The Marshal's Mission. Anna Zogg
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sidled past the man and ducked out the door. Not until she heard the fading patter of his feet did she relax a fraction.
The stranger indicated Blister with a tilt of his head. “Looks like you’ve quite the task.” Before she could respond, he tossed aside his hat and shrugged out of his slicker. A gun hung low on his hip. “Mind if I help?”
She raised her chin a notch. “What about your horses?”
“They can wait a few minutes.”
As he strode toward her, she backed behind Blister. She glanced at her shotgun, now farther out of reach.
After turning up the lantern’s flame, he knelt before Blister.
“Easy, boy,” the stranger crooned as the dog growled low in his throat. “What’s his name?” When Lenora didn’t answer, he met her gaze.
In the lamp’s light, the deep blue of his eyes gleamed. Sandy hair curled over a smooth, tanned forehead. Two or three days’ growth of whiskers shadowed his face.
“B-Blister.”
“Hey, Blister. Take it easy.” The man held out a tentative hand. Panting, the dog turned his head away. “That’s it. I won’t hurt ya.” Still on one knee, the man scooted nearer. “Appears as though someone lassoed him.”
Her grip tightened on the rope. “I suppose.”
If Jeb was responsible, she needed to play dumb. Blister always bristled and barked when he showed up. Since Amos’s death, the dog had become more aggressive. Because of that, Jeb no longer dismounted. If he rode too close to the house, the dog would nip at his horse’s heels.
Even if this man had no connection to Jeb, she planned to stick to her story. The sooner she barricaded herself in the house with Toby, the better.
Thunder boomed. A torrent of rain began to beat the roof like a pounding drum.
The stranger’s eyes narrowed as though considering her. “Whoever did this likely dragged Blister in the middle of nowhere.”
How could he know that?
“Tied him up and left him to die.” Anger inflamed his rising voice. “Convenient way to get rid of a dog. You the one responsible?”
Lenora twitched. “What?”
“I asked if you did this.” Pointing, he rose. “And are you hiding the truth from your son?”
“Get away from my ma.” Toby’s young voice rang as he stood by the barn door.
The man spun. When Lenora saw her husband’s six-shooter in her son’s hands, she gasped. She didn’t realize he knew about the hidden pistol, tucked behind the mantel clock in the house.
With both thumbs, Toby struggled to cock the gun. “Did ya hear me?”
The stranger spread his hands. “Take it easy, son.”
“Leave my ma alone.”
Lenora’s grip on the rope tightened. “Toby—”
“I mean no harm.” The stranger took a step toward her son. “Either put the gun down. Or shoot me.”
“Don’t—don’t hurt him.” She panted the words, not sure whom she addressed. If her son injured this man, Jeb Hackett would accuse Toby of attempted murder and string him up in the nearest tree.
Was this what Jeb hoped? Have an excuse for him and his men to descend on her ranch? Ever since her arrival in Amos’s buckboard twelve years ago, Jeb had never hid the fact that he had his eye on her.
The tall man blocked the way, standing between her and Toby. Arms still spread, he moved closer to her boy. “You pull a gun on someone, you best be prepared to use it.”
“I’ll kill you.” Toby’s voice rose as he aimed at the stranger’s chest.
“I’m prepared to die,” the man said in a maddening, unperturbed tone. “But are you prepared to be a killer?”
Face contorted, Toby’s hands shook so much that Lenora feared he would accidentally pull the trigger.
Dear Lord, please don’t let him.
Outside another thunderous rumble reverberated. The sound matched the frantic hammering of her heart.
“What’s it to be, son?”
When Toby stiffened, the stranger swooped forward and grabbed the six-shooter. Before Lenora could blink, he released the hammer and emptied the bullets into his hand. Chest heaving, her son appeared more relieved than frightened.
Now what? The tall man fingered the shells. Measuring the distance to her shotgun, she commanded her paralyzed muscles to unlock.
“You did right.” The stranger nodded to her boy. “It’s a terrible burden to live with a man’s death on your soul.”
She stumbled forward and seized her gun. As soon as she released the rope, Blister sidled to Toby, positioning himself between the man and boy. She stared. The dog never acted like this. Why wasn’t he bristling or growling?
The stranger barely glanced her way before tucking the six-shooter into his belt. To Toby, he said, “I want you to bring my mare inside. She’s gotta get out of the rain. Can you do that?”
Hesitating, her son shot a look her way.
Lenora gave one sharp nod.
His green eyes squinted up at the stranger. “Yessir.”
“After that, see to my geldings. They’ll be fine under the lean-to.”
After another glance her way, Toby disappeared out the door. He secured it so his dog wouldn’t follow.
Still wary, Lenora clenched her shotgun while the man pocketed the bullets.
He snapped his fingers at the dog. “Come here, Blister. Let’s get that rope off you.”
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