The Lone Sheriff. Lynna Banning
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enjoyed baiting her. He also enjoyed imagining what her lingerie looked like. Silky, with lace? “How come you’ve got no underthings?” he asked blandly.
“My valise was lost when I changed trains in St. Louis. All I have with me is a very small travel case, and it carries only the minimum garments. So you see—”
“Tough.”
“Really, Sher—Cousin Jericho,” she murmured. “What would Aunt Bessie say about that?”
“Bad luck, I guess. Who’s Aunt Bessie?”
“My mother.”
Jericho almost laughed out loud. “Aunt Bessie would probably say ‘plan ahead.’” He looked up at the ceiling and noted the avid interest of the mercantile owner.
“Come on, let’s vamoose.” He pulled her toward the door.
“Hey,” Carl yelled. “What about my money?”
“Put it on my tab, Carl. Cousin Maddie always pays me back.”
Outside the heat had diminished, though the night air was still warm and soft. Jericho drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly, looking up at the stars. Hell, he’d like a drink. Talking Mrs. O’Donnell out of something was like pushing a pig into a pillowcase. She was nosy and outspoken and attention-getting, and he’d be glad when she was gone.
In silence they started back to the hotel. Up ahead, Jericho spotted Lefty Dorran in the alley between the mercantile and the barber shop. Lefty was a big overgrown almost-man, and Jericho had arrested him twice this summer for assault. He caught the glint of metal and instinctively put Maddie on the other side of him.
Too late. Lefty had a sharp eye for a pretty woman, and even the fact that she was walking with the sheriff didn’t deter him. The kid burst out of the alley onto the sidewalk and sidled up to her.
Jericho tried to block him with his left shoulder, but Maddie stepped to one side and then faced the towering hulk with a perfectly serene expression on her face.
Lefty kept coming. Maddie neatly stepped into his path, pivoted on one foot and swept her other leg around behind him. Then she hooked the toe of her shoe around the back of his knees. The next thing Jericho saw was Lefty’s hulking body sprawled facedown in the street.
Maddie dusted off her white gloves and smiled up at him. “I told you I would prove you needed me. You owe me one breakfast. Eight o’clock sharp.”
All the way back to the hotel and up the stairs to Room 14, Jericho thought over what she had just done. Didn’t seem possible that a slim woman like Maddie had laid that big galoot out flat. Some kind of Oriental trick, maybe. Lord, the woman was downright dangerous.
At her hotel room door she slipped the key into the lock and turned to face him, her soft-looking mouth quirked up in a smile.
“It has been a most interesting evening, Sheriff. I would not have missed it for anything.”
“Sure wish I could say the same, ma’am.”
“Good night, Cousin Jericho. Do get some rest. You are looking quite peaked.”
“Sheriff? Sheriff, wake up!”
Something joggled Jericho’s shoulder. “Go ’way,” he mumbled.
“Can’t, Sheriff. You gotta wake up.”
Jericho cracked open one eyelid to see his deputy standing over him. The kid better have a good reason for breaking into a damn good dream.
“Why do I?”
“Sorry, Sheriff. Maybe you forgot you’re s’posed to meet that detective lady for breakfast?”
Jericho shot upright and instantly regretted it. His temples pounded and he snapped his lids closed against the bright light. “You sure?”
“Eight o’clock, Sheriff. Least that’s what you said last night. But that was before—”
“Yeah? Before what?” The kid’s face seemed kinda out of focus.
Sandy studied his boots. “Uh, before you polished off that bottle of whiskey.”
Jupiter, now he remembered. Sort of. His head throbbed and his mouth felt as dry as an empty well. And his stomach—
He’d think about his stomach later. He dragged himself off the cot and pulled on jeans and a clean shirt. He’d skip shaving; he couldn’t really focus on anything, much less see his face in the mirror. Besides, it was hell to shave left-handed.
“She sure is pretty.”
“Who?”
“Miss O’Donnell. Sheriff, didn’t cha even notice?”
“Don’t get your hopes up, son. It’s Mrs. O’Donnell. And she’s leaving on the noon train.”
Sunshine poured through the front windows of the restaurant like the eye-stabbing beam of a lighthouse. God help him, he could barely see through his slitted lids.
He spotted Mrs. Detective perched primly at the corner table, spooning sugar into her coffee.
“Good morning, Sheriff.”
He winced. Did she have to sound so cheerful?
“Mmm-hmm,” he grumbled. He took the chair across from her, facing away from the glare. Rita appeared at his elbow.
“Coffee,” he managed.
Maddie looked up. “I will have three eggs over easy, bacon cooked very crisp, fried potatoes and some ketchup, please.”
Jericho’s stomach heaved at the description. “Just coffee, Rita,” he repeated. “And could you please bring it in the next sixty seconds?”
The plump waitress must have sensed his desperation because an entire pot immediately appeared before him, along with an oversize mug.
Jericho eyed Mrs. Detective through the steam rising from his cup. There was something annoying about a woman who looked this trim and tidy at breakfast. And this pretty. She sent him a wide smile and, without thinking, he nodded.
Big mistake. Any motion made his vision blurry and his head... He groaned. His head felt like a railroad crew was laying track between his temples.
She pulled out her notepad and pencil and plopped them onto the tablecloth beside her. “Well, Sheriff, would you care to hear my observations thus far?”
Jericho blinked. “Observations? You mean what you’ve learned so far about the Tucker gang?”
“Oh, no. I mean in general. It’s always wise to gather background information, don’t you agree?”
He gulped down another mouthful of the scalding coffee. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
She flipped open the small leather-covered book. “First, your deputy—Sandy, is it?—is too sensitive to be much help on this mission.”
Too sensitive? Exactly what did that mean? Did she think he was going to feel sorry for the outlaws? He gripped the coffee pot handle in a stranglehold and refilled his mug.
“Second, Mr. Ness, at the mercantile, does not like you.”
“Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. Carl doesn’t like anybody much. Even his wife.”
“Has there been trouble in the past between you and Mr. Ness?”
“Yeah. Small stuff, mostly. He sold me a sack of moldy potatoes once, and I confiscated a shipment of some Chinese herb he ordered because it was half opium.”
Mrs. Detective nodded and went on. “Third, the hotel manager is