“You are, probably. Your father seems to be a bit under the weather today.”
Her heart sank. But then, maybe the marshal wouldn’t want to see her, anyway. He certainly seemed to be in a hurry to get rid of her last night. Even though Deputy Kunkle’s sudden appearance had embarrassed him, he at least could have kissed her goodnight, or asked to see her again. He’d done neither. Maybe he didn’t like her at all.
She’d change that! But first, she needed to think. As soon as they finished dinner, she’d ride out to the cave and have a little chat with Honey Beaulieu. She slipped the latest dime novel in her reticule. Her wedding dress goods, a new Honey Beaulieu book, The Lady Detective: The Case of the Robber Prince, and her fingerprinting kit—all in one shipment. How lucky could a girl get?
Not lucky enough for the marshal to propose. He would, though, when he saw how there could be no better helpmate for a town marshal than a competent lady detective. And that's just what she was.
All she had to do was prove it.
Cole put his hands over his face, shielding his eyes from the blazing sunlight as he walked to the livery. Even walking jarred his head and aggravated his stomach. His knees hurt, his back hurt, his fingernails hurt. His head felt like it would explode any moment. It had been all he could do to roust himself out of bed, and he hadn’t done that until nearly nine o’clock. He had spent another half an hour—and a session with the bushes—to get his sorry butt moving, and he wasn’t moving all that fast, at that.
He hadn’t felt so peaked since the morning after the night his brother had told him the bad news about Etta. Good news for Thomas, since he got the girl.
So much for respecting a good woman—his fiancée had been romping in the hay with his own brother. Cole didn’t know how long she’d duped him, but he’d felt the fool and set out to prove it. He and Bosco had ridden clear to Winnemucca for a night on the town—that stretched into a week—and a fling or two at Big Boned Bess’s. One thing about whores, they diddled anyone who had a buck. There was a certain amount of honesty in that.
If his stomach would quit giving him fits, he’d be ready for a ride on a whore right then. But even if he had the inclination, the pickin’s were slim in Oreana. Loretta Sue at the Branded Horse was the only choice. He’d seen her a few times on his rounds and decided that with her drawn, tired face, false gaiety in her laughter, and penchant for alcohol, he wouldn’t be able to take advantage in such a sad woman, even if he did pay her.
Besides, only one woman could satisfy the burning need that had been growing since he first saw her face. That inferno had burst into a full-blown bonfire last night, and it still raged hot. He didn’t know whether to thank Bosco or cuss him out. Miss Daisy was the one woman he couldn’t have, and he damned well knew it. Bosco had saved him from making the biggest mistake of his life.
When he finally made it to the livery, Jonas, looking as green as Cole felt, nodded slightly. Apparently he, too, suffered from the same self-inflicted illness. Yup, it had to be the plum wine. Cole nodded back, at no little protest from his aching brain, and went straight to his horse’s stall.
Stroking his horse’s soft nose, he took a deep breath, hoping to clear a few cobwebs. It didn’t help, nor did it help his raging libido. “Just be glad you’re a gelding. It eliminates every sort of heartache.”
He took a currycomb from the tack box outside the stall. “We’ll have to forego your normal run, old boy. Maybe later.” A good grooming would have to suffice—all the easy to reach spots, at least. He had no intention of doing much bending, lest his head would surely fall off.
A loud woof echoed through the barn, and a shot of pain made his eyes water. He sighed. That had to be Winky—he’d know that bark anywhere. And Winky’s presence meant that Forrest was nearby, ready for his junior deputy assignment. Cole chuckled, immediately regretting it. That kid was a wonder—full of vinegar and good cheer. He had to admit, he enjoyed having the kid around, although being Daisy’s brother did complicate matters.
“Let me help you with that,” Cole heard Jonas say.
A little bit later, he heard the boy ask, “If you see the marshal, would you make sure he knows he’s supposed to eat at our house at noon?”
“I sure will. Here, let me tighten that cinch for you.”
A few minutes later, he heard a horse trotting away and Winky’s barks diminished in the distance.
He patted his horse on the butt. “That’ll have to do for this morning, old boy.”
On the way out, Jonas handed him a ladle of water. “Drink this, it’ll make you feel better.”
Cole eyed it warily.
“Go ahead, you look like death warmed over. You need to drink lots of water, all day. It’ll make you pee that poison out.”
He took a few sips, his stomach protesting, and gave the ladle back to Jonas, who pushed to Cole again.
“Dammit, marshal, drink it all. You look as bad as I feel, and that’s pretty bad. When you to the jailhouse, drink more water. Drink at least a full cup every hour.”
Cole downed the whole dipper of water, his stomach not liking it much. “So where’s Forrest heading so early?”
“Dunno. Who can tell about a boy that age.”
Chapter 12
Cole sat at his desk and alphabetized the merchants’ tax forms. Filing was something he normally hated to do, but this morning, the dull task provided him with an excuse not to move too much, even if paperwork did bother his eyes some.
He’d sent Bosco to exercise his horse, deciding that just because he was under the weather, didn’t mean his horse ought to suffer. Besides, Cole needed the silence. Silence and Bosco were mutually exclusive.
Cole carefully avoided the box that he’d moved to the corner of the room. Miss Daisy had left it, and he damned sure wasn’t going to mess with it. Who knew what she’d cooked up? He snorted. Whoever heard of fingerprinting? But she seemed hell-bent to do something with it, and if there was one thing he admired about Miss Daisy, it was her determination. And her breasts.
An hour later, Bosco barged into the office, smiling as he threw his hat on the hook. “Got me an invite to the Widder Proctor’s for dinner, and the Widder Courtney’s for supper.”
Cole wondered how long it would take until the two old biddies declared all-out war on each other. From what Bosco had told him, they had nearly come to blows at the dance, what with the way they’d carried on. But then, speaking of women, he remembered he was supposed to eat at Miss Daisy’s house. There were two problems with that—for one, he wasn’t so sure he could keep anything down, for another, he didn’t have the slightest idea what to say to a woman he’d nearly ruined but couldn’t marry.
“Helluva nice day, Cole,” Bosco said as he built a pot of coffee, making all sorts of clatter. “You oughtta git yourself out of this place and smell the sagebrush.” He cocked his head. “Course, you’re just about as green as sagebrush. You look like cowshit.”
Cole had to agree with that—he felt like shit, too, although he was considerably better than even an hour ago. Another hour, and he’d be right as rain. Maybe hail, he amended. He still didn’t think he could eat much, although it was time to give it a try. Still he couldn’t go to the Gardners’ and pretend nothing had happened between him and Miss Daisy.
“Go over to the mercantile and tell the Gardners I won’t be by for dinner.”
“Shit-criminy, Cole, that don’t make a bit of sense. Mrs. Gardner’s a damned fine cook.”
True enough, Cole thought. He could use some food in his belly, all right—it might help settle it a bit. Wouldn’t do much for the constant ache in every muscle of his body, though. That would only pass with time.
“And Miss Daisy’s a fine young thing to look on.”
Cole tensed, heat flushing over his face. “You stick with the widows.”
Bosco raised his hand, palm out. “I ain’t looking for to roll her in the hay—don’t you get your dander up about me.” He walked to the door and
took his hat off the hook again. “But if I didn’t know better, I’d say that little girl has the hots for you.”
“Let it go, Bosco.”
“So what lie do you want me to tell Mrs. Gardner?”
“Don’t lie, tell her I’m not feeling up to snuff.”
Bosco put his hat on and adjusted it. “All right, I’ll tell her you’re plumb hung over.” And skeedaddled before Cole had a chance to protest.
If he weren’t such a coward, he’d have told Mrs. Gardner himself. As soon as he felt like he’d live, he’d round up those Rankins and get the hell out of this town—as far away from a particular respectable woman as he could.
First, though, he needed to try to eat some food, and the only other place to get it was Mrs. Howards’ Boarding House.
Her dad hadn’t looked any too spry, but Daisy gladly escaped the store, anyway. She hurried to the house and gulped down the leftovers her mother had saved for her. As she put her plate in the dishpan, her mother asked her if Forrest had been at the store.
“No, I haven’t seen him since you talked to him early this morning.” She remembered well, because both parents had tried to dissuade Forrest from his junior deputy duties, and then turned their ire toward her, demanding she pay more attention to Patrick Duggan. Her folks were dead set against having a marshal in the family. Oh, well, they’d get used to it. Their son might end up a lawman, too, given his current enthusiasm for the job.
“He didn’t show up for dinner again, the little skunk. Not only that, all the biscuits were missing.”
“He probably fed them to Winky—that’s what happened last time.”
“I suppose so. At least the marshal didn’t show up. It just isn’t a full meal without biscuits. Neither did Grace—I don’t know where she’s gotten herself off to.”
Daisy wondered why the marshal didn’t come. It seemed to be another indication that he didn’t want anything to do with her, and one more reason to catch the Rankin brothers. She sighed. Sometimes she thought the marshal was more interested in the Rankins than in her.
“I’ll send Forrest home if I see him.”
“You do that.” Her mother pressed her lips together and frowned. “I’m going to have your father blister that boy’s behind!”
Escaping her mother’s ranting with another reassurance that she’d look for her brother, Daisy set off for the marshal’s office. First thing on her agenda was to retrieve her fingerprinting kit.
Maybe the marshal would be there and she could find out how he felt about what had happened between them. Or maybe not. On this account, she had no gumption at all, but it was an excuse to see him, to see how he reacted to her.
Then again, maybe she should wait until he said something to her. She needed to learn how to take fingerprints, but evening would be soon enough to start. She could send Forrest to fetch the kit, and make finding the Rankins her first priority.
First, she had to find her brother. She reversed her direction and went to the livery. Jonas looked as poorly as her father had, and pitched hay with little enthusiasm. “Jonas, have you seen Forrest?”
He stuck the fork tines in the dirt and leaned on the handle. “Not since this morning. He took his pony out for a ride.”
The little imp could be anywhere. She’d have to wait to tell him to get her kit. “When he comes back, tell him I need him. Don’t bother telling him that Mom’s ready to send him to the woodshed, though.”
“I’ll do that.” He pulled the pitchfork out of the dirt, ready to resume his chores.
“I hope you had a good time at the dance last night.”
“Surely did. Lots of desserts and good music. The marshal sure can wrap his lips around that harmonica.”
Daisy’s her face grew hot as she remembered the marshal’s lips and just what they did wrap around. “Uh, gotta go.” She took her lasso off the nail on the wall beside the rest of her tack, and waved as she hurried toward the door. “Don’t forget to send Forrest home.”
The Rankins wouldn’t pose nearly as much problem as the marshal did, of that she was certain. She draped the lasso over her shoulder, adjusted the strap on her reticule, and walked toward the Branded Horse. Her pace slowed as she approached, then she stopped a hundred feet shy of the place, rethinking her strategy, or lack of one.
Honey Beaulieu would never charge into the saloon, demand the location of the Rankins, then pursue and hope like the dickens she could hogtie them. Daisy needed a plan, a plan involving reasonable deductions and logical procedure.
She reversed direction and headed back for the livery, where she saddled her mare. Jonas was quite content to let her do it herself and only checked the cinch. She mounted and rode toward the cave. The latest Honey Beaulieu most certainly would contain some insight into her problem. If not, the ads for detective equipment in the back would be of value, for sure.
Besides, she needed to be someplace where the marshal was not, at least until she had a plan to snare him for good.
Just as the trail veered off the main road to the cut-off trail to Silver City, she saw dust ahead. Two horses about a half of a mile away, she figured—and another, single horse a couple hundred yards behind them. And a dog!
Under her breath, Daisy cursed her brother with some extremely unladylike words. She’d bet the marshal’s honor that the two horses leading were the Rankin brothers, and the horse trailing was her brother. Why on earth was a ten-year-old boy trailing two hardened criminals by himself?
They were all heading toward her cave! She kicked her mare into a trot. Then, on second thought, she pulled back to a walk. It didn’t make sense for her to give her position away by stirring up as much dust as they were, and anyway, she suspected their destination. Besides, she knew a shortcut, and veered cross-country to the backside of the boulders.
Fifteen minutes later, she smelled burning sagebrush as she quietly dismounted. Daisy’s heart quickened a bit, uneasy lest she be discovered. She still didn’t see a campfire, but she could smell it. And that meant the Rankins were there.
She pushed back the bushes in front of the cave entrance, led Gal into the outer cavern, and tied her to the hitching ring. Daisy went back outside and pinched off a branch of the bush to cover their tracks. Once she finished, she bellied down in the alkali dirt and followed her nose to the campfire.
She’d been right—the Rankins camped not a hundred yards from her cave, just down the hill and to the south. All that separated her cave and the two outlaws was a big boulder and a lot of sagebrush.
She crept back to safe ground, careful not to leave a trail. Honey Beaulieu couldn’t have done any better. But Honey Beaulieu wouldn’t have lost her little brother, either. Daisy decided to go to high ground—the boulders above the cave entrance—to see if Forrest and Winky were still in the area.
Shimmying up boulders with a skirt and three petticoats in the way was a challenge, but she got the job done. The boy and the dog weren’t visible, but at least the Rankins didn’t have them.
Or her. For the first time, it dawned on her that chasing outlaws without a sidearm was foolhardy. Leaving wouldn’t be all that smart, either, even though she had an old pistol stashed in the cave. They certainly wouldn’t be handed the chance to capture her on the way out, pistol or not.
Daisy fumbled her way into the second cavern, felt for the lantern on her trunk, lit it, and found the pistol. After taking a long, refreshing drink of water from the spring, she filled a bucket, then carried it to the outer cavern. To prevent Gal fron nickering, Daisy patted the mare’s muzzle. Then, holding the pistol in her apron pocket, Daisy again crept out of the cave, to the edge of the large boulder.
At a hundred yards, she saw one Rankin brother put a coffeepot on the fire while the other skinned a small animal—probably a hare.
She still saw no trace of her brother or Winky. Could they have hurt him and left him for dead? Or maybe he had the common sense to ride back to Oreana for help. She rolled her eyes. Not likely. But he c
ould have lost interest—that wouldn’t be out of the question at all.
With luck, her little brother was safe and happy, but that thought didn’t still the fear in her heart.
Cole slowly began to feel like his old self again. Ruth Howard’s fried potatoes had done the trick—that, and about three gallons of water.
Anyway, the day hadn’t been completely wasted. He’d filed every single blasted paper in the place, swept the floor and the cobwebs, stripped the beds and remade them, and hauled the dirty sheets and his spare clothes to Cho Lu’s Laundry. It had been the first decent cleaning since he’d taken up residence, and it was about damned time. The best part of it all was that no one had caught him doing womanly chores. He’d gotten away with it Scot-free.
Dusk set in and, tired as he was, he thought it best if the townspeople saw him out and about. Besides, the sooner he caught up with the Rankins, the better. There was no putting it off. He buckled on his gunbelt, put on his Stetson, and set out for the Branded Horse.
A saloon was about the last place he wanted to go given his revulsion to the odor of whiskey at the moment, but the only place to inquire about the brothers’ whereabouts. They sure wouldn’t be at Gardner’s Mercantile or Mrs. Howard’s Boarding House.
He strongly doubted they’d loiter around Mardsen’s Confectionery or the bank. If Jonas had seen them at the livery, he’d have said so, and the only place left was the butcher shop and the laundry. Cole was quite sure they hadn’t frequented a laundry for some time, by the smell of them.
He tipped his hat to Daisy’s Aunt Grace and Henry Smith as they passed by. It seemed as if Smith had already made some headway in the courting department. Cole wondered about him, though. The man was a no-account drifter, and Grace could do better. Then again, so could Daisy, and no one knew that better than Cole himself.
“Marshal!”
He turned to see Mrs. Gardner running down the street, waving.
“Is Forrest with you?”
He waited for her to catch up to him. “No, ma’am. I haven’t seen him.”
Much Ado About Marshals (Hearts of Owyhee) (2011) Page 16