Lisa Plumley - Morrow Creek Marshal

With a backward glance, Marielle made sure Hudson was sleeping. A disloyal part of her wished her brother would wake up and deal with this himself. It might have been nice to have had a genuine protector to rely on. But now, as usual, she had only herself. It was up to her to protect both of them.

Wasn’t that what she’d promised, when Mama had been dying?

“We have nothing to discuss.” Marielle jerked up her chin. “Certainly nothing that can’t wait until morning.”

It was late enough there, on the outskirts of town, that no one was about. The birds were stilled in the darkened ponderosa pines. The moon provided most of the light on her front porch.

“Ah, but this here can’t wait till morning.” Charley looked beyond her, into her house. “Ain’t you gonna invite me in?”

As he moved to take the invitation she pointedly hadn’t offered, Marielle shoved him with her crutch. Charley was too surprised to object outright. He obligingly made room, looking amused, while she clumsily half hopped, half lumbered her way onto the porch. She shut the door. At this point, being outside with him felt safer than being in her own house with—she had to face facts—a passed-out-drunk Hudson as her only protection.

Admitting as much, even to herself, made Marielle’s former wooziness subside, just a bit. Evidently, laudanum was no match for having a notorious outlaw appear at your door uninvited.

“What do you want, Mr. Sheridan? I don’t have all night.”

“Nope. What you have is... all of that .” His loathsome gaze traveled over her costumed form. His odious gesture indicated those dratted horsehair-augmented curves she’d given herself where the Almighty had chosen not to bless her himself. Charley’s appreciation was anything but divinely inspired, though. His attention felt despicable. “Men pay good money to see you, Miss Miller. That there’s the reason for it.”

He meant her figure, plainly. She shuddered with disgust.

“They pay to see me dance ,” she specified. “That’s all.”

“If you believe that, you’re dumber than your brother.”

“I’ll thank you to leave Hudson out of this.”

At her fiery, protective retort, Charley guffawed. “There ain’t no leaving Hudson out of this. It’s all his damn fault.”

“What is?” Newly alert, she clutched her crutch.

“You’ll have to ask him about that.” Plainly comfortable in his thuggery, Charley leaned on her porch railing. “Point is, and the solitary reason I’m here talking to a woman at all, is that I’m not the only one who’s noticed you and your ‘dancing.’”

Marielle knew he meant something far baser. She scowled.

“That Coyle fella—he noticed your ‘dancing,’ too.”

Shivering, Marielle looked up at the night sky. She wished she were anywhere but here, with an outlaw’s whiskey breath and overripe saddle stink washing over her. She couldn’t help noticing the heft of Charley’s gun belt. She wished she hadn’t.

“Now that he’s gonna be the new sheriff in town—”

“Dylan Coyle? The sheriff ?” Marielle almost laughed outright, despite her alarming predicament. “Impossible. The man can’t stay put long enough to use up a pound of coffee, much less see to maintaining law and order in Morrow Creek.”

Unfazed, Charley spat his tobacco juice over her porch railing. “Seems you’re wrong about that. I saw him pin on that shiny ole badge myself just a little a while ago.”

Dylan Coyle...the sheriff? In a single night? How could this have happened? She’d known the men’s club was meeting to discuss their errant sheriff and to fill his now vacant post with someone new. But...this? Dylan Coyle? In charge?

Marielle could scarcely envision Mr. Coyle with a badge to go along with his gun. Yes, she’d felt a certain...affinity toward him. Yes, he seemed to be a reasonably fair and intelligent man, if entirely too autocratic for her liking. But he was a drifter, though and through. There was no way they could count on him.

Had the whole town lost its wits?

With effort, she tried to regain hers. “This has nothing to do with me. If you’re interested in the new sheriff, why don’t you go speak with him yourself?” As if he would. The Sheridans were notorious in the territory. Only Sheriff Caffey and Deputy Winston had been oblivious to the dangers their gang had posed.

Now that their former sheriff had fled so mysteriously and his deputy had been duly locked up—events Marielle had learned about along with everyone else just days ago—lawlessness would obviously increase. It was no accident there was no one around to stop Charley Sheridan from harassing her at nearly midnight.

“ I ain’t gonna speak with him.” Charley poked her chest. “You are. You’re gonna jaw your fool head off. You’re gonna do whatever it takes to get in good with the new sheriff—and I mean real good. After you done that, you’re gonna make sure he’s good and distracted while me and my boys get what’s coming to us.”

She couldn’t help stating the obvious. “Prison?”

“Tsk-tsk.” He shook his head. “If you weren’t laid up—”

“I’m strong enough to face you , aren’t I?”

“—and maybe crippled for good—”

Marielle gulped, hoping he wasn’t right. Fearing he was.

“—I’d make you pay for a disrespectful remark like that.”

Shaking from fright and cold, Marielle nonetheless stared Charley down. “I’m not going to do anything for you. Not now. Not ever.” She reached backward for her doorknob, all but itching to turn it and escape. “I’m going inside.”

Charley slammed his hand on the door before she could open it. His presence loomed over her, menacing and conscienceless.

“You Millers owe me ,” he said. “Hudson cost me something. So far, he ain’t been able to pay. But tonight, when I saw you gettin’ all flirtatious with the new sheriff, I figured out another way for me to get what’s coming to me. I aim to get it.”

Irrationally, Marielle wasn’t most piqued by the threat inherent in that statement. “Flirtatious?” she repeated in an outraged tone. “I assure you, Mr. Sheridan, that I was not—”

“Yep. Flirtatious.” Charley seemed nauseatingly pleased by that. “I reckon Coyle will do damn near anything you ask.”

That was outlandish. Still...a part of her wondered if it was true. Coyle had been mighty insistent about staying by her side. Why would he have done that if he hadn’t liked her...a little?

Befuddled and worried, Marielle shook her head.

“All you have to do is get the new sheriff to trust you,” Charley told her coaxingly. “Get him to look the other way while Hudson helps us get what’s ours. That’s it. Your brother cost us. That’s not something I’m prone to forget.” He rested his hand on his gun belt, making his meaning plain. “Or forgive.”

“You leave Hudson out of this!” Marielle hissed. “You stay away from my brother. Otherwise, I swear I’ll—”

Charley’s chuckle cut short her useless threat. “Just ask him. Ask Hudson what he cost us—cost me. You’ll see. This is the only way. It’s the smart way.”

Mutely, Marielle shook her head. She wanted to leave, but Charley came closer, still keeping one hand on the door. His body pressed on hers, wiry and strong and scary. His whiskey breath panted against her neck. Cursing her skimpy costume, Marielle froze in place. She was in no condition to stop him.

“Unless,” Charley crooned lasciviously, “you’d rather do this another way?” He put his hand on her waist, making sure she felt the full force of his coercion. “I’d be willing to take you as fair compensation for my losses instead. My little brothers wouldn’t like it much. But I could always give them a turn.”