Read Online Much Ado About Marshals (Hearts of Owyhee) (2011) by Jacquie Rogers - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jacquie Rogers
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fervently hoped he could deal with the miners quickly so he could get the hell out of Oreana with both his skin and his heart.
Yup, he’d be hanged before he’d be the gimp in front of her. Hell, he’d probably be hanged anyway, as soon as her sister came to town. Once he got those damned miners behind bars, he’d leave this God-forsaken town quicker than a holler could echo off Sinker Canyon .
Before he really was hanged.
Daisy read the laudanum label carefully. One tablespoon every twelve hours. But it was late afternoon now, and the dose would only make the stranger sleep through the night or so. She needed more time than that to prove beyond any doubt that the man who claimed to be Sidney Adler was, in fact, the very man who had shot the marshal.
She wondered whether a double dose would make him sleep until fairly late the next day. Wouldn’t hurt to try it. She peeled off the label and placed the bottle in a basket holding extra bandages and a twenty-foot hank of rope. If the laudanum didn’t keep him out of her way, the rope certainly would.
Five minutes later, she stood in the doorway of the stranger’s room. Sarah fawned over the scalawag and he soaked it up like a soda cracker in chicken broth. Bosco cast a disapproving glance toward the patient.
Daisy cleared her throat to alert the preoccupied residents of her presence. “I brought medicine.” She entered the room and sat the basket on the bureau.
Bosco nodded at her. “He seems to be doing just fine.”
“Yes.” She smiled conspiratorialy but with no hope he’d get it. “But this will make him sleep .”
“We must see to Mr. Adler’s comfort, however we can,” said Sarah.
Daisy resisted rolling her eyes. She couldn’t tell Sarah the truth—not just yet, and certainly not until she proved absolutely that this man was an imposter and a murderer. “Sarah, would you please ask your mother for a tablespoon and a shot glass?”
“A shot glass?”
“For the medicine.”
Sarah’s mouth circled in a silent “oh” and she ran down the stairs.
Once certain that Sarah was safely out of hearing distance, Daisy motioned Deputy Kunkle to look in the basket. “I have some rope in here, if you want to tie him up,” she whispered, hoping the imposter hadn’t heard, either.
“Rope?” the deputy said aloud.
She sighed. Deputy Kunkle had a good heart, but she wasn’t so sure about the brains department. “In case of fire,” she improvised, in case the stranger was conscious.
The deputy pursed his lips and nodded somberly. “I surely hope we don’t have no fire.”
“My goodness! Where’s the fire?”
They both turned around to see the Widow Proctor standing in the doorway holding a jar of preserves.
“Um, no fire,” Daisy mumbled, wondering if she could ever get the deputy back on the subject. It seemed unlikely at the moment.
Deputy Kunkle puffed out his chest and hitched up his britches. “Nope, ain’t no fire, ma’am. No sirree.”
“I’m certainly glad of that. I brought these apricot preserves for you.” Mrs. Proctor thrust the jar toward him in what Daisy thought was a very unsubtle move.
The deputy shook his head slowly. “Can’t rightly say I got anything to put it on. I’ll have to pass on it, but thanks kindly.”
“Oh, then you simply must share my supper tonight. I have freshly baked bread, fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, stewed turnips, and hot apple pie. Supper’s at five-thirty.”
Licking his lips, the deputy answered, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there with a smile and an empty stomach.” He sent her a mock salute as she passed.
The Widow Proctor left without even so much as a glance toward Daisy, much to her relief, as Sarah came back in with the spoon and the shot glass.
“Thanks,” Daisy said. “Pour two tablespoons into the shot glass and have him drink it all in one gulp. I hear it tastes dreadful.”
Sarah, who seemed all too happy to resume her nursing duties to the
Yup, he’d be hanged before he’d be the gimp in front of her. Hell, he’d probably be hanged anyway, as soon as her sister came to town. Once he got those damned miners behind bars, he’d leave this God-forsaken town quicker than a holler could echo off Sinker Canyon .
Before he really was hanged.
Daisy read the laudanum label carefully. One tablespoon every twelve hours. But it was late afternoon now, and the dose would only make the stranger sleep through the night or so. She needed more time than that to prove beyond any doubt that the man who claimed to be Sidney Adler was, in fact, the very man who had shot the marshal.
She wondered whether a double dose would make him sleep until fairly late the next day. Wouldn’t hurt to try it. She peeled off the label and placed the bottle in a basket holding extra bandages and a twenty-foot hank of rope. If the laudanum didn’t keep him out of her way, the rope certainly would.
Five minutes later, she stood in the doorway of the stranger’s room. Sarah fawned over the scalawag and he soaked it up like a soda cracker in chicken broth. Bosco cast a disapproving glance toward the patient.
Daisy cleared her throat to alert the preoccupied residents of her presence. “I brought medicine.” She entered the room and sat the basket on the bureau.
Bosco nodded at her. “He seems to be doing just fine.”
“Yes.” She smiled conspiratorialy but with no hope he’d get it. “But this will make him sleep .”
“We must see to Mr. Adler’s comfort, however we can,” said Sarah.
Daisy resisted rolling her eyes. She couldn’t tell Sarah the truth—not just yet, and certainly not until she proved absolutely that this man was an imposter and a murderer. “Sarah, would you please ask your mother for a tablespoon and a shot glass?”
“A shot glass?”
“For the medicine.”
Sarah’s mouth circled in a silent “oh” and she ran down the stairs.
Once certain that Sarah was safely out of hearing distance, Daisy motioned Deputy Kunkle to look in the basket. “I have some rope in here, if you want to tie him up,” she whispered, hoping the imposter hadn’t heard, either.
“Rope?” the deputy said aloud.
She sighed. Deputy Kunkle had a good heart, but she wasn’t so sure about the brains department. “In case of fire,” she improvised, in case the stranger was conscious.
The deputy pursed his lips and nodded somberly. “I surely hope we don’t have no fire.”
“My goodness! Where’s the fire?”
They both turned around to see the Widow Proctor standing in the doorway holding a jar of preserves.
“Um, no fire,” Daisy mumbled, wondering if she could ever get the deputy back on the subject. It seemed unlikely at the moment.
Deputy Kunkle puffed out his chest and hitched up his britches. “Nope, ain’t no fire, ma’am. No sirree.”
“I’m certainly glad of that. I brought these apricot preserves for you.” Mrs. Proctor thrust the jar toward him in what Daisy thought was a very unsubtle move.
The deputy shook his head slowly. “Can’t rightly say I got anything to put it on. I’ll have to pass on it, but thanks kindly.”
“Oh, then you simply must share my supper tonight. I have freshly baked bread, fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, stewed turnips, and hot apple pie. Supper’s at five-thirty.”
Licking his lips, the deputy answered, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there with a smile and an empty stomach.” He sent her a mock salute as she passed.
The Widow Proctor left without even so much as a glance toward Daisy, much to her relief, as Sarah came back in with the spoon and the shot glass.
“Thanks,” Daisy said. “Pour two tablespoons into the shot glass and have him drink it all in one gulp. I hear it tastes dreadful.”
Sarah, who seemed all too happy to resume her nursing duties to the
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