by Clari Dees
Meri reluctantly turned her horse toward town, thinking about the unspoken signal that had passed between the two men. “How long have you and Jonah known each other?”
He frowned, thinking. “Almost eleven years, now. He was stationed at the first fort I was transferred to after graduating from West Point.” A slight grin quirked his lips. “I was a freshly minted second lieutenant full of book learning and no real knowledge of anything west of the Mississippi. The major over the fort had dealt with know-it-all West Point graduates before. He had a habit of quietly assigning Master Sergeant Jonah Chacksfield the job of keeping an eye on those brash, overeager officers. They outranked him, but Jonah had a way of subtly reining in bad judgment and pointing out a better way without appearing to question an officer’s authority, all the while making the idea seem like their own.”
“Did he do that to you?”
“More than once. I thought I knew all about Indians after growing up playing with my Cherokee cousins in the wilds of Rocky Gap, Virginia. I could sneak through those woods with the best of them and was more than a fair tracker.” A grimace crossed his face. “My first encounter with a band of Apaches taught me how much I didn’t know. I came close to getting my men killed that day. It was due to Jonah’s guidance and God’s mercy we survived that encounter.”
They rode in silence for a several minutes. Meri could envision a fresh-faced young army officer decked out in crisp uniform with shiny buttons and a cavalry saber swinging from his hip. She wondered how many female hearts he had conquered. Something he’d said snagged her attention. “You don’t look Indian.” The words were out before she could catch them.
Narrowed hazel eyes turned toward her. “What is an Indian supposed to look like?”
Meri blushed and shrugged. “I just meant you don’t have dark eyes or black hair.”
“My grandmother was full-blood Cherokee, but I take after the Scottish side of the family.” He grinned at her. “And I can see you have another question. What is it?”
Meri felt relieved that she hadn’t upset him with her impulsive question and then wondered why she cared. “You said you grew up with your Cherokee cousins in Virginia. Weren’t the Cherokee Indians removed west?”
“Most of them were, but a few escaped into the Appalachian Mountains. My family owned their own property farther north. Indians that actually owned their own land instead of living on communal grounds were by law allowed to stay.”
Meri thought about her parents and the boatload of others evicted from their homes in Scotland, and the Indians evicted from their lands and homes in America. Two different nations and cultures, both forever changed because of greed coupled with power.
“You’re awfully quiet. Does my being part Cherokee bother you?”
Meri thought she detected a hint of worry. “No.” He eyed her for a second, and she looked him square in the eyes. “It doesn’t bother me.”
The answer seemed to satisfy him, because he smiled slightly. “Good.”
Something shifted in the air between them and, growing uncomfortable, Meri turned her focus back to the ride. She was thankful he seemed content to let the silence continue.
They reached the saloon at the edge of town and turned down the street to the livery stable.
“Thank you for coming out to check on me.” She didn’t understand why a simple thank-you should make her feel so nervous—vulnerable.
He touched the brim of his hat in a snappy salute. “Just doin’ my job, ma’am.”
Franks greeted them at the door of the livery stable and asked about the gunshots. He listened soberly as the marshal recounted the details while Meri unsaddled Sandy. Turning to her afterward, Franks scolded, “I shore is glad de good Lawd was watchin’ out for you, but you might’a stretched his protection a bit far when you chased after dem fellas! Don’ you go doin’ a fool stunt like da’ again, you hear?”
Wyatt turned his horse into a stall beside Sandy. “Don’t go riding alone out of town until we figure out what this was all about and catch those men, either.”
The thought of being cooped up in town unable to ride when and where she pleased was smothering. “I shouldn’t have chased after those two men, but I’m not going to stop riding just because of them.”
“While you’re in this town, you’ll do what I say.” His eyes were turning stormy again, she noticed.
Meri opened her mouth to reply and remembered the last time she’d argued with him in this barn. Biting back the words that sprang to her tongue, she spun on her heel and stomped out of the barn. She heard him follow and ignored him hoping he’d go away, but he stayed on her heels all the way to the doctor’s house. Reaching the bottom step, she could take it no longer and faced him. “Why are you still following me?”
He took her by the arm, marched her up the steps and opened the door for her. “Since you refuse to abide by my authority in this matter, we’re going to take it up with a higher authority.”
Meri yanked her arm away from the sparks his touch caused. “What higher authority? God?”
“No. Your father.” Leaving her standing at the front door, he stalked toward her father’s room.
* * *
Wyatt found McIsaac awake and, much to Miss Meri’s annoyance, relayed the happenings of the afternoon. He then retreated from the field of battle, more than happy to leave her father to engage her in this particular skirmish. Pulling the bedroom door shut behind him to cut off the glare she aimed in his direction, he shook his head ruefully. One slender female had just caused him to fall back faster than any band of attacking Apache warriors ever had.
His stomach growled, reminding him it was near supper time, and he pointed his steps toward the cafe. A savory, tantalizing odor greeted him as he entered the dining establishment, and he requested a plate of whatever smelled so good. He chatted with the other diners, feeling the weight of their concern over the missing money, until the hearty stew and hot, buttered bread arrived then he dived into his meal while pondering the events of the past week. Were the bank holdup and today’s events random coincidences or did they somehow tie in together?
When he finished his meal, he decided to have a talk with Franks. Meri had described the men’s horses, and Wyatt wondered if Franks would know anything about them.
The blacksmith was finishing his own meal in his small living quarters off the back corner of the livery stable, but he warmly invited Wyatt in. Wyatt explained his errand and repeated Meri’s description of the men and their horses.
Franks rubbed his head and thought for a minute before replying. “A bay hoss and a gray hoss… Dere’s a lot a bay hosses ‘roun’ here. Dat could describe any a dem. I has sev’ral myself, but I ain’t rented any a dem out today. Now de gray…dere’s only two a dem in dis area dat I know of—Rufus Bascom’s matched carriage hosses and his prize possessions. He’s a rancher on past de McIsaac place, and he keeps dem s’clusively to pull his carriage.” He paused thoughtfully. “Dey was a gray hoss I ain’t never seen afore tied in front a de saloon, couple nights ago. It were a big, han’some geldin’, but I ain’t seen it since.”
The only description Meri had given of the men themselves was their clothing and the height difference between the two men. She’d been too far away to distinguish facial features under the brims of their hats. Franks and Wyatt both agreed the clothing description could fit a dozen men in town on any given day.
Wyatt thanked the man for his help and stood to take his leave. Franks followed him to the door. “You be careful wid Miss Meri, she’s a han’ful, and she’s hurtin’, but she’s sumpin’ special! I don’ wanna see her hurt!”
Stepping outside, Wyatt settled his hat on his head. “I’ll do my best, but I’m beginning to believe keeping her out of trouble will be the hardest part of my job as marshal!”
Wyatt’s next stop was the saloon. The bartender remembered a man who rode a gray horse and gave Wyatt a rough description of the man: tall with shaggy black hair and a mu
stache, a man who asked too many questions. The bartender said he recognized his type as a troublemaker and was glad to see him leave. Wyatt thanked him and asked him to let him know if he saw the man again or remembered anything else about him.
Leaving the foul-smelling, smoky saloon behind, Wyatt glanced down at the pocket watch his parents had given him upon his graduation from West Point. It was only a little after six in the evening, plenty of time to talk to a couple more people before calling it a day. He walked to the boardinghouse. The bank teller had roomed there before leaving to be closer to his widowed mother, according to Mr. Samuels. At the large two-story house Wyatt asked the proprietress if she knew where the teller had gone.
“Mr. Dunn was such a nice young man, one of my best boarders. I so hated to lose him, and I’m glad he found another job so soon after Mr. Samuels fired him.” She offered Wyatt a cup of tea, which he declined.
“He told you Mr. Samuels fired him?”
“Yes. He was naturally upset about it, but I think it almost came as a relief after the way he was treated.”
“How was that?”
“In the past few months, he would come in from work with such a sad, tired slump to his shoulders, but I finally got out of him what the trouble was. Mr. Samuels was constantly finding fault with the way he did anything and made the poor boy’s life miserable. Then he fired poor Mr. Dunn—said he was just too incompetent. Grouchy old man lost me one of the tidiest boarders I had,” she said indignantly.
Wyatt asked her where Mr. Dunn had gone, and she named a town in the next county. He thanked her for her time and left, jotting a note to contact that town’s marshal to verify Dunn’s whereabouts. Wyatt wondered why Mr. Samuels hadn’t mentioned any of this and added it to the growing list of questions he had for the man. However, when he arrived at the banker’s house, the housekeeper informed him that as the bank was closed, Mr. Samuels had left town on business and wouldn’t return until sometime the following day.
Wyatt turned over the fragmented bits and pieces of information he’d gathered as he walked through the south side of town back toward First Street. When he reached it, he saw Jonah walking toward him in the dim light of evening.
“I just got back in and was coming to find you.”
“Let’s go to my office and talk.”
“You’re the marshal, but Mr. McIsaac is my boss, and I think he needs to hear what I found, too.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Do you want to get something to eat before we head over there?”
“No. Let’s get there before it gets any later. I can rustle up some grub afterward.”
They hurried to Doc’s house and found McIsaac still awake and eager to talk to them. Dr. Kilburn advised them to keep it short.
“I know that look. What’s up, Jonah?” McIsaac propped
himself higher against the headboard.
“The tracks out on the road, I’d seen ‘em before.” Jonah’s face was grim.
“I figured that’s what your look meant earlier,” Wyatt replied. “You didn’t want Miss McIsaac to know it.”
Jonah shook his head. “The tracks of one of those men and his horse matched the ones I found on the ranch after our horse was stolen and returned. The same man I tracked and lost in the cattle drive, and I believe, the same man you were tracking, Cap’n.”
“Och! Are ye telling me one of the men me daughter ran into on the road today was that de’il who held up the bank?” McIsaac nearly shouted the question, his brogue thickening noticeably.
“Yes, sir. I believe so. And from the tracks today and some tail hairs I found snagged in the brush, I’d say the gray horse Meri described to us is the one we tracked out on the ranch.”
Wyatt quickly recounted what he’d learned from Franks and the bartender about the gray horse.
“The man who came through our ranch was riding a gray horse and had black hair and a mustache.” McIsaac’s voice was grim.
Wyatt felt his own pulse quicken. “If it is the same man, between the barkeep and yourself, we have a description of our thief. It also means he’s been in the area for a while.”
“Why would he still be hanging around? Why hasn’t he hightailed it out of the area?” Jonah wondered aloud.
“And who was he meeting on the road today?” Wyatt added. “Where did you trail them to?”
“After they left the road, they didn’t take time to hide their tracks. They rode as fast as they could to the next town. I lost their tracks once they hit town, but the boy at the livery stable hadn’t seen a bay or a gray all day, and the marshal and saloon keeper hadn’t, either. I figure they rode on out of there as quick as they rode in, but I couldn’t find where.”
The three men hashed over this information for several more minutes but were unable to come up with any solid conclusions.
“Did you remember anything else about the bank job?” Wyatt asked McIsaac.
“No, but there’s sure something bothering me about it. If I can figure out what it is, I’ll let ye know.”
“Okay. I’ll bring some wanted posters for you to look through, and I’ll write up a description of the man you and the barkeep saw and wire it to surrounding towns, see if anyone’s seen our thief. I need to talk to Mr. Samuels again and clear a few things up, and I’d like to talk to that bank teller and hear his side of the story.” Wyatt eyed both men thoughtfully before he continued. “Mr. McIsaac, I need a deputy, at least ‘til we get this trouble solved. The town council gave me authority to hire whomever I wanted. I know Jonah, but more importantly, I trust him. I wonder if you’d be willing to let me hire him away from you, if he’s willing.”
Mr. McIsaac nodded. “Jonah’s his own man. Yer business is with him, not me.”
“Jonah?” Wyatt offered his hand.
“I’d be honored to be of service as long as you want me.” Jonah grasped the outstretched hand and gave it a firm clasp.
A tap alerted them to a visitor, and they turned to see Meri poke her head around the door. “Oh. I didn’t know you had company. I’ll be back later to say good-night.” She withdrew hurriedly.
“I don’t think she’s forgiven ye for ordering her not to ride out alone or for tattling to me.” McIsaac laughed as they heard her footsteps retreating.
“I was glad to leave that fight in your hands.” Jonah and McIsaac laughed at his feigned shudder.
“She’s an independent lass, that’s for sure. Just like her dear mither was.” McIsaac looked at Wyatt thoughtfully. “There are only two men she’s ever taken orders from and even then she kicked up occasionally.”
“I assume you were one?” Wyatt guessed.
“Aye, and God. Ye just might make the third.”
Wyatt felt his pulse jump and a sudden burn in his cheeks. He cleared his throat. “She has spunk, but she’s going to give me gray hair if she pulls any more stunts like the one today.” Just thinking about the potential consequences of her actions still sent chills down his spine. He’d wanted to shake her earlier for putting herself at such a risk.
McIsaac chuckled, tugging at his own gray locks. “Where do ye think I acquired these? Some things are worth it, though.”
Wyatt stood and shook hands with McIsaac, changing the direction of the conversation. He already had Mrs. Van Deusen after him. He didn’t need any other potential matchmakers trying to outflank him. “I’d better find my new deputy some food and get him sworn in, or I’ll lose him before I’ve officially hired him.”
Bidding their farewells, Wyatt and Jonah departed the house for Wyatt’s office.
“Little Creek is a solid little town, recent trouble notwithstanding. It’s growing, but there is a lot of good land still available.”
Wyatt looked at the ex-sergeant. “Your point?”
“No point. Just got to thinking about your dream to settle down and raise horses. This is as good a place as any.”
“Hard to do that when I’m trying to catch a bank robber.”
“That wo
n’t last forever. Besides, it’s high time you started thinking about finding a wife.”
“You, too, Jonah? You, too?”
Chapter Nine
Meri stepped outside and felt the warmth of the sunshine bathe her face as she inhaled the heady perfume of fresh spring air. She’d planned to stay with her father instead of attending church, but he’d put his foot down, insisting he didn’t need her hovering all day. She smoothed her hands down the glossy purple fabric of her dress. As much as she preferred the freedom of her less cumbersome riding skirts, it was Sunday morning, and according to her upbringing, that meant wearing her best to church.
At least that’s what she’d told herself this morning when she’d given in to a fit of vanity and applied her favorite lilac scent, which she’d tucked into her bag on a whim at the ranch. She’d also taken time to twist her hair into a smooth chignon, but a sudden attack of nerves had butterflies fluttering in her stomach as a tiny voice inquired if she were trying to impress anyone in particular.
Ruthlessly squashing the mocking imp, she threw up her head and walked briskly toward the church building. There’s no reason to dither about how you look or smell, Meri McIsaac! As long as you’re clean and neat, no one will care either way.
“Mmm…lilacs, I believe.”
The masculine voice so unexpectedly close to her ear caused her to trip, but firm hands gently snared her waist, steadying her and sending the butterflies into frenzied acrobatics.
“Steady there. You don’t always have to fall at my feet. Besides, I’d hate to see you muss your lovely dress.” Mirth danced through the marshal’s words.
Meri pulled away from him and walked on, trying to untangle her tongue and ignore the disturbing sensations left by the feel of his hands at her waist. That became impossible, however, when he grasped her hand and folded it around his arm as he fell into step with her. A tingling sensation raced up her arm at the contact, and she jerked her hand back as if she’d been burned.