They walked into the drawing room, and there was Elizabeth in a pale yellow evening gown with white lace ruffles on the train, standing in front of the fireplace with her back to the door. As soon as the butler announced Jo and Fletcher, she turned gracefully from rearranging a vase of pink roses on the mantel.
“Fletcher! Mrs. O’Malley!” Elizabeth approached and took Jo’s hands. “Congratulations. It seems we will be sisters.” She leaned forward and kissed Jo on the cheek.
Jo glanced at Fletcher, who dropped his gaze to the floor.
“Please, call me Jo,” she replied.
Elizabeth turned Jo’s hands over and looked at them. “No ring yet, I see.” She gave Fletcher a lighthearted wink. “I’ve been waiting all day for this moment.”
She moved toward a round table adorned with glass figurines and vases of colorful wildflowers, and picked up a small silver-plated box.
Fletcher’s lips parted with recognition. “Elizabeth, that’s not necessary. I know how much that means to you.”
Jo listened to Fletcher’s voice, so full of guilt and anguish at having to lie to his sister this way. Seeing the sisterly love in Elizabeth’s eyes as she handed the box to him made Jo realize why Fletcher was so reluctant to accept the truth about Zeb. Why she, too, now wished it was not so.
Fletcher took the small box from Elizabeth and held it in his hand. A vein pulsed at his temple. Jo saw it and touched his arm. “Are you all right?” she asked quietly.
Elizabeth gazed back and forth between the two of them, then spoke to Jo. “It’s our mother’s wedding ring. She wanted it to be passed down.”
Jo had to swallow the guilt-ridden lump forming in the back of her throat. She glanced from Elizabeth to Fletcher, back to Elizabeth again.
“But you should have it,” Jo suggested. “You were her only daughter.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, Zeb wanted me to have something he picked out himself.”
Jo glimpsed down and was not surprised at the enormous diamond on Elizabeth’s finger, meant to impress even the wealthiest Dodge City patrons and voters.
“I don’t know, Liz,” Fletcher said, still holding the box, turning it over in his hand.
“Please,” she replied, “it would break my heart if you didn’t accept it. I know Mother would have wanted you to have it. She always wanted you to be happy.”
Fletcher walked to the window and stood in front of the drawn velvet curtains, his back to Jo and Elizabeth. Alone, head down, he opened the box and looked at the ring.
Jo stood in the center of the room, unable to tear her gaze away from him as he heaved with a sigh. A cold knot formed in her belly. How she wanted to go to him. To tell him to call off this charade before they all got hurt.
Elizabeth strolled forward and placed her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Take the ring, Fletcher. It’s been too long since you’ve been happy.”
He turned slightly and looked at Jo. She wasn’t certain if it was guilt she saw in his eyes, or something closer to what she was feeling—a sense of regret that this engagement was only a pretense, and that they were deceiving everyone.
Perhaps they could at least tell his sister the truth.
Jo stepped forward. “Elizabeth…”
Fletcher quickly crossed toward her. “Jo, please don’t say another word. Elizabeth is right. Our mother would have wanted you to wear this.”
Any hope for revealing the truth vanished beneath her surprise. She could barely control her breathing as Fletcher took hold of her hand, raised it to his lips, and placed a soft, warm kiss on her knuckles—a kiss so genuine, she could have sworn he’d meant what he said.
Did he mean it? And was there any way to deny that she wanted it to be real? All of it?
“It fits,” Fletcher said rather contentedly as he slipped the ring, carved with tiny hearts, onto her finger.
“It must be fate, then,” Elizabeth said, approaching. “Mother had the most beautiful, graceful hands, just like yours, Josephine.”
“Oh, hardly,” Jo remarked self-consciously, pulling her hand from Fletcher’s and dropping it to her side. “With all the work I do at the ranch.”
“That’s what makes them beautiful,” Elizabeth returned.
Just then, the door of the drawing room swung open and Jo turned around.
The moment immediately lost all its magic as she found herself staring heatedly into the dark eyes of Elizabeth’s husband—who was also, without a doubt, her own husband’s killer.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Zeb, you’re back,” Elizabeth said uneasily, crossing the room to greet him. “I hadn’t expected you so soon. I’d instructed Matthews to hold supper for another half hour.”
Zeb stood in the wide doorway, staring into Jo’s eyes. He bowed slightly at the waist. “Welcome to my home, Mrs. O’Malley.”
Elizabeth gave him a smile. “They arrived only a few minutes ago.”
“I see that.”
He eyed Jo with interest, and despite her hellish wrath toward this man, and her desire to see him totally defeated, she felt her heart wash with fear as she whisked her hands behind her back.
“What is that you’re hiding?” he asked.
He strode toward her and her stomach flared with dread. She thought she had been prepared for this, but she wasn’t. Not at all. All she could think of was how he had strung a rope over the beam in her barn and ended her husband’s life. The terror of that moment came rushing back at her, and her heart pummeled the inside of her ribcage.
“What are you referring to?” she asked.
“Come now, Mrs. O’Malley. You can’t hide anything from me.” He stood too close, attempting to lean around her to see what she hid in her hands.
Taking in the hint of whisky on his breath, Jo had to fight the urge to pound her fists on his chest and shake him senseless for an explanation as to why he was such an unfeeling monster.
Fletcher reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers. The contact pulled her abruptly from her contentious urges and reminded her what she had come here to do.
She let her hand relax into Fletcher’s, who stood next to her, appearing relaxed and composed.
“She’s hiding a wedding ring she shouldn’t be wearing yet,” Fletcher answered good-naturedly, raising her hand to show off the gold band.
Zeb glanced at it, nodded once in an exaggerated, patronizing manner that suggested that, even if the wedding was real, she would not live to see the day.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, changing the subject and stepping back to signal the butler. “I had some important business to attend to. Get us some brandy, Matthews. No, on second thought, make it champagne. This celebration requires something bubbly.”
Taking advantage of the distraction, Jo took a few deep breaths to calm herself.
The butler returned with a bottle of French champagne and four glasses on a silver tray. He filled each one and made his way around the room.
“Here’s to family,” Zeb toasted, raising his glass. “May we all prosper.”
With that, they dutifully sipped.
Jo watched Elizabeth, curious what had drawn a woman like her to this man. She could only guess it had something to do with being alone in the world, naïve and romantic. It was the only thing that made any sense.
When Fletcher and Zeb began to discuss city matters, Elizabeth invited Jo to join her on the sofa. “I would love to see your ranch,” she said, setting her glass on the marble-topped table in front of them. “I so admire you, Josephine, running it on your own. How big is your herd?”
Odd, to hear Elizabeth, adorned in silk, satin and jewels, ask about cattle. “We drive about ten thousand head up from Texas every year,” Jo replied, “but we keep seven thousand breeding cows. Edwyn believed the future was in winter feeding, fencing and breeding, and I must say I agree.”
“Yes, I’ve often thought that—”
“What’s this?” Zeb interrupted as he helped him
self to another glass of champagne. “Ladies discussing ranching. I believe I’ve heard it all.” He glanced at Fletcher, expecting him to join him in laughing, but Fletcher ignored the remark and set his glass down on a table.
Jo hoped her eyes were not conveying the loathing she felt.
Elizabeth fiddled with an earring. “But Mrs. O’Malley is running her husband’s—”
“She has cowhands for that, we all know. I hear your foreman, John Cook, is an ambitious man.”
“He is indeed,” Jo replied, hiding her hostility beneath a polite smile. “But he doesn’t make decisions about land that belongs to me.”
Zeb strode forward and leaned his elbow on the mantel. “Maybe you should let him make some of the decisions. I hear that you’re building more fences, when any wise businessman knows that cattle can be grazed for almost nothing on the free range in Texas. To dispense large amounts of capital on acres and acres of grass here, and to fence it in, is ludicrous.”
“I don’t believe that building something to last is ever ludicrous, Mr. Stone, especially when it can be passed down to future generations and—”
Zeb smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Why not build your bank account instead, and pass that down if you want to leave something behind. I’d wager your son would prefer a stack of cash over an obligation to break his back making hay.”
Elizabeth spoke to her husband, but directed her gaze at Jo. “Perhaps Mrs. O’Malley has a point. I’ve heard that the open range has been overgrazed to the point of—”
“Don’t be daft, Elizabeth,” he replied. “The farmers are starting those rumors. Texas will never be overgrazed. There’s enough acreage to feed a—”
“It’s not the quantity of land that’s the problem,” Fletcher broke in, and everyone fell silent. “One of these days, a bad winter is going to wipe out entire herds and folks are starting to think about that. I reckon, in the future, more ranchers are going to move toward winter feeding. Like the O’Malleys.” Fletcher sat in the red upholstered armchair beside Jo and crossed his legs. “But I didn’t know you had an interest in ranching, Zeb.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” he replied haughtily. “This is a cow town.”
Fletcher sat very still, watching Zeb until the door to the drawing room opened and the butler stepped inside. “There is someone here wishing to see Marshal Collins.”
“Who is it?” Fletcher asked, still watching Zeb, who moved to sit in the wing chair in front of the fireplace.
“Yes, who is interrupting our intriguing discussion?” Zeb asked. “I hope it’s important.”
“It’s Deputy Anderson, sir.”
Fletcher turned in his chair. “Anderson is here?”
“Yes, Marshal Collins. He wishes to speak with you.”
Fletcher stood. “I’ll be right back. Liz, I’ll trust you to make sure this lady doesn’t run out on me?”
With a teasing smile, Elizabeth touched Jo’s arm. “I doubt she’d want to do that.”
Fletcher swept his hand lightly over Jo’s cheek. “I won’t be long.”
She nodded. “I’ll wait.”
Jo anxiously watched the butler close the double doors behind Fletcher. Then she felt Zeb’s dark gaze rake over her. With a subtle, sinister grin, he raised an eyebrow.
* * *
“What do you mean, he was dead?” Fletcher whispered to Anderson, as he led him across the wide hall and into the dining room, where the butler wouldn’t hear them speak.
“I mean he was dead, Marshal Collins. Laid out cold behind the Long Branch saloon.”
“Any bullet wounds?”
“Yep. Straight through the heart. You gonna come and see for yourself?”
As much as he wanted to, Fletcher couldn’t leave Jo alone with Zeb, especially not with this new development. “Not right away. I trust you to take care of things. Seal off the area. Ask if anyone saw anything. I’ll be by later to take a look.”
“Yes, sir.” Anderson settled his hat on his head and saluted the butler. “Don’t bother yourself. I know the way out. Door’s right there.”
Fletcher stood in the dining room thinking, then approached Matthews. “Tell everyone I had to step out for a few minutes. I’ll be back in time for supper, though. I just want to ask Anderson a few more questions and check something at the jailhouse.”
“Shall I get your hat, sir?”
“Not necessary,” Fletcher replied, going for the door.
He stepped outside into the twilight, hearing birds chirping in the straight row of trees Zeb had imported to line his driveway.
Fletcher looked all around the yard for witnesses. Seeing only Deputy Anderson on his horse, trotting off the property without looking back, Fletcher ducked down below the windows and circled the outside of the large stone house toward the back.
He knew the servants were busy downstairs preparing supper. Jo, Elizabeth and Zeb were still in the drawing room, and because Zeb had chosen a property on a hill on the edge of town, it was secluded enough to avoid the company and curiosity of neighbors.
Fletcher sneaked around to the back and found an open window, hoping it would take him into a closed room and not a hall or some other visible section of the house. Grabbing hold of the wooden window ledge, he pulled himself up. With one swift thrust, he was inside.
He straightened his shirt, looked around the dark room and found himself in Elizabeth’s private sitting room. He went to the door and peered into the hall, then quietly walked across and tried the door on the other side. Finding it locked, he retrieved the rusty hairpin he kept on his key ring for moments like these, and gently persuaded the lock to open.
Fletcher walked in and closed the door behind him, straining to hear any sounds from the hall outside as he made his way across the room. He walked to the desk near the back wall, sat down and grabbed for whatever he could get his hands on—papers, letters, invoices, bank statements. Most letters were addressed to Zeb at Zeb Stone’s Dry Goods. The invoices were for store merchandise he brought in from all parts of the country.
Reaching for the bank records, Fletcher checked over the amounts and had to swallow his surprise at the balance carried forward each month. There was enough money in there to stuff the entire county courthouse to the roof.
Fletcher searched for large deposits, but there were only standard amounts from the business, the balance having been deposited when he originally opened the account. Elizabeth’s explanation about Zeb inheriting his money seemed legitimate.
Hearing silverware clinking in the dining room, Fletcher decided to get back before Jo had to sit down at Zeb’s table on her own.
He left the same way he came in and, within moments, he was walking through the front door of the grand house and smelling roast beef in the downstairs kitchen.
Matthews stood outside the drawing room with his hands clasped behind his back. “They have been waiting for you, sir,” he said, opening the door to the drawing room.
Fletcher walked in, and there was Jo, sitting where he’d left her, her gaze darting up at him and her eyes shimmering with relief and happiness to see him. He took a deep breath at the sight of her sitting there, wearing his mother’s wedding ring, returning his enamored gaze as if there were no one else in the room but the two of them.
Only the sound of Zeb’s voice pulled Fletcher out of his stupor. “You’re back, finally. What did the deputy want that couldn’t wait until after dinner?”
Fletcher regarded him with an inquisitive gaze. “He came to report a death.”
“Good heavens,” Elizabeth said, covering her mouth with a hand. “Who was it?”
Fletcher didn’t take his eyes off Zeb, who sat calmly in the chair, revealing nothing. “No one you would know, Liz. He was a drover who’d just shipped a herd out east.”
“How did he die?” Zeb asked, leaning back in the chair, his hands relaxed on the armrests.
“Looks like his heart gave out,” Fletcher replied, not wanting to mention in front of
Elizabeth the true circumstances, or that Zeb had played poker with the man the night before.
“What a shame. The fellow must have been working too hard,” Zeb said.
“I reckon so.”
“Shall we go to the table?” Zeb asked, his tone light.
Elizabeth nodded serenely and accepted her husband’s hand to lead her out of the room. All Fletcher could do was meet Jo’s inquisitive gaze, her pale cheeks revealing her concern.
He knew without a doubt that something was going on in this town, and Jo was a sitting duck in the middle of it.
“I’m glad you’re back,” she said, rising.
“Why? Did something happen? If Zeb said or did anything—”
“Nothing at all. I’m just glad to see you. I was worried about you.”
“I was worried about you, too,” he replied, fighting to keep the emotion from his voice, but it was no use. “I didn’t like leaving you.”
He offered his arm and she looped hers through it on the way out of the room.
“Then don’t do it again,” she said.
He wished with all his heart that he could give her that promise.
* * *
The ladies’ refined presence at the diningroom table may have steered the conversation away from cattle rustling and murder, but it anchored it in far more dangerous territory.
“Perhaps we should set the date,” Elizabeth suggested, sipping on red wine from a crystal glass.
Fletcher and Jo regarded each other immediately.
“We don’t want to rush anything,” she said, moving her food around on her plate. “With the election coming up…”
“All the more reason to plan it now. We could make it a double celebration. I would be happy to help arrange things.”
“My dear,” Zeb said, cutting her off, “you’ll have more than enough planning to do for my victory celebration. Perhaps Fletcher and Mrs. O’Malley are wise to wait until afterward.”
Elizabeth smiled politely. “Yes of course, you’re right.”
“But you don’t plan to take up ranching, do you?” Zeb asked Fletcher. “What about your career? The sheriff s office? I hope you haven’t forgotten it.”
Tempting the Marshal: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Series Book 2) Page 18