Coming From California (The Pioneer Brides 0f Rattlesnake Ridge Book 2) Page 15

  “Excuse me,” a voice said, and they both turned, startled, Luke quickly dropping Daisy’s hand. “Letter for you, Miss Daisy.” It was the boy who delivered post around the town.

  “Thank you,” Daisy accepted the envelope, looking curiously at the unfamiliar handwriting on the front. “I think this might be from Virginia City,” she said quietly to Luke as the post boy left.

  “You’d best open it,” Luke said, and he waited while she broke the seal on the envelope, pulled out a sheet of paper, and scanned it.

  “It’s from the sheriff in Virginia City. He says they checked but can’t find any evidence Mr. Blake was in Silver City; the assayer there never saw him and hasn’t received any strange gifts.”

  “I was thinking it all seemed odd. He’d have been pushed for time to visit both, considering when you saw him leaving town here.” Luke nodded. “Maybe that was just a story he fed Thom Murray to make him less suspicious.”

  Daisy handed Luke the letter, and he folded it up, tucking it into his coat pocket and taking her hand again. “I’ll see Jim McCullough gets this, and let him know you can see him after school lets out, if needs be.” Luke squeezed her hand gently. “And after I’ve talked to him, I’ll go and turn in. Get some rest. Or I won’t understand a word Moss says this afternoon.”

  There was a big smile on Daisy’s face as Luke left and she headed back inside to wash up the used cups. Spending time with Luke never failed to make her feel this way, as though a bubble of joy was welling up inside her, laughter threatening to break free at any moment.

  Except when he kissed her or looked at her in that particular way, his blue eyes darkening.

  The feeling inside her had changed, turning from friendship and joy to something more. Evolved into something she didn’t know how to name. It was what had spurred her to accept the offer he hadn’t even gotten around to making. Being Luke’s wife would be… She didn’t let herself finish the thought. Like most young women, she’d dreamed of marrying, of having a husband and a home. She’d just never met any man she could envision spending the rest of her life with. At least not until a blue-eyed cowboy with a cheeky mouth caught her shaking the dust off her petticoat at the window.

  Now she couldn’t imagine ever being interested in anyone else.

  * * *

  “Come in, Rockford,” Jim McCullough said when Luke tapped on the frame of his office’s open door. Rising from his chair with a wry smile, McCullough offered his hand to shake. “Any excuse to avoid the paperwork,” he waved at the stack on his desk, “but I’m glad you stopped by. I saw Lassiter before he went home, and he told me you kept him company last night on his rounds.”

  Luke shrugged. “Honestly, I couldn’t sleep anyway, I was too worried. I figured I might as well go out and keep him company.”

  “I can understand that. I’d feel the same way if I thought there was any threat to my Josie.” Nodding to Luke to take a seat, he sat back down himself.

  “Got a letter from the sheriff in Virginia City,” Luke said, taking out the letter Daisy had received and handing it over. “Looks like Blake never did go to Silver City. Would’ve been too suspicious, I suppose, if two assayers had both died on the same day.”

  “Hmm.” McCullough scanned the letter, a lot slower than Daisy had read it. “Well, at least we don’t have to worry about another possible murder.”

  “At least not yet,” Luke said dryly, taking the chair McCullough had indicated.

  “Heh, indeed. Well, I heard from Reno,” the sheriff said as Luke settled down. “That gossip the stableman told you was right; it’s a murder investigation, but the sheriff in Reno doesn’t see how Blake fits into it apart from him apparently delivering a similar bottle of whiskey to Mr. Murray in Virginia City. Nobody in Reno saw Blake, so he can’t pin the murder on him for sure.”

  “Well, as it happens, I might be able to fit in the missing piece there.” Luke leaned forward. “The day Miss Daisy arrived in town, Mr. Blake was on the stage out of Reno with her.”

  “Say what?” McCullough stared at him, mouth open. “That can’t be! What day did she arrive, again?”

  Luke told him; the date was etched in his memory. McCullough shuffled through pages in a notebook briefly before pausing to read. His mouth settled in a grim line as he rose to his feet, gesturing for Luke to stay put.

  “Deputy Watson,” McCullough called out into the main room, “come in here, would you?”

  Luke stiffened, hand sliding down to his hip. McCullough’s eyes lingered briefly on his hand, but he obviously pretended not to notice as he returned to his seat.

  Watson didn’t even glance at Luke as he entered the room. “Yes, sir?” the deputy asked.

  “Close the door and sit down, Watson.” McCullough’s tone was cold as he consulted his notebook. “When I spoke to Mr. Blake yesterday evening and asked him about his whereabouts two Thursdays ago, he gave you as his alibi. Said he spent the evening at your house before walking home around midnight.”

  “That’s right, sir.” Watson took a seat beside Luke but kept his eyes trained on the sheriff.

  “Yes, and you confirmed that with me when I asked you.” McCullough’s finger began a slow, ominous tap on the desk as he trained his eyes on the young deputy. “However, some information has come to light which puts Mr. Blake on the stage leaving Reno at six on Friday morning.”

  Watson sat very still.

  Luke fingered the handle of his gun, wondering just how deep into this mess the young deputy had gotten. He and Watson didn’t like each other, but he’d never once thought Watson was capable of murder.

  McCullough waited for a long moment in complete silence, eyes boring into his deputy.

  Finally, Watson swallowed convulsively. “I beg your pardon, sir. I realize now, I think I had the wrong night in my mind. It was Wednesday night of that week when Mr. Blake was at my house.”

  “Was it really,” McCullough said softly, not making it a question.

  “Something else occurs to me,” Luke said, suddenly figuring out something which had been nagging at him ever since he saw Blake riding away from Murray’s assay office. “When Jack and I saw Mr. Blake in Virginia City on Wednesday morning, he was riding a black stallion, very distinctive. White lightning bolt between his eyes and one white hind foot.”

  “Sounds very much like your horse, Grant,” McCullough said.

  Luke watched as Watson almost folded in on himself. Every motion, every word exuded guilt like a child caught in a horrible, horrible lie. He wondered if the deputy knew just how much his actions were speaking for him.

  “Prince doesn’t get enough exercise,” Watson said, his tone defensive. “Joseph regularly borrows him. Ask Caleb at the stables, he’ll tell you! I told him, Joseph doesn’t need my permission.”

  “We’ll check on that.” McCullough made a note.

  “We?” Watson shot a glare at Luke, utter hatred flashing across his face. “Have you deputized Mr. Rockford then, sir?”

  “I haven’t, no. Not yet. But considering how close you are to this mess, Watson…” McCullough’s stance was forbidding.

  “What mess?” Watson sounded almost plaintive. “What is it you think Joseph’s done?”

  “A man is dead, Grant.” McCullough spoke softly.

  “Who?” Watson asked.

  Luke was pretty sure Watson’s shock was genuine as he gaped at McCullough.

  “An assayer out of Reno, name of Wilkins. Do you know him?”

  Watson shook his head. “I’ve never heard of him, sir.”

  Luke believed him, but he wasn’t ready to acquit Watson entirely yet. His providing an alibi for Blake was suspicious at best. “Would you mind if I took a look at the soles of your boots?”

  Watson turned to glare at him. “Yes, I would mind! What sort of question is that?”

  “A question I’m about to repeat. Your boots, Deputy,” McCullough said, his tone uncompromising.

  Watson hesitated, and then he lean
ed back in his chair and swung his feet up to rest his boots on the edge of the sheriff’s desk. “I’m telling you, I don’t know any man named Wilkins, and I haven’t been to Reno in two, three months! So whatever bootprint you’re looking for, it isn’t mine!”

  “I never said the bootprint I was looking for was in Reno,” McCullough’s tone was mild. “Matter of fact, this is about a completely different case, right here in Rattlesnake Ridge. We’re searching for the man who stood outside Miss Daisy’s window the night before last and tried to break into her rooms.”

  All the color drained from Watson’s face. “Tried to break in?” He sounded even more shocked than he had when asking about the identity of the dead man.

  “There something you want to tell me, Deputy?” McCullough said. “Because from where I’m sitting, there’s a nick in the sole of your boot that matches the print I saw outside of Miss Daisy’s window.”

  Luke didn’t remember making a conscious decision to draw his gun, but suddenly it was in his hand and he was on his feet, his chair falling over with a crash.

  Watson sat very still, raising his hands slowly, looking from Luke to McCullough with a slow flush of shame creeping up his cheeks.

  “Stand down, Rockford.” McCullough rose unhurriedly and walked around the other side of the desk, leaning down to slip Watson’s gun from its holster and tuck it into his belt. “I said, stand down.”

  The snap of an order in the sheriff’s voice made the red mist of temper Luke was seeing through subside slowly. He lowered his gun, but he kept it in his hand.

  “Start talking, Watson.” McCullough’s voice was almost kindly. “Before I decide to let Rockford take you out back and beat the living tar outta you.”

  Chapter 18

  “I only wanted to check on her,” Watson said. Luke thought he sounded a little scared. “I swear, I never tried to break in. I wouldn’t! I just… I didn’t like the thought of her living there all alone, wanted to check that, um...” His eyes flicked to Luke.

  The penny dropped.

  “You wanted to check I wasn’t with her,” Luke said, enlightened.

  The dull flush crawling up Watson’s cheeks darkened, and he gave a choppy little nod.

  “What would you have done if I was, run straight to Loose-Lips Olivia Handley?” The tip of his gun started to rise. “You spied on Daisy, you low-down—”

  “Rockford, put your gun away and your butt back in that chair,” McCullough said sternly. “I’m inclined to believe Watson when he says he wasn’t the one who tried to break in. In which case, it’s possible he saw who did.”

  Luke ground his teeth together briefly, but he had to admit he agreed with McCullough. Watson was a poor liar. With a sigh, he holstered his gun and sat back down although he kept his hand on the grip.

  “So,” McCullough said, “looks like you’ve been making some pretty poor choices, Watson.”

  The young deputy looked like a puppy who’d been kicked, and watching him hang his head, Luke was reminded of Watson’s youth. He remembered the first time he’d thought himself in love with a girl when he was fourteen years old, and the way he’d followed the poor girl around, lovestruck. Watson looked like he’d felt.

  “I’m really sorry, sir,” Watson mumbled. “I don’t have any excuse.”

  “Don’t want to hear no excuses. I want to hear if you saw anyone else out on the street that night after you looked in Miss Daisy’s window.”

  “I saw Bartholomew Jenkins, walking home from the Miner’s Rest. He goes by every night about that time.” Watson screwed his eyes shut. “And as I was walking home myself, I saw Joseph Blake. He said he was just getting some air. You don’t think he…” He trailed off, his eyes widening with sickening realization.

  “Joseph Blake is the prime suspect in the murder of Mr. Wilkins,” McCullough said point-blank, “and Miss Daisy is the witness who saw him on the stage that morning. The one person who can contradict the alibi Blake got you to give for him. If she wasn’t around to say different, we might not be able to place him in Reno at all, so it’s likely he tried to ensure she didn’t talk.”

  “Oh, dear Lord, forgive me.” Watson looked as though he might be sick. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’m so sorry…”

  “I think you need to take a few days to think about your future, Mr. Watson. Go home.” McCullough softened his tone slightly at the young man’s obvious devastation. “Get some rest, take some time to think. I’ll come by and see you soon.”

  “Sir.” Watson rose to his feet, moving toward the door.

  “And Watson?” Luke said, standing up too.

  The younger man hesitated before turning to face him. “Yes, Mr. Rockford?”

  For the first time in the years he’d known Watson, there was no insolence in his tone, only respect. Still, Luke said what he needed to say. “Stay away from Daisy.”

  An expression of deepest regret flashed across Watson’s face. “Yes, sir. I… well, I never meant to frighten her. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll convey your apologies,” McCullough said when Luke didn’t speak. “But Rockford’s right—stay away from her. Or I’ll look the other way when he takes matters into his own hands.”

  Luke would like nothing better than to pound Watson’s pretty-boy face into the dirt, if he was being entirely honest, but he caught McCullough’s unspoken subtext. If Watson dared go near Daisy, all bets were off. On the other hand, if Luke went after Watson without cause, he’d find himself in the lockup until his temper cooled or McCullough felt like letting him go.

  Both he and Watson nodded in silent acceptance of McCullough’s terms. They were fair. More than fair, and Luke knew it. Watson seemed to agree with them as well, because he left the office without another word.

  McCullough opened a drawer in his desk, pulled something out, and slid it across the desk to Luke.

  He caught it instinctively. In his hands was a shiny silver star like the one Watson wore. A deputy’s star.

  “Consider yourself deputized. Let’s go and arrest Mr. Blake.”

  “Uh.” Luke stared at the badge in his hand with an emotion he couldn’t identify. Regret? Anticipation? Satisfaction? Some combination? “I… already have a job?”

  “It’s temporary. I’m down a man. Frankly Watson’s not the deputy I’d want with me when I walk into his uncle’s bank to arrest one of his friends, even if he hadn’t acted like a dumb fool over this whole matter.”

  “What if Watson’s gone to warn Blake?” Luke thought to ask.

  “Only one way in and out of the bank, through the front door. We’ll be right on his heels.” Jim McCullough’s grin was almost fierce. “At least, we will be if you get your behind out of that chair!”

  As they left the sheriff’s office, McCullough nudged Luke and jerked his chin toward Watson, who was walking down Main Street in the opposite direction from the bank. Shoulders slumped and head down, the young deputy appeared thoroughly demoralized.

  “The walk of regret,” McCullough said. “Don’t think too badly of the lad, Luke.”

  “That what you’d say if you found out he’d been looking in your Josie’s window?”

  McCullough barked a short laugh. “Fair enough; you got me there. How about I just appeal to your better nature, or say I’m pretty sure Miss Daisy wouldn’t want you to break your knuckles on his jaw?”

  “That last one works,” Luke admitted as the pair of them walked toward the crossroads. Turning the silver star in his hand, he hesitated only a moment longer before pinning it to his coat. “It’s been a while since I wore one of these.”

  “You could keep wearin’ it, you know. Town’s growing all the time, and all these miners coming in means trouble. Even if Watson decides to stay on, I could use another good man.”

  “I’ll think about it,” was all Luke was prepared to say.

  With that McCullough seemed content. The tall lawman unsnapped the leather strap over his gun as they walked up the bank’s wide steps and in throu
gh the door.

  The rude teller who’d denied Luke his pay just a couple of weeks earlier rose to his feet. “Sheriff. Can I help you?”

  “You can sit back down.” McCullough was already halfway across the room to the door Luke knew led to the assayer’s office. The teller froze in place. Luke fixed him with a steady look, reaching up to tap the forefinger of his left hand on his deputy’s star even while his right hand remained on his gun.

  The teller sat back down, hands placed carefully in clear view in front of him on his desk. Luke nodded approvingly and followed McCullough, who’d opened the assay office door without knocking.

  “What do you mean by barging in here?” Joseph Blake stood up from his desk, a frown on his face.

  Luke shook his head. Blake was such an unassuming, gray little man. It was easy to write him off as unthreatening, but at least one man was dead because of Blake.

  “Hands up where I can see them,” McCullough ordered. “You carrying any weapons, Mr. Blake?”

  “I am not. What’s all this about, Sheriff?” Blake was trying to sound unconcerned, but Luke could see a twitch in the assayer’s eyelid as his hands started to shake.

  “You’re under arrest for the murder of Reno’s assayer, Stanley Wilkins.” McCullough snapped his handcuffs onto Blake’s wrists.

  “I told you, I wasn’t in Reno!” Blake protested. “I was right here! Deputy Watson—”

  “Deputy Watson has explained he misremembered the date when you were at his house,” McCullough said coldly. “We have a witness who puts you on the Reno stage returning to Rattlesnake Ridge on the same day Wilkins was found dead. And if that wasn’t enough, I’m also arresting you for the attempted murder of the Virginia City assayer, Thom Murray.”

  Luke could see from the way Blake sagged in McCullough’s grip that the assayer knew he was finished. Turning to check on the teller, he came face to face with Mr. Garrett.

  “Rockford, what’s going on?” Garrett demanded as he emerged from his office. His gaze dropped to take in the silver star on Luke’s coat. Garrett’s eyes bulged with shock.