Lucille's Lawman

  Arizona Territory, 1851

  “That blue marble is cursed.”

  Sean Reilly glanced at the older man who obviously believed in curses. “What makes you say that?”

  “The marshal who had it before you, well, his family got killed by Injuns, then he quit. I heard he disappeared on the way to San Francisco. Ramsay wasn’t ever the same after he got that marble.” Forrest nodded his head vigorously enough to make his salt and pepper hair jiggle.

  Sean rolled the cool marble between his fingers and tried to think of a nice way to tell Forrest he was loco, not something a smart man did with a U.S. Marshal. As the newest member of the team of five in their territory, he had to walk softly. He had only met one of the five marshals in his territory. Benson was the one who met his train and brought him to Ramsay’s territory. The other three he’d never laid eyes on until today. They were an interesting lot and all very different kind of men.

  The way Benson told it, once a year they gathered together in Rosie’s Saloon in the middle of their thousand square mile territory. Each man had a different colored marble and they put the marbles in a sack. Rosie, a dame who was as tough as she was smart, pulled the marbles one by one to assign that man to one of the five two hundred square mile chunks of land. It seemed like a fair way to divide up such a large territory.

  “It’s true, you know.” Rafael was the dark-eyed, dark-haired quiet one. He made Reilly want to sit on the other side of the room.

  “I’ll take my chances.” Reilly tried not to smile. Foolish men and their curses. He was a lawman from the day he’d been born and no “curse” would prevent him from doing his duty.

  “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.” Cameron lit a cheroot, pushing his hat back to expose his baby blue eyes and blond hair.

  “Warning taken.” Reilly spotted Benson coming down the stairs, Rosie behind him. The sandy-haired lawman liked women, and obviously this redhead liked him. They both had sated smiles on their faces.

  “We about ready to do this?” Rafael sounded as impatient as Reilly felt.

  “If the fair lady Rosie is ready.” Benson bowed to the madam as if she were the Queen of England. He kissed her hand and the woman giggled.

  Reilly waited patiently, unlike the other three marshals. They all made noises as if they were about ready to open fire. Benson must’ve either wanted to get on with it, or he thought perhaps one of them really would shoot him.

  Rosie smiled as she laid out the map on the bar, then held out a small blue sack. Everyone put their marbles in the sack, Reilly was last. She shook up the bag and reached in for the first marble. The green one belonged to Forrest and she put it straight on the eastern most block of land.

  “Thank ya kindly, Rosie. I needed to get out of the rough terrain for a while.” Forrest appeared to be mighty glad to have the grassy country for the next year. Who wouldn’t?

  The second marble was yellow, which was Cameron’s. He puffed on the cheroot as she placed his marble on the next block of land. Reilly had a general idea what the rest of the territory was like, but he had been in that particular block of land the last three months. It had some hilly spots and dense forests, which he’d gotten used to. Cameron was a lucky man.

  Third was Rafael’s black marble, smack dab in the middle where the land grew a bit more scrubby, but the dark man appeared to be glad of the choice. His grin couldn’t have been called happy, but it was a pleased one.

  Two more marbles left—Reilly and Benson. The western most territory was the hardest with canyons and near desert like areas. It received the least amount of rain and the sun could be brutal especially during the summer. However, Lady Luck was in the other marshal’s pocket that day. Rosie pulled the orange marble and Benson chuffed a laugh.

  “Told ya that blue one was bad luck. You’ve gotten the worst block.” Benson eyed Reilly. “You want to switch with me?”

  Sean’s annoyance notched up quickly. “Hell no. What you think I can’t perform my duties if it’s hot?”

  “No, he’s trying to save you from the Black Widow.” Forrest made some kind of odd gesture with his hands.

  “I don’t think I need saving. And just what the hell are you doing?” Reilly stared at the man. This was a US Marshal?

  “Warding off evil. She’s a witch, you know. She’s the one who put the curse on that marble. She been nagging us for months about some missing cows.” Forrest picked up his hat from the scarred wooden table top. “I’m leaving before the curse gets itchy for someone else.”

  “Witch?” Reilly glanced at Benson.

  “I don’t know about being a witch, but she is a pain in the ass.” Benson flicked his hand toward Rosie, who immediately poured the remaining four men a shot of whiskey. “Maybe this will keep the bad magic away.” He laughed at his own humor.

  “Brujas are not to be made fun of.” Rafael glanced at the whiskey, then grabbed his marble and left the saloon.

  Cameron laughed like a hyena. “Bunch of women. How are they afraid of one tiny widow who lives on a hardscrabble piece of land?”

  “You haven’t met her yet. You might change your mind.” Benson leaned over and kissed Rosie noisily. “Not all females can be as sweet as this one.”

  Reilly didn’t want to hear any more claptrap about a black widow or a cursed marble. He tossed back the whiskey and nodded to Rosie.

  “I’ll see you fellas next year then.”

  The three of them were laughing as he walked out of the saloon into the early morning light. Bunch of loco lawmen is what they were. He had nearly a week’s ride to even get to his new territory. There was no time to be playing stupid games with them.

  Witch? Jesus, probably some old woman with a hunched back and half a dozen teeth left. She wouldn’t be a problem. However Sean couldn’t help but acknowledge the feeling in his gut that something was about to happen.

  Lucille Quinn was sweating like nobody’s business. It dripped down her cheeks, her neck, down her back and even off the tip of her nose. Yet still the stupid cow would not budge. Mabel had always been stubborn, but today was the worst. She’d gotten stung by a bee in the lean-to she lived in, and now refused to get back under it for the night.

  With the coyotes and other critters, both two-legged and four-legged, it wasn’t safe to leave her in the pasture for the night. However, there was no way Lucille could move a thousand pound bovine by herself. The sun would set in a matter of hours and she’d done no more than raise half a dozen blisters on her hand and ensure she’d need a bath that night.

  “Move, move, move!” She pushed against the cow’s hip, feeling more like a fly than anything.

  “Can I help you ma’am?”

  Lucille dropped to one knee, the pistol from her hip in her hands in seconds. The late afternoon sun was in her eyes, but she was able to see the silhouette of a man, and all she needed to do was hit him in the head or chest once.

  “Get the hell off my land.” She cocked the pistol, the metal hot and familiar in her hand.

  He held up his hands. “I’m only here to help, ma’am. My name is—”

  She fired off a shot to his left, sending up shards of rock that rained down around him. He shifted to his right and Lucille shot the scraggly tree, which threw pieces of bark on him, too.

  “Jesus Christ, lady! What the hell are you doing?” He stopped moving, his hands still high in the air. “You trying to shoot me?”

  She maintained a firm grip on the pistol. “If I was trying to shoot you, you’d have a new hole in your head. Now get off my land.”

  “My name is—”

  “I don’t give a rat’s fart what your name is, mister. Now git.” She cocked the pistol, the sound echoing through the still early evening air.

 
“You sent for me.”

  This made Lucille pause. “I sent for you?”

  “I’m a U.S. Marshal. You sent for help with missing cattle, didn’t you?” He bit off the words as if they were chunks of the rock scattered around him.

  “You’re a U.S. Marshal?” She started to move to the left, never losing sight of the man. The way he moved rang in her memory but she pushed it aside. Sean Reilly was making a fortune mining somewhere not in the middle of the territory.

  “Yes, ma’am. I tried to tell you but you keep—”

  “Prove it.” Lucille could see the man clearly now. She had to remind herself that men were the root of all evil and no matter how good he looked, he was bad. But damn he sure did look good. It was him.

  Sean Reilly.

  It had been more than five years since he’d left her in Kansas City to follow his dreams. That’s when she met Patrick, and ended up out here with him, now alone without him for more than a year. She could hardly believe Sean Reilly had come strolling back in her life claiming to be a U.S. Marshal. Fate sure did have a fickle funny bone. Particularly since Sean apparently didn’t recognize her.

  His hair was as dark as pitch, overly long and curling around the bottom of his brown hat. Whiskers, which had obviously been in residence for a few days, matched the dark color of his hair. His eyes glittered in the afternoon sun, the color of green glass. His shoulders had grown broader, nearly as wide as her door, draped in a chambray blue shirt that just made the rest of his coloring stand out. Long, muscular legs encased in skins.

  He’d been handsome at twenty-one, at twenty-six he was stunning.

  Sean was trouble with a capital T. That didn’t mean her body didn’t react to just how handsome and appealing he was. He had been her first lover, the ghosts of his touch still hovered over her skin. She knew firsthand Sean could show a woman how much pleasure a body could have.

  “If you promise not to shoot me, I can take the badge out of my trouser pocket.” The annoyed fury in his voice marred his handsomeness.

  “Just so long as you realize I am a crack shot and I will kill you if you pull a gun on me.” Lucille had no qualms about shooting him if he threatened her no matter who he was. A widow had to make some tough choices to survive, and she’d had many of those. Life hadn’t been kind to her, particularly after Patrick died.

  “I think I understand that now.” He mumbled something that sounded like “Fucking marble.”

  “Slowly reach down and pull out your badge, and only your badge.” She took pleasure in watching that tanned, long-fingered hand slide down into his trousers. The movement made her nipples pop, which was a bit embarrassing. He didn’t need to know her traitorous body reacted so strongly.

  As he moved slower than Mabel, she almost told him to hurry up. He was being careful, and rightfully so because she would shoot him if need be, but hell, he didn’t have to be that careful. By the time he took the badge out and tossed it in her direction, she couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

  “I think a spider spun a web near your boot while you were taking your sweet time.” She picked up the badge and examined it. The last marshal had an identical one. “What happened to the other marshal?”

  “He moved on.” The words were bitten off.

  “What was his name?” She wanted to be sure Sean was who he said he was. Five years changed a person.

  “Ramsey. Marshal Ramsey. I don’t know his first name ‘cause he was gone before I got here.” He blew out a frustrated-sounding breath. “Can you put the gun down now? If you don’t I’m gonna have to pull mine and then things could get ugly. I don’t reckon either one of us wants that.”

  So far everything he said was true. She wiped the dust off the badge. “It looks pretty real.”

  “That’s because it is.” Now he sounded downright insulted.

  Lucille weighed her options. She did ask for help with her missing cattle. Her gut was telling her this marshal was telling the truth, and she always trusted her gut.

  “Okay, put your hands down.” She tossed the badge back to him. “About time someone got here. It’s been three months since I sent that wire.”

  He snatched up the badge and stuffed it back into his pocket. “Three months? Lady, I just got this territory a week ago. That idiot Forrest probably didn’t want to drag his ass here because of the curse.”

  She reared back like she’d been slapped. So many people had thrown nasty comments her way, for so long, even one fool in town accused her of killing Patrick. Not that she hadn’t thought about it, but she wasn’t a murderer. And now this. “What curse?”

  “What? There’s no curse.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “Foolish talk from foolish men. Now tell me about the missing cattle.”

  Lucille stared hard at him, noting the dust and sweat caught in his dark whiskers, the intensity of his eyes and decided to let the question about the curse go. For now. She would find out what he was talking about one way or the other.

  “First, help me get Mabel in the shelter.” She wiped her brow with her already soaked sleeve. “Damn heifer is stubborn as the day is long.”

  Both dark brows shot up towards his hat. “The cow? You need help with one cow? Is that why I’m here?”

  “No, but I can’t leave her out here for the coyotes to chew on. I plan on heading inside for a drink and some vittles before we get to talking.” She pointed at the cow. “I am not going inside until she does.”

  Another dramatic sigh from him. “Fine. I’ll help with the cow.”

  To her surprise, he walked right up to Mabel and stroked the cow’s neck, which she obviously liked because the darn fool pushed her head closer to his torso.

  Not that Lucille wouldn’t mind doing that herself.

  Idiot.

  He murmured low and smooth, quiet enough that Lucille couldn’t understand what he said, although she strained to hear him. After a minute of frustration, she moved closer, too bad if he didn’t appreciate her being nosy.

  Reilly picked up the lead rope dangling beneath the cow’s neck and to Lucille’s astonishment, led a docile and cooperative Mabel to the lean-to. Lucille had fashioned doors out of sticks to prevent the cow from wandering and pretty as could be, the man closed the bovine in and latched it closed. When he turned, Lucille reminded herself to close her mouth.

  She grudgingly concluded the man had some skills with animals. Five years had turned him into a different person, one with a short temper and a dark view of the world.

  He put his hands on his hips. “Now can we talk about the missing cattle?”

  Sean didn’t know what to make of the widow, especially after the stories the other marshals had told him. She was fast with a gun—faster than most men. However she also had a sharp tongue and was bossy as hell. He couldn’t tell even what she looked like due to the huge floppy hat, and a dress at least three sizes too big and two sizes too short so he could see the man’s boots she wore. All he knew was she was tall and ornery with an attitude as big as Arizona itself.

  He followed her into the house, ducking through the doorway after she did. The interior of the house was dark and rich with shadows. Sean paused for a moment to get his bearings. The rough hewn furnishings spoke of folks who used what they had to make furniture including logs, sticks and mismatched boards. Whoever had been the carpenter should have been put out of his misery. They were crooked, tied together with bailing twine and spit. Sean was afraid to even sit on anything for fear it would splinter under his weight.

  The interior was clean, at least, although the floor was dirt, there was two rag rugs and even a pump with a large wooden sink. She went over to the sink and started working the pump until the water gushed out. After grabbing a canning jar from a rickety shelf above the sink, she filled it and took a long drink. Dribbles ran down the sides of her mouth, leaving spots on her dress. She yanked off the ugly hat then to his surprise, poured the rest of the water over her head.

  “Oh my God, I needed that.” The w
ater ran down her body, soaking the sorry dress she wore, revealing a hell of a lot more than he expected.

  Beneath the brown fabric lay the curves of a woman, breasts that would more than fill his hands, and an hourglass figure that made his body harden against his wishes. Sean’s mouth went dry and he vaguely wished he could have a taste of water himself.

  From her skin.

  “I hope you’re not the shy type, Marshal. I had a long day and need a bath. I’m gonna get the water ready while we jaw for a bit.” From beneath the stove, she pulled out an impossibly small hip bath.

  Visions of her standing in that bath naked made him shake. What in the hell was wrong with him? This woman about shot his head clean off and now he was having fantasies about seeing her without clothes.

  She filled a bucket with water and put it on the back of a large pot-bellied stove, then stoked up the fire.

  “I’ll make some coffee so we can talk.” After filling a battered tin pot and throwing in some beans, she set it on the stove beside the bucket. “You don’t talk much do you?”

  “What did you want me to say? I came here to do my job, nothing more.” His voice sounded rusty even to his own ears.

  “I know you’ll be doing your job.” She gestured to the rickety chairs at the equally rickety table. “Sit down and I’ll get busy telling you why I sent for a marshal.”

  Sean eyed the chair with suspicion, figuring his ass would be on the dirty floor before the coffee boiled, but sat anyway. At least it was a chair, something he hadn’t seen much of in the last month. It creaked ominously beneath him but held together.

  “Get talking then.”

  She sat in the other chair and blew out a breath, the force of which made one curl sway against her cheek. It wasn’t very bright in the cabin so he couldn’t quite see her face or tell what color her hair was, especially since it was still wet from the water she’d dumped on her head.

  “Can we get some light?”

  Another sigh. “I ain’t made of money, marshal. Oil ain’t free, neither is candles.” Even though she complained about it, she turned the wick up in the lamp. “That better?”