Much Ado About Marshals (Hearts of Owyhee) (2011) (12 page)

After the boy left, Cole’s first urge was to drag Bosco out of bed and ask him why the hell he’d let Gib walk out of the place with Porker. But it was only eight o’clock, and Bosco’d barely had four hours of sleep, since he’d hung around the Branded Horse until closing. Besides, it wouldn’t do a lick of good—Porker and Gib were long gone, and Bosco probably wouldn’t have been much good, anyway.

Cole flopped into the desk chair. Hell, he couldn’t court a beautiful woman who struck his fancy, even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t.

Sometimes, life was a lonesome existence.

Daisy had hoped the freight wagon would arrive before noon, but it didn’t. Now she’d have to change into her Sunday dress for dinner with the blasted dirt farmer, then after she got rid of him, find some excuse to change back into her old dress. The fingerprinting kit came with carbon dust, and she sure didn’t need black blotches all over her best outfit.

Nevertheless, she put on the green silk that matched her eyes so that she didn’t raise suspicions with her folks. She pulled back her hair and pinned the chignon, giggling when she realized it was slightly off-center. And that was exactly where it would remain. For good measure, she loosened a few strands by her temples.

Downstairs, her mother handed her a vase of spring flowers.

“Set this in the center of the table, dear. Oh, and Doc’s in town. He came into the store this morning,” she said as she disappeared into the kitchen. “No, Grace, I’ll check the pie!”

“Is he coming for dinner?” Daisy had to raise her voice so her mother could hear in the other room.

“No, he has things to do. Besides, this meal is for you and Patrick Dugan to get to know one another. Your father says he’s a nice boy, and industrious, too.”

Daisy didn’t want to talk about the industrious Patrick Dugan. Or think about him. She had bigger, more important things on her mind—like solving crimes and convincing the marshal to propose to her before her folks married her off to some boring dirt farmer. “We better have Doc look at Mr. Flynn first thing.” She moved a pitcher of milk and placed the bowl beside it.

Her mother stuck her head out of the doorway. “Oh, who’s that?” Then disappeared again.

“The stranger who came to town and had the accident.”

“Is he not doing well?” Her mom’s distant voice seemed more interested in the food she was preparing than in Mr. Flynn’s problems.

“He’s still not awake.” She walked into the kitchen so she wouldn’t have to talk so loud. “I dosed him with laudanum last evening, but he should have awakened by now according to the label.”

Her mother plopped the potato she’d just peeled into the pot and glanced at Daisy. “Was he in pain?” She grabbed the salt shaker from her sister. “I’ll do that. Like Cyrus says, we don’t want to kill a prospective suitor.”

“He hadn’t come to yet,” Daisy went on, ignoring her mother’s battle to keep Aunt Grace from cooking. “But I figured when he did, he’d be in lots of pain and we’d all be in bed, so I gave him a good stiff dose—you know, trickling it down his throat.”

“Daisy Marie Gardner, you didn’t!” She sprinkled salt on the spuds and put the pot on the stove.

“I didn’t mean any harm.”

“I’ll have your father send someone to fetch Doc after we eat.”

“I’ll do it now,” she offered as she inched toward the door.

Her mother brandished a wooden spoon. “You, young woman, will stay right here and entertain my future son-in-law.”

Chapter 7

Daisy finished setting the table, all the while wondering where on earth Sarah was hiding herself. Probably dawdling again. That girl could fool around more than anyone she’d ever met, and managed to be late everywhere she was supposed to go. Daisy pulled the curtain back and peered out the window for the dozenth time. Still no Sarah.

Near panic, Daisy swore silently. She simply could
not
withstand the onslaught of yet another unwanted courtship without reinforcements. Besides, with Sarah’s beauty, Mr. Dugan would most certainly be drawn to her, and Daisy would be spared. After all, no man in his right mind would prefer Daisy over Sarah, with her blonde curls, womanly curves, and huge blue eyes. Daisy’s own auburn hair and plain looks would work to her advantage, for once.

Someone rapped on the door, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. This Dugan fellow was five minutes early! She checked to make sure her chignon was still slightly askew as her mother nearly flew from the kitchen. “Daisy, go in the sitting room, and I’ll ask our guests to chat a bit before the meal’s on. You’ll have to do the honors because I’m still cooking.”

“Aunt Grace, will you please come and sit with us?”

“No,” her mother answered. “Grace is helping me. Git on with you!”

Daisy sighed, but dutifully took her post in the sitting room. Aunt Grace’s humor would have been a welcome addition. Everyone knew she couldn’t cook a lick, so her mother clearly wanted Daisy to do the flirting stuff.

Knowing the ritual well, she chose to sit in a chair, rather than on the sofa, so that Mr. Ideal Farmboy could not sit next to her. Her remote demeanor had been quite effective on the other prospective grooms her parents had foisted upon her.

But this time she was especially nervous, and she barely had time to blot the beads of dew from her forehead before her unwanted guest entered the room.

And enter, he did. The fellow was big as a moose, and handsome enough to turn the ladies’ heads in any town this side of the
Atlantic
. She quickly averted her gaze from his strapping body, thick brown hair, and strong jaw in case he noticed and came to the wrong conclusion. She had to wonder why such a specimen as he was actually wife-shopping. Not to worry, though, Sarah would turn
his
head. Besides, Sarah needed someone other than the nefarious Mr. Flynn to set her cap for. Just where
was
she?

“Daisy,” her mother announced, “
please meet
Mr. Patrick Dugan.” She gave Daisy the mother’s eye that meant
don’t make a fool of yourself or you’ll hear from your father
. “Mr. Dugan, my daughter, Daisy.”

“How do you do, Miss Gardner?”

Daisy gulped. “Very well, thank you.” Since her mother still watched, she offered her hand, and he kissed it in a courtly way. Yes, Sarah would definitely be smitten by this man. They’d make a good match, and have strong, beautiful children.

“I’ll finish getting the food on the table, now, while the two of you get acquainted.” Her mother ducked out of the room, leaving Daisy stranded with Adonis. Holy smoke! She felt like a cornered rabbit, and the coyote was closing in fast.

Motioning toward the sofa, Daisy said, “Please sit down
, Mr. Dugan,
and make yourself comfortable.”

As he did so, she wondered what to say next, since she’d already used her complete repertoire of niceties in the first minute of their meeting.

Weather. Weather was good.

“It’s a very nice day,” she said tentatively.

He smiled. “Right nice.” He looked away from her, seeming as uncomfortable as she felt, dressed in his Sunday best. From the looks of his large, callused hands, she deduced that he would be much happier in waist overalls with a Boss of the Plains tipped low on his forehead. He settled back on the couch, then sat up straight again. He crossed his legs, then uncrossed them. But he made no attempt whatsoever at conversation.

She sighed. There had to be some noise coming out of this room or her keen-eared mother would give her the deuces. Daisy avoided looking directly in the farmer’s eyes. When she did sneak a peek, he averted his gaze. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to court her any more than she wanted him to.

Oh, where was Sarah! Her beauty would most assuredly distract the man, and Daisy’s parents couldn’t fault her for not reeling in a fellow who was smitten by her own best friend. The plan was a good one, but wouldn’t work unless Sarah arrived sooner rather than later.

The grandfather clock ticked, the minute hand creeping toward high noon—three minutes until the moment of the ultimate showdown when she’d have to act flirtatious to a man she didn’t want. Gadfreys! Even if the fellow lived within five miles of civilization, she wouldn’t consider him. Why, he had blue eyes. The marshal’s brown eyes were much more, well,
appealing
. She shivered.

“You cold?”

She jumped at the sound of his voice. “No.” She cast a glance his way, hoping he didn’t notice the flush that warmed her cheeks at the slightest thought of the marshal. Dugan seemed unaware. Good.

Ah, but now she had the perfect opportunity to get some sort of polite discussion going—best stick to the weather. “It’s uncommonly hot for a June day, don’t you think?”

He raised an eyebrow. “No, it’s generally hotter by now.”

She contained a smile. Of course he’d find her unsuitable now, because a farm wife would most certainly need to be aware of the weather trends. Settling back in her stiff-backed chair, she watched the clock’s pendulum sway back and forth in a hypnotic cadence. Every second that passed was one second less she’d have to spend with this so-called prospective husband. Handsome or not, rich or not, he just wouldn’t do.

Two minutes. What could she say now? He certainly wouldn’t be interested in fingerprinting, and she doubted he’d ever read Honey Beaulieu’s adventures. But everyone liked fireworks—that could be a safe topic, and she’d find out if she had to contend with him over the holiday. “How do you usually celebrate the Fourth of July?”

He looked out the window, then back at her. “We go to
Silver
City
for the fireworks.”

Good, he wouldn’t be in Oreana, and she sure wasn’t going to mention the picnic and celebration lest he think she wanted him to come. She smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from her skirt to hide her irritation at her parents. How could they put her in such a predicament? Another glance at the clock showed her she had more than a minute and a half to go. Ninety-four seconds. Might as well be ninety-four hours.

She stood, and he stood as a well-mannered man should do. “Oh, no, please be comfortable.” Like that was any more possible for him than is was for her. “I’ll just check on the status of dinner. Mama always serves promptly at noon.”

Escaping into the kitchen, she leaned on the wall and sighed.

Aunt Grace spied her first. “Didn’t you like your young man?”

Her mother ignored Grace’s question and spooned creamed onions into a serving bowl. “You set an extra place at the table,” she said in a tone more accusing than questioning.

Daisy nodded and acted non-chalant. “Sarah’s coming by.”

“You should be in the sitting room with your guest.”

“Uh, I’m checking to see if I should seat him at the dinner table now.”

Her mother heaved the serving bowl on the worktable. “What hogwash, Miss Daisy Gardner!” She jammed her fists on her hips. “And I emphasize the
Miss
. There’s not one single reason why you shouldn’t find young Mr. Dugan to be an attractive husband. His father, your father, and I all agree that the two of you would make a good match. But you have to cooperate. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“After all, how can you know if you like someone if you don’t give him a chance?”

Because he’s stuck out on a farm, that’s why.
“I’m being nice to him.”

“There’s nice, and then there’s
nice
.”

Obviously, she’d have to be more resourceful about warding off this travesty. But she would
not
marry a farmer, and that was that.

She watched her mother stir the gravy. Actually she was whipping the stuffing out of it. Daisy knew she’d better put on a good show, because her mother seldom worked herself into such a lather. This was not a good sign. “I thought Mr. Dugan’s father was coming, too.”

“Apparently he got himself a better offer from one of the widow ladies. Too bad. I thought he might be a good match for Grace.”

Aunt Grace scowled. “I had one man. That was enough.”

Daisy breathed easier. At least she only had to contend with her own parents. And Adonis. Why couldn’t he have been ugly or something?

The clock began to chime. Game time.

Forrest burst through the front door. “No, Winky, you can’t come in!”

Daisy peeked around the doorjamb just in time to see a man following her brother, hat in hand. Gadreys, the marshal! Her heart skipped a beat or two. What was
he
doing here? She groaned, knowing he’d think the wrong thing—that Patrick Dugan was courting her. She needed a plan, but her mind went blank. The clock stopped chiming.

“Daisy, for Pete’s sake, get in there and tend to your guest. I’ll have your father and brother come in the sitting room, then we’ll gather around the table for our meal.” She gestured toward the door with a spatula. “Go!”

She hurried into the sitting room. “It’s meal time, Mr. Dugan. Please meet my younger brother, Forrest.”

The boy offered his hand and the farmer shook it.