“Don’t worry about me. I ate with Father.”
At that, Luke proceeded to go after his food with all the eagerness he had prophesied.
After pouring him a cup of lemonade, Millie took a seat in a chair in front of the desk and sat back to watch him eat. “My father is a hearty eater, too. I think one of the things my mother loved about him the most was the way he gobbled up her cooking. She always said that a man who’s a skimpy eater is either a poor cut of a man or there’s something wrong with the food put in front of him.”
“Well, there’s certainly nothing wrong with this food,” Luke assured her. “It’s delicious.”
Millie’s lips curved into a pleased smile. “Father certainly seemed to like it, too. He ate so much I was afraid for a while there might not be anything left for me to bring you and the prisoner. It helped, I’m sure, that he was so hungry after being out all night chasing rustlers.” She paused, arching one pretty eyebrow before adding, “Of course, in his case, like I said, he always praises my cooking . . . you know, because I’m so good at manipulating him.”
Luke’s brows pinched together. “I thought we were past that.”
“We are. But it was a remark I’m not likely to forget. Nobody ever said anything like that to me before.”
“No, I suppose not.”
Millie leaned forward in her chair. “You said my ‘routine’ might wash with my father and my ‘suitor.’ Did you mean Russell Quaid?”
“That’s the one.”
“He’s not really my suitor.”
“Maybe not. But he’d sure like to be.”
“You really think so? That he feels that way, I mean.”
Luke gave her a look. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Your routine. The overly innocent one. You might be young and inexperienced, but surely you’re old enough and smart enough to know that you are extremely attractive. I’d wager there isn’t a man in Arapaho Springs—young or old—who doesn’t crane his neck when you walk by. And it would be that way wherever you went. It sure doesn’t start and stop with Russell Quaid.”
New spots of color appeared on Millie’s cheeks, a pure blush this time. “You are a very direct-spoken man, Mr. Jensen.”
“I’ve found that, in most cases, it’s the best way to be.” He took his final bite of apple pie then laid his fork down on the emptied plate and pushed it away.
As she watched him, Millie said, “It might be, however, that the things you state so directly are not always as accurate as you think.”
“Possible, I suppose,” Luke said with a shrug.
“For example,” Millie continued, her gaze taking on a bold directness, “it might interest you to know that I am not nearly as inexperienced as you claimed a minute ago.”
Luke felt a warming of his own cheeks and all of a sudden that last bite of pie needed an extra swallow to keep it down. “Under different circumstances, miss—”
“Millie.”
“Okay. Millie. Under different circumstances, Millie, I might indeed find that interesting to know.”
“What’s wrong with the circumstances that we have right now?” she wanted to know, the boldness of her gaze not subsiding. “You’re a man. I’m a woman. You said you find me attractive. And I admit to finding you very intriguing, far more so than anyone else I’m likely to meet here in Arapaho Springs.”
“That’s flattering to hear,” Luke said, frowning. “But I’m also nearly old enough to be your father. And your actual father happens to be someone who’s shown me professional courtesy and a measure of friendship. I can hardly—”
“There it is again!” exclaimed Millie, making a frustrated gesture with her hands. “It’s always my father. That’s the problem with the rest of the men around town. I thought you were different. Just because my father wears a badge, it’s like I’m unapproachable and untouchable. You said I’m attractive, but what difference does it make? I might as well be a leper or an old hag for all the good it does me!”
Luke’s frown turned into a tolerant smile. “I doubt it’s really that hopeless. You are pretty, and you know it. Beautiful, in fact. It’s just a matter of time and not a very long one, I’d be willing to bet, before you’ll have more beaus knocking on your door than you can turn away. And that’s regardless of the fact your father wears a badge. What’s more, if that’s enough to scare them off then, as your mother might say, they’re a poor cut of a man to begin with.”
“There must be a lot of poor cuts of manhood around these parts,” Millie said wryly, “because there’s sure none of them knocking on my door so far.”
“What about Russell?”
“Russell’s just a boy.”
“Appeared to me he was man enough to stand up to your father. And he said he’d be willing to defend you to the death in case of trouble,” Luke reminded her.
Millie went quiet, seeming to consider this.
Before anything more could be said, the office door opened and Deputy Fred Packer came in. “It’s just me again, Jensen,” he announced. Noticing Millie for the first time, he quickly pulled off his hat. “Oh, hi, Miss Millie. Didn’t expect to run into you here.”
“Millie was kind enough to bring some supper to me and our prisoner,” Luke explained.
“Then somebody was lucky enough to get some good eats, accordin’ to the way the marshal brags on Miss Millie’s cookin’.”
“That was definitely the case,” Luke confirmed.
Millie stood up. “Well, having successfully accomplished my task, I’d better be getting home. I left Father asleep in his easy chair in the parlor. That was as far as he made it after eating his own supper. Now I’ll have to try and roust the old bear and get him to go the rest of the way to bed.”
“In that case, maybe I’d better walk with you. It’s gettin’ kinda late for a young lady to be out alone,” Packer said.
“That’s really not necessary. It’s not that late and it’s not that far to the house.”
Packer shook his head. “Nonsense. I only stopped by to grab my pipe that I forgot to take with me earlier.” As he said this he shuffled over to the windowsill and retrieved the old clay pipe he’d previously left behind after his fat-chewing session with Luke. Turning back, he clamped the stem between his teeth and said, “There, that’s better. Now, I insist, Miss Millie. I couldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t see you home properly. Besides, you wouldn’t deny an old codger the pleasure of strollin’ for a ways in your company, would you?”
After tossing a brief, somewhat plaintive glance in Luke’s direction, Millie relented, turning a beaming smile on Packer. “Very well, Deputy. Let us stroll.”
Chapter 10
Though it wasn’t uncommon for him to sleep soundly under conditions that ranged from trailside bedrolls to sumptuous beds in fine hotels, Luke was surprised by how well he rested that night at the jail. What was different on this occasion was the unsettled feeling he’d been left with after Millie Burnett’s departure. Her bold overtures had stirred things in him he didn’t want to allow yet had been unable to completely ignore.
His head kept reminding him she was too young and the circumstances were all wrong, but other parts of him remained keenly aware of her distinct beauty and all-woman body. For a time he worried that, after Deputy Packer was out of the way, she might come back. If she did, he wasn’t altogether sure his willpower would hold up.
To his relief, Millie hadn’t returned and after a while he was able to relax. It helped that a well-padded couch in a corner of the office was available as an alternative to the cot in the empty cell. It also helped that he took the liberty of sampling a couple more pulls from the bottle of moonshine Marshal Burnett kept in his desk drawer. These, combined with the accumulated weariness of several days on the trail and especially the toll taken by the recent drenching rain, before long had a lulling affect that soon turned to deep, welcome slumber.
It was daylight when Luke woke to the sound of a door
being opened and the heavy thud of boots entering the room. His eyes flew open and he sat up, all senses alert and one of the Remingtons gripped in his right fist.
“Hold your fire,” a familiar voice was quick to say. “Take it easy. It’s only me.” Tom Burnett momentarily filled the doorway as he stepped the rest of the way through and then heeled the door shut behind him. He looked considerably refreshed from yesterday, clean shaven and dressed in a different set of clothes complete with a string tie knotted loosely at his throat.
“Appears you slept okay,” he said to Luke as he strode toward his desk, sweeping a broad-brimmed hat from his head and hanging it on a wall peg that he passed by.
“I reckon so.” Luke stood up, holstered the Remingtons, then ran the fingers of both hands through his rumpled hair and rolled his neck and shoulders, working out the kinks.
“There’s a little room off one end of the cell block,” Burnett said, motioning. “Inside is a washbasin and a bench pump. You can use it to wash up, if you’ve a mind. By the time you get back out, I’ll have some coffee brewing.”
Luke nodded. “Sounds good. Obliged.”
When he returned to the office a handful of minutes later, it was indeed to the scent of bubbling coffee. Before quitting the cell block, he checked on Craddock and found him stretched out on his cot, propped up on one elbow.
“I sure would be obliged for a taste of that coffee I can smell,” the prisoner said.
Luke gave him a look, made no promises.
Back out in the office, Burnett was seated behind his desk. “Mud’ll be ready soon and not long after that, my daughter should be coming by with some breakfast for you and your prisoner.”
Millie had left behind her picnic basket from last night. After she was gone, Luke had gathered up his plate and utensils as well as those of Craddock and stacked everything neatly inside, placing it on the corner of the marshal’s desk.
Burnett gestured to it. “I reckon the feed she brought you last night was satisfactory?”
“And then some. It was delicious,” Luke told him. “I wish she hadn’t gone to so much trouble, and she surely doesn’t need to do it all over again this morning. The café’s open now. I can get something for Craddock and me from there.”
“I tried to tell her as much. Most days I take my own breakfast at the café. But Millie was up early this morning, fixing mine and insisting she would be fixing something for you right after I was out of the house.” Burnett shrugged. “As I believe you heard me and her friend Russell discuss yesterday, she has a mighty headstrong way about her. I know there are times when I need to put my foot down more. But over breakfast ain’t one of ’em. Not when she cooks as good as she does.”
A corner of Luke’s mouth quirked up. “No, I suppose not.”
Burnett leaned back in his chair. “Now. Much as I hate to jump to a considerably less pleasant subject, it’s only fair to warn you that on the way over here I ran into certain parties who were going to stop at the diner and then they, too, will be heading this way.”
Luke regarded him, said nothing, and waited for him to continue.
“One of them is Doc Whitney, coming to check on your prisoner,” the marshal said. “He ain’t so much a problem. But accompanying him will be lawyer Mycroft and his tag-along clerk. Mycroft went to some trouble to inform me that he is coming in the interests of your prisoner and if the good doctor still advises that Craddock should not travel, then the legal eagle will insist you abide by what he says. Apparently Mycroft didn’t learn a damn thing from the way you pinned his ears back yesterday.”
“Too bad for him,” Luke said, setting his teeth on edge. “Because I’ll tell you right now, no matter what the doctor says, I fully intend to ride out of here with Craddock today. He’s feeling well enough to run his mouth and eat and stomp around his cell. In my book that makes him fit enough to travel. I’ve delivered men with bullet holes in them, and they survived. Hell, I’ve traveled good distances with bullet holes in me, and I’m still kicking.”
“Anybody can see that,” Burnett conceded.
Luke frowned. “My only question is—where does that leave you? As far as your own feelings and as far as where you’ll stand with the doctor and the lawyer?”
Burnett got up and went over to the stove where the coffeepot was bubbling. Hooking a pair of tin cups from nearby pegs, he began pouring the black steaming brew. “I’ve had the chance to think on it some since we first talked yesterday. What I concluded is that Craddock is your prisoner and the only thing you have to abide by until you hand him over to the Amarillo authorities, just like you already told Mycroft, is what it says on that wanted poster. Means I got no say in the matter.” He handed Luke one of the cups. Grinning wryly, he added, “Don’t take this wrong but, like I told you before, when it comes to you hauling your trash out of here—the sooner the better, is how I see it.”
Luke matched his grin. “Same way I see it. Not meaning for you to take it wrong, either, you understand.”
As the two men took their first tentative sips of the coffee, the door opened and Millie came in. This morning she was wearing another full-skirted dress, pale blue with a higher neckline but a snug bodice that only accentuated the swell of her breasts. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, tied with a ribbon that matched the dress. One look at her and Luke couldn’t help but mentally question how big a damn fool he was for turning her away last night.
“Good morning,” she said, carrying a carefully balanced cloth bag that bulged with roundish contents and from which wafted the unmistakable aroma of bacon and eggs. To Luke she said, “I trust Father warned you that I was at it in the kitchen again this morning?”
Luke nodded. “He did. I told him I wished you hadn’t gone to still more trouble but now, having gotten a whiff of what you’ve got there, I take it back. I am suddenly very grateful you did.”
Smiling, Millie marched to the desk, where she placed the bag beside the picnic basket already setting there.
“I gathered the plates and everything from last night and stacked them in the basket,” Luke told her. “I didn’t know there was a washbasin in the other room or I would have cleaned them up first.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll take the whole works back home after you’ve finished eating this morning and clean it all there.” She reached into the bag and carefully withdrew a plate heaped with scrambled eggs and bacon. “All you need to worry about is eating this before it gets cold. I’ve brought a plate for your prisoner, too, but since I know you don’t want me going back there we’ll impose on Father to deliver it so you can start right in on yours.”
“I don’t know if I can be trusted,” Burnett declared. “I thought I was full from what you fed me at home. But this looks so tempting I think I might be ready for seconds.”
“From the look and smell, I can understand why,” came a voice from the doorway. “Even though I just came from the café, I suddenly have the urge for some of that delicious-looking fare as well.”
Luke, Burnett, and Millie turned to see Dr. Whitney entering. Behind him trailed Jules Mycroft and Russell Quaid.
“Millie is just delivering breakfast for Mr. Jensen and his prisoner,” Burnett explained.
Mycroft lifted his eyebrows at that. “Well, there’s a morsel of encouragement . . . knowing at least that much civility is being shown the unfortunate incarcerated wretch.”
Ignoring him, the doctor said, “I don’t mean to interrupt, but as I told you earlier, Marshal, I’d like to take just a couple of minutes to examine the injured man before I start the rest of my day.” He was a leathery-faced old gent of sixty or so, snow-white eyebrows and hair, physically stocky with stooped shoulders. He held a black doctor’s bag in one heavily veined hand, swinging it beside him as he started toward the thick door leading back to the cell block.
Luke edged over so that he was partly blocking the doctor’s path. “You can go ahead on back if you like, Doc, but since you’re a man
whose time is obviously very valuable, might I suggest not wasting any of it? You see, just as soon as I’ve finished eating and have had time to put together some provisions for the trail, I have every intention of riding out of here this morning with my prisoner. With all due respect, I’ll do so no matter what your evaluation is. I’ve been observing Craddock all night and I see no reason he’s not up to traveling.”
Mycroft huffed like a steam engine. “There! Just as I suspected. This ruffian, this gunslinger who pretends to be on the side of the law, has nothing but contempt for it and especially for any poor unfortunate who stands merely accused of being on the wrong side of it!”
Luke cocked an eyebrow in his direction. “I warned you once about getting in my face, mister. You keep it up, the doc isn’t going to have to go into the other room to find an injured man to check on. We can arrange for one right here.”
“Come now, Mr. Jensen,” Dr. Whitney said with a tolerant smile. “Is it really necessary to—“
Whatever the doc was going to say was lost to the interruption of a sudden commotion out in the street. Men shouted, voices quickly rising in intensity and volume to frantic wails. Next came the distant scream of a woman, followed by another from somewhere closer. And then could be heard the unmistakable pop and crack of gunfire.
Burnett surged to his feet, right hand falling to the pistol holstered on his hip. “What the hell?” He went around the desk and headed for the door in long strides. Luke fell in beside him, both of his Remingtons already drawn.
Mycroft and Russell, momentarily in their path, sprang to either side to clear the way.
Just before Burnett and Luke reached the open front door, a man with wild eyes and an anguished expression on his face appeared there. “My God, Marshal!” he cried. “The Legion of Fire is hitting our town!”
Chapter 11
An instant after blurting his warning, the man in the doorway was knocked sideways by a bullet slamming into his shoulder. He spun away, staggered a half step, then was hammered by another slug pounding into his back. He pitched forward and sprawled with outstretched arms onto the edge of the muddy street.
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