by Alison Bruce
"And Strothers stretched it a bit too far," she guessed.
"He used his position to raise a posse to recover some stolen cattle. He wanted to make a name for himself―be another McNelly crossin' into Mexico with thirty men, retrievin' the cattle and returnin' a hero. Except Strothers was no McNelly and most of his men weren't Rangers. I was given a dozen men and the job of cleanin' up his mess. We got most of his posse home, maybe half of 'em in one piece. Then he acted like we messed up his grand plan. He got some people to buy his story."
This tarnished the image Marly held of the Texas legends.
"The Rangers kept him on?"
"In a manner of speakin'. He was never put into a position where he could exercise that kind of power again. I think that's why he took the marshal's job. It put him back in the limelight."
"Back where he could stir up trouble."
"Speakin' of which," he said, "you better watch yourself or you're the one who's gonna stir up trouble. This ain't the end of the matter, you know. Roy Parker, at the very least, still feels he has a score to settle with you."
"I'm sorry I let you down, sir."
Jase reached over and clasped her shoulder. "You haven't let me down yet. You made a mistake and you recognized it. You won't make the same one again."
The next morning, Jase rousted Marly at first light. She got up with a guilty start, mumbling something about a chore for Fred.
"Just remember who you're working for, brat."
"Sorry...promised...important..."
The words came out between pulling her jeans on and trying to put the left boot on the right foot. Then she used his wash basin to wash her hands, face and neck.
"I'll be right back," she said on her way out the door, buttoning her shirt as she went.
After a good head shake, Jase washed, shaved and strolled over to the hotel for coffee. A half hour later, he returned to the office and found Marly at the desk, stuffing a fried egg sandwich in her mouth.
"When I got here," she mumbled, pushing a greasy paper package toward him, "this was hot. Not so sure now."
"How was I to know you'd be on time for once?"
The sandwich was warm and smelled pretty fine.
"You had coffee yet?" he asked, feeling guilty.
She nodded, mouth full again. She mumbled something and pointed to the chair she was sitting in.
"I'm fine," he replied, taking another chair. "I don't wanna dally much longer. I have Hank saddlin' the horses. We're gonna ride a patrol this mornin'―get the lay of the land."
"Can we do some target practice too?"
Jase grinned. "It's already on my list of things to do."
In the middle of the night, he had lain awake, worrying about Marly and her close call. It's not that he thought those cowboys would have seriously hurt her, but any roughhousing would have revealed her secret. He couldn't let that happen.
Watching her sleep, he had run through scenarios where Marly wasn't pretending to be a boy. All involved them parting company. He couldn't let that happen either. That left treating Marly as his apprentice.
Once their wide circuit of the town was complete, Jase rode to a field recommended by Winters as a suitable place for target practice. An assortment of bullet-ridden empty cans and broken bottles marked the spot.
"Go set up as many targets as you can," he told Marly.
While she was busy, he strode over to his saddlebags and pulled out an extra holster and a Remington .44-40 he'd found in Strothers' personal armory. It was shorter and weighed less than the Colt Navy―easier to draw.
When Marly returned, he handed her the gun and holster without preamble. She took it without a word, though there was some grunting as she tried to do up the buckle and support the weight of the revolver at the same time.
"Here," he said, trying not to laugh.
For a moment, they worked at cross-purposes. Then Marly raised her hands and let Jase buckle the belt. Her fingertips were so close to his shoulders that if he leaned forward, he could slip his arms around her waist and―
He pushed away the thought.
"You can practice the art of quick buckling tonight," he said, backing away. "For now, we'll work on your quick draw. To start, let's test your reflexes." He emptied his Peacemaker and re-holstered it. "Catch it when I draw."
It took several tries before she could grab the barrel.
"Now it's your turn," he told her.
The first time she drew, Marly could barely get the gun free of the holster. Jase adjusted the angle of the holster and the second draw was much better. He had her repeat the exercise until her actions were smooth.
"This is harder than it looks," she said, massaging her wrist.
"You just need to work at it. Let's see how you accurate your aim is."
They loaded, then took turns drawing and shooting the targets. It wasn't long before Marly was showing acute signs of frustration.
"Something else that's harder than it looks," he said, patting her on the back. "You're doing fine."
She looked up at him, leaning in to his touch.
Jase hissed in a breath. The temptation to end the masquerade was almost irresistible, especially with her looking so soulfully into his eyes.
"I'll never be a great gun fighter, will I?" she asked.
"Marly, you don't want...I never meant..."
He stopped, not only embarrassed that he'd allowed himself to be ruffled, but that she was laughing at him.
"Brat."
They were back in time for the bank to open.
Marly watched as Jase strode down the street, his marshal's badge winking in the sunlight. He'd told her that Chet Winters had his own guards, but Jase wanted to make his presence known. The payrolls were coming in at the end of the week and he wanted everyone to know he was keeping an eye on things. He'd already told Winters he would drop into the bank during his patrol, but that he'd vary his route day to day.
"Predictability is the bane of law officers," Jase warned.
The banker passed this information along to Troy Riley, his armed clerk. Winters had hired a father-son team to protect his bank.
Mick Riley, the father, sat in a rocker all day just outside the bank. He had lost a leg in the war and needed a crutch to get around. But he was no pensioner. A busy-body by nature, he kept tabs on everything going on around town. As he rocked in his chair, a LeMat grapeshot pistol lay across his lap.
Troy Riley was a pleasant young man. Like his father, he was tougher than he appeared. He wore a two-gun rig and was an acknowledged sharpshooter and quick draw. He was the inside guard. When things were quiet, he helped with the bookkeeping and teller duties. When they were busy, Mrs. Winters stood at the teller's window and Troy stood on guard, holding a double-barreled shotgun. The thought of being shot at close range with a shotgun was a wonderful deterrent.
Jase left Marly in the office with orders to file papers and pack cartridges. Both jobs were fiddly, boring and took forever. By the time he returned, her normally even temper was wearing thin.
"I'm done," she said with a defiant scowl.
"There's always more and there's always another day," he said. "We'll use the chipped jug to collect them and wait 'til it's full before pullin' out the powder and shot again."
Marly nodded. With any luck, they'd be on their way to El Paso before she had to repeat the chore.
After lunch and the inevitable cleaning that required, she was itching to get away.
"Think I could go to The Oasis this afternoon?" she asked Jase. "I think Fred might have some work for me."
"I suppose Fred will keep you out of trouble for me."
She bit back a sharp answer. Then she realized he was making fun. In keeping with her boyish role, she stuck her tongue out at him on the way past.
Marly had several reasons to go to The Oasis, not the least of which was the possibility of enjoying afternoon tea with Fred and the Señora in the rose garden. Now that she had gotten over her prejudice,
the place held a fascination for her. The people captivated her.
In exchange for a little hard work, which came naturally to her, she gained a wealth of knowledge. The Oasis staff provided valuable insight regarding the late Marshal Strothers. For instance, even if he frequented The Oasis, Strothers had not ingratiated himself with its staff.
Ella found him a dashing and heroic figure, but she was too young to work nights. Eileen, her mother, preferred keeping her out of the business, so Ella never experienced the slights and indignities meted out by Strothers to those he considered beneath him.
"Not that it stopped him from trying to get our favors," Judith Trilby pointed out.
"Except if he had to pay for them," her twin Juliet interjected.
According to Arnie, Strothers had a running tab for food and drinks that as far as he knew was still outstanding. Gambling and other entertainment, however, was strictly cash. The former was his special vice. Strothers had a fascination for the roulette wheel and unfounded faith in his own luck.
Arnie chuckled. "I'd reckon the house won enough of that man's pay to cover a few meals."
Louis wasn't a fountain of information, but like most he had an opinion to express about Strothers.
"That cochon! Sent back one of my finest dishes. Now, mon fils, take this home for your supper." He handed her one of the goose pies she had been helping him make. "But do not tell the Englander."
Only Fred saw the direction of Marly's inquiries. Fortunately for her, he took no offense.
"Miss Jezebel did not like Marshal Strothers," he said. "I doubt that the late marshal had the wit to recognize this. Miss Jezebel is a business woman and it was good business to have Strothers around."
"Would it be good business to pay him?"
"The Oasis and the bank guaranteed his wages when he was hired. Miss Jezebel allowed him to run a tab for meals to encourage his patronage. He never paid for a meal or drinks at the hotel or The Haven either, as far as I am aware. Since The Oasis does not engage in any illegal activity, bribery was unnecessary and blackmail does not apply."
Marly raised a brow.
Fred lifted his chin. "Whatever Miss Jezebel's personal feelings toward Marshal Strothers, she was quite put out that he got himself killed."
"What are her personal feelings?"
"I know she was disappointed when Master Jason turned down the position. Strothers was as good as anyone else, excepting Master Jason."
Marly took a moment to digest this.
"They're very close, aren't they?"
Fred gave her a look that made her uncomfortable. "I had recently been employed by Miss Jezebel when we were forced to abandon her establishment in Richmond. Being somewhat more prescient than most, Miss Jezebel was prepared for the evacuation. She had every intention of making a clean getaway, but she has a softer heart than she lets on."
"What happened?"
"We helped several wounded soldiers. Miss Jezebel took a particular interest in one. Master Jason. We nursed him when he was injured and brought him home to Texas. Over the years, Master Jason has had opportunity to pay Miss Jezebel back for her kindness and she has taken an interest in his career." Fred let out a slow sigh. "So, yes, they were close."
Marly noted the 'were', but decided to quit while she was ahead.
A thoughtful silence descended.
Fred mixed up his famous biscuits and directed her to grease the cooking pans. He showed her how to roll out the dough into a large rectangle, then cut it into diamonds. She put the first trays into the oven before asking about Señora de Vegas
"If you wish to know about the Señora, you should ask the Señora."
"I just wondered what happened to her husband," she said. "I didn't want to bring up such a painful topic with her."
"Señor de Vegas, as I understand, was a very wealthy gentleman of a noble family. Despite this, he fought for Mexican independence and later for Texas."
"He must've been quite old by the time he married the Señora."
"Yes, and she was very young." Fred paused in his mixing and shrugged as if shifting a weight on his shoulders. "Her husband and two sons were kidnapped when they were in Mexico. The Señora went to Austin to appeal to the governor for help. I was taking care of some business in Austin for Miss Jezebel and was able to use some of her contacts to get things moving. I am afraid it was too late."
"What happened?"
"Señor Fred enlisted Señor Strachan's aid on my behalf," Señora de Vegas said from the doorway. "I will always be grateful to him for that."
A slow blush crept up Fred's face.
"I-I hope you don't mind me asking, Señora," Marly stammered.
"I am neither offended, nor surprised by your curiosity, Señor Landers."
Marly concentrated on her work, hoping someone would continue the story. She wasn't disappointed.
"Señor Strachan was able to track down one of the pistoleros hired to do the kidnapping," the Señora explained. "He discovered that it was my husband's own family who made the arrangements and he confirmed my worst fear. I knew there was bad blood between my husband and his brother's family. I never imagined they would go to such lengths. They wanted the American property, of course. They were prevented from claiming it, but there was no proof of the murders, so they are still free."
"In the meantime," Fred added, "I brought the Señora here while things were being sorted out. She had no place else to go. Her family is in Mexico. There she is vulnerable to attack."
"What about the ranch?" Marly asked.
"Sold," the Señora said. "I did not want to keep it."
"You have some money left," Fred pointed out. "You could take it and start a new life."
"I like my life well enough for now. I can be useful here. Speaking of which, I came to tell you that Señorita Jezebel wishes to see you."
"Very well," he said. "Master Landers, the batch in the oven should be done. Put a few of them in this sack. I picked some tomatoes and a cucumber from the kitchen garden for you and the marshal. Just don't tell Louis."
"I won't." Louis was the least of her worries.
Leaving The Oasis, she headed for the Marshal's Office. Jase was sitting on the office porch when she arrived. He was oiling one of the spare rifles and had two more propped against the wall.
"Expecting trouble?" she asked, pausing on the steps.
"Payroll is comin' in tomorrow. Town will be a magnet for every cowboy, drifter and gambler in the area. Might be my best chance to corner some of Baker and Egan's men." He checked the action on the rifle. "Also a good chance there'll be trouble."
Jase followed her into the office.
As she divvied up dinner, he locked up the weapons. He didn't seem particularly worried, so she tried not to be. The smell of gun oil and black powder undermined her efforts.
It felt as though they were preparing for a siege.
Thursday morning, Marly was kicked out of bed before dawn. She hadn't slept well. Her mind was too busy thinking about the next day. It was still buzzing as she washed and dressed.
There were certain things she had to do to maintain her disguise. Chiefly, she had to flatten what little she had above the waist and augment what she lacked below the waist.
Bleary-eyed, she was making adjustments to the rolled sock in her drawers as she entered the office. Mr. Winters and Troy Riley were leaning over the marshal's desk and turned at the sound of the door opening.
Marly tried to back out again, but Jase beckoned her in.
"Mrs. Winters has made us muffins for breakfast."
"That's great." Forcing her voice down an octave, she asked, "Want me to pour coffee, sir?"
"We're good. If you hurry, you might have time for a cup before we leave. Strap your gun belt on first. And fetch your coat. It's cold this morning."
Minutes later, weighed down by her sidearm and the oversized riding coat, Marly forced herself to eat, even though anticipation was making her stomach roil. She had never felt so
small and out of place than among these powerful men. Riding out to escort the payroll in their company seemed ludicrous, but she didn't have the nerve to raise an objection.
Outside, Hank waited with their horses.
"Good luck, gentlemen," Winters said, giving Jase and Riley a nod. He slapped a hand down on Marly's shoulder, almost causing her knees to buckle. "The marshal says you're ready for this, boy. Do him proud."
They intercepted the stage an hour's ride out of Fortuna. It took the stage twice that long to make the same distance.
All the way back, Marly rode with her Winchester carbine across her lap, one hand holding it secure, while the other handled the reins. There was an unnerving moment when she spotted a group of men riding parallel to the road.
"Unofficial escorts," Riley said. "From Baker's and Egan's ranches."
The stage rolled into town at eleven o'clock. Mr. Winters was there to meet them and help escort the courier to the bank. There was still counting and checking to be done before the doors would open for business.
In the meantime, there was a growing cluster of cowboys all wanting to be the first in line for their pay. Jase buttonholed Tierny and with his help, herded them into a long, ragged line.
Marly was relieved from duty and sent back to the office to secure the extra arms and ammunition they had carried. That included, Jase pointed out, the Remington revolver.
"Sorry, brat," he said. "You're just not ready for the kind of trouble packin' iron in town could bring you."
She made a token protest, but was happy to lay down her arms and the accompanying responsibility.
"Coming back for dinner?" she asked.
"Don't think so. Thought I might check out The Haven once I'm done here. Will you be okay?"
"Arnie owes me a meal. I'll be okay."
She had a few other chores to do besides stowing the gear, and it was almost an hour before she locked up and headed for The Oasis.