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Wyatt hastened to smooth his feathers. “No. I’m simply trying to get the events straight in my mind. How much did he get away with?”
“Everything in the safe! You saw it that day. He cleaned me out! I’ve had to close the doors because I have nothing to do business with. And then you couldn’t manage to catch him or get the money back! I’m beginning to have serious doubts about the town council’s choice for marshal!” Mr. Samuels slammed his palms down on the desktop as he stood.
“Everything?” Wyatt let his surprise show this time. “How could one man carry everything from the safe? How much was everything?”
Mr. Samuels instantly went on the defensive. “This is a small Western bank, not a big Eastern city bank. We don’t have the same amount of capital as bigger cities, and until I’ve contacted my investors, I’m not at liberty to divulge the dollar amount of what was stolen. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my papers. I’m explaining to my backers what’s happened to their money!”
“If I’m to recover the stolen money, I need to know how much was taken, Mr. Samuels.”
“When you have a suspect in custody, Marshal Cameron, I will divulge that information to you. Until then, I’ve told you everything I know. Good day, Marshal!”
“I need to know the amount that was taken, Mr. Samuels,” Wyatt said implacably.
“I said good day, Marshal!” The man was sulled up tighter than a mad, wet hen.
Wyatt eyed him for a moment before reluctantly deciding to retreat from this particular battle until the man had calmed down. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Samuels. If you think of anything else that might be helpful, let me know.” He picked his hat off his knee, stood, nodded to the disagreeable man and walked out the bank door.
Outside he returned his hat to his head and tucked the notebook back into his pocket.
Whew!
If other townsfolk felt the same way, it was going to be rough around here until the culprit was apprehended and the money returned. He already knew one person in particular who was definitely not going to be happy to see him when she found out the reason for his visit.
Miss McIsaac’s father was still unconscious as far as he knew, but their ranch had been implicated in the bank job, and he needed answers. He really needed to talk to Mr. McIsaac, but only God knew when—or if—that would happen. Looked like Miss McIsaac would have to do.
Sending up a quick plea for help, he’d headed toward the Kilburns’.
* * *
Now Wyatt watched Miss McIsaac’s reaction carefully as he motioned toward the back door. “If you’ll step outside into the garden, I have a few questions I need to ask you about the bank robbery.”
Her face showed the fatigue of the past several days’ vigil, and there was a hint of redness around her eyes as if she’d been crying. But aside from the wariness that had appeared when he’d come in, Wyatt saw no other emotions at his words. If her ranch was somehow involved in the robbery, no hint of it showed on her face.
“Oh, goodness, there’s no need for that. Sit down and enjoy your coffee.” Mrs. Kilburn placed her hand on her husband’s arm. “Come, dear, I’ll help you straighten that mess you call a desk.”
Miss McIsaac’s voice halted their departure. “I’d rather you both stayed. Whatever the marshal has to say, he can say it in front of all of us. If he has a problem with that, he can leave.” She enforced the last remark with a defiant look in his direction.
There was that feisty spirit he’d seen at the livery. “If having the Kilburns here makes you more comfortable, that’s fine with me. I would ask, however, that you keep this conversation confidential.”
Dr. Kilburn pulled out a chair for his wife. “I always protect the privacy of my patients, and as Ian and his daughter are under my care, my wife and I consider it our responsibility to protect their privacy.” Mrs. Kilburn nodded her agreement.
“Very well. Miss McIsaac, would you care to have a seat, and I’ll get straight to the point?” The woman still stood in the same spot, gripping the towel.
Slowly and deliberately, she turned and hung up the damp dishrag, smoothing it unnecessarily before turning back around, running her palms down her skirt and walking to the work-worn table. He saw her stiffen as he reached to hold a chair for her, sliding it in smoothly when she sat opposite of Mrs. Kilburn. Seating himself at the end, to the right of Miss McIsaac, he reached for the coffee the doctor placed in front of him. Taking a quick sip, he fired up another quick prayer that God would give him the right words. Swallowing the hot, bitter brew, he began.
“I just spoke with Mr. Samuels concerning the bank robbery, and another detail came to light that I really need to discuss with your father, Miss McIsaac. Since that’s not possible at the moment, I need you to tell me everything you know.” Pausing, he watched Miss McIsaac dart a look at him from the corner of her eyes before returning her gaze to the cup wrapped in her slender hands. Was she avoiding his gaze because she knew something, or because she found his presence as unsettling as he found hers?
Her long honey-colored hair was smoothed back into a braid that fell halfway down the back of the high-necked, wheat-colored blouse and dark green riding skirt she’d worn the day of the holdup. Distractedly he wondered how she managed to look so neat and fresh after several days in the same outfit. Forcing his thoughts back to the task at hand, he pulled the notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Tell me what you saw after you left the livery stable that day.”
A hint of pink warmed her cheeks, and he felt a glimmer of satisfaction. So, he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t forgotten their first encounter.
She raised her cup slowly, took a sip and lowered it, gazing into its contents. “I heard a shot fired before I reached the street. When I rounded the corner, I saw something happening at the bank. I had just headed toward it when you and Franks passed me.”
“That reminds me. I told you to stay back, yet you still showed up at the bank. You don’t follow orders very well, do you?”
Miss McIsaac set her cup down into the saucer with a little more force than necessary, but still didn’t look directly at him. “My...” Her voice caught, and Wyatt saw her swallow hard. “My father was in that bank. Nothing would have stopped me from getting to him...” The words even you hung in the air unspoken.
“How did you know your father would be there?”
“I didn’t know for sure he was still there, but he’d told me he had business at the bank, and when he was through he’d meet me at the mercantile. When I heard the shots and saw the commotion at the bank, I was afraid he was involved.”
“What do you mean, ‘involved’?”
Miss McIsaac went very still then turned her head slowly and finally looked him full in the face. Wyatt felt the heat immediately.
“What exactly are you trying to imply?” Fire may have been in her eyes, but her words were encased in ice.
Wyatt softened his tone and replied calmly, “I’m not implying anything. I’m simply asking what you meant by ‘involved.’”
Miss McIsaac searched his face for several moments before looking down and releasing a heavy sigh. “I mean, I was afraid he was still there when the holdup occurred. Unfortunately I was right.” Her voice caught again, and he saw the muscles along her jaw clench.
“Did you see or notice anything as you ran to the bank?”
“I saw a man riding away from the bank, firing his gun.” She painstakingly aligned the bottom of the cup with the ring of flowers on the saucer.
“Did you notice anything familiar about him?”
“No. Why should I?” Miss McIsaac glanced back up at him, her forehead creased in a frown.
“Did your father ride his horse to the bank?”
“No. We drove the buckboard in, parked it at the mercantile. Faither walked to the bank.”
“Did any of your ranch hands ride in with you?”
“No. Are you trying to get at something, Marshal? Why don’t you just ask what you want to know? Quit beating around the bush?”
Wyatt searched her eyes for a long second, ignoring the confused glare in them, and continued to watch her when he finally spoke. “When I questioned Mr. Samuels, he said the thief rode off on a horse that wore the McIsaac brand.” He heard the soft exclamations of surprise from the Kilburns’ lips as Miss McIsaac shoved her chair back and lunged to her feet.
“That’s a lie!” She gasped, shaking her head.
Dr. Kilburn stood and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Calm down, child. The marshal is just doing his job. He has to investigate what he’s been told. Let’s sit back down and hear the man out.”
She sat with a thud. “There is no way it was one of our ranch hands. I’d trust every one of them with my life.”
“The banker didn’t seem to recognize the man who robbed him, but he did say the horse was a McIsaac ranch horse. Did the horse look familiar to you at all?’
She shook her head.
Wyatt wondered if she truly hadn’t recognized the horse or if she merely refused to tell. He’d known this wasn’t going to go well. He’d been correct. He was beginning to feel like ducking when those eyes turned toward him firing sparks. Wyatt ran a hand through his hair. It wasn’t singed, yet. But the day was still young.
“I’m sorry to have to question you when your father is unconscious, but I need to gather as much information as I can to bring you father’s shooter to justice.”
“It’s not your questions that bother me. It’s the implication that our ranch was involved in the holdup. It’s not true!”
“Again, I’m not implying anything. I have to follow any and all leads I have and, unfortunately, that means asking you these questions. It also means I’m going to need directions to your ranch.”
“You are not going to harass our hands with baseless accusations.”
“I’m not going to accuse anyone, but you haven’t been home in three days, and if it was one of your ranch horses, your hands might know something about it. If you won’t give me directions to your place, I’ll get them from someone else because I will follow up on this.”
“Then I’m going with you. You are not questioning our hands without me there.” Miss McIsaac got to her feet again, and Wyatt could feel anger radiating from her.
He could sympathize; he was beginning to feel the emotion himself. He pushed back his own chair and stood. “This is my job. I can handle it without your interference. Besides, you can’t leave your father, can you?” Wyatt saw a retort die on Miss McIsaac’s lips, and her shoulders slumped. His shot had found its mark.
Dr. Kilburn interrupted then. “Actually it might be a good idea for Miss McIsaac to go with you. She needs to get away for a little while. This would give her a chance to check on the ranch.” Turning to Miss McIsaac, he continued, “Your father is stable, and it could be a while before he wakes up. Even when he does, it will be some time before he’s ready to travel. This will give you a chance pick up anything you’ll need for an extended stay.”
She looked indecisive. “What if something happens while I’m gone?”
“You can make it to the ranch and back in just a few hours. I don’t expect any changes with your father, good or bad, in that amount of time, and a change of scenery will do you good. If anything does happen, I’ll send someone to bring you back.”
Miss McIsaac looked at Wyatt. The glare was gone, replaced by a steely determination to accompany him. He doubted he’d seen the last of her temper, but the change of scene was already doing him some good.
His irritation cooled. “All right, you can ride along. I’ll go get a buggy from Franks and be back to pick you up in about half an hour.”
Grabbing his hat from the back of the chair where he’d hung it when he’d entered, he thanked Mrs. Kilburn for the coffee and headed to the front door.
* * *
Meri leaned against the edge of the livery stable doorway and worked to control her rapid breathing. She’d overheard the marshal tell Dr. Kilburn that he would ask the gunsmith to keep an eye on the town before getting a buggy from Franks. After a quick check on her father and a hurried explanation to the Kilburns, Meri had taken advantage of the marshal’s plan and slipped out the back door.
Cutting through alleys at a run and keeping an eye out for a certain lawman, she’d made it to the livery unseen where Franks had helped her saddle two horses. She had no intention of riding with the man in a buggy all the way to the ranch. Horseback would be quicker, and it would allow her to keep her distance.
The intense fear and uncertainty of the past few days lifted enough to allow her to feel a tiny amount of smug satisfaction. She’d managed to regain some control of her life. Even if that control were only that she’d ride to the ranch on a horse instead of behind a horse.
The thought of sitting shoulder to shoulder with the marshal sent a funny shiver along her spine. That would be too much like courting, not that she knew anything about it. She wasn’t girly enough to attract that kind of attention. When you could outride, outshoot and out rope the boys, they tended to treat you like one of the boys. And when it came time to go courtin’, they went after the sweet-smelling, dainty town ladies.
Movement caught her eye, and she stepped back into the shadows of the barn as the long-legged figure of the marshal strode into view. “He’s here, Franks.” Meri gathered the reins of the two horses and mounted Abe in one fluid motion. “Thanks for the use of Abe. I’ll have him back this afternoon. I’ll also bring Sandy in with me if you can spare the room.”
“I always got room for that puppy you call a hoss, honey. You be careful now, and I’ll be a prayin’ for yo daddy.” Franks patted her knee and turned back to his forge as she rode out to meet the marshal, leading a second horse.
His eyes narrowed as Meri rode up to him and handed him a set of reins. He ignored them and shoved his hat back as he looked up at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the Kilburns’ waiting for me to return with a buggy?”
Chapter Four
“We can get to the ranch quicker this way. That is, if you’ll quit standing there asking pointless questions and get on the horse.” Meri tossed the ignored reins at him.
He snatched them neatly out of the air, his hazel eyes never wavering from her face. “How did you get here so fast?”
“I know a shortcut. Can we go now? Daylight’s wasting.” She was growing a little nervous under his scrutiny.
“Is it that you naturally don’t like to follow orders...”
“You didn’t issue an order. You only said you’d be back with the buggy. I decided this would be quicker.” Meri’s lips twitched in a nervous half grin.
“...or that you didn’t want to ride in the buggy with me?” He continued as if the interruption hadn’t happened.
Meri felt heat stain her cheeks at the accuracy of his guess, and a crooked grin began to spread across his face. “Standing around talking won’t get us to the ranch,” she blurted, and touched Abe. The horse jumped away from the grinning man into a ground-eating trot.
Glancing back, she saw him leap into his saddle without benefit of the stirrup and spring after her. Controlling the urge to race home, Meri kept the big black gelding at a respectful trot as she rode along the pasture fence to the outskirts of town and Little Creek Bridge. Maybe she should have stayed put and waited on the marshal and the buggy. It would have spared her the embarrassment of his accurate guess. Then again, this way she could get away from him for a minute, even if it didn’t last long. She peered over her shoulder again. He was staying back, though he’d probably catch up to her once they were on the trail out of town, but it would be enough time for her cheeks to cool.
Abe’s hooves thudded across the planks of the bridge spanning Little Creek, the clear-running stream that lent the town its name and marked its western boundary. Meri drew a deep breath. Dr. Kilburn was right. She had needed to get away and clear her head, and a horseback ride to her beloved home was the perfect way to do that even if she did have to put up with the meddlesome marshal.
“I thought I had a squirrel in that hole.” Apparently he wasn’t going to let her ignore the fact he’d guessed her real reason for riding horseback.
She felt her cheeks heat again at his satisfied tone. So much for having time for her blush to fade. If this kept up, she’d just have to get used to the sensation of her face being on fire.
Or...she could...
Meri flexed her heels against Abe’s ribs, and the gelding switched to the rocking-chair lope that temporarily carried her away from her tormentor. The escape didn’t last long. Franks had provided the marshal with a horse every bit Abe’s equal, and in minutes the horses were side by side. The road wasn’t in good enough shape from the recent deep mud to indulge in a full-out gallop, so Meri contented herself with the current pace and the wind in her face, thankful when the marshal remained silent.
The fresh pine-and-cedar-scented breeze began to weave calming fingers through Meri’s hair as the beautiful scenery slipped past. Some of the tension melted from her shoulders, and the silence grew less uncomfortable in spite of feeling his eyes on her from time to time.
When he spoke, his comment caught her off guard. “I was sorry to hear about your mother.”
Meri looked at him, but for a change, he wasn’t looking at her. Somehow that made it easier to answer him. “How did you know?”
“Some of the men on the posse mentioned it—said it hadn’t quite been a year since her death?”
Meri felt the weight of guilt and grief crash back down as she nodded. Her father had teased her on the way to Little Creek that her mother would have scolded her for wearing riding attire instead of a dress since she was going into town in a buggy. The words had reminded Meri of their loss, and she’d snapped that her mother wasn’t around anymore.
She’d immediately regretted it. Instead of apologizing, however, she’d sulked, not understanding how less than a year after her mother’s death, her father could tease about her mother’s memory and seem to be handling her death so much better than Meri was. How she wished she’d guarded her tongue that day. She’d not apologized, and now it might be too late.
“What was her name?”
Meri welcomed his interruption of her depressing thoughts. “Catriona.”
“So, both of your parents were from Scotland?” He was watching the passing landscape as if memorizing every detail.
“Why did you say Scotland? Most people guess Ireland.”
He looked at her then. “My name is Cameron. My grandparents came from Scotland. I recognize the brogue.”
“I don’t have a brogue.”
“You do when you say faither, and I’d be willing to guess you used the Gaelic mither instead of mother.”
Meri nodded. “They came to America before I was born so their accent had softened, but when I was little they used a lot of Gaelic.” A memory surfaced. “I did have a brogue by the time there was an actual school to attend. I remember the kids teasing me because they thought I was hard to understand. I worked hard to sound more like them, but I never quit using mither and faither to address my parents.” She cocked her head. “I had forgotten about that.”
