The Lawman's Lessons. Devlin, Patty
curved into a soft smile right before she covered her mouth and gave in to a dry cough.
"I know who you are. I've been sent to find you; I'm the marshal, Jackson Owens." He'd taken his worn leather hat off when he'd come in, and he used it then to gesture toward the boarding house. "Mother and Susanna were quite worried. I don't know where you come from exactly, but out here it isn't safe for a young lady to be out on the streets after dark."
Her shoulders rose quickly, along with the color in her pinkening cheeks, right before she snapped, "Excuse me, Mr. Marshal. I didn't intend to stay this long, but I'm certainly glad I did. This schoolhouse is in deplorable condition. I don't know how the poor children are expected to sit in here all day. It's filthy. They'll be coughing and sneezing the whole day long. Why, I do believe that is a fungus I've read about growing along the floor in the corner there." She'd turned her back on him and wandered over to point out the area of concern. "I came here to look at the books and get some lessons in order, but this—oh, these poor children." She spun around again and glared at him. "You know, I appreciate Mrs. Owens's concern, but your high-handed and ill-founded assumption that I can't take care of myself is unnecessary. I have traveled—"
It was hard to take her seriously with the loose strands of whiskey-colored hair hanging haphazardly around her oval-shaped face and the smudge of dirt on her left cheek. But she was prepared to dress him down fully before Jackson finally called it to a halt.
"Little dove, it is quite clear that you think you can take care of yourself. I assume you traveled here without a companion, but I'm sure you know nothing of the dangers that young women face here. As a marshal, I've seen horrors. It's my job now to keep you safe and I will, no matter what I have to do to do it. I also won't put up with your carelessness, worrying my mama. Now get your stuff. This can wait until after your meeting with the school board tomorrow. I'm sure they are going to be surprised to meet you." He slapped his hat back on his head and ambled to the door. He was sure she didn't move—not a step, not a breath—for a full minute at least.
"You'll be waiting for a while if that is your intention; I'm not through here," she hissed.
He didn't turn around right away. It took all of his good sense and years of patience not to stalk back to her, drag her to the desk, press her down over it and lift her skirt. He knew exactly how to tame a willful girl's temper; a few well-placed swats to her backside would probably be effective.
Jackson turned slowly back toward her, his boots making a lonely echo on the old wood floor as he closed the distance between them. Her board-stiff back while she grabbed the broom and pretended to sweep told him she was not as unaffected by his presence as she let on. He didn't want her to be afraid of him, but a great deal of respect was born out of fear.
He gently removed the broom from her hands, and she didn't put up as much of a fight as he thought she might. She stood frozen in her spot with her back to him while he leaned the broom against the wall again.
"Miss Whitman, if there is anything you'd like to take with you, I recommend you kindly fetch it so we can be on our way. Every minute you waste here now is another minute my mama is worrying about you. If I have to wrestle you out of here, I will. But I won't hesitate to warm your seat first, something you've obviously been lacking." He braced himself as she spun around. He expected her to take a swing at him. She surprised him by stomping past him and almost out the door of the school house, but she stopped just inside.
"I'm not a dove, little or otherwise, and if you think I will allow you to place one of your huge hands on my person you are delusional. If you're an example of the good men in this town, then I'm sure I'd much prefer an escort of drunken gamblers. You are a barbarian, an unlearned, ungentlemanly barbarian!" With a flash of her white skirts and the turn of her boot heel, she rushed out the door and down the steps into the street.
Jackson hurried to put out the lantern and follow along. He hadn't exaggerated about the streets; he didn't want her out there, alone in the dark. Heck, he didn't want her out there alone during the day.
The schoolhouse was on the outer edge of town on Lakeside Avenue, but there was a distance where there were no buildings at all. The full moon lit up the sky, but it was still a dark stretch of road through there. He hardly had time to think about the words she'd spit at him by the time he caught up with her. If they had known each other for years, she couldn't possibly have said something more hurtful to him. It must be true if a stranger could pick it out.
"Hey, Marshal, who's your girl?" The question came from one of a group of ranch hands riding by on their way out of town. While some of the men were unknown to Jackson, he recognized a couple from a ranch south of town. It was the youngest one who spoke to him, a kid Jackson knew liked to hang around one of the saloons.
"She's just visiting. You boys better get home and get to bed. You got quite a ride ahead of you yet, don't you?"
"It's Cora's birthday, promised her I'd be here." The kid sat up taller. "Took her flowers and a necklace I bought from one of the other hands. She was real happy 'bout it." He ignored the snickering of the other hands. It would have taken a lot to knock the pride from his young face.
"I'm sure she was, Jimmy." Jackson agreed, lengthening his step so he was walking next to Celia.
The cowhands were hardly out of earshot when his ward cleared her throat. He looked down at her at the same time she started to speak. "I'm not just visiting. I'm here to teach, to stay and teach. Why did you say I was visiting?"
She'd looked up at Jackson briefly, and her eyes glittered in the moonlight. His gut clenched hard; he was a sucker. Had she been crying or trying not to cry? Poor little dove. Now he felt like a rotten bas—jackal. He'd been rather harsh, hadn't he? "I'm pretty sure the superintendent thought you were a man. This city, the West in general, is not for unprotected women. It's a hard place—"
"I'm just as good as you are! You think I can't take care of myself. I'm twenty years old, and I'm every bit as competent as you are. You are outdated out in this miner town. It's a good thing I came." She brushed by him again and sped up.
It was cute, her small boots crunching the gravel at her angry pace. His legs were much longer than hers and he could easily overtake her, but he let her go on and sucked in a groan as he imagined the milky white thighs and long, slender calves hidden up under her skirts. Dang, he'd been way too long without a woman... He might have to go on down to The Lucky Lady and visit Cora's sister.
*****
Celia couldn't believe the way that Jackson and his family responded to each other. It was obvious—the affection they shared. Laughter and lightheartedness seemed to be a constant around Mrs. Owens's table. Anyone nearby was included and made to feel like family, too. She'd stormed up the stairs to her room last night, but this morning she had breakfast with the family and the other three boarders.
Mrs. Owens was a large woman, one of the largest Celia had ever known, not around the girth, but her shoulders and height. She was tall and thick like a tree or perhaps like a Viking princess. Celia had read mythical literature about the Vikings with their brave flaxen-haired warriors. And Mrs. Owens hardly looked old enough to have children as old as Jackson and Susanna—or even a grandson like Frankie.
Jackson was even larger than his mother, and if she had to admit it, he was rather stunning to look at, with his light hair and pale green eyes. Hmm, but he had a rugged rancher look, too. Celia's private observation came to a halt when Mrs. Owens came to her side.
"Susanna," Jackson's mother said to her daughter while she served fresh biscuits and hot gravy to Celia. "You are going to have to check Mr. Ormsby's bedding."
"Oh?" Susanna called back, while refilling Mr. Ormsby's coffee cup. His head popped up from the paper he read to look at Mrs. Owens in question.
"Yes, he was up before the rooster this morning. I'm afraid he may have wet the bed." She clucked disparagingly and shook her head. Gales of laughter went up around the table.
"No, you'll find the sheets clean and dry. If you want to know the truth of it—" Mr. Ormsby cupped a hand over his mouth as if to shield the man