The Marshal's Mission
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“Whoa.” Cole froze.
What had he said? Or done? This was nothing like the night before when she had held her shotgun like a shield.
Knuckles white and mouth set, she looked every bit like she would use the rifle. “What did you call me?”
“I...” His mind went blank. “Nora, I believe.”
“You’re in with Jeb.” Her teeth clenched. “Is he outside now? Laughing?”
“Lady, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Arms still extended, he clutched the dishes between tightening fingers and thumbs.
Fury seared her face. He sucked a sharp breath when she cocked the rifle.
“He better not’ve touched a hair on Toby’s head, or I’ll shoot you dead right here as you stand.”
A she-bear with cubs would be less intimidating.
“Just a minute.” Understanding dawned. “I heard Hackett call you Nora. Remember? Isn’t that your name?”
Her eyes narrowed. The tension in the room eased not one bit.
Sweat beaded on his upper lip. If Toby came running back into the house and startled his mother, her twitching trigger finger would end Cole’s life.
She seemed to take even more careful aim. Like she would make certain not to miss.
“I’m setting these down now. Slow like.” He lowered the plates to the table. With two fingers, he lifted his Colt Single Army Action revolver from its holster and set it on the table within her reach. “I’m unarmed. Except for a knife in my boot. The one I used on Blister last night.”
Her gaze darted to his gun and back.
He again raised his hands and leaned away from the rifle’s muzzle. “I had no idea what your name was. We never quite got around to introducing ourselves.”
Chest heaving, her fingers tightened on the barrel.
He tried a different tack. “I got that pistol from my father who fought in the war between the states. Because of his exemplary courage, he was awarded this gun. Before Pa passed away, he gave it to me. That’d be two years ago next month.”
“What about your mother? And if you lie...”
“She lives in Dodge City, Kansas. I regret to say I haven’t visited her in about seven months. But I hope to see her after...” He stopped before saying, After I put Hackett behind bars. Or swinging from a rope. This woman would assume he was lying—trying to get into her good graces considering her obvious abhorrence of the man. Instead, Cole amended, “After I settle and start my horse ranch. I plan to send for my mother. Now that it’s only me and her.”
At least that was the whole truth. The woman’s shoulders relaxed a fraction.
“Like I told your son last night, m’name’s Cole. Ma called me that because...” He paused, confounded at his desire to confess. “Well, it is my family name. But when my little brother got shot...” He stopped yet again. Would the guilt continue to burn for the rest of his life? “Andrew was about your son’s age. I was fourteen. That’s when Ma stopped using my first name. I think it hurt too much to call only one son to dinner. So that’s when I became just plain ol’ Cole.”
Her mouth quivered ever so slightly. The rifle in her hands lowered an inch. “How’d your brother get shot?”
Surprised at the question, he took a moment to answer. “We were playing behind the mercantile when we heard a ruckus. Andrew ran out of the alley to find out what was going on. A man was robbing the store, saw my brother out of the corner of his eye and fired.” The painful memory stuck in his throat. “He died in my arms.”
He relived the memory of sand soaking up his little brother’s blood. The sickening smell of copper. The whole street, a river of red, still drowned Cole in nightmares.
That was the day he decided to become a lawman. He’d never looked back.
Until today, he had withheld the details from everyone. How had this woman so easily lulled him into sharing?
Mind apparently made up, she returned the gun to its spot by the door. She licked dry lips and spoke in a stilted voice. “My name is Lenora Pritchard.” She lifted her chin. “As you’ve probably guessed, I don’t have a husband. He died last year. Buried out back. Along with two of our babies that...” She tilted her head in the direction behind the house.
Cole clamped his jaw shut when he realized it hung open.
Lenora Pritchard?
It couldn’t be...
Before he could stop himself, he asked, “Amos Pritchard was your husband?”
Her gaze snapped to his. “What if it was? What do you know about him?”
He slowly sank into a chair. “I heard tell of an Amos Pritchard in Cheyenne. At the Inter-Ocean Hotel. Quite a gambler if memory serves.”
All true, although Cole only knew about him secondhand. Rumors abounded about the six-member gang—and Amos Pritchard was Hackett’s right-hand man. Their leader was a gambler, cheat, liar and womanizer among other things.
Amos’s widow had gone white. “He didn’t cheat you, did he?”
“What?” Cole momentarily forgot what he’d told her. “No, ma’am. I don’t gamble.”
She frowned, clearly uncertain about what to do with his tale. Though Cole disliked hiding the truth, he decided to keep his US marshal status secret. For now. Perhaps remaining undercover while he ferretted out the secrets of the Hackett gang was the best plan.
If so, he might to live to tell the tale.
Two other lawmen had come to Wyoming Territory on the same mission. Neither had been heard from again. Cole had no intention of disappearing like them.
But Lenora...
He stared up at her. How had a lady like her gotten hooked up with a spineless flash in the pan like Amos Pritchard?
Before Cole got stupid and said too much, he rose, the heavy chair screeching on the smooth wooden floor. “If you’ll excuse me.” He brushed by her.
“Mr. Cole.”
He turned.
His revolver rested in her open hand. Their eyes met. Obviously, she not only believed him, but trusted him enough to return his gun. Acknowledging her courage with a nod, he slid the weapon back into its holster.
“Much obliged.” He grabbed his coat and hat before heading outside.
Of all God’s green earth, how had Cole ended up in the camp of the very men he sought to bring to justice?
God had led him there. Had God also caused him to run across Blister in the middle of nowhere? And made his horse go lame? Cole wrestled with the uncomfortable possibility that God superintended his life.
The woodpile rested between the house and shed. Despite the nip in the April air, he peeled off his vest, and tossed hat and coat aside. After rolling up his sleeves, he grabbed the ax’s handle.
So Amos Pritchard was dead—that fact unknown until today. From where Cole stood, he could see a tombstone rising from the spindly, brown grass behind the house. Two smaller markers rested nearby. What did Jeb Hackett want with his friend’s widow? Did he seriously propose marriage? He didn’t seem the marrying type. Lenora was a beautiful woman, to be sure, but she made it clear she wanted nothing to do with the likes of him.
After positioning a good-sized log on the chopping stump, Cole swung down and split it clean in two. He pulled his gloves from his waistband before chopping the wood into smaller pieces. No sense blistering up his hands.
What if God had led him there? If so, why not stay put on the ranch? Because of that morning’s exchange, Hackett would believe Cole was looking for a place to settle—the perfect cover while he conducted his investigation into the gang. He had six months to put together his case before reporting in.
While at Lenora’s ranch, he could pump her for information. If she proved reticent, Toby promised a wealth of knowledge—as long as Cole handled the youngster with care. The boy and his mother were tight. Which was good. Real good.
Cole split another log and a third, his muscles warming to the task. After being in the saddle for so many days, the activity felt great.
With Lenora and Toby alone on the ranch, they likely had an unending list of chores. After helping them with some critical tasks, Cole would move on. Ten days should be more than enough time to discharge his debt and gather the information he needed.
Not for one moment would he rest until he proved Jeb Hackett had robbed that Cheyenne bank five months ago.
Chapter Four
Later that afternoon, Lenora grabbed her sunbonnet and went to see what could be done about the chicken coop. The raised building still leaned at a crazy angle with only the attached framed wire fencing keeping it upright. Had the wind really blown it over? Amos had always promised to shore up the base but had never gotten around to it. Perhaps the flimsy wood had finally given way. The contorted fencing left gaps that would allow in predators.
But how to make it usable again? First things first—she needed to push the small coop upright. Then she could determine what else needed to be fixed.
“Toby?” Where had that son of hers got to? Earlier she’d heard him chatting with Cole while he chopped wood.
She shoved one corner of the building. It moved a little. She pushed harder, but it wouldn’t budge any farther. Lenora yanked open the wobbly door and went inside the fenced enclosure.
The reason she couldn’t right the building became obvious in a moment. One of the foundational posts was cracked. In the soft dirt under the coop, the partial outline of a boot print showed.
Lenora sucked in a breath.
The memory of the lurking form rushed at her. No doubt a cowboy boot made this print. And it had to have been before the torrent. Did Cole damage the coop?
Her breathing slowed as she wrestled with herself. What about that morning? The stories about his father, mother and brother? He looked like a gunfighter with the way he toted a gun on his hip, not a rancher.
“Was he lying?” She tightened the chin strap of her bonnet.
Their conversation after breakfast came back to her. Cole had referred to Jeb by his last name. She distinctly remembered calling the outlaw by his first. How had Cole known?
“You didn’t tell me about him.” Jeb’s words came back to her. Not because he didn’t know Cole, but because he hadn’t expected to see him? If so, they had put on a good act for her.
What did Cole want?
Pressing her hand to her forehead, she determined to keep him at a distance. Be polite, but uninvolved. Make sure he understood she tolerated his presence, but not welcomed it. As soon as he figured out she wasn’t an easy mark, he’d move on.
With that resolved, her gaze rested on the chicken coop. This had to be fixed, but how?
“Toby? Can you hear me?” she again called. Perhaps they could right it. Then she could secure the fencing and the coop would again be usable.
“Coming, Ma. Where are you?”
“By the coop.”
Her son soon joined her. Alone.
“We need to push this upright.”
Toby squinted at her in the bright sunlight. “Want me to get Cole to help?”
“No, we don’t need him.” Her sharp words cut the air.
Though he made a face, he said nothing more.
Together, they shoved against the building. It budged a little.
“Let’s rock it. Maybe that’ll do the trick.”
The two of them pushed rhythmically. Slowly they gained more ground. The fractured board suddenly gave way with a loud craack, and the building shuddered into an upright position.
Lenora stepped back. Even with one post broken, the coop appeared stable. “Let’s get some stakes to anchor the fencing.”
Toby looked at her as if she were crazy. However, he said, “Yes’m,” before heading to the shed. He soon returned with two hammers and an armful of stakes.
Thankfully Amos stored an abundance of tools and woodworking supplies.
She and Toby began the tedious task of pounding stakes into the ground. Soon perspiration trickled down her temples. Through her sunbonnet, the sun seared the back of her neck.
“Need some help?” Cole’s voice interrupted the thumping of the hammers on wood.
“No, thank you.” Lenora didn’t bother to look up as she spoke.
“But, Ma...” Toby piped up.
She shot her son a warning glance. “We are perfectly able to take care of this ourselves.” Rising, she faced Cole, aware of her heat-bruised cheeks and damp clothing. She spoke in a cool tone. “I appreciate your chopping wood. You’ve done more than enough.”
His eyes narrowed.
A trickle of sweat ran down her throat. When his glance strayed that way, she swiped it with the back of her hand. She forced her breathing to slow. And not be the first to break the silence.
“Suit yourself.” Cole turned on his heel.
“Ma,” Toby’s soft voice protested. “He ain’t—”
“Isn’t.” She whacked the stake with extra force. Before continuing, she glanced around to make certain Cole wasn’t nearby. “Tobias Joseph, we are not discussing Mr. Cole again. And I don’t want to hear you asking him for help. Do you understand?”
He took a long time to respond. Too long. “Yes’m.”
She caught her breath when he added, “But I’m still going to pray.”
For a moment, she gaped at Toby’s open defiance—the first time in his almost eleven years. He really was growing up fast.
Her eyes stung a little as she bent to her task. And it wasn’t just because of perspiration.
* * *
“I brought your supper, Cole.”
He looked up from his occupation to see Toby loitering by the barn door. Behind him hovered his faithful sidekick, Blister.
Was that how it was going to be? Though Cole had no idea what had come over Lenora earlier, he would oblige by staying out of her way. Her obvious dismissal—not only when he’d offered to help with the coop and now the glaring lack of a supper invitation—left him to conclude he was no longer wanted.
Had she rescinded that offer to stay as long as he liked?
“You want it?” Toby gripped the towel-covered tin pan.
For a moment, he nearly declined. But that would be stupid. “Much obliged.” He set aside the six-shooter he’d been cleaning. After Toby handed him the dish, he leaned against his saddle. “Want to join me?”
Now why had he said that? No doubt the boy’s supper awaited him at the house.
However, Toby’s face lit up. “Sure.” He sat nearby. A crooked grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “If we run out, I know where to get more.”
Cole found himself grinning, as well. “Good. I’m hungrier than a hibernating bear.” Chopping wood had fired his appetite. Or perhaps his temper because Lenora had been so cold?
Blister sat on his haunches nearby. Tongue lolling, he was already salivating for handouts.
Lenora had sent her son with a generous portion of beans. With the pan between them, they used the accompanying biscuits to scoop up the juices. Blister whimpered and pawed the air when Toby ignored him too long.
“Sorry, boy.” He broke off a morsel and dabbed it in the mix before feeding his dog. “But that’s it.”
He gulped down the offering, then panted for more.
“No, go lay down.” The boy frowned at his pet. “That’s all you’re getting.”
After one grumble, the dog slumped onto his belly. However, his eyes continued to follow the boy’s every move.
Cole grinned, glad that the dog was well loved. And trained.
Worry lines marking his forehead, Toby ate slowly. “Cole?” When he looked up, the boy continued. “You mad at Ma?”
His frankness took him aback. “Nope.”
The boy licked his lips before continuing. “You say something to make her mad?”
His and Lenora’s showdown in the morning flashed through his mind. That was done and settled, right? “Not that I know of.”
Toby scrubbed a fist across the top of his head, a habit when he seemed puzzled. “I don’t get why Ma is mad now.” Food forgotten, he stared at nothing.
“Maybe she’s just scared.” The words surprised Cole.
A long-forgotten memory of his parents arguing came back to him. It had been late, and Cole was supposed to be asleep. Was he nine? Ten? He had crept partway down the stairs and listened to his mother accuse his father of uprooting their family because he would never be satisfied with their location.
When Cole had later asked his father about it, that’s how he had answered—Ma was scared. Now as Cole looked back, he understood why. Pa’s kind of discontent unsettled a woman.
An inevitable and more recent recollection followed. The last time Cole had seen his mother, she had accused him of that very thing—restlessness. Only he wasn’t looking for the perfect place to settle like his pa, but of trying to right the world of all its problems when that was none of his business.
“What’s Ma scared of?” Toby’s green eyes met his steadily.
“Not rightly certain.” Finished with his food, Cole brushed off his hands. “Your pa’s gone now. Maybe she’s worried about how she will take care of you and the ranch. All by herself.”
“But I can help.”
“Yes, and you do. But she’s facing some adult-sized chores. I know your ma’s tough, but I think she’s scared about getting it all done.”
Half-eaten biscuit still in his hands, the boy seemed to ponder. “Do you reckon that’s why she cries?”
Cole scratched his chin.
“I heard her last night. She didn’t cry much though. Not like before.” Toby’s frown deepened. “When Pa was alive, she used to cry a lot. I reckon she was really scared, huh?”
At a loss how to answer, Cole said nothing. How much did Toby know about his father? No doubt how the boy felt about Hackett. From inside the barn, Cole had witnessed hostility in Toby’s stance and tone of voice. But why such animosity toward the outlaw? Especially if Amos Pritchard and Hackett were so close?
“Toby.” Lenora’s voice reached them inside the building.
He ran to the door. “Be there in a sec, Ma.” Toby shoved the rest of his food into his mouth while Cole gathered the towel and empty dish.
“Oh, let me get your pa’s gun too.” Earlier, he had taken time to show Toby the proper way to disassemble it for cleaning. However, the work on the chicken coop had interrupted them. “Give me a second, and you can take it up to the house.” He quickly put the pieces back together.
The boy took the gun. “Can I ask you something, Cole?”
He grinned. “Sure.” Toby was an endless well of questions.
“You believe in God, right?”
“Of course.”
The youngster took a deep breath, face twisted in thought—another habit Cole had begun to notice. “I prayed that God would send someone to help Ma.” He squinted up at Cole. “Do you think God sent you?”
Cole straightened with a jerk. Hadn’t he himself wondered about God moving mountains? Only that morning?
“Can anyone know for certain the way God works?” He answered slowly, reluctant to agree but not willing to deflate the boy’s faith.
Toby hung his head, but it wasn’t in defeat. “If it ain’t you, I guess I need to keep praying.” Without another word, he turned on his heel.
For many minutes, Cole remained rooted in one spot. A dislike—of being dismissed—grated on him. Especially since Toby had unwittingly done it. The meaning seemed clear—if Cole wasn’t the answer to the boy’s prayer, then someone else would be.
Dismissed.
Toby wasn’t the only one. Earlier, Lenora had done that very thing. And Cole had no doubts which way she leaned. She wanted him to clear out. The sooner, the better.
Because she was hiding something?
His gut told him no. Over his career, not many fooled him. He saw no deceit in Lenora Pritchard’s deep brown eyes and clear forehead. How had she remained untainted by her outlaw husband? She was a delicate rose in a weed patch.
Maybe he should leave her in peace. She had enough to worry about. He didn’t need to add to it.
“Maybe she’s scared.” His own words pounded against him as dusk descended on the land. It didn’t take all his book learning to see that she had fallen behind with ranch work. Likely that would continue until she ended up clearing out. Then what would happen to her and Toby?
“It’s not my business.” The argument rose and escaped his lips as he stretched himself on his bedroll. But even as he spoke, the callousness grated on his soul. She was a woman in need. And he couldn’t call himself a man if he tucked his tail and slunk off just because she was slightly hostile.
Very well, he’d stay. Whether Lenora liked it or not. The only way she would force him to leave was if she stuck the rifle’s barrel in his chest and demanded he get off her land.
Chapter Five
Why was Cole still there? Lenora leaned forward to peer out the window as the sun peaked in the afternoon sky. With the barn door open, he leaned a hand on the doorjamb chatting with her son. Hadn’t she made it clear that she did not want him around?
She had purposed to not invite him for breakfast—and hadn’t allowed Toby to either. However, she later saw Cole down by the corral, fixing a wobbly fence post. When he replaced the broken post on the chicken coop, she waffled between being annoyed and grateful.
Why hadn’t the man gotten the message?
Clearly ecstatic, Toby bubbled with enthusiasm as he explained how Cole had replaced the board without disturbing the chickens. That morning, the hens had laid two extra eggs, proof that their visitor had sweet-talked them.
Lenora tended to believe it had more to do with all the extra bugs they’d eaten when they’d run around the yard. And reveling in their temporary freedom.
Guilt had finally caused her to invite Cole for their noon meal with Toby the happy message bearer. Throughout dinner, she listened while they chatted about fishing. Her son promised to show Cole the best spot in the nearby stream.
After the meal and his solemn thanks, she sighed in relief. Maybe he would leave right after? Nope. She heard him chopping more wood. No doubt Toby kept him company.
Why wouldn’t Cole go?
Later that afternoon as Lenora checked on her pie in the oven, she half listened to the staccato of feet, running across the yard. Toby called her name, sounding out of breath.
“Ma!”
Catching the note of panic in his voice, she straightened.
In another moment, his boots pounded up the porch stairs. He burst into the house.
One look at his face told her he was scared.
“What is it?”
“You gotta...” He paused, gulping air. “Something’s wrong with Porky. You gotta come quick.”
Their pregnant heifer?
After Porky’s mother had died giving birth, Toby had adopted the skinny calf and hand raised her. Lenora couldn’t remember exactly why he named her Porky, except he likely misunderstood Amos’s explanation about the orphan. Had their son thought they were discussing a piglet? Somehow the name had stuck, a family joke. Now Porky was pregnant with her first calf.
Without waiting, Toby spun on his heel and disappeared out the door.
Lenora pulled the unfinished pie from the oven and moved pots from the stovetop. With her son already several yards ahead of her, she lifted her skirts and ran.
Behind the barn, a splotch of black and white huddled in the middle of the pasture. Why was Porky lying down? Had Amos erred by breeding her last fall to their great big beast of a bull? She was not yet due.
When Lenora reached her, one look proved something was seriously wrong. Head extended, the heifer strained as though to push out her baby. One of its hooves briefly made an appearance before sliding out of sight. It was obvious she’d been trying to calve for hours. Most alarming was the sunken look in her eyes. She appeared exhausted.
We can’t let her die. Toby’s heart would break.
“Let’s get her up.” Lenora grabbed the rope halter, one Toby had braided.
While she tugged, her son pushed on Porky’s rump and yelled. Nothing. After several halfhearted tries, she slumped back into the soft grass. Again, she strained to push out her calf. Again, her ribcage heaved as she failed.