Champion growled.
The sound spurred John into action. With only a slight tension in his jaw, he ambled over and edged his sizeable form between Moira and the deputy sheriff until the two men stood nose to nose. Moira leaned away for a better view and sucked in a breath. The deputy, Wendell, narrowed his eyes and scraped his hand through his hair, leaving gummed furrows in the strands.
Another menacing growl sounded from Champion.
Wendell’s gaze flickered toward the animal and his mask of indifference slipped. He ran one finger around his collar and skittered away.
At the deputy’s hasty retreat, John held out a hand toward the dog. “Down, boy.”
Sensing he’d lost ground in the exchange, Wendell’s thunderous expression darkened. He drew himself upright, straightening the curve in his spine. “That’s the man who jumped me last night. I’m gonna arrest him.”
“Arrest Mr. Elder? I think not.” With the cowboy safely lodged between her and the deputy, Moira’s courage returned full-steam. “You, sir, snatched me and four innocent girls off the street and tossed us into a brothel. Mr. Elder was rescuing us. From you.”
The sheriff dusted his coat sleeve with the back of his hand. “Looks like I came into this poker game without all the cards.” He tilted back his head and stared down his tapered nose. “You left out the best parts of your story, Wendell.”
His deputy touched the bruise between his eyes. “Where was I supposed to put them? The jail was full of men. That wouldn’t have been safe now, would it? I did the next best thing. It was Sunday, after all. That’s the slowest night for business.”
“You’d know, wouldn’t you? And I suppose you took the opportunity to imbibe?”
With a thumb and forefinger, Wendell rubbed the inside corners of his bloodshot eyes “I did not imbibe. I had one drink. But I was definitely not imbibed.”
The sheriff’s expression fluctuated between resignation and disgust. “Never mind. I think we have a misunderstanding. One thing is for certain. Wendell is my deputy and you all broke the law.”
A burst of chatter erupted from the girls. They peeled away from Moira, forming a tight circle. Huddled together, they spoke in frantic whispers. Snippets of the exchange drifted beyond the boundaries of their bent heads.
“What if they—”
“Don’t even say it.”
“Nobody’s coming for you.”
Hazel clutched her recently returned rag doll against her chest. “Are we going to jail?”
Moira scooted closer and draped her arm around Hazel’s shoulder. She offered her most encouraging smile. “Don’t worry. This is all a misunderstanding. Mr. Elder will sort out the whole thing.”
The chatter fell silent.
A muscle ticked along John Elder’s jaw. “I’m sorting this out, am I?”
He obviously hadn’t slept much. Lines of fatigue feathered from his eyes and the edges of his mouth. His clothing was rumpled, his boots dusty. The added layer of grime lent him a patina of danger that had her heart thumping uncomfortably in her chest.
Moira shivered. “We shall sort out this misunderstanding.”
John shrugged his shoulders and moved defensively before the frightened bunch of girls. “If Wendell is your deputy, what was he doing kidnapping young girls?”
“Yes,” Moira added. “Please explain yourself.”
John held her in place, his touch on her shoulder firm and somehow comforting. “Let the man speak, Moira. We need to hear what he has to say.”
“Exactly, Mr. Elder.” Sheriff Taylor offered a twitch of his lips that might have been a smile. “We have a very special band of pickpockets targeting Fool’s End these days.” He slid his considering gaze over each girl in turn. “They’ve become an inconvenience for me, and I don’t like to be inconvenienced. One particular young girl swiped Mr. Grey’s watch. He’s one of our finest and most upstanding citizens. He’s none too pleased.”
The sheriff grimaced on the words finest and most upstanding.
A collective gasp erupted from the group. Tony stomped her foot. “It ain’t one of us.”
Moira fought John’s protective grasp. “What proof do you have?” she demanded.
The sheriff lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “I have enough circumstantial proof to make a case.” He frowned at Moira. “You look familiar. Have we met?”
She instantly reversed her direction, leaning away from John. “We most certainly have not met.”
The cowboy’s grip tightened on Moira’s sleeve and she shook off his fingers. He released her but held her gaze for a charged instant, his expression intense.
Wendell grunted. “This has gone beyond a bunch of pickpockets. That man attacked me. He assaulted an officer of the law. He’s got to be punished.”
The sheriff flipped back his jacket and rested his fingers on his slim hips. “Something’s been gnawing at me all morning. I’ve seen a lot of fights in my time, but I don’t ever recall an injury quite like that egg on your forehead. How exactly did that happen?”
“Well, uh.” Wendell stuttered. “It don’t matter. He should be in jail. That’s all.” The deputy sputtered into silence like a petulant child.
John splayed his arms. “We still haven’t solved the first problem. You have no proof that any of these girls is a thief.” He tossed a bitter glare toward the deputy. “And your law enforcement is shoddy at best.”
Wendell reared back. “You gave me the orders yourself. Round up any of them girls that looked to be homeless. Mr. Grey even found me special last evening when I was leaving the saloon—I mean the post office. He was especially interested in a particular redhead. Musta had a good reason, I figure.”
The deputy spat in the dirt at Moira’s feet.
Champion barked and John lunged. The sheriff caught Wendell by the scruff of his coat and yanked him back.
Moira’s stomach lurched. “I was minding my own business. And I’m not homeless or a young girl. I’m certainly not a pickpocket. What gives you the right to accost me simply because of the color of my hair?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Wendell shook out of the sheriff’s hold and swung his head from side to side. “Easy there.”
Momentarily distracted, Moira stared in fascination at his enormous head. Not a single hair moved out of its pressed mold. Grease made a powerful pomade.
“I didn’t accost you,” the deputy jerked Moira’s thoughts back to the task at hand. “I just put you in that place for safekeeping. Nothin’ else happened. So don’t be blabbering about people getting accosted and whatnot. That ain’t right. I’m a deputy sheriff and all. I got an image to uphold.”
Moira rolled her eyes. “You’ve exhausted your supply of big words, Wendell. I said accost, not rap—”
“Enough.” John interrupted. “Do you have any proof that this particular woman,” he emphasized the word and cast a meaningful look in Moira’s direction. “Had anything to do with stealing Mr. Grey’s watch?”
Wendell had the decency to look sheepish. “It was getting dark. I had my orders. A red-haired woman who dresses like a girl. That’s what I was told to look for. No women I know wear their skirt above their ankles outside the saloon.”
Moira flushed and kept her gaze pinned on a shrub tree in the distance. It was somehow fitting she’d be falsely accused of stealing a watch after letting Tommy take the blame for the same crime all those years ago.
Wendell postured. “Everything fit. I spotted you right off. I was doing my job and I did good. One of them girls is a thief and a liar. Maybe all of them.”
The sheriff waved Wendell’s ramblings to a halt. “It seems we have more than one misunderstanding. My deputy may have been a touch overzealous in his approach to law enforcement, but his intentions were sound. If a crime has been committed, he h
as the right to round up suspects. In this case, he assumed, quite logically, that the suspects were young girls without adult supervision. I believe each of you meets the criteria?”
The girls scuffed the ground and avoided his searching gaze.
“My point precisely. With the noted exception of Miss O’Mara, Wendell had every right to think you might have been the pickpockets he was seeking.” His paused. “Then again, Miss O’Mara was the only one with an accurate description.”
John rubbed his forehead. “I’d like to know what your witnesses were imbibing if these are your suspects.” He pointed at Hazel. “A nine-year-old with curly black hair.” He indicated Sarah. “A blonde with pale blue eyes. A redhead. What’s next? A trained bear with a yellow bow in its fur?”
Hazel giggled.
“Your conditions are far too broad and your temporary jail was a travesty,” John said. “As far as I knew, these girls had been kidnapped. I was protecting them. If your drunken deputy had identified himself, things might have turned out different.”
The sheriff flashed a toothy smile. “An honorable cowboy. What an oddity around these parts. And you bring up a good question. Why didn’t you identify yourself, Wendell?”
“I forgot, that’s all. I only been doing this job for a week.” The deputy snorted. “Let’s haul them all back into town and search ’em. We’ll have this sorted out soon enough once we shake ’em and see what falls out.”
Sarah drew in a sharp breath and Tony placed a secure arm around her shoulder. “You ain’t taking us nowhere,” Tony challenged.
The sheriff rubbed his chin. “As Wendell has so ably demonstrated, I don’t have the facilities to house you while we sort which of you has sticky fingers.”
“Then let’s search the lot of them right here.” Wendell declared, looking unaccountably proud of his inspired suggestion. “Search them right now.”
“No!” Darcy shouted. “You have no right.”
Agitated by the raised voices, Champion barked and bounced from side to side on his front paws. In a flash the scene spiraled out of control. The girls erupted into a noisy argument, shouting and gesturing. Darcy shoved Tony. Sarah grasped Tony’s arm against retaliation. Sheriff Taylor paced around the fringes, his orders for calm lost in the fray. Wendell flapped his arms like a chicken that forgot it couldn’t fly.
After a moment, the sheriff let out a shrill whistle. Champion sat back on his haunches and whimpered, then let out a defiant bark.
John remained motionless in the fray. “Enough. This is getting us nowhere. If you people don’t stop whistling and waving your arms around, we’re going to have a stampede on our hands.”
His quiet announcement flummoxed the group and everyone fell silent.
Wendell recovered first. “I’m taking this one back to town no matter what.” He snatched Moira’s arm. “She’s the ringleader. She’s the one you want. You cut off the snake’s head and the body will die.”
Moira stumbled and fell hard on her knees. Pain shot up her legs. Wendell yanked her upright.
John charged. The sheriff threw his left shoulder into the cowboy, knocking him off balance. Using his momentary advantage, Sheriff Taylor whipped out his gun and aimed the barrel at John’s chest. Moira blanched.
The sheriff shook a scruff of hair from his eyes. “Wendell, I’ll be taking charge of the woman before you get us all killed.” He gently extracted Moira from the deputy’s hold while keeping a wary eye on John. “You’ve made your point. I’d suggest you not rile Mr. Elder any further.”
Sick and tired of being manhandled, Moira rubbed her bruised shoulder.
“Him?” Wendell slapped his chest. “What about me? I’m the abused party. Why isn’t anyone worried about getting me riled up?”
“Because you have a singular way of escalating even the most benign situations into shambles.” The sheriff holstered his gun and raked his hair back into one place before repositioning his hat.
“But,” Wendell sputtered. “It’s her. We got to take her.”
John caught Moira’s gaze. “Why her?” the cowboy asked. “You seem awfully fired up about Miss O’Mara. Is there something more you’re not telling us?”
Moira wondered the same thing. Why single her out? The cowboy looked more confused than accusing, and for that she was grateful. He hadn’t immediately taken Wendell’s side. That had to mean something.
“Look what she done to me!” Wendell pointed at his face.
Moira blanched. His injury explained a lot. He’d gone and knocked himself out before a group of witnesses. His pride had been hurt as much as his head.
The sheriff tucked his chin to his chest and rocked back on his heels. “Explain your injury or I leave right now.”
“She hit me with a pitchfork.”
“I did not,” Moira declared. “Well, not in the face...I mean, there was a pitchfork involved.”
She let her voice trail off. The long version of the explanation didn’t exactly help her cause. She had whacked him. Just not in the face. “I hit him in the backside with the pitchfork.” She caught the deputy’s warning glare. “He did the rest himself. And that’s the truth.”
“You gotta do better than that.” The sheriff hoisted a dark eyebrow in question. “Why don’t you tell me the whole story, Miss O’Mara?”
Hazel giggled. The other girls snickered.
“Well...” She cleared her throat. Humiliating the deputy didn’t feel like the best way to advance her case. “You must understand that I was under the impression I had been kidnapped. Your deputy never identified himself as a lawman. It was quite understandable that I had the wrong impression.”
“Yes, yes. I got that part.”
“He chased us into the livery.” She cast a sidelong glance at Wendell.
The deputy glowered.
The sheriff heaved a breath. “The scene of the crime, as it were.”
“Events progressed from there.” Moira studied her laced fingers. “There was a brief altercation. Then a small fire. Well, um, I dropped a pitchfork and he, um, stepped on the tongs. Knocked himself out cold.”
The sheriff threw back his head and laughed. Gathering himself, he swiped at his forehead with a turkey-red bandanna. He then straightened his lapels and buttoned his jacket. “As much as I’d like to pursue this line of explanation further, it’s a waste of time. All we’re doing is talking in circles, and I have more important work. Last night there was a shoot-out over a land claim. One of the fellows was gut-shot and it doesn’t look good. If that fellow dies, I’ll have a murder on my hands. Do you have any idea how much paperwork comes with a murder?”
The sheriff ran his thumb and forefinger down the crease of his lapel. “Pages. I’ve gone through a whole box of pencils this month alone. Not to mention I don’t have any love for Mr. Grey or his two-dollar watch.” He paused. “Why don’t we strike a bargain? As long as you and the girls stay out of town, there’s not much I can do. You show your face, even once, and I’ll be forced to take action.”
Moira opened her mouth and John silenced her with a quick slice of his hand. “What if Mr. Grey doesn’t agree?”
“I’ll handle Mr. Grey. I’ll even let you in on a little something.” He lowered his voice. “I’m only the interim sheriff here. I’m just biding my time until the permanent man arrives. Which means I don’t have to play nice with Mr. Grey. So do we have a deal?”
“Yes!” Moira shouted immediately. Right then, anything was better than putting herself at the mercy of Wendell Ervin.
“No.” The cowboy spoke low.
Her knees buckled.
“It’s important I go back into town.” John paced before the girls who watched his back-and-forth movements like spectators at a quick draw. “I’ve got no crew and eight-hundred-head of range cattle. What am I supp
osed to do with a bunch of girls out in the middle of nowhere?”
“You got food?” Sheriff Taylor asked.
“Yep.”
“Shelter?”
“Yep.”
The sheriff shrugged. “Seems like you’re doing fine to me.”
“Fine? How is that fine? These girls have nothing but the clothes on their backs.” John threw up his arms. “Well, I guess if you don’t count a couple hundred head of cattle and an absent crew, then, yes, everything is just dandy. Couldn’t be brighter if there were two suns in the sky.”
“You had a crew coming into town. Not my fault you lost them on the way out.”
The cowboy made a strangled sound in his throat. John clutched his head and muttered beneath his breath, “I should have walked the long way home last night. I was tired and angry and not thinking straight. I tried to take the easy way out, but there are no shortcuts in life. I know better. I shouldn’t have let my temper get the best of me. Yep, that was my first mistake. My second mistake was looking up. Always keep your head down, my brother Jack told me. But did I listen? No. All the years he lectured me, who knew he’d be right someday?”
Tony’s eyes widened. “Oh my, he’s gone and lost his mind, hasn’t he?”
“Yep.” Sarah nodded. “The same thing happened to my Great-Aunt Sylvia. One day she was frying pork chops, the next thing she was babbling like she’d lost her wits.”
Darcy frowned. “Did she ever get ’em back? You know, her wits.”
Sarah scratched her temple. “Not that I know of. And my ma was terrified of pork chops after that. She’d get all white and shaky over frying bacon even.”
The girls nodded and elbowed each other, each recalling stories they’d heard of people losing their minds at the drop of a hat. While John muttered, the sheriff and his deputy spoke in low, agitated tones.
The cowboy had gone half-loco, the deputy was an imbecile and the sheriff was the worst of the lot. The head of law enforcement in that corrupt cow town was abandoning them. By refusing to declare their innocence, he’d effectively declared their guilt—because he didn’t want to whittle down another pencil over a person’s life. A sharp pain throbbed behind her eyes.
The Cattleman Meets His Match Page 7