Margaret Brownley - [Rocky Creek 02] (5 page)

She gave her head a haughty toss. “You may be in charge of the town, Marshal, but you’re not in charge of me. In fact, you have no control over me whatsoever.”

It was a challenge if he ever heard one. “Are you sure about that, Miss Higgins?”

She paused a moment before answering. “Quite sure!”

He noted her hesitation with satisfaction. Obviously, she wasn’t as sure as she’d like him to believe. Finding a chink in her armor, he studied her. She was something, all right. Righteous indignation had never looked so appealing. She stood ready to fight him tooth and nail, but it was the softer, more feminine side that worried him. That was the part that was dangerous.

Strands of unruly hair escaped her bun, softening her sharp features. The full moon cast a silvery light upon her face and added a luster to her eyes that was hard to ignore. Her gaze could be a lethal weapon one moment and soft as candlelight the next. She sent out so many conflicting signals, he didn’t know whether to duck for cover or take her in his arms.

Recalling how she had so easily dismissed him as a prospective husband for her sisters, he felt an almost overpowering need to prove himself. Let her dismiss him because of his badge, but never because she found him wanting as a man.

With this last thought in mind, he stepped forward, grabbed her around the waist, and kissed her soundly on her pretty pink lips. Let that show her who’s boss.

The lady didn’t even put up a pretense of a struggle. Instead she surprised him by throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him back.

Drat! Her lips were every bit as bold as the lady herself, and every bit as captivating. Her lavender fragrance encircled him, providing a pleasant remedy to the acrid smell of lye that wafted from the nearby laundry. Savoring the smell, feel, and taste of her, he was in dire danger of sinking into his own trap.

Astonished and more than a little intrigued, he hated to let her go, but he was trying to make a point, not a conquest.

Shaken, he pulled away. He towered over her and looked deep into her eyes. “Still think I’m not husband material, Miss Higgins?” His voice low, he watched for the least sign of surrender.

Instead, a knowing smile played at the corner of her mouth. “Still think you can control me?” she countered.

Both questions seemed to hang in midair before falling away unanswered. After a moment’s silence, he stepped back and looked her up and down. For a woman who had just been kissed, she looked surprisingly unabashed. He rubbed his temple and turned. Hesitating for a moment, he then walked quickly to his waiting horse.

He mounted and regarded her from astride his saddle. Even now she looked ready to fight him. “Good night, Miss Higgins,” he said, touching a finger to his white hat.

“Good night, Marshal,” she replied in a stiff voice that clearly stated he had failed in his attempt to show her who was in control.

He galloped away with a sense of unease. The lady held her own, no doubt about that. He hated to admit it, but she got under his skin. Something stirred inside him, something strange yet oddly familiar. Something he didn’t dare name. Not feelings. Dear God, don’t let them be feelings. The moment he let himself feel again would be his undoing.

Following the road out of town toward Ma’s boardinghouse where he roomed, he considered how best to handle the Higgins woman in the future. He’d have to be a whole lot more careful, that’s for sure.

Standing alone on the deserted street, Jenny watched the marshal until he disappeared into the folds of the night. Wolves bayed in the distance and laughter from a late night reveler drifted out from one of the saloons lining the street, but she hardly noticed. Or maybe it was simply that her heart was pounding too hard.

She took a deep breath. Laundry fumes filled her lungs and brought tears to her eyes. She forced herself to calm down. She hadn’t counted on the marshal’s interference. Nor could she have imagined his unorthodox methods.

Of all the— She placed her hand on her mouth.

Imagine him thinking he could control her with a kiss. How ridiculous. How outrageous. The marshal’s conduct was so outside the realm of normal behavior, she doubted her etiquette books would offer any help in dealing with him.

Her lips trembled beneath her fingertips. Though her body seemed oddly feverish, she shivered. The marshal kissed her. Worse, she kissed him back. For one crazy moment in time she lost control and it scared her. All those years ago she’d lost control of her life, and it almost destroyed her. It took years to fight her way back. When she did, she vowed never again to let a man ruin her.

Kissing the marshal only proved how perilously close she was to resorting to her old ways. What happened tonight must never happen again. Not ever.

She straightened her dress and patted her hair, but no amount of grooming could stop her spinning senses. Arms rigid at her side, hands curled into fists, she forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. She came here for one reason and one reason alone: to find husbands for her sisters. And no one, not even the marshal, was going to stop her.

It was a long time before she was able to gather her wits enough to trek back to the hotel.

Five

Women who fall in love at first sight often wish they’d taken a second look.

— M
ISS
A
BIGAIL
J
ENKINS
, 1875

M
arshal Armstrong rode into town the next morning, surprised to find a long line of disgruntled men outside his office. Tethering his horse, Lincoln, on the hitching post, he rubbed his hand along the gelding’s slick neck before walking up the steps to the boardwalk to see what all the fuss was about.

Everyone talked at once. No one made sense.

“Quiet!” he ordered at last, motioning with his arms. Silence followed and he pointed to the man in front. “Silas, what’s got you all riled up?”

Silas stepped forward. A tall, skinny man with a long, pointed face, Silas held his slouch hat in his hand. “The boys and me don’t take kindly to that . . . that hussy and her hoity-toity ways.”

Armstrong grimaced. He didn’t even have to ask the woman’s name. Jenny was still stirring up trouble. No surprise there. “What has she done this time?”

“She posted the names of the men she wants to interview, along with a time schedule. It’s right in front of the hotel for everyone to see.”

“That she did,” shouted a rough voice.

“Who does she think she is?”

The clamor of voices rose again.

“Quiet,” Armstrong said. He waited until he had their attention. “Now listen up. No one is required to be interviewed against his will. Do you understand me? If you don’t want to court her sisters, no one’s forcing you. It’s your choice.”

His words were met with stony silence. The men looked at each other with puzzled expressions. Finally, Walt Merritt stepped forward. Widowed twice, he was in his forties and doing an admirable job of raising three children by himself.

“That’s just it, Marshal. Our names ain’t on the list.”

Armstrong blinked. “So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that Miss Higgins ain’t givin’ us due consideration. She ain’t givin’ us a choice one way or the other.”

“That’s exactly right,” the town barber said. Kip Barrel was as round as he was tall and had a deep resonant voice. Trained as an opera singer, his stage fright kept him from his dream of pursuing a singing career. “All that matters to that woman is a man’s bank account.”

Armstrong scratched his head. “If you think you should be considered as prospective husbands, I suggest you approach Miss Higgins directly.”

“Oh, we ain’t interested in marryin’ no one,” Merritt said. “It’s just the princ’ple of the thing.”

“That’s right,” Silas added. “I don’t want no stranger tellin’ me I ain’t fit to be wed. That’s for me to decide.”

“Hear, hear!” the men yelled in unison.

Armstrong rubbed his head. It was too early for this. He’d hardly slept a wink last night. It was bad enough having to deal with Jenny Higgins during the day. Now she was interfering with his sleep. Enough!

Ready to get rid of the grumbling men, he hid his own annoyance behind a conciliatory expression. “I don’t know what to tell you. As far as I know, no laws have been broken. I admit that Miss Higgins’s methods are rather unusual, but as long she stays within the law, there’s nothing I can do about it. Now go, get out of here. I’ve got work to do.”

Stomping onto the boardwalk, he walked into his office. A list, eh? So what
kind
of man met with the lady’s approval? He peered through the window and waited until the last man left.

Then he barreled toward the hotel to take a look at that confounded list of names for himself.

Mary Lou was worried about Jenny. A stickler for neatness, her oldest sister normally jumped out of bed each morning issuing orders and rushing them through their morning ablutions and chores in whirlwind fashion. “Orderliness and virtue go hand in hand” was Jenny’s equivalent to “good morning.” She acted like a misplaced shoe or unfolded garment would lead them down the road to iniquity.

On that particular morning, however, Jenny had hardly said a word. She didn’t even seem to notice that the bed was still unmade when they left the room.

Even now, as they sat at a window table at the Rocky Creek Café and Chinese Laundry, she was uncommonly silent and hadn’t once scolded Mary Lou for her table manners. Instead, she toyed with her food and stared into space. Something was clearly on her mind.

Mary Lou glanced at Brenda, who shook her head. It was obvious that she, too, was worried about Jenny’s strange mood.

Maybe Jenny was having second thoughts about coming to this dreadful town in search of husbands. God, please let it be true!

Brenda stared at Jenny with a worried frown. “Jenny, do you feel all right? You’ve been awfully quiet all morning.”

Jenny blinked like someone coming out of a trance. “I feel perfectly fine.” She glanced around the room as if it suddenly occurred to her where they were. She then opened up her ever-present notebook and stared at the day’s schedule.

“Do hurry and finish your breakfast. I’ve got work to do.”

Her effort to pull herself together didn’t fool Mary Lou in the least. Jenny could deny it all she wanted, but something was clearly bothering her.

Jenny frowned. “And you two have to attend to your lessons.”

Mary Lou yawned with boredom. She stabbed at the sorrowful excuse for a flapjack on her plate. Every minute of the day was planned with no time left for fun. Not that there was anything to do in this town, but staring at rocks had to be more fun than those horrid, dull books Jenny insisted they read.

Even the food was dull. The bill of fare was an impressive five pages long. But it soon became apparent that everything from roast beef to chicken, scrambled eggs to flapjacks— even the coffee—smelled and tasted like wet linsey-woolsey and lye.

Not that Mary Lou and her sisters had any choice. The Rocky Creek Café and Chinese Laundry was the only eating establishment in town. Other diners didn’t seem to mind having to step over piles of laundry on the way in and out of the restaurant, but Mary Lou dreaded the prospect of stepping on someone’s grubby long johns.

Equally unappealing was the sign on the wall that read F
RESH
C
OFFEE
M
ADE
W
EEKLY.

The owner sauntered over to their table. His hangdog face was topped by a shock of red hair. His sideburns hugged his temples like parentheses, as if his face was an afterthought.

At the next table, a thin, horse-faced woman fluttered her lashes and tried to catch his attention.

“Be with you in a moment, Miss Hogg,” he said politely. His back toward the flirtatious woman, he rolled his eyes. “The old mule won’t leave me alone.”

Mary Lou giggled, which earned a stern look from Jenny.

Redd wiped his hands on his ankle-length white apron and asked, “Would you ladies like some more Arbuckle’s?”

“I think not, Mr. Rivers,” Jenny said, still eyeing Mary Lou with disapproval.

“You can call me Redd, ma’am. That’s what everyone calls me around here.”

After he left, Mary Lou pushed her plate away. “This has got to be the worst food I’ve ever tasted.”

“Shh,” Jenny said. “Act like a lady.”

Her arms folded on the table, Mary Lou leaned forward. “I don’t want to act like a lady. And I don’t want a husband. Not if it means being paraded around like a common circus freak.”

Jenny looked shocked, then hurt. “You’re not being paraded around,” she said emphatically. “You’re being
formally
presented. That’s how it’s done in polite society.”

Brenda looked up from her plate. “Stephanie Holbrook found her husband in a mail-order catalog.”

Jenny grimaced. “I hardly think that ordering a husband like one orders gloves or a corset is appropriate. Now do hurry, I still have a stack of applications to go through. And you, dear sisters, have to work on your needlepoint.”

Mary Lou’s stomach knotted at the thought of spending the day at the hotel. She hated sewing, hated the strict regime Jenny had scheduled. One hour for this and one hour for that. Calisthenics, for goodness’ sake! Reading aloud. Memorizing poetry. It was enough to make her want to scream.

She stifled another yawn. Her gaze traveled to the window. Jeff Trevor walked past the restaurant looking every bit as tall and handsome as she remembered him.

“Oh!”

Jenny looked up from her notebook. “Oh, what?”

“Nothing.” Mary Lou rubbed the front of her shirtwaist with her napkin, pretending she spilled food. Head lowered so Jenny couldn’t see her heated cheeks, she waited until Jenny returned to her notes. She then strained her neck to follow Mr. Trevor’s progress down the street and practically fell out of her chair.

Jenny lifted her head. “Mary Lou! What is the matter with you? You’re acting very strange.”

“Nothing,” Mary Lou said, remembering to breathe. “I was just thinking, can’t we take a walk?” Mr. Trevor had nothing to do with her sudden interest in exploring the town. He didn’t! It was simply . . . curiosity. There had to be something more to Rocky Creek than could be seen from the café or hotel. No place could be this boring.