Tempting the Marshal: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Series Book 2) (7 page)

His jaw twitched. “It’s kind of personal, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to—”

“No harm done.”

They drove on in silence for a while and Jo felt like a complete fool for having been so ill-mannered.

After a few minutes, the marshal spoke up and his words nearly knocked her over. “My father was murdered five years ago. That’s why I’m not at the ranch anymore.”

Shaken, Jo took a few seconds to respond. “I’m sorry to hear that. What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?”

He spoke offhandedly, revealing no sadness or regret, something Jo found strange. “My father was a judge, and a man named Garrett Robinson was on trial for murder in his court.”

“Garrett Robinson. I heard about him. He robbed trains and stagecoaches.”

Fletcher’s jaw twitched again and she wondered if maybe he
did
mind talking about it. “The night before my father was to hand down a guilty verdict, Garrett’s gang sent him a message saying that if he convicted Garrett, they would hunt down his family and do to us what Garrett did to all the people who got in his way. We didn’t know anything about it, of course. We were as shocked as everybody else when the verdict was ‘not guilty.’”

Jo shifted in her seat, needing to hear the rest. “If your father did what they said, why didn’t they just leave it be?”

Marshal Collins shook his head. “Men like that don’t know much about honor. They killed my father on his way home that day, three hours after he let them go free. I heard the shots from the ranch house and saw the gang ride off. They were hootin’ and laughin’ like a bunch of kids playing tag. I had to run a mile up hill, climb over three fences, and I knew I wasn’t getting there fast enough.” His Adam’s apple bobbed and he paused. “My ma died of typhoid that winter, leaving me and Elizabeth to run the ranch, but neither of us wanted to live there anymore. Too many memories. So we sold off the herd and Elizabeth went to college in Chicago. I’d always imagined I’d be a rancher, but I ended up a U.S. marshal.” With a shade of indifference, he added, “Funny how things turn out sometimes.”

Jo knew exactly how he felt. How many times had she wanted to pack up and leave, to start a new life somewhere else and forget about the old one? She most certainly would have if she wasn’t certain Leo would return someday to claim the land that was his birthright and avenge his father’s death.

“What about Garrett and his gang?” she asked, wondering if the marshal and his sister had received the justice Jo herself was still seeking.

He flicked the reins. “I dragged each one of them back to jail and watched their trials, and those who hanged saw my face in the crowd. The others are still rotting in prison.”

“You dragged
all
of them to jail? Without shooting anyone?”

“Oh, I used my weapon plenty. Knocked ’em over the head with the handle most times. So when I said ‘dragged,’ I meant it in the literal sense.”

Jo stared at him, dumbfounded. “Oh my goodness. That was you? You’re
The Bruiser
?”

He chuckled. “I reckon that’s where the name originated. You heard about that all the way up here in Kansas?”

“Yes, and that you’ve never shot a man in your entire career.” She couldn’t take her eyes off him now, this famous lawman who sat beside her. She’d had no idea….

“I have too much respect for life to go around killing people willy-nilly,” he said. “Though if I could turn back the clock, I might have shot the gunman who tried to rob Zeb the other night. Wounded him at least.”

At the mere mention of Zeb and the shooting, Jo quickly forgot her fascination. “Why is he different from the others?”

“He’s not different. He’s the same. They all are. Men who don’t respect the law need to learn they’ll get caught eventually. You see, I’m not like my father. I don’t believe in bending rules. If he had been a stronger man and had done his duty instead of being afraid, those men wouldn’t have killed him, wouldn’t have gone free for another year, killing other innocent folks.”

Jo thought about what she had done, or almost done, the other night. How she had felt there was no other choice left to her. Not surprisingly, she could sympathize with the marshal’s father.

“Your father thought he was protecting his family,” she tried to explain. “Someday, when you have children, you’ll understand it better. You’ll be ready and willing to walk through fire for them. You’ll do anything to keep them safe. Even break the law when you feel the law can’t help you, and frankly, the law isn’t always able to help innocent folks around here. You can’t begrudge your father for what he did.”

Marshal Collins gave her a steely glare. “There’s never an excuse for breaking the law.”

“That’s very idealistic.”

“Maybe so. But you can’t argue that that’s the way things
ought
to be, and we owe it to this world to keep striving for what’s right. My father could have protected us another way. Sent us somewhere safe until the rest of the gang was caught. He shouldn’t have done what he did. He was a judge.”

The marshal’s voice had grown almost hostile. “And to answer your question about last night’s gunman, I wish I’d shot him because he made me look incompetent, and when it comes to the law, I rely on my reputation to help me run a tight ship. With it, outlaws are more likely to give up without a fight and no one gets hurt. Without it, all hell breaks loose, and hell ain’t no place for decent folks. Tarnation, that man shot you, Mrs. O’Malley, an innocent bystander. And he shot me in the leg and tried to rob my sister’s husband. She’s been through enough after what happened to our parents. If she’d lost her husband, too…”

His voice trailed off and Jo saw how truly angry he was over all this.

“The town thinks their new marshal is a buffoon, and all because I wanted to avoid gunfire. It’s going to take a lot of time and energy to earn back any respect, and who knows what might happen in the meantime? I should have known better than to think that gunman would lower his weapon, but I thought I saw something in his eyes. Something…”

Jo leaned forward, curious. “Something what?”

“Something frightened. Something…” He hesitated again, as if searching for just the right word. “Something woeful.”

A lump formed in Jo’s throat. The marshal had seen through her that night, and if Zeb hadn’t raised his pistol, she
would
have lowered her weapon. She would have confessed everything to Marshal Collins.

Not knowing, of course, that he was Zeb’s kin.

Desperate to change the subject, she cleared her throat and forced a smile. “Heavens above, I’m sitting beside the famous Bruiser. You’re not what I imagined.”

“No? And what was that?”

Jo felt suddenly uncomfortable. “I was expecting someone…bigger.”

She saw humor dance across his face, then he laughed. “Well, it doesn’t take size to whack someone over the head with a pistol. It only takes a sober mind.”

“I suppose.” They drove past a patch of white elderberry and pink clover, and in the distance, Jo recognized bright yellow sunflowers. She breathed in the deep aromatic scent of the blossoms and, with some surprise, felt the tension lift between her and Fletcher. He was gazing toward the sunflowers, too, the set lines of his face relaxing somewhat, so that he no longer looked like the rigid, vigilant lawman that he was.

Realizing she wasn’t the only one letting down her guard, Jo decided to take advantage and ask some questions of her own.

“How did your sister get hitched up with Zeb Stone?”

“He met her in Chicago just before she finished school. They hit it off but he didn’t stay around long, with his business back here. They only knew each other a few weeks before he sent for her, asking her to be his wife. You don’t know her?”

Jo shook her head. She’d made it a point not to get to know Zeb’s wife. “How long have
you
known Zeb?”

“Since the wedding this past spring.” He didn’t look at her when he spoke. “I thought I was the one supposed to be asking all the questions.”

Jo clasped her hands together in her lap. “Just making conversation. It’s a long drive.”

“But not much longer.” He nudged his hat back with his thumb and squinted up at the blue sky. “Looks like you’ll be home in time for supper.”

Jo settled into the seat and tried not to think about everything the marshal had just said. With all the tragedy he’d seen, it was no wonder he’d retreated from the ranching life he’d known to become a lawman. It was plain to see that he thought he could make up for his father’s mistakes, and that he was dead set on protecting his sister’s happiness. The way he saw it, she was the only survivor left in the family, the only one with any hope for the future. He wanted to protect his own, and that meant protecting Zeb Stone.

And Lord help Jo if the marshal ever discovered he’d rented a fancy buggy to escort none other than Six Shooter Hank straight home to her front door.

Chapter Seven

By the time the marshal drove the buggy up the last rise, the wind had calmed and the meadowlarks were singing their hearts out. Though the ride had been bumpy and painful at times, Jo was glad she had decided to drive instead of walk. She only wished she had come to that conclusion sooner and avoided the unfortunate fainting incident.

The horse nickered softly when they crested the last hill. Jo spotted the ranch, where a couple of the cowhands were leaning against the bunkhouse, sipping water. One more was shaving, and she heard their easy laughter in the distance, along with the clucking chatter from the henhouse. Wood smoke rose from the kitchen chimney and melted into the sky.

She sat forward when the front door of the house swung open and Leo ran onto the covered porch. He clutched the corner post and waved, then called for Matilda, who promptly came out, wiping her hands on her long white apron and waving. Jo waved back.

The marshal drove the buggy into the yard and pulled the horse to a gentle halt next to the white plank corral fence.

“Ma!” Leo called out, leaping off the porch and hurrying to take hold of the horse’s harness. “You’re all better!”

“Not quite, Leo, but I’m on the mend and happy to be home.”

The marshal hopped down and walked around the buggy, appearing at Jo’s side to help her down. She reached for the marshal’s hand, but he took her by the waist and lifted her like a feather to the ground. “Wouldn’t want you to fall,” he said.

She quickly withdrew her hands from his shoulders.

Leo approached Marshal Collins. “Did you catch Six-Shooter Hank yet?”

“Not yet, but I will. And Leo, don’t believe everything you read.” He winked at him, and Leo smiled brightly.

Matilda approached.

“The marshal insisted on driving me home,” Jo explained.

No one said anything for a minute or two, and the long silence was more than a little awkward. Surely everyone must be wondering what he was doing here.

Determined not to let her uneasiness show, Jo spoke up. “Well, thank you for the ride home, Marshal Collins.”
You can go now,
she wanted to add, but of course held back the rude remark.

“It was no trouble at all.” He moved to put on his hat, but Leo stopped him.

“Why don’t you stay for supper? We’re having beef stew with dumplings.”

If the last silence had been awkward, this one was downright painful. Matilda stared in shock at Leo, whose face colored sheepishly. Marshal Collins stood waiting for someone to say something, while Jo wanted to bury her head in the nearest haystack. If he stayed for supper, he’d have more opportunity to ask questions about the night of the shooting, or he might come to realize that she had a motive for murder where Zeb was concerned.

“Of course, you’re welcome to stay, Marshal,” Matilda said coolly.

He looked down at Jo, telling her with his eyes that he knew she wanted him to leave. “How can I refuse?” He patted his firm, flat stomach. “A man’s gotta eat.”

* * *

A short while later, Fletcher pulled off his shirt and washed up outside the bunkhouse, where the ranch hands kept their shaving equipment on a white painted shelf under the window. Leaning forward, he splashed cool, water from a wooden bucket onto his face and over his chest and arms, lathering himself with lye soap, trying to clear his mind.

He thought about the drive and how he’d gotten none of the information he’d wanted from Mrs. O’Malley. He’d been struck foolish with some kind of tongue-flapping disease, spilling out his soul to her about his father. He hadn’t spoken about personal things to anyone in years, but her interest had seemed genuine. She’d been through something similar not long ago, and maybe that was why she’d wanted to talk, and why she seemed to think she understood certain things about him.

Which she didn’t, of course.

Fletcher splashed more cool water on his face and rubbed his fingers over his tired eyes, trying to get his mind back on track. He straightened and looked across the yard at Leo, who was walking toward him with a folded white shirt in his hands.

“Ma said to bring you this to wear at supper,” Leo said. “It belonged to my pa.”

Fletcher toweled his hands and face dry, and eyed the shirt with some reluctance. “Much obliged.”

Leo handed it to him and Fletcher shrugged into it. It was a bit small through the shoulders, but he managed to fasten all the buttons, and at least it was clean. He pulled his vest on over it and buttoned that, too.