The Marshal's Mission

Lawman with a Secret

Hiding his true identity is the only way for US Marshal Jesse Cole to bring bank robbers to justice. But the lovely widow whose Wyoming ranch he stumbles onto reminds him of everything he’s sacrificed for the law. When his job is done, he’s resolved to leave Lenora Pritchard behind—until she and her son are threatened. Now the only way to protect them is to make her his wife.

To conceal her late husband’s guilt, Lenora hid his stolen haul. And with a ruthless gang leader determined to retrieve it, she needs Cole’s protection for herself and her son. It’s a marriage in name only, founded on dangerous secrets...but could it possibly lead to a true and loving family?

“So what makes you restless, Cole?”

He opened his mouth to deny the claim, then gritted his teeth.

“You once said you were looking to settle down, but you haven’t yet. And send for your mother, but you haven’t. And now you’re dragging a pregnant mare across country—looking for the perfect spot?” She shook her head. “There is no such place.”

Her perception stunned him. Just seven months ago, his ma had asked him how many criminals he needed to put behind bars before he was satisfied. Twenty? Fifty? A hundred?

Just one more. That had been his justification. But after arresting one outlaw, Cole would hear of another that needed to be stopped. And another.

With parted lips, she watched him. For the first time in his life, someone out-silenced him.

“Way past my bedtime.” He was off the porch and halfway to the barn before he realized he hadn’t said good-night.

However, it was the wisest thing to do. If he turned around and went back, he’d tell her things best kept secret. For now anyway.

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed reading The Marshal’s Mission as much as I enjoyed writing it. I based this story on my great-grandfather’s life—he was an undercover US Marshal. Then I found out that though he had been married to my great-grandmother, he wasn’t directly related to me. What a woman—she outlived five husbands!

The West has always fascinated me. It was a pleasure to research the lives of the tough men and women who shaped our country.

I’d love to hear from you. Write to me at anna@annazogg.com or PO Box 1642, West Jordan, UT 84088. Please visit my website at annazogg.com.

Anna

ANNA ZOGG has long been fascinated by the West—ranch life, horses and the tough men and women who tamed it. Ever drawn to her Native American roots, she and her husband, John, reside in the heart of the West. Visit annazogg.com to learn more about her love of music, her eclectic taste in fiction and some very special children.

The Marshal’s Mission

Anna Zogg

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for Thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety.

—Psalms 4:8

To my dear friend and sister in the Lord, Marilynn Rockelman. Without you, this story might never have been told.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Wyoming Territory, 1882

Who is that?

Hand poised over a scoop of dried beans, Lenora Pritchard peered out her kitchen window. Across the ranch yard, a form ducked out of sight. Was that Toby? Her son had left an hour ago to look for his missing dog. Why was he skulking around the barn?

Wiping her hands on her apron, she stepped onto the porch and stared. Nothing. She was certain she saw someone slink around the building not two minutes before.

A sudden gust of chill wind whipped her long skirts. She shivered as she gripped the porch’s column. Was rain coming? All afternoon the sky had been clear and beautiful.

As she looked upward, she gasped. A bank of ominous clouds rolled in from the north. Marching like an army, the mass devoured the warmth and light of the mid-April day. Many an unprepared traveler had died of exposure because of weather changes this time of year. Though her son wore his coat and hat, would they be enough to protect him in freezing temperatures?

“Toby!” The roaring wind swallowed her call. She ran down the steps and into the yard. It was then she spied a half-dozen chickens, pecking in the long grass alongside the house. They were supposed to be locked in the fenced-in area attached to the coop. How...?

Darting between the shed and barn, Lenora yelled for her son again. When she saw the mangled enclosure, she gulped. The small, wooden building leaned at a crazy angle, held somewhat upright by the attached lightweight fencing. Had the wind blown it over?

As though in answer, a blast of air snatched the combs from her hair and spun it like a tornado. A single splat of icy rain hit her skin. She had to get the chickens inside. Now.

“Toby,” she called again. Her ten-year-old was nowhere in sight.

With the coop useless, the barn would have to do.

“Shoo. Shoo!” With arms spread, Lenora tried to herd the hens toward the open door. Cackling in alarm, they scattered in every direction other than the one she wanted. Her frustration rose to an impossible level. Why was her husband dead when she needed him most? Nothing like this ever happened while Amos lived.

After she managed to get a few chickens into the barn, she peered around the empty building. Had she imagined that lurking form?

“Ma!” Toby loped uphill from the direction of the stream, his green eyes wide. “I found Blister, but he—”

“Help me get the chickens inside,” she panted.

“But, Ma...”

“Hurry.” She bolted to find the rest.

The wind built, catching the birds’ feathers and nearly toppling them. Dirt stung Lenora’s face. A distant rumble of thunder warned of the impending downpour. Together she and Toby ushered the stragglers into the barn.

Out of breath, she counted those corralled in a corner stall. Thirteen. While the hens settled in one corner of the shadowy barn, the rooster strutted around his flock.

“Okay, Toby. Shut the door.”

Leaning out, he yelled, “Blister! Come on, boy. Come on.”

Lenora gnawed her lip. Would their dog pester the chickens? Blister usually ignored them. However, this arrangement would have to do. For now.

As the dog slunk inside, her mouth gaped. A tight rope wrapped around his neck and torso. Dirt caked him. And he looked skinny, like he hadn’t eaten in the four days he’d been missing. Where had he been? Though he usually wandered, he never stayed out more than two.

“Bring him closer.” She fumbled to light the lantern.

Amos had always kept one handy in the barn. And a shotgun. Out of sight from the entrance, the weapon rested on a crossbeam’s pegs.

As her son pulled his dog into the circle of light, she hung the lantern on a nail.

“What in the world?” With her back to the barn’s wall, she squatted to examine the dog. It appeared as if someone had lassoed Blister with a fine length of rope. A three-foot piece dangled, frayed in the middle as though he had tried to gnaw his way loose. But clearly someone had cut the end.

“This is what I was trying to tell ya, Ma.” With his hand resting on his dog’s head, Toby’s gaze met hers. “Who did this?”

“I don’t know.” But even as she spoke, she knew Jeb Hackett could have. He hated their dog. “Let’s get that rope off.” The noose had rubbed Blister’s skin raw in one spot. For several minutes, she worked at the knot in vain. The dog began to pant.

“I’ll have to cut it.” She was reaching for her knife when the sudden rattle of the barn door startled her. With a squeak of alarm, Lenora shot to her feet.

A man’s silhouette filled the doorway. Arm gripping Blister, Toby swiveled his head.

Too frightened to move, she glanced at the gun hanging out of reach, then back at the faceless form.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, ma’am.” The man’s deep voice sounded low, even apologetic. He stepped forward, sweeping off his hat in one fluid motion. “Wondering if I could spend the night here. Got a mare with foal. Bad storm’s a’coming. Freezing rain.”

As though punctuating his words, sleet clattered on the roof for several seconds. A rumble of thunder shook the barn.

She shivered from more than just the chill in the air. “I—I’d have to ask my husband. Up at the house.”

“But, Ma,” Toby protested. “He ain’t—”

“Hush.” She hardened her voice. “Don’t interrupt.”

Blister’s panting filled her ears. She glanced at him. Why wasn’t he barking at the stranger?

“I’d be much obliged, ma’am.” The tall man nodded as he took a step closer.

“Go to the house, Toby.” Lenora hoped her stern tone masked fear. Was this the man she had seen earlier? Prowling by the barn?

Obviously, he was in with Jeb Hackett. Was he trying to play on her sympathies? She saw right through his lame story of traveling with a pregnant mare. No fool did that in Wyoming Territory. Leastways not this time of year.

She tightened the muscles of her leg, assuring herself that her hidden knife was still strapped to her calf.

Because her son hadn’t moved, Lenora grabbed the end of the dog’s rope and spoke in a no-nonsense voice. “Tobias Joseph, do as I say.”

“Yes’m.” Toby sidled past the man and ducked out the door. Not until she heard the fading patter of his feet did she relax a fraction.

The stranger indicated Blister with a tilt of his head. “Looks like you’ve quite the task.” Before she could respond, he tossed aside his hat and shrugged out of his slicker. A gun hung low on his hip. “Mind if I help?”

She raised her chin a notch. “What about your horses?”

“They can wait a few minutes.”

As he strode toward her, she backed behind Blister. She glanced at her shotgun, now farther out of reach.

After turning up the lantern’s flame, he knelt before Blister.

“Easy, boy,” the stranger crooned as the dog growled low in his throat. “What’s his name?” When Lenora didn’t answer, he met her gaze.

In the lamp’s light, the deep blue of his eyes gleamed. Sandy hair curled over a smooth, tanned forehead. Two or three days’ growth of whiskers shadowed his face.

“B-Blister.”

“Hey, Blister. Take it easy.” The man held out a tentative hand. Panting, the dog turned his head away. “That’s it. I won’t hurt ya.” Still on one knee, the man scooted nearer. “Appears as though someone lassoed him.”

Her grip tightened on the rope. “I suppose.”

If Jeb was responsible, she needed to play dumb. Blister always bristled and barked when he showed up. Since Amos’s death, the dog had become more aggressive. Because of that, Jeb no longer dismounted. If he rode too close to the house, the dog would nip at his horse’s heels.

Even if this man had no connection to Jeb, she planned to stick to her story. The sooner she barricaded herself in the house with Toby, the better.

Thunder boomed. A torrent of rain began to beat the roof like a pounding drum.

The stranger’s eyes narrowed as though considering her. “Whoever did this likely dragged Blister in the middle of nowhere.”

How could he know that?

“Tied him up and left him to die.” Anger inflamed his rising voice. “Convenient way to get rid of a dog. You the one responsible?”

Lenora twitched. “What?”

“I asked if you did this.” Pointing, he rose. “And are you hiding the truth from your son?”

“Get away from my ma.” Toby’s young voice rang as he stood by the barn door.

The man spun. When Lenora saw her husband’s six-shooter in her son’s hands, she gasped. She didn’t realize he knew about the hidden pistol, tucked behind the mantel clock in the house.

With both thumbs, Toby struggled to cock the gun. “Did ya hear me?”

The stranger spread his hands. “Take it easy, son.”

“Leave my ma alone.”

Lenora’s grip on the rope tightened. “Toby—”

“I mean no harm.” The stranger took a step toward her son. “Either put the gun down. Or shoot me.”

“Don’t—don’t hurt him.” She panted the words, not sure whom she addressed. If her son injured this man, Jeb Hackett would accuse Toby of attempted murder and string him up in the nearest tree.

Was this what Jeb hoped? Have an excuse for him and his men to descend on her ranch? Ever since her arrival in Amos’s buckboard twelve years ago, Jeb had never hid the fact that he had his eye on her.

The tall man blocked the way, standing between her and Toby. Arms still spread, he moved closer to her boy. “You pull a gun on someone, you best be prepared to use it.”

“I’ll kill you.” Toby’s voice rose as he aimed at the stranger’s chest.

“I’m prepared to die,” the man said in a maddening, unperturbed tone. “But are you prepared to be a killer?”

Face contorted, Toby’s hands shook so much that Lenora feared he would accidentally pull the trigger.

Dear Lord, please don’t let him.

Outside another thunderous rumble reverberated. The sound matched the frantic hammering of her heart.

“What’s it to be, son?”

When Toby stiffened, the stranger swooped forward and grabbed the six-shooter. Before Lenora could blink, he released the hammer and emptied the bullets into his hand. Chest heaving, her son appeared more relieved than frightened.

Now what? The tall man fingered the shells. Measuring the distance to her shotgun, she commanded her paralyzed muscles to unlock.

“You did right.” The stranger nodded to her boy. “It’s a terrible burden to live with a man’s death on your soul.”

She stumbled forward and seized her gun. As soon as she released the rope, Blister sidled to Toby, positioning himself between the man and boy. She stared. The dog never acted like this. Why wasn’t he bristling or growling?

The stranger barely glanced her way before tucking the six-shooter into his belt. To Toby, he said, “I want you to bring my mare inside. She’s gotta get out of the rain. Can you do that?”

Hesitating, her son shot a look her way.

Lenora gave one sharp nod.

His green eyes squinted up at the stranger. “Yessir.”

“After that, see to my geldings. They’ll be fine under the lean-to.”

After another glance her way, Toby disappeared out the door. He secured it so his dog wouldn’t follow.

Still wary, Lenora clenched her shotgun while the man pocketed the bullets.

He snapped his fingers at the dog. “Come here, Blister. Let’s get that rope off you.”

Head low, the dog slunk beside the man.

“Good boy.” After the stranger pulled out a huge knife, he looked up and spoke to Lenora. “I’d feel a lot better if you quit pointing that barrel at me and helped.”

Squelching her fear, she set aside her shotgun. After she crouched next to Blister, the man took her fingers and placed them on the dog. “Keep him quiet.” His rough hand guided hers as together they stroked the dog. He spoke in a calm, mesmerizing voice. “That’s it. You’re doing good.”

Something amazing happened to the dog. His drooping eyelids seemed to freeze into place. He stopped panting as though listening. Did he understand this stranger was there to help?

Lenora shifted her gaze from the dog to the man.

Though weathered by the sun, his face appeared to be kind. His smooth brow reflected the absence of worry or anger. Contemplative. Smile lines settled in gentle creases by his eyes and mouth. But clearly he wouldn’t shirk from the tough things in life.

Not like her. Amos had always taken care of the bone setting, the chicken killing and the bloodletting while she hid in the house. Lenora had grown up a city girl with a gentlewoman’s ways. Before her husband carried her to the untamed West, the most ghastly event she’d witnessed was the birthing of kittens.

Now that he was gone, an avalanche of needs pressed on her. She had to hang on a few more months until she could sell the ranch.

The stranger adjusted the dangling rope as though ascertaining the best place to cut. She held her breath as the gleaming knife poised over the dog’s throat. With care, he sawed through the tough fibers. All of a sudden, they gave way.

“There.” He pulled the remaining pieces off Blister before sheathing his blade. “Good boy.” He patted the dog’s head, then examined the fur. “T’appears he lost a little skin, but he should heal just fine.” He felt along the torso while the dog licked his hand.

What had come over Blister? And herself? Ten minutes of her life had disappeared without her knowing. Unsteadily, she climbed to her feet and smoothed down her rumpled skirt.

In the corner of the barn, a blood bay mare waited. The horse nickered, the sound tender, welcoming. The barn door flew open.

A wet Toby came in, shaking off rain. “I’m all done, mister.”

“You unsaddle my horse? And untie the other?”

“Yessir. Put your gear under the lean-to, so’s it won’t get any wetter.”

“Many thanks.” The tall man turned back to her. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’ll see to my horses now. And I’ll pay for feed.” A hint of a dimple appeared in one cheek. “Assuming that’s okay with your husband.”

Did he suspect no man was around to ask? She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. All she could manage was a nod.

After a two-fingered salute, he walked toward his mare.

“Blister!” Toby dived to his knees and hugged him. “He’s going to be okay now, right, Ma?”

Her throat tightened. “I reckon so.”

She studied the man across the barn as he wiped down his horse with an empty feed sack. Lowering her head, the mare rubbed against him in obvious affection. He certainly had a way with animals. And with her son. As Lenora recalled the feeling of his fingers on her hand, her skin tingled.

Amos had been dead only five months, and she was flustered by a stranger’s kindness? What was wrong with her?

Loneliness. The long winter months with just her and Toby had affected her more than she wanted to admit.

Then she hardened her heart. No longer was she an impressionable sixteen-year-old who could be ensnared by a man’s charisma. After she married Amos, she discovered he offered little else. She would never again fall for good looks or flattering speech.

As she watched the stranger tend to his horse, she determined that he had better not try charm on her or she would fill his hide with buckshot.

Chapter Two

“So are we friends now?” As US Marshal Jesse Cole settled his saddle in one corner of the barn, he spoke to the yellow dog.

With a grunt, Blister rested his head on his front paws like he was apologizing for his earlier hostility.

“’Bout time, after all I did for you.”

Earlier that day, he had come across a howling and frantic animal, tangled in scrub pine in the middle of nowhere. The moment Cole cut him free, the dog took off in a dead run. That should have been the end of the story. But what if the rope snagged on something else? He had followed to make certain Blister reached safety. Foolish decision. In his worry for the dog, he had not stopped when his mare stumbled. Had she stepped in a hole?

Running his hands over Sheba’s fetlock, Cole decided it felt a little swollen. Nothing broken, though.

He straightened as footsteps splashed toward the barn. The woman’s son? The earlier torrent had died down. Now rain tapped the roof in a gentle staccato.

The door creaked open. “Hey, mister. Y’hungry?” Dark hair plastering his forehead, Toby stood just inside. He carried something wrapped in a towel, held close to his chest. Food?

Cole smoothed his hand over the mare’s still-damp rump. “Tobias Joseph, right?”

“Yessir.” The youngster’s chest puffed up. “Named after my ma’s pa.”

When his gaze shot to Blister, he seemed to forget Cole. “Hey, boy. How’re you doing?”

The dog’s tail thumped on the dirt floor as the youngster loosened the cloth and dropped a meaty bone.

Cole grinned. His assumption that the towel-wrapped item was his meal proved unfounded. Or was it? Either way, he was glad he hadn’t agreed to supper. The sooner he sacked out, the earlier he could get started in the morning. This ranch held too many a mystery—starting with the lassoed dog. Although Cole admired his gun-toting hostess, he had already spent too much time dwelling on the endearing way her hair fell across her cheek. And her lips, pursing in fabricated determination.

Did he believe her comment about her husband? Not in the least.

“There ya go, boy.” Toby backed away. After grabbing the bone, the dog retreated to a corner. Despite the sleepy purr of the chickens, Blister kept a wary eye on them.

Cole studied the youngster who looked to be somewhere between nine and twelve. His lean frame took after his mother’s. She appeared to have dark eyes whereas Toby’s were light. Green? Difficult to tell in the shadowy barn. Likely the boy would sprout up and pass her in height, but his shoulders would never be broad. His pensive forehead mirrored the woman’s gentle nature.

Cole cleared his throat. “I was named after my grandpa too.”

Mouth puckering, the boy toed the straw at his feet. “Ma said he died before I was born. Same time as my grandma. Back east a’ways.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Stepping closer, he pointed at the mare. “D’ya mind my asking what kind of horse she is? Never seen a blood bay like her before.”

“You got a sharp eye. Sheba’s a Morgan. I’m hoping she’s the beginning of a great line of horses.”

“Wow.” Without fear, the youngster approached the mare. He let her nose him before stroking her neck. “And she’s pregnant?”

“Yes, but she’s not far along. I expect she’ll foal late August.” Cole again questioned his decision to bring her with him. However, his mare was the perfect cover for his Wyoming Territory mission.

“She sure is a beaut.” Toby studied her with a critical eye.

“What’s different about her?”

The boy stepped back and scratched the top of his head. “Her muscles seem kinda bunched. And the arch in her neck is unlike others I’ve seen.”