworks and come home.

For a moment, he considered moving the schedule up, then discarded the notion. During the day, an explosion would certainly bring the marshal. At night, however, the firecrackers would cover the sound. Yes, he’d stick with his plan, and then he’d ditch those two stupid miners.

“Marshal, over here!”
Gardner
called. Several other men stood near, digging into their pockets for coins.

Cole waved and walked to the group. “You men look like you’re fixing to stir up some trouble.”

“That, we are. We decided to have a horse race. Two bits to enter, winner takes all.”

“Hmmm. I might be interested in that. My horse has a little git-up-and-go.”

“Nope,”
Gardner
said. “You’re the judge.”

“Let Bosco be the judge—he rides an old nag.”

“No, sirree,” protested Bosco. “My horse’ll beat that broomtail of yours any day of the week.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,”
Gardner
said. “The marshal is our judge. It’s tradition.”

“Tradition? I thought I was the first marshal that Oreana ever had.”

“You are, but traditions have to start sometime, and I’m starting this one right now.” He turned to the rest of the men. “You boys go around and tell everyone about the race. The marshal here will take the entry fee.”

“So I’m the bookie, too?” Cole asked as the men dispersed.

“Who else is more trustworthy than the town marshal?”

Just about anyone in this town.
“All right, but I wouldn’t mind having a stab at that prize money myself. Gonna have a wife to support, you know.”

“Yes, and probably a baby in eight and a half months. You don’t need to be breaking your blamed fool neck before the ceremony. I’d be mighty unhappy about that.”

Cole wouldn’t be too happy about it, either. Breaking his neck, that is. The baby didn’t sound so bad, although with his luck, they’d have a rambunctious little boy with his mother’s penchant for orneriness. Having Daisy for his wife would be the best thing that ever happened to him, although he had to admit being a bit embarrassed over her father’s frankness about it all.