The Lone Sheriff. Lynna Banning

He couldn’t let her continue with this Pinkerton business. If she didn’t get him killed, she’d get herself killed, and that would be even worse.

      Two hours passed in uneasy silence. Maddie crocheted carefully on what looked like a lace edging; Jericho tried not to watch her slim fingers.

      “Last stop, Portland,” the conductor boomed. “Ten minutes.”

      Maddie smoothed out her skirt, shook her petticoat ruffles into place, and stowed her crochet work in her oversize reticule. “What do we do until the train leaves for Smoke River?”

      “Find a hotel.”

      “A hotel!” Her eyes went wider and even more green. “What do we want a hotel for?”

      “Don’t know about you, but I’m grabbing an early dinner and getting some sleep.”

      She eyed him with a look that could fry eggs. “You mean we are stuck here in Portland? All night?”

      “Yep. Train east doesn’t pull out until tomorrow morning. Thought you would have researched that, Mrs. Detective. Distances out here in the West are...long.”

      Maddie set her jaw. She was hungry, she admitted. And bone tired. But the worst part was that she was surprised at this turn of events. She hated being surprised. Back in Chicago, trains ran both east and west every hour. Somehow she thought trains out here would run every hour, as they did in Chicago. It never occurred to her the distance between Smoke River and Portland would mean an overnight stay. Why, she hadn’t even brought a night robe.

      * * *

      The streets of Portland were jammed with people—merchants, travelers, ranchers with wagons full of children, some fancy men who looked like gamblers, ladies driving trim black buggies, townspeople, schoolboys, even a few dusty-looking Indians. After battling the crowds, Jericho stepped into the foyer of the Kenton Hotel with Maddie at his elbow.

      The desk clerk looked up and thumbed through his registry. “’Fraid I got no rooms left, mister. Big carnival from San Francisco in town and we got lotsa visitors. You could try the Portland Manor, just across the street.”

      The Portland Manor had only one vacancy. “Two beds, take it or leave it. Town’s full up.”

      Jericho turned to her. “That okay?”

      Maddie stared at him. “You don’t mean one room for the two of us?” she whispered. “Together? Why, that is scandalous!”

      “Huh! That’s real funny coming from a lady who said she was bored to death with her marriage.”

      “But—”

      “Look, Mrs. O’Donnell, my arm is hurting like a sonofa—billion beeves. I’m worn out and hungry enough to eat just about anything. We’re here, and we’re staying. Like the man says, take it or leave it.”

      “But—”

      “And,” he added with a lopsided smile, “you can relax. I’m too flat-out tired to threaten your virtue.”

      Her cheeks went pink. “This is highly unusual. Mr. Pinkerton will certainly hear about it.”

      “No, he won’t. You let one word slip about our arrangement and I’ll tell Pinkerton it was all your idea.”

      Maddie turned crimson, then white, then crimson again. “You would not dare!”

      “Try me.”

      Stunned into silence, Maddie watched him sign Mr. and Mrs. J. Silver on the register. She wanted to protest, but everything was all so mixed up and tense between the two of them that...well, she would just have to act as if things like this happened every day to a Pinkerton detective and make the best of it. For her next assignment she would research geographical distances more thoroughly.

      The hotel room was small but clean, with a single chest of drawers, washstand, armoire and two narrow beds jammed in an arm’s length apart. Jericho surveyed it and smiled inside. Wasn’t every day he got to sleep next to a pretty woman, even if it was in a separate bed.

      “It’ll do,” he said as nonchalantly as he could manage. “It’s been a long day. Come on, let’s go have some supper.”

      He downed two more slugs of pain remedy before entering the hotel dining room and, as he ate, his steak seemed to taste more and more delicious and the stale coffee less bitter. How much laudanum was in this pain stuff, anyway? Even Maddie’s stiff silence was less annoying.

      Fact was, even bone tired with an arm that throbbed, he was beginning to feel pretty good. Who cared if she wanted to keep quiet? It was a rare woman who could talk a blue streak most of the time but keep her mouth closed when it was necessary. He had to give her some credit.

      The waiter removed their plates and brought more coffee and some tea for Maddie. “You folks going to the carnival? Got some real pretty gir—uh, horses, I hear.”

      “Horses?” Maddie’s eyes took on a sparkle he hadn’t seen before.

      Jericho wasn’t interested in the girls the waiter tried not to mention, but horses? That was another matter. No matter how weary he felt, he always liked looking at good horseflesh.

      “Oh, could we?” Maddie begged. “Please?”

      He stared at her. He’d never heard her use the word “please” before. So the city girl liked horses, did she? Well, why not have a look?

      The Summer Carnival was a six-block section of the main street, blocked off at either end. Admission was a nickel, and Jericho gallantly dropped two nickels into the burly ticket taker’s palm, one for him and one for Maddie.

      She nodded her thanks. “Where are the horses?”

      “Yonder.” The man tipped his graying head over his shoulder. “Behind the gypsy fortune-teller.”

      Maddie wheeled in the direction indicated and started off down the walkway. She was in such a hurry, Jericho found he couldn’t keep up with her. He trailed her past the green-painted ice-cream stand and a man poking flaming swords down his throat to a roped-off area where a half dozen horses waited patiently for riders.

      “Oh,” Maddie breathed. “How beautiful they are!”

      He’d never heard such awe in her voice, but he had to agree. “Probably from a ranch nearby. They’d never look this good if they’d been herded up from Sacramento, or even shipped by rail.”

      Maddie caught his good arm and pointed. “Look at that one, with the cream-colored mane.”

      He’d been looking at that animal; she was a beauty, all right. A mare, maybe three or four years old, a golden-tan color with cream mane and tail. “You’ve got a good eye for horseflesh, Maddie.”

      “In addition to the bank, my father owned a fancy riding stable in Chicago. All the society ladies took equestrienne lessons.”

      Jericho moved in close to the palomino mare, let her smell his neck and chest.

      “I do want to ride him.”

      “Her,” he corrected. “Mares don’t have—” He swallowed the rest. “Sure, if you want to.”

      She sidled up next to the horse and cautiously laid one finger on its nose. Then she looked up at Jericho with a yearning in her eyes that made his stomach flip.

      “Could I really ride him? Her, I mean?”

      The wrangler led the animal to the center of the roped-off corral. “She’s real gentle, Miss. You ever ridden before?”

      “N-no, not much. My father never allowed me to ride.”

      “Well, then, your man here can hold the rope so’s the mare can step real slowlike in a circle around him.”

      Jericho walked her close to the animal and raised one knee so she could mount. “Put your foot here, Maddie, and I’ll boost you