by Tamara Gill
“I bought it.”
“Where?”
“Tulsa,” they both said at once, their eyes meeting.
He sighed and removed the remaining bullets, then placed the gun in his desk drawer. He would study it some other time. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Well, you’d better put me in jail because it seems not only am I out of work again, but I’m sure Mr. Mason has already tossed my things out of my room,” she retorted.
Wearily, Wes sank into his chair. He was not in a frame of mind to deal with Anna’s mischief today. Since he’d risen that morning, his body had flashed hot and cold, and he had the rare desire to go home and climb into bed. He’d pushed away his breakfast. Just the thought of food made him queasy.
“I’ve told you before, I can’t put you in jail. I have no provisions for a woman.”
Anna peered into his eyes. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing, why?”
“Your eyes are red. Do you feel sick?”
“I’m just fine. It’s you and your troubles we need to concern ourselves with.”
She left her chair and circled around his desk. Her soft palm gripped his chin, and she moved his head back and forth, then laid a cool hand against his forehead. “You’re burning up with fever.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
Anna sighed. “I’m not changing the subject. Well, okay, maybe I am, but Wes, you’re sick.”
“It’s probably a cold or something.” He shooed her away. “We still need to decide what to do with you.”
She rested her backside against the edge of the desk and studied him. “You should go home and get into bed. I think you may have the flu.”
“Nonsense. I’m fine, and stop trying to distract me.” He pushed at her hand when she attempted to feel his forehead again. “Stop it. I don’t need mothering.” Wes pointed to her chair. “Go sit down.”
They both turned as the door opened. Laura Martin stood in the doorway, clutching a basket. “Oh, I’m sorry, marshal, is this a bad time?”
Wes groaned under his breath. Just what he needed. One woman trying to be his mother, and another one vying to be his wife. “No. Not at all, Miss Martin. Please, come on in.”
She hesitated briefly, and nodded at Anna.
Wes stood. “Miss Devlin, this is Miss Martin.”
Both women eyed each other, making him wish he had gone home and crawled into his bed. Could the morning get any worse?
“I thought I would bring you some more of my fried chicken, since you enjoyed it so much the last time.” Although she addressed him, Laura smiled in Anna’s direction.
“I love fried chicken.” Anna returned the smile, but to Wes it looked more like a challenge.
Two cats hissing and spitting and pulling out their claws seemed cordial compared to the tension visible between the two women.
“Well, I guess there’s enough here for three,” Laura groused as she set the basket on the edge of the desk. “After all, I don’t eat very much.” She beamed at Wes.
Already the smell of the chicken was turning his stomach. Maybe Anna was right, and he was sick. Once he got both women off his back, he’d head on over to the mercantile and see if Arnold could sit in for him this afternoon. Whatever it was that ailed him would most likely be cured with a few hours away from the jailhouse. And Anna.
The silence was deafening as Laura emptied the basket and placed the food on his desk. She made a great fuss of lining everything up just so. He swallowed a few times, trying to keep from disgracing himself, but swung his head to the side and clutched the edge of his desk as a wave of dizziness overcame him.
“Marshal, are you all right?” Laura peered at him in alarm. “You don’t look too well.”
“See, I told you.” Anna stood and studied him.
Lord, he needed to get away from these two. “I’m fine. Stop fussing, the both of you.” He moved around his desk, fighting the dizziness once more. “I’m going for a walk.” He stumbled as he reached the door, and within seconds the two women had their arms wrapped around his waist from either side. Much to his chagrin, he doubted he would stay upright if they moved away.
“We have to get him to the doctor.” Laura whispered as if he couldn’t hear her.
“No, I think he has the flu. We should bring him home and send for the doctor.” Anna whispered back.
“I can hear you. I may be a bit sick, but deafness is not one of my troubles,” he growled.
“Men are such poor patients,” Anna said.
Luckily, his house was merely a few steps from the jailhouse, so his humiliation wasn’t visible to the entire town. Once they’d dragged him into the front door, he attempted to stave them off, but the stubborn creatures would have none of it, and insisted on bringing him right into his bedroom.
“Out. Both of you.” He took a deep breath as he landed on the bed.
Laura flitted around, pulling down covers and fluffing his pillows. Anna left the room and returned with one of his cooking pots. “I’ll just leave this here in case you feel, you know, sick to your stomach.”
Wes groaned and closed his eyes. “You may leave now.”
Both women backed away, toward the door.
“I’ll make you some chicken soup,” Laura said.
“I’ll get Doc Oliver to look in on you, and I’ll watch the jailhouse.”
A jolt of panic swept through him, and he roused himself, leaning up on both elbows. “Miss Devlin, you will not watch the jailhouse. You will go to the mercantile and get Arnold to watch the jailhouse.”
When she didn’t answer, he growled, “I mean it, Anna. Did you forget you’re under arrest?”
Laura turned to her with widened eyes.
“That’s not true. It must be the fever talking,” Anna mumbled in Laura’s direction as she yanked the woman through the doorway and closed the door.
Wes collapsed with another groan. Whatever the hell was wrong with him had better cure itself fast. There was no telling what trouble that woman would get herself into with him laid up.
***
Anna grinned as she left Wes’s house. Here was her opportunity to prove she could work side-by-side with him. Then she came to an abrupt halt, and stared at her reflection in the drug store window. The long dress, the high button shoes, her hair in an attempted topknot. Her shoulders slumped. Who am I kidding? I don’t belong here.
Twice in the past few days she’d borrowed a horse from the livery, and rode out to where she thought Slug had picked her up. No ‘peace chair,’ no oasis, no adobe Indian store. As she’d wandered around, she’d tamped down rising frustration, shielding her eyes from the bright sunlight with her hand. The scene before her had revealed miles and miles of prairie, but no highways, no shopping malls or fast food restaurants dotting the landscape.
Would she never return to the future? Instead of catching nineteenth century outlaws, she should be concentrating on getting back to her life. To her modern life−French fries, movie theaters, her reinstatement hearing. New apartment. Her ex-fiancé. Her real life.
Why was there none of the usual enthusiasm for what she’d left behind? Anna stiffened her spine and crossed the street, heading to the mercantile. This was not her time or place. As much as it sucked, her life in the future was hers, and she needed to get back to it.
Arnold nodded briefly at her as she wove her way past barrels of pickles, cornmeal, flour and sugar. Several women, with shopping baskets over their arms, examined merchandise and selected various items from the shelves as the store owner wrapped a parcel for an older woman at the counter. He wished the woman a good day and turned to Anna. “What can I help you with, Miss Devlin?”
“The marshal sent me over. He’s taken ill, and had to go home, and he’d like you to take over for him.”
Before she’d even finished her sentence, he was shaking his head. “Sorry, I can’t help him out right now.” He slid a shopping basket across the counter tha
t a young woman set there, and began writing a sales slip. “My wife is sick, too, and she can barely take care of the baby.”
“Oh. What’s wrong with her?”
“Fever, aches and pains. I just hope whatever it is the baby doesn’t come down with it.”
It appeared the influenza bug had hit more than the marshal. A small spark of delight prodded her. She’d done her duty. Asked Arnold to cover for Wes, and he couldn’t do it. Wes was sick, in bed most likely with the flu, and the jailhouse was unmanned. Or unwomaned. She raised her chin and squared her shoulders. There was no choice. She had to do what was right, and take Wes’s place.
Of course, there probably was no reason to bother him with the details of who was assuming his job. He would just fret, and that could delay his recovery. Armed with righteous determination, she wished Arnold a good day, a speedy recovery for his wife, and then proceeded to the jailhouse.
The lingering smell of fried chicken, along with leather and the man who usually occupied the space, greeted her as she entered the room. Without his presence it all appeared naked, empty. Dust motes danced in the stream of sunlight pouring through the window over the marshal’s desk. She wandered around the office, taking in the rifles neatly lined up on the gun rack on the wall, a large ring of keys on a hook, alongside another hook holding a shirt similar to the one Wes had wrapped her in that first day when she had no idea what was going on. A mix-matched pitcher and bowl shared space on a small table with an oil lamp. For as many times as she’d been in the jailhouse, these minor details had escaped her.
Anna settled into the large leather chair behind the desk, her body barely taking up half the space that Wes normally filled. After rifling through the middle desk drawer, she produced a dull deputy badge that she rubbed on her chest as she’d seen done in numerous movies. Grinning like a small child, she pinned the piece of metal to her dress and leaned back.
So, this is how it feels to be a deputy marshal in the old west.
She almost expected to see John Wayne or Henry Fonda burst through the door, guns waving. Chiding herself for her overactive imagination, she pulled open the bottom drawer and withdrew a stack of ‘wanted’ posters.
For over an hour she shuffled through the papers, learning nothing more than how downright ugly these outlaws were. Missing teeth, nasty scars on their faces, bulges in most of their mouths where wads of tobacco had been stuffed. She shivered, imagining how unpleasant it would be to stand downwind from most of them.
One outlaw caught her attention. He appeared to be no more than fourteen or fifteen years old. Nothing yet to shave off his face, and free of scars. But the eyes were what hit her. Even with a few years of law enforcement under her belt, she’d never seen eyes like this. If the devil did indeed pick humans’ bodies to occupy, there was no doubt in her mind this was one of them. Hatred, venom, and anger flashed from eyes in a cherub face. Noah Mather. She shivered slightly and shoved the pile back into the drawer.
Perhaps it was time to take a turn around town, check things out. Except she felt utterly ridiculous wearing a deputy badge and a long dress. It was highly unlikely she’d garner any respect from the townspeople dressed as she was.
If Wes were laid up for a couple days, she’d put herself back into her jeans, and wear the marshal’s shirt she’d never returned. She guiltily thought of how many times she’d slept with it under her pillow. So juvenile.
The front door flew open as she was in the process of re-loading her gun that she’d retrieved from Wes’s desk. Before she had a chance to view her visitor, a deep voice shouted, “Goddammit!”
Holding the gun in her hand, Anna looked up into the enraged eyes of the man who’d tried to rape her.
“What the hell are you doing out of the jail cell?” He stormed closer, limping as he shifted the bulk of his weight onto the crutch he held tucked under his arm. His eyes narrowed and he stared at her chest. “And why the hell are you wearing a deputy badge after you tried to murder me?”
CHAPTER TEN
“Well, son, it looks to me like you’re gonna be laid up for a little while.” Doc Oliver packed his supplies into his satchel and snapped it close. “You want to get as much rest as you can, and drinking lots of water might help.” He gripped the bag and headed to the door. “Best if you can get one of the ladies in town to make you some chicken soup.”
“So it is influenza?” Wes croaked from his bed, the sheet drawn up to his chin.
“Epidemic,” the doctor said. “Got dozens of people down with it. Strange for this time of year, but there it is. Just take care of yourself. You’re a healthy man, so that helps. It’s the young’uns and older folks I’m worried about.”
The sound of the front door closing signaled the doctor’s exit. Wes groaned and hunkered down further into the blankets, shivering fit to shake the bed. Every inch of his body hurt. It even pained to blink.
The next time he opened his eyes, the shadows in the room suggested several hours had passed since the doctor had left. He vaguely remembered Laura Martin standing by his bedside at one point, chattering on about soup she’d left for him. A white china bowl sitting on the table next to him still held a full serving. Obviously he hadn’t eaten any of it.
Lord, he felt sick. So sick, in fact, that he just now remembered he’d left the jailhouse without ensuring things would be looked after. Hopefully, for once Anna did as he asked and got Arnold to step in for him.
He fell into a fitful sleep.
“Wes?” A soft feminine voice startled him awake. His body was drenched in sweat, and for as cold as he’d been before, now he wanted to strip off his pants and drawers to cool his skin. Since the deep brown eyes watching him belonged to Anna, best to remain clothed.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I got thrown off my horse right before he stomped on me.”
“Did the doctor come?” She drew up a chair and sat next to him. “I asked him to look in on you.”
Wes nodded and immediately regretted it when his eyes seemed to roll around loosely inside his head. The dizziness was worse than any bottle of whiskey had ever caused. “Said it was influenza. Apparently the town has an epidemic.”
“I heard that.” Anna chewed her lower lip, and fidgeted with her fingers in her lap, which caused the small hairs on the back of Wes’s neck to rise. He had a strong feeling she was about to give him less than joyful news.
“What’s wrong?”
She shrugged. “Nothing.”
“You’re lying.” He might he sick, but he wasn’t stupid. His eyes narrowed. “You did get Arnold to come down to the jailhouse, didn’t you?”
Anna hesitated. “Um. About that . . .”
Wes groaned and closed his eyes. “I specifically told you to get Arnold to step in for me.”
She blew out a huge breath. “Before you go all crazy on me, I did try to get Arnold.”
“Try?”
“Yes, try. He couldn’t come because his wife is sick−probably has the flu, too−and he couldn’t leave the store.”
“I don’t suppose it would be worth my while to ask if you tried to find someone else−another man−to help out?” Lord, if luck was on his side, she wouldn’t burn down the jailhouse, or get herself raped and murdered. In addition to the fact she was still his prisoner.
“I’m perfectly capable of handling things while you’re laid up. I am a trained officer of the law.”
“Woman, I have no idea what you’re talking about when you say things like that. All I know is if you go around shooting people, or destroying their manly parts with your knee, there’s going to hell to pay when the circuit judge comes around.”
“Yeah, about that . . .” Before Anna got any further, a loud pounding on the front door interrupted her.
Wes glanced at Anna and mumbled, “Why do I think this is more bad news?”
“Marshal?” Not waiting for an answer, Winnie Grayson hobbled into the room, and narrowed his eyes as he pointed his crutch at
Anna. “That woman should be behind bars. She shot me for no reason, and I want her held until the circuit judge gets here.”
His bedroom was becoming more popular than the saloon. A man couldn’t even be sick as a dog in peace.
“Mr. Grayson, I would appreciate you speaking in a lower voice since my head is already pounding.”
“I apologize, marshal.” Grayson quieted his voice. “I can appreciate you’re feeling under the weather, but I when I went down to the jail earlier today to file my complaint, not only don’t I find this clabberheaded woman locked up, but there she sits behind the marshal’s desk wearin’ a deputy badge.”
Wes glared at Anna who merely gave him a slight smile.
“Grayson, I’m afraid I’m not up to dealing with this issue at the present time. However, once I’m back on my feet again, I’ll be happy to look into the shooting incident.”
“There ain’t no looking into anything, marshal. She shot me clear through the leg.” He lifted the injured limb and lost his balance, almost tumbling onto Wes’s bed. Anna grabbed Grayson’s arm to steady him, which got her a glower in return.
“Marshal, did you eat some of my soup?” Laura Martin’s eyebrows rose to her hairline when she passed through the doorway and came to an abrupt halt at the sight of everyone hovering over the bed.
Perhaps we should invite the mayor in, and then we can have a town hall meeting.
Wes raised himself up on his elbows, fighting the nausea and dizziness. “I want everyone to clear out.” He nodded at Laura. “No offense, ma’am.” Then he turned toward Grayson. “I will deal with your problem in a day or two. I can assure you Miss Devlin won’t be skedaddling out of town anytime soon.”
Having used up the little bit of strength his anger had wrought, he eased himself down on the sweat soaked pillow, and looked in Laura’s direction. “Thank you so much for the soup, Miss Martin. I will be sure to have some of it in a short while. However, I must ask you to return home now because I don’t want you to catch influenza.” He nodded at Grayson. “That goes for you, too.”