Behind her, she heard Charlotte step back into the kitchen. She would be fetching another place setting. The girl was thoughtful like that.
Jacinda offered the newcomer a smile as she moved around the table. “Welcome.”
“Ma’am.” The man doffed his Stetson, and heaven help her if he didn’t have the comeliest blue eyes, lined with lashes long enough to give any woman envy. The laugh lines about his mouth put him at about her own age. She wondered if a wife and family were nearby.
She swiped her hands on her apron, then held one out. “Like I said, welcome, Mister…”
“Holloway,” Reagan offered quickly. “And this is my mother, Jacinda Callahan.”
The newcomer took her offered hand. “Zane Holloway, ma’am.” The reach of his arm opened up his long leather coat enough for her to catch a glimpse of the Colt—butt-forward, tied down, and wooden-handled—slung at his hip.
Her lips pressed together at that. There weren’t many good reasons for a man to tie down his gun.
In spite of that, she couldn’t help but notice he had a firm grip and a well-groomed appearance, even if his hair was long around his collar. “Is your family nearby, Mr. Holloway? There’s plenty here.” She swept a gesture to the table, indicating that his family, too, would be welcome. It was a neat trick that let her quickly extract her hand from his.
Mr. Holloway twisted his brown leather hat through his fingers, but there was a twinkle in his eyes that led her to believe that perhaps she wasn’t quite as good of a thespian as she’d hoped. “No family, ma’am. Just me…for now.” A devilish gleam lit his expression, and he winked so quickly that in the next moment she had to wonder if it had indeed been a wink at all.
She took in a little breath of indignation and narrowed her eyes at him.
But now complete innocence wreathed his features.
The man’s eyes brought to mind the chill waters of the Wyldhaven Creek during spring melt, and when connected with hers as they were now, had about as much impact as jumping into said waters on a warm day. His dark wavy locks were sprinkled with the scantest touches of silver at his temples, and long as they were, gave him a roguish air. The broad shoulders that stretched the long leather duster to maximum capacity, and the several days’ worth of dark beard that coated his angular jaw only added to that perception.
His upper lip quirked up at one corner with a tug of humor. She blinked and gave herself a mental shake.
The man cleared his throat. “As said, no family. But I do have a horse. However, I assure you he is wholly comfortable down at the livery. Besides that, I doubt he’d care for the taste of stew, no matter that it smells as fine as it does.” He dipped a little bow over those last words.
Jacinda didn’t miss the conspiratorial look that passed between her son and Miss Brindle as they then in turn bounced looks between her and this brash newcomer.
Irritation that the younger generation obviously thought she was smitten with the man shot a ramrod up her spine. “Yes. Well… Horses would not be welcome at the table anyhow, Mr. Holloway.”
His face turned immediately serious, and he searched her face as though to see if she had taken offense.
Now why had she gone and said something like that? The man had obviously only been teasing her. She softened her words with a belated smile, and it was as though someone had just popped the tension in the room with a straight pin. There was a collective release of breath and smiles all around.
She needed to regain control of this situation. “Please, everyone, let’s be seated.” She glided as gracefully as she could to her seat at the head of the table, and Reagan scrambled to pull her chair out for her.
Reagan also held Charlotte’s chair, after which he took the seat on the far side of the table, which left Mr. Holloway in the seat directly to Jacinda’s right. The man stripped off his coat and hung it carefully over the back of his chair, hooked his hat on one corner just as Reagan always did, and then sat quietly.
Jacinda straightened the silverware by her place setting, even though it was quite straight already. “Reagan, say grace, if you would.”
Reagan did, and upon the conclusion she served everyone’s plates. Mr. Holloway at least appeared to have table manners. He even waited to begin eating until she had served the stew to everyone and taken the first bite herself.
It had been a long time—a very long time indeed—since a man had intrigued her so. She’d obviously been spending overmuch time ruminating about love and such lately, because her fascination was ridiculous. She certainly didn’t want to get involved with the likes of a man who felt it necessary to tie down his guns. Determined to put the man from her mind, she focused on her stew.
Reagan introduced Charlotte to the man, and for a few moments pleasantries were exchanged. But it wasn’t long before Reagan ventured, “So what brings you to Wyldhaven, Mr. Holloway? Ewan mentioned something about land?”
Mr. Holloway carefully spread a thin layer of butter over his cornbread before he set his knife just-so across the top of his plate. “Well now, I’m not rightly certain what gave Ewan that impression. He must have misunderstood something. What I said to him was that I’d come to town because an investor had told me there might be something here that I’ve been looking for. I suppose he took that to mean I was here to invest in land.”
“But it’s not the reason you’ve come?” Charlotte asked. She sipped daintily from her spoon, yet kept her curious gaze fixed on the man across the table.
Mr. Holloway shook his head. “No, miss. You see”—he dug into the front pocket of his shirt and pulled out something that he set on the table before his plate, clearly visible for them all to see—“I’m a federal marshal, and I’m here hunting a couple of murderers.”
Jacinda’s spoon clattered quite loudly against her bowl, and Charlotte gasped, “Murderers?!”
“I’m afraid so, miss.”
Jacinda’s gaze fell to the metal badge.
A lawman. Of course he was a lawman. Oughtn’t she to recognize that bold, bigger-than-life air that seemed to accompany lawmen wherever they went?
Wasn’t it that very confidence that had led to her attraction to Wade? The same confidence that had gotten him shot in the gunfight he’d had with the outlaw he’d been hunting for months. No matter that he’d killed the outlaw outright while that man’s bullet had missed Wade’s spine by less than an inch. The festering infection had gotten him in the end, anyhow. Her one consolation was that both she and Reagan had gotten to say their goodbyes.
At least she knew right upfront to avoid any attachments. That was more than she could say for Wade. Wade hadn’t decided to pursue the law until after they’d been married.
Thankfully, Mr. Holloway, as a marshal, would only be traveling through. Marshals never stayed in one place for long.
“Surely there is a better time to be hunting murderers than during the Christmas season, Marshal Holloway?” She didn’t even care that there was an unprovoked bite in her tone.
“I’m afraid tracking down murderers waits for no season, ma’am. Though I can honestly say I wouldn’t mind spending Christmas in a cozy little town like Wyldhaven, especially if all the meals are to be as pleasant and delicious as this one.” His gaze landed on her, bold as a peacock in full feather.
Jacinda calmly drizzled honey on her cornbread. “Actually, I think you’ll find our town rather dull during the holiday. It tends to be seen as a regular work day around these parts.”
“But I intend to change that this year,” Charlotte piped up as she dabbed at her mouth with her serviette.
“Here we go,” Reagan groused good-naturedly.
Nevertheless, Charlotte pinned him with a glower.
“What’s this?” Jacinda prodded.
Charlotte’s enthusiasm didn’t wane. “I’m hoping to encourage the men to take Christmas day off this year. I’ve just had a wire from Father, and he’s loading the toys I asked him to send onto next week’s train. That means th
e gifts will be here well in time for Christmas, and I want to have a festival one evening in McGinty’s to celebrate our Lord’s birth as a community, and so I can hand out presents to all of the children.”
Jacinda turned her gaze on her son. Clearly, he needed to do something about this. The men were not going to be pleased if Charlotte put a bug in their wives’ ears about them needing to take time off in addition to the Lord’s Day, which some of them already grumbled about during any freezes.
Reagan very subtly lifted his palms as if to tell her there wasn’t much he could do about it now that Charlotte had gotten the idea in her head.
He was right, of course. The men certainly wouldn’t be happy about it. But Charlotte was one determined woman once she got a bee in her bonnet.
And Charlotte was correct as well. Every child deserved to have a bit of happiness and something to look forward to. Especially on Christmas. “I’m sure Charlotte will be able to come up with some sort of compromise that keeps both parties happy.”
Reagan’s twisted lips and the tilt of his head said he believed otherwise, but like the smart man she had raised him to be, he didn’t object.
“I’m going to do my best,” Charlotte concurred. “And perhaps we could do something along with the festival to raise some more funds for the building of the church, come spring?”
“If the men are wanting to get their logs to the mill, and the women are wanting a festival, why not do something to combine the two?” Zane leaned back until only two legs of his chair rested on the floor.
If he broke the legs of her chair… Jacinda pressed her lips together. Perhaps the man wasn’t as well-mannered as she had thought. It really wasn’t like her to get riled up so easily, but something about his cocksure attitude got under her skin and hung there like an itch that couldn’t quite be dispatched. She resisted the notion to kick out one foot and give one of the front legs of the chair a lift to send him over backwards as her father had done anytime she had acted so ill-mannered.
“Oh! That’s a brilliant idea!” Charlotte exclaimed. “Back in Boston we’d do hay rides in the summers. I organized one to help raise funds for a surgery our neighbor’s child required. We had three fiddlers who rode on the front of the wagon, and then we drove it about town and anyone who wanted a ride paid two bits for rides of a quarter hour. We could do something similar with the wagons here.” She held up one hand to stop the protest Reagan was leaning forward to voice.
At the irritated look on Reagan’s face, Jacinda had to bite back a grin. How she wished she could be pleased for her son to have found a woman who seemed such a perfect match for him. How she wished Reagan felt free to give her his heart. But wishes were a little bit like frost upon a window pane. Pretty to look upon and ponder, but of little substance, and easily vanquished with the first warm rays of the sun which brought reality blazing back to the fore.
Charlotte had barely paused to take a breath. “Of course we couldn’t ride on the logging wagons, but what if we added a couple extra wagons? From what I’ve seen, the men load up all the wagons with the logs during the day and then drive them down to the creek to unload them into the water, correct?”
Reagan wore a look of resignation when he nodded.
“Well then, that’s perfect! Women and children who want to contribute to the fundraiser could ride on wagons from the logging camp. We could start out at the camp and all ride to the creek and the festival could take place after that. Oh, I need to make a list!” Charlotte stood and dashed into the entryway, still muttering to herself. “We could hang lanterns in the field across from McGinty’s. And maybe Dixie would help me put up a tree and string garland about.” She was back now, with a nub of a pencil and a tablet of paper in her hands. A worried look suddenly crossed her face. “If we managed to combine a full day’s work with the festival surely the men couldn’t object too strenuously, could they?”
Reagan sighed. “If anyone can convince them it’s a grand idea, I’m sure it is you, Charlotte.”
“Do you think?” Her face lit with pleasure. “Well good. We can go and talk to the camp foreman on Saturday. Can you take me? Please say you will take me, Sheriff?” She put one hand on his arm and Jacinda saw Reagan swallow.
“Saturday. Of course. I’ll plan on it.”
“Oh, you are a dear. That’s wonderful. But now, if you will excuse me, I have several papers I have to grade tonight. So I think I will retire to my room while you all have dessert. Jacinda, I’ll return to help you with the dishes in a while.” With that, she whirled out of the room without so much as a backward glance.
Reagan swept his hands over his face and shook his head. “I do believe the good Lord forgot to install the brakes on that one.”
The admiration in his tone made Jacinda’s heart pinch. She wanted nothing but his happiness, but she knew all too well the heartache of carrying on alone after the death of a husband with a dangerous job.
Jacinda stood and hefted the soup tureen. “I’ll fetch dessert. Why don’t you two take your business into the parlor?” She tipped Marshal Holloway a nod. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Marshal.”
“Ma’am.” He stood quickly to his feet and touched his forehead in a quick salute.
She felt his gaze boring into her all the way to the kitchen.
CHAPTER FIVE
Reagan sighed as Ma swept from the room. He downed the last of his coffee and then stood. “Please”—he stretched out a hand—“join me in the parlor.”
Zane followed him into the other room and sank down onto the settee. There was a twinkle of humor in his eyes. “She’s got spunk, that one.”
Reagan rested his elbow against the fireplace mantel. “That she does.” He stared into the fire and scratched his thumbnail over his brow, thinking over Ma’s earlier reminder. “But we have dangerous jobs, you and I. Wouldn’t quite be fair to a woman to saddle her with a man who could be killed each time he went to work.”
Zane pursed his lips and made a noise of disagreement. “Then women shouldn’t marry farmers, or cattlemen, or doctors for that matter. Any man alive can walk out the door in the morning and be carried back through it in a box in the evening. For that matter…” He cleared his throat. “At one moment a man can be happily expecting the birth of his first child, and in the next he can have lost both his wife and the babe.”
Reagan spun towards him, taking in the pain etched into the man’s brow. “I’m sorry. That must have been difficult.”
The marshal looked up and blinked, as if coming back from a faraway place. He waved one hand. “Besides…I wasn’t asking for her hand in marriage.” Sardonic humor ticked up the corner of the man’s lips.
Reagan felt his eyes narrow. “I should hope not. You’re twice her age.”
Zane blinked. Then gave a short bark of laughter. “I was speaking of your mother.”
“Oh.” Reagan tilted the man a scrutinizing look.
Zane lifted his palms. “Don’t worry. Something tells me your ma can more than hold her own when it comes to a rascal like me.”
Deciding the man was mostly harmless, Reagan grinned. “That she can, Marshal. That she can.” He considered offering a warning about Ma’s feelings towards lawmen, but then decided the man had probably gotten a fairly good picture of those feelings over dinner.
Reagan brushed away the conversation with his hand. “Tell me what sort of murderers you are looking for and what makes you think they’ve arrived in my town?”
The marshal gave him a look that said Reagan was not going to like what he was about to say. “I don’t think they’ve just arrived. I think they’ve been living here for quite some time.”
Reagan frowned in disbelief. “There is not a soul in this town whom I would suspect of murder, Marshal.”
“Ah, but that’s what makes their deception so genius. I believe you know the two I’m looking for—Rose and Dixie Pottinger.”
Reagan could not have been more shocked if the marshal had drawn his gun
and shot him, but Ma bustled in just then with the dessert tray. Reagan waited until she had served them pie and coffee and then left the room before he pinned the marshal with a frown. “There must be some mistake.”
The lawman shook his head. “I’ll need to question them, of course. But I’m quite certain that they are the two women I’ve been searching for. I’ve come all the way from South Carolina. The younger woman, Dixie, was the wife of the murdered man. The older, his mother. He was the mayor of a small town called Birch Run. The sheriff of the town reported that he’d observed both women boarding the morning train out of town, and that they’d seemed suspicious. When he went by the mayor’s house to investigate, there was blood everywhere, and though no body was found, the man is presumed murdered and the women wanted for questioning. I wasn’t there to see the scene at the first. I was only brought in later.” Zane waved a hand. “As stated, I have questions because some of the story doesn’t seem to add up. And the sheriff of Birch Run…well, it’s not my job to conjecture, I suppose. But it is my job to return them for an inquiry.”
Reagan lost the will to stand. He sank into the chair next to the settee and clasped his hands between his knees, staring at the braided rug beneath his boots. What had happened to his nice quiet little town? First the hurricane named Charlotte Brindle had arrived. A hurricane that had quite literally turned his world upside down and made him feel things that a man with a job like his had no business feeling for a woman. And now this marshal was here claiming that two of Wyldhaven’s most upstanding citizens might be murderers? He shook his head, the shock still taking its toll on him.
This was bound to rouse all sorts of trouble, and that right on top of Charlotte already getting her heart set on upending the men’s routines. The timing couldn’t be worse—
A shadow passed below the parlor door and his eyes narrowed. Had Ma been listening just outside this whole time? That wasn’t like her, but if she’d heard the Pottingers mentioned…
He drew his attention back to the marshal. “I can’t stop you from questioning them, of course. But I would like to ask you one favor.”
On Eagles' Wings (Wyldhaven Book 2) Page 4