Much Ado About Marshals (Hearts of Owyhee) (2011) (16 page)

But then a knot the size of
Connecticut
formed in his throat
when he realized that Flynn was still in the doctor’s office. Lord only knew what had come out of Flynn’s mouth. And Miss Daisy still had the bastard’s boots. He took off for his own office, where she waited for him—but she hadn’t been carrying Flynn’s boots. That could pose a problem.

Hell, everything posed a problem in this damned town—not the least of which was the most captivating female he’d ever met, and she was waiting for him in his own office. Alone. His brisk pace couldn’t cover up the warm feeling settling in areas it shouldn’t. How could one small woman tie a man up in such a knot?

But Miss Daisy wasn’t just any woman. She didn’t even seem to notice her own good looks, unlike most beautiful young ladies. She didn’t even know how to flirt. And she managed to get herself all wrapped with solving crimes—something no decent woman would do.

He paused in front of his office to get himself focused before he opened the door. At least focused on something besides her tiny waist and breasts that begged to be kissed. Her quick laugh, and how her breath caught when he’d kissed her the other day. How her body fitted into his.

Aw, damn. He’d rather face ten armed men bent on killing him than deal with Miss Daisy—lots better odds, he figured. Hell, maybe
he
needed a dousing in the horse trough.

The door opened and Miss Daisy stood, pretty as you please and smiling twice as bright. She grabbed his arm and pulled him to the desk, where the box she’d been carrying sat.

“Look what I have, marshal!”

Her hand still gripped his arm, and he didn’t know how the hell she thought he’d be interested in that damnable box when fire burned from his arm directly to his groin. He gulped, wishing she’d let him go and hoping she wouldn’t.

Unfortunately, she did let go and started prying open the lid. “It’s a fingerprinting kit.”

What the hell was a fingerprinting kit, and why did she think he needed it?

She lifted a brush and a jar out of the box. “Doc said I could use his microscope, too, to examine small items of criminal evidence.”

He’d like to examine the evidence right under her skirt.

“We can dust for fingerprints on that letter of Mr. Flynn’s
, a
nd the coin from the bank robbery, too. Then, when we catch our suspect, we’ll have solid evidence to convict him.”

Christ, she’d nail him! “I never heard of fingerprinting.”

“Oh, it’s the latest thing. I read about it in Mark Twain’s
Life on the Mississippi
, and I’m sure that Honey Beaulieu will be using them soon, too.”

“Mark Twain writes stories. They aren’t real—and Honey Beaulieu is a fictional character.” He hoped to divert her from her newfound mission, but the excitement in her big, brown eyes told him otherwise. Miss Daisy was the most determined female he’d ever met in his life.

“Phooey. Mr. Twain researches, you know. He wouldn’t write about something that didn’t exist, and I couldn’t have ordered a kit that didn’t exist, either. It’s the lastest thing in crime detection, that’s why I know the author of Honey Beaulieu will soon be using fingerprints as identification.”

He had to get away from her—and the fingerprint kit. He couldn’t have said which was more dangerous. “Where’s Flynn’s boots?”

She put her hand over her mouth and her eyes widened. “Oh, I forgot about those.”

“I need ‘em now.”

“They’re at the store.” She chewed her lip. “Or maybe on the boardwalk
…
” Her voice trailed off.

He bolted for the door while the gettin’ was good. “I’ll be back.”

Chapter 9

Cole detoured to the livery to get Flynn’s horse, then fetched the boots at the store before he headed back to the Doc’s.

As he crossed the road, Patrick Dugan waved. Miss Daisy’s friend, Miss Sarah, walked with him, flirting shame
-
lessly. Cole smiled glad that Dugan had already found another woman to court. He hadn’t seemed all that interested in Miss Daisy at dinner earlier, which Cole found confusing. Who’d
not
want to be with her?

Ah, hell. That woman had him tied in a knot so tangled, he’d never get out of it. And that was another worry. When he did finally get out of this place, he’d never see her again. Made a man want to take what was offered, honorable or not. His mood soured.

He tied the horse to the hitching post, shoved the doctor’s office door open,
strode
to Flynn
’s bedside
and tossed the boots at him. “Put ‘em on.” Then, as an after
-
thought, he nodded a greeting to the doctor, who was still examining his new patient.

Cole directed his attention to Flynn again, glaring. The stranger moved like molasses in a snowbank, but he got the job done.

“Come on.” He grabbed Flynn’s shirtsleeve and dragged him out the door. “You’re riding out.”

“What if I ain’t ready to go?”

Cole practically lifted the man on his horse and jammed the reins in his hands. “You’re ready.”

“I need my guns.”

“No you don’t.”
Cole
slapped the horse on the butt, relieved to see at least one problem trotting away. Flynn would be back, he
was sure of it
, but he hoped to get Porker and Gib Rankin behind bars and make his own get-away before that happened.

“Fire! Fire!”

Cole spun around to see a round, bald man in an apron waving his arms. “
Fire!
”

Smoke billowed from the confectionery. Bosco and Jonas ran toward it, along with other people from the town. Cyrus Gardner poked his head out of his store.

“
Gardner
, get every bucket you have in stock,” Cole yelled. “Jonas, bring the water wagon down here, pronto. If there’s a spare, send someone to fill it.”

Forrest ran to his side and saluted. “Junior Deputy Forrest Gardner reporting for duty, sir!”

“Get over to the school and ring the bell. Keep ringing it.”

Miss Daisy dashed into the confectionery, skirts up and head down.

“What the hell are you doing?” Cole bellowed. He ran into the smoke-filled building after her, grasping her around the waist and forcing her out the door.

She turned around and pummeled his chest. “The chocolate, you lout!”

Stunned, he couldn’t believe she was actually that concerned about food flavoring, of all things. He pushed her to the street. “Stay there.” He backed toward the door. “I mean it. Stay.”

The confectionery’s wife ran out of the building and grabbed his shirt. “Safe de chocolate!” Tears streamed down her face. “You must safe de chocolate!”

“Hells bells, doesn’t anyone in this town have a kitten or puppy to save?”

Gardner
threw a stack of buckets on the boardwalk, Bosco following him with two more buckets full of water. Cole grabbed one, dipped it in the horse trough, and darted back into the building, Bosco behind him.

Smoke caught in his throat and burned his nose. His head buzzed from lack of fresh air. He passed the candy shelves, barely able to see with all the acrid soot stinging his eyes. The heaviest smoke boiled around the closed door behind the counter—the kitchen, or maybe the storeroom. He inched toward it, putting his arm over his face to ward off some of the heat. Something told him not to open that door, but, calling himself a coward, he grabbed the latch handle and gave it a yank.

The blaze leapt at his face, crinkling his eyebrows and singeing his face. Still, he made his way to the source of the roaring, licking flames—the wall adjoining the confectionery to the bank—and splashed his bucket of water at it, then Bosco poured his, too.

“Turn around,” he yelled over the roar of the fire. “We can’t get out through the back door.” Smoke filled his lungs and he coughed as he followed Bosco.

On his way, Cole tripped over the chocolate vat.
Aw, hell
. “Help me with this sonuv
abitch.” Together they hefted the tub outside and placed it on the boardwalk with a
thunk
. By then, Jonas had driven the water wagon in front of the store, as other men with buckets of water dashed up the boardwalk.

Cole held his palm out, stopping them. “Fire’s in the back. It’d be quicker to take the wagon on around there.”

Jonas nodded and flicked the reins. “Hyah!” The mules took out at a gallop, as if they knew the urgency of the matter.

Cole hollered at Bosco to fill his bucket from the horse trough and douse the fire from the front.

No sooner had he got the words out when the chubby confectioner’s wife threw her arms around him. “Tank you, oh tank you!”

Cole couldn’t believe this woman. Or Miss Daisy, for that matter. As he pried the woman from his neck, he saw Flynn on horseback with the Rankin brothers running beside him to the outskirts of town, or maybe the saloon. Damn, what did they have to do with this? “Bosco!”

Bosco dropped his bucket and wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. “I’m here. Dog-ass tired
.
” He glanced at the ladies. “Er, sorry, ma’am. Ma’ams.”

“The Rankins were with Flynn. They high-tailed it down thataway, toward the Branded Horse.”

Bosco nodded and tore after them.

Cole turned to the near-hysterical lady.

“Where’s your husband?”

The woman sobbed, wiping her eyes with her sooty
apron. “I…
he’s getting
…
votter.”

The sound of men’s boots clomping on the wood floor, back and forth, and the swish of water interspersed with yips of success, tore at his desire to see for himself. But this woman had wrapped herself around him tighter than she wrapped her own candy. The smoke finally lightened up a bit, and Cole decided he needed to look around before the confectioners started cleaning up. He pried her off again.

Miss Daisy put her arm around the plump middle-aged lady. “It’s all right, Mrs. Mueller. The marshal saved your chocolate.” She smiled at him like he’d saved the world from ruin. “Mr. Nestle would be so proud.”

Mrs. Mueller sniffed. “You safed de first shipment I got from Herr Nestle. You don’t know how long ve vaited for it, or how dear de cost, but I am grateful.”

He worried she’d hug him again. She darned neart squeezed the stuffing out of him the last two times. Now, if Miss Daisy wanted to squeeze the stuffing out of him, why, that would be mightily appreciated.

The banker stumbled out of the building, coughing. “I—I thought I was being robbed. He coughed some more. “Those two men, did you see them?”

The only out-of-towners Cole had seen were the Rankins and Flynn. Flynn hadn’t had time to stop to rob a bank, so the banker must have been referring to the miners. “They’re gone.”

Miss Daisy ran to his side and gave him a glass of water. “Oh, Mr. Roth, are you all right?”

He smiled shyly. “Fine, fine.”

Gardner and Mueller stepped out of the confectionery. Mueller put his arm around his wife and gave her a peck on her sooty cheek. “Goot news, Liebchen. Der’s not much damage, just a lot of cleaning up to do und a few shelves to rebuild.”

“Let’s get to it, then,” Cole said.

Mueller shook Cole’s hand. “I tank you for safing my business, marshal. All ve got in the vorld is in dis place.”

Not knowing what to say next, Cole nodded—and relieved when
Gardner
offered the distraught couple some cleaning supplies on credit.

“I’ll knock off a few bucks off your bill, just to help get you on your feet,” he said as he stepped off the boardwalk. “Daisy, come along. You watch the store while I help the Muellers, then you need to get ready for the dance tonight.”

Surprised, Cole said, “You’re still having the dance?”

“Sure. We need it now more than ever. Nothing like a little gaiety to take your mind off your troubles, now is there?” He clapped Cole on the shoulder. “We’ll see you there.”

“I don’t believe so.” Watching every young buck in the country court Miss Daisy wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time. Much as music lured him, he’d rather take a beating with a hot branding iron than go to that dance. “I have rounds to do.”

“They can wait,” Mr. Gardner blustered. “As mayor of Oreana, I demand protection from the law at our dance.”

Miss Daisy raised her gaze to him. “Please, marshal. We’d love you to come. After all, you did more to prevent a disaster in this town than anyone else.

She looked so sweet. Not the fake sweet of Miss Sarah’s flirting, but the innocent sweet of a lady who truly meant what she said.

Ah, hell. He was a goner, and he knew it. “I’ll drop by for a while.”

Gardner and his perplexing daughter left. Relieved, Cole followed the Muellers back into the confectionery, to the backroom. He had some unfinished business with the fire, and probably a couple of arsonists.