Tuesday had been an uneventful day.
Yesterday, after Oliver Knapp had departed for Vancouver on the newly purchased horse, Jack and Clive had met the stagecoach, eager to talk to the servant that Oliver had hired, but the stagecoach driver had reported that a man matching Oliver's description had stopped the stage several miles outside Bordertown, and one passenger, presumably the servant, had gotten off. Neither had been seen or heard from since, so it was assumed that they had moved on.
Relieved that the incident was finally over, Marie was beginning to relax, and things seemed to be getting back to normal. Well, almost normal, anyway. She had invited Clive to dinner that evening, an invitation he had previously always accepted, but he had declined this time, stating that he had a preceding engagement. Although he had not specified, she felt certain that the other engagement involved the young schoolteacher. She and Lucy had dined alone, as they were doing tonight.
Lucy leaned over Marie's shoulder and inhaled deeply as her guardian lifted the steaming loaf of fresh bread from the oven. Nothing in the world could equal the smell of freshly baked bread.
Marie closed the oven door and placed the loaf on the table. "There. We'll let that cool awhile, and when the chicken is done, the bread should be cool enough to slice." She smiled fondly at the young orphan who had come into her care. "So, tell me, Lucy. How do you like the new schoolteacher?"
Lucy sat down on one of the chairs beside the table. "Well, I've only been in her class for two days, but I reckon I like her fine."
Marie could not suppress her smile of amusement. The new teacher would have her hands full, for half the children in town, Lucy included, were beginning to pick up some of Jack Craddock's linguistics.
Lucy's smile widened, and she added, "Corporal Bennett keeps coming by the school to have lunch with her. He seems to like her a lot."
Marie's smile faded as she was again reminded of the attention Clive was showing the new teacher. She lowered her gaze. "Yes. I suppose he does."
Lucy grimaced, slightly. It was obvious that Marie was not happy about Clive Bennett's infatuation with Miss Upton. "Some of the boys are calling her Miss Uppity," she offered in a conciliatory fashion. "On account of her being so stuck up."
"That isn't very nice, Lucy. She's just well educated."
"So are you, but you're nice."
Marie's lips turned up, slightly. "Thank you, Lucy, but it doesn't excuse the rudeness being shown to Miss Upton. This is a big change for her. I'm sure she's just uncertain about coming to a strange town so far from her home."
Lucy didn't think so, but she chose to keep her thoughts to herself. "Maybe. Anyway, she and Corporal Bennett deserve each other. He's kinda uppity, too."
That was too much. Marie's gaze became stern. "Lucy, I don't want you to talk about other people that way."
Lucy seemed to wilt slightly under the reproach, and her posture slumped. "I'm sorry, Marie."
Marie lifted the lid on a pot of boiled potatoes and pushed a knife into one to test the firmness. She replaced the lid, and turned back to the girl. "You don't like the corporal?"
Lucy folded her arms on the table and leaned forward to rest her chin on her wrist. One foot swung restlessly against the chair leg. "I like him, but I don't think he likes me that much."
This surprised her. "Of course, he likes you, Lucy. Why would you say such a thing?"
She hesitated with uncertainty, wondering if the corporal had told Marie about the boarding school. "Well, he's usually nice enough, but he acts like I'm in his way, sometimes."
"And do you get in his way, sometimes?"
Lucy's shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I dunno. Marshal Craddock never acts like I'm in his way. Me 'n Willie ---"
"Willie and I, Lucy," Marie corrected.
"Willie and I used to go to the marshal's office and watch when he worked on his guns, and stuff. He'd always talk to us, ask us how we were doing, what we were up to, and he didn't mind if we asked questions about what he was doing and why. Corporal Bennett always said we should play somewhere else."
"I'm sure he was just saying that a law enforcement office isn't a playground for a couple of children."
"Maybe." She sighed, wistfully. "I miss Willie."
"So do I, Lucy."
"Marshal Craddock does, too. He got a letter from him last week, and he let me read it."
"Oh? How is he doing?"
"He likes Paris," she said, regretfully. "I sorta hoped he'd hate it, and that his pa would send him home."
Marie placed a comforting hand on Lucy's shoulder. "I know. But he's spending important time with his father, and seeing things that most people never get to see."
"I know. He's learning to talk French. He says it's kinda tricky." Lucy fell silent for several moments, gazing intently at Marie. "Do you ever miss France?"
"All the time."
Something similar to fear filled the girl's eyes. "Are you moving back?"
Marie smiled. "No, Lucy. This is my home now, and I'm staying right here."
Relief swept across Lucy's face. "Good."
"So, you still visit the marshal?"
"Yeah. It's like --" She broke off, trying to find the proper words. "I don't know. He makes me feel closer to Willie, somehow. They were so close."
Marie nodded, recalling Jack's deep love for the boy that was not his own. "Yes. They were."
"The marshal told me about his little girl."
Marie looked up, surprised. Jack rarely spoke to anyone of his own child, murdered with her mother so many years earlier by a Mexican land baron. She was beginning to understand the bond that seemed to be growing between Jack and Lucy. "He did?"
"Yes. He said she'd be about my age, now, if she hadn't been killed."
"That's true. Lucy, I think it's nice that you and the marshal are friends, but I don't think it would be proper for you to go to his cabin."
Lucy nodded, old enough now to understand appearances. "I don't. I talk to him at the office, even though Corporal Bennett doesn't want me there. Marie?"
"Yes?"
"Why are people so cruel? She was just a little girl."
"I don't know what makes some people behave so cruelly, Lucy."
Lucy was silent for a few moments, but the need was great for an answer to the question that had tormented her for days. "Marie?"
Doesn't the girl ever run out of questions? Marie thought, exasperated. "Yes, Lucy?" she replied, maintaining a patient demeanor.
"Are you going to send me away to boarding school?"
The question, spoken out of the blue, caught Marie off guard. Startled, her eyes snapped to the girl's face. "Where would you get an idea like that?"
"I found some kind of folded up paper on Corporal Bennett's desk last week. It was from a boarding school in Toronto, a boarding school for girls. I know I shouldn't have been snooping," she added, quickly before Marie could scold her for that infraction. "I was looking for Marshal Craddock and he and Corporal Bennett weren't there, and it was just laying on his desk. I know it was meant for me."
Marie seemed both annoyed and bewildered. "I never even considered it, Lucy. Why would he take it upon himself to send for a brochure without consulting me?"
"I think he doesn't want me around in case you two get married. I think he doesn't want me underfoot."
"You are not underfoot, Lucy," Marie said, firmly. Her hand trembled slightly as she fumbled with the pot of carrots, burning her hand on the steam as she lifted the lid. How could Clive go behind her back like that? He hadn't even discussed it with her, and she was Lucy's guardian, not him! "You are not going to boarding school, unless you decide you want to go. It will be your decision, and until then, you are going to stay right here with me!"
Lucy's smile was relieved. "Thanks, Marie." She watched as Marie opened the oven to look at the chicken. "Why don't we ask Marshal Craddock to have supper with us?"
Marie closed the oven again, and looked up, surprised.
"He hasn't been over in a long time," Lucy reminded her. "And we have more than we can possibly eat. I can watch the chicken while you go ask him."
Marie smiled. "I suppose I could," she responded, quietly. After considering the suggestion for several moments, she began untying her apron. "All right. I shall."
Lucy's smile was broad, and Marie suspected the girl was involving herself in a bit of matchmaking. No matter. Clive was obviously preoccupied with the teacher, so why shouldn't she invite another man to dinner?
Marie hung her apron on the hook, and went into the foyer to get her shawl. As she placed the wrap around her shoulders, she called into the kitchen, "I'll be back in a few minutes. Don't let anything burn!"
"I won't," the girl promised with a sly smile.
Marie opened the front door and stepped out into the cool evening. Pausing to take a deep breath of fresh air, she gazed up at the star filled sky, wondering what Clive was doing at that moment. Why did she even care?
Drawing the shawl closer, she began the walk down the street toward the office shared by the marshal and the mountie.
The three of them had been best friends for a long time, now, but she recognized the fact that things seemed to be changing. Ever since Clive had come to Bordertown, the two men had competed bitterly for her attention, flattering her with their rivalry, even while somehow maintaining their own unstable friendship.
Marie was fond of them both, but she could not deny that she had found herself favoring Clive as her choice of a mate. Like her, he was a professional, well educated, and raised in a large city. Jack was rough-edged, raised on the frontier with no formal education, often unshaved and unwashed. Even though Clive could be a bit bossy at times, she had more in common with him. However, the incident about the boarding school was troubling. If he had entertained any resentment of Lucy, he had never revealed it to her. On the other hand, Lucy did not pull the idea out of the air. If she claimed to have found a brochure, then it must be so. She decided to confront him about it the next time she saw him.
And then there was the problem of his loyalty to her. For the fourth time in three years, another woman had diverted his attention from her. How could he be in love with her one day, and courting someone else with such fervor the next? On the other hand, how could she care so deeply for two men at the same time? What a tangled web we weave!
She sighed, heavily. there was no easy answer to her question. She would simply have to wait it out and see what happened.
From the street, Marie could see the glow of lantern light through the windows of the office, and knew that Jack was working late. Climbing the wooden steps, she paused outside the door to look in through the window.
As expected, Jack was alone. Clive's orderly desk was empty, indicating that he had either retired for the night, or had sought out Miss Upton's company again.
She turned the doorknob and stepped inside the office.
Jack was busily disassembling a damaged rifle, and she stopped to watch, impressed with his knowledge of how each piece fit together to make a functional tool. His disorderly desk was cluttered with rifle parts, tools, bullets, shirt buttons, dispatches, and other objects that she couldn't even identify. Beside the desk was a wooden box full of various tools.
Jack looked up, briefly, then returned his attention to his work. "Ev'nin', Marie."
"Good evening, Jack," she said, pleasantly.
"If yer lookin' for Clive, he ain't here."
"Actually, I came to see you."
His eyes darted briefly to hers again before returning to the rifle on which his hands continued to work, so familiar with the weapon that it seemed they could work of their own accord, without benefit of his eyes to guid them. "What about?"
"Lucy and I were wondering if you would join us for dinner."
Initially, Jack felt his heart leap in joyful response to the invitation, then felt it sink again when he considered the obvious fact that things would have been different were Clive not otherwise occupied. His hesitation was brief before he responded, but it was not the response that Marie had expected.
"I'm busy."
Her smile faltered. "Oh, I see," she said, her voice a trifle animated in response to his rejection. "Well, whatever it is you're doing will still be here when you get back."
This time, his hands stopped their work on the rifle, but he continued to avoid her gaze, his eyes seeking and holding an insignificant piece of clutter on his desk. "I ain't left-overs, Marie," he told her, firmly, his voice more gruff than usual.
She was bewildered by his curious choice of words, and it took several moments for her to realize that he was not talking about food; he was referring to himself. Heat crept into her cheeks, painting her fair complexion with scarlet. "Jack, I never implied that you were."
"Yes, you did, Marie. You say it every day. Not with words, but actions." He looked up, his eyes finally meeting hers. She was startled to see the intensity of hurt and anger reflected in the brown depths. "You think I ain't noticed that you favor him over me? The only time you wanna be around me is when the corporal finds hisself some other pretty young gal to trifle with. If he weren't with that new schoolmarm right now, you'd be askin' him to dinner 'stead o' me."
Marie's eyes darted quickly to the floor in response to the confirmation that Clive was with Miss Upton. Lifting her eyes again, she shook her head. "No, Jack, that isn't true," she protested. "Lucy and I were talking about how its been awhile since you've been to the house. We want you to dine with us."
"Lucy, maybe, but not you." He paused, briefly, not wanting to say the words, yet compelled to do so, driven by the need to reveal the depths of his feelings for her. "I'd do anything in the world for you, Marie. I'd give my life for you, and I don't take that lightly, but I'm tired of playin' second fiddle." He shrugged, as if accepting his place in the scheme of things. "Oh, I ain't blamin' you, Marie. He's ev'rying I ain't never gonna be. He comes from a good family, he's educated, he's handsome in that fancy woodpecker uniform, he speaks better'n me. A conversation with the likes o' me ain't excactly stimulatin'; I know that."
Tears burned behind her eyes, but she blinked them back before they could surface. She had hurt him! That was something she had never wanted to do.
Her mind was working rapidly, desperately struggling through the confusion that suddenly jumbled her thoughts. "Jack, I -- I never --"
"It's all right, Marie," he said, wearily, as if shouldering a burden that was too great to bear. "My ma once told me that you cain't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. I guess she was right. No matter what I do, I ain't never gonna be deservin' of a refined woman like you. No amount of sprucin' up is gonna hide what I really am. No, yer better off with someone like him. I ain't got nuthin' to offer you."
Jack had never won a debate with Marie. She was more articulate, able to think of the words and phrases to support her view, but tonight, that ability was failing her miserably. She simply could not find the words to reinforce her position. "Jack, no! It isn't like that!" she insisted.
"It ain't?" he asked, disbelievingly.
"No! You have a lot to offer!"
He picked up one of the rifle parts to resume his work. "Yeah, right. Tell Lucy I appreciate her kind invitation, but I cain't accept."
Marie felt her stomach turn over with a sickening plop. Somehow, Jack realized that it had been Lucy's idea, and that reality was significant to him. She gazed at his ruggedly handsome face, and the depression she saw there tugged at her heart, bringing a fresh flood of tears to her eyes, tears that could not be restrained. They glistened in her eyes, threatening to spill over the rims.
Jack noticed the tears and looked away, unable to face them.
Marie felt numb, and her voice was choked with emotion as she said, "Jack, I never meant to hurt you."
"I know you didn't, Marie."
His voice had softened, and she knew that he was sincere. His honesty was something she could always count on. He always meant what he said.
Discouraged and depressed, she turned toward the door to leave, but was stopped by Jack's voice.
"The sad thing is, Marie, you're bein' treated like left-overs, too. When he gits tired of his latest little gal, or if she gits tired o' him, he'll come back to you, jus' like he always does."
She froze, her hand on the door knob as she absorbed his words. That was probably true. After each of Clive's romantic flings, he had always returned to her as if nothing had ever happened. He had nearly married one of the women, Anna; would in fact be married to her at that moment had Anna not been murdered at the alter. Things would have been so much simpler if Anna had lived. The romantic triangle between her, Clive, and Jack would have been resolved. She would have been over the hurt, and she would not be hurting Jack now.
She remained frozen in place for several moments, but she did not turn back to face him. She did not want him to see the impact his word had on her. The tears were beginning to spill from her eyes, streaming down her cheeks.
Finally, she turned the knob, opened the door, and stepped out into the night again. Quietly, she pulled the door closed behind her.
Unable to contain his hurt any longer, Jack flung the damaged rifle on the desk top, scattering the clutter so that many of the items tumbled to the floor. With his foot, he kicked over the box of tools, scattering them on the floor as well. Then, he sat and stared at them, feeling foolish. Why did he do such stupid things? Now, he would have to pick them up.
Marie heard the commotion inside the office, and glanced in the window as Jack knelt down on the floor to retrieve the items he had knocked over. She knew what had happened. Jack would have been the first to admit that he had a temper, but it was a temper that tended to harm only himself.
Turning away from the window, Marie swiped a hand across her cheek, rubbing away the wetness as she walked down the boardwalk toward the gray house that occupied a prominent position at the end of the street.
Lucy would be disappointed that he was not coming. With a painfully constricted heart, she realized that she was disappointed as well.
Hours later, Clive opened the door to the office and stepped inside, surprised to find that Jack was still seated at his desk. Puzzled, his eyes lowered to the rifle that was held in his hands.
"Is that the same rifle you were working on when I left?"
Jack looked up at the corporal, then dropped his eyes to the weapon in his hands, the one that he had been staring at for the better part of an hour without accomplishing much in the way of repairs. He tossed it onto the desk again. "Yeah. Cain't seem to figure out what's wrong with it."
"That isn't like you, Jack," he commented.
"I'll work on it so'more, manana. How was yer ev'nin' with Miss Upton? You jus' now gittin' back?"
Clive drew a deep breath, expanding his lungs completely, and then released it in a contented sigh. "She's wonderful, Jack. We have so much in common. We just sat in the restaurant and talked, all evening. We never seem to run out of things to say. Zack finally had to run us out so he could close up!" He laughed, softly. "We had completely lost track of time. I didn't even know it was so late!"
Surprise flickered in Jack's dark eyes. "Late? What time is it?"
"It's after eleven."
Jack blinked with the revelation that he had been sitting there longer than he had realized. It had been over four hours since Marie had dropped by the office to invite him to supper. Reminded that he had missed supper completely, he felt his stomach rumble in protest to the abuse.
The Mountie yawned, sleepily. "Well, I need to make my rounds so I can get to bed."
"You go on to bed, Clive," Jack said, rising from the chair. "I'll make the rounds for both of us, tonight."
Clive hesitated, sorely tempted. It was not his habit to shirk his responsibilities, but he was exhausted. They had covered for one another many times over the years due to illness or injury, so it was not something that could be considered unusual. "Would you mind?"
"Nope," came the prompt response. "Go on to bed. I don't think I could sleep, anyhow."
"Thanks, Jack. I owe you one."
Jack waved away the debt as insignificant.
Clive paused in the doorway to his quarters, and glanced back at the marshal, expecting the gruff comment "Don't make it a habit", but the remark never came. A frown furrowed his brow, detecting the depression in the marshal's face and posture. "Jack, are you feeling all right?"
"I'm fine."
Clive did not think so, but did not pursue the matter. Jack was a very private man, the most private man he had ever met. If he was troubled about something, he would open up to him if and when he was ready, and no amount of prodding would convince him to talk about it until them. "All right, then. Goodnight."
"Buenos noches, compadre."
Jack watched as Clive went through the door into his private quarters -- quarters that had once belonged to him, before the 49th Parallel had been corrected, putting the room on the Canadian side of the dividing line. The corporal had immediately claimed the room with the logic that he should reside there, since it was on Canadian soil. Displaced from his quarters, Jack had moved into a small cabin on the American side. Although it had chapped his hide at the time, he had gotten over the eviction. He now regarded Clive with a fondness that he had never expected to feel toward the other man.
As the door latch clicked shut, Jack blew out the lantern, put on a fleece jacket, and locked up the office behind him, unaware of the pair of eyes that watched him from the shadows of the alley beside Marie's store. With quiet deliberation, the observer raised a rifle and sighted down the long barrel, preparing to fire.
A light came on in the Mounties quarters, and the watcher uttered a curse under his breath and shrank back into the shadows. Timing was everything is his desire to assassinate Marshal Craddock. It must be done at a moment when there was the least chance of assistance. A shot would bring the Mountie to assist his associate, most likely with a weapon at the ready, reducing his chances of escape once his objective was complete.
He knew the marshal would make his rounds, assuring that the town's businesses were secure, and by the time the task was compete, the Mountie would have been in bed long enough to have fallen asleep. The shot would still wake him, but he would initially be disoriented, and he would have to dress and locate his weapon in the dark before he could offer assistance. It would only be a delay of one or two minutes, but it would assure him sufficient time to retreat down the alley to his horse, and ride away.
The entire town had retired for the night. Every building along Main Street was dark and quiet, almost as if the establishments were sleeping along with their proprietors. A few street lanterns, hung at stretegic points throughout the community, helped push back the encroaching darkness, but it did nothing to stave off the slight chill in the air.
Unaware of the danger that lurked nearby, Jack looked up at the starry sky and sighed, a deep and lonely gesture. The nights were growing cooler, and there was a faint trace of autumn in the air. Soon, summer would fade into autumn, and then the cold and snow of winter would return. Initially, he had been glad to escape the intense heat of the long Texas summers, but the long, cold winters of the 49th Parallel were equally difficult for a man accustomed to the mild winters of the South.
Jack turned to his right, making his way onto the Canadian side of town on the east side of the street. At each business, he stopped, checking for secure locks. Then he cupped his hand against the glass to peer in the windows, searching for anything out of the ordinary.
From her upstairs bedroom window, Marie watched as the marshal made his way along the boardwalk, observing the thoroughness with which the lawman performed the responsibility of inspecting the safety of the community. For all his faults, there was no question in anyone's mind that Jack Craddock was dedicated to his position as the keeper of law and order. Each evening, before retiring, it was his habit to walk the town, checking each business on the American side for security. As he was on the Canadian side tonight, it was apparent that he was performing the corporal's rounds as well as his own.
Unable to sleep, her mind crowded with troubling and confusing thoughts, Marie had risen from her bed shortly after retiring. For awhile, she had paced the house in her flowing nightdress, wandering from room to room in the dark, until she became concerned that her restlessness would wake Lucy. Moving to the window, she leaned against the curtain and gazed out into the night. From her position, she could see the office shared by the two lawmen, and she had seen Clive enter the building a few minutes earlier. With a flinch in her wounded heart, she knew he was probably just then returning from his dinner with Grace Upton.
Stepping off the boardwalk, Jack cross the street in front of Marie's house, moving toward the livery stable on the west side of the street. In the middle of the intersection, he suddenly stopped and looked directly up at Marie's bedroom window.
Impressed with his perception, she stood very still, holding her breath. Because of the darkness of the room behind her, she knew he was unable to see her, but he must have somehow felt her eyes upon him. After a long moment, apparently indecisive about whether or not he was being watched, he turned away and resumed his walk to the stable.
The double doors were closed, securing the horses inside, so he entered through a narrow side door, and moved through the stable, going from stall to stall to observe the health of each horse, and then, satisfied that all was well with them, he made his exit, and proceeded back toward the American side, turning his attention to the businesses on the west side of the street.
Marie watched him walk away, then left her position at the window to return to her bed, hoping to catch a few hours of sleep before the day began.
Jack completed his walk down the west side of the street, crossed over to the east side again, and turned north as he made his way back toward the office and the completion of his rounds.
As he stopped to check the lock on the saloon door, a prime target for thieves, second only to the bank, he felt something brush against his ankles. Looking down, he saw the small calico cat that Diane Denny had been feeding in the hopes of encouraging the mouser to stay around. She purred loudly and rubbed her sides adoringly against his ankles.
"Hello, kitty," he said, stooping to pet the cat.
A gunshot split the still night air, and Jack heard the thud of the bullet as it embedded in the wall of the saloon in the precise level where his head had been only seconds before.
Without a sound, the cat scurried to safety under the boardwalk.
In the blink of an eye, Jack had withdrawn his pistol from its holster, and with his left hand positioned over the hammer, prepared to fire, he scanned the buildings on the other side of the street, his sharp eyes inspecting the shadows for the shooter. He immediately detected the dark human shape that darted down the alley between Marie's store and the bank.
Taking a diagonal course, remaining in the shadow of the tall building, he ran across the street, crouching low to the ground, offering the would-be assassin as small a target as possible. Without using the access steps, he leaped onto the boardwalk and slammed his body against MacWherter's Bank.
With his back pressed against the facade, Jack opened the cylinder of his pistol and checked his weapon to assure himself that it was fully loaded. Satisfied that it was operative, he peered around the corner into the alley that separated the bank from the store, but found it empty.
Across the street, the door to Clive's quarters was yanked open from the inside, and the Mountie, startled from his slumber by the gunshot, rushed outside and stopped on the boardwalk to make a quick assessment of the situation. He had hastily pulled his trousers on over his long underwear, his suspenders dangling around his hips. A rifle was in his hands, ready to defend the town.
Unaware of Clive's presence, Jack darted into the alley, following the direction taken by the shooter.
Clive saw the blur of movement, and ran across the street after him, unable to determine in that brief moment if the movement he saw was the marshal or the shooter.
At the end of the alley, Jack pressed against the wall of the store, and with his pistol ready, he leaned around the corner. The pounding of horse's hooves reached his ears, and a moment later, a horse and rider darted from behind the store's woodshed, where the shooter had apparently tethered his mount. Recklessly, defying the danger of riding rapidly over uneven terrain in the dark, he kicked his horse into a full gallop, guiding it toward a nearby stand of trees.
Taking careful aim, Jack shouted, "Stop, or I'll shoot!"
Leaning low over this horse's neck, the rider glanced quickly behind him, indication that he had heard the command, and in the moonlight, Jack glimpsed his face and instantly recognized the shooter. The man ignored the instruction to stop.
Jack pulled the trigger, and saw the man lurch forward over the horse's neck, but he did not fall. A moment later, the horse reached the trees, and disappeared from view. The pounding of hoof beats faded away.
Hearing a movement behind him, Jack whirled, lightning fast, assuming a gunfighter's stance as he faced the alley again.
Familiar with Jack's instant reflexes, Clive immediately stopped, raising his hands and the rifle into the air. "It's me, Jack."
Recognizing his friend, Jack relaxed, and returned his gun to the holster. "I winged 'im, but 'e got away."
"Did you get a look at him?" Clive asked.
"Oliver Knapp. He took a shot at me. The bullet is in the wall of the saloon, right at head level."
Clive looked at the marshal for several moments, understanding the implication. "I thought he had left town."
"So did I."
The two lawmen looked at each other for a long moment, each one thinking the same thing: Marie was not safe.
"We'd better check on Marie," Clive suggested.
"You read my mind, Clive."
Together, the two men started back up the alley.
Marie was slipping into her robe when Lucy burst through the bedroom door. "What's happening?" she cried, fearfully, running to her guardian's side. "I heard gunshots!"
Gunshots were not particularly uncommon in Bordertown. Cowboys frequently got liquored up on payday, and fired shots into the air just for fun, and fathers sometimes taught their sons to shoot in the field just outside the borders of town. The loud reports were always unsettling, but it was particularly alarming to be jerked so abruptly from a sound sleep, for gunshots in the middle of the night always signaled trouble.
"I don't know, Lucy," she responded, almost successful in hiding the uneasy quaver in her voice. "Wait here," she instructed, wanting to shield the girl from the possibility of seeing someone lying dead or wounded in the street. With her heart pounding wildly, she moved to the window she had abandoned only minutes earlier, when she had watched Jack making his rounds. Logic advised that he had probably been involved in the shooting, as he was the only man on the street at that late hour. Her eyes were wide, dreading what she might see, but she pushed the window open, so that she might hear as well as see..
For several moments, the streets were completely deserted. Looking down the narrow thoroughfare from her upstairs window, she saw only the flickering lanterns hanging on lamp posts in front of the businesses.
Then, she saw Zack Denny emerge from the saloon, where he and his wife kept quarters on the second floor. He was dressed in a knee length night shirt, and carried a lantern in front of him. His Negress wife, Diane, lingered in the doorway in her long, flowing nightgown. Without even being able to hear her words, Marie knew she would be urging her husband to be careful. Nearby, even though she could not see her from her angle, she imagined that her good friend, Sally Duffield, was probably peering anxiously into the street from the front door of her boarding house, reluctant to leave the safety of the building.
Lights were going on in the other residences as the townspeople who resided within the boundaries of Bordertown arose from their beds and lit their lanterns and candles. Hesitantly, yet unable to resist the urge of curiosity, they stepped into the streets to find out what had happened.
Marie pressed her fist against her lips, praying silently that no one had been killed. Where were Jack and Clive?
Lucy crept up behind her, crowding close against her, irresistibly drawn to the activity outside. The girl's breathing was loud in the silent room as they watched the gathering crowd.
"I hate this," Lucy finally said, breaking the silence.
Marie placed her arm around her, and pulled her close. The girl was trembling. "So do I, Lucy."
"Do you think Marshal Craddock and Corporal Bennett are all right?" she asked, gazing intently into Marie's face, seeking the answer that could not be given.
Marie glanced at her, and in the moonlight, Lucy could see the worry in her eyes. "I hope so."
The minutes passed silently, until, finally, they saw the two lawmen emerge from one of the alleys. They turned toward Marie's house, walking rapidly with long strides that were equally matched.
Marie focused on them intently, noticing that neither appeared to be limping or otherwise injuried. "They're all right, Lucy," she said against the girl's thick hair.
She felt Lucy nod, unable to speak for fear of weeping in her relief.
As they neared the house, they could hear Jack's gavelly voice through the open window, directed at the townspeople. "Ev'rything's all right, folks. Show's over. Go on back to bed."
"Did someone try to rob the bank?" Liam Gleeson, the barber, shouted from his window.
"Nope. Yer money's safe."
The people made no move to return to their homes, apparently too excited to go back to bed. Instead, they lingered in the street, conversing excitedly among themselves as they speculated on what mgiht have occurred.
Lucy looked up into Marie's face again. "They're coming here. Maybe one of them is hurt."
Marie nodded. It was apparently that the two lawmen were indeed approaching the house, so Marie quickly lit a lantern and hurried down the staris. She opened the door just as Clive was preparing to knock.
His hand dropped back to his side. "Marie, may we come in?"
The seriousness on his and Jack's faces left a sudden chill in her heart. She pushed the door open wider, allowing them room to enter. When they were inside, she closed it, and joined them in the parlor.
"What's wrong?" she asked. "We heard gunshots." Clive was clearly uninjured, as evidenced by condition of this clothing and lack of a coat. Jack was wearing a heavy coat that could wasily conceal a wound, and with the hands of a trained physician she began fumbling with his coat, searching for wounds. "Are you injured?"
"No, we're fine," Clive said, then glanced at Jack, deferring to his personal experience in the matter. He was the one who had seen him and chased him away.
"It was Knapp," Jack told her. "He took a shot at me while I was makin' my rounds." He did not add that the bullet had come alarmingly close to ending his life.
Icy cold fingers of fear gripped Marie's heart. "Are you sure it was him?"
"Positive. I gotta good look at his face."
Marie reached out to steady herself by gripping the back of one of her chairs, fighting a rare attack of lightheadedness that threatened to overwhelm her. "I had hoped he was gone," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I hoped it was over."
"So did we," Clive said, placing a comforting arm around her shoulders.
She brushed him away, a gesture of impatience that he instantly realized was directed at him personally. "I'm all right, Clive," she told him, curtly.
He dropped his arm to his side, surprised. She was obviously annoyed with him about something, but he could not comprehend what it could be.
Turning her back on Clive, she gave Jack her full attention. "I heard two shots."
Jack nodded. "I fired back. I think I winged him, but I cain't be sure. Marie, while we're here, I wanna check all yer doors and windows to make sure they're all locked. You still got that pistol I gave ya yesterday?"
"Yes. It's on my bedside table.
"Good. I want you to keep it handy at all times. He's probably holed up somewheres lickin' his wound, so he most likely won't come back tonight, but I don't wanna take no chances. Wounded animals tend to be meaner than ever. Clive 'n me are goin' out in the morning to see if we can track him down, but until then, I wanna make sure yer safe."
She nodded, appreciatively. "Thank you."
Jack and Clive spread out throughout the downstairs portion of the house, checking every door and window. Satisfied that Oliver Knapp could not get into the house without causing a great deal of noise, they joined Marie in the parlor again.
"Locked up tighter than a drum," Clive said, cheerfully, but his comment barely drew a glance his direction from her. Curiously, she seemed to have eyes only for Jack.
"Well, we'll let you 'n Lucy get back to bed, now," Jack said, turning to leave.
She escorted them to the door, and as they went through it, she placed her hand on the marshal's arm, stopping him. "Be careful, Jack," she urged, holding his gaze for a long moment. "He seems to have a grudge against you."
Jack lowered his gaze to her soft white hand that rested on his sleeve, then he placed his hand over hers, savoring her touch. "I done thought o' that, Marie," he said.
Clive watched the interaction between them with jealous eyes. "Lock that door behind us," he told her, firmly.
Irritation rippled through her. Did he think her too stupid to lock the door when in danger? "I will, Clive," she replied, shortly.
"Well, we'll let you know what we find out tomorrow," Jack promised. "Goodnight, Marie."
"Goodnight,Jack. Goodnight, Clive."
She closed the door and locked it behind them.
Jack and Clive had waited on her porch, listening as her lock slid into place, then Clive tried the door to make sure it was securely fastened. Satisfied, they stepped off the porch and made their way back down the street.
"She seemed in a rather foul mood," Clive commented.
"Really?" Jack asked. "I didn't notice."
"That's because she was nice to you." He glanced over his shoulder at Marie's house. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear she was angry with me about something."
Jack looked at him with surprised eyes. "You mean to tell me you got no idea why?"
"Not a clue," Clive replied with a shrug. "I can't think of anything I've done that could annoy her like that. Maybe she's just worried about Knapp coming back."
Jack shook his head, slowly, but resisted the urge to make a comment on the subject. Instead, he said goodnight, and proceeded toward his cabin.
GO TO CHAPTER NINE