door swung open, and her brother Caleb stepped into the room surrounded by a noxious aroma. Jo waved a hand before her nose. “Gracious, did you take a swim in Pa’s cologne?”
The tips of her brother’s ears reddened. “Mind your own business, runt.” He strutted across the room in his crisp blue shirt and navy trousers.
Caleb was the oldest of the boys at twenty-two, tall and slender with the distinctive McCoy coloring of dark brown hair and bright green eyes. They all took after their pa’s looks in that regard, though Ely McCoy was short and stout. Jo was the only child who’d inherited his lack of height. Much to her chagrin, she was embarrassingly petite.
Being small with five younger—and much taller—brothers had taught her a thing or two about strategy. “I think someone is going into town. This must be your third trip to the mercantile this week.”
“What’s it to you?”
“Nothing.” Jo studied the jagged tips of her blunt fingernails. “It’s just that you’re not the only one visiting the mercantile on a regular basis.”
The owner’s daughter was a pretty blonde with blue eyes and a ready smile, and since Mary Louise had turned eighteen and started working behind the counter, the store’s revenue had leaped tenfold.
Caleb fisted his hands. “Who else have you been noticing?”
“There’re too many to count. You better screw up your courage for courting or she’s gonna slip away.”
Her brother glanced around the room, caught sight of Marshal Cain and stopped short. “Evening, sir.” Caleb straightened and tucked his shirttail into his pants before glaring at Jo. “It doesn’t matter because I don’t care. I’m going into town because Ma is out of sugar. Isn’t that right?”
Edith smiled indulgently. “Of course.”
“See?”
Caleb stomped out of the room, and her ma shot Jo a quelling glance. “Don’t be too hard on the boy.”
“What?” Jo drawled. “I’m just trying to help.”
The marshal grinned. “Mary Louise better make up her mind soon or I’ll be breaking up fights. There’s nothing like a pretty girl to get a young man’s blood boiling.”
An uncharacteristic spark of jealousy pricked Jo. Apparently, Marshal Cain had noticed the pretty little blonde, too. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I bet her pa hopes she never decides on one suitor. He makes sure all those boys buy something while they’re panting after Mary Louise. I heard he even ordered a new wagon from Wichita.”
“No more gossiping, JoBeth,” her ma scolded from her place by the stove. “And let up on that boy. Being in love is harder than it looks.”
A huff of anger settled at the back of Jo’s throat. They all acted as if she had no emotions. She couldn’t recall one time when her ma had told the boys to let up on her.
Jo braced her arms against the table and locked her elbows. “How come you never tell them to go easy on me?”
“Because you’re tougher than they are.” Her mother waved her wooden spoon for emphasis. “And smarter, too.”
Jo caught the marshal studying her with those dark, intuitive eyes and decided it was time to change the subject. “How are the Elders?”
Her ma’s face lit up. “I just got a letter. Watch the gravy while I fetch it.”
Marshal Cain rested his hat on his knee, his enormous palm dwarfing the crown. “I think I’ve heard that name before.”
“Probably.” Jo stood and crossed to the stove. “The Elders used to live over the rise. They moved to Paris, Texas, going on ten years ago.”
“Wasn’t there something about an outlaw?”
“Mrs. Elder’s first husband was a bank robber. He hid the loot in a cave by Hackberry Creek. The boys sell tours for a penny every summer.”
“They do what?” The marshal set down the lemonade he’d raised to his lips. “Don’t the new owners mind all those kids tramping across their property?”
“No one lives there.” Jo shrugged. “The place has been empty for years”
Her pa stepped into the room. A great bear of a man, Ely McCoy vibrated the floorboards with his heavy steps. Jo dropped the gravy spoon and dashed toward him. “Pa!”
He enveloped her in a bone-crushing hug, lifting her feet from the floor. “There’s my little girl. I heard you brought company.”
Jo’s heart soared. Her pa was the only person who treated her like a girl without making her feel weak. He was a stout man with a thick salt-and-pepper beard and a mop of unruly mahogany hair hanging over his twinkling green eyes.
“This is my pa, Ely McCoy.”
Marshal Cain rose from his seat and held out his hand. “Nice to see you again, Mr. McCoy.”
“Call me Ely.”
Her pa slapped the marshal on the back, nearly launching him into the hearth. “Glad you’re here, son. I need help balancing the pasture gate.”
Jo grimaced. She loved her pa, but he was always putting the guests to work. “Why don’t you get the boys to help you?”
“Because Caleb’s cologne turns my stomach, and David has gone to Wichita to buy a horse.”
“Glad to help,” Marshal Cain replied easily.
Jo appreciated his calm acceptance of the request. She also liked how his chambray shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. He was quiet and thoughtful, never missing a detail. She liked watching as he sized up a room. He looked at people, not through them.
What did he think of her?
Did he see her as everyone else in town did—as an oddity? Somehow or other she didn’t think so. He regarded her with the same deference he showed Cora and her ma. Maybe that’s why he appealed to her—he treated everyone he encountered as though they were important, as though they were worthy of his time.
The marshal tossed a resigned grin over his shoulder and followed her pa out the door.
As the two men left together, Jo considered how different they were. Not just in size and shape, but in temperament. Her parents were opposites, too. Ely McCoy was a loud bear of a man whose bark was worse than his bite. Her ma was more refined, more reserved than her pa. Yet they worked well together, and no one expected either of them to change.
Jo had learned early on that boys expected her to change. At thirteen years old, a boy had told her flat out that if she wanted him to stop teasing her, she’d best let him win at marbles.
Jo had decided then and there that she’d rather win.
A scant few minutes later, a knock startled Jo from her vigil at the stove. She crossed the room and opened the door. The reverend stood on the doorstep, a dark shadow against the orange glow from the setting sun.
“Reverend Miller. What brings you here this time of the evening?”
He doffed his cap and smoothed his thinning hair. “A telegram arrived for the marshal. The clerk said the marshal should see it right away.”
Chapter Four
Garrett strained beneath the weight of the gate, a fine sheen of perspiration forming on his brow. The evening air was cool and a stiff breeze whipped the hair over his perspiring brow. The incessant, relentless gales dried up the earth and left every surface dusty and gritty. When a changing weather front blew in, Garrett stuffed rags around the windows and still awoke with grit on his tongue. He sometimes wondered why the whole prairie hadn’t been swept away already.
Thankfully, as the evening stretched