Spinster by Choice?

In a world of marriage-minded females, Meri McIsaac is steadfastly single. She’s happiest riding on her father’s ranch. At least until the town’s new marshal startles her and causes her to fall—literally—at his feet. Then he has the gall to implicate her ranch in a bank holdup, turning her entire life upside down.

This is the woman the local matchmaker thought he should meet? Meri is stubborn and headstrong as a mule. Yet he recognizes her courage and loyalty, too, and the grief she carries over her mother’s passing. And if he can protect her from a criminal desperate to cover his tracks, he’ll prove that risking her heart could be the greatest adventure yet.

“You chased them! After they shot at you? Have you lost what little sense you may ever have had?”

The marshal’s glare sizzled as he growled in her face.

Meri blinked. When had he gotten so close? And how was it possible for him to be so close when they were both still on horseback? She fought the impulse to move her horse away from the growling marshal and instead leaned toward him. “Yes, I chased them!”

He copied her movement, leaning in until she felt his breath on her face. He held her eyes for several breaths without blinking. In a low dangerous tone, he asked gently, “Why?”

Meri barely heard him over the pulse thudding in her ears. “Because...”

Why had she chased them? At the moment she couldn’t remember. His nearness was making it nearly impossible to think. “Because they made me mad?” she finished lamely, feeling as foolish as she no doubt sounded.

He blinked, and warmer hazel softened the steely gray. Settling back in his saddle, he shook his head. “Remind me never to make you mad.”

CLARI DEES

An avid reader by age seven, Clari Dees loved to hang out at the public library, and the local bookstore staff knew her by name. Her favorite books included Marguerite Henry’s horse stories, Louis L’Amour’s Westerns and Grace Livingston Hill’s romances. Her fascination with books and libraries continues, and Clari now works as a public librarian by day and a writer by night. When she’s not locating books for an overdue term paper or tracing down a missing genealogy link for patrons at the library, she can be found at her computer plotting the lives and fortunes of hapless fictional characters.

A preacher’s kid from a large family, Clari has been in forty-one states and two countries on mission and singing trips. She still travels with one sister to singing engagements, but firmly believes there is no place like home, which happens to be the beautiful state of Missouri. She loves to spend time with her family and the horses, dogs, goldfish, cat, rabbit and bearded dragon that inhabit their country place. You can visit Clari on her blog, cdeesbookshelf.blogspot.com, or drop her an email at cdeesbooks@gmail.com.

The Marshal Meets His Match

Clari Dees

www.millsandboon.co.uk

He healeth the broken in heart,

and bindeth up their wounds.

—Psalms 147:3

Weeping may endure for a night,

but joy cometh in the morning.

—Psalms 30:5

To my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ,

who gave me the desire of my heart.

To my mother, who taught me to read.

To my father, who taught me to love God’s Word.

To my brothers and sisters, who believed

I could write and encouraged me along the way.

I Love You So Much!

Contents

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

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

Little Creek, Colorado

Spring 1883

Meri McIsaac stepped through the doors of Van Deusen’s Dry Goods and Mercantile into the enveloping aromas of dried spices, leather goods and pickle barrels and straight into the even more enveloping arms of Mrs. Van Deusen.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you. It’s been an age since you’ve been in town.” The diminutive, white-haired proprietress ambushed Meri with an exuberant hug. “Are you going to be at the church picnic a week from Saturday?”

Meri shrugged. She’d forgotten about the annual church picnic that heralded the end of a long winter and the welcome arrival of spring. “I don’t know, yet. The weather’s been so wild lately...”

“Oh, the roads are drying up nicely now, and you just have to be there. The new marshal has arrived, and you have to meet him. I’ve told him all about you. And if you don’t like him, there are a several other new single men who’ll be at the picnic, as well. You can look them all over and see which one strikes your fancy. You’re not getting any younger, my dear, and it is high time you found someone to marry. Your dear mother wouldn’t want you grieving for her any longer. She’d say it’s time you got on with your life. You don’t want to spend your entire life as an old maid, so be sure to come to the picnic where you can meet all the new bachelors at once.” The woman’s head nodded sharply to emphasize her point as she finally took a breath.

Meri struggled to hide her annoyance at the well-meaning assault, but the old maid comment flicked a raw spot, sparking her temper. Ducking her head and taking a deep breath, she pretended to study the list of needed ranch supplies and hastily changed the subject before losing control of her tongue. She was already feeling guilty for snapping at her father on the ride into town. He’d innocently mentioned a lighthearted memory of her mother, but it had stung the still fresh wound of her loss, and she’d saddened him with a harsh reply. She didn’t need another biting retort on her conscience.

“I have a list of things we need at the ranch. Faither asked me to leave it with you. He’ll stop by after he finishes at the bank to load the order into the buggy. I’ve got another errand I need to run, so if I can leave it with you, I’ll be on my way.” Meri thrust the list into Mrs. Van Deusen’s outstretched hand.

“Of course, dear. Are there any special instructions?” The woman was already perusing the list.

“No. I think the list is pretty self-explanatory.” She hid a relieved sigh. As pushy and nosy as Mrs. Van Deusen could be, she was also easily distracted by a long list. She prided herself on filling orders to the exact detail and fretted if something was not in stock. If Meri could get away before the proprietress finished reading the paper, she would escape another round of unwanted advice about her unattached status.

Mr. Van Deusen walked out of the supply room and around the end of the long counter. “We’ll see to the order, Miss McIsaac. You feel free to go about your other errands. Naoma can catch up with you when you return.” His wink went unseen by his wife.

Meri managed a weak smile and a thank-you and escaped out the door. This was supposed to be a fun trip to town to get away from the ranch for a little while after a long, hard winter, but she was out of sorts and already regretting the trip. She’d forgotten Mrs. Van Deusen’s escalating matchmaking efforts and the terms old maid and spinster beginning to be linked to her name. Being twenty-nine years old and unmarried—by choice, mind you—did not make one an old maid!

Feeling her temperature rise as she dwelt on the subject, Meri ducked down the alleyway between the mercantile and the clock maker, taking the back way to the livery stables. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with any more nosy, opinionated females at the moment, or she’d have a new title to add to the irksome ones of old maid and spinster. Something along the lines of the cranky and snippy old maid.

Meri walked past the line of businesses and outbuildings that made up the north side of First Street and reached the pastures belonging to Franks’s Livery Stable and Smithy.

Franks, a former slave freed during the War Between the States, had worked his way west during the turbulent years following the war, eventually settling in Little Creek. No one knew for sure how old he was, but he seemed ageless to Meri with his unlined chocolate skin, sharp black eyes, closely cropped black hair with a few touches of gray and an upright frame rendered massive by years of working with horses and blacksmith’s tools. He could be intimidating to those who didn’t know him, but a gentler, kinder man didn’t exist outside of Meri’s father, in her opinion, and Franks had become a close friend. He never failed to calm her down when she was riled, cheer her up when she was sad or just be available with a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on and words of wisdom when she was ready to listen.

It had been weeks since she’d had an opportunity to chat with him due to the stormy weather of late winter. Her father had remarked that any other female would want to visit their “women friends” after being cooped up at the ranch for weeks, but Meri preferred Franks’s company to anyone else in town.

Franks ran the livery stable and had also acquired enough land to allow him to breed horses on a small scale. No one knew horses like Franks, and Meri loved to discuss every aspect of them and their breeding with him, which would have scandalized the finer sensibilities of the prim-and-proper matrons of town if they could overhear.

She reached the corner of the closest pasture and slipped through the fence boards. Franks’s pastures ran almost the entire length of the town, with the livery located at the northeast end. A walk through the pasture to the livery would be just the thing to soothe her irritation.

She hadn’t covered much ground before she attracted the attention of Franks’s horses. They trotted over, curious about the newcomer to their pasture. “Hello, fellas. I don’t have any treats, but how ’bout some scratches?” Warm, eager bodies surrounded her, and she was kept busy for several minutes giving hearty scratches behind ears and across shoulders, backs and bellies. As the horses shifted and stretched to allow access to itchy places, Meri felt the tension begin to drain from her own body.

“Hey, Abe.” She scratched a tall, rawboned black gelding. “Who’s the new guy?”

A large muscular bay with a white star peeking through a long black forelock was eyeing her coolly from the edge of the herd.

“Aren’t you a handsome fella?” she cooed, slowly advancing toward him. The tall horse, probably over sixteen hands high, snorted and stepped cautiously away from her. Meri mirrored his actions and backed off to take away the pressure she’d inadvertently put on him. “A little shy, are you? Okay, I’ll leave you alone, but we’ll be friends soon just like these other fellas. Come here, Abe. Why don’t we take a ride to the barn?”

Abe, hovering just behind her shoulder in hopes of another scratch, stepped in front of Meri and dropped his nose to the ground in silent invitation. With a little jump, she landed on her stomach across his lowered neck. Raising his head calmly, he lifted Meri off her feet. Using Abe’s movement, she slid down his neck toward his withers, twisting her body and swinging one riding-skirt-clad leg up and over his back to slide into riding position.

Meri rubbed his neck. “You’re such a smart boy.”

Settling herself and flipping her black, flat-brimmed hat off her head to hang down her back by its rawhide strap, she grabbed a hunk of mane and turned the sensitive horse in the direction of the barn using the lightest pressure from one calf muscle. “Let’s go find a treat.”

Abe sprang into a smooth lope that defied his rather gangly appearance, and Meri relished the feel of his muscles rippling under her and the wind across her face. This was much better than the rough buckboard ride into town and more soothing to her frayed emotions than visiting with “women friends.”

Franks’s land was divided into multiple pastures, and a fence was quickly coming closer. A gate provided access to the next pasture, but instead of slowing and heading toward it, Meri leaned over Abe’s neck urging him into a gallop. Nearing the fence, the horse bunched his muscles and jumped, leaping up and over as if on wings, clearing the obstacle with plenty of room to spare and eliciting a delighted whoop from Meri.

Smoothly landing on the other side, she allowed Abe to gallop several more strides before sitting back and tugging on his mane to slow him to the smooth, rocking lope for the remainder of the ride. All too soon they reached the barn gate, and Abe halted, turning sideways to allow Meri to reach the latch. Meri patted Abe on the neck and leaned down to unfasten the gate.

“Hold it right there!”

Meri flinched hard at the unexpected voice, startling Abe and sending him sidestepping away from the gate. Her hand had tightened around the latch in surprise, and she was unceremoniously dumped on the ground when Abe moved, smacking her head against the gate as she fell. Shocked by the unfamiliar occurrence of falling—she hadn’t come off a horse in years—Meri struggled to get her bearings and sit up, massaging the ache in her scalp. Pushing loosened strands of hair away from her face, she snapped, “What is your problem, scaring us like that?”

“I make it a point to scare rustlers.”

“Rustlers? Where?” Meri scrambled to her feet, and the world spun wildly. Grabbing for the gatepost to steady herself, she closed her eyes against the dizziness blurring her vision and pulsing in her ears.

“I’m lookin’ at her,” replied the now-muffled voice.

“You’re not making a lick of sense.” Meri tried to shake off the vertigo. Moments before, she’d been flying across the pasture on Abe’s back, and now she was crawling off the ground, attempting to make sense of a confusing, disembodied voice.

“I mean—” the voice slowed as if addressing a simpleton “—when you steal a horse, you deserve to be scared off of that horse.”

Her whirling vision finally began to clear. Meri looked up and up again before she located the source of the voice. A tall man, boot propped on the bottom rail of the gate and arms folded along the top, stood looking down at her. He wore a tan cowboy hat that cast a deep shadow over the upper half of his face, but the lightly tanned skin around his mouth was creased in a small smirk.

“I am not stealing a horse.” Meri blinked away the last vestiges of dizziness.

“That’s not how it looked from here,” he replied. “I watched you sneak through a fence, snatch a horse and try to ride it out of the pasture without renting it at the livery first.”

“I was riding it toward the barn. If I were stealing it, why didn’t I just jump the far fence and ride away from town?” Meri flung her hand to gesture toward the bottom end of the pasture.

“I can’t begin to try to explain the workings of the criminal mind, ma’am,” he said politely.

“C-criminal mind?” she sputtered. “I’m not a criminal, and I wasn’t stealing that horse!” She reached for the latch and pushed on the gate. Neither it nor the man budged.

“Let me out!” Meri gritted, shoving against the gate once more. She’d controlled her tongue with Mrs. Van Deusen, but she was quickly losing any desire to do so with this infuriating stranger.

“Sorry. I’m not in the habit of releasing horse thieves, especially ones who don’t have any manners.” A tinge of laughter denied the validity of the apology, and a dimple winked in his left cheek.

Meri had had enough of this ridiculous conversation and turned. Abe stood behind her, head cocked, looking a little perplexed at all the commotion, but awaiting further directions. She placed her hand under his chin, gently urging him forward until he stepped up to the gate.

“Abe, open the gate.” She held the latch open and pointedly ignored the stranger as she added sweetly, “Please.”

The horse pushed his chest into the gate, forcing the tall man to hurriedly step out of its arching path. As the gate swung wide, Abe calmly stepped through and to one side to allow Meri to close and latch the gate behind him. Remounting in the same manner as before, she looked down at the shadowed, grinning face watching her. With tart civility she uttered two words. “Good day!”

At the touch of her legs Abe loped toward the barn and his stall. Meri ignored the chuckles coming from behind them and welcomed the protective shelter of the barn.

* * *

Wyatt Cameron watched the fiery female disappear into the shadows of the barn. She had caught his attention when she’d crawled through the fence, and as Franks had been helping another customer at the time, Wyatt had stepped outside for a closer look. The horses had blocked his view of her, however, until she’d appeared as if by magic atop the black gelding and come flying toward him.

Where had she learned to ride like that? She rode with all the skill and effortlessness of an Apache warrior. He’d commanded cavalry soldiers who hadn’t ridden half so well. Wyatt leaned against the fence replaying her jump. She was clearly a capable rider, but that jump had been foolhardy. The ground in the pasture was still muddy enough that the horse could have slipped and fallen on either the takeoff or landing. At least the soft ground would have cushioned her fall. He grinned as he remembered her rubbing her head. Or maybe not.

He hadn’t intended to frighten her off the horse, he’d only aimed to tease her a bit, but she’d come up fighting, again like an Apache. Reminded him a bit of his sister when he’d pushed her too far as a kid. Either that or a wet cat. Not that she resembled anything close to an Apache warrior or a wet cat. She was attractive, though not in the same overdressed style as the women he’d met around town so far. There was a fresh, carefree prettiness about her with her honey-brown hair twisted back in a windblown braid and her cheeks flushed with exercise.

Who was she? He’d not seen her before. And he’d seen every female in Little Creek. Or maybe it only felt that way because he was the newest single man in town. He certainly hadn’t lacked for dinner invitations since arriving.

He was at the barn door before he realized his feet had followed her. He paused as Franks’s voice rumbled in response to something the woman had said. His job as Little Creek’s new marshal did not include following the first attractive woman that caught his attention. His feet stepped closer to the door. As marshal, however, it was his job to follow up on suspicious activity. He would just verify that Franks knew who she was before he left. If the horses knew who she was, then surely Franks knows her.

He ignored the logical thought, as the voices inside the barn grew more distinct.

“You is gonna spoil that hoss, missy!”

“Don’t try to fool me, Franks. I know Abe is your favorite. I can’t spoil him any more than you’ve already done.”

The woman was gently running a brush over the black horse as Wyatt slid into the shadows inside the barn door. Was this the same woman who’d tried to snap his head off outside? Her prickles had disappeared, and there was a smile in her voice.

Franks chuckled. “Abe don’ agree with you none. He dun say he is de mos’ abused hoss on de place.”

Their banter sounded like an oft-repeated ritual. Now that he knew she had told the truth, he could leave. But his feet continued to have a mind of their own and stayed put.

“You’re both telling tall tales. Speaking of tall tales, some saddle tramp just made Abe dump me at the gate and accused me of being a horse thief. Have you seen any drifters hanging around? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before, but the way my head was spinning from bumping that gate, I could be wrong.”

Franks sounded choked when he spoke. “Real tall fella?”

Wyatt had to swallow a chuckle of his own.

“Yes...” She straightened slowly, watching Franks as she exited the stall. “Do you know who he is?”

“He’s helpin’ out ’roun’ here for a while,” Franks hedged, avoiding her eyes and looking straight into Wyatt’s.

Wyatt laid a warning finger over his lips and moved on cat’s feet to stand behind her. He’d learned a thing or two about dealing with Apaches in his years as a cavalry soldier.

“Franks, do you know anything about this man? What if he’s an outlaw on the run or something?”

Franks’s dark eyes snapped. “Now, missy, I’se seen a lot of things in my time, and I knows how to read a man. I likes what I sees in this un. Just cuz you is upset over comin’ off old Abe don’ mean you can go accusin’ people a bein’ outlaws. Yo mama dun raise you better’n that!”

Wyatt decided it was time to announce his presence before she accused him of any more crimes. “Hear, hear.” The violence of her startled jump almost made up for her attack on his character.

She spun around, grabbing her head as she blinked rapidly. When she looked up at him, surprise widened her brown eyes, and she backed away. “Sneaking around, scaring a person out of their wits, doesn’t speak too highly of your character, Mr....”

The prickles were back in full force. But he hadn’t become a captain in the U.S. Army Cavalry because it was easy. He could handle prickles. “Wyatt Cameron, Marshal of Little Creek, at your service.” He doffed his hat and dipped his head in a small nod.

She stared then blinked like a sleepy owl. “The marshal?” Her eyes narrowed. “Where’s your badge?”

He pointed to the vest he’d discarded earlier when he’d gotten warm in the barn. It lay over the edge of a stall, a five-pointed star glinting dully in the shadowy structure. “And might I add, you don’t seem too witless to me, ma’am.” He had a few prickles of his own. He also had years of military strategy and Apache fighting up his sleeve. Keeping the enemy on the run prevented them from launching a successful attack, even if the enemy was only a single diminutive female. Because a female on the run couldn’t chase him.

“Witless? What...? What are you talking about?”

“You said I scared you out of your wits, but I think you’re just mannerless not witless.”

“Mannerless...?”

If the confusion on her face was any indication, his military strategy was working. But never before had he had the desire to laugh when trading fire with hostile natives. “When a gentleman introduces himself, a lady is expected to reciprocate the gesture.”

* * *

There it was again! The tone that made it sound as if he was talking to a simpleton!

Meri straightened to her full height, glaring at the man towering over her. She wasn’t short at five foot seven, but this man, his shoulders nearly as broad as Franks’s and standing several inches taller, made her feel unusually small. Now that he’d removed his hat, she could finally see his features.

She sized up the irritating stranger. Thick wavy brown hair glinted with cinnamon highlights and framed a nicely put together face. Smiling hazel eyes were set under arched brows of the same brown hue as his hair. Sun-bronzed skin stretched over high, sculptured cheekbones and directed her eyes to a nose that looked to have been broken once. Firm lips tucked up at one corner in a lopsided grin set off a very determined chin.

Glancing down, she noted a red neckerchief, faded blue shirt belted into dusty brown canvas duck-cloth trousers and well-broken-in boots. All of which clothed a broad shouldered, lean muscled form. Hearing a chuckle, her eyes snapped upward to find a full-blown smile showcasing pearly white teeth. Feeling a blush burning its way up her cheeks, she frantically tried to recall what had been said. Now was not the time to be distracted by a handsome face.

“I said, when a gentleman introduces himself, a lady is supposed to reciprocate.” The dimple winked at her again, highlighting his smirk.

Meri was growing tired of that smirk. “Well, there’s your problem—you’re not a gentleman!” Spinning around, she faced Franks who hastily straightened grinning features. “I thought you said he was ‘helpin’ out’ around here?”

Franks hearty laugh boomed out. “He’s helpin’ out cuz his horse is here, but he is de new marshal shore ’nuff.”

The marshal stepped into her field of vision. “And don’t let me catch you trying out that stunt you pulled with Abe on my horse, or I really will run you in for horse theft. That is, after I get done pickin’ you up off the ground when he tosses you on your head.”

Her back stiffened at the insult. “I’ve never met a horse that could toss me on my head!”

He cocked his head, frowning slightly as if searching his memory. “I seem to recall you being tossed not more than a few minutes ago and by a horse, too, if my memory serves me correctly.” A twinkle lit the hazel eyes, and Franks chuckled.

“Abe didn’t toss me! You startled us!” Meri fought the urge to stamp her foot. She had no idea why they thought this was so funny. Gritting her teeth, she looked at Franks and scraped together the ragged remnants of her dignity. “Thank you for the use of Abe. I can see you’re busy, so I’ll run along.”

“No need to go runnin’ off in such a all-fired hurry. I was hopin’ to sit an’ chat a spell.” Franks’s eyes glinted with suppressed laughter as he glanced between Meri and the new marshal.

“I’m supposed to meet Faither at the mercantile. He’s probably waiting on me.” Meri planted a quick kiss on Franks’s cheek and beat a hasty retreat down the aisle to the livery entrance.

“Bye, Miss Meri,” said Franks.

“Good day, Miss Meri,” echoed the marshal.

Meri froze momentarily before turning slowly. “A gentleman does not call a lady by her first name unless given express permission. The name is Miss McIsaac to you!”

Wyatt grinned. “See, that wasn’t so hard was it?”

Meri huffed disgustedly and dropped the haughty tone. “What wasn’t so hard?”

“Acting like a lady and introducing yourself.”

The man was as annoying as a splinter in a wool sock. “Don’t you have work to do, Marshal? Or is harassing people your only job?”

Hooking his thumbs behind his belt, he rocked back on his heels. “I’ve already apprehended a dangerous horse thief this mornin’. All in all I’d say not a bad day’s work, Miss McIsaac.”

Meri shot a quick glance at Franks. “I said you didn’t know enough about him. When the town council learns how delusional he is, they’ll fire him on the spot. He’ll have so much time on his hands you can put him to work mucking out all the stalls. He should be good at it, judging by what he’s shoveled out since I arrived!”

Taking advantage of the instantaneous silence, she spun on her heel and marched out of the barn, biting back a victorious smirk of her own. Finally! The last word!

But as she cleared the doorway, she heard Franks speak. “Hoo whee, Marshal, you dun riled her up sumpin’ fierce! Her mamma would’a warshed her mouth out with soap for dat!”

Color flew high in her cheeks as she continued her march away from the livery stable, followed by the irritating sound of the marshal’s laugh. Franks was right. Her mother wouldn’t have been happy about the last comment she’d let fly. Catriona McIsaac had always admonished that just because ranch life could be crude and dirty, one’s speech didn’t have to be crude and dirty. Meri let out a deep breath as her shoulders slumped. She should not have lost her temper, but—honestly! The man had called her a horse thief! Between that, her lately volatile emotions and...and those unnerving eyes, it had been like waving a red flag at a bull, and she’d attacked.

Something Mrs. Van Deusen had said earlier flitted across her memory, stopping Meri in her tracks.

“...the new marshal has arrived, and you have to meet him. I’ve told him all about you.”

No! Oh, no, no, no!

Mortified consternation swamped the last dregs of temper. She should have never left the ranch this morning. Faither had better be done with his business, because she wanted to slink out of this town as fast as possible. Mrs. Van Deusen could find some other unsuspecting female to throw at the new marshal. Meri wanted absolutely no part of him! Not that he’d want anything to do with her after this morning. It was going to be hard enough to come back in for church services, to say nothing of the picnic.

Dread slithered down her spine, and she groaned. Just the thought of sitting in the same church building with that man made her feel queasy enough maybe she’d just stay home from church for a while. She definitely wouldn’t have to feign not feeling well! And who needed a picnic, anyway? Staying away from town was sounding better all the time.

Crack!

The sound of a gunshot slammed into her ears. Meri’s heart stopped as the direction of the gunfire dawned on her.

She broke into a dead run.

Chapter Two

Wyatt examined the repaired holster before strapping it around his waist and holstering his pistol. “Looks good, Franks. I figured I’d have to replace the whole thing, but I can hardly see where you fixed it. Thanks.”

Crack! The gunshot interrupted Franks’s reply.

Wyatt pivoted toward the barn door, wishing for his rifle from his office.

“Wait! You might need dis.” Franks tossed a rifle to Wyatt, a second rifle in his other hand.

“Thanks.” Wyatt snatched the rifle out of the air and sprinted out of the barn, hearing Franks pound the ground behind him.

As they turned the corner onto the main street, Wyatt dodged the running figure of Miss McIsaac. Where did she think she was going?

“Stay back!” He barked as he passed her. He spared a split-second glance over his shoulder, pleased to see her slow down. Good. He didn’t know what was going on, but the fewer spectators he had to deal with the better.

A man jumped astride a horse to ride away from the bank, throwing hot lead around and forcing curious onlookers to scurry for cover. Wyatt threw up his rifle, slamming the butt of the gun into his shoulder. As he laid his finger against the trigger, someone ran between him and the mounted gunman. He jerked the barrel of the rifle up and held his fire. He had no clear shot, but the shooting horseman needed to be stopped before someone was killed.

Wyatt pulled his pistol and fired twice in the air, aiming far above innocent heads. The bullets came nowhere near the gunman, but he sank his spurs into the horse’s sides as he yanked violently on the reins and plunged down an alleyway.

The shooting stopped, and heads poked out of doorways like so many prairie dogs. “Anyone hurt?” Wyatt shouted as he ran toward the bank.

“No. But I think the bank’s been robbed.” An unidentified voice yelled back.

Wyatt slammed the bank doors open, Franks and several other men hot on his heels. No one was in the front room, but the door to the office stood open, and the banker was slumped on the floor just inside it. He moaned and tried to sit up as Wyatt entered. He gave the banker a quick glance then looked around the office.

“Franks, help him.” He pointed to the banker and moved to a second man lying motionless and bleeding on the floor beside the massive desk.

There was blood on the floor around the white-haired man’s head and more blood staining his side, but he was breathing. The wound on his side was bleeding freely, and Wyatt pulled off the red neckerchief he wore, wadding it up and pressing it against the wound to staunch the blood. “Somebody fetch the doctor!”

A commotion sounded at the office door. “Faither! No!”

The piercing cry pulled Wyatt’s eyes up. Miss McIsaac sank to her knees on the other side of the bleeding man, her face a mask of disbelieving horror.

“Is this your father?”

A silent nod was his only answer as her eyes frantically ran over her father’s form. Her hand gripped a tiny hideout pistol. Where had that come from? More important, what had she planned to do with it? Take on the bank robber herself? Probably. “If you’ll put that gun away, I need you to hold this while I check on the banker.”

Miss McIsaac looked at the pistol as if seeing it for the first time, blinked, then tucked it away in a pocket. She looked back at him, shock darkening her eyes.

Wyatt grabbed her unresisting hand and placed it over the bloody neckerchief. “Hold this down as tight as you can. It’ll slow the bleeding. The wound doesn’t look too bad, but he’s got a gash on the back of his head, as well. Looks like he hit it on the desk when he fell.”

Her face drained of color, and he heard her breath hitch in her throat. “You’re not going to faint on me, are you?” He deliberately forced a hint of scorn into the question.

It worked. The muscles along her jaw clenched as she took a deep breath, and when she spared a glance at him, some of the spark was back in her eyes if not in her voice. “I don’t faint.”

She might be foolhardy, but she was tough, too. He disliked leaving her with her wounded father, but he had a gunman to follow before he got any farther away. He pushed to his feet and took a last look at her lowered face as she focused determinedly on her hands. Her lips were moving soundlessly, but she was keeping steady pressure on the makeshift bandage.

“Doc’s comin’,” someone cried from the back of the crowd.

Relieved, Wyatt went to try to glean information from the banker.

* * *

Wyatt wondered if he smelled as rank as the men wearily riding alongside him. Then again maybe the odor came from himself alone and not his companions. Three days chasing an elusive quarry wasn’t conducive to rest, much less keeping clean, and he would dearly love a bath, food and sleep; not necessarily in that order. Unfortunately it might be a while before he was able to acquire any of them. The townsfolk were going to want to know the results of the three-day chase. Returning to town with nothing to show for the posse’s efforts but weary horses, weary bodies covered in trail dust and a glaring lack of a culprit and loot was not an auspicious beginning to his career as Little Creek’s marshal.

In the minutes following Mr. McIsaac’s removal to the doctor’s office while men had scrambled for horses, Wyatt had fired questions at the assembled crowd. The banker had been too shaken up to give any helpful information, and none of the onlookers could add anything to what Wyatt had seen himself as he was running toward the bank. Armed with this pitiful lack of information, but a veritable arsenal of assorted firearms, Wyatt and the hastily assembled posse rode out of town, hot on the trail of the bank bandit.

Following the tracks of the fleeing horse and rider until night had forced a halt, they’d made a cold, dark camp lest the bandit had circled around to take a few shots at them in the glow of a campfire. Canteens of water and strips of jerky had provided their meal before they’d taken turns standing guard or grabbing a few hours of sleep. As soon as the sky had begun to lighten, they’d continued their pursuit, but had lost the trail when it had merged with a sea of tracks left by a passing cattle herd being pushed toward the Denver stockyards.

Splitting up the posse, they’d spent the rest of the day cutting for sign on both sides of the cattle trail. They’d even caught up with the herd, but the drovers had denied seeing either hide or hair of anyone but themselves and the posse.

Another day of tedious searching for sign had ended in failure when a heavy rainstorm had rolled through leaving them wet, cold, tired and discouraged. Wyatt had hated to head back empty-handed and without any idea of the whereabouts of the bandit, but washed-out sign, dwindling supplies and a dispirited posse had left no other option.

Twilight descended as they rode into town, and Wyatt thanked the men for their participation before the posse broke apart, each man heading for his own home while Wyatt continued toward the livery. His horse deserved a good feed and some rest. It had been a hard ride for them both.

Franks met him at the front doors of the livery. “From de looks ob things, I specs you dun lost dat fella.”

“That about sums it up.” Wyatt wearily scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the rasp of three days’ growth of beard. “How’s everything here in town?”

Franks unsaddled, rubbed down and fed the weary horse as he talked. “Well, Mr. McIsaac’s still out cold, and Doc is shore ’nuff worried. Miss Meri ain’t left his side de whole time. De banker is okay, but he’s sayin’ he cain’t do nuttin’ ’bout the loss ob de money, and we’d better hope you foun’ it. Everythin’ else has been quiet like.”

Wyatt gave Franks a quick rundown of the fruitless search before adding, “I think I’ll check in at Doc’s office then try to find a meal and my bed, if no one needs me. Thanks for the use of that horse. He was a good fella. I appreciate you keepin’ one handy for me until Charger recovers from our trip up here.” Wyatt shook Franks’s hand, bid the man good-night and made his way to the doctor’s house.

A light was burning in the front window, and he tapped softly on the door. Dr. Kilburn opened it and, upon seeing who it was, quietly invited him in. “Did you catch him?”

“No. We lost his tracks,” Wyatt ruefully admitted. He had a feeling he was just beginning to hear this question. He changed the subject. “How’s McIsaac?”

Doc shook his head. “I wish I knew. I removed the bullet from his side, and it isn’t such a bad wound, barring infection. It’s the blow to his head that has me concerned. He hasn’t shown any sign of consciousness, and I’m worried there might be swelling inside his skull due to the severity of the blow he took when he fell. It’s become a waiting game, unfortunately.”

“May I see him?”

“You can peek in the door, but be quiet about it. Miss Meri had just dozed off when I checked on them a few minutes ago. She hasn’t slept much since it happened, and I’d like her to get some rest.”

Wyatt nodded, and Dr. Kilburn led him down a short hall and quietly opened a door. A lamp glowed softly, throwing its feeble beam on the two figures occupying the room.

Mr. McIsaac, his head swathed in white bandages, was lying motionless and silent on the small bed. His face looked unnaturally pale even in the dim light of the lamp’s lowered flame. Wyatt threw up a quick prayer for God’s healing and turned his gaze toward the room’s other occupant.

Miss McIsaac—he liked Franks’s “Miss Mary” better—the woman who’d hopped on a bareback, bridleless horse to go flying across the field, snagging his attention like no gussied up, eyelash-batting, flirting female had ever done. He’d found himself distracted and thinking about her at the oddest times while tracking with the posse, remembering her reaction when she’d fallen off the horse at his feet. He’d expected tears and pouting but she’d come up fighting, and he’d kept at it just to watch her spine stiffen, her chin come up and her brown eyes spark and sizzle.

Tonight, though, the fiery spirit and ramrod-straight spine were missing. The slender young woman drooped sideways in the large rocking chair, weary distress creasing her sleeping features. Her head leaned awkwardly against her shoulder and the back of the rocker in a way that was sure to leave a crick in her neck by morning. Someone had draped a blanket over her, but her slender hands gripped the arms of the rocker. Even in sleep there was a tension about the fragile-looking figure and an obvious lack of peace that made his heart ache.

Wyatt forced his gaze back to Mr. McIsaac. He was not in Little Creek to be distracted by a female. He was here to do a job and continue to squirrel money away toward his goal. He’d seen the stress the families of army soldiers and lawmen had undergone. Long ago he’d decided not to put someone he loved through that and to avoid female entanglements until he was no longer in a dangerous profession. When he found a place to settle down and pursue his dream of raising prime horseflesh, then he would think about a family. Until that happened, however, he was riding alone. And enjoying it.

A hand on Wyatt’s shoulder reminded him Doc was waiting. Stepping back, he allowed the man to softly pull the door closed and followed him to the front room.

“Now, young man, you go find yourself a meal and a bed. There’s nothing you can do here tonight, and I’d like to catch some sleep myself before anyone else decides they need me.”

Taking his advice, Wyatt bid the doctor good-night and left the house, praying as he walked through the dark, quiet town for God to heal Mr. McIsaac, to give Miss McIsaac strength and to help him bring the thief to justice. He reached his office and decided a meal and a bath could wait; sleep was more important. Retreating to the small rear room that held his few belongings, Wyatt wearily shed hat, boots and pistol holster. Placing his pistol and rifle within easy reach, he flopped across his bed and let out a gusty sigh. Like the doctor, he wanted rest before anyone else needed him. Dumping the questions and worry swirling through his mind at the feet of his Heavenly Father, he was sound asleep within minutes.

* * *

Please, God, don’t take him, too! Please don’t take him, too!

Time slowed, and the ticktock of the bank clock grew louder and slower until it was all Meri could hear as she desperately pressed the blood-soaked cloth against the bleeding wound and struggled to pray. She jerked when a second pair of hands covered hers, and she glanced up wildly.

“You can let go now.” Dr. Kilburn’s kind, bearded face peered into hers as he lifted her hands away. “I need to take a look.”

Meri sank onto her heels, clenching bloody hands together while he examined her father. After a cursory look at the wounds, he pulled a thick cloth from his bag, folded it into a square pad and pressed it over the gunshot wound. Looking up, he motioned to two men who hurried over with a litter, and Meri scrambled to get out of their way.

“Take him to my office. Tell my wife to prepare for surgery. I’ll be right behind you as soon as I examine the banker.” Turning to Meri he added, “You walk alongside and keep pressure on that pad to slow the bleeding.”

Unseen hands lifted Meri to her feet as she struggled to make her limbs obey her brain. Moving to her father’s side, she frantically tried to keep up with the litter bearers as blood spurted over her hands. The harder she pressed, the faster the blood poured.

“Stop. Please stop!” But there was no one around to hear. She was kneeling over her father in the middle of a deserted street.

“Please, God, don’t take him, too. I can’t lose him. Don’t take him, too!”

A rooster crowed as Meri searched for something else to staunch the bleeding. The rooster crowed again, and Meri jerked awake, a cold sweat covering her skin from the vivid dream. Aching from the rocking chair and the unaccustomed inactivity of the past few days, she slowly pushed herself to her feet and gingerly stretched protesting muscles and joints before straightening the nightgown and wrapper Mrs. Kilburn had loaned her. A tap on the door warned her, and she turned as Dr. Kilburn and his wife entered.

“Good morning, dear. I have breakfast almost ready. You have a few minutes to wash and freshen up if you like. I also washed and pressed your clothes for you. They’re hanging in the spare room.” Mrs. Kilburn smiled softly at Meri as she issued the invitation before hurrying back to her kitchen.

Meri delayed leaving the room, hovering over the doctor as he examined her father. “Still no change,” he muttered.

“Is there anything we can do?” Meri asked in frustration as she looked at the pale, quiet figure of her father.

“Yes. We can pray for God’s healing and wait for it to occur. Your father had a pretty big shock to his system, but so far he’s holding his own.” The doctor moved away from the bed and patted Meri’s shoulder reassuringly. “Go freshen up and get some food in you. I’ll leave the door open. We’ll be close enough to hear if he stirs.”

Meri allowed herself to be ushered from the room to the spare room across the hall. By the time she’d finished her morning ablutions, dressed in the neatly pressed skirt and blouse and headed for the kitchen, another voice had joined those of Dr. Kilburn and his wife.

Pastor James Willis was sitting at the table drinking coffee but stood when she entered the room. “I’m sorry for disturbing you so early, I wanted to check on Ian and see if there’s any way I can be of assistance.”

“Doc says all we can do now is pray and wait.” The words felt like shards of glass in her throat.

“They’ve been keeping me apprised of Ian’s condition—” he waved his hand toward Dr. and Mrs. Kilburn “—and the church family has been lifting him up in daily prayer, but what can we do to help you?” Pastor Willis gently asked.

“I don’t know...” Meri choked as the pressure of the past three days suddenly clawed its way up her throat and overwhelmed her. The need to get away before she screamed and made a complete fool of herself robbed her of any semblance of social skills.

“I’m sorry, I... Excuse me!” Meri rushed out the door of the kitchen into the backyard.

“What about your breakfast, dear?” Meri heard Mrs. Kilburn ask as she cleared the door.

“Let her go. Food’s the last thing on her mind right now.”

Dr. Kilburn’s voice faded as Meri left the yard, running blindly. She didn’t know where she was going; she just followed her feet as they carried her away from the place where her father lay unconscious.

Adrenaline had carried her through the past couple of days, but the uncertainty of her father’s health could not be ignored any longer. The doctor said wait and pray.

She’d been waiting.

She’d been praying.

Why wasn’t God listening? She’d prayed and waited and waited and prayed through her mother’s illness but lost her anyway. Now here she was again, in the same position with her father. She couldn’t go through this again. She couldn’t!

Fear and grief met with the fury of a mountain thunderstorm and raged in Meri’s chest. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her eyes and throat burned. She needed to get away from curious eyes. She needed to be on the range where she could run and scream. Where no one could hear and accuse the “old maid” of finally snapping.

Where could she go? For that matter, where was she?

Disoriented, Meri glanced around and realized she’d run from Pastor Willis, straight to the church building. Well, maybe praying at an altar would be more effective than the silent, incoherent pleas ricocheting around her brain the past three days.

Trying the handle of the spick-and-span little white building, she walked inside, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the dimmer light. The room that rang with preaching and singing on Sundays, and the schoolchildren’s recitations the rest of the week, was unnaturally quiet and dim. The sun had just started peeking over the horizon, not yet bright enough to illumine the interior.

Collapsing onto the nearest bench, her eyes fastened on the flag at the front of the room as her mind tried to find the words to pray. Gradually her ragged breathing began to quiet.

“Heavenly Faither...” The words echoed hollowly in the empty room. “I don’t know what to say that I haven’t already prayed. I don’t want to lose Faither. I’ve already lost Mither. Isn’t that enough for a while?” The anger in the question surprised Meri. She was scared and sad, not angry. Meri’s voice rose though she tried to temper her tone. “Please! You have to heal Faither!”

Unable to sit any longer with the emotions tumbling around inside her, Meri got up and paced the aisle of the little building. An open Bible lying on the edge of the desk at the corner of the platform caught her attention. It was a school day, and the teacher would soon be here to prepare for the children who would fill the benches when the bell rang. She needed to leave before she was caught yelling at God, but maybe she could find quick comfort in His word.

Grabbing the book, her eyes roamed the open pages for several seconds...

...searching... There.

Romans 8:25–28.

But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it.

Wait. There was that word again. She was tired of waiting. She wanted her father healed now.

Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered. And he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit, because he maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of the God.

Pastor Willis had preached one Sunday how Jesus Christ prayed to the Father on behalf of believers. He didn’t forget to pray like a person might, He always knew what and how to pray, and the Holy Spirit interpreted the muddled, incoherent prayers, which might be all a believer was capable of in times of trouble.

A hint of peace tiptoed through her heart. Someone was praying over her, and that thought brought the first comfort she’d felt in days. Her eyes continued down the page.

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God...

She didn’t know how any of the awful recent events could be good, but maybe she’d make it through them without running screaming down the main street of town.

Rereading the verses slowly, she hugged the reassurance of them to her heart before placing the Bible back on the desk. The weight on her shoulders wasn’t gone, but it was more bearable, and Meri felt she could face the day and the people in it.

Hunger pangs reminded Meri of missed breakfast, so she left the little church—her return to the doctor’s house much slower than her departure. Fear and worry still nibbled around the edges of her heart, but the verses she’d read seemed to be keeping the worst of it at bay.

A burst of embarrassment over her abrupt exit hit her as she slipped through the kitchen door.

“There you are. I’ve got your breakfast keeping warm on the back of the stove if you feel like eating.” Mrs. Kilburn looked up from the bread dough she was kneading.

“I am hungry, but I need to apologize for the way I ran out so rudely,” Meri said softly.

Wiping her hands off on a towel, Mrs. Kilburn walked over to where Meri was standing and wrapped her in a hug. “Oh, honey. You don’t owe me an apology. I’m not upset. You’ve been cooped up in this house for days and have a ton of worry pressing on you. Frankly, my husband and I were beginning to worry that you hadn’t let any of it out. I think that maybe you have this morning. You look like you feel better.” She pulled back and peered into Meri’s face.

“A little. Thank you for saving breakfast for me, and for taking the time to clean my clothes.” Meri swallowed past the lump in her throat as the warmth of Mrs. Kilburn’s hug sank into her heart.

“Enough of that. We keep this up, and we’ll both be crying while your food spoils.” Mrs. Kilburn dabbed her eyes with her apron and tugged Meri to a seat at the table before placing the plate of breakfast in front of her. “You eat while I tend to this bread, and then you can help me do the dishes. Busy hands help keep the mind off heartaches.”

Meri’s mouth watered as the aromas drifted up from the plate in front of her, and she bowed her head briefly. Digging into her meal, she listened to Mrs. Kilburn quietly hum the new tune “Blessed Assurance.”

Mrs. Kilburn was in her late forties with curly blond hair arranged in a thick bun, and soft eyes that seemed to look at the world with a calm assurance and acceptance Meri wished she could emulate. Meri had not spent much time around the woman outside of church gatherings, but she knew Mrs. Kilburn was familiar with heartache. She’d miscarried several times and knew the grief of loss and childlessness, so her words of compassion rang with authentic empathy.

Mrs. Kilburn assisted her husband with his patients, and Doc frequently said he wouldn’t be able to practice medicine without her. He bragged she was his right hand and the best nurse he’d ever worked with. Watching her over the past few days, Meri couldn’t help but agree.

Finished with her meal, Meri washed and dried the dishes while Mrs. Kilburn kneaded and shaped the dough into loaves and slid them into the oven. Meri could hear Dr. Kilburn’s office door open and the sound of boots getting closer.

“Come into the kitchen,” Dr. Kilburn was saying to someone. “We can grab a cup of coffee while you wait for Meri to return.”

Meri finished drying the dish in her hands as she glanced toward the door. Dr. Kilburn entered followed by the tall figure of Marshal Cameron. Meri stiffened her knees and spine, fighting an abnormal thudding in her heart that destroyed the measure of peace she’d found earlier.

“Ah, she’s back already. Meri, the marshal stopped by to speak with you. Both of you have a seat, and I’ll get us some coffee.” He stepped to the stove where the coffeepot simmered.

Meri set the dish down and wiped her perspiring hands on the towel, the marshal’s cool, searching eyes making her uncomfortable.

“If she can be spared for a few minutes, I need to speak to her in private.” He addressed Dr. Kilburn, but his hard gaze remained on Meri, watching, waiting. He motioned toward the back door. “If you’ll step outside into the garden, I have a few questions to ask you about the bank robbery.”

Chapter Three

Wyatt studied Miss McIsaac, and replayed the morning’s events in his mind. Questions concerning the holdup had driven him from his bed before dawn. After time spent praying and searching the Scriptures for wisdom, he set his Bible aside and pored over the wanted posters and notices filed in his desk. He had glanced through them as time permitted over the first days on the job, but early this morning, he’d studied each one carefully, looking for any descriptions that matched what he knew of the bank robber.

Sounds of an awakening town had finally caused him to push back from the desk, stretching as he stood. He needed more information about the holdup and the culprit; rushing to follow the trail of the thief hadn’t left time for a comprehensive investigation. Talking with witnesses again might provide additional information to tie to the wanted posters. Buckling his holster around his waist and settling his prized Stetson on his head, Wyatt blew out the lamp on his desk and walked out the door. He’d learned the café was a favorite morning spot for many of the single tradesmen in town, and Wyatt decided to combine two chores at once: breakfast and information gathering.

The food was tasty and plentiful, but Wyatt didn’t learn anything particularly useful, and he answered as many questions as he asked. Finishing his breakfast, he left the gathered diners speculating among themselves about the how and who of the robbery, and more importantly, when the marshal was going to find their missing savings.

His next stop was the bank, and though the doors were closed and locked with a sign that read Closed Until Further Notice, his knock brought Mr. Phineas Samuels to the door.

“I’d need to discuss the bank robbery if you have some time this morning.”

Mr. Samuels motioned him inside and closed the door before speaking. “I see you failed to catch the scoundrel who robbed my bank, Marshal.”

He ignored the accusation in the banker’s voice and followed the man across the front room holding the cashier’s desk to Mr. Samuels’s office. As they entered, Mr. Samuels waved Wyatt toward a chair before circling his desk and taking his own seat.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Samuels, but we lost the tracks in a passing cattle drive. That’s why I’d like to go over the events of that day again. I need all the information I can find. Maybe I can match him to accounts of other holdups and alert surrounding marshals to keep an eye out for anyone matching his description. Would you start at the beginning and tell me everything you can remember, please?” Wyatt perched his hat on his knee and pulled a small notebook and pencil from his shirt pocket.

“I don’t see how that’s going to help you now. Seems to me you’re shutting the barn door after the cow has escaped.” Mr. Samuels rocked back in his chair, folding his soft pudgy hands over his brocaded paisley vest.

“Humor me, if you would.”

The man’s tone was irksome, but Wyatt kept his demeanor passive. The balding, wire-rimmed-spectacle-wearing banker perched behind his massive desk like a king on his throne, and Wyatt felt sympathy for anyone who’d ever had to ask this banker for a loan.

Mr. Samuels grudgingly began to recite the events of the day of the bank robbery. “Mr. McIsaac and I were finishing up our business here in my office when a man walked in, pulled a gun and demanded that I open the safe. I argued, but he threatened to shoot me, so I opened the safe. When he turned his back and started grabbing money and throwing it into a bag, Mr. McIsaac pulled his own gun from beneath his jacket to stop him. Unfortunately the thief turned in time to see it and shot him. I thought he was going to shoot me next, but instead, he hit me on the head. Next thing I remember was you and Franks coming in.”

“How did he get into your office without the teller seeing him?” Wyatt questioned.

“My bank teller quit a couple weeks ago to move closer to his widowed mother. I hadn’t replaced him yet, so it was just Mr. McIsaac and me in the bank that morning.”

“What did he look like?”

“He had a black hat pulled low over his head, a blue bandanna covered the rest of his face and he was wearing a dirty leather jacket over brown shirt and pants.”

Wyatt looked up from his notes when Mr. Samuels stopped speaking. “Did you notice anything else?”

“Yes, I did. I saw the horse he rode away before I blacked out. It was wearing the McIsaac ranch brand.” Mr. Samuels rocked his chair back. “If it wasn’t for the fact that McIsaac was shot, I’d wonder if he had anything to do with it. Or maybe one of those derelicts he’s hired as ranch hands decided the pickings were better here!”

Wyatt hid his surprise at this bit of news. “Let’s not jump to conclusions just yet. If you’d been hit on the head, how did you see the horse he rode?”

“I managed to get to my feet to call for help as he left, and I saw him through the window but then I must have blacked out.” The man puffed up like a little banty rooster. “I am the victim here, Marshal! Are you questioning my word?”

Wyatt hastened to smooth his feathers. “No. I’m simply trying to get the events straight in my mind. How much did he get away with?”

“Everything in the safe! You saw it that day. He cleaned me out! I’ve had to close the doors because I have nothing to do business with. And then you couldn’t manage to catch him or get the money back! I’m beginning to have serious doubts about the town council’s choice for marshal!” Mr. Samuels slammed his palms down on the desktop as he stood.

“Everything?” Wyatt let his surprise show this time. “How could one man carry everything from the safe? How much was everything?”

Mr. Samuels instantly went on the defensive. “This is a small Western bank, not a big Eastern city bank. We don’t have the same amount of capital as bigger cities, and until I’ve contacted my investors, I’m not at liberty to divulge the dollar amount of what was stolen. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my papers. I’m explaining to my backers what’s happened to their money!”

“If I’m to recover the stolen money, I need to know how much was taken, Mr. Samuels.”

“When you have a suspect in custody, Marshal Cameron, I will divulge that information to you. Until then, I’ve told you everything I know. Good day, Marshal!”

“I need to know the amount that was taken, Mr. Samuels,” Wyatt said implacably.

“I said good day, Marshal!” The man was sulled up tighter than a mad, wet hen.

Wyatt eyed him for a moment before reluctantly deciding to retreat from this particular battle until the man had calmed down. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Samuels. If you think of anything else that might be helpful, let me know.” He picked his hat off his knee, stood, nodded to the disagreeable man and walked out the bank door.

Outside he returned his hat to his head and tucked the notebook back into his pocket.

Whew!

If other townsfolk felt the same way, it was going to be rough around here until the culprit was apprehended and the money returned. He already knew one person in particular who was definitely not going to be happy to see him when she found out the reason for his visit.

Miss McIsaac’s father was still unconscious as far as he knew, but their ranch had been implicated in the bank job, and he needed answers. He really needed to talk to Mr. McIsaac, but only God knew when—or if—that would happen. Looked like Miss McIsaac would have to do.

Sending up a quick plea for help, he’d headed toward the Kilburns’.

* * *

Now Wyatt watched Miss McIsaac’s reaction carefully as he motioned toward the back door. “If you’ll step outside into the garden, I have a few questions I need to ask you about the bank robbery.”

Her face showed the fatigue of the past several days’ vigil, and there was a hint of redness around her eyes as if she’d been crying. But aside from the wariness that had appeared when he’d come in, Wyatt saw no other emotions at his words. If her ranch was somehow involved in the robbery, no hint of it showed on her face.

“Oh, goodness, there’s no need for that. Sit down and enjoy your coffee.” Mrs. Kilburn placed her hand on her husband’s arm. “Come, dear, I’ll help you straighten that mess you call a desk.”

Miss McIsaac’s voice halted their departure. “I’d rather you both stayed. Whatever the marshal has to say, he can say it in front of all of us. If he has a problem with that, he can leave.” She enforced the last remark with a defiant look in his direction.

There was that feisty spirit he’d seen at the livery. “If having the Kilburns here makes you more comfortable, that’s fine with me. I would ask, however, that you keep this conversation confidential.”

Dr. Kilburn pulled out a chair for his wife. “I always protect the privacy of my patients, and as Ian and his daughter are under my care, my wife and I consider it our responsibility to protect their privacy.” Mrs. Kilburn nodded her agreement.

“Very well. Miss McIsaac, would you care to have a seat, and I’ll get straight to the point?” The woman still stood in the same spot, gripping the towel.

Slowly and deliberately, she turned and hung up the damp dishrag, smoothing it unnecessarily before turning back around, running her palms down her skirt and walking to the work-worn table. He saw her stiffen as he reached to hold a chair for her, sliding it in smoothly when she sat opposite of Mrs. Kilburn. Seating himself at the end, to the right of Miss McIsaac, he reached for the coffee the doctor placed in front of him. Taking a quick sip, he fired up another quick prayer that God would give him the right words. Swallowing the hot, bitter brew, he began.

“I just spoke with Mr. Samuels concerning the bank robbery, and another detail came to light that I really need to discuss with your father, Miss McIsaac. Since that’s not possible at the moment, I need you to tell me everything you know.” Pausing, he watched Miss McIsaac dart a look at him from the corner of her eyes before returning her gaze to the cup wrapped in her slender hands. Was she avoiding his gaze because she knew something, or because she found his presence as unsettling as he found hers?

Her long honey-colored hair was smoothed back into a braid that fell halfway down the back of the high-necked, wheat-colored blouse and dark green riding skirt she’d worn the day of the holdup. Distractedly he wondered how she managed to look so neat and fresh after several days in the same outfit. Forcing his thoughts back to the task at hand, he pulled the notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Tell me what you saw after you left the livery stable that day.”

A hint of pink warmed her cheeks, and he felt a glimmer of satisfaction. So, he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t forgotten their first encounter.

She raised her cup slowly, took a sip and lowered it, gazing into its contents. “I heard a shot fired before I reached the street. When I rounded the corner, I saw something happening at the bank. I had just headed toward it when you and Franks passed me.”

“That reminds me. I told you to stay back, yet you still showed up at the bank. You don’t follow orders very well, do you?”

Miss McIsaac set her cup down into the saucer with a little more force than necessary, but still didn’t look directly at him. “My...” Her voice caught, and Wyatt saw her swallow hard. “My father was in that bank. Nothing would have stopped me from getting to him...” The words even you hung in the air unspoken.

“How did you know your father would be there?”

“I didn’t know for sure he was still there, but he’d told me he had business at the bank, and when he was through he’d meet me at the mercantile. When I heard the shots and saw the commotion at the bank, I was afraid he was involved.”

“What do you mean, ‘involved’?”

Miss McIsaac went very still then turned her head slowly and finally looked him full in the face. Wyatt felt the heat immediately.

“What exactly are you trying to imply?” Fire may have been in her eyes, but her words were encased in ice.

Wyatt softened his tone and replied calmly, “I’m not implying anything. I’m simply asking what you meant by ‘involved.’”

Miss McIsaac searched his face for several moments before looking down and releasing a heavy sigh. “I mean, I was afraid he was still there when the holdup occurred. Unfortunately I was right.” Her voice caught again, and he saw the muscles along her jaw clench.

“Did you see or notice anything as you ran to the bank?”

“I saw a man riding away from the bank, firing his gun.” She painstakingly aligned the bottom of the cup with the ring of flowers on the saucer.

“Did you notice anything familiar about him?”

“No. Why should I?” Miss McIsaac glanced back up at him, her forehead creased in a frown.

“Did your father ride his horse to the bank?”

“No. We drove the buckboard in, parked it at the mercantile. Faither walked to the bank.”

“Did any of your ranch hands ride in with you?”

“No. Are you trying to get at something, Marshal? Why don’t you just ask what you want to know? Quit beating around the bush?”

Wyatt searched her eyes for a long second, ignoring the confused glare in them, and continued to watch her when he finally spoke. “When I questioned Mr. Samuels, he said the thief rode off on a horse that wore the McIsaac brand.” He heard the soft exclamations of surprise from the Kilburns’ lips as Miss McIsaac shoved her chair back and lunged to her feet.

“That’s a lie!” She gasped, shaking her head.

Dr. Kilburn stood and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Calm down, child. The marshal is just doing his job. He has to investigate what he’s been told. Let’s sit back down and hear the man out.”

She sat with a thud. “There is no way it was one of our ranch hands. I’d trust every one of them with my life.”

“The banker didn’t seem to recognize the man who robbed him, but he did say the horse was a McIsaac ranch horse. Did the horse look familiar to you at all?’

She shook her head.

Wyatt wondered if she truly hadn’t recognized the horse or if she merely refused to tell. He’d known this wasn’t going to go well. He’d been correct. He was beginning to feel like ducking when those eyes turned toward him firing sparks. Wyatt ran a hand through his hair. It wasn’t singed, yet. But the day was still young.

“I’m sorry to have to question you when your father is unconscious, but I need to gather as much information as I can to bring you father’s shooter to justice.”

“It’s not your questions that bother me. It’s the implication that our ranch was involved in the holdup. It’s not true!”

“Again, I’m not implying anything. I have to follow any and all leads I have and, unfortunately, that means asking you these questions. It also means I’m going to need directions to your ranch.”

“You are not going to harass our hands with baseless accusations.”

“I’m not going to accuse anyone, but you haven’t been home in three days, and if it was one of your ranch horses, your hands might know something about it. If you won’t give me directions to your place, I’ll get them from someone else because I will follow up on this.”

“Then I’m going with you. You are not questioning our hands without me there.” Miss McIsaac got to her feet again, and Wyatt could feel anger radiating from her.

He could sympathize; he was beginning to feel the emotion himself. He pushed back his own chair and stood. “This is my job. I can handle it without your interference. Besides, you can’t leave your father, can you?” Wyatt saw a retort die on Miss McIsaac’s lips, and her shoulders slumped. His shot had found its mark.

Dr. Kilburn interrupted then. “Actually it might be a good idea for Miss McIsaac to go with you. She needs to get away for a little while. This would give her a chance to check on the ranch.” Turning to Miss McIsaac, he continued, “Your father is stable, and it could be a while before he wakes up. Even when he does, it will be some time before he’s ready to travel. This will give you a chance pick up anything you’ll need for an extended stay.”

She looked indecisive. “What if something happens while I’m gone?”

“You can make it to the ranch and back in just a few hours. I don’t expect any changes with your father, good or bad, in that amount of time, and a change of scenery will do you good. If anything does happen, I’ll send someone to bring you back.”

Miss McIsaac looked at Wyatt. The glare was gone, replaced by a steely determination to accompany him. He doubted he’d seen the last of her temper, but the change of scene was already doing him some good.

His irritation cooled. “All right, you can ride along. I’ll go get a buggy from Franks and be back to pick you up in about half an hour.”

Grabbing his hat from the back of the chair where he’d hung it when he’d entered, he thanked Mrs. Kilburn for the coffee and headed to the front door.

* * *

Meri leaned against the edge of the livery stable doorway and worked to control her rapid breathing. She’d overheard the marshal tell Dr. Kilburn that he would ask the gunsmith to keep an eye on the town before getting a buggy from Franks. After a quick check on her father and a hurried explanation to the Kilburns, Meri had taken advantage of the marshal’s plan and slipped out the back door.

Cutting through alleys at a run and keeping an eye out for a certain lawman, she’d made it to the livery unseen where Franks had helped her saddle two horses. She had no intention of riding with the man in a buggy all the way to the ranch. Horseback would be quicker, and it would allow her to keep her distance.

The intense fear and uncertainty of the past few days lifted enough to allow her to feel a tiny amount of smug satisfaction. She’d managed to regain some control of her life. Even if that control were only that she’d ride to the ranch on a horse instead of behind a horse.

The thought of sitting shoulder to shoulder with the marshal sent a funny shiver along her spine. That would be too much like courting, not that she knew anything about it. She wasn’t girly enough to attract that kind of attention. When you could outride, outshoot and out rope the boys, they tended to treat you like one of the boys. And when it came time to go courtin’, they went after the sweet-smelling, dainty town ladies.

Movement caught her eye, and she stepped back into the shadows of the barn as the long-legged figure of the marshal strode into view. “He’s here, Franks.” Meri gathered the reins of the two horses and mounted Abe in one fluid motion. “Thanks for the use of Abe. I’ll have him back this afternoon. I’ll also bring Sandy in with me if you can spare the room.”

“I always got room for that puppy you call a hoss, honey. You be careful now, and I’ll be a prayin’ for yo daddy.” Franks patted her knee and turned back to his forge as she rode out to meet the marshal, leading a second horse.

His eyes narrowed as Meri rode up to him and handed him a set of reins. He ignored them and shoved his hat back as he looked up at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the Kilburns’ waiting for me to return with a buggy?”

Chapter Four

“We can get to the ranch quicker this way. That is, if you’ll quit standing there asking pointless questions and get on the horse.” Meri tossed the ignored reins at him.

He snatched them neatly out of the air, his hazel eyes never wavering from her face. “How did you get here so fast?”

“I know a shortcut. Can we go now? Daylight’s wasting.” She was growing a little nervous under his scrutiny.

“Is it that you naturally don’t like to follow orders...”

“You didn’t issue an order. You only said you’d be back with the buggy. I decided this would be quicker.” Meri’s lips twitched in a nervous half grin.

“...or that you didn’t want to ride in the buggy with me?” He continued as if the interruption hadn’t happened.

Meri felt heat stain her cheeks at the accuracy of his guess, and a crooked grin began to spread across his face. “Standing around talking won’t get us to the ranch,” she blurted, and touched Abe. The horse jumped away from the grinning man into a ground-eating trot.

Glancing back, she saw him leap into his saddle without benefit of the stirrup and spring after her. Controlling the urge to race home, Meri kept the big black gelding at a respectful trot as she rode along the pasture fence to the outskirts of town and Little Creek Bridge. Maybe she should have stayed put and waited on the marshal and the buggy. It would have spared her the embarrassment of his accurate guess. Then again, this way she could get away from him for a minute, even if it didn’t last long. She peered over her shoulder again. He was staying back, though he’d probably catch up to her once they were on the trail out of town, but it would be enough time for her cheeks to cool.

Abe’s hooves thudded across the planks of the bridge spanning Little Creek, the clear-running stream that lent the town its name and marked its western boundary. Meri drew a deep breath. Dr. Kilburn was right. She had needed to get away and clear her head, and a horseback ride to her beloved home was the perfect way to do that even if she did have to put up with the meddlesome marshal.

“I thought I had a squirrel in that hole.” Apparently he wasn’t going to let her ignore the fact he’d guessed her real reason for riding horseback.

She felt her cheeks heat again at his satisfied tone. So much for having time for her blush to fade. If this kept up, she’d just have to get used to the sensation of her face being on fire.

Or...she could...

Meri flexed her heels against Abe’s ribs, and the gelding switched to the rocking-chair lope that temporarily carried her away from her tormentor. The escape didn’t last long. Franks had provided the marshal with a horse every bit Abe’s equal, and in minutes the horses were side by side. The road wasn’t in good enough shape from the recent deep mud to indulge in a full-out gallop, so Meri contented herself with the current pace and the wind in her face, thankful when the marshal remained silent.

The fresh pine-and-cedar-scented breeze began to weave calming fingers through Meri’s hair as the beautiful scenery slipped past. Some of the tension melted from her shoulders, and the silence grew less uncomfortable in spite of feeling his eyes on her from time to time.

When he spoke, his comment caught her off guard. “I was sorry to hear about your mother.”

Meri looked at him, but for a change, he wasn’t looking at her. Somehow that made it easier to answer him. “How did you know?”

“Some of the men on the posse mentioned it—said it hadn’t quite been a year since her death?”

Meri felt the weight of guilt and grief crash back down as she nodded. Her father had teased her on the way to Little Creek that her mother would have scolded her for wearing riding attire instead of a dress since she was going into town in a buggy. The words had reminded Meri of their loss, and she’d snapped that her mother wasn’t around anymore.

She’d immediately regretted it. Instead of apologizing, however, she’d sulked, not understanding how less than a year after her mother’s death, her father could tease about her mother’s memory and seem to be handling her death so much better than Meri was. How she wished she’d guarded her tongue that day. She’d not apologized, and now it might be too late.

“What was her name?”

Meri welcomed his interruption of her depressing thoughts. “Catriona.”

“So, both of your parents were from Scotland?” He was watching the passing landscape as if memorizing every detail.

“Why did you say Scotland? Most people guess Ireland.”

He looked at her then. “My name is Cameron. My grandparents came from Scotland. I recognize the brogue.”

“I don’t have a brogue.”

“You do when you say faither, and I’d be willing to guess you used the Gaelic mither instead of mother.”

Meri nodded. “They came to America before I was born so their accent had softened, but when I was little they used a lot of Gaelic.” A memory surfaced. “I did have a brogue by the time there was an actual school to attend. I remember the kids teasing me because they thought I was hard to understand. I worked hard to sound more like them, but I never quit using mither and faither to address my parents.” She cocked her head. “I had forgotten about that.”

Their horses topped a rise, and below them lay the McIsaac ranch nestled among the foothills of the Rockies. Marshal Cameron pulled his mount up, and Meri followed suit as they gave their horses a breather from the hour-long, gradually climbing ride and surveyed the property below them.

A large log ranch house was surrounded by orderly, well-kept outbuildings that included a couple of barns, a bunkhouse, a summer kitchen, a smokehouse and sundry smaller buildings. White fencing encircled a pretty garden already showing the effects of early springtime planting, and corrals housed horses and a few cattle. Empty pastures and hay fields radiated out from the ranch buildings and disappeared into trees and over foothills.

“So, this is home.”

Meri nodded. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely.” Silence reigned a few moments as both riders drank in the scene below them. “I do have a question, though.” A puzzled look sat on his face.

Meri was becoming wary of his questions but was curious about the cause of the expression. “What?”

Marshal Cameron pointed toward the barn corrals. “What in the world is that...critter?”

A spontaneous laugh burst from Meri’s lips when she looked in the direction he indicated. “Those are Highland cattle from Scotland. Faither imported them several years ago. They come from the mountainous region, and their thick wooly coats make them quite hardy in our cold snowy winters. Several ranches around Colorado raise them. There’s even talk about starting a breed association. They’re very self-sufficient cattle and thrive on the grazing that we have here. They’re also easy to work with because they’re so friendly.”

“Well, it certainly is the hairiest beast I’ve ever seen, outside of a buffalo.” He was watching Meri closely, a peculiar, distracted look on his face.

“And what have you ever seen inside a buffalo?” Meri kept a straight face but couldn’t resist the question.

“What?”

A chuckle escaped her. “Never mind.”

The dreaded smirk reappeared, and his searching gaze never left her face. “Oh, I got it. You...just surprised me. I didn’t realize you were—”

He broke off abruptly. Meri wondered what he’d intended to say, but a distant shout prevented her from asking. Meri waved at a figure standing in front of the biggest barn.

“Come on. I’ll introduce you to our foreman. He can answer any questions you have about the men and our horses.”

* * *

Wyatt followed Miss McIsaac the rest of the way down to the ranch yard, enjoying his view of the spunky lady. So, this was the woman Mrs. Van Deusen wanted to introduce him to at the church picnic. Her full rich laugh and the way her face had lit up as she’d explained the cattle had nearly made him blurt the realization aloud. He had managed to catch himself, thankful for the distraction of the ranch hand’s shout that had prevented Miss McIsaac from asking the question he’d seen on her face.

When he’d arrived in town, his bachelor status instantly made him the most popular person for invitations to a meal to meet someone’s daughter, or niece, or sister or granddaughter. He’d quickly started turning a politely deaf ear when the conversation changed to, “Oh, I have someone you just have to meet...”

Mrs. Van Deusen had been somewhat more subtle but just as persistent. She never mentioned names or invited him to a meal to meet some female, but she’d mentioned her dear departed friend’s lovely daughter every time Wyatt happened to cross her path. He’d let the hints go in one ear and out the other, but as he’d looked down at the ranch a moment ago, Mrs. Van Deusen’s voice had echoed through his memory.

“If they can get in from their ranch,” Mrs. Van Deusen had said, “they raise those strange cattle from Ireland or Scotland or someplace foreign like that, you know—I’ll finally be able to introduce you to her at the church picnic.”

That tidbit had snagged his attention since his own family tree originated in Scotland, but that was the extent of the notice he’d taken of it at the time. With the disturbance of the holdup, he’d not had time to realize Mrs. Van Deusen’s hints added up to the spirited, rides-like-the-wind Meri McIsaac. After the onslaught of gushing, flirting females breathing down his neck the past few weeks, Miss McIsaac’s prickly reaction had been a fresh change and had actually snagged his attention. Not that he planned to do anything about it; he still had a dangerous job and no home to offer a woman.

Wyatt mentally scoffed at himself. Even if he were willing to think about going along with Mrs. Van Deusen’s schemes, he was quite sure her quarry had no intention of being caught. Besides, he had enough trouble on his hands trying to catch a bank robber and find the missing money.

“Howdy, miss, how’s the Boss man?” A familiar voice cut through Wyatt’s musings.

“Still unconscious. I came to pick up a few things and get an update on the ranch. Faither will want to know when he wakes up. Where’s Barnaby?” Miss McIsaac kept her voice brisk and businesslike, but Wyatt heard the underlying fear.

“He’s riding range with a couple of the boys, said he might be back for lunch.”

“This is the new marshal. He needs to ask Barnaby some questions. He seems to think the horse the bank robber rode was one of ours.” Miss McIsaac and Wyatt dismounted simultaneously. “Marshal Cameron, our top hand, Jonah Chacksfield.”

“There’s no need to introduce us, miss. I’ve known Captain Cameron since he was a lowly shavetail lieutenant fresh from the East.” Jonah snapped a sharp salute.

“At ease, Sergeant.” Wyatt put out his hand and grabbed the man’s burly paw in a hearty handshake. “It’s good to see you. What are you doing out of the army? You were one of the best sergeants I ever served with, figured you’d be in uniform until you got too old to climb into a saddle.”

The stocky barrel-chested ranch hand looked away momentarily. When he looked back, Wyatt thought he saw a sheen of wetness in the man’s eyes. “I just didn’t have the heart to reenlist after my Sally passed.”

Wyatt gripped the sergeant’s shoulder and cleared his throat against a sudden hoarseness. “I wondered why I quit getting letters from her. I assumed you’d been transferred, and they were getting lost.” He stopped and swallowed hard. “She was a quite a lady. I’ll miss her.”

Jonah was the first to break the silence that shrouded the little group, saying gruffly, “Now, sir, what’s this about one of our horses being used in the bank job?”

“Drop that ‘sir’ stuff, and call me Wyatt. When I questioned the banker this morning, he said the horse the thief used wore the McIsaac brand. None of the other witnesses I talked to mentioned that. Maybe they assumed Mr. McIsaac had ridden in on that horse and the thief stole it. However, since that wasn’t the case, I need to know if you’ve noticed any horses missing and where all the ranch hands were that day.”

“I told you before, none of our hands would be involved in anything criminal.” Miss McIsaac flared up again.

Jonah wrapped a beefy arm around Miss McIsaac’s shoulders and gently squeezed. “He’s just doing his job, Miss Meri. No need to get upset about it. You’ve got enough on your plate. Let me and Barnaby handle the captain and his questions. You go in and chat with Ms. Maggie. That housekeeper’s been frettin’ around here for days like a hen that’s lost her chicks.”

Wyatt waited for the inevitable argument, but her shoulders drooped as she exhaled noisily. “You’ll let me know if anything’s wrong, and send Barnaby to see me when he comes in.” It wasn’t a question.

“I will. Now go let Ms. Maggie fuss over you for a bit.” Jonah gently turned Miss McIsaac toward the house and gave her a gentle push. “Scat.”

Wyatt watched in amazement as Miss McIsaac meekly walked to the house and disappeared inside. “I’ve seen you wrangle raw, rowdy recruits and turn them into well-disciplined troops, but until today I never fully appreciated the extent of your skill.” Wyatt looked at Jonah with newfound respect. “How exactly did you manage that?”

Jonah’s hearty laugh thundered out. “She’s a handful, but I’ll take a strong, opinionated female over a silly, pampered flibbertigibbet any day of the week.”

“As will I, but that doesn’t explain how you managed to get her to go so quietly.”

“A good sergeant never reveals his secrets, Captain. Besides, I have a hunch you’ll figure out how to handle her. Half the fun of courting my Sally was figuring out how to deal with her strong temperament.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but a lawman’s life doesn’t leave room for courtin’.”

“Are you still stuck on the notion you have to have a ‘safe’ job before you can have a wife?”

“It’s not a notion. I saw more than one bride-to-be hightail it back East when she saw her future living quarters. I saw wives leave their husbands because they couldn’t handle the long absences, and I saw women devastated when their husband rode in draped over the back of a horse. I won’t do that to a woman.”

“You saw a couple of bad examples and focused on them instead of the good ones. What about my Sally?” Jonah sounded a bit offended.

Wyatt hurried to soften his remarks. “You were the exemption to the rule. Sally was special.”

Memories glistened in the tough old sergeant’s eyes. “That she was, that she was.”

Wyatt changed the subject. “Back to the reason I rode out here—what do you have to tell me that you didn’t want Miss McIsaac to hear?”

“You always were one of the sharper knives among that lot of army brass. We did have a horse go missing for several days before showing up among some of our cattle all covered in dried sweat. I don’t want Miss Meri to be worryin’ about it just now since there’s nothing she can do. I’ve questioned all our hands, but no one noticed anything unusual, and I trust our men. We’ve got a few who can be a little wild occasionally, but they’re all honest fellows. Mr. McIsaac has given all of us a hand up when we were down on our luck, and not a one of us would do anything to hurt him or Miss Meri.”

“Are any of the men available that I can talk with them?”

“Barnaby, our foreman, and most of the hands are out doing various chores. If you’re hungry, we can grab a sandwich from our cook, and I’ll introduce you to the ones in for lunch. Barnaby should be back in as well, and you can ask ’em any questions you have. Afterward, I’ll take you out and show you where we found that horse.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Over lunch Wyatt met the handful of cowboys that assembled for food. None of them knew anything more than what Jonah had already told him, and to a man, they had nothing but concern and well wishes for their wounded “Boss man.”

When everyone drifted back to their various tasks, Jonah brought up a couple of fresh, saddled horses. “Ready to ride, Captain? Barnaby hasn’t made it back, but I’ll wager we’ll run across him before we return to the ranch.”

Wyatt mounted the horse. “You’ve probably told me as much as he can, but I’d appreciate getting a chance to meet him. And I thought I told you to call me Wyatt?”

“Too many years in the army. Captain comes easier to the tongue.”

Jonah led the way across the ranch yard, and as they passed the main house Miss McIsaac stepped out on the porch. “Hold up! I’m going with you,” she called out.

“No. Stay put. Jonah’s going to show me around, let me get a feel for the land out this way and maybe catch up with your foreman. I’ll be back to escort you to town before it gets dark.” Wyatt lifted his hat and loped his horse away, ignoring the protests from the woman on the porch and Jonah’s sardonic snort.

Chapter Five

Jonah waved a hand toward the land in front of them. “This is where we found that horse day before yesterday. He’d been ridden hard and still had the dried sweat, saddle and spur marks to show for it. Made the boys livid. Not only had someone stolen one of our remuda from under our noses, they also used it badly in the process. Our hands pride themselves that when they do use their spurs they do it with such gentle finesse they never leave a mark or a sore spot on the horse.

“I backtracked the rider and found where he’d had a fresh mount waiting. After he’d swapped, he set ours loose. Both sets of tracks led into and out of that churned-up ground where the trail herd circled town a few days ago.”

Wyatt nodded. “That’s where we lost him when we were tracking him. We caught up with the drovers, but they said they hadn’t seen anybody, and we couldn’t find where he’d turned off before it started raining.”

“He was pretty slick about it. I might not have found it if he hadn’t used the same route coming and going from the cattle trail. He used an offshoot of Little Creek to hide his tracks, but he was a little less careful after he swapped horses. I was able spot the signs of his previous trip when I trailed the new horse back. I didn’t follow him any farther after he hit that trail—figured we had our horse back and that was the end of it. We let the surrounding ranchers know to keep an eye on their own remudas and left it at that. Never thought about it being connected with what had happened in town.”

“The tracks’ll be washed out, but show me where you trailed him so I can get an idea of where he was and where we lost him.”

“Sure ’nuff. We’ll go right through the area Barnaby was plannin’ on workin’ when he left this morning. If he’s still there, we’ll stop and chat.”

They did meet up with Barnaby and several other hands moving cattle to another area for fresh grazing. Wyatt was impressed with the graying, quiet-spoken man, but again didn’t learn anything new. Barnaby promised to keep his men alert to anything that might be of interest to the marshal. He also told Jonah to ride in with Wyatt and stay in town where he could keep an eye on the Boss man and Miss Meri.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, and Wyatt got a feel for the land. It was beautiful mountain-valley country, and he was impressed with the way the land was being utilized to its fullest potential. Every time he saw the strange-looking woolly red cattle, the memory of a laugh rang through his thoughts.

The McIsaac ranch lay west and slightly north of Little Creek and the bandit had ridden out of town heading east. The trail herd had bypassed the town on the west before veering northeast toward Denver.

“Do the trail herds always go this direction?” Wyatt asked. “Seems like it’d be shorter to go around the east side of town.”

“We don’t have as many now that the railroads are getting more accessible, but a few still come around the west side and across a portion of our range because McIsaac allows them access. There are more farmers on the east side now, and they don’t appreciate their crops getting torn up. Most of the trail bosses do their best to ensure they do the least amount of damage possible,” Jonah replied.

Wyatt studied the land. “When we first lost the tracks, we continued east in the direction he’d been traveling. We followed the trail herd until we caught up to the drovers, then we backtracked and had almost made it to where you’re showing me he cut out before it began to rain. If we’d come this direction first, we might have found his trail before it rained and been closer to catching him.” Wyatt was frustrated. “Why did he circle back around the town and stay in the area when he knew a posse was after him? Why didn’t he get as far away as he could, as fast as he could?”

“Maybe he did. By coming this way, he did the unexpected and bought himself more time,” Jonah mused.

“This is definitely not an auspicious beginning to my job as Little Creek’s marshal, and if I don’t catch him and get the bank’s money back, it’ll be a very short-lived job. The good citizens are understandably nervous about that money,” Wyatt groaned.

“Well, there is someone we can talk to who’ll be able to point us in the direction we need to go for you to catch him,” Jonah said, turning his horse to face Wyatt.

“Who?” Curiosity filled Wyatt’s voice.

“Him.” Jonah glanced up briefly before bowing his head, and Wyatt felt peace descend and frustration melt away as he listened to the former master sergeant bend his knee before the Master of Heaven, asking for God’s wisdom and guidance in the task before the marshal.

He echoed the prayer in his heart and uttered a hearty Amen when Jonah finished. “Thank you for realigning my perspective, Sergeant. You were always good at that, if I recall.”

“I did straighten out a few smart-mouthed lieutenants in my time. Although I must say, I had less polishing to do on you then some I ran across. Your mother’d done a pretty good job already.” Both men chuckled as they headed back.

Riding into the ranch yard, Wyatt cast a glance at the lowering sun. “Miss McIsaac is going to be champing at the bit to get back into town.”

“If she hasn’t already left.” Jonah grinned.

“I told her to wait—that I’d ride back with her. I don’t want her, any woman, out on these roads alone, at least until we catch this fella.”

Jonah snorted. “I’ll be much surprised if she waited around more than a few minutes after you threw that order at her.”

“Why didn’t you say something earlier? Stop her from going in alone?”

“Figured it was about time you learned you can’t bark orders at a woman as if she’s a soldier. It just don’t work. Besides, Boss man has a standing order. When someone sees her ride out, which is frequently, they are to let the bunkhouse cook or Ms. Maggie know and then follow Meri to make sure no one bothers her. Boss man couldn’t cure her of riding alone, something he loves to do himself, so he makes sure someone is always keeping an eye on her. I think she figured out his little scheme a long time ago, but as long as they stay out of her way, she tolerates it.”

The men stopped their horses in front of the main house and a sturdy, dusky-skinned woman, black braids wound in bands around her head, stepped onto the porch carrying a tray with a pitcher and several glasses. “Thirsty? I have fresh lemonade here,” she said in a lightly accented voice.

“Yes’m, Ms. Maggie! Sounds great! Captain Cameron, meet the real ramrod of the McIsaac ranch, Maggie Running Deer, the McIsaac’s housekeeper.” Jonah took the tray and set it on a table between several comfortable-looking rocking chairs. “Ms. Maggie, the new marshal of Little Creek.”

Wyatt doffed his hat and bowed slightly to the woman. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. Is Miss McIsaac ready to head back to town?” He took the glass of lemonade Jonah handed him and swallowed half of it in a single swallow, choking when he heard the woman’s answer.

“She left a couple of hours after you rode out. Barnaby rode in, and after talking with him, she tossed a bag on Abe and took him and Sandy back to town.”

A sly grin appeared on Jonah’s face, but he refrained from saying I told you so.

Wyatt hastily swallowed the last of the tangy drink before setting the glass down. “Thank you, Ms. Maggie. That hit the spot.”

“Sit down, Captain, and take a load off.” Jonah disposed of his own glass. “I’ve got to put a few things in my saddlebags before we head to town.” Thanking Ms. Maggie, he headed for the barn leading the two horses.

Wyatt quelled the urge to rush back to town and slowly sat down. Miss McIsaac had, by now, probably already arrived back in town, but his hands itched to give her a good shaking—the little scamp. Instead he controlled his impatience and accepted the refilled glass Ms. Maggie handed him before heading back to her baking.

One of the cowhands he had met earlier ambled up leading the horse he’d ridden from town, along with another saddled horse, and tied them to the rail in front of the house. “Jonah’ll be ’long direc’ly.” The man sauntered away.

The minutes dragged by as he gazed unseeingly at the tidy ranch yard, fingers drumming on the arm of the rocker. Flower beds sported a few early delicate blooms, a kitchen garden boasted rows of emerging greenery, and neat fences spread out and away, delineating pasturage. All lent a well-cared-for air to the place, yet they failed to register beyond a vague awareness as Wyatt turned the day over in his mind. He needed to separate the few pieces he’d found and examine them thoroughly; see if, and where, each piece fit into the puzzle of the bank robbery.

“You gonna sit staring into space all day, or do you want to ride in with me?” Jonah laughed at his blink of surprise when he looked up to see the sergeant already mounted.

Wyatt hurried off the porch and swung into the saddle. “Don’t get uppity, Sergeant, or I’ll put you on report!”

Jonah’s laugh rang as they turned their horses toward town.

* * *

Meri imagined the look on the marshal’s face when he realized she was gone, and grinned. She’d eaten lunch while Ms. Maggie fussed about the holdup and Boss man’s injury and had just finished packing a bag when she’d seen the marshal and Jonah riding out. Planning to ride with them and speak to Barnaby herself, she’d instead been ordered to stay put. She’d tried to argue they could get back to town quicker if they combined their tasks but had been completely ignored as the overbearing man had ridden away at a lope. She’d nearly gone back to town then and there but had curtailed the impulse. The job she’d left her wounded father’s side to do wouldn’t be completed to her satisfaction until she’d spoken with Barnaby.

Time had crawled as she’d prowled the barns and grounds, repeatedly answering the question, “How’s Boss man?” from worried ranch hands who wanted the information straight from her. Impatience had finally gotten the best of her, and she’d been saddling Sandy to go find the foreman herself when he’d ridden in. Having already heard the latest update on McIsaac from Jonah and the marshal, Barnaby had quickly filled her in on ranch happenings. He had things well in hand and had promised to send a rider in frequently with news of the ranch and to check on Boss man. Faither would be pleased, but not surprised, at Barnaby’s capable management in their absence.

Thanking him for his diligent care of the ranch, she’d tied her bag to Abe’s saddle, shoved her .44-40 Winchester carbine into the rifle boot, mounted Sandy and left the annoying marshal to fend for himself. The nerve-rattling tension was absent on this leg of the journey, and Meri smugly congratulated herself on getting back to town on her own terms. She shoved away the ridiculous notion that the trip seemed rather dull in comparison to the ride to the ranch.

Heavenly Father, please heal Faither so we can return home and life can get back to normal...without that bossy marshal.

The silent prayer evaporated before she finished, and the peace she’d tasted earlier was nowhere to be found. All the joy she normally experienced when riding her lovely palomino failed to materialize, and even the satisfaction at having outsmarted a certain lawman tasted stale.

The unexpectedly disappointing ride finally neared the end, and Meri breathed a sigh of relief as she approached the edge of town. Pausing, she heard echoing hoofbeats behind her. Spying a suitable hiding place in the brush alongside the road, she situated herself and Sandy, tied Abe’s lead rope around his neck and tapped his hip to send him on down the road. She was rewarded shortly when the cowboy who’d been surreptitiously following her rode into view. He pulled his horse up short when he saw Abe grazing along the roadside alone. He glanced around suspiciously.

“You can head home now, Shorty. Tell Barnaby and Ms. Maggie I made it to town in one piece,” she said dryly, nudging Sandy out of hiding.

Shorty touched the brim of his hat and turned his horse, a sheepish smile at being caught on his face.

Meri grinned at him. It had become a game to see if she could spot the rider tailing her. Some were better at staying hidden then others, but she knew someone was always within earshot on her “solitary” rides.

There had been Indian trouble in several areas of the newly formed state, but they hadn’t had a problem in this area for many years. She felt so safe on the ranch, she often forgot she lived in what Easterners called the “Wild” West and took off alone on Sandy. Her father allowed this, as she was always armed, but quietly arranged for additional protection. Meri suspected her father, himself, followed her from time to time and was one of the riders she felt but never saw or caught.

Faither.

Her throat ached with a sudden tightness as she remembered him lying so still, blood pooling on the bank floor. She couldn’t handle losing him, too.

Meri turned her head in the direction of the cemetery where her mother’s body lay. The burial ground sprawled along a high slope a little over a half a mile from the western edge of town, out of danger of any floodwaters from Little Creek.

Retrieving the happily grazing Abe, Meri detoured and headed that direction. She’d not been back to her mother’s grave since the funeral. She knew only the shell of the loving wife and mother was there, but the loss seemed so bitterly final there that Meri only wanted to avoid it. The cemetery represented nothing but death and heartache to her.

She missed her mother so much she physically ached sometimes. She missed her hugs, her laugh. She missed the way her mother would lovingly call her by her full name—America Catriona. She didn’t need a cold gray headstone to reinforce her loss.

Today, however, she forced herself to keep riding toward it. She should at least check on her mother’s plot. Then when Faither awoke, she’d be able to tell him she’d checked on the ranch and Mother.

Nearing the graveyard, she noticed movement between the tree line bordering the top edge of the cemetery and a ridiculously ornate crypt. Meri halted Sandy. The crypt was the local oddity, having been built by an eccentric miner who’d struck it rich. He’d resided around Little Creek long enough to see it completed before moving on to follow rumors of another gold strike and leaving the empty, imported-marble monstrosity looking disdainfully down upon meager creek-stone or wooden markers. Two marble lions guarded the door of the vault, but they proved inadequate protection against curiosity seekers and mischievous boys.

Meri fully expected to see a couple of those boys now, but instead, Mr. Samuels appeared around the side of it, head down, walking slowly. She felt her eyes widen in surprise. He hadn’t been out and about much since the theft at the bank, owing to his own head injury, and he must have walked because she didn’t see his buggy anywhere. Why was he wandering around up there anyway? His wife’s grave plot was down near the front of the cemetery not far from her mother’s plot. Had the blow to his head left him a little confused?

He glanced up, saw her and flinched as if startled. Meri lifted her hand to wave, but he ducked his head and scurried down the slope of the graveyard. Reaching his wife’s grave, he knelt, turning his back to her.

Meri felt for him. She understood how it was when someone intruded on your private grief and quietly turned the horses away from the cemetery with a sense of relief for the reprieve. She could always come back later when she wouldn’t be interrupting anyone, and she really needed to get the horses tended to and return to Faither. She’d been gone far too long already.

Several minutes later Meri dismounted in front of Dr. Kilburn’s and looped the reins around the hitching post. Taking her satchel off Abe, she saw a tall boy walking toward her. “Billy?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Are you available to run an errand for me?”

“Yup, I was keepin’ a lookout for ya. I’m to let Mrs. Van Deusen know when you get back here ’cause she’s gonna bring you a plate of supper, and she’ll give me my choice of candy next time I’m in the store.” Billy nodded, grinning. “I reckon I kin do that when I run your errand.”

Meri grinned in response to Billy’s freckled, friendly one. “Yes, I reckon you can. I’ll give you a nickel if you’ll walk Sandy and Abe over to Franks’s, and tell him I’ll come see him as soon as I can.”

“Yes, ma’am! I’ll take real good care of ’em! And Mrs. Van Deusen’ll bring you a real nice supper when I tell ’er you’re back.” Billy’s grin stretched even wider as Meri placed the promised nickel in the grimy outstretched hand.

“By the way, why is Mrs. Van Deusen bringing me supper?” Meri asked.

“On account a Mrs. Kilburn havin’ to sit with somebody who’s sick, I guess. Mrs. Van Deusen said she’d take care of you and Doc this evenin’.” Billy carefully untied Abe and Sandy.

Meri took her bag and slid her carbine out of the saddle scabbard, stepped back and watched as the lanky adolescent proudly led the two steeds down the middle of the road, whistling and calculating whether to spend or save the precious nickel.

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