The Lone Sheriff. Lynna Banning

spoon into the scoop of vanilla ice cream on top of her piecrust. “The Smoke River bank manager hired me for a reason, Sheriff. I have a job to do and I intend to do it. The last thing—the very last thing—I am going to do tomorrow is leave.”

      A forkful of rhubarb-stained ice cream disappeared past her lips.

      Jericho sat back in his chair and stared at the woman across from him. What she was doing to her ice cream was exactly what he felt like doing as well, only not with a slab of pie.

      “I don’t need you, Mrs. O’Donnell.”

      “I am not leaving tomorrow,” she replied calmly. Her lips, he noticed, were colored rhubarb pink.

      “Yeah, you are.”

      “No,” she said calmly, “I am not. For one thing, with your arm in a sling you are not strong enough to force me onto the train. And for another, you do need me. I am a crack shot.”

      She couldn’t be. She was full of baloney and a liar to boot. He had to get rid of her before she got all tangled up in something she didn’t know squat about and got herself hurt.

      The thought sent a knife into his gut, a knife he’d thought long since forgotten.

      “You realize I could have my deputy arrest you.”

      She just grinned at him. “Your deputy is already swoony over me. He would never arrest me.”

      Well, damn. He couldn’t let her stay. She could be dangerous to have around. He couldn’t shoot straight enough left-handed to protect himself, let alone protect her, too.

      Somehow he had to scare her off.

      “Listen, lady, I don’t know any way but blunt, so here it is. It’s no dice. You’ll get us both killed.”

      “I would not. I would be an asset.”

      “Don’t kid yourself. I’d spend more time looking after you than catching up with Tucker. I can’t risk it.”

      Her eyes flared into green fire. “You mean you won’t risk it. All outlaw chasing is risky and every Pinkerton agent accepts that. I did not take you for a coward, Sheriff.”

      Jericho stared at her. She could sure talk a blue streak. Pretty convincing, too, with her chin jutted out like that and those ivy-colored eyes boring into him.

      He massaged his chin. “You wouldn’t be a help, lady. You’d be a damn nuisance.”

      She stabbed her fork into the center of her ice-cream-soaked pie. “Would you care to bet, Mr. High and Mighty? Within the next fifteen minutes, I will prove my worth to you. And when I do,” she added in a voice that could cut glass, “you can buy my breakfast tomorrow morning. Is it a deal?”

      Hell’s bells, she made him so mad he couldn’t think straight. “If you’re finished mauling that pie, I’ll escort you to your hotel room.”

      She laid her fork down with deliberate care. “I said, is it a deal?”

      “Deal,” he bit out.

      She scooped up the last mouthful of rhubarb-flavored ice cream and folded her napkin beside the plate. “Seeing me to the hotel won’t be necessary, Sheriff.”

      “Don’t argue,” Jericho shot back. “We’re not in Chicago, ma’am. In this town at night it’s necessary.”

      Once outside the dining room, she marched along beside him, talking a mile a minute while Jericho clenched his teeth.

      “What a pretty little town this is.” She gestured across the street. “Just look at all those lovely green trees.”

      He grunted. She might talk a lot, but again he noted her gaze was always moving, taking in everything from the street to the boardwalk to the storefronts.

      Jericho only half listened to her chatter. “...in Philadelphia, where I was raised...and then Papa...I guess you could say that I ended up in a fancy cage with a rich, very dull banker. Just when I couldn’t stand it one more minute, he caught pneumonia on a sleigh ride and made me a widow.”

      She paused for breath. “My goodness, what smells so sweet?”

      “Honeysuckle. Along the boardinghouse fence.” He gestured with his sling arm, then winced.

      “Do you think the owner would mind if I picked some for my room? What heaven, to smell that delicious fragrance all night long.”

      “The owner is Mrs. Sarah Rose. Lost her husband at Antietam. She won’t mind, she picks it herself when somebody’s ailing or havin’ a baby.”

      She stepped off the boardwalk and darted across the street to the white picket fence. From somewhere she pulled out a tiny pair of scissors. After a few delicate snips, she returned to his side clutching a straggly bouquet in her gloved hand.

      “Oh, look, there’s the mercantile. I must visit the mercantile, and I must find a dressmaker, as well.”

      Jericho groaned. A woman could spend hours in the mercantile choosing flower seeds or fabric or...whatever women bought. He followed the lady detective inside, where the proprietor, Carl Ness, slouched behind the counter reading a newspaper. At the sight of Maddie, he straightened up, ramrod stiff.

      Jericho didn’t like the way Carl was staring at her, but Maddie seemed unperturbed. Her gaze scanned each shelf.

      “Have you any scented bath soap?”

      Carl sent Jericho a puzzled look. “What kinda scent?”

      “This is Mrs. O’Donnell, Carl. She’s my...”

      Maddie turned her attention to the proprietor. “Gardenia is my favorite. Have you any gardenia-scented soap?”

      “Nope.”

      “What about carnation?”

      “Nope.”

      She bit her lip. “Heliotrope? Rose?”

      “All I got is lavender, ma’am. Take it or leave it.”

      “I will take half a dozen cakes. Large ones.”

      Jericho bit back a laugh. Half a dozen! She’d be the cleanest person in Smoke River.

      Carl wrapped up her purchase in brown paper and tied it with string. “Anything else?”

      The answer was immediate, and for a moment Jericho thought he hadn’t heard right.

      “Yes. Three boxes of thirty-two-caliber cartridges.”

      Carl stared at her, then turned his widened eyes on Jericho. “That all right with you, Sheriff?”

      Hell, no, it wasn’t all right. Damned fool woman, what did she think she’d do with bullets, hold up the hold-up gang?

      Maddie didn’t wait for his answer. “Double-wrap them, please. So they won’t get wet.”

      “Wet?” Jericho exploded. “You gonna go swimming on your way back to Chicago, cousin?”

      “Of course not. But it might rain while I—”

      “Hold it!” Jericho had had enough for one night. “We’re goin’ back to the hotel. Now.”

      “But what about the dressmaker?”

      “What about her? Name’s Verena Forester and she opens up at eight o’clock every morning. Your train back to Chicago leaves at noon.”

      Jericho smiled. Maddie practically spit sparks when she was mad. Before he knew it, she’d latched on to his good arm and drawn him off to one side.

      “I absolutely must see the dressmaker,” she whispered. “Tonight, if possible. I am, well...out of...some things.”

      “Huh?”

      She rolled her eyes. “I...um, I have no extrasmall