Lynna Banning - The Lone Sheriff

“Of course. I am Madison O’Donnell. The Smoke River Bank hired me to help catch the gang robbing their gold shipments.”

Jericho stared at her.

“I believe you were expecting me?”

He snapped his jaw shut. The last thing he’d expected was this frilly-looking female with her ridiculous hat. In her green-striped dress, and twirling her parasol like that, she made him think of a dish of cool mint ice cream.

“Whatever is the matter, Sheriff? You have gone quite pale. Are you ill?”

He jerked at the question. Not ill—just gutshot. “Uh, yeah. I mean, no, I’m not ill. Just…surprised.”

She lowered her voice. “Most clients are surprised when they meet me. It will pass.”

Hell, no, it won’t.

During my research for this book I was pleased to discover there were a number of women Pinkerton agents; in fact Allan Pinkerton stated that some of his most valuable operatives, particularly during the Civil War, were women.

So I thought a female agent in the Old West deserved her own story.

The Lone Sheriff

Lynna Banning

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Joe Walsh, with love

With grateful thanks to:

Suzanne Barrett

Carolyn Comings

Kathleen Dougherty

Tricia Adams

Brenda Preston

Susan Renison

Ann Shankland

Austin Sugai

David Woolston

LYNNA BANNINGhas combined a lifelong love of history and literature into a satisfying career as a writer. Born in Oregon, she has lived in Northern California most of her life. After graduating from Scripps College she embarked on a career as an editor and technical writer, and later as a high school English teacher.

An amateur pianist and harpsichordist, Lynna performs on psaltery and harp in a medieval music ensemble and coaches in her spare time. She enjoys hearing from her readers. You may write to her directly at PO Box 324, Felton, CA 95018, USA, email her at carowoolston@att.netor visit Lynna’s website at www.lynnabanning.com

Contents

Cover

Introduction “You’re here to help?” Jericho echoed. “Of course. I am Madison O’Donnell. The Smoke River Bank hired me to help catch the gang robbing their gold shipments.” Jericho stared at her. “I believe you were expecting me?” He snapped his jaw shut. The last thing he’d expected was this frilly-looking female with her ridiculous hat. In her green-striped dress, and twirling her parasol like that, she made him think of a dish of cool mint ice cream. “Whatever is the matter, Sheriff? You have gone quite pale. Are you ill?” He jerked at the question. Not ill—just gutshot. “Uh, yeah. I mean, no, I’m not ill. Just…surprised.” She lowered her voice. “Most clients are surprised when they meet me. It will pass.” Hell, no, it won’t.

Author Note AUTHOR NOTE Author Note Title Page Dedication About the Author Prologue 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 Epilogue Copyright During my research for this book I was pleased to discover there were a number of women Pinkerton agents; in fact Allan Pinkerton stated that some of his most valuable operatives, particularly during the Civil War, were women. So I thought a female agent in the Old West deserved her own story.

Title Page The Lone Sheriff Lynna Banning www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dedication For Joe Walsh, with love With grateful thanks to: Suzanne Barrett Carolyn Comings Kathleen Dougherty Tricia Adams Brenda Preston Susan Renison Ann Shankland Austin Sugai David Woolston

About the Author LYNNA BANNING has combined a lifelong love of history and literature into a satisfying career as a writer. Born in Oregon, she has lived in Northern California most of her life. After graduating from Scripps College she embarked on a career as an editor and technical writer, and later as a high school English teacher. An amateur pianist and harpsichordist, Lynna performs on psaltery and harp in a medieval music ensemble and coaches in her spare time. She enjoys hearing from her readers. You may write to her directly at PO Box 324, Felton, CA 95018, USA, email her at carowoolston@att.net or visit Lynna’s website at www.lynnabanning.com

Prologue Prologue TO: SHERIFF JERICHO SILVER, LAKE COUNTY, OREGON SENDING TOP AGENT MADISON O’DONNELL TO ASSIST CAPTURE OF ARMED GANG STEALING WELLS FARGO GOLD SHIPMENTS ALLAN PINKERTON PINKERTON DETECTIVE AGENCY, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

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

Epilogue

Copyright

Prologue

TO: SHERIFF JERICHO SILVER, LAKE COUNTY, OREGON

SENDING TOP AGENT MADISON O’DONNELL TO ASSIST CAPTURE OF ARMED GANG STEALING WELLS FARGO GOLD SHIPMENTS

ALLAN PINKERTON

PINKERTON DETECTIVE AGENCY,

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

Chapter One

Smoke River, Oregon, 1873

“Sonofa—” Jericho shoved his shot glass of Red Eye around and around in a widening circle. That’s all he needed, some citified armchair detective telling him how to do his job.

The bartender swept out a meaty hand and rescued the glass. “Got a problem, Johnny?”

“Nope. Gonna get rid of it soon as it turns up.”

Jericho tossed off the whiskey and slapped the glass onto the polished wood counter. “No fancy-ass Pinkerton man from the city is gonna sit on his duff at the jailhouse giving me advice while staying out of the line of fire.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Fill it up, Jase. Jawing with some city slicker from Chicago’s gonna be easier with this inside me.”

The bar man looked him over. “Ya keep this up, you’re gonna be pie-eyed. That’s your fourth shot.”

Jericho grunted an obscenity. Pie-eyed was okay with him. Three weeks of chasing the Tucker gang, and now his arm was in a sling. His gun arm. He swore again and downed his shot.

The windowless saloon was smoky and dim, but it was over a hundred degrees outside and the Golden Partridge was the coolest place in town. He grinned at the paunchy man on the other side of the counter and slowly pivoted to study the room behind him. A puff of hot air through the swinging double door told him he was no longer alone.

Hooking his boot heel over the bar rail, he shoved both elbows onto the bar top and watched his still-wet-behind-the-ears deputy sidle up beside him.