Missy Meets the Marshal (Lone Star Love Book 2) (2 page)

"I reckon it's no use asking how old you are, Missy."

"I'm twenty-five, Marshal." She paused, then added, "My name's Elizabeth, but I go by Beth. That's what my ma called me. I'm not lying."

"And your surname?"

She hesitated again. "Jones?"

Grover groaned. The way she said her supposed family name like it was a question told him that Jones wasn't it. Her response was helpful, though, because it proved to him that Elizabeth almost certainly was her given name. The way she answered differently each time gave him insight into how to distinguish between her truths and her lies.

"All right, Missy," he said, having decided he preferred the name Missy to Beth. "Can you tell me why you have in your possession an expensive piece of jewelry, but not so much as a two-bit dress or boots that stay together without a bit of lassoing?"

She scowled at him then. "Why the devil do you think I tried to sell the brooch to that ten-cent gump in the first place? I need to buy things."

Grover felt surprised by her gall in speaking to him that way, but he admired her solid judgement of the shopkeeper's character.

"Please explain how you've found yourself in such an unfortunate position, Missy."

"My name is not Missy!" She stomped her foot.

Grover lifted an eyebrow. "Neither is Jones, is it? Now you look here, little girl. I've decided Missy suits you. It's a good name for a misbehaving woman who lies to the town marshal. Also," he said, pointing a finger at her face, "You'd better watch your tone with me and think twice about pitching a fit. The last minute of my patience for today ended an hour ago."

Her scared look reappeared, which softened him. She wavered between acting afraid and acting outraged, which made him want to both comfort and scold her.

She shifted out of her belligerent stance and looked down at her oversized boots. "I need money to buy food and a room somewhere. I kept the brooch for as long as I could, since it's the last thing I have of my ma's, but now I don't see what else I can do but sell it. I'm hungry, and I can't think straight. I need to eat and sleep."

Grover returned to his chair. He'd have bet all his worldly possessions that she told the truth then, and her explanation tugged at his heartstrings. It also settled the matter of the supposed theft. He could have let her go, but he felt uncomfortable doing so. A young woman trying to do business in a new town unescorted would stand out. She had a vulnerable look about her and apparently no place to stay that night. He didn't think it prudent to send her on her way, plus he wondered why she didn't want to disclose her last name. Something was amiss, and he aimed to find out what.

"Where's your kin, Missy?"

"I don't have kin. I never knew my pa. My ma passed away five years ago, and my brother died when I was a knee-high nipper."

"You're well past marrying age, especially 'round these parts. Don't you have a husband?"

She shook her head and said a little too emphatically to be believable, "No. I do not have a husband."

That was another lie. Grover felt himself growing even more concerned. In a short amount of time, he'd discovered that she was married and destitute. He reasoned that her husband must be a hard case if she preferred her current suffering to being in his presence. 

"You need a place to stay tonight?"

She peeked at him tentatively through her lashes. "Yes."

"Very well. Come with me." Grover stood and slipped the brooch in his pocket.

With the woman trailing behind him, he walked to the back of the jail into the hallway with two cells. Each cell contained a moderately comfortable cot with thick quilt and pillow, a chamber pot, and a pitcher of clean water as well as a washrag. He had cleaned and prepared the cells the previous day. Removing the key from where it hung from a ring on a nail, he unlocked the larger of the two cells and opened the door. The ring clanged against the iron bars and the door creaked as it opened.

"In you go, Missy."

She gasped. "Marshal, please don't lock me up. I swear that brooch is mine. I didn't steal it."

Grover fished the silver bird from his pocket and handed it to her. "I believe you."

She held the brooch against her chest. She closed her eyes and let out a long sigh of relief. Then she eyed him quizzically. "Shouldn't I be free to go, since you know I didn't steal?"

"No. You're going to sleep here tonight. Then tomorrow we'll discuss why you're lying about who you are."

Her eyes flashed terror. "Please no, Marshal. Let me go. I promise I'll leave now and never bother you again. I'll go to the next town to try and sell the brooch."

"Listen, Missy. You'd have trouble making it to the next block, let alone the next town. You need a place to sleep and a bite or two, which I plan to go scare up for you as soon as you stop jawing at me. I'd take you to my house and let you sleep there, but it wouldn't be proper. I'm an unmarried man. The cell will have to do."

She stared at him for a moment, then looked down and wrung her hands. She appeared to be considering her options, of which she had only one as far as he was concerned. Her hesitancy annoyed him.

"Young lady, you'd better rattle your hocks and march them into the cell. Dawdle much longer, and I'll plant you there myself, but not before I turn you over my knee for a spanking."

Their eyes locked. Hers appeared desperate and scared. She suddenly moved closer and wrapped a hand around one of his forearms crossed in front of his chest. She clung to his shirtsleeve. "Marshal, I know you don't have a reason to trust me, but I beg you to believe what I'm about to say. Please let me go, just for a half hour, and I'll come back to you. I'll spend the night in the cell and I'll be grateful to you for a meal. Here, you can hold my brooch. It guarantees my return." She held the silver bird out to him.

Grover stared into her pleading eyes, surprised by her strange request and promise, which he could tell she relayed with every intention of keeping. He couldn't imagine what she needed to attend to for a half hour, but it was no use asking. She would only lie about it if he did. He felt very curious and a bit alarmed.

He ran a hand over the short beard that covered his jaw and pushed the brooch back to her. "All right, Missy. You have your half hour. Go on then."

"Thank you, Marshal," she exclaimed, and surprised him further by wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him tight. Oh, God. What was she doing? He felt her breasts flattening against his abs and smelled her distinctly womanly scent, which was musky and flowery. He suddenly needed to will his cock to stay in place, so he gritted his teeth. She looked up and flashed a smile at him that dimpled one of her cheeks and further lit her sparkling eyes. Damn, that sure didn't help any. He kept his hands at his side. He wanted more than just about anything to hold her in his arms, but he needed her to know he meant business.

He frowned down at her smiling face. "Your half hour started thirty seconds ago, Missy. You might want to skedaddle."

She let out the cutest squeal and bolted toward the exit. He groaned and tried to subdue his unexpected lust. When she touched him, he became aware of just how pretty she was, with long, albeit tangled, blonde hair, swollen breasts, and ivory skin. He couldn't remember the last time a woman hugged him, but he didn't dwell on it for long. He needed to see what she was up to.

He strode to the street in time to see her disappear into an alley. Jogging at first and then slowing to a walk to avoid making noise, he stepped into the alley as she took a sharp right into the back entrance of Jake's Livery. That perplexed him. What kind of business would she have with the horses? He crept along the wall until he arrived at the door she'd entered. It was nearly dark, but when he peered in, he could make out her blonde hair. Her back faced him. She knelt in front of a pile of hay and picked up some kind of white bundle, then held it in her arms like a mother would her baby.

Baby. It no sooner dawned on him than he heard the baby's cries. It was a young one, very tiny, and the woman cradled it in her arms. Pulling her rags from her chest, she guided the baby's mouth to her breast.

Grover headed out of the alley back to the street. He stopped at Ruth's Diner and ordered two meals to go. He waited for what seemed like a very long time before the cook handed him the food. He figured as he walked to the jail that the woman had probably made it back before him, and he was right.

He entered the front room. It glowed with flickering yellow light from a lit lamp on his desk. The woman sat in a chair next to it with her hands crossed in her lap. She smiled at him again, her eyes catching the light of the fire, before she turned her gaze longingly at the food in his hands. He didn't delay in giving it to her. He stacked his papers to the side and placed her portion in front of her.

They ate without speaking. She made quick work of the meal, starting with the generous portion of pork before moving on to the green beans, corn, and potatoes. She ate her buttered roll in three bites, careful to chew quietly with her mouth closed even in her hunger and haste.

Grover's main thought throughout the meal was of the baby. He figured she'd put her child in the cell already, so after he finished his supper, he rose, lit another lamp, and walked to the back hall to have a look. He searched the few places a baby might be hidden—in the quilt, under the cot, and behind the pitcher of water. He even looked in the chamber pot. No baby. Where else could she have hidden that baby? Grover looked around the rest of the hall until it occurred to him. She'd left him alone in the stable for the night. Striding back to the main room, he found the woman chewing her last bite. She stood.

"Thanks for the meal, Marshal. I feel like a new person, and I'm ready to go to the cell now. You'll let me out first thing tomorrow, won't you? You won't leave me in there past dawn, I hope? I-I'd like to leave then."

As she spoke her last sentence, desperation and fear altered every feature on her face. He could see it in her pouting lips, furrowed brow, and pleading eyes. Grover glowered at her. It was all he could do not to shout at her for her foolishness and demand to know what kind of mother leaves her baby alone in a stable all night. Worse, she had no guarantee of being free to tend to it in the morning.

His tone was gruff. "Come."

He stalked to the back hall. When he motioned for her to get in the cell, she didn't delay. Grover closed the door with a clang and didn't bother to lock it. He left and returned a short time later. He opened the cell door and handed the surprised woman her baby.

"Marshal, how did you know I—"

"How do you think?" he growled. "I followed you. Now you're going to follow me to my house and stay with me there, proper or not, until I figure out what you're hiding. Other than that little lass, of course."

Her eyes were searching his. He frowned at her, wondering if his motivation for taking her to his home, which was to protect her, showed on his face. He felt fairly certain she couldn't see his desire for her. He hadn't allowed himself to speak to her in gentle tones as a man would to a woman he liked, and he was glad about that. He desired her, but he desired the truth more, and he wouldn't let the former get in the way of the latter.

She looked at her daughter in her arms, and then back up at him. The fear was mostly gone from her eyes. "Thank you, Marshal," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Chapter 2 - Much You Don't Know

Beth woke the next morning in a warm bed, her baby, Lou, sleeping beside her. The marshal had slept on the sofa in the main room. Before she reached a fully conscious state, Beth allowed herself to feel content. This is what waking up would have felt like every morning, she mused, if she'd married someone like the marshal. It would have felt warm and safe.

She shook herself awake. What was she thinking, feeling safe even for a moment at the lawman's house? If he figured out who she was, she'd never know freedom again. She contemplated escaping through the bedroom window, but when she tried to open it, it made a loud creaking noise she worried would alert the marshal.

She heard the sound of water splashing in the other room. Careful not to wake Lou, she crept to the door and opened it a crack. She tried to do so without making noise, but the door whined upon opening. She peaked through to see the marshal pouring a bucket of water into a steaming tub.

He glanced at her face in the door. "Come on out, Missy. I've drawn you a bath."

Beth could hardly believe her eyes and ears. She forgot about her desire to escape. Slowly, she stepped out of the bedroom and walked toward the clawfoot tub. No one had drawn her a bath since she could do it herself. She reckoned it was the kindest thing a man had ever done for her.

"It looks very inviting, Marshal. You didn't have to do that."

He set the bucket next to him and fixed her with a stern stare from across the tub. It was the same look that made her stomach clench into knots the day before, and she experienced the same when he did it again. He emanated a certain quiet authority, and she felt both drawn to him and scared of him at the same time. Part of her wanted to run into his arms, and the other part wanted to run far away.

"I've taken it upon myself to care for you and your baby for the time being, young lady, but my care comes at a cost. I expect your honesty in return, and if I don't soon start getting that, you'll find yourself receiving a less pleasant sort of my attention."

His warning and the tone of voice in which he spoke it made Beth nervous, but it wasn't the kind of nervous she felt around her husband, where she feared for her life. She wondered if the marshal would spank her like he threatened to do the night before when she didn't immediately do his bidding. Looking at his stern face with its fixed jaw and dark brown eyes, she felt fairly sure he would, and without much hesitation. The thought of him taking her in hand gave her anxiety. She also felt somewhat flattered that he would discipline her in that manner as opposed to throwing her out. Despite his brusqueness with her, she could see that his actions had all been to her benefit, from telling the shopkeeper to unhand her to ordering her to sleep in his bed while he slept on the sofa.