Read Online Much Ado About Marshals (Hearts of Owyhee) (2011) by Jacquie Rogers - Free Book Online
Authors: Jacquie Rogers
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likes horny toads.”
“And just why did you use Mrs. Proctor’s unmentionables for gift wrapping?”
Forrest’s gaze dropped to his feet. “Well, that part was sort of an accident.”
Cole could only imagine. “I want you to return it, then come back here for your sentencing.”
“Sentencing?”
“It means what you have to do to make up for what you did.”
“Oh.”
The boy, the dog, Mrs. Proctor’s drawers, and the horny toad all departed the office in a flurry. Cole leaned back, clasped his hands behind his head, and smiled. He’d helped people today, and it felt good. Beat the hell out of punching cows from dawn to dusk.
The throbbing in his leg reminded him of the doctor’s orders, so he propped his foot on the desk. As soon as his heel hit the desktop, Miss Daisy flounced in.
“Where’s the telegram I sent you?”
He stared at her determined expression. “Huh?”
She stood with her hands on her hips and her green eyes flashing. “The telegram. The one I sent you when I hired you.”
His stomach tied in a knot.
He’d been found out, sure as hell.
Chapter 5
Daisy wanted to squeal and dance around the room. Her first real, live detective case! All she needed to know was how the man who claimed to be Sidney Adler got the telegram. But the marshal hadn’t moved a muscle. In fact, he looked rather pale—but that could be because of his suffering. After all, the doctor had ordered bedrest which the marshal had ignored as soon as Doc climbed into the stagecoach.
“Well?” She tapped her toe. Certainly when she revealed what she was about to, the new marshal would see the sense in proposing to a woman who had such excellent deductive reasoning skills. “The telegram?”
He moved his foot from the desk and sat forward. “I don’t rightly remember much after the shooting.”
Exactly! The man who had the telegram was the one and the same who’d shot the marshal. She just knew it, and his answer only bolstered her resolve to prove it. All she needed was a little time to show that the stranger had removed it from the marshal’s person at the time of the shooting. “Who shot you?”
The marshal looked at the ceiling, then brought his attention to her. “Don’t know.” His gaze washed over her, giving her that funny jittery feeling she always had when in his presence, making her wish he’d touch her again. Or kiss her. But no, she needed her sensibility, and kissing him had proven to make her stupid as a fence post.
“I suppose you were bushwhacked,” she prompted.
He shrugged. “I never saw it coming.”
It didn’t take a close study of his drawn expression to know that he’d overextended himself. His wound must be hurting him something fierce. She made a note to bring him some laudanum—just as soon as she made sure the imposter was out of the way. She’d think of something. Right then, the vile outlaw lay in Mrs. Howard’s house, unconscious. But he’d regain his wits anytime.
She needed proof that the man was, indeed, the shooter. And most of all, she needed time. Ah, the laudanum! She leaned forward, resting her hands on his desk and placing her person at a most improper distance from the marshal. “I’ll bring you supper at six, and some medicine to help with your pain.”
He didn’t move, but she could have sworn their lips were closer and closer. She was determined not to chicken out this time, and oh, it felt so good. His warm breath brushed her face as she gazed into his warm, brown eyes. Embers of need welled from deep within her, and she lowered her lips to his.
“Daisy! Daisy!” Forrest called.
She jumped away from the marshal to see her little brother and the dog galloping into the office.
She gasped, heart pounding.
Forrest slid to a stop in front of her. “Please don’t tell Ma and Dad!” He pulled on her sleeve. “Please, please, please!”
Her heart still raced like a stampede of wild horses. She pressed her hand to her chest, hoping to slow
“And just why did you use Mrs. Proctor’s unmentionables for gift wrapping?”
Forrest’s gaze dropped to his feet. “Well, that part was sort of an accident.”
Cole could only imagine. “I want you to return it, then come back here for your sentencing.”
“Sentencing?”
“It means what you have to do to make up for what you did.”
“Oh.”
The boy, the dog, Mrs. Proctor’s drawers, and the horny toad all departed the office in a flurry. Cole leaned back, clasped his hands behind his head, and smiled. He’d helped people today, and it felt good. Beat the hell out of punching cows from dawn to dusk.
The throbbing in his leg reminded him of the doctor’s orders, so he propped his foot on the desk. As soon as his heel hit the desktop, Miss Daisy flounced in.
“Where’s the telegram I sent you?”
He stared at her determined expression. “Huh?”
She stood with her hands on her hips and her green eyes flashing. “The telegram. The one I sent you when I hired you.”
His stomach tied in a knot.
He’d been found out, sure as hell.
Chapter 5
Daisy wanted to squeal and dance around the room. Her first real, live detective case! All she needed to know was how the man who claimed to be Sidney Adler got the telegram. But the marshal hadn’t moved a muscle. In fact, he looked rather pale—but that could be because of his suffering. After all, the doctor had ordered bedrest which the marshal had ignored as soon as Doc climbed into the stagecoach.
“Well?” She tapped her toe. Certainly when she revealed what she was about to, the new marshal would see the sense in proposing to a woman who had such excellent deductive reasoning skills. “The telegram?”
He moved his foot from the desk and sat forward. “I don’t rightly remember much after the shooting.”
Exactly! The man who had the telegram was the one and the same who’d shot the marshal. She just knew it, and his answer only bolstered her resolve to prove it. All she needed was a little time to show that the stranger had removed it from the marshal’s person at the time of the shooting. “Who shot you?”
The marshal looked at the ceiling, then brought his attention to her. “Don’t know.” His gaze washed over her, giving her that funny jittery feeling she always had when in his presence, making her wish he’d touch her again. Or kiss her. But no, she needed her sensibility, and kissing him had proven to make her stupid as a fence post.
“I suppose you were bushwhacked,” she prompted.
He shrugged. “I never saw it coming.”
It didn’t take a close study of his drawn expression to know that he’d overextended himself. His wound must be hurting him something fierce. She made a note to bring him some laudanum—just as soon as she made sure the imposter was out of the way. She’d think of something. Right then, the vile outlaw lay in Mrs. Howard’s house, unconscious. But he’d regain his wits anytime.
She needed proof that the man was, indeed, the shooter. And most of all, she needed time. Ah, the laudanum! She leaned forward, resting her hands on his desk and placing her person at a most improper distance from the marshal. “I’ll bring you supper at six, and some medicine to help with your pain.”
He didn’t move, but she could have sworn their lips were closer and closer. She was determined not to chicken out this time, and oh, it felt so good. His warm breath brushed her face as she gazed into his warm, brown eyes. Embers of need welled from deep within her, and she lowered her lips to his.
“Daisy! Daisy!” Forrest called.
She jumped away from the marshal to see her little brother and the dog galloping into the office.
She gasped, heart pounding.
Forrest slid to a stop in front of her. “Please don’t tell Ma and Dad!” He pulled on her sleeve. “Please, please, please!”
Her heart still raced like a stampede of wild horses. She pressed her hand to her chest, hoping to slow
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