Tempting the Marshal: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Series Book 2) (6 page)

Jo tried not to choke on her tea. “But Mrs. Honeyworth is supposed to come for me.”

“I told her
I’d
get you home.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Maybe I enjoy your conversation.”

Mrs. Eisenbein’s playful gaze flicked up at Jo.

“What is it that you want to discuss with me?” Jo asked pointedly. “Whatever it is, you can ask me now.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. I just want to see that you get home safely. Mrs. Honeyworth isn’t coming, and your ranch is four miles outside of town, I hear. That’s at least an hour’s walk and it’s powerful hot out there. Not a good risk in your condition.”

“Thank you, but it’s not necessary. I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

“On the contrary, it would trouble me if you refused.” His eyes darkened with a cast-iron message that Jo understood all too clearly. He could see through her charade and he wanted to knock her off balance. Get her to say something incriminating.

She set her cup and saucer on the side table and looked to Mrs. Eisenbein for help, but the woman lowered her gaze and began to gather up the tray.

“Something tells me you won’t take no for an answer,” Jo said to the marshal.

“Something tells me you’re right.”

She stared at him, considering her options. If she refused, he’d become even more suspicious than he was already, and probably follow her to the privy. But if she said yes, she’d have to leave her bag there for another day.

Without waiting for her response, the marshal backed into the hall. “I’ll go get that buggy and fetch the doctor.” He placed his hat on his head and disappeared from sight, the rhythmic sound of his boots lingering on the surface of Jo’s frayed consciousness.

“That was kind of the marshal, don’t you think?” Mrs. Eisenbein said, the dishes clinking on her tray as she stood.

But Jo knew with plunging hopes that the marshal’s offer had nothing to do with kindness.

* * *

After the doctor came to the room and checked Jo’s wound for infection, Mrs. Eisenbein entered with Jo’s laundered gown and helped her slip into it. A few minutes later, Jo was at last being escorted down the hall to the front office.

While she arranged payment, the door squeaked open and the distinctive rhythm of the marshal’s heavy boots rattled her nerves as he came up behind her. “All set to go, Mrs. O’Malley?”

She faced him. “Yes, but it really isn’t necessary for you to take me. I’m perfectly capable of walking. I do it all the time.”

“Not with a bullet hole in your shoulder.”

“The marshal’s right,” Dr. Green said. “No sense taking chances. It’s best to have someone with you, in case anything happens.”

Marshal Collins settled his hat onto his head. “There, you see?”

Why did he have to be right all the time?

They walked onto the sunny porch and the marshal took her elbow as she descended the stairs. Feeling the stability of that hand on her arm only made her more uneasy, but she fought the urge to pull away. She had no choice but to allow him to assist her. Any hostile behavior might alert him to her apprehensive feelings, and she had to keep a calm head if she wanted him to leave her alone long enough to retrieve her bag from the privy. She only hoped it would remain there untouched until she could return for it.

“Careful now,” the marshal said, helping her into a black canopied buggy with a shiny red seat. The leather creaked as she slid across. “It’s been a while since I’ve driven one of these.” He climbed in beside her and gently flicked the long leather reins. “I’m usually in a saddle.” The buggy lurched forward and the harness jingled as the horse flicked his ears at the flies hovering around his head.

They rolled smoothly down Front Street in silence, the round buggy wheels grinding two straight tracks down the dusty street. The marshal paid the fare to cross the toll bridge over the river, then they drove onto it and faced the wide-open prairie, speckled with longhorn cattle as far as the eye could see. The buggy wheels rattled over the wooden bridge, the horse’s hooves clopping while Jo mentally went over the alibi she’d given to the marshal the other day. She only hoped she would remember it correctly if he asked about it again.

Once the buggy rolled off the edge of the bridge, the ride grew rougher. Jo hugged her arm to her chest to keep her sore bones from knocking into each other.

“You okay?” the marshal asked, then they leaped over another bump.

“Ouch! I’m fine.”

He bounced toward her and his knee touched hers. She felt a keen awareness of it and slid away.

“I could slow down,” he offered.

Going slower meant spending more time with him in this confined space, and she wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. “I told you, I could have walked. And slowing down won’t make the ruts in the road go away. Why don’t you stop and let me out?”

“I don’t think that would be wise, ma’am.”

“You can follow along behind if you like.”

“It’s a long way.”

“I know how far it is. I’ll be fine. I feel wonderful right now.” They bounced one more time and she winced noticeably. “Except for the bumps.”

He drove another few yards, then pulled the lumbering horse to a halt with a gently spoken “whoa.” They were surrounded by hundreds of longhorn cattle, idly grazing. The horse nickered and shook beneath the harness.

“You don’t want to talk to me, do you?” Marshal Collins said, all too perceptively.

“Where would you get such a notion? I simply prefer to walk, that’s all.”

He stared at her a moment, his eyes calculating. “All right. You can walk if it’s easier for you. I’ll drive behind in case you get tired, but don’t overdo it.”

“I won’t get tired.” She tried to step down, but had some difficulty holding on to the thin steel rail. Before she knew it, the marshal appeared with his hands around her waist. Her insides did a flip as he lowered her to the ground, her calico skirts billowing upon the wind. He remained there looking down at her for a moment.

“Thank you,” she said politely, staring at the short, stubbly grass with the pretext of examining the toe of her boot, all the while relieved that she could hide her eyes beneath the brim of her sunbonnet.

“You’re welcome. Just watch where you’re walking and don’t hesitate to get back in the buggy if you feel ill. You’ve been through a lot.”

Stepping back out of his arms, she struggled to gloss over the awkward feeling that was niggling at her, telling herself that she had merely
imagined
he was looking at her lips just now.

“There’s a cow about to sniff your boots,” Jo said, more than grateful for the distraction.

Marshal Collins turned. “Go on now. Go back to your herd.”

The animal shifted direction and plodded away without argument, and by the time the marshal turned to face her again, Jo had started walking. “Let’s get going before we become fodder.”

She didn’t let herself look back. She only listened to the sound of the buggy’s springs bouncing and squeaking, then the horse’s hooves thumping over the grassy road. Marshal Collins was following along behind her and that was just fine as far as she was concerned. At least they didn’t have to talk to each other, and she didn’t have to make a fool of herself answering any more of his prying questions.

Chapter Six

Not far to go now
, Jo thought wearily as she forced one foot in front of the other along the narrow prairie road, the wind blowing her bonnet ribbons every which way. She couldn’t wait to get home, rid herself of these heavy clothes and collapse onto her soft bed to sleep.

She just had to make it the rest of the way. She’d walked at least two-and-a-half miles and the marshal hadn’t asked her any more questions, thank heavens. He simply drove behind her—but she could
feel
him staring—and he hadn’t made a peep except when he clicked his tongue at the horse.

With a dizzying sense of apprehension, Jo eyed the next hill. If she could make it up and over the other side, she would be fine. The rest of the way was as flat as a cornmeal griddle cake.

She climbed the grassy rise and began to breathe harder. Oh, this wasn’t promising at all. Her nose was beginning to feel hot and sunburned, and when she reached the top of the rise, her vision grew blurry. Dizziness overtook her as the rolling, tawny hills began to fold into one another and take on a silvery hue. She stopped and touched her gloved fingers to her forehead.
Oh no, not now…

She hesitated and heard the muffled hoofbeats behind her come to a slow stop. The horse jingled its harness. Her stomach exploded with nausea and she knew that if she didn’t climb into the shaded leather seat in the next few seconds, she’d be on her back.

She turned around, but a fresh wave of nausea crashed over her and she staggered to the side.

Her gaze locked with the marshal’s and she took some comfort that he knew what was about to happen and was going to do something about it. He leaped down and ran toward her, but all she could do was stare blankly, dimly aware of her knees crumpling beneath her and the sight of his leather cowboy boots as she fainted at his feet.

* * *

Jo’s mind floated in a sea of blackness. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t open her eyes. She could only lie immobile in the stiff grass that was needling the back of her neck, while she listened to that slow, easy drawl.

“Mrs. O’Malley, wake up. Wake up, ma’am. You fainted.”

Her eyes fluttered open to see the inside of the marshal’s black hat, fanning in front of her face—back and forth, the cool breeze beating against her cheeks and eyes and lips. Jo tried to speak, but all she could do was let out an embarrassing guttural groan.

The hat moved aside and she found herself blinking up at the marshal’s green eyes. Behind his head, a black hawk soared against the blue.

The marshal donned his hat and pressed it down tightly. “You feeling okay?”

She didn’t want to answer. She only wanted to lie there a little longer and look up at him. Then all at once she remembered who this man was.

Angry with herself for letting down her guard, she jolted upright, but the sudden movement made her shoulder throb painfully.

“Hold on, now,” the marshal warned, touching her good shoulder and laying her back down in the grass. “Not so fast. You need to rest.”

Feeling a headache coming on, she tried to keep it at bay by rubbing her temple. “How long was I out?”

“Only a minute or two. You were strolling along just fine, then all of a sudden, whoosh.” He knelt on one knee, his arm resting across his thigh. “You dropped like all your bones turned to the kind of oatmeal my mother used to make.”

“What kind of oatmeal was that?” she asked warily.

“It was runny, ma’am. But don’t get me wrong. It was tasty…in its way.”

Jo sat up and allowed the marshal to help her to her feet.

“You sure you’re feeling well enough to stand?” he asked. “You lost a lot of blood the other night. It’s no surprise you took a fancy to the ground.”

She held on to his hand for support and had to work hard not to fall completely into his ready arms. “I’m fine, but I think I’d prefer to ride with you the rest of the way.”

“I reckon that’s a wise decision.” He led her to the buggy and helped her up, then climbed in beside her and they started off again.

Jo remembered how he had tried to convince her to stay in the buggy in the first place and wished she hadn’t proven him right. At least he wasn’t saying
I told you so.

“It’s not much farther,” she mentioned, swaying from side to side.

He took his eyes off the road to study her for a moment and she felt vulnerable, as if her secrets were printed on her cheeks in bold red ink. “You’re worried I’m going to ask you more questions about the shooting.”

Jo tried to appear unruffled. “I said all there was to say about that.”

“Uh-huh—then what’s with the toe tapping? You’ve been doing that since you sat down.”

Realizing he was right about one more thing, Jo stilled her boot. “I always tap my foot. It’s a habit.” She pulled her toe in to hide it under a petticoat ruffle. “If I’m worried about anything, it’s about whether or not you’re going to deliver me home in time for supper.”

He glanced toward the western sun. “I reckon we’ll pull into your yard just as Mrs. Honeyworth is spooning up the gravy.” He licked his lips. “Mmm, gravy on just about anything would go down nice right now.”

Recognizing the hint for an invitation, Jo didn’t bite. “Maybe you should get yourself a wife to cook for you.”

The corner of his mouth turned up in a cynical grin and he chuckled. “I don’t think so.”

“Ah. I see,” she said knowingly.

“What do you mean,
Ah, I see?”

Jo knew his type well enough. She’d seen enough roaming cowhands to get a feel for the kinds of things they wanted. “Married life isn’t good enough for you. Too dull, I suppose.”

“Dull. No, I never imagined married life would be dull, especially on a ranch like yours, with kids around. The ranch I grew up on was anything but dull.”

Jo was surprised to hear he’d grown up on a ranch. “If it was so interesting to you, why aren’t you there now?”