Marrying Miss Marshal (4 page)

Two had beards—brown and black—and the third a long, sand-colored mustache that trailed all the way down the sides of his face to his chin. The brown-haired man had a scar running down one side of his face, from temple to jaw. The man with the black beard and hair had dark stains down his trousers that appeared to be spittle from chewing tobacco. The sandy-haired man had unusual pale-blue eyes.

“The other boys'r getting restless. Ready to move on.”

The same voice answered, “Boss says wait, we wait.”

“But the grass is all dryin' up now.” Chas dared a glance at the other table when the door opened and gave him an excuse. The man with brown hair was speaking. “The cattle—”

A sharp grunt from the pale-eyed man silenced whatever the speaker would have said. Chas's ears were attuned to every word now. What cattle were they speaking of?

The blond-mustached man caught Chas's eye. Chas gave him a nod, hoping the other man wouldn't notice that he'd been listening in on their conversation.

“Afternoon.” The man said, lifting his coffee cup in salutation. “Ya new in town?”

The other two men looked up. With all three pairs of eyes fixed on Chas, his discomfort grew, especially when he noted the gun belts on each man's waist.

“Yes, I'm new here. My name is Chas O'Grady.”

The man with black beard and hair curled his lips in what should've been a smile, but just looked as if he bared his teeth, two of which were missing in front. “Earl.”

“I'm Big Tim,” drawled the man with brown hair. He was big indeed, looming head and shoulders over Chas. Big Tim did not smile a greeting; he stared at Chas with an unwavering brown gaze.

“What brings you to our fine town? You sound like a city fella. You got fam'ly here?” the blond man asked. Chas couldn't help but notice he hadn't offered a name.

This was where things could get sticky. As a rule, Chas tried to keep to the truth as much as possible—that way, there was less chance of trapping himself in a lie.

“No, no family here,” Chas said easily. He used what was left of his roll to sop up the red gravy on his plate. “I'm a businessman of sorts. Got bored in St. Louis and wanted to see some of the West. The horse I bought in Cheyenne expired in the badlands, just the other side of your town. So I'm here now until I find something new. You don't happen to know of any open jobs in town, do you?”

The two dark-haired men went back to their food as if they'd weighed Chas and found he wasn't dangerous. The blond man didn't seem convinced and watched Chas with narrowed eyes as Chas dug a coin out of his pocket to pay for the meal.

“'Fraid not. We're just local cowhands. Trying to make a buck of our own. About the only time we get to town is to find us a little female companionship, if ya know what I mean.”

From his correspondence with the WSGA, Chas knew there were two major outfits in the area. Most of the smaller outfits only hired cowboys during the spring and fall, when it was time to drive the cattle to market. “Oh, do you work for Parrott or Brown?”

“Brown.”

“Parrott.”

Big Tim and Earl spoke over each other, giving conflicting answers. The blond glared at both his companions. “We're between outfits right now,” he said. “And dead broke. Sorry we cain't help ya.”

Chas nodded at the obvious dismissal and rose to leave. As he walked away, he heard a hiss, “Ya idiots!”

Emerging into the sunshine outside the café, Chas decided to cross to the general store across the street and wait for the three men to exit the eating establishment. If he could see which direction they headed, perhaps he could follow them.

He knew their hard appearances and conflicting answers didn't necessarily mean the men were involved with the cattle rustling, but something didn't ring true about them.

His main concern was that he might not be able to follow them without being noticed. Although the small town of Calvin had a bit of foot traffic on its dusty thoroughfare, it wasn't enough for Chas to disappear, should the need arise. Perhaps he could invent an errand in the same area of town, once he determined the men's intentions.

He didn't have to wait long. The three men stepped
out onto the boardwalk moments later, arguing. He was too far away to hear what about.

Chas pushed off the post under the general store's awning, where he'd been leaning, intending to follow them down the street. A commotion in the other direction arrested his attention.

Two men tumbled out of the nearest saloon, dust flying as they rolled into the street. Shouts and men followed them out—wasn't it a bit early for the saloon to be so full?—and Chas spared a glance back toward Earl, Big Tim and the blond man. They'd ignored the ruckus and continued down the street. He stepped off the boardwalk in that direction.

A new shout, this one in a different octave, met his ears. He stopped, watched in growing horror as a slender figure ran up to the fight. Marshal Danna Carpenter.

From the looks of things, she was going to jump right in.

And then he saw the glint of silver in one of the fighting men's hand.

“Knife!” The word ripped from his lips.

D
anna looked around at the faces lining the street outside the saloon. Most men watched the fight, but some watched her. Waiting to see what she'd do. Like always. Waiting for her to prove herself.

No one joined her just off the edge of the fracas created by the two drunks who'd burst from the saloon. She needed to separate them before they got hurt.

“Stop!” she shouted, but it didn't faze the men. “Ellery! Hamilton! Stop fighting this instant!”

Nothing. She took a breath and waded into the conflict, getting an elbow in her shoulder as she broke the hold the men had on each other. She kept her feet, but barely, getting between the two men.

A flash of metal alerted her to the weapon and she blocked the swipe of Ellery's knife with her forearm against his wrist. The blow hurt, but not as much as a stab wound would have.

“Put the knife down,” she ordered. Still no reaction from either tussling man. It was as if she wasn't even here. Hamilton was behind her and got one arm
wrapped about her midsection, cutting off her air with a huff.

She had no choice. Danna stomped on his instep. When Hamilton's restraining arm went slack she used all her strength in an uppercut against Ellery, in front of her. Pain radiated through her fist and up her arm. Ellery slumped to the ground in a satisfying heap, though Danna could see he wasn't completely unconscious.

Using a move Fred had taught her, she gripped Hamilton's arm—still around her waist—spun around so she was behind him, and jerked his arm up tight against the center of his back, immobilizing it and hopefully letting him know she meant business. It was helpful she was almost as tall as he was—it gave her more leverage against his arm. Inebriation slowed the man's response, but he finally stiffened against her hold.

“Did you see that?” someone in the crowd asked.

“Not bad for a gal that put curtains up in the jail,” a second voice called out.

“Blue,
flowery
curtains,” came a hiss, followed by several snickers.

“You finished?” she asked the men in front of her, doing her best to ignore the onlookers. She hoped Hamilton couldn't feel her shaking. That swipe with the knife had been too close for her comfort.

“He shtarted it,” Hamilton slurred.

Ellery groaned from the ground, stirring.

“I don't care. You're both coming down to the jail to sleep it off. Then I'll check with Billy Burns about any damages you'll have to pay.”

“Whoossh gonna help ya drag both of us down there?” Hamilton's belligerent question resulted in chuckles from those nearby. Ellery pushed to his hands
and knees, still gripping the knife. He looked up at Hamilton, malice on his face.

Without warning, Hamilton jerked his arm free, bucking against Danna's hold. His other elbow rammed backward, catching her in the shoulder. Losing her balance, Danna stumbled between the two men once again, determined to end their fight. Meanwhile, Ellery lurched to his feet and lifted his knife.

Danna swung her arm out wildly, praying she wouldn't be cut, when someone close yelled, “Hey!”

The interruption was all she needed. She slammed an elbow into Hamilton's gut behind her, and he folded. From her peripheral vision she could see someone knock down Ellery a second time.

Danna gritted her teeth. She'd had the situation under control and hadn't needed help!

Ellery tried to get up again. A shiny black boot came down on his back, sending him sprawling. A matching one kicked his knife away.

Danna looked straight into the unsmiling face of Chas O'Grady.

 

Chas was going to be sick right here in the street. He rapidly blinked away his memories of Julia's body, broken and bloodied on the saloon floor, but the sight that greeted him was not much better.

Danna Carpenter had handled the two ruffians, both drunk, with finesse, but he still couldn't erase the memory of that knife slashing toward her. Did she know how close she'd come to dying right here on this dusty street?

He desperately wanted to rebuke her, make her understand exactly how dangerous a position she was in,
but he couldn't force the words past the fear lodged firmly under his sternum.

“If you don't mind, I'd appreciate your help getting that man—” she nodded to the drunk underneath his foot “—over to the jail.”

Still unable to answer, he pulled the man on the ground to his feet and followed the marshal as she prodded the second man toward the two-story jail building on the edge of town.

Thoughts and memories colliding inside his head, he marched his prisoner along with her. Once both men were locked in adjoining cells, Chas rounded on the marshal.

“What did you think you were doing?” he demanded.

“My job.” Her words were said stiffly. Something was wrong. Was she hurt and he hadn't seen it? He looked her up and down but couldn't detect blood on her clothing.

“You all right?” He asked the question without thinking, and stepped closer so he could watch her roll up one shirtsleeve. A large red mark shaped like a hand bloomed on her skin and made him tremble more. He wanted to pull both men out of their cells and give them a thrashing like his older brother had given him once.

“I'm fine. Probably a bruise is all.” She lifted her shoulder—trying to keep him from seeing?—and didn't look at him, ran her fingers over the skin on her forearm.

It would turn into a nasty bruise, if the red mark was any indication.

“What did you think you were doing, embarrassing me like that?” she asked, eyes flashing when she finally turned to him.

“What?”

“I had everything under control.”

He shook his head in disbelief. In his mind's eye, all he could see was that knife coming toward her.

She slapped her hat down on the desk, stirring a stack of papers sitting on one corner. “I would have been fine.” She clapped one hand on her hip. “But you had to step in, and now all those men probably think I can't take care of things myself.”

“That's not what it looked like. One of your assailants had a knife.” He blinked. Again. Still, the image persisted behind his eyes. She'd almost
died
.

“I know.” She knew?

“He almost stabbed you.”

“He didn't.”

“Because
I
stepped in!” Didn't she understand? She needed him!

She needed him.

The realization sent him reeling. He sat down in the hard-backed chair against the wall next to the door, silent. Danna still spoke, but Chas couldn't hear her words for the rushing in his ears.

How had this happened? He'd been drawn in by another female, when he'd vowed to himself to stay away from all persons of that gender. He couldn't do this.

Was it the connection between them that had sparked to life at their first meeting? Was that connection because she'd saved his life?

He couldn't be her deputy, could he?

A knock sounded and the door opened. The wealthy rancher Chas had seen in the café two days past sauntered in.

“Mr. Parrott,” Danna greeted him with a defer
ential nod of her head. Her shoulders were suddenly straighter.

So Chas's guess in the café had been correct. This man was a wealthy rancher, one of the two who owned the largest spreads around. Was that why Danna had assumed such a reverential manner? Or was there something else about him?

Chas scrutinized the other man as he took off his white hat and tucked one hand in the top of his vest. He was tanned, lines on his face indicating his age was probably midforties.

“Marshal, I heard you took care of a little dustup down by the saloon.” Parrott spared a quick glance for Chas. “Everyone all right?”

“Yes, fine,” Danna responded quickly. “How's the missus? Anything I can do for you today?”

“Oh, no, dear. The wife's doing well. She asked me to make sure you're planning on attending the dance we're hosting at our place this Friday.”

Danna glanced at Chas, but as far as he was concerned, they still had talking to do; he crossed his arms over his chest and stretched his legs out in front of him to show her he wasn't leaving.

Her smile, when she turned it on Parrott, was forced. “I've been thinking on it. I'm not sure I'll be able to get away.”

“You work too hard, Marshal. A night of relaxation will be good for you.”

The marshal's frown showed she didn't agree with the man, but her voice remained level and calm. “I don't know that I should leave the town unattended.”

Her statement almost sounded like a question. Why was she showing Mr. Parrott such deference, when Chas had seen her talk down to other men? Chas had
learned there were four men on the town council for Calvin; they appointed the marshal and had the power to remove that person from their position, as well. Mr. Parrott must be one of them, for Danna to speak so respectfully to him.

“Ah. Still no luck with the deputies? I'm sorry to hear it. Well, be that as it may, you can't work every hour of every day. Besides, the wife has a few eligible men she wants to make sure you meet. You
are
considering remarrying, aren't you?”

Chas's breath stuck in his chest. The marshal was a widow, too? What else didn't he know about her?

She cleared her throat, her feet shifting and downturned face indicating her discomfort with the discussion. She gestured toward Chas, who hadn't joined the conversation. “Mr. O'Grady and I were in the middle of something, Mr. Parrott. I'll try to come to the party if I'm able. If there isn't anything else, I'm afraid we'll have to speak later….”

She hadn't given the older man a straight answer about remarrying, but the rancher accepted it with grace as Danna ushered him out the door.

After he left, she leaned against the portal, her head clunking against the wood.

“Your boss?” Chas asked.

“One of them.” She huffed and blew a strand of dark, curly hair off her face, then turned her head to look at Chas. “What are you still doing here?”

“Marshal, you can consider us even,” Chas said.

“What do you mean?”

“You saved my life. I saved yours.”

Her lips twisted. Not a smile. They pinched together. If she didn't like that, she probably wouldn't like Chas's next statement either.

“I think you should hire me on as one of your deputies.” Had those words really come out of his mouth?

She first appeared stunned, then skeptical. She pushed off the door. “You want me to deputize you? Why?”

He glanced at the two men in adjacent cells. They continued arguing through the bars, not paying any attention to Chas and Danna. “I need a job, a reason to stay in town. Plus, it will give me some leeway to investigate without any potential cattle thieves being the wiser. You need some help.”

She looked as if she would protest, so he quickly went on.

“I've been talking to people around town and found out a couple of families are missing cattle. Problem is, I don't know the lay of the land.”

She half-smiled at that, probably remembering his unfortunate tumble down the ravine.

“You can relax a little, go to that party—”

Chas hadn't finished his sentence when she burst out, “I don't need a deputy so that I can attend social functions. If you want to pin a tin star on your chest, you'll have to realize that
I'm the marshal.
”

“I do realize that.” His temper started to get the best of him and Chas rose out of his seat, moving to stand face-to-face with the marshal. “That means
I'm the boss.
I make the schedule. I'm in charge. If you can't handle that—”

“I can.” He hoped. “I have to put my investigation first, but as long as you stay out of my way—”

Danna shook her head, stepping back and putting space between them. “This isn't going to work.”

He blinked and again saw that knife coming straight for Danna's heart. “We'll have to make it work. I'll be
in town until I find my rustlers. You'll be my boss—” he almost choked on the word “—until then.”

She started to say something else, but the door opened again and a very pregnant woman bustled in, followed by a toddler, a blond-haired girl in a stained dress.

“Fine,” Danna's tone emerged, resigned. “Be here first thing tomorrow.”