by Paty Jager
She looked up. Halsey crossed the room and stopped at her table.
“I just dropped the prisoner off at the jail. Jeremy’s watching him at the moment, but it isn’t a good idea to leave him alone with someone as despicable as a robber.” The way his gun hung low on his hip and the way he watched her, she knew he was trouble. What kind, she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t even sure he wasn’t mixed up with the prisoner in some way.
What was his interest in the wounded man? He could even be in with Craven, even though they acted like they didn’t know each other in front of the jail. They could have been setting her up. The only person she trusted was Jeremy, and he sat at the jail with a man capable of robbing a bank. She wondered if the prisoner was capable of worse deeds.
“I’ll head over there when I finish my dinner,” she said in a deep voice. Her gaze drifted over his face. She wasn’t sure what he was about, but she’d keep an eye on him. It wouldn’t be a hardship to look him over when she saw him.
Smiling thoughtfully, she cut into her steak. No one could ruin her appetite. She’d need all the strength to keep an eye on the prisoner and find out why Craven had hired her.
Chapter 3
Gil had an uneasy feeling about the new marshal. Marshal Duncan had been hesitant about keeping the robber in the jail then took off to Upper Creek by himself and came back with nothing but a smile and a shrug.
“What do you mean, they won’t bring it back!” Craven ranted as he confronted the marshal in the middle of the street.
“They said they liked having the post office up there.” The marshal turned to walk away.
“I pay you to do what I say. Why didn’t you take a posse up there, hook onto our post office, and drag it back?”
“If I go up there with a posse, what do you think those miners are going to do the next time they come to town?” The young man took a defiant stance, but kept the brim of his hat lowered to keep the riled man in front of him from clearly seeing his face.
Gil watched as the marshal spun and walked to the jail. The mayor huffed and fumed in the street as a freight wagon lumbering through the dirt hid him behind a veil of dust.
It appeared the mayor and the marshal didn’t get alone, but that didn’t set with the rumor Craven and the marshal ate dinner together in the hotel restaurant every night. Was their arguing in the middle of the street a ruse? Gil shook his head. He was tired of trying to figure out the relationship between the two.
He looked at the jail. A chat alone with the prisoner was where he’d been headed when he spotted the two arguing in the street. The prisoner had been in too much pain to get anything understandable out of him when Gil escorted him to the jail. After a couple of days recuperating in a cell with only two boys to talk with, he figured the prisoner would be itching for some adult company.
Gil walked through the open door of the jailhouse. Jeremy swept the wood floor as the marshal leaned back in the chair polishing his badge.
“Excuse me?” Gil smiled when their heads turned in unison. Both sets of eyes widened with surprise.
“What can we do for you?” Jeremy asked, stepping between him and the marshal. Gil smiled and pushed his hat back. Though the boy was younger, he was obviously protecting the marshal. Gil thought back to the way the older boy never let anyone see his face. There was something about the marshal that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.
“Just came to talk a spell,” Gil said, walking across the freshly swept floor. He pulled up the only other chair in the room and sat down. Gil looked around the room before pushing the brim of his hat up and settled his gaze on the young man behind the desk.
The marshal tipped his head, shadowing his face with his hat.
“You ever look anyone straight in the face?” Gil asked, half-kidding, half-irritated.
The brim of the hat shot up and gray eyes glared back at him. “What’s it to you?”
Gil thought the marshal’s voice didn’t sound as deep. In fact it had a pleasant sound to it—a feminine sound. The younger boy said the marshal wasn’t his brother, but there was a definite likeness. Gil smiled a ‘genuine from his heart’ smile. It worked on the cook at the restaurant down the street when he wanted an extra piece of pie.
“Just seems a marshal shouldn’t be afraid to show his face,” he said, leaning back in the chair.
The marshal’s expression didn’t change a lick. He stared hard at Gil like he tried to see right through his skull and into his head to know what he thought.
“I’m not afraid to look anyone in the eye,” the marshal finally said.
“Then why do you hide behind that brim all the time?” The marshal flinched. Gil couldn’t help but smile. He’d hit a nerve.
“Maybe I don’t like people nosing into my business.” The brim came down again.
Gil stared at the top of the dusty, faded hat. “Being hospitable, doesn’t mean a body is nosing into your business. Might do you well, to be more hospitable to folks. Might make your job a little easier.”
The brim came up, and the gray eyes glared at him. “I am hospitable—to respectable people.” The marshal’s gaze looked him up and down. “I haven’t decided whether you’re respectable yet.” Marshal Duncan didn’t smile, but Gil saw a glimmer of whimsy in the gray eyes staring back at him.
“I see. What makes a man respectable?” The marshal had a slender face. Even for his years it appeared more delicate than it should. Having grown up with a passel of brothers, he knew the stages of a male’s development.
“Well, being law-abiding.” The marshal narrowed his eyes. “I haven’t seen you do anything unlawful, yet.”
Gil smiled. He didn’t know why, but the young upstart tickled him. “What else makes me respectable?” he asked, noticing the younger boy had stopped sweeping and headed up the ladder.
“You aren’t dressed like a miner.”
“You think miners aren’t respectable?” Gil gave no value to a man who spent his life digging for rocks and letting his family suffer, but in the same instance, he didn’t think too many of them were lowlifes.
“No! I was just naming the reasons I’m wondering about your respectability.”
Gil shook his head. How in tarnation had he gotten himself on this topic of conversation? All he wanted was to talk with the prisoner.
“Darce, maybe he could tell us—” Jeremy came alongside the desk, his hand held out.
The marshal jumped up as if a snake bit his backside. “Jeremy, where’d you get that?” The marshal sprang at the boy and a nugget the size of a grown man’s thumb dropped to the floor.
Gil stared at the shiny rock. “Where did you find that?”
The boy snatched it up.
“Give that to me,” the marshal growled, ramming his hands on his hips.
“I found it under your mattress, and I want to know where it came from,” Jeremy said, dropping the nugget in his trouser pocket.
The marshal crossed the room, grabbing the younger boy about the neck. They struggled as the marshal dug for the nugget in Jeremy’s pocket.
Gil leaned back in the chair, watching, wondering about the honesty of a young man who would not tell his friend he had gold. When the arm around the younger boy’s neck started to make him turn blue, Gil decided to intervene. With quickness he revealed to few people, he crossed the floor, and scooped the marshal up around the middle.
He weighed less than a saddle, but struggled like a wild cat. The dusty, worn hat fell to the floor and a thick, auburn braid tumbled down the slender back.
The marshal stopped struggling, and Gil stared at the long hair. The marshal was a girl? He loosened his grip, settling his hands on her waist. It curved in like a woman’s. He spun her around to get a good look at her face. She squirmed, and his hand slipped, cupping a firm mound under the chambray shirt. He pulled his hand back as if he’d just touched a hot pan. Yep, she was definitely a girl. From the size and of the lump, the marshal was more than a girl—she was a woman.<
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Marshal Duncan froze, and Gil looked down into her gray eyes. He’d never experienced such a jolt. His eyes scanned the scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and watched her tongue flick out to wet rose-colored lips. Why hadn’t he noticed those feminine qualities before? ’Cuz, you weren’t looking, echoed through his head as he stared down at her.
“Hey!” Jeremy punched him in the side. “Get away from my sister!”
The boy slapped a hand over his mouth and looked at Gil with scared, wide eyes. In a whisper he added, “You ain’t going to tell, are you?”
Gil willed himself to look at the boy and not the flushed face of the woman taking a step away from him. The way she’d kept her hat tipped so no one could really see her face made sense. She could hide her body under baggy men’s clothes, but a face as angelic as hers would be hard to pass off as a boy if people were allowed to stare overly long.
“Why don’t you want people to know your female? Does Craven know?” Gil stared at the marshal. The resemblance to her brother was uncanny, but there were definite womanly attributes that any true-blooded male should have seen.
“Mr. Craven doesn’t know.” She stepped forward and clutched his shirtfront. “You won’t tell will you? This is the best deal we’ve had since our parents passed.”
He gently removed her hands from his shirt and backed up. “I won’t tell.” Gil knew the two were desperate for food and a place to stay. Letting on the marshal was a woman would only put them back out on the street. He’d rather keep an eye on them and know they were fed and had a place to sleep than tell the town a young, accident-prone woman protected them. He needed to think this through. Had the prisoner heard the truth about the marshal? Would that complicate things? He swore under his breath and walked out of the building.
What happened? One moment he thought she was a greenhorn boy and the next he fantasized about her soft pink lips. Gil walked into the saloon still in a daze and ordered a whiskey. The dance hall girl he favored sashayed over, but he didn’t want to think about her. His hand still tingled from touching Marshal Darcy Duncan.
*****
Darcy crammed her hat on her head as tight as she could get it and sat with her head face down on the desk. Her heart fluttered, remembering his strong hands holding her and his eyes looking at her as though he’d never seen anything like her before. She groaned. It proved her uncle’s words about her being uncomely.
Blazes! Halsey knew she was a girl. Would he tell, and she’d lose the badge? They hadn’t had such a good job and a place to live in a long time. She could have risked everything by his discovering the truth. All because she’d kept the gold hidden from Jeremy.
She moaned. Halsey hadn’t come by just to talk. Had he known she was a girl and came to prove it? She didn’t think so. He’d looked genuinely shocked by his discovery. Her cheeks warmed. No one had touched her so intimately. The waves of shock and heat his touch caused still radiated through her body. How could one touch make her body react so?
What did the man want? Was he a spy for Craven? Everywhere she went Halsey seemed to be there—watching.
Before she cleared things in her mind, a shadow fell across the desk. She tipped her hat forward and looked up. A dark-haired man, about her age, stood in the doorway, staring at the jail cell.
“Boy, you got a friend of mine in there,” the man said good-naturedly and walked over to the desk.
“I wouldn’t claim him for a friend since he was shot robbing a bank.” She watched the corners of his mouth turn into a smile.
“You’re sassy for such a young pup.” He walked toward the cell.
Darcy grabbed the rifle leaning against the desk and pointed it at him. “Don’t go near the prisoner.”
Jeremy popped his head in the door and disappeared. She hoped he was headed off to bring reinforcements, the gun felt heavy in her shaking hands. From the glint in the man’s eyes, he knew she was bluffing.
“Red. Red, it’s me Pete,” he called through the cell window.
“Wondered when you’d get me out of here,” the prisoner answered from the other side of the door.
Darcy stood, shoving the chair backwards. It hit the wall with a crash. The man named Pete, turned, his hand clutching a gun aimed at her.
“That wasn’t smart boy. I could have shot you right where you’re standing and you’d never know what hit you.”
“And you’d be keeping your friend company in the cell,” Gil said, walking through the door, his hand hovering above the grip of his gun.
“I got this handled,” Darcy said, walking forward. She didn’t want anyone saying she couldn’t take care of things.
“Hey, Gil, it’s been a while.” Pete stepped forward, dropping his pistol into his holster. Darcy eyed the two men. Gil knew the friend of the prisoner? Is that why he’d visited the jail so often? When the other man’s hands went in the air, Gil leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms and watching the man advancing toward him.
He appeared relaxed, but the tension between the men hung in the air as thick and rank as hog stench. They acted like old friends with a strong undercurrent of distrust.
“Came to see if Red, here, is being treated fairly,” Pete said, stopping in front of Halsey. “Surprised to see you here.”
“He’s being treated as fairly as a bank robber can be expected to be treated,” Darcy said. Both men looked her direction. There was a trace of annoyance in Gil’s eyes, and a glimmer of humor in Pete’s.
“You two can reminisce at the saloon. This is my jail, and I don’t feel like any visitors at the moment.” She waved the gun toward the door in an attempt to get them out. The two men eying each other with an emotion close to hatred, made her edgy. If they were going to draw their guns again, she wanted it out of her sight.
“When ya getting me out of here, Pete?” the prisoner called from the cell.
A smug look crossed Pete’s face, and he looked directly at her. “Soon.” He motioned to Halsey. “Let’s go get a drink and talk about old times.”
Gil stepped aside, allowing the man to exit. He leveled a stern look on her and quietly said, “Close and bar the door behind me.”
Jeremy popped in the door as Gil stepped out. Darcy hurried across the room, slamming the door and barring it. Nothing made sense. Gil knew an outlaw, yet he did and said things that made her think he was law abiding. He didn’t make sense.
“Where’d Pete go?” the prisoner called.
“To get a drink,” she answered and turned to Jeremy. “Why did you bring Halsey of all people when you saw I needed help?”
“He has a gun strapped to him, and the man I saw in here looked like he could outgun a miner.”
She smiled at his wisdom. It was true, none of the miners would be a match for a man used to living by the quickness of his gun. How fast would Gil be? Her heart fluttered thinking of him in a gunfight. He annoyed her, but she wouldn’t want to see any harm come to him. Even if he was in cahoots with an outlaw.
She watched Jeremy climb the ladder to the room where they slept above the jail. It was going to be a long night. She’d need to stay alert in case Pete decided to come back and spring his friend.
*****
Gil followed Pete into the saloon. Out of difference for the friendship they once had, he wanted to know why Pete left the ranch and all he would inherit from his father. Gil hadn’t been able to figure out the wild side of the Chandler heir since he started working at the ranch. The young man had thought Gil was as wild as himself when he first hired on. Sure they’d gone to town a couple of times and whooped it up, but Gil didn’t believe in causing trouble to have a good time.
He couldn’t believe Pete went looking for money by stealing, when he had it falling into his pockets from his father’s ranch.
“Why’d you leave?” Gil asked, taking a sip of whiskey.
Pete laughed scornfully. “I’d never get that ranch. Pa told me years ago I was unworthy of it.” He pulled a pl
ug of tobacco out of his vest pocket. Tearing a corner off, he looked at Gil. “Why bust my tail for him when I can ride into a town, take what I want, and ride out?”
Gil shook his head. This man had to return to the ranch. He wanted the foreman job. He wanted it more than he’d wanted anything in his life. Ranching set well with him. It wasn’t as backbreaking as mining. He took another sip of whiskey and watched Pete stuff the tobacco in his mouth and down a jigger of whiskey.
Gil knew the hours his father had toiled at the mine. That wasn’t the life for him. He wondered if his brothers still worked the mine or if they’d moved on. As always when he thought about his family his gut knotted and his throat went dry. He chased thoughts of them out of his head. He didn’t need to bring back all the guilt that sent him out into the world.
He flexed his fingers. They stung from the tight grip he had on the glass of whiskey in his hand.
“Pete, your pa asked me to bring you back. I’m going to do it one way or the other.” Gil leaned against the bar and stared at his friend.
“He won’t be too happy when he hears I killed you.” The man’s tone had gone void of all emotion.
Gil didn’t let his gaze waver. The threat didn’t scare him—it made him determined. He knew Pete was handy with a gun. But Pete didn’t know the hours Gil spent learning to draw his gun after the death of his parent’s and younger brother. It didn’t erase the guilt he felt for not being there to help them, but it prepared him to never have to feel guilty for someone else’s death he could prevent.
Pete shifted and turned his head. The man was a coward. Instead of staying and fighting for what was rightfully his, he rode around taking from weaker people. Any loyalty he’d once had for the man faded like smoke from a chimney.
Gil couldn’t take Pete back until he knew how many were in the gang and how they planned to get their partner out of jail. He didn’t want anything to happen to the marshal and her brother. The two were starting to get under his skin, and he couldn’t shake it.