Much Ado About Marshals (Hearts of Owyhee) (2011) (13 page)

The marshal’s gaze locked with hers, sending her stomach aflutter all over again. She quickly turned her attention toward Mr. Dugan. “And this is Oreana’s marshal, Sidney Adler. Marshal, this is Patrick Dugan.”

The two men shook and nodded at one another. Then each stepped back, as if sizing up his opponent.

Forrest broke the silence. “Ma said that Daisy couldn’t take food to the marshal anymore. He has to come to the house and eat with the family now.”

Mr. Dugan looked at her, half smiling.

“He was, uh, wounded, and
…
” She pivoted and
headed
toward the dining room. “As soon as Dad and Sarah get here, we’ll eat. Go ahead and sit down.”

Forrest ran to the table ahead of the rest of them. He pointed at the head of the table. “Dad sits there, Ma sits at the other end, and Aunt Grace sits beside her. I’m by Dad. Marshal, you can sit by me. Daisy’s across from me.” He wrinkled his nose. “Mr. Dugan, I guess you’ll have to be by my sister. Sorry, you have to sit by a
girl
.”

The dirt farmer chuckled, but the marshal glowered at the floor. She wondered if he really didn’t care for Mr. Dugan sitting beside her, or if the marshal just didn’t want to be there at all. He hadn’t seemed any more friendly than absolutely necessary. That, she wouldn’t leave to chance. He had seemed impressed that she had found Mr. Flynn’s identity, and he’d be even more impressed when she found evidence to support her theory that Flynn was the culprit who had shot him.

The door opened again, and this time her father came in.

“Where’s Sarah?” she asked her dad.

“Watching the store. Someone has to watch it if we’re all eating at the same time.” He went to the kitchen to wash up—and probably smooch with her mother. They were embarrassing that way. Daisy didn’t know another soul whose parents were constantly hugging and the like.

Of course, if her mother felt the same way Daisy did when the marshal kissed her, then she could understand. But her parents were nearly fifty years old. They couldn’t possibly have such sensitivities, and her dad surely didn’t put his hand where
…

“Daisy, be seated so your guests can sit.” Her mama’s face was slightly flushed as she entered the dining room. From the heat in the kitchen, most certainly.

Both the marshal and Mr. Dugan started for her chair to seat her, but Mr. Dugan, who was closer, beat the marshal to it. She sat primly, wishing this infernal meal was nothing but a distant memory. Sarah had failed her, and now she had the marshal to contend with, too. He couldn’t help but get the wrong impression. Oh, bother!

After her father sat, he said, “I’ll say Grace.”

They all bowed their heads and listened to the short prayer, but Daisy silently prayed that Mr. Dugan would disappear. When he finished, her mother picked up the meat platter and passed it to Mr. Dugan. “Help yourself.” While the food was passed around the table, she said, “It’s certainly a nice day, isn’t it?”

Here we go again
. She’d said the exact same thing earlier, with no success whatsoever at making small talk.

“Sure is,” Forrest piped up. “I went out on my first patrol this morning, too. Marshal’s gonna give me a junior deputy badge, aren’t you, Marshal?”

The marshal had just taken a bite of beefsteak, so nodded rather than spoke. But when he glanced up, Daisy’s gaze caught his, sending deep heat swirling around her insides. Such a wonderful sensation! She wanted more, and she was certain that when the fingerprinting kit arrived, he’d be as impressed with her as she was with him. Maybe he’d even kiss her again! She smiled, lowered her gaze, and tried to ignore that warm tingling that settled deep down inside whenever she thought of his arms around her, his mouth on hers.

Taking a deep breath and composing her features, she asked, “Dad, when is the freight wagon due in today?”

“Oh, mid-afternoon, I suppose. Why?”

“I thought you might need some help at the store, so I wanted to make sure I was here.”

“You’ll be here. Right here.” He sounded pretty sure about that.

“Guess what?” Forrest asked. “I saw the Widow Courtney kissing on old Deputy Kunkle this morning. Blech!” He wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “And right on the ol’ lips, too!”

“Forrest!” The dining room resounded with a chorus of voices.

Forrest slumped in his chair. “What? She done the kissing, not me.”

Mr. Dugan laid his bread on his plate. “Mrs. Courtney, you say?”

“Yup. The mean old biddy who...uh...” Forrest glanced at the marshal, then made a thorough study of his plate.

“Ran your dog off her yard.” The marshal finished for the boy.

Daisy saw something wasn’t right. Not at all. She’d have to investigate, because Forrest had obviously gotten himself in another predicament and the marshal was covering. She made a mental note to have a subtle conversation with the marshal, and Mrs. Courtney, too, if necessary. But she’d wait until she solved the
Mike Flynn
case.

The marshal studied his plate as closely as Forrest had. Must be mighty interesting plates. She smiled, and studied hers.

Her dad cleared his throat—a sure sign he wanted the conversation back on track. “So, Patrick, how’s the farm coming along?”

“Fine, Mr. Gardner. We bought another twenty head of
Holsteins
, which brings the milking herd up to fifty. Had to hire another five men to milk ‘em. We’re supplying a goodly portion of
Silver
City
now.”

“Good, good.” Her dad picked up the gravy bowl and offered it to Mr. Dugan. “Have some more gravy on those spuds. My wife makes the best gravy in the territory.”

“I believe I will,” and reached for the proffered bowl.

Forrest pointed his fork at Mr. Dugan. “Are you going to marry my sister?”

The room went silent at Forrest’s gaff.

“’Cause Dad said that she couldn’t marry the marshal, and she’s getting awful old.”

Aghast, Daisy looked at the marshal, his brown eyes peering directly into her own. He seemed hurt, but that was probably her own wishful thinking that he’d want to marry her. Well, he certainly would once he found out how much help she could be to him.

And then she was going to drown her big-mouthed little brother!

“Forrest,” her mother said as she stood, nearly knocking her chair over backwards. “Come into the kitchen, right now!”

“Dang,” the boy muttered. “I s’pose I won’t get no dessert now.”

“Any,” she corrected.

“That’s what I thought.” He picked up his plate and glass, then with his head down and a disgruntled expression, followed his mother into the kitchen.

Several uncomfortable moments of silence filled the room. Finally, the marshal said, “I’ll have a little more of that steak, Mr. Gardner. It’s mighty tasty.”

“Sure.” Her father passed the meat platter, seeming to be as happy as anyone else that the quiet had been broken. “My woman’s quite a cook, isn’t she?”

The two younger men nodded their agreement.

“So’s how’s the store doing?” Mr. Dugan asked.

“Good, good.” Her dad took the platter back, then offered it to the farmer. “What with all the miners and the ranchers around here, someone’s always needing something, and
Gardners
’ Mercantile is the only store between Silver and
Boise
City
that has a full line of goods.”

Seldom had Daisy been happy to listen to small talk, but this was one of those times. She
would
get through this disaster no matter what, without the marshal thinking she’d committed herself to another.

“Must keep you busy,” the farmer replied.

“Sure does,” her father said. “Grace cooked up a barn dance tonight. It’s at Jonas Howard’s Livery, seven o’clock.” His tone sounded more like an order than an invitation.

“We’ll have lively music and lots of sweets,” Aunt Grace said, smiling at Daisy instead of the man she addressed. Daisy hid her grimace with a weak smile. Dinner was bad enough—not a dance, too.

“Sounds like a good time,” Mr. Dugan said as he spooned sugar into his coffee. “Dad and I’ll be there.”

Daisy swallowed her meat in one lump. She couldn’t go to that dance! Why, the only reason they were having it was so she could be with Mr. Dugan, she was sure if it. She searched the marshal’s face for reaction, but got none. The lump stuck in her throat, causing burning pressure. She didn’t dare invite him, but would he come? She prayed so, but somehow, she doubted he would. If only she had her fingerprinting kit.

Where was that freight wagon?

Cole listened to
Gardner
and Dugan talk about business, but his thoughts were all about Miss Daisy, all gussied up and pretty as an angel. An auburn tendril had escaped her slightly lopsided bun and rested on her cheek. Oh, how he wouldn’t like to brush it behind her ear—or better yet, kiss
.
Lordy, what was he thinking? And in her own parents’ house, too.

He hadn’t felt so out of place since he had to be Thomas’s best man—when his brother married the woman who should have been his. He should never have gone to the
Gardners
’ despite what Forrest had told him. From the boy’s earlier innocent remarks, he now knew that the
Gardners
had planned this meal to get Miss Daisy and Patrick Dugan acquainted in a marriageable sort of way.

Dugan was a strapping fellow, too. Probably every woman in the territory wanted him. Miss Daisy didn’t seem all that much at ease, though. Cole sure as hell didn’t. He knew damned good and well that the
Gardners
hadn’t been expecting him, no matter how welcoming they acted.

The food smelled good but it might as well have been
Owyhee
County
alkali dirt. He sneaked another look at Miss Daisy, who had seemed quite horrified when her brother had asked Dugan’s intentions. Did she want to marry the fellow?

Simmering anger had every muscle at the ready since he’d first shaken Dugan’s hand. He gritted his teeth and worked on showing a polite appreciation of the meal he couldn’t taste. For two damned cents he’d go to that dance himself and whirl Miss Daisy around the floor right under Dugan’s nose. But he wouldn’t.

This fiasco showed once and for all why he needed to be shed of this town like a bad memory. Which he would, just as soon as he got those damned miners behind bars.
Mike Flynn
, too, if necessary.

Cole made it through the meal, even the gooseberry pie. He hated gooseberries. But he gritted his teeth, smiled and thanked the
Gardners
kindly. They had no idea how happy he was to get out of that house, away from the man who’d probably marry Miss Daisy, but most especially so he wouldn’t have to look at her in that sweet-looking green dress. That git-up made her look right fine, and any man would be proud to have her on his arm.

He strode toward the doctor’s office, planning his afternoon as he went—anything to get his mind off Miss Daisy. First, he needed to get Doc to look at
Mike Flynn
before they had a corpse on their hands. Damn, he never should have told Bosco to slip Flynn a second dose. After he talked to Doc, he’d head for the Branded Horse Saloon and work on tracking down Gib and Porker Rankin.

The bell tinkled as he opened the door to Doc’s office. Doc motioned him in.

“I was just about to go over to the marshal’s office to check on your progress.” Doc motioned Cole to the examining table. “You saved me the trouble.”

Cole shook his head and didn’t move into the room. “I’m not here for me. We’ve got a stranger in town who had a run-in with the
Gardners
’ dog yesterday, and ended up the worse for it. Got a bump on the head and knocked him out.”

“Where is he?” Doc grabbed for his black case.

“The boardinghouse. But there’s another problem.”

“Yes?”

“He had a little laudanum.”

“Shouldn’t hurt him. Might help.”

“A lot of laudanum. He hasn’t stirred for over eighteen hours.”

Just then someone pushed past Cole, nearly upending him. He regained his balance to see Miss Daisy dash over to Doc and scoop up his doctor’s bag.

“Doc, you need to come right away!”

“Hang on there, I’m talking to the marshal about a possible overdose case.”

She frowned. “There’s another one.”

“What do you mean, ‘another one’? Don’t tell me I have to pick which comatose body to work on first.”

Cole stepped forward and took the bag from Miss Daisy. “I think we’re speaking of the same patient, Doc. His name is
Mike Flynn
, and he seems to need a little help waking up.”

“Yes, it’s Mr. Flynn. I think you need to see him right away.” Cole didn’t appreciate the look of concern on Miss Daisy’s face. Did she think she overdosed Flynn? Did he dare tell her that he asked Bosco to slip him another dose?