Tempting the Marshal: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Series Book 2) (29 page)

The conductor blew a whistle outside.

Suddenly, Fletcher grabbed Jo’s hand and pulled her out the back door. It slammed behind them and they paused on the small outdoor space at the back of the train.

His mouth came down upon hers. The kiss was urgent and desperate, and Jo wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, tears spilling from her eyes; she felt his steel badge pressing against her heaving breast.

“I don’t want to go,” she said, breathlessly.

“You have to.”

The train began to puff and shudder. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again. “Remember what I told you. Keep to yourself.”

“I will.”

He moved down the steps, hopped off the tracks, and looked up at her as the train began to chug. It pulled away from the station and he waved good-bye, then he returned to the wagon and sped off.

In that moment, when she lost sight of him, Jo felt as if her heart had been ripped from her body and would never, ever, be returned.

* * *

After visiting the telegraph office only to learn there were no reply wires from Texas, Fletcher checked in at the jailhouse and found Deputy Anderson busy with paperwork from the night before.

He walked in and shook the rain from his hat at the door, trying also to shake all the doubts and uncertainties from his mind.

He’d done the right thing, he told himself, sending Jo away like that. It was the best thing for both of them—even though he’d sacrificed his professional integrity in the process. Unfortunately, it was eating away at him now, because it was exactly what his father had done, and what Fletcher had never been able to forgive him for. Maybe the time had come to rethink all of that.

But now wasn’t the time
. He had to keep his mind focused on this case.

“Any problems last night?” he asked the deputy as he hung his hat on the hook by the door.

“Nope. Only the usual sluggers after midnight at the keno table. Folks were asking about you though. Wondering where you were and if you were still looking for Six-Shooter Hank.”

Fletcher crossed to the desk where Anderson was sitting. He flipped through the pile of affidavits the deputy had written out, reviewing them for anything out of the ordinary. “You can tell people I have a hunch we won’t be seeing him again.” He shuddered inwardly at the thought. “Any wires delivered here for me?”

“Nope. And I asked around about George Greer like you told me to, real casual-like. No one I talked to ever met him. I’m beginning to think the man’s a ghost. Hey, you’re dripping on my papers.”

Fletcher stepped back. “If I was rustling cattle, I’d keep a low profile, too. Let me know if anything comes in today. When you’re finished there, go get yourself something to eat. I’ll take over as soon as I get back.”

“Where are you going?”

Fletcher retrieved his hat from the hook and settled it onto his head. He opened the door and looked out at the curtain of rainwater dripping from the roof. “To talk to someone who knows something.”

* * *

Fletcher walked past Zeb’s store, peered through the window to see him talking to one of the town councilors, and kept right on going. He walked all the way up Railroad Avenue in the pouring rain until he reached Zeb’s house, then rapped hard on the door.

Matthews finally came and met him with an unimpressed glare. “Marshal Collins. Do you not own an umbrella?”

Fletcher kicked his muddy boots against the doorstep. “My Stetson does the trick and keeps my hands free. Sorry about the mud.”

“I’m sure you are. But I’m afraid Mr. Stone is not at home this morning.”

“What about Elizabeth?”

“Mrs. Stone is in the drawing room.”

Fletcher stepped inside and handed his dripping coat and hat to Matthews, who carried them away at arm’s length. A moment later, the butler returned. “Mrs. Stone will see you now.”

“Thanks a bunch.” Fletcher followed him.

Elizabeth rose from the sofa, her hands held out. “Fletcher! What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you.”

“Would you like some tea?”

“I’d prefer coffee, if you have it.”

She smiled wickedly. “I do, but Zeb insists I always offer tea first.” She gestured to Matthews, who backed out of the room and closed the double doors behind him.

Elizabeth led Fletcher to the sofa. “You’re dripping wet. It must be important, whatever you came to talk to me about.”

“It is,” he replied, “but I don’t know how you’re going to react.”

Elizabeth’s smile faded. “You haven’t broken off your engagement, have you?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s…” He hesitated. “It has to do with Zeb.”

She frowned. “Is he in trouble?”

Fletcher stared into his sister’s concerned eyes. “Why would you think that?”

Rising from the sofa and turning her back to him, Elizabeth began to rearrange some flowers in a tall vase. “No reason. You just seemed uneasy.”

Fletcher watched her slender arms flit around the tall vase, moving a geranium here, replacing another there.

He rose to move around the table, where he could see her face. “Elizabeth. I need to know if I can trust you.”

“Of course you can,” she replied. “I’m surprised you even have to ask.”

“Well, this is different. I need you to keep something from Zeb.”

While the rain beat hard against the windowpanes, Elizabeth slid the vase to one side, so that it was no longer between them. “You know I’ll do anything for you, Fletcher.”

He took her by the hand. “Then come over here and sit with me.”

They returned to the sofa. Fletcher kept his voice low. “There’s been a cattle-rustling problem in Dodge lately. The herds that arrive are significantly smaller than they were when they started out.”

“I’ve read about it in the papers.”

Just then, the drawing room doors opened and Elizabeth jumped. Matthews walked in with a tray. “Set it here, please, Matthews. Then you may go.”

“Yes, Mrs. Stone.” He set the coffee tray down, peered suspiciously at Fletcher, then left the room.

Elizabeth poured two cups. “Go on.”

“I think I may know who’s responsible for the thefts,” Fletcher said, accepting the cup of coffee from his sister.

“Who?”

“A man named George Greer. Ever hear of him?”

Elizabeth nodded. “His name came up last night when Jo and I were talking.”

“I know. She told me. That’s why I’m here.”

“Well, I don’t know anything else besides what I told her,” she said nervously. “We received a package that was meant for Greer. That was all.”

“And Zeb told you he and Greer had accounts at the same bank in Amarillo?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever heard Greer’s name mentioned besides that one time?”

“Never. But Zeb doesn’t discuss business matters with me. Do you think he knows Greer?”

Fletcher sipped his coffee. “Zeb knew Greer’s trail boss. The man who died last night.”

“I see.” Her face went pale. “Have you spoken to Zeb about any of this?”

“No, and I don’t intend to just yet. This is difficult to say, Elizabeth, but I think Zeb might be involved somehow.”

“Do you have any proof?”

Fletcher felt suddenly ill equipped to be having this conversation. He lowered his gaze. “No.”

“Something tells me you want my help.”

His eyes lifted. “Yes.”

Elizabeth sat back. “He’s my husband, Fletcher. You’re asking me to go behind his back.” The wind and rain continued to rattle the window, obscuring the view outside. Elizabeth stared blankly at it.

“What do you need?” she asked finally, meeting his gaze.

“I need to get into his study for another look around.”

“Another
look? Fletcher, don’t tell me…”

“Sorry, sis. I was pressed for time.”

She shook her head at him. “All right. I’ll send Matthews on an errand. I’ll ask him to…oh, I’ll get him to book the church for your wedding. That should keep him busy. Reverend O’Grady loves to talk.”

They both stood. “Thank you, Liz. And is there anywhere else you know of where Zeb keeps papers or correspondence?”

“The store, perhaps. I’ve only been in the office once, and he shooed me out.”

“Then that sounds like a good place to try next.”

* * *

Late in the afternoon, just as the dark clouds began to separate in the sky over Newton, Jo drove toward her brother-in-law’s homestead in a buggy she’d hired from the station. She sat next to the quiet driver, her eyes burning from the long train trip across the stormy plains. It had been exhausting, to say the least.

Not to mention heart-wrenching. She had sat uncomfortably in her hard seat with her forehead resting against the cool windowpane, watching lightning split the sky in the distance, but thinking only of Fletcher and the danger they were all in.

She also wanted to tell him that he needed something more than a drifter’s empty existence, moving from town to town in the name of the law. Everything she’d learned about Fletcher since she first met him told her that what he really wanted was a real home and a family. That’s how he was raised, and until his father’s tragic death, it had been what he wanted out of life.

But Jo supposed that such thoughts of the future was putting the cart before the horse. First, she and Leo had to survive, and Zeb Stone had to finally get what was coming to him—because he couldn’t continue to profit from the pain and losses of others. There simply had to be some justice in the world.

Knowing it was time to see Leo at last, and not wanting him to know about the details of the situation, she forced a smile and climbed down from the leather buggy seat. She wondered what he would say when she appeared unexpectedly at the door. He would probably think she had come to check up on him. Somehow she would have to convince him that was not the case.

Wishing there had been time to let someone know she was coming, she accepted her valise from the driver, lifted her skirts, which were trimmed with mud at the bottom, and walked across the dirt yard to the house. Three chickens clucked and scurried out of her path.

Before she reached the steps, the front door swung open and Matilda walked onto the covered porch. Her cheeks were flushed with concern. “Josephine! What are you doing here?”

“Hello, Matilda. I needed some time away, myself, and thought I would join you. Where’s Leo?”

Cecil, Edwyn’s brother, appeared behind Matilda. “Good heavens, Jo, what are you doing here? Didn’t you get the wire?”

“What wire?”

“The wire we sent a few hours ago—no, obviously you didn’t get it.”

Icy dread began to coil through her veins. “Where’s Leo?”

Matilda came down the steps and took hold of Jo’s bag. “Maybe you’d better come inside.”

“No, I won’t come inside until you tell me what’s going on.
Where’s Leo?”

Cecil came down a step. “He went back to Dodge City.”

“What!” Jo hollered. “You let him go?”

“He went on his own without telling us. He left a note and took the morning train.”

“Let me see the note.”

Cecil darted into the house and reappeared with a sheet of paper, handing it down to Jo.

“It says he knows who killed Edwyn,” Jo read in a panic, “and he’s going to take care of things.
Take care of things!
What does he mean by that?”

Matilda shook her head. “I don’t know, Josephine, but he’s probably arriving in Dodge right about now.” Jo stuffed the note into her bodice pocket. “When’s the next train out of here?”

“The last one for the day will leave in about an hour.”

Jo darted toward Cecil’s barn, leaving her bag with Matilda for safekeeping. “I’ll need a horse to get me to the station.”

“I’ll go with you,” Cecil said, following. “Don’t worry, Josephine. We’ll find him.”

“Just get me to the station, and then send a wire to Marshal Collins. He needs to know what’s happening.”

* * *

With a hiss of steam and a coughing sputter of smoke from the smokestack, the train from Newton puffed wearily into Dodge City. Leo made his way down the aisle, holding on to the backs of the seats to keep his balance as the train shuddered to a slow stop. Local folk gathered on the platform, but none were there to greet him, he knew. For once, he was on his own, able to complete his business in town before going home to surprise his ma with the good news.

He patted his coat pocket one more time to check for his father’s letter, then started off toward Zeb Stone’s Dry Goods to see that it was delivered to the most powerful man in Dodge. If there was one person who could make use of such a letter, it was his good friend, Mr. Zeb Stone.

Chapter Twenty-Five

When the door to the jailhouse opened, Fletcher leaned forward at his desk, expecting a complaint about a drunken brawl or a stolen horse. He stood quickly when he recognized his sister. “Liz, what are you doing here?”