Much Ado About Marshals (Hearts of Owyhee) (2011) (8 page)

“It means what you have to do to make up for what you did.”

“Oh.”

The boy, the dog, Mrs. Proctor’s drawers, and the horny toad all departed the office in a flurry. Cole leaned back, clasped his hands behind his head, and smiled. He’d helped people today, and it felt good. Beat the hell out of punching cows from dawn to dusk.

The throbbing in his leg reminded him of the doctor’s orders, so he propped his foot on the desk. As soon as his heel hit the desktop, Miss Daisy flounced in.

“Where’s the telegram I sent you?”

He stared at her determined expression. “Huh?”

She stood with her hands on her hips and her green eyes flashing. “The telegram. The one I sent you when I hired you.”

His stomach tied in a knot.

He’d been found out, sure as hell.

Chapter 5

Daisy wanted to squeal and dance around the room. Her first real, live detective case! All she needed to know was how the man who claimed to be Sidney Adler got the telegram. But the marshal hadn’t moved a muscle. In fact, he looked rather pale—but that could be because of his suffering. After all, the doctor had ordered bedrest which the marshal had ignored as soon as Doc climbed into the stagecoach.

“Well?” She tapped her toe. Certainly when she revealed what she was about to, the new marshal would see the sense in proposing to a woman who had such excellent deductive reasoning skills. “The telegram?”

He moved his foot from the desk and sat forward. “I don’t rightly remember much after the shooting.”

Exactly!
The man who had the telegram was the one and the same who’d shot the marshal. She just knew it, and his answer only bolstered her resolve to prove it. All she needed was a little time to show that the stranger had removed it from the marshal’s person at the time of the shooting. “Who shot you?”

The marshal looked at the ceiling, then brought his attention to her. “Don’t know.” His gaze washed over her, giving her that funny jittery feeling she always had when in his presence, making her wish he’d touch her again. Or kiss her. But no, she needed her sensibility, and kissing him had proven to make her stupid as a fence post.

“I suppose you were bushwhacked,” she prompted.

He shrugged. “I never saw it coming.”

It didn’t take a close study of his drawn expression to know that he’d overextended himself. His wound must be hurting him something fierce. She made a note to bring him some laudanum—just as soon as she made sure the imposter was out of the way. She’d think of something. Right then, the vile outlaw lay in Mrs. Howard’s house, unconscious. But he’d regain his wits anytime.

She needed proof that the man was, indeed, the shooter. And most of all, she needed time. Ah, the laudanum! She leaned forward, resting her hands on his desk and placing her person at a most improper distance from the marshal. “I’ll bring you supper at six, and some medicine to help with your pain.”

He didn’t move, but she could have sworn their lips were closer and closer. She was determined not to chicken out this time, and oh, it felt so good. His warm breath brushed her face as she gazed into his warm, brown eyes. Embers of need welled from deep within her, and she lowered her lips to his.

“Daisy! Daisy!” Forrest called.

She jumped away from the marshal to see her little brother and the dog galloping into the office.

She gasped, heart pounding.

Forrest slid to a stop in front of her. “Please don’t tell Ma and Dad!” He pulled on her sleeve. “Please, please, please!”

Her heart still raced like a stampede of wild horses. She pressed her hand to her chest, hoping to slow it some. Had Forrest seen her kissing the marshal? She swallowed a lump in her throat.

The marshal patted Forrest on the head. “What say we keep it man-to-man.”

Forrest nodded vigorously. “Good idea, sir.”

“Come back a later for our
talk
.”

“Yes, sir.”

The boy and his energetic mutt charged out as quickly as they’d entered.

Daisy breathed a deep breath as she watched her brother run down the street, wishing she could escape, too. Just then she saw the boot thief. “There he is!”

“Who?” asked the marshal.

“The man who stole a pair of boots from our store!” She pointed wildly. “The one with the ragged clothes and the new boots.”

The marshal stood and peered out the window over her shoulder. “Why I’ll be damned, that’s Porker Rankin.” With that, he took off after the thief. Not very fast, either.

Daisy picked up her skirts and dashed after the both of them. The marshal was in no shape to be running down villains, and he might need help subduing the boot thief. She knew just what to do, too, because she’d read of many arrests made by Honey Beaulieu.

But her skirts hindered her to where, try as she might, she couldn’t run any faster than a recently wounded man. Nevertheless, she’d nearly caught up with the marshal.

“Arf!”

Winky bounded right in front of the marshal, and he tumbled over the dog.

Cole sprang to his feet. “Damned dog,” he muttered. With the ache in his thigh, his spring wasn’t too spry, and Porker had made his escape.

Daisy patted at her skirts with one hand and dabbed at her bent bonnet with the other. “You let him get away!”

He cleared his throat and rested his hand on his Peacemaker. No other woman on the face of this planet was quite like her. Thank the Lord above.

Yes, he’d let the thief get away and she’d never know how much he really wanted to catch the bastard, but the Gardners sure needed to do something with that dog. He was a menace. Almost as much of a threat as the dauntless Miss Daisy. He managed to make a damned fool of himself every time she came around.

He
shifted his weight off his bad leg
, groaning at both the pain and his indisposition. “I’m going back to the office.” He reached for her hand to help her up. “I suggest you find Bosco and send him over. Maybe he can catch your thief without being t-boned by a dog.”

Then, remembering her reason for calling on him in the first place, he nearly told her exactly why he didn’t have the telegram. But he couldn’t. Not right now. Not with one of the miners under suspicion for theft. A theft conviction would put Porker Rankin behind bars, and that could prevent at least one season of sluicing Sinker Creek.

Daisy stuck her chin out in a huff. “I’ll get Deputy Kunkle right away. He’s at Mrs. Howard’s boarding house, tending to
…
” She looked away.

“Tending to?”

“Oh, a stranger who got hurt. Sarah’s there, too.”

“If Sarah’s taking care of the man, then why is Bosco still there?”

Daisy shrugged. “Well, I gotta go get some medicine for him.” She straightened the remaining rumples in her skirts.

Lord only knew what medicine she had on her mind. Hopefully not Dr. Liebig’s Lost Manhood Restorer—that would probably kill the poor sap for sure. “I’ll be at the office if you need me.” Like anyone would need him for all the good he was.

He walked back to the marshal’s office, damning his gimpy leg every step of the way. Damning it for forcing him to pretend to be something he wasn’t, damning it for preventing him from catching the miner, and double-damning it for making him look like a milksop in Miss Daisy’s eyes.

But he refused to limp, no matter how great the pain. A man had to have his pride, and he wouldn’t have a helluva lot left once Miss Daisy found out he was just another rancher, shot during Bosco’s ill-fated bank robbery attempt. By her sister, no less. He nearly groaned, but suppressed that, too.

He fervently hoped he could deal with the miners quickly so he could get the hell out of Oreana with both his skin and his heart.

Yup, he’d be hanged before he’d be the gimp in front of her. Hell, he’d probably be hanged anyway, as soon as her sister came to town. Once he got those damned miners behind bars, he’d leave this God-forsaken town quicker than a holler could echo off
Sinker
Canyon
.

Before he really was hanged.

Daisy read the laudanum label carefully. One tablespoon every twelve hours. But it was late afternoon now, and the dose would only make the stranger sleep through the night or so. She needed more time than that to prove beyond any doubt that the man who claimed to be Sidney Adler was, in fact, the very man who had shot the marshal.

She wondered whether a double dose would make him sleep until fairly late the next day. Wouldn’t hurt to try it. She peeled off the label and placed the bottle in a basket holding extra bandages and a twenty-foot hank of rope. If the laudanum didn’t keep him out of her way, the rope certainly would.

Five minutes later, she stood in the doorway of the stranger’s room. Sarah fawned over the scalawag and he soaked it up like a soda cracker in chicken broth. Bosco cast a disapproving glance toward the patient.

Daisy cleared her throat to alert the preoccupied residents of her presence. “I brought medicine.” She entered the room and sat the basket on the bureau.

Bosco nodded at her. “He seems to be doing just fine.”

“Yes.” She smiled conspiratorialy but with no hope he’d get it. “But this will make him
sleep
.”

“We must see to Mr. Adler’s comfort, however we can,” said Sarah.

Daisy resisted rolling her eyes. She couldn’t tell Sarah the truth—not just yet, and certainly not until she proved absolutely that this man was an imposter and a murderer. “Sarah, would you please ask your mother for a tablespoon and a shot glass?”

“A shot glass?”

“For the medicine.”

Sarah’s mouth circled in a silent “oh” and she ran down the stairs.

Once certain that Sarah was safely out of hearing distance, Daisy motioned Deputy Kunkle to look in the basket. “I have some rope in here, if you want to tie him up,” she whispered, hoping the imposter hadn’t heard, either.

“Rope?” the deputy said aloud.

She sighed. Deputy Kunkle had a good heart, but she wasn’t so sure about the brains department. “In case of fire,” she improvised, in case the stranger was conscious.

The deputy pursed his lips and nodded somberly. “I surely hope we don’t have no fire.”

“My goodness! Where’s the fire?”

They both turned around to see the Widow Proctor standing in the doorway holding a jar of preserves.

“Um, no fire,” Daisy mumbled, wondering if she could ever get the deputy back on the subject. It seemed unlikely at the moment.

Deputy Kunkle puffed out his chest and hitched up his britches. “Nope, ain’t no fire, ma’am. No sirree.”

“I’m certainly glad of that. I brought these apricot preserves for you.” Mrs. Proctor thrust the jar toward him in what Daisy thought was a very unsubtle move.

The deputy shook his head slowly. “Can’t rightly say I got anything to put it on. I’ll have to pass on it, but thanks kindly.”

“Oh, then you simply must share my supper tonight. I have freshly baked bread, fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, stewed turnips, and hot apple pie. Supper’s at five-thirty.”

Licking his lips, the deputy answered, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there with a smile and an empty stomach.” He sent her a mock salute as she passed.

The Widow Proctor left without even so much as a glance toward Daisy, much to her relief, as Sarah came back in with the spoon and the shot glass.

“Thanks,” Daisy said. “Pour two tablespoons into the shot glass and have him drink it all in one gulp. I hear it tastes dreadful.”

Sarah, who seemed all too happy to resume her nursing duties to the handsome stranger, set about following Daisy’s instructions. And, Daisy mused with satisfaction, to put this man to sleep for a long while. She hoped to have him behind bars before Sarah got herself too smitten.

The stranger’s eyes fluttered shut again. Daisy shook him, but he didn’t waken. “Just drizzle a little into his mouth, then rub his throat until he swallows.”

“I know,” said Sarah. “I’ve seen Doc do it before.”

* * * * *

“I gotta go,” Bosco announced. “Mrs. Proctor’s got supper waiting on me.”

Cole thought Bosco was headed for trouble—first Mrs. Courtney and now Mrs. Proctor. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Sure ‘nuff.” He patted his belly. “I tell ya what, Cole, I like this here town. Good people and they feed you real good. And I’ll tell you another thing,” he waggled his finger and grinned, “Miss Daisy’s been feeding you right fine, too. Why, I bet you’ll be in her house, tight and cozy, sucking up vittles every day here purty soon.” He nodded his agreement with himself.

“You know I can’t do that.” No person could exasperate him like Bosco, but then, no one would stick by him like Bosco had, either. “We’ll be leaving this town as soon as we put those damned miners in the county jail, so there’s no sense in making a lot of friends we’ll have to leave behind.”

“But I’m a thinking Miss Daisy’s sweet on you, Cole. Purty little thing, danged ne
art as purty as her sister.
”