Anna Zogg - The Marshal's Mission

Lawman with a Secret

Hiding his true identity is the only way for US Marshal Jesse Cole to bring bank robbers to justice. But the lovely widow whose Wyoming ranch he stumbles onto reminds him of everything he’s sacrificed for the law. When his job is done, he’s resolved to leave Lenora Pritchard behind—until she and her son are threatened. Now the only way to protect them is to make her his wife.

To conceal her late husband’s guilt, Lenora hid his stolen haul. And with a ruthless gang leader determined to retrieve it, she needs Cole’s protection for herself and her son. It’s a marriage in name only, founded on dangerous secrets...but could it possibly lead to a true and loving family?

“So what makes you restless, Cole?”

He opened his mouth to deny the claim, then gritted his teeth.

“You once said you were looking to settle down, but you haven’t yet. And send for your mother, but you haven’t. And now you’re dragging a pregnant mare across country—looking for the perfect spot?” She shook her head. “There is no such place.”

Her perception stunned him. Just seven months ago, his ma had asked him how many criminals he needed to put behind bars before he was satisfied. Twenty? Fifty? A hundred?

Just one more. That had been his justification. But after arresting one outlaw, Cole would hear of another that needed to be stopped. And another.

With parted lips, she watched him. For the first time in his life, someone out-silenced him.

“Way past my bedtime.” He was off the porch and halfway to the barn before he realized he hadn’t said good-night.

However, it was the wisest thing to do. If he turned around and went back, he’d tell her things best kept secret. For now anyway.

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed reading The Marshal’s Mission as much as I enjoyed writing it. I based this story on my great-grandfather’s life—he was an undercover US Marshal. Then I found out that though he had been married to my great-grandmother, he wasn’t directly related to me. What a woman—she outlived five husbands!

The West has always fascinated me. It was a pleasure to research the lives of the tough men and women who shaped our country.

I’d love to hear from you. Write to me at anna@annazogg.com or PO Box 1642, West Jordan, UT 84088. Please visit my website at annazogg.com.

Anna

ANNA ZOGG has long been fascinated by the West—ranch life, horses and the tough men and women who tamed it. Ever drawn to her Native American roots, she and her husband, John, reside in the heart of the West. Visit annazogg.comto learn more about her love of music, her eclectic taste in fiction and some very special children.

The Marshal’s Mission

Anna Zogg

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for Thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety.

—Psalms 4:8

To my dear friend and sister in the Lord, Marilynn Rockelman. Without you, this story might never have been told.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Wyoming Territory, 1882

Who is that?

Hand poised over a scoop of dried beans, Lenora Pritchard peered out her kitchen window. Across the ranch yard, a form ducked out of sight. Was that Toby? Her son had left an hour ago to look for his missing dog. Why was he skulking around the barn?

Wiping her hands on her apron, she stepped onto the porch and stared. Nothing. She was certain she saw someone slink around the building not two minutes before.

A sudden gust of chill wind whipped her long skirts. She shivered as she gripped the porch’s column. Was rain coming? All afternoon the sky had been clear and beautiful.

As she looked upward, she gasped. A bank of ominous clouds rolled in from the north. Marching like an army, the mass devoured the warmth and light of the mid-April day. Many an unprepared traveler had died of exposure because of weather changes this time of year. Though her son wore his coat and hat, would they be enough to protect him in freezing temperatures?

“Toby!” The roaring wind swallowed her call. She ran down the steps and into the yard. It was then she spied a half-dozen chickens, pecking in the long grass alongside the house. They were supposed to be locked in the fenced-in area attached to the coop. How...?

Darting between the shed and barn, Lenora yelled for her son again. When she saw the mangled enclosure, she gulped. The small, wooden building leaned at a crazy angle, held somewhat upright by the attached lightweight fencing. Had the wind blown it over?

As though in answer, a blast of air snatched the combs from her hair and spun it like a tornado. A single splat of icy rain hit her skin. She had to get the chickens inside. Now.

“Toby,” she called again. Her ten-year-old was nowhere in sight.

With the coop useless, the barn would have to do.

“Shoo. Shoo!” With arms spread, Lenora tried to herd the hens toward the open door. Cackling in alarm, they scattered in every direction other than the one she wanted. Her frustration rose to an impossible level. Why was her husband dead when she needed him most? Nothing like this ever happened while Amos lived.

After she managed to get a few chickens into the barn, she peered around the empty building. Had she imagined that lurking form?

“Ma!” Toby loped uphill from the direction of the stream, his green eyes wide. “I found Blister, but he—”

“Help me get the chickens inside,” she panted.

“But, Ma...”

“Hurry.” She bolted to find the rest.

The wind built, catching the birds’ feathers and nearly toppling them. Dirt stung Lenora’s face. A distant rumble of thunder warned of the impending downpour. Together she and Toby ushered the stragglers into the barn.

Out of breath, she counted those corralled in a corner stall. Thirteen. While the hens settled in one corner of the shadowy barn, the rooster strutted around his flock.

“Okay, Toby. Shut the door.”

Leaning out, he yelled, “Blister! Come on, boy. Come on.”

Lenora gnawed her lip. Would their dog pester the chickens? Blister usually ignored them. However, this arrangement would have to do. For now.

As the dog slunk inside, her mouth gaped. A tight rope wrapped around his neck and torso. Dirt caked him. And he looked skinny, like he hadn’t eaten in the four days he’d been missing. Where had he been? Though he usually wandered, he never stayed out more than two.

“Bring him closer.” She fumbled to light the lantern.

Amos had always kept one handy in the barn. And a shotgun. Out of sight from the entrance, the weapon rested on a crossbeam’s pegs.

As her son pulled his dog into the circle of light, she hung the lantern on a nail.

“What in the world?” With her back to the barn’s wall, she squatted to examine the dog. It appeared as if someone had lassoed Blister with a fine length of rope. A three-foot piece dangled, frayed in the middle as though he had tried to gnaw his way loose. But clearly someone had cut the end.