Marrying Miss Marshal (18 page)

D
anna waited in a chair in Doc Critterdon's outer room, ignoring the room's two other occupants. She didn't particularly want to talk to anyone in Calvin right at this moment. Not while the shame still made her cheeks color at each knowing look people gave her.

She'd been too upset earlier to visit Corrine. She didn't want to disturb her friend's fragile happiness with the new baby. So she'd come here to the doctor's office instead.

And waited.

Finally the doctor emerged from one of the two examination rooms and motioned her inside. She didn't waste any time in telling him about the injury, showed it to him and mentioned what Chas had already done for it.

The doctor hummed low under his breath as he re-cleaned the wound and began to wrap it again.

“Not any worse than you've had before,” he said when he was done, moving to the counter to pump fresh water to wash his hands. It was true, this wasn't much worse than what she come to him with before, when Fred hadn't been able to fix her up at home.

“No sign of infection,” he continued. “Just keep it clean.”

She nodded. “How's the outlaw that got shot up?”

The doctor frowned. “Somewhat better. The sheriff came and got him, even though I recommended keeping him here for observation for a while longer.”

“What?” Danna knew her shock was apparent in her voice but couldn't stop it. “O'Rourke took him? When? Where?”

“Hours ago. Said he was taking him to you at the jailhouse.”

A niggle of suspicion tickled Danna's overwrought brain. She hadn't heard any movement or voices in the jailhouse when she and Chas had been fighting, or after he'd left. Had she been so wrapped up in her own misery that she'd somehow missed activity beneath their feet?

Surely he hadn't meant to take the outlaw to the county lockup in Glenrock, not in his injured condition.

An awful idea had begun to dawn on her. What if O'Rourke was in on it?

The doctor wrinkled his forehead. “I'm sorry you didn't get to question him again. He did say some things in his delirium that first night…something about a hideout in a big cave. Something about Glenrock.”

Her heart started thrumming like the wings of a hummingbird. She knew that cave. It was near where she'd hurt herself—a few miles from her brother's ranch. If what the outlaw had told the doc was true, there was a chance she could still recover the bank's money. She probably wouldn't get her job back, but it galled her to leave the job undone. Especially because of how Castlerock had treated her, and hadn't thought she was capable of doing her job.

The doc must've seen the change of attitude in her expression, because his hand tightened on her arm. “You aren't going to do something foolish, are you?”

She smiled a wan smile. “More foolish than anything I've done in the last few days?”
Like marrying a man I barely knew? Or worse, falling in love with him?
She knew her voice held a tinge of desperation, and she worked to remove it as she reassured the doc. “No, sir.”

The thud of her boots sounded heavy and final on the boardwalk as she made her way to the livery. She would find that money or die trying.

Will wasn't in the stable when she arrived. The building was deserted and shadowed, but she found the little paint mare she'd used before, and saddled her.

Riding out of the livery, she glanced up at the sky and found it gray and threatening. Which meant she needed to remember to pick up extra supplies and her rifle before she headed out of town. She turned the mare toward her room. She would do this one last task perfectly, the way Fred would've. And that included ordering her steps from the very beginning.

 

Chas had gathered up all his belongings—two saddlebags' worth—and now stood in the doorway to Danna's room, looking over the small, bare area.

It didn't even look like a female lived there, without any frilly embellishments or fine china to be seen. Knowing Danna the way he did now, he wasn't surprised at the lack of femininity. She was much too practical to waste time on frippery, and she would see it as showing weakness, which she couldn't afford to do.

But underneath her strong exterior existed a sensitive, beautiful woman.

Why else would she have donned a dress for their wedding day?

Was he making a mistake, going to Cheyenne to hire a tracker?

He didn't know. Every choice felt wrong. Protecting Danna had turned into betraying her. He didn't know anything anymore.

Except that it had scared him—absolutely terrified him—to see the blood on her blouse earlier. She wasn't shy about putting herself in harm's way. As marshal, she would do so every day.

Even in their temporary marriage, his heart couldn't take the strain. Things were better this way. The distance between them would grow when the annulment was filed. Better to cut ties now.

Only it didn't feel better. It felt awful.

The sound of approaching boots on the stairs alerted him to her presence. Perhaps that's what he'd really been waiting for before he left. One more chance to see her again.

She was focused on something, intensity radiating from her drawn brows and pinched frown. She didn't see him until she'd stepped into the room and kicked the door partway closed.

When she did realize he was there, she froze, surprise and something else flashing over her features. Hurt, maybe?

He hated hurting her. But he didn't know what else to do, how to fix this mistake. And marrying her had been a mistake. The only things he would bring to her life would be danger and maybe even death.

“You still here?” she asked, and her voice held no emotion, though he knew it had to be hidden behind her brusque tone.

He swallowed. Raised the saddlebags so she would see them. “My train leaves soon. I'll be back from Cheyenne in a couple days.”

She nodded and kept her gaze away from his, striding across the room to the bed. She tossed her hat onto the coverlet. Next, she took off her coat and laid it on top of the quilt before pulling a sweater from one of the drawers in the stand next to the bed. It was hastily pulled over her head, causing several tendrils of her dark hair to escape the braid hanging past her shoulders.

Chas cleared his throat, unable to forget the way her hair looked as it cascaded down her back in those thick, rich curls when undone.

“I guess this is goodbye, then,” she said and her tone implied she had nothing more to say.

He watched her yank off first one boot, and then the other, and add a second pair of thick wool socks before jamming the boots on again.

He knew he should turn and walk out the door, but something made him stay. Probably the same thing that stuck in his throat and made it so he couldn't speak. He wanted to show her how much he cared about her, but it would only make things worse.

And she didn't seem to want to talk to him right now, anyway.

Chas turned to go, whispering, “Goodbye, Miss Marshal.”

 

Danna's entire body shook as she scooted down the stairs and untied her mare from the hitching post out front.

She gulped air, working to calm herself—physically at least—because the horse would be able to read her
agitation, and she had no desire to fight the mare. Judging by the clouds darkening the sky, she had a few hours to find the outlaws before the storm hit. She'd need the animal's cooperation to make it up into the mountains in time.

Danna didn't speak to anyone she passed on Main Street on her way out of town. Contrary to what she'd told herself all this time, their acceptance
did
matter to her. Once she captured the bank robbers, she would move somewhere else. Maybe try her hand at ranching. Fred had left her a little savings, and she hadn't spent much in her short tenure as marshal. She could buy herself a little homestead and a few cattle…

She didn't know if she could do it. After all, it had been years since she'd worked with Rob on his ranch. But after the way the town had treated her, maybe a solitary life was for her. And there was little chance she'd have to fend off any amorous advances from gentlemen—
if
there were any—if she lived and worked alone.

Maybe she would go through with it. It could be a good plan.

Danna's thoughts were interrupted by a shout from down the street. She looked up to see a lone figure trotting down the end of Main Street toward the open prairie that stretched for a ways before the mountains rose behind it.

“…he stole my horse!” came a second shout from a man now running down the boardwalk in the same direction as the first had gone.

Without a thought, Danna kicked her mare and took off after the thief. The rider looked over his shoulder once, and when he caught sight of her in pursuit, spurred the stolen horse to a gallop.

She heard another yell as she raced past a group of
people on the boardwalk, their faces a blur. It sounded an awful lot like “You get him, Marshal!” but that couldn't be right, because her badge had been rescinded.

As she passed the edge of town, she urged her mare for more speed and they gained on the stolen horse and its rider. A cold wind ate through Danna's long coat and the sweater she'd added beneath it.

Drawing abreast of the rider, she was astonished to see Sam Castlerock at the reins. Why would the boy steal a horse, when his father was rich enough to buy him as many as he wanted?

The younger Castlerock looked over at her and she saw his face pale.

“Stop!” she shouted, but the boy hunched forward in the saddle and used the end of the reins to try and whip the horse to move faster.

She considered launching herself onto the other horse, but at their speed, one or both of them might break something when they hit the ground. And she still had to catch Lewis's gang, so that wasn't an option for her.

Instead, she slipped a length of rope from atop her saddle horn and fashioned a lasso. Sam saw what she was doing and tried to steer his horse away, but she watched the movements of his torso and guessed his next move. She drew closer to horse and rider and with a quick flick of her wrist, tossed the lariat over the other horse's head. She began to slow, and so did the horse, even though the young Castlerock continued to kick its flanks. The horse's lather and tossing head told enough of the story. It wasn't used to running like this, nor did it appreciate the boy's treatment.

“Your little jaunt is over,” she cried so he would hear over the hooves pounding on the prairie grass. “Stop!”

When it became apparent his horse was no longer obeying his commands, Sam threw himself out of the saddle and began racing away on foot.

Danna growled low in her throat. The boy was causing her an unneeded delay. She hopped off her mare long enough to picket the stolen animal, then re-mounted and took off after the boy. She fashioned a second lariat from another length of rope out of her saddlebag and within minutes had looped it around the boy's shoulders. In no time, she had him trussed like a turkey and slumped over the saddle in front of her. They returned to the stolen horse at a slower pace, and she tried to talk some sense into the young man.

“I don't think you're going to get away with this, Sam. Horse thievin' is a hanging offense.” And with the number of witnesses on Main Street, there was little chance of his father buying his way out of this. “Why'd you do it?”

“You wouldn't understand, Marshal.” He spat the title in a mocking voice and didn't say another word as they neared the picketed horse. In the distance, she could see riders heading toward them.

She made the boy dismount from her horse and was helping him get on the stolen horse—he nearly lost his balance with his hands tied the way they were—when several men from town rode up.

“I thought he'd get away for sure,” said one, and she recognized the blacksmith, Dodie Bennett. “You sure didn't waste any time, M—uh, Miz Marshal. Thank ye.”

She ignored him when she should have corrected him. She wasn't marshal any longer.

“Too bad the town council wadn't here to see this.”
Undertaker Burr McCoy almost sounded…impressed? But that couldn't be right.

“Yep, maybe they'da changed their minds about firin' ya.”

Danna frowned. “I didn't run him down for any recognition.” She removed the lariat from around the horse's neck.

“Why'd she do it then?” another voice asked.

She rolled the rope into a small coil and draped it over her own saddle horn before mounting up and wheeling her mare toward the mountains, now in plain view after the race across the plains. She'd reach the foothills in less than an hour.

“She did it because it was the right thing to do, ya goose.”

Again, she chose to remain silent. Let them think what they wanted of her motivations.

“Danna, where you headed? Town's the other way.”

She didn't respond to the question from behind her.

“A storm's comin' in,” a second voice cried.

“I've got a couple more gents to bring in,” she called back to the group.

“I wish we could help ya!” someone yelled out. “I really do!”

She pondered the last exchange as her mare galloped over the grassy plain. It almost sounded like he'd meant something—or someone—stopped the men from giving her aid. She remembered Chas's suggestion from days ago that perhaps someone in a position of authority was keeping the men in town from being deputies. But was it O'Rourke, or someone else?

In less time than she'd thought, the prairie gave way to small conifers, and she was crossing the foothills. Before the disastrous ride up here with her deputy, she
hadn't been closer than viewing distance to the mountains. She hadn't had any desire to return to the place where she'd broken her brother's trust, where her happy life as a little sister on his ranch had ended. She wasn't superstitious, not really, but ever since that night, she'd been on edge in the mountains.