The Marshal's Mission

Head low, the dog slunk beside the man.

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

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

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

Lenora shifted her gaze from the dog to the man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her throat tightened. “I reckon so.”

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Two (#ub1d802f6-17df-5076-a16b-f9eb95bfc2a7)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry to hear that.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s different about her?”