Her face changed. “Are we going back to Smoke River today?”
“Nope. We’re gonna do what I we—I—set out to do—find the Tucker gang.”
She marched to her mare, and he watched with interest when she grabbed her left foot with both hands and lifted it toward the stirrup. Finally she gave up, grabbed for the saddle horn, and awkwardly pulled herself on top of the horse, belly down.
But she’d forgotten to tighten the cinch. She straightened and urged the mare forward maybe six paces and the saddle slipped sideways off the mare’s back and dumped her onto the ground.
“Unpack your saddlebag,” he ordered. He pointed to where it was haphazardly slung behind the saddle. “Pack it so it’s balanced on both sides. A horse doesn’t cotton to an uneven load.”
Maddie groaned. He was giving orders like an army sergeant.
He urged his mount forward, then pulled up. “And don’t use any more of that lavender soap in the morning.”
“But I always wash my—”
“Don’t,” he interrupted. “I think one of the outlaws might be Sioux. Indian,” he clarified for her. “An Indian can smell a campfire, or a smelly woman, a mile away.”
“Smelly!”
“Perfumy,” he amended. “Don’t use any scent or powder.”
Maddie’s jaw muscles tightened until they ached. Orders, orders and more orders. Did the man never say “please”?
Jericho reined closer and peered into her face. “You okay? You look kinda funny.”
“No, I am not okay! I am so tired my eyelids feel stuck together, and I am sick of taking orders.”
“Tough. You wanted to come along on this jaunt, so now you take orders.”
“Aye-aye, Captain,” she shot. “I would salute, but I am so tired I cannot lift my arm.”
A low chuckle rumbled in his throat. “Try it, anyway.”
Just to spite him, she snapped a salute. This time he laughed outright.
She liked it when he laughed. His eyes got all twinkly and so deep and clear blue she could drown in their depths.
“All right, Mrs. Detective.” He touched two fingers to his hat brim. “Try to keep close. In an hour, you’ll see a big sugar pine scorched by lightning on one side. We’ll rest there.”
He was gone before she could think of something provocative to say. Well, not provocative, exactly; she disliked women who flirted. Just something that would make him laugh again.
She looked mad enough to chew nails. Without a word he walked his horse past her. “And Maddie, don’t forget to tighten that wide band underneath the horse’s belly. It’s called a cinch. It’s what keeps the saddle on.”
The sound of his horse faded. Good. He was out of her hair and she could relax.
But she couldn’t. She managed to remount using the belly-down-on-the-saddle method, and she rode for what seemed like hours thinking about Jericho’s smoky eyes and that lopsided smile she rarely saw. What a puzzle of a man the sheriff was.
An hour later she spied the blackened tree, and there he was, sitting under it in a patch of straggly green-looking weeds with little star-shaped flowers. She slid off the horse, winced and plopped down next to him. “Ow. Ouch!”
He uncrossed his long legs. “Still sore, huh?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Not surprising. A rider as green as you are might not move at all after twenty miles in the saddle.”
She glared at him while he sliced a piece from a strip of dried jerky and handed them over balanced on the blade of his pocketknife.
Maddie peered at it. “What is that?”
“Jerky. Dried venison. Smoked it myself in a shack I built out in back of the jail.”
She picked up a single piece and sniffed at it. “Smells like smoked ham.” She popped it past her lips.
“Don’t chew it right away,” Jericho cautioned. “Just hold it in your mouth till it softens up some.”
“Ow rong?” Her words came out garbled with the meat still in her mouth. “I am bery hunglee.”
He’d just opened his mouth to answer when he spotted something over her shoulder.
“Why aroo starling at me?”
He pointed his forefinger behind her. “Smoke.”
She swallowed suddenly, choked, and began to cough. “Smoke?”
“Told ya to let that soften some.”
“Smoke?” she repeated. She twisted to look behind her.
“See it?” he said. “Must be a camp over yonder.”
Maddie struggled to her feet. “Aren’t we going to investigate? What if it’s the Tucker gang?”
“I’m pretty sure it is the Tucker gang. That bein’ the case, why would I want to investigate in broad daylight? Sit down, Maddie. We’ll wait till sundown.”
She looked at him for a long time, then sank down beside him and snatched the other piece of jerky off his knife blade. Good, he thought. Chewing on it would keep her quiet and give him some time to think.
“Jericho, it is probably only—” she glanced up at the orange ball of sun overhead “—nine o’clock in the morning. What are we going to do until dark?”
“Don’t know about you,” he said slowly. “Me, I’m just gonna relax, maybe play some mumblety-peg.”
A frown wrinkled her forehead. “Play— How can you do that when outlaws are around?”
He sliced off another round of jerky. “Nuthin’ else to do till the sun goes down, that’s why. People out here in the West get used to waiting.”
She folded her hands, then refolded them and finally stuffed them in her jean pockets. “Mumblety-whatever-it-is is all very well for you, but what am I going to do?”
He studied her. This morning her eyes were sea-green and troubled. Funny, he never noticed before how thick her lashes were. “You don’t like to spend time doin’ nothing, huh?”
She looked startled. “No, I do not. It reminds me of when I was married.”
Again he found his brows rising. “Odd way to look at bein’ married. Seems to me there’d be lots of things to do if you were married.” Lots and lots of things.
Her gaze narrowed and he shut off that line of thinking. “How ’bout I teach you to play mumblety-peg?”
The soft-looking mouth firmed into a hard line. “I do not think so, Sheriff. That is a skill I would never use in Chicago.”
“Suit yourself.”
“I will indeed.”
She was quiet for exactly thirty seconds. “Is there more jerky?”
Jericho cut two more pieces of dried venison. He kept slicing and she kept eating for maybe an hour; then she began to fidget like a hen with a fox on the prowl.
Hell, let her fidget. Teach her a lesson about catching criminals out West, which she obviously knew nothing about. Which is why he hadn’t wanted her along in the first place.
He stretched out on a grassy patch and covered his face with his hat. Under the wide brim, he surreptitiously watched her pace around and around the horses. She made the circuit maybe twenty times, then circled the sugar pine for so many revolutions he expected her to get dizzy and stagger off into the copse of cottonwoods.
Then she started practicing some kind of dance steps, whirling around and around with her arms stretched out. Waltzing, he guessed. He’d tried it once or twice. Couldn’t imagine doing it with Maddie. Just thinking about holding her in his arms made him sweat.
After the dance steps she skipped rocks into the river and sang songs to herself under her breath. “Oh, Columbia, the gem of the ocean...”
Skip-plop.
“Blow high! Blow low! A-sailing down the coasts of High Barbary...”
Skip-skip-plop.
“She was a proper lady, and he a one-eyed jack...”
That one caught J
ericho’s interest. “Where’d you learn that?”
She broke off the tune. “From my father,” she said with a blush. “He used to come home from the bank inebriated in the afternoon, and he would sing such songs just to shock my mother.”
Interesting parents, he thought. But at least she had parents. He sure couldn’t see Maddie as a young girl in an orphanage.
She went on singing and he drifted off to sleep, thinking about a woman who’d get riled up by nothing but a song. He guessed big-city women were touchy about some things.
When he woke, Maddie was perched beside him, her knees propped up, her chin in her hands. Bored to death, he figured. He fished for his pocketknife. “Come on, I’ll show you how to play mumblety-peg.”
She grasped the game in just one round, and after that he found it a challenge to beat her. Her delicate-looking hands were stronger than they looked and her coordination was good. Better than good. He’d like to challenge her to a shooting match, but it’d make too much noise. She’d already proved she was a crack shot with a pistol. How would she handle a rifle? He glanced at the two Winchesters secured in their long scabbards tied onto his saddle.
“Jericho,” she accused, “you are not paying attention.”
“You’re right, I’m not. I’m wondering some things about you.”
She looked up. “Oh? What things? I wonder things about you, as well.”
He wasn’t sure he wanted to pursue this conversation, wasn’t sure he wanted her to know what was on his mind. But he’d sure like to know what was on hers.
Or maybe he didn’t. She was probably still mad about that twenty miles they’d ridden yesterday. Even though she’d halfway impressed him by keeping up, she was still a greenhorn.
“Why did you want to be sheriff of a small town like Smoke River?” She kept her eyes on his face.
“Guess I want to keep law and order, same as most sheriffs.”
“Does it have anything to do with that Indian girl at the orphanage?”
Jericho swallowed. “Yeah, kinda.” He looked off at the purple-gray mountains to the east. “I don’t like injustice. This is a wild country and sometimes people do wild things.”
She nodded in understanding and he presented his own question. “Why did you want to be a Pinkerton agent?”
Unexpectedly, she laughed. “Same as you, Sheriff. I like catching criminals. I like the challenge.”
“Huh. Maybe we’re both crazy.”
“I do not think that is crazy, Jericho. Perhaps we are doing different things but for the same reason. You are the sheriff of Smoke River, and I am a Pinkerton agent. Both of us want to find something of value in life.”
A thread of unease tickled the back of his neck. “Yeah? What kind of ‘something’?”
“Something that...matters,” she said slowly. “Something that is worth doing, not just for oneself but for people around us.”
For a moment he couldn’t speak over the hunk of granite stuck in his throat. “Maybe.” His palms began to sweat. “Most women would find that in their husband. Or their children. That’s something they care about beyond themselves.”
“Ye-es, perhaps.” She looked up into his eyes and his throat closed again. She’d touched on something he’d hungered for all his life, having a family. It scared the hell out of him. Yeah, he was hungry. But he’d never again risk caring about someone.
Their gazes locked and his heartbeat kicked up a notch. Two notches. He fought the urge to run for his horse and gallop as far away from her as he could get.
“It would seem that we are somewhat alike,” she said, still holding his eyes. “Imagine that, a light-hearted eastern city lady and a serious, upright Western sheriff finding themselves working on the same side.”
He busied himself folding up his jackknife. “You’re not light-hearted, Maddie. You’re lying to yourself if you think you are.”
“I never lie to myself,” she said calmly. “But you know something, Jericho? I think you do.”
Dumbstruck, he stared at her. It was as though she’d peeked under his skin and seen what he’d wrestled with all these years. Seen the hunger for a home, a family, like other men; seen that hunger stunted for fear of losing it.
He stood up suddenly and strode to his horse. With jerky motions he tightened the cinch and mounted up.
“Time to stop jawing and move on, Mrs. Detective.”
Chapter Ten
Jericho touched his heels to Dancer’s side. “Let’s move.”
“But it is not yet sundown,” Maddie protested.
“It will be by the time we get where we’re going. Mount up.”
“But—”
He picked up his pace. “Don’t argue, dammit. I know what I’m doing.”
Maddie blinked at his hostile tone. “Yes, sir, Mr. Sheriff. Sir.” She thought about saluting again, but he was facing away from her. “Maddening man,” she muttered under her breath.
But of course he did know what he was doing, even if he was not polite about it. Without him, she would be completely helpless out here in this wild, uncivilized country.
She fumbled beneath the horse’s belly and jerked the cinch tight as he had instructed. The mare gave a sharp whinny and sidled away from her. She ignored Jericho’s laugh and tried to heave herself into the saddle.
After three attempts she managed to stuff her foot into the stirrup and swing up onto the horse’s broad back. Out of breath with the effort, she looped the reins around one hand and kicked the animal hard.
The mare jolted forward. Maddie grabbed on to the saddle horn just as Jericho twisted around to see what was keeping her. Instantly she released her grip and straightened in the saddle. As nonchalantly as she could manage, she walked the horse abreast of his.
“Since we are riding together on this mission,” she began, carefully modulating her voice into her Excruciatingly Polite tone, “would you care to tell me what your—our—plan is?”
“I’ll tell you when we get there. Follow me and don’t talk. If,” he added with dry emphasis, “you can manage it.”
He trotted his mount off and did not once turn back to check on her. She’d done something to anger him. Again. And she racked her brain to figure out what it was this time.
Perhaps he was simply being a man, always wanting to be in charge. Wanting no responsibility for anyone but himself.
With sudden clarity she knew that was the key. He had cared about that Indian girl at the orphanage, and when she died from the whipping, Jericho felt responsible. Worse, he felt guilty for not speaking up for her. And now he was afraid to take responsibility for someone or to risk caring for someone ever again.
And that, she deduced in a sudden moment of clarity, was why Sheriff Silver preferred to work alone. The man wanted to risk no one’s life but his own.
Furthermore, she was beginning to understand, Jericho had shut himself off from life to protect himself.
But he was wrong.
Hours later they walked their horses to the top of a lumpy, weed-covered hill, dismounted quietly and peered down through a screen of larch and scrub pine trees.
Below them a camp was laid out, tucked into a ragged circle of gray boulders near the river. A fire pit puffed smoke into the air, which added to the shadowy gloom as the sun slipped behind the mountains to the west.
“I figure that’s Tucker’s camp,” Jericho said quietly. “We’re about five miles from the Oregon Central railroad tracks. For a gang of train robbers, that’s within striking distance.”
Maddie sat on her horse without saying a word, and for once, he wished she’d say something. With a sigh, he began to calculate how long it would take for dusk to fade into darkness.
“We’ve got about twenty minutes,” he said quietly.
“
Twenty minutes for what?”
“Full dark.”
“And then what? It would help if you would tell me what the plan is, Jericho.”
His plan. His plan was what it always was when he tracked a man, or a gang. It had always worked. He bluffed them into believing they were outnumbered and that he was just one of many armed lawmen. By the time they realized he was alone, it was too late. He was good at capturing outlaws, and he always, always worked alone.
But, dammit, this time was different. He prayed the result would be the same—he’d capture every one of them.
“When it gets dark, here’s what I want you to do.” He didn’t look at her. He didn’t want to see the questioning look on her face, but he knew it was there. He slipped both Winchesters out of the saddle scabbards and gestured ahead.
“I want you to take one of my rifles and crawl down behind those boulders.”
Maddie sucked in her breath but said nothing.
“Stick your hat on a branch and prop it up so it shows above a different boulder, about ten feet away. Got that?”
“Got it,” she murmured. She sounded surprisingly calm.
“I’m gonna fire one bullet into the camp. When you hear a second shot, you start yelling like crazy and jiggle your hat up and down. Fire your rifle, then crawl to cover and keep firing.”
“Keep firing,” she echoed.
“You do know how to shoot a rifle, don’t you?” Hell and damn, he should have asked that before.
“I can shoot anything with bullets in it,” she answered tightly. “Even a Sharps buffalo gun.”
Jericho shot a look at her face. Just as well he couldn’t see her clearly. No matter what fearless expression she adopted, he wouldn’t believe it. He prayed she wasn’t lying about the rifle.
He leaned toward her. “You ready?”
“I am most certainly ready.”
He almost laughed aloud. Maddie was one helluva good bluffer. “Okay, then. Go!”
She hoisted the rifle across her folded arms, crouched low, and disappeared down the hill. Nothing happened for a quarter of an hour, and Jericho began to sweat. She’d bullied her way into this mess, but God knew he didn’t want her to pay for it with her life.
Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Lone SheriffThe Gentleman RogueNever Trust a Rebel Page 9