The savory smell of roast beef forced a growl from his stomach. “All right.” He held the chair for Daisy, while Gardner seated his wife. She’d cooked up quite a spread—fresh peas, a garden salad, mashed potatoes and gravy. Although his nerves bothered him some, they didn’t bother him enough to curb his appetite.
“Where’s Forrest?” Mrs. Gardner complained, her brow furrowed in worry. “That boy knows he’s supposed to be here at noon, sharp.”
“Don’t worry.” Gardner patted his wife’s arm. “I saw him not fifteen minutes ago.”
He said grace, then passed the meat to Cole. “Eat hearty, but save some room for a slab of my wife’s cherry pie.”
Cole forked a hunk of beef onto his plate. “I have plenty of appetite for everything, believe me.”
Daisy, too, had an appetite, he was happy to see. But her mother kept looking at her, questioning. Cole knew that she knew what had passed between him and her daughter, and suspected that her father knew, too, although he kept his gaze on his plate. And that Daisy knew that they knew, but ignored the silent inquiry. Cole would make everything all right for her, just as soon as he had his say-so with Gardner. She deserved no less.
Mid-meal, the door crashed open. “He didn’t mean to do it!” Forrest yelled as he ran in the house. “We were just playing fetch, and, and—”
“Calm down there, son,” Gardner said as he gestured the boy to come over to him. “Start at the beginning. What’s going on?”
“It’s Winky.” He panted and looked at his dad, then Cole. “Mrs. Courtney has him in jail and says she’s going to make dog steaks out of him and feed him to her chickens.” He hopped from one foot to the other. “You’ve got to come save him!”
“And why did she do that?” Gardner’s even voice seemed to calm Forrest a bit.
“Because,” the boy’s lower lip trembled, “She said Winky ate her raisin pie that she baked for Deputy Kunkle.”
While the Widow Courtney leaned toward the unreasonable side of things, Cole didn’t see why that alone would send the woman into such a fury. But he knew what a trial the big, happy, slobbery menace could be. “Is that all?”
Forrest studied his toe as he drew invisible circles on the floor with it. “Uh, no.”
Cole waited, but the boy wasn’t forthcoming. “What else did your dog do?”
“Well, she tied him to the privy. Then, I waited and waited for my chance. Pretty soon, while she was, uh, visiting the privy, I started to cut the rope—you know, so she couldn’t stop me while she was in there. And, well…”
“And?” Cole prompted.
“Winky was just so happy, he hopped three-legged around and around the privy with the rope still tied around his neck, and, well…sorta knocked it over.”
“Uh oh,” Daisy breathed.
Mrs. Gardner pressed her hand to her forehead. “Oh, my stars!”
Mr. Gardner looked bemused, smiling slightly.
Cole would have bet there was a knocked-over outhouse sometime in his past. “Forrest, are you saying Mrs. Courtney was using the privy when your dog accidently pushed it over?” A strong belly laugh welled inside him but he did his best to keep a straight face.
“Yes, and the door was on the down side. If I’d known what a mean old bat she was, I wouldn’t have got Deputy Kunkle to roll it over and let her out.”
“Forrest!” his mother exclaimed.
The boy looked at his father, then back at his mother. “That’s what Daddy calls her,” he said defensively.
Mrs. Gardner glared at her husband, who smiled weakly.
Cole needed to hear the rest of the boy’s story. “So Deputy Kunkle helped out?”
“Yes—I didn’t bother him none, because he said he was on his way over to her house to eat dinner. ‘Cept he did say he would have liked a big hunk of that raisin pie.”
“I’m sure Deputy Kunkle isn’t put out,” Cole reassured. Probably laughing his ass off, more like it.
“But Winky didn’t mean to knock the privy over. Really. Why, he was just so happy to be free and all.” He smiled—an ornery grin if Cole had ever seen one. “Boy, oh, boy. You should have heard that old woman holler.” Then he frowned. “But now she’s convinced the deputy to lock my dog up in your jail, marshal, and says she’s gonna put him out of his misery. But he ain’t in no misery—his paw’s healing real good..” He grabbed Cole’s hand. “You gotta come. Now.”
All four of them followed Forrest to the marshal’s office. A horrible racket came from inside—the incessant barking and the piercing curses of a woman. Bosco sat outside, his chair tipped back and his hat pulled over his eyes.
“I wouldn’t go in there if I was you,” he drawled. “It ain’t safe.”
Cole bet not. Didn’t this town have anything normal, like shoot-outs? “Just what the hell did you do?” he bit out.
Bosco stood and shoved his hat back. “Prunella was a might disturbed, you might say, ‘bout her privy tumbling over whilst she was sitting in it and all. She grabbed that dog by the ears ‘till he yelped and drug him into the jail cell, screaming at the poor critter ever’ step of the way. So I locked Winky in the cell, then I pushed the widder in the other cell and locked her up, too.”
“On what charge?”
“Pestering that animal so. They ain’t no call for yanking a dog’s ears dang neart off his head. And I ain’t eating her raisin pie no more, either.”
Cole wasn’t surprised, given Bosco’s soft-hearted nature. Nor could he say he disagreed. He turned to the Gardners, all with mouths agape. “I think you better stay out here until I have Mrs. Courtney calmed down some.”
The little man Cole had met earlier with Bosco walked up. Sam Jones was his name. “Need some help here?”
“Naw, nothing to worry about,” Cole replied, wondering why a stranger would be sticking his nose in other people’s business.
Jonas and his wife joined the group. “What’s all that noise about?”
Cole’s frustration grew. Couldn’t anything happen in this town quietly? “Gardner’ll fill you in.”
“Just a little matter of Winky knocking over the Widow Courtney’s privy—with her in it,” Gardner said, not seeming a bit perturbed.
Jonas laughed. Mrs. Howard flashed a look of horror and put her hand over her open mouth. “Oh, my!”
Cole groaned as he saw Mrs. Proctor marching up the boardwalk. “That woman has got herself in trouble again. Hmph. It’s the henna.”
“Henna?” the whole group asked.
The widow sniffed. “She colors her hair,” she said, her voice low and accusing, “and you know what kind of women color their hair.”
Cole had had enough, and the noise inside hadn’t let up a bit, either. “You folks go on home and let me get this mess straightened out. Gardner, you stay here. Mrs. Gardner, I think it would be best if you kept Forrest and Winky in the house for an hour or so.”
“Deputy Kunkle,” Mrs. Proctor twittered, “come to my house. I have a nice dinner ready for you, and some fresh raisin pie.”
Bosco rubbed his belly. “You made raisin pie, too?” He held out his arm for her to hold. “You don’t have to call me twice.”
“But marshal, I don’t want that old bat to feed Winky to the chickens!” Forrest cried.
“Don’t you worry about that,” Cole said, patting the boy on the head. “Your dog will be back home with you in no time.” He had a strong suspicion that Winky wasn’t the one who stole the raisin pie, but he’d look into that later. His first order of business was to restore peace—Mrs. Courtney hadn’t drawn a full breath for all her screeching since they’d arrived.
Everyone left, except Daisy. Cole would’ve bet his last nickel that she’d need a personal invitation to leave—which he didn’t have the heart to do. “Stay out here.”
She pursed her lips, as if thinking to argue, then nodded. He took a deep breath, plugged his ears, and opened the door the madhouse.
Mrs. Courtney gripped the jail cel
l bars so hard, her fingers turned white. “How could you let him do such a thing to me,” she wailed. “Awful man, he is, and you’re an awful man, too!”
That did it. As long as she acted like a spoiled child, he’d treat her that way. Winky woofed and wagged his tail expect-antly. Cole unlocked his cell and let the dog out, then said to the widow. “I’ll be right outside. When you think you can have a decent conversation, you let me know.”
“You can’t do that! Why, I’m a tax-paying, law-abiding citizen of this town.”
The dog nuzzled Cole’s hand. “Like I said, ma’am, I’ll be right outside.” He slapped his leg. “Come, Winky.” He walked out, the dog bounding after him.
Forrest grabbed his dog around the neck and gave him a big hug. “Thanks, marshal.”
Cole nodded, then spoke to Gardner, “Since she’s a widow woman, I expect we ought to fix up her privy for her. But to tell you the truth, I think she brought all this on herself.”
He turned his attention to Daisy, who looked at him with such worry, he wanted to kiss it right off her face. “Daisy, you ought to get the doc. Mrs. Courtney needs something to calm her down.”
“She takes Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters. I’ll get some of that, too.”
“Good idea.”
Mr. Gardner gave Cole a friendly slap on the arm. “How about I go take a look at her outhouse while you wait?”
Cole chuckled. “How about I take a look at the outhouse while you wait?”
Gardner shook his head. “I never thought I’d see the day when fixing an outhouse would be the more pleasant choice.”
“We still need to talk,” Cole reminded him. “About your daughter.”
“Later,” Gardner said as he left for privy duty.
The man was a puzzlement, Cole thought. Surely he knew what had happened, and that his daughter would need to be married soon. She could be carrying his child at this very moment. The thought was not the least bit unpleasant, although the whole marriage situation did pose a problem. Daisy didn’t even know the name of the man who’d proposed to her.
The thought occurred to him that Gardner hadn’t wanted his daughter to marry a lawman. But that couldn’t be helped—the deed was done. He’d have to accept Daisy’s choice whether it stuck in his craw or not, given the circumstances. While Cole was none too proud of compromising her, he couldn’t bring himself to regret a single moment of it. No other woman could compare to Miss Daisy Gardner, and he’d be proud to change her name to Mrs. Cole Richards.
He paced back and forth on the boardwalk in front of the jailhouse, trying not to listen to the incessant screeching of Mrs. Courtney. Even now, he thought he’d enjoy being a town marshal permanently. And he liked this town, too.
Still, he’d been in Oreana over a month, and the real Sidney Adler would be riding into town any day. The sooner he put the Rankins away and got back to Sinker Creek, the better. Let Adler have his damned job. Cole had been a rancher before, and he’d be a rancher again with Daisy at his side.
The telling of all this mess to Daisy wouldn’t be his idea of a good time, either. Her inquisitive mind coupled with her hot temper wouldn’t make it easy for him. But she’d wanted him, and she got him—he’d resisted as long as he could.
Damn, when’s that doctor gonna show up? Between too much screeching and too much thinking, his patience was running low.
Daisy poked her head in the doctor’s office and gave him the marshal’s message, then she hurried to the store and picked up a bottle of Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters. While Mrs. Courtney had been a pain in the backside since the day she’d moved to Oreana, she’d never been this unreasonable. She thought the marshal’s actions were quite appropriate—modern, too.
The same sort of situation had happened to Honey Beaulieu in The Case of the Alien Stagecoach Robbery. The female passenger had been so upset, they had to dose her with laudanum before she could relate a clear account of the crime. Even then, the lady detective had been dubious about the accuracy of the passenger’s story. Not one of them had ever seen a one-eyed, green man with horns.
A few minutes later, she delivered the Stomach Bitters to the marshal’s noisy office. Doc was in the jail cell with Mrs. Courtney, trying to calm her—with little success if all the crying and carrying on she still did was any indication. The marshal leaned on his desk, plugging his ears. Daisy flashed him a smile and he winked at her.
She picked up the fingerprinting kit, gave the marshal a kiss on the cheek, and left. He hadn’t talked to her father yet—and she sincerely hoped he hadn’t changed his mind. Just to hedge her bets, though, she’d work on the Silver City bank robbery case.
The silver dollar that Iris gave her should have the thief’s fingerprints—she’d draw them and compare them to Mike Flynn’s. Not that she suspected Flynn necessarily, but it was a place to start. Besides, his was the only print she had. With the Fourth of July picnic less than two weeks away, she really wanted to have something solid before her sister came to town and teased her about detective work.
None of the family had ever taken her dreams seriously, but she’d show them! The marshal would be very proud of her, too. She sighed happily. Being a lawman’s wife would suit her just fine, especially since her particular lawman had such talented hands, and mouth, and other parts. The man breathed fire into her soul—something she’d never have believed if she hadn’t experienced it first hand.
She plunked the fingerprinting kit on the small secretary in her room, then retrieved the mirror from her reticule. Practicing on Mike Flynn’s fingerprint made sense, since it would be the easiest to draw. After she was more proficient, she’d try the silver dollar. She brushed carbon dust on the mirror, and watched with amazement as the fingerprint appeared.
The marshal would be so impressed!
Chapter 15
Cole accepted the cigar Gardner passed him, even though he rarely took a smoke, but he needed something to occupy his hands. Gardner didn’t look any more anxious to get the conversation started than did he.
Gardner cleared his throat. “How’s Mrs. Courtney?”
“Bosco carried her to her house after the doc dosed her with laudanum. She’s sleeping now—Daisy’s watching her.”
The older man shook his head. “I’m sure being trapped in a privy scared her witless, but she sure got carried away with her shrieking.”
“Doc says she has hysteria. Says she’ll be fine in a day or two.”
“Good. Good.”
The room fell quiet, with only the ticking of the grandfather clock to break the silence. The Gardners’ parlor showed the fine taste of Mrs. Gardner, but the chairs were as uncomfortable as hell. But then, slipping a noose around your own neck wasn’t all that comfortable, either.
Gardner made a production out of lighting his cigar, then passed the match to Cole, who lit his. He took a light drag, then flicked the match into an ashtray sitting on the end table.
“We might as well get down to business. I asked your daughter to be my wife and she agreed. Now I’m here to ask you for Daisy’s hand in marriage.”
The older man took a long drag and blew the smoke toward the ceiling. “I expected as much.”
Cole stood, “It’s not just that, Gardner, and you know it.” He paced across the room. “I’ve been trying to stay away from her since the day I set foot in town. In fact, I thought I still had a fondness for my old girlfriend, so I sure didn’t want to get involved with another woman. But Miss Daisy’s not only pretty, she has more git-up-and-go than any five women you could name—or men, either. And she’s kind and honest. Too damned good for me, I admit.”
“So why didn’t you marry your girlfriend?”
Cole’s throat went dry. “My brother did. Almost two years ago.”
“Kids?”
He knew exactly what Gardner was fishing for, and there was no reason to lie. “A daughter, Callie. She’s a cute little thing—she’ll be two in December, and another on the way.”
; Gardner nodded slowly. “I thought things were a little tense between you and your brother the other day.” He crossed his legs and leaned back. “As far as my daughter goes, I wanted to see her marry a man who was set up and could take care of her the way she deserves. A lawman doesn’t make enough money to support a wife, and it’s too damned dangerous besides. Nothing against you, marshal, but if you go getting yourself killed, you’re liable to leave her with three or four little ones and no way to provide for them.”
Cole knew his marshaling days were numbered, and he had no intention of sticking around Oreana. “That’s a fact. I owned a ranch before I took the badge, and I intend to start ranching again as soon as I get a little cash together.”
“What happened to your place?”
“I gave it to my brother.” He hadn’t yet, but he would. He owed Thomas that much. Other than the rift between them over Etta, they’d always been close, and Cole would forever be sorry that his spitefulness put Thomas in a position to be crippled for life.
“I see. And how do you expect to get the money to buy a new ranch?”
“Half the cattle on Thomas’s ranch are mine. I’ll run them on open range for this year, then sell calves in the spring to buy a piece of land.”
“And where do you plan to live until then? My daughter can’t live in a jailhouse.”
“I thought we might live at my brother’s ranch—there’s a bunkhouse we could use—but I expect Daisy will have a little something to say on that.”
Gardner chuckled, then stood, and so did Cole. “I expect she’ll have something to say about everything.” The older man held out his hand for Cole to shake. “I never had any intention of telling you ‘no,’ especially since there could be a bun in the oven—I just wanted to know how you intended to take care of my daughter and my grandchildren. You’re a good man, marshal. Welcome to the family.”
Cole felt like a heel, passing himself off as a good and honorable man. But some way, some how, he had to make everything right for Daisy. She deserved no less.
Daisy had stayed with Mrs. Courtney through the night. When the widow awoke that morning, she’d been thoroughly embarrassed, more than anything. Daisy had tried to tell her that people wouldn’t think poorly of her, but Mrs. Courtney wasn’t the least bit convinced and was ready to pack up and leave. Of course, the woman had nowhere to go, so Daisy was greatly relieved when Aunt Grace had come by and sent her home.
Much Ado About Marshals (Hearts of Owyhee) (2011) Page 20