Julie Garwood: Come the Spring

'{Son of a bitch! " He roared the blasphemy at the silver star pinned

to his vest.

He was a U. S. marshal.

gy the time Sheriff Norton returned to the jail, Cole was seething

with anger. Fortunately, Norton had gotten the keys from Ryan. His

wife, Josey, was with him, and for that reason Cole kept his temper

under control. She carried a tray covered with a

blue-and-white-striped napkin, and as soon as the sheriff swung the

door open, she brought the food inside the cell.

Norton made the introductions. "You two haven't officially met, since

you were burning up with fever every time my Josey got near you.

Josey, this here is Marshal Cole Clayborne. He doesn't know about it

yet, but he's gonna be helping Marshal Ryan chase down that slippery

Blackwater gang of murderers terrorizing the territory. Cole . . .

You don't mind if I get familiar and call you by your first name, do

you? " "No, sir, I don't mind." The sheriff beamed with pleasure.

"That's mighty nice of you, considering the inconvenience you must be

feeling over getting yourself thumped on the head. Anyway, as I was

saying, this pretty lady blushing next to me is my wife, Josey. She

fretted over you something fierce while you were ill. Do you

remember?

" Cole had stood up as soon as Josey entered the cell. He moved

forward, nodded to her in greeting, and said, "Of course I remember.

Ma'am, I appreciate you coming by the hotel and looking after me while

I was so sick. I hope I wasn't too much trouble." Josey was a rather

plain-looking woman, with round shoulders and crooked teeth, but when

she smiled, she lit up the room. Folks tended to want to smile back,

and Cole was no exception. His smile was genuine, as was his

appreciation.

"A lot of people wouldn't have taken the trouble to nurse a stranger, "

he added.

"You weren't any trouble at all, " she replied. "You lost a little

weight, but my chicken ought to put the fat back on you. I brought

some from home."

"My Josey makes mighty fine fried chicken, " Norton interjected with a

nod toward the basket his wife carried.

"I felt I ought to do something to make up for my husband's

orneriness.

Thomas shouldn't have knocked you out the way he did, especially since

you were feeling so puny and all. Does your head pain you? " "No,

ma'am, " he lied.

She turned to her husband. "Those two no-good gunslingers are still

hanging around. I spotted both of them on my way here. One's

squatting north of our avenue and the other's due south. Are you going

to do something about it before this boy gets himself killed? " Norton

rubbed his jaw. "I expect Marshal Ryan will have a talk with them. "

"He doesn't seem the talking type, " Josey replied.

"Ma'am, those gunslingers want me, " Cole said. "I'll talk to them. "

"Son, they don't want to talk. They're itching to build their

reputations, and the only way they can do that is if one of them shoots

you in a draw. Just don't let them aggravate you into doing anything

foolish, " Norton said.

Josey nodded her agreement, then turned to her husband again. "Where

do you want me to lay out the plates? " "It's too stuffy to eat in

here, " Norton said. "Why don't you put it all out on my desk? " Cole

waited until Josey had gone into the outer room before speaking to the

sheriff again. "Where's Ryan? " "He'll be along soon. He was headed

here, but then he got called over to the telegraph office to pick up a

wire. I expect you're anxious to have a word with him." Cole

nodded.

He kept his temper under control by reminding himself that the sheriff

had only done Ryan's bidding. It was the marshal who'd ordered Norton

to keep Cole in town, and it was also the marshal who'd pinned the star

on his vest. Cole had in mind another place for the badge. He thought

he might like to pin it to the center of Ryan's forehead. The thought

so amused him, he smiled.

Josey had removed the papers from the desk and covered it with a

red-and-white tablecloth. There were two chipped china dinner plates,

white with blue butterflies painted on the rims, and two matching

coffee cups. In the center of the desk was a platter of fried chicken

sitting in a thick puddle of grease, along with bowls of boiled turnips

with their hairy roots, like gauze, still wrapped around them,

congealed gravy that resembled day-old biscuit dough, pickled beets,

and black-bottomed rolls.

It was the most unappealing meal Cole had ever seen. His stomach,

still tender from the influenza, lurched in reaction to the smell.

Since Josey had already left, Cole didn't have to be concerned that his

lack of appetite would offend her.

The sheriff took his seat behind the desk and motioned for Cole to pull

up another chair. After pouring coffee for both of them, he leaned

back and pointed to the spread. "I might as well warn you before you

get started. My wife means well, but she never quite got the knack for

cooking. She seems to think she's got to fry everything up in a kettle

of lard. I wouldn't touch that gravy if I were you. It's a killer. "

"I'm really not hungry, " Cole said.

The sheriff laughed. "You're gonna be a mighty fine marshal'cause

you're so diplomatic." Patting his distended belly, he added, "I've

gotten used to my Josey's cooking, but it's taken me close to thirty

years to do it. There was a time or two I thought she was trying to do

me in." Cole drank his coffee while Norton ate two large helpings of

food. When the older man was finished, he restacked the dishes inside

the basket, covered it with his soiled napkin, and stood up.

"I believe I'll mosey on down to Frieda's restaurant and get me a piece

of her pecan pie. You want to come along? " "No, thank you. I'll

wait here for Ryan." One thought led to another.

"What did you do with my guns? " "They're in the bottom drawer of my

desk. That's a right nice gunbelt you've got. It makes it easy to get

to your guns, doesn't it? I expect that's why Marshal Ryan wears

one.

" As soon as the sheriff was out the door, Cole got his gunbelt out and

put it on. All of the bullets for the two six-shooters had been

removed.

He scooped them up, filled the chambers of one gun, and was working on

the second when Norton came rushing back inside.

"I expect Marshal Ryan could use your help. Those two gunslingers are

waiting at both ends of my street, and he's strolling right smack

across the middle. He's gonna get himself killed." Cole shook his

head. "They want me, not Ryan, " he said as he slammed the loading

chamber into place and shoved the gun in his holster.

"But that's the problem, son. Ryan ain't gonna let them have you. If

one of them kills you, then you won't be able to help him get the

Blackwater gang, and he's said more than once he needs your special

kind of help." Cole didn't have the faintest idea what the sheriff was

talking about.

What special kind of help could he give? He guessed he was about to

find out, though. His suggestion that the sheriff remain inside was

met with resistance.

"Son, I can lend a hand. Granted, it's been a while since I've been in

a shoot-out, but I figure it's like drinking out of a cup.

Once you've learned how, you never forget. I used to be considered

quick with a pistol too." Cole shook his head. "Like I said, they

want me, but thanks for the offer." Norton rushed forward to open the