Marrying Miss Marshal (3 page)

Her thoughts distracting her, she almost missed the mangled piece of leather half-buried under the sandy dirt.

“I think this is it,” she called out, and he joined her as she dismounted from her horse. He picked up the leather bags, juggling a pouch and canteen when they fell out of the hole torn in one side.

“I can't believe it. The saddlebags are ripped, but everything else appears to be intact.” There was wonder in his voice as he riffled through his belongings.

He took an item out—an envelope?—and tucked it into his breast pocket beneath his vest. A second item quickly followed the first. Danna couldn't see what it was, something wrapped in leather and tied with a thong.

Were these two things important? If so, why hadn't he kept them closer in the first place?

“God must be watching out for you, Mr. O'Grady.”

The instant Danna spoke the words, his expression closed. “I sincerely doubt God has spared any thoughts for me lately.”

 

Chas tried to ignore the pain that throbbed up his arm and through his shoulder with each movement the horse made, but it proved impossible, even when he closed his eyes against it. He knew his companion tried to make the ride as smooth as possible—she held her horse to a walk, traversed more ground to go around the gullies—but nothing helped.

He just wanted to get to town and soak his aching joints in a tub of hot water. And find something to stop the growling in his stomach.

They hadn't spoken since he'd gotten back on Danna Carpenter's horse. Her comment about God's favor had thrown up a wall between them, and he found he was glad for the distance. The sense of connection he'd felt with Danna since their chance meeting had him feeling distinctly off-kilter.

After the horror of Julia's death, and his part in it, he'd vowed not to allow another woman close. Not ever. Six years had gone by, and his vow hadn't been difficult to keep. He hadn't met any woman that had compared to Julia. Until now.

And Danna Carpenter couldn't be more different from his first love. She was tall and slender, where Julia had been of average height and curved in all the pleasant places. Julia had been femininity personified, always dressed immaculately, with lace or jewels accenting her best physical attributes. Danna Carpenter dressed like a man and didn't seem to care about her appearance at all. Not that she had to, with her expressive brown eyes and that crown of long, black hair.

Julia had used her feminine wiles to manipulate him.
And it had cost her life, because he hadn't been able to resist.

Chas shook himself from his thoughts, noticing that the horse seemed to move faster now, although Danna held it in check. Chas locked his eyes on the horizon, hoping they were getting close to Calvin. A small speck appeared, then another and another, and finally they got close enough that he could make out the individual buildings.

His heart sank. The town was even smaller than he had imagined. It might pose a challenge to get the information he needed to make his case and find the rustlers; he wasn't likely to blend in.

Miss Carpenter's horse crossed one dusty street, passed the railroad tracks and turned onto the second. He supposed this must be the main thoroughfare.

Perhaps the town did have some charm, though none of the buildings matched. Half were brick, roughly half were wooden. Most of them were unpainted, as if they'd been constructed hastily and occupied quickly. Likely they had.

He could see several houses on the street behind the buildings, one larger than all the rest. A mansion, in this small town?

Danna reined in her horse in front of the second-to-last building on the street, the most unique one. Its first level was rock, but the second looked as if it had been added on later, and was wood.

A dog bayed from inside, but that couldn't be right, could it? Perhaps it was a child playing.

Danna started speaking. “The livery is at the end of the street. I've got to go in and check—”

“Help! Marshal!” A high-pitched, female voice cried out.

Someone needed help.

Chas jumped from Danna's horse, jarring one ankle and his injured shoulder when he landed. The horse shied at the unexpected movement.

“O'Grady!” Danna exclaimed, but he didn't have time to stand around and help her, and she was a good horsewoman anyway.

Chas darted across the street.

His heart thudding in his ears made it hard to determine which direction the cry had come from, but he thought maybe from the left, so that's the direction he turned. He stalled at the first corner where the boardwalk ended for an alleyway between buildings. Which way?

“Help!” the voice warbled now, sounding a bit muffled.

“O'Grady!” Danna clapped a hand on his forearm, her expression fierce under the brim of her hat. “Don't ever do a fool thing like that again. My horse could've—”

“I have to—”
Help the woman in jeopardy.

He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence because the voice called out again. “Marshal!”

Danna stuck two fingers in her mouth and issued an ear-splitting whistle. Instantly, the shouting stopped.

While Chas gaped at Danna, a small nut-brown head popped up from behind a pile of crates on the boardwalk in front of the nearest building, a saloon.

“Missy McCabe, come here,” Danna ordered.

The head turned into a pair of shoulders, and a little girl emerged from behind the stack of crates. She came to stand in front of Danna with her head down.

Chas calmed the chaos in his head, now that it became apparent that there wasn't a true emergency.

“What is going on?” Danna asked, her voice sharp.

“Sorry, Marshal.” The girl responded. Her shoulders slumped even more.

Marshal? A sick feeling began to steal over Chas. “My brothers
stole
my dolly and I thought—” her lips quivered “—I thought you might put them in jail. Or help me get her back.”

Danna knelt to the girl's level, gentling her voice. “Missy, you know I'm busy dealing with important marshal business. I don't have time to chase down your doll.”

Chas looked at the woman he'd spent the last twelve or so hours with. Really looked at her.

And was astonished he hadn't seen it before. The gun belt slung low on her shapely hips. The trousers and man's shirt. The flash of sunlight from a
badge
pinned to her shoulder, just visible inside the lapel of her jacket.

She was a marshal?

She glanced at him and he realized he must've spoken out loud.

“Why don't you see if your ma can help you?” Danna advised the girl.

“She won't,” the girl mumbled to her bare feet. “They ain't gonna listen to her.”

“Perhaps your brothers will tire of playing and bring your doll to you after a while.”

The little girl sniffled, eyes pleading with Danna.

Danna sighed. Pulled a penny out of her pocket. “Why don't you buy some candy?”

The girl's eyes lit up.

“And no more screaming around town, all right? Mr. O'Grady thought you were really in trouble.”

The girl ran off. Danna watched her, wearing an expression he couldn't decipher. Maybe longing?

He couldn't contain the words inside him any longer. “You're a
marshal?
”

D
anna heard the disapproval in O'Grady's voice. After a night without sleep, plus the other troubles she'd been dealing with, her temper flared.

She hiked up her chin, pinned him with the same stare she'd used on what seemed like every male in town. “I haven't been hiding my badge.”

His eyes flicked to the tin star at her collarbone, then away. “You didn't introduce yourself as a lawman.”

She hated feeling defensive. Shouldn't have to feel that way. Tried to keep her voice calm. “If you recall the circumstances surrounding our introductions, it didn't come up. Good day, Mr. O'Grady.”

Without a look back after her abrupt dismissal, Danna strode to the combined jail and marshal's office and unlatched the door. A large blur of fur and teeth— Fred's dog—nearly knocked her onto her backside and took off down the street, howling at the top of his lungs. She didn't bother to go after the dog, not as exhausted as she currently was. He would come back when he got hungry. Unfortunately.

Dismay filled her as she stared at the chaos inside.
Papers—Wanted posters—were strewn across the floor, some with muddy pawprints obscuring the writing on them. The desk chair had been knocked over. The desk itself appeared not to have suffered, and that was all Danna cared about. She hung her hat on a peg next to the door and slid her arms out of the sleeves of her coat.

The sound of firm bootsteps on the boardwalk just outside her door alerted her that Chas O'Grady had followed her. “Did someone put an animal in here? A prank, perhaps?”

She bristled at his insinuation that someone would play such a prank on her, and that she couldn't handle it if they did. She crossed her arms over her middle. “It's my dog. Was there something I could help you with?” She had to work at keeping her tone businesslike. Fred had always said her temper would get her in trouble. Now, as the marshal, she couldn't afford to let it get the better of her.

O'Grady stared at a point on the floor for a long moment. So long that she wondered if he was going to say anything at all. Finally, he sighed and pulled something out of his shirt pocket. It was an envelope, the one he'd put there earlier when they'd located his saddlebags. He handed it to her, then waited as if he expected her to open it.

So she did, only to find a letter inside. Her mind spun, trying to figure a way out of this situation gracefully. After his earlier disdain at her profession, she had no intention of revealing to him that she couldn't read the letter.

Fortunately, he seemed not to notice her hesitation, but spoke quickly and quietly. “I'm a private detective
hired by the Wyoming Stock Growers Association to look out for the interests of cattlemen in this area.”

Danna looked over the top of the letter that she couldn't read. O'Grady had half-turned and face the window to the street outside. Not much to see; the jail was one of the last buildings on the street. Most of the interesting happenings in town centered around Hyer's General Store or in the street in front of one of the three bars.

Not a gambler, then? “So you're a Pinkerton? I didn't think they took jobs this far west.”

His eyes remained on the window. He didn't crack a smile. “I'm on contract with a different agency, but yes, similar to a Pinkerton. There have been reports of cattle rustling in these parts, and I've been sent to find the criminals behind it.”

Now she raised her brows. “I haven't heard any reports of that kind of trouble.” She thought back to the spring cattle drives, shaking her head to clear the pain of missing Fred as much as to stir her memories. “A few missing cattle earlier this year, but that could be explained by predators or natural causes. Wandering off. Nothing recent.”

His eyes narrowed, but he still looked out the window. “My employers are concerned with more than a few missing cattle, Marshal. If there's something going on here, I'll find it. I'm very good at my job.”

She didn't doubt it, but he seemed too citified for this type of work.

He turned, reaching out a palm. She slapped his letter into it, and he stuffed it back into the envelope without care that it was folded correctly.

“I've done my duty and notified the local law.” She
easily read the derision when he spoke the word. “And I'll expect you to stay out of my way.”

Danna worked at curbing the anger that formed a tight knot in her chest. What would Fred have done when faced with a nuisance like Chas O'Grady? Probably turned the other cheek.

“If there's anything I can do to help—”

Chas gestured to the mess covering the floor. “You appear to be plenty busy. I'm sure I can find my way around town. Good day.”

With that, he strode out of the jail.

Danna slumped into the chair behind Fred's old desk. For a moment, when he'd first stated he was a detective, she had hoped that Chas O'Grady might be her ticket to winning the townspeople over. If they saw a man working with her, would they start to trust her to take care of the town? They'd been remarkably cool toward her since she'd been appointed to the position of marshal.

Frustration boiling, she curled her hands into fists on top of the desk. She'd proved herself those first two years Fred had let her be his deputy. They'd accepted her in that position—why was being marshal different?

And why did it hurt so much to find that Chas's reaction was the same as everyone else's? She didn't feel anything for him. Wouldn't.

Weariness swamped her; all she wanted to do was go upstairs to her small room above the jail and sleep. Instead, she rounded the desk and began picking up the loose papers strewn across the floor. What had once been a tall stack of Wanted posters had been spread across the entire floor.

She'd moved the mess to the top of her desk, but had
not started sorting yet, when a commotion outside had her rising from the desk chair.

“Marshal—”

“—that varmint—”

The door burst open and Wrong Tree—Fred's dog—ran in with tail lowered and droopy ears, followed by Will Chittim, the young livery stablehand, and Martha Stoll, one of the crankiest women in town. Wrong Tree scooted behind Danna and underneath Fred's desk, until just his tail was poking out.

“What's the trouble?”

The barber's wife pointed at Danna, face flushed and emotions running high. “Your dog. Your awful, no-good varmint of a dog, that's what the trouble is!” Her voice rose throughout the rant and she ended with a screech.

“Danna—Marshal—” Young Will's voice cracked when he rushed to speak. “I put the dog in your office last night to keep him from runnin' the streets, but someone must have let him out today….”

“I did.” Danna didn't mention that he'd almost knocked her over on his way out of the building—she hadn't had a chance to catch him before he'd been gone.

Martha drew in a deep breath. “He was digging up my prize rose bushes. That's the third time this week! One of them was completely ruined. Ruined!”

“Mrs. Stoll—”

“Don't offer me any more of your empty platitudes, young lady.”

Danna bristled, both at being spoken to as if she were a child and at the childish title. “Mrs. Stoll, I apologize—”

“I don't accept it!” the other woman said with a
stomp of her foot that would've suited little Missy McCabe more than it did the fortysomething woman. “I want that mongrel eliminated. If you won't do it, I'll make a complaint to the mayor. The dog is a menace to this town.”

“I'll take care of it, Mrs. Stoll.”

“You'd better.” With those parting words, the woman stomped her way out the door, slamming it behind her.

Will ran a shaking hand down his face. “I'm sorry, Marshal. I saw the pup trot by, on up the boardwalk, but I was talkin' with a gent who wanted to rent a horse and I couldn't go fetch him. By the time I got away, he was in Mrs. Stoll's garden. You're not really going to—to hurt him, are you?”

“Of course not.”

She didn't like the dog—they'd never gotten along in the eight years Danna and Fred had been married—but she couldn't do a thing like that, out of respect to her husband's memory.

“Not because of you,” she told the dog when he stuck his head out from under the desk, looking up at her with false-innocent eyes.

“He hasn't been the same since Marshal Fred's been gone.” Will obligingly knelt and scratched under the dog's chin when the mutt approached him.

“Mmm,” Danna hummed, watching the two interact. None of them had been the same since Fred's death. The dog was the least of her worries right now. “I suppose I should try and find him a good home out in the country. With lots of space to roam.”

“And a nice, big garden to dig up?” Will asked, attention still on the dog. “We'll see.”

 

Chas strode down the boardwalk, ignoring the curious glances of passersby. He probably should stop in to some of the stores and start making contact with the owners, but his thoughts were too chaotic and his shoulder ached miserably. Instead, he headed straight for the hotel.

What kind of town made a
woman
its marshal? It was a dangerous job. Dangerous for a man—how could a woman handle the dangers of the job?

All Chas could think about was Julia and how she'd died—his fault. He'd brought her into a location, a situation fit for men only, and she'd been killed. Being a lawman was a man's job. Based on his simple reasoning, Danna could get killed trying to do her job. What was the town thinking to appoint her?

After securing a room—not as grand as what he was used to, but it would do—and a long soak that loosened his shoulder, Chas felt moderately better. Well enough to venture out and find something to eat.

The hotel clerk recommended the café down the street. This time when Chas walked down the boardwalk, he nodded and smiled at the men he passed, as well as tipped his hat to the ladies, soliciting giggles and smiles behind gloved hands from some of the younger women.

In the café, he was seated by a matronly woman and served a cup of coffee by a slender girl who appeared to be related.

It was midafternoon, and the café was mostly empty. Only one other patron was seated across the room, an older gentleman dressed in denims and a light blue shirt. Clean. He had a white hat on the table at his
elbow. A wealthy rancher? Chas nodded to the man but chose not to interrupt his meal. Perhaps he would introduce himself when his stomach wasn't so loud.

“Thank you,” Chas said when a steaming plate of roast and potatoes was set in front of him.

“Anything else?” the younger woman asked.

“Mmm.” Chas hurriedly swallowed the coffee he'd sipped. “I'm new in town and seeking employment. Do you know of anything?”

“Ma might.” The girl went into a rear room and the older woman appeared in her stead.

“Ya seekin' work?” She eyed him skeptically. “Not a cowpoke?” He shook his head. Chas's heart sunk as she frowned. “Don't know of anyone in town needin' help.”

The door swung open and another man entered, this one in a rumpled, untucked shirt and brown trousers. His fingers were stained with ink. A shopkeeper? The second man joined the first at his table.

“Sorry, sir.” The café matron left with a shrug.

Chas went back to his meal, trying to remember his manners. The food was delicious and he wanted to inhale it.

“Marshal's back in town,” the new man said to the rancher, the low words piquing Chas's attention, though he kept his face downturned as if he hadn't heard.

The rancher grunted but didn't speak.

“Seems she didn't find no help for hire over in—” He named the nearest town. “Still no deputies to work with her.”

Danna Carpenter was marshal
alone?
She didn't have any deputies? Surely that couldn't be right.

“That's a shame. A real shame.”

 

Two days later, Chas was back at the café, this time during the lunch rush. Frustration over this case had cost him a sleepless night.

No one in town needed help. He'd spoken to every business in town that was a viable option—not the dressmaker's shop or the livery—to no avail. From what he could gather, most businesses in town were family operations or they couldn't afford the help.

However, one suggestion he'd received over and over again was, “The marshal's lookin' for deputies.”

It seemed to be a joke around town. He'd learned that what he'd overheard on his first afternoon in town was true. Danna had no deputies.

He'd entertained the thought of working with Danna for scant moments before he'd rejected it. He couldn't work with a woman. Couldn't get close to one, even though she'd saved his life. It was too much of a risk.

His dreams of Julia's death had returned, as if the event had happened only yesterday, another reason he hadn't slept last night.

There was no way he could be a deputy for Marshal Carpenter.

But he didn't know how else to stay in the area, and he needed a reason to stay in town, or folks might start getting suspicious of his purpose for being here.

He needed to gain the trust of at least a few of Calvin's citizens, get the lay of the land and find some clues to the missing cattle.

“—we can't wait any longer—” Low but heated words from the table seated next to him floated to Chas's ears.

“We got our orders. The boss said wait.”

Chas threw a casual glance over his shoulder, hand
on his coffee mug as if he was looking for the waitress. Three men at the next table over shoveled their meat loaf into their mouths. The layer of dust covering their denims and chambray shirts, and the shaggy haircuts and scruffy facial hair marked them as cowboys, but these men had a rough look to them, as well.

Chas's senses went on alert. It might be nothing, but usually his instincts were good. He snuck glances out of his peripheral vision, trying to memorize their features without catching their notice.