The Lawman (The Willow Creek Series #1) (3 page)

Chapter Two

Abigail was too stunned to do more than hang there, upside down, while the marshal carried her to jail. Jail! He was arresting her for what amounted to nothing more than a misunderstanding but the pig-headed man didn’t want to hear her side of the story. Not that she’d really tried very hard to tell him. Getting away from him seemed like the best course of action back at the saloon. If she’d only walked faster, she may have avoided this entire embarrassment.

Reaching the jail, Abigail lifted her head and noticed a line of people filling the wooden sidewalk, staring at them. She groaned and let her head drop again. The floor of the jail came into view. It was covered in dried mud, much like the marshal’s pants and boots, she noticed, and the stench inside the building took her breath.

The marshal stood her on her feet and she glared at him before looking around her. She was inside what was apparently the jails one and only cell. The barred prison was bare except for a cot that sat under a small, open window. The blanket lying at the foot of the bed was threadbare and filthy. It also contributed greatly to the foul smell in the air. Turning back to face the marshal, Abigail crossed her arms under her breasts. “These accommodations aren’t suitable for a woman. You can’t keep me here.”

He had the gall to laugh at her before walking out of the cell and slamming the door hard enough to make her jump before he locked it behind him. “A jail isn’t a hotel, Miss Thornton. You’ll get used to it.”

She watched him cross the room to a stove in the corner, filling it with wood before starting a fire. He rattled a coffee pot, making as much noise as possible before abandoning the stove and walking to a small desk sitting by the door. He unhooked the gun belt she just now noticed hanging around his hips, hanging it on the back of the chair. His back was to her and even though he was covered from head to toe in dirt, she had to admit he was an impressive sight.

His shoulders were wide; his waist tapered to slim hips and strong, firm looking thighs. His pants fit snug in places she shouldn’t be looking but with a backside like that, it was hard not to stare. Lord knew the men in Atlanta certainly looked nothing like the marshal did. They acted nothing like him either. They had manners. This man did not.

He turned and sat down in the chair, tossed his hat onto the desk and propped his booted feet up on the edge. His hair was dark and in need of barbering. The ends hung nearly to his shoulders. The indentions from his hat caused it to lay slick to his head. For a town marshal, he apparently wasn’t too concerned about his personal grooming. Not that she cared.

When he clasped his hands behind his head and stared at her, Abigail raised an eyebrow at him. His returning smile rankled her nerves. The scraggly beard covering his face didn’t hide the fact he was probably very attractive. From across the room she could see the mischief in his green eyes. Well, the one that wasn’t swollen shut, that is. The purple bruising on his face didn’t conceal the warm hue of his tanned skin and looking at his forearms below the cuffs of his rolled up shirt sleeves let her know he spent more hours outdoors than most.

The fact she found him attractive, as scruffy as he was, galled her. “Are you comfortable now?”

“Absolutely. I can finally put my feet up and I have the best view a man in my position can ask for. A prisoner.”

He was enjoying the fact he locked her up. The pig.

Unwilling to let him see how worried she actually was, she turned her back to him and walked to the cot. The smell was worse close up. She gingerly picked up the offending blanket with two fingers and tossed it to the other side of the cell. The mattress underneath was stained with heaven knows what. She shook her head in disgust. “I’ll need clean linens, marshal. This bed isn’t fit for a dog let alone a human.”

“Never heard any complaints before now. Besides, it’s cleaner than the floor. Let’s not forget this is a jail, Miss Thornton. It isn’t set up for your comfort. You’ll get no special treatment from me just because you’re a—
lady
.”

The way he said
lady
caused Abigail’s irritation to grow and she looked over her shoulder at him. He was still smiling. “Am I to assume my meals will consist of water and bread, then?”

“You can assume what you want.”

“Well, in that case,” she said, turning to face him and placing both hands on her hips, “I’ll assume you’re as big an ass as you seem.” His smile faltered and Abigail gave him one in return that made her cheeks ache before she sat down on the edge of the cot. She laid her reticule on her lap and stared back at him, unmoving.

The staring contest may have lasted all night if the door hadn’t opened minutes later. A man who looked very much like the marshal stepped inside and shut the door behind him, his gaze searching and finding her in the cell. He smiled and shook his head. “Vernon told me you locked up a woman but I had to come see for myself.”

“It’s nice to see you too, brother.”

This new man was everything the marshal wasn’t. Clean, freshly barbered and had an easy going smile. Abigail watched him take the vacant seat across from the desk and smiled at him again when he turned to look at her. “You can’t keep her locked up, Morgan,” he said, not taking his gaze from her. “The townsfolk will have a hissy fit.”

“She started a brawl in the saloon, among other things. Once they find out why she’s here, they’ll understand.”

The man snorted a laugh. “I doubt that. I’m sure Edna is on her way over right now to give you a piece of her mind.”

“She’ll do that regardless of who I have locked up in here.” The marshal looked over at her before lowering his feet to the floor and standing. “Come on,” he said, gesturing to the door to the other man. “Take a walk with me. I suddenly have a need for some fresh air. It stinks like a weeks worth of horse shit in here.”

When they started for the door, Abigail rose as well. “Marshal! You can’t leave me in here.”

“Sure I can,” he said, looking over his shoulder at her. “You’re locked up, remember? You’re not going anywhere.” With a parting smile, he left, the door closing behind him.

* * * *

Morgan wasn’t able to wipe the grin off his face until he stepped off the sidewalk. “Buy me a drink, Holden,” he said, slapping his brother on the back. “And tell me what’s going on at the ranch since I’ve been gone.”

Holden nodded and they walked in silence until they reached the sidewalk in front of the saloon. “Same as it was when you left. Well, except for Alex’s desire to be a horse wrangler now instead of a cowpuncher.”

“That didn’t last long.”

“Her career decisions never last long. Of course, she’s only eight. I hope by the time she’s old enough to marry, she’ll be interested in babies and a home of her own.”

Morgan laughed as they walked inside. “I don’t think Alex even knows she’s a girl.” The barroom had been cleaned, somewhat. There were two tables now standing, both of them propped up with wooden blocks under the wobbly legs. Mismatched chairs were leaning against the wall and the men inside were still there, drinking, cussing and telling lies as usual.

Reaching the long bar, Vernon greeted them both before pouring them a drink, leaving the bottle behind. “So,” Holden said, grinning. “What’s the story with the woman?”

Abigail Thornton’s face came instantly to mind and Morgan fought the urge to smile. “She destroyed the bar.”

Holden shook his head. “One little woman caused all this damage?” He turned to look at what remained of the Diamond Back Saloon. “She must be one hell of a wild cat to break all this shit.”

She was a wild cat, all right. Her claws came out the moment he spoke to her and she hadn’t retracted them yet. The fire in her eyes hadn’t dimmed since then either. The scorn he’d seen in them was directed at him and him alone. “She’s trouble. I’m just making sure she doesn’t give me anymore.”

“And keeping her locked up will accomplish that?”

“It sure will.” Morgan knocked back his drink, turned and refilled his glass.

Holden grunted. “I know it’s been a while, and you’re used to the company of whores, but come on, Morgan, surely you know a lady isn’t going to sit quietly while locked up. The jail stinks, the bedding has been there since the building was built ten years ago and if she has to survive with nothing but your cooking, she’ll be dead in a week.”

Morgan glared at his brother. “I’m not going to coddle her.”

“Care if I do?” Holden asked, grinning.

The look on Holden’s face told Morgan exactly what his brother had in mind. The fact Willow Creek was so isolated left the men to women ratio lopsided. There were more single men in the county than he cared to think about. And once those men realized Abigail Thornton was in town, they’d be flocking to the jail in droves. He wasn’t sure why the thought of those men knocking on his door irritated him but it did. He pushed the thought away, swallowed the rest of his drink and turned to Vernon. “What do I owe you, Vern?”

“On the house, marshal. After the week you’ve had, you deserve it.”

“Obliged,” he said before turning back to Holden. “I’m going to head home and get cleaned up. Want to meet me at the hotel for supper?”

“Can’t do. I promised Alex I’d be home before dark.” They walked back outside, stopping to look at the town before Holden said, “I will go grab something decent to eat for your newest prisoner though. It’s the neighborly thing to do, after all.”

Holden grinned before taking off for the hotel in a jog. Morgan watched him go and disappear inside before looking back at the jail. The squat little building had seen better days and the roof leaked more often than not. Keeping Abigail Thornton locked up was going to be more trouble than he wanted. He could feel it in his bones. Holden was right about one thing. Keeping her locked up would cause a stir. One he didn’t want to deal with. He knew he had to let her go come morning but for some reason, the very thought of doing so irritated him.

* * * *

Abigail had dozed off while sitting up and was startled awake when the marshal came back. She blinked at him a few times, trying to get her eyes to adjust in the low light of the room and tell her she was seeing what she thought she was.

The man who left hours before had been a complete unkempt mess. This man caused her pulse to race. He’d left his hat behind, his guns still strapped to his lean hips, and he stood by the door staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. He’d washed and replaced his dirty clothes with clean denim trousers and a blue chambray shirt, the cuffs once again rolled up to his elbows. He was clean-shaven and just as she’d suspected, the marshal was a handsome man. Well, once you overlooked the busted lip and swollen eye. Taking in his features, she realized he was much more handsome than his brother, Holden, who had brought her a meal from the hotel. Too bad the marshal’s loathsome attitude was so unforgiving.

She’d had a long time to think about her situation once he left and knew, like it or not, she was stuck in Willow Creek. She had no money to buy a ticket for the stagecoach and her pleas to the driver would be useless now. She’d gone as far as she could and she’d have to start planning all over again. The potential husband she’d managed to arrange for was gone. If the marshal let her out of the jail, where would she go? She didn’t even have enough money to buy a decent meal, let alone a place to bed down for the night. The filthy mattress under her was better than the cold ground or someone’s barn, if she were lucky enough to sneak inside one. That was assuming the marshal let her go.

The reason she’d spent the last four months running caused a nervous shiver to race up her spine. As much as she disliked being locked up, she realized with sudden clarity that being under the marshal’s watchful eye was probably the safest option she had. As long as she was his prisoner, she’d be safe. Even if Fletcher found her, he wouldn’t be able to do much about it. She hoped.

When the marshal made no attempt to move or speak, she stood. “Well?”

“Well what?”

Abigail rolled her eyes. “Why are you staring at me?”

He tilted his head to one side and the look on his face was one of irritation. “I’m trying to decide what to do with you.”

When her heart gave another little jump, Abigail walked to the cell door. If he let her go now, what would she do?
Probably die a slow, agonizing death at Fletcher’s hand
. She shuddered at the thought and knew she only had one option at the moment. She had to make sure he kept her locked up.

She smiled to hide her unease and tried to bait him into keeping her behind bars. “What? You mean you actually have a heart and are going to let me go? How noble of you.”

He grinned and rubbed his jaw. Her gaze was drawn to his mouth then and she found herself staring. How could lips that plump spill the venom the marshal had spewed at her over the course of the day?

“I didn’t say I was going to let you go.”

Abigail tore her gaze from his mouth when he spoke and bit her lip to keep from smiling at what he’d said. As long as she could annoy him enough to keep her locked up until she could figure out what to do, she would at least have a decent meal and a place to sleep. “I’m sure thinking for yourself is a difficult process, marshal, but do make it quick. I need to use the privy as I’ve yet been taken to do so.”

“There’s a pot under the bed. Help yourself.”

Abigail looked back at the cot and bent at the waist. Sure enough, there was a pot under the bed, its grimy sides brown with lord knew what. She straightened and threw him a scalding look. “You can’t possibly expect me to use that filthy thing.”

He shrugged a shoulder before leaning back against the wall. “I haven’t had any other complaints.”

“Of course not. Your usual guests are probably all foul creatures as obnoxious as yourself.” The amused twinkle in his eyes faded then and Abigail wondered if she’d gone to far. He wasn’t a terrible person, or so his brother had said. Holden Avery was the gentleman his brother was not. The marshal, Morgan, Holden had told her, was as cussed as an old mule and from what she’d seen, she knew he was right. Of course, it could all be an act. He was the town marshal, after all. He was supposed to be a man stronger than most, able to protect the citizens of the town. He may be a real pussycat under that hard exterior. Somehow she doubted it. “Well,” she said, “while you decide what to do with me, could you find it in that grizzled heart of yours to find me decent linens?”