The Marshal and Miss Merritt Read online

She slid him a look under her lashes. The man seemed about as movable as a mountain. Merritt wondered what any woman could possibly have done to make him leave.

  “Yesterday, it sounded as if you knew quite a bit about the goings-on in town.”

  “I guess.” She threw him a puzzled look, moving to slide the biscuit pan into the cookstove. Its heat added to that of the humid morning and Merritt wiped her damp face with her apron.

  She then placed a big skillet on the stove top.

  “Do you get many visitors or do most people stay here permanently?”

  “I get visitors from time to time. Sometimes people can’t afford to stay in the new Château Royale or Porter Hotel.” Wondering why he asked, she reached for the bowl of eggs she’d set aside earlier.

  “When I spoke to Quin yesterday, he filled me in on some of the things that have been happening, including that he’d been framed for murder. Did you know the man he was accused of killing?”

  “No.” She cracked several eggs into the cast-iron frying pan, then began to scramble them. “Undertaker Druckman had a viewing, but I didn’t recognize the man. Have you asked Marshal Hobbs?”

  “Not yet, but I will.”

  “You’re Quin Cahill’s brother?” Lefty’s scratchy voice barely carried from the dining room.

  Bowie looked over his shoulder at the man. “Yes.”

  Merritt said quietly, “Lefty usually sleeps it off in the jail, but he didn’t this time because there are two prisoners there. They were arrested for stealing cattle and setting fires on your brother’s ranch. And Addie’s, too. Maybe they know something that could help you?”

  “Quin talked to them already and they swear they had nothing to do with that man’s murder.” Bowie’s blue eyes settled on her face. “Do you know anything about them?”

  “Only that one worked for your brother’s—I mean, your family’s—ranch and one worked at Addie’s.”

  “I plan to pay them a visit. Someone, somewhere, has to know the identity of the man my brother was accused of killing.”

  “His name’s Pettit,” Lefty said, his voice a little stronger.

  Bowie turned, stepping back toward the table. Merritt took the eggs off the cooktop and followed.

  “How do you know the man’s name?” Bowie asked Lefty. “Were you acquainted?”

  “I overheard Marshal Hobbs say it.”

  Bowie frowned. “Are you sure the marshal was talking about the man my brother was accused of killing?”

  “Well.” The older man stared hard at the table. “It was the night the marshal let your brother out of jail. Right after he left.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I…think so.”

  Bowie moved closer. “I need you to be sure.”

  Bowie Cahill might not be wearing a badge, Merritt thought, but he still acted as though he were. She gave him a look before turning to her friend.

  “Think hard, Lefty,” she urged.

  “Are you sure the marshal was talking about the man my brother was accused of killing?” Bowie pressed.

  Seconds ticked by as the other man sat silent. Tension stretched in the room.

  “Mister?” Bowie asked impatiently.

  “I couldn’t swear to it. Maybe I dreamed it.” His face fell. “I do that sometimes.”

  Bowie showed no emotion, but Merritt could feel his disappointment. Still, he didn’t berate the older man. Instead, he said, “Well, it’s something to go on.”

  “How will that information help you?” Lefty asked.

  “If I have the dead man’s name, I might be able to find someone who knew him.”

  “And,” Merritt said, “you might be able to learn why he was at Phantom Springs at the same time as your brother.”

  Bowie’s gaze sliced to her. “What do you know about that?”

  “Only what Addie told me. That she and Quin believed the man he was accused of killing was the one who sent a note asking to meet with your brother.”

  He seemed to relax slightly. Was that why he had come home? she wondered. To delve deeper into his brother’s trouble?

  He looked at the mantel clock atop the cupboard. “When does the marshal usually start his day?”

  “Around eight.”

  “Good. I can be there when he arrives.”

  Remembering breakfast, Merritt returned to the kitchen and put the eggs back on the cooktop to finish cooking. She checked the biscuits and determined they were done, sliding the flaky golden bread onto a platter.

  She glanced up. “Once you learn what you can about the dead man, will you be going back to White Tail?”

  His jaw hardened, and for a long moment he just stared at her. “I don’t remember telling you that I came from there.”

  “Your mother did.” She frowned at his set features. “Is it a secret?”

  “No. I guess my ma talked to you a lot?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t appear to like that fact.

  “I’m not sure yet what I’ll be doing. It’s unlikely the town of White Tail will keep the job open.”

  Without thinking, she said, “Ruby would have been relieved to see you stop wearing a badge.”

  “And take my place at the 4C?” he bit out.

  The hard edge in his voice had her studying him. “Not necessarily. I believe she wanted you to do something that didn’t put you in a gun’s sights.”

  “Hmph.”

  Even though he seemed to relax a bit, Merritt could tell he didn’t like talking about his chosen profession. Or maybe he didn’t like talking to her. He probably didn’t want to be reminded of his mother’s death. She couldn’t blame him for that.

  “Breakfast is ready.” She swept past him with the platter of biscuits and another of eggs.

  He followed, sliding the coffeepot to one side so she could set the food on the table.

  “Thank you.” She smiled.

  “You bet.”

  He pulled out her chair and she sat, feeling the same rush in her blood she’d felt earlier when he had stared at her legs.

  What was wrong with her? The fact that he could affect her so easily was beyond vexing. It was downright aggravating and she determined to ignore it.

  Bowie couldn’t stop thinking about Merritt’s pretty blush when he’d caught her skirts.

  He reckoned he should’ve dropped them as soon as he’d freed her and maybe even pretended that he hadn’t seen her neat ankles and sleek calves. But he had seen them. And he would have liked to see even more.

  He bet her legs were that shapely all the way up, but he wasn’t going to find out.

  Bowie pushed thoughts of her away as he climbed the steps to the jail and marshal’s office. The summer day was already heating up and he rolled back his white shirtsleeves as he stepped inside the sturdy pine structure. He removed his hat, getting a flash of quick impressions—a wide scratched oak desk with a potbelly stove in the corner, a pair of wanted posters on the wall behind the desk.

  A dark-haired man wearing a badge pinned to his gray vest came toward the door. Tobias Hobbs looked more like a gambler than a lawman. “Nice to see you, Bowie. What brings you to Ca-Cross?”

  Bowie shook the marshal’s hand. “I came to check on my brother.”

  “How’s Quin doing? I haven’t been out to see him since he was shot.”

  “He’s coming along. Actually, he’s the reason I stopped by.”

  “How’s that?” Hobbs gave an easy smile. “If there’s anything I can do, I’m always willing to help a fellow lawman.”

  “Quin didn’t know the name of the man he was accused of killing, but I have learned it might have been Pettit. I thought you might want to know.”

  Something flickered in the other man’s eyes, but it was gone too quickly for Bowie to identify it.

  “That’s fast work,” he said. “I only just learned the same thing. Full name is Vernon Pettit.”

  So Lefty had heard correctly. Bowie wondered why the marshal hadn’t informed Quin, but
before he could ask, Hobbs explained, “I planned to ride out to the 4C and tell your brother. Just haven’t had a chance yet.”

  “No need. I can tell him.” He tapped his hat lightly against his leg. “I was also hoping you might have learned the identity of the man Quin killed in self-defense, the one who shot him a few days ago.”

  Hobbs nodded. “I did learn it, in fact. It’s Huck Allen.”

  “Thanks. I’ll pass that along to Quin, as well. How did you find out these men’s names?”

  “Started asking around. Sid over at Hell’s Corner recognized Pettit from being at the saloon and one of the regulars knew his name. I thought Allen looked familiar and found him on a wanted poster. It was a couple of years old.”

  “That’s good information. Thanks. Quin said you have two men in jail.”

  “Yes, the ones he and your sister-in-law caught.”

  “I wonder if I could talk to them.”

  “About why they caused trouble for Quin and Addie? Or if they know anything about why your brother was contacted for a secret meeting?”

  Bowie frowned. “You know about that?”

  “Just that Quin received two notes, each asking to meet him at a different place. Your brother had no idea why he was contacted and I haven’t been able to learn anything about that.”

  Bowie wondered how hard the marshal was trying to find out, but he didn’t ask. He and Quin were in agreement that they wanted to keep quiet concerning Quin’s suspicions about their parents being murdered.

  If Bowie was going to investigate his brother’s suspicions, then he would check out everything for himself. “I’d still like to talk to your prisoners.”

  For a moment, Hobbs looked as if he might refuse, then shrugged. “I think it’s a waste of time, but I guess it’s your time to waste.”

  The marshal led him through a door in the corner separating the cells from the office area, then indicated the bearded man in the first cell. “This is Ezra Fields, the one who worked for the 4C.”

  Hobbs hooked a thumb toward the next cell where a stocky brown-eyed man stood. “And that’s Chester Purvis.”

  Fields unfolded his lanky length from where he lay on a cot beneath the lone window. Keeping his distance, he stroked his stringy beard. “Who’re you?”

  “This is Sheriff Cahill,” Hobbs said before Bowie could answer. “He wants to talk to the both of y’all.”

  Bowie saw no reason to tell the marshal that he wasn’t currently a sheriff.

  “Cahill?” Fields eyed Bowie warily. “Are you part of the 4C family? Them Cahills?”

  “That’s right. I understand you worked there for a while.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So why did you cause so much trouble for my brother?”

  “Like I told him, it was the money. We got a lot more for following those anonymous instructions than working our fingers to a nub on the ranch.”

  Bowie’s gaze moved from Fields to Purvis. “Did either of you know the man my brother was accused of killing or the one he killed in self-defense?”

  Both men said no.

  In hopes of startling a reaction out of them, Bowie tried asking the same question in a different way.

  “Either of y’all know a man named Pettit?”

  “No,” they answered in unison.

  “What about Huck Allen?”

  Fields gripped the bars and stared balefully at Bowie. “What’s this about? Who are these men?”

  “Is that a ‘no’?”

  Fields gave a sharp nod.

  “I don’t know him, either,” Purvis said.

  Neither man had shown any reaction to the names Bowie had given them. It appeared they really didn’t know either man.

  Purvis shoved his unruly hair out of his eyes. “What did these two fellas do?”

  Bowie didn’t answer, just glanced at Hobbs and said, “That’s all.”

  The marshal nodded, following Bowie out the door, then closing it.

  “Thanks for your cooperation,” Bowie said.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t learn anything. It’s been pretty frustrating for me, too.”

  He had confirmed Pettit’s identity and learned the name of the man his brother had killed in self-defense. That was more than he’d had when he began his morning.

  “I appreciate it.” He started for the door and the marshal accompanied him.

  “I heard you took a room at the Morning Glory.”

  Bowie nodded, wondering where Hobbs had gotten the information.

  “Merritt is a fine woman. Really has a way about her.”

  “She seems to.” Bowie was willing to admit that. Was this conversation going somewhere?

  “She’s quite generous and a wonderful cook.”

  His eyes narrowed as he studied the man standing with him at the door. Maybe he could get Hobbs to share what he knew about Merritt Dixon. “You know the lady pretty well?”

  “Not as well as I’d like, if you get my drift.” Hobbs winked.

  Bowie did get it and he didn’t like it.

  “She’s easy on the eyes.”

  There was no arguing with that. Was Hobbs sweet on the petite beauty? Bowie didn’t like that, either, although he couldn’t have said why.

  “She’s a beautiful woman, inside and out. Especially out. She has some very nice assets up top.”

  The coarse observation had Bowie tensing and he gave the marshal a steely look.

  The other man appeared to get the message and opened the door.

  Bowie didn’t know much about Merritt Dixon, but he knew she was a good woman and he didn’t want to hear that kind of talk about her.

  Even if you had noticed yourself? a little voice taunted.

  That wasn’t all he had noticed. Earlier when he had picked her up to move her out of the way so he could help Lefty, it had been plain she hadn’t been wearing a corset. And judging from the way her skirts outlined her legs, she had on only two petticoats at the most.

  But thinking about her…assets was different from talking about them.

  Resettling his hat on his head, he bid Hobbs goodbye and jogged down the steps. He passed the opera house, then the Morning Glory. Crossing the street, he headed for Town Square. He angled between the Porter Hotel and Café and Doc Lewis’s office, making his way to the boot and saddle shop.

  He had actually managed to keep Merritt Dixon out of his thoughts for a while there, but Hobbs bringing up her name put her right back in Bowie’s head. He might as well satisfy his curiosity about the woman.

  Besides, if he was going to live in her house, he needed to know as much as possible about her, didn’t he? The fact was he didn’t like her knowing more about him than he did about her. He had learned one thing. The fool woman took in drunks.

  How well did she know Lefty? Bowie had seen his share of violent drunks and Lefty didn’t seem dangerous.

  Bowie’s friend who owned the boot and saddle shop would have information about Merritt and possibly her older friend.

  He and Ace Keating had become friends four years ago when they’d met in White Tail. At the time, Ace was the Deer County sheriff and Bowie had applied for a job as deputy. Ace had been the county sheriff there for almost ten years and Bowie counted himself lucky to learn from the man.

  Two years after they began working together, Ace decided to retire from being a lawman and open a saddle shop, something he had long wanted to do.

  Through Bowie, he knew of Cahill Crossing. A new and growing town established beside the railroad tracks had seemed like the perfect place for him to start a business. Ace had moved here and Bowie had become Deer County sheriff.

  He hadn’t really kept in touch with his friend. After he and his siblings had fallen out, Bowie had returned to White Tail and tried to put some distance between him and his guilt over his parents’ deaths.

  Last night after leaving the 4C, he had stopped to visit with Ace and his blond-haired wife, Livvy. Today, the big man was in the shop alone.
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  Though he’d told Ace that he was here to stay for a time, he hadn’t shared Quin’s suspicions that their parents had been murdered. He wanted to wait until he had more information.

  The smell of rich leather greeted him as he walked through the open door. A new dark brown saddle sat atop a sawhorse in the corner. On the wall, a hook held a visibly worn bridle. Ace also did repairs and made boots. Wooden boot forms in different sizes stood neatly against the back wall.

  Ace looked up from a boot he was carefully sewing, a broad smile creasing his sun-bronzed features. “Didn’t think I’d see you so soon. Are you needin’ something for your gelding?”

  “No. I actually came by to see what you might know about Lefty Gorman.”

  “Lefty? Why?”

  “According to Miz Dixon, he sometimes sleeps off the drink at her boardinghouse.”

  The other man ran his forearm across his forehead. “He’s harmless.”

  “That’s the impression I got, too.”

  “It’s a sad story. Several years ago, he lost everything, including his family, and left his home in Missouri. He ended up here.”

  “How did Miz Dixon come to be his caretaker?”

  “That, I don’t know.”

  “What do you know about her?”

  Ace studied Bowie for a moment. “She and Livvy became fast friends when we first moved here. She was in Cahill Crossing almost a year before we came.”

  “Where did she come from?”

  “Down by Austin.” Ace laid down his curved awl and needle, his shrewd gray gaze sharpening. “Why all the interest?”

  “Just want to know about the lady.”

  “Why don’t you ask her?”

  Bowie scowled. “She knows things about me, things I didn’t tell her.”

  “And you feel at a disadvantage. You want to find out more without her knowing you asked.”

  “Yes.”

  His friend grinned, dark eyes full of humor.

  Bowie thumbed his hat back. “Quin and Addie told me she’s a widow.”

  “Her husband was a Ranger, killed by an outlaw.”

  “That’s rough.” Was that why she had asked if Bowie planned to put down his badge forever? Resentment had bubbled up at that and he had assumed she felt the same way Clea had about his being a lawman. He had learned a second later that he was wrong. “Did you know Miz Dixon’s husband?”