Morrow Creek Marshal. Lisa Plumley
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that he’s gonna be the new sheriff in town—”
“Dylan Coyle? The sheriff?” Marielle almost laughed outright, despite her alarming predicament. “Impossible. The man can’t stay put long enough to use up a pound of coffee, much less see to maintaining law and order in Morrow Creek.”
Unfazed, Charley spat his tobacco juice over her porch railing. “Seems you’re wrong about that. I saw him pin on that shiny ole badge myself just a little a while ago.”
Dylan Coyle...the sheriff? In a single night? How could this have happened? She’d known the men’s club was meeting to discuss their errant sheriff and to fill his now vacant post with someone new. But...this? Dylan Coyle? In charge?
Marielle could scarcely envision Mr. Coyle with a badge to go along with his gun. Yes, she’d felt a certain...affinity toward him. Yes, he seemed to be a reasonably fair and intelligent man, if entirely too autocratic for her liking. But he was a drifter, though and through. There was no way they could count on him.
Had the whole town lost its wits?
With effort, she tried to regain hers. “This has nothing to do with me. If you’re interested in the new sheriff, why don’t you go speak with him yourself?” As if he would. The Sheridans were notorious in the territory. Only Sheriff Caffey and Deputy Winston had been oblivious to the dangers their gang had posed.
Now that their former sheriff had fled so mysteriously and his deputy had been duly locked up—events Marielle had learned about along with everyone else just days ago—lawlessness would obviously increase. It was no accident there was no one around to stop Charley Sheridan from harassing her at nearly midnight.
“I ain’t gonna speak with him.” Charley poked her chest. “You are. You’re gonna jaw your fool head off. You’re gonna do whatever it takes to get in good with the new sheriff—and I mean real good. After you done that, you’re gonna make sure he’s good and distracted while me and my boys get what’s coming to us.”
She couldn’t help stating the obvious. “Prison?”
“Tsk-tsk.” He shook his head. “If you weren’t laid up—”
“I’m strong enough to face you, aren’t I?”
“—and maybe crippled for good—”
Marielle gulped, hoping he wasn’t right. Fearing he was.
“—I’d make you pay for a disrespectful remark like that.”
Shaking from fright and cold, Marielle nonetheless stared Charley down. “I’m not going to do anything for you. Not now. Not ever.” She reached backward for her doorknob, all but itching to turn it and escape. “I’m going inside.”
Charley slammed his hand on the door before she could open it. His presence loomed over her, menacing and conscienceless.
“You Millers owe me,” he said. “Hudson cost me something. So far, he ain’t been able to pay. But tonight, when I saw you gettin’ all flirtatious with the new sheriff, I figured out another way for me to get what’s coming to me. I aim to get it.”
Irrationally, Marielle wasn’t most piqued by the threat inherent in that statement. “Flirtatious?” she repeated in an outraged tone. “I assure you, Mr. Sheridan, that I was not—”
“Yep. Flirtatious.” Charley seemed nauseatingly pleased by that. “I reckon Coyle will do damn near anything you ask.”
That was outlandish. Still...a part of her wondered if it was true. Coyle had been mighty insistent about staying by her side. Why would he have done that if he hadn’t liked her...a little?
Befuddled and worried, Marielle shook her head.
“All you have to do is get the new sheriff to trust you,” Charley told her coaxingly. “Get him to look the other way while Hudson helps us get what’s ours. That’s it. Your brother cost us. That’s not something I’m prone to forget.” He rested his hand on his gun belt, making his meaning plain. “Or forgive.”
“You leave Hudson out of this!” Marielle hissed. “You stay away from my brother. Otherwise, I swear I’ll—”
Charley’s chuckle cut short her useless threat. “Just ask him. Ask Hudson what he cost us—cost me. You’ll see. This is the only way. It’s the smart way.”
Mutely, Marielle shook her head. She wanted to leave, but Charley came closer, still keeping one hand on the door. His body pressed on hers, wiry and strong and scary. His whiskey breath panted against her neck. Cursing her skimpy costume, Marielle froze in place. She was in no condition to stop him.
“Unless,” Charley crooned lasciviously, “you’d rather do this another way?” He put his hand on her waist, making sure she felt the full force of his coercion. “I’d be willing to take you as fair compensation for my losses instead. My little brothers wouldn’t like it much. But I could always give them a turn.”
Marielle was personally virtuous and wholly innocent. In fact, Dylan Coyle hadn’t been far from the truth. She was the oldest dance hall spinster she knew. But that didn’t mean she didn’t recognize the abhorrent bargain Sheridan was suggesting.
With effort, she kept her tone even. “I don’t want any man, Mr. Sheridan.” She felt queasy as she added, “Not even you.”
He smirked, providentially believing her flattery. “You don’t know what you’re missing, dancer girl.”
I’m glad of it, Marielle couldn’t help thinking. What in the world had Hudson done to irritate the Sheridans this way?
“You must have had Sheriff Caffey in your pocket,” Marielle pointed out, still trying to sidestep this problem. There had to be another way—one that didn’t involve her or Hudson helping the Sheridans with their crimes. “Why not pay off Coyle, too?”
“Don’t you think I already tried that? He can’t be bought. What kinda lawman can’t be bought?” Seeming provoked, Charley spat. Then he tipped his oversize hat again. “I’ll be in touch, Miss Miller. I’ll be watching, too. You can count on that.” He nodded. “You just do as you’re told, and it’ll all be fine.” Wearing an intent look, Charley caught a hank of her hair. He wrapped it around his hand, holding her like a harnessed horse. His intention to control her was plain. “You understand me?”
Marielle jerked away. Stupidly, since Charley did not let go. He was mean enough to hurt her, casually and unthinkingly.
Eyes watering, she gave a scanty nod. “I understand.”
“Yep.” Charley sneered in response. “I knew you would.”
Then he released her abruptly and clomped off her porch into the night, leaving her well and truly caught in a problem that was even bigger than her injured ankle...and even more worrisome than her brother’s penchant for getting into trouble.
What, Marielle wondered as she hobbled her way back into the warmth of her small house, was she supposed to do now?
If Charley Sheridan would be watching, she guessed she’d better to try to make good on what he wanted—or at least make sure it seemed that’s what she was doing until she could finagle a better way out of her predicament. Ordinarily, Marielle would have reported Charley’s attempt to extort her help and been done with it. But she didn’t know the new sheriff. She certainly didn’t trust him. Until she could do that, she was stuck.
How exactly, she wondered further, did a woman “get in good” with a man she’d already antagonized multiple times in a single night? She hadn’t exactly been friendly to Dylan Coyle. In fact, she’d outright insulted him by calling him a drifter. She’d tried to make him pay for her lost work time and called him stingy right to his face. That wasn’t a promising start.
Beset with concerns, Marielle made her way across the front room.