The Marshal's Promise. Rhonda Gibson

He held his hat in his hands, waiting for her reaction. His broad shoulders seemed slumped under the tan shirt and brown vest he wore. There was a U.S. Marshal’s star on his chest. Her gaze moved upward to where his sorrowful brown eyes bored into hers.

       The rich texture of his voice drifted across the short space between them. “I’ll be happy to pay your train ticket back to…” He stopped and looked at her.

       The question in his eyes prompted her to say, “Maryland?”

       “Maryland.” He nodded his head.

       What did she have to go back to Maryland for? Her stepmother had made it clear she was no longer needed or welcome in her father’s house. The only job available to her, a woman of twenty, was personal maid to the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in Ellicott City.

       Rebecca didn’t like the job or the daughter. No, Rebecca Ramsey would not be returning to Maryland anytime soon. She squared her shoulders and stood. “Thank you, Marshal, but that won’t be necessary.”

       Seth Billings gritted his teeth; the muscles worked in his jaw. “What will you do, then?” His harsh words cut through her tattered emotions.

       Fresh tears threatened to spill over. Rebecca cleared her throat. She wouldn’t let it close up on her now. “I will think of something, Marshal. Thank you for coming by and telling me about…” She couldn’t finish the sentence and the words hung in the tense room like the scent of burned bread. Rebecca focused on Grace’s small back as the child went into the kitchen.

       “Well,” he said, turning back to the door, “if I can do anything to help you settle here in Cottonwood Springs, you let me know. Ya hear?”

       Rebecca nodded, aware that the brown-eyed marshal no longer looked at her and really didn’t expect an answer. The door shut behind him. She blew her nose on the white handkerchief she kept tucked into her sleeve for just such occasions.

       Mrs. Miller came into the room, wiping her hands on her apron. The aroma of freshly baked apple pies drifted into the room with her. “Is he gone?”

       Nine-year-old Grace followed her mother back into the room. The little girl bit into a green apple and chewed, her gaze never leaving Rebecca’s face.

       “Yes, he’s gone.”

       The older woman eased into one of the overstuffed chairs. “So, now what are you going to do?”

       Rebecca sighed. “I’m not sure.” The Millers had housed her since she’d arrived five days earlier. They’d given her a room and three square meals and allowed her to sit with them during church on Sunday. How was she going to repay them?

       Her plans had been to have Jesse take care of those expenses when he returned to town. Now she knew he wasn’t coming. And she had no idea how to repay the debts she’d unknowingly accumulated.

       Her temples began to ache. Silently she vowed to stay in New Mexico and not return to a family who didn’t want her around. “I suppose I’ll look for employment.” She rubbed the sides of her head as she paced the floor.

       “I don’t think you have to make any rash decisions today, Rebecca. You’ve had a shock. Why don’t you go lie down until supper?” Mrs. Miller smiled at her. Pity laced her eyes and filled her oversize face.

       Rebecca hated that look. She’d seen it in the eyes of her father’s friends many times after he’d remarried, and it wasn’t a look she ever wanted to see again. “I think I’d rather have a breath of fresh air, if you don’t mind. I would like to go for a walk.” She pulled her wool shawl from the peg by the door and looked to Mrs. Miller.

       “Go on, child. You have much to think about.” Mrs. Miller pushed her immense body out of the chair and headed toward the kitchen. “Grace, come with me. You can peel potatoes for supper.”

       Rebecca slipped out the door and gently closed it behind her. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Her thoughts twisted in her mind as worry and doubt left her feeling faint. She sank into the chair beside the door.

       She lowered her head and hid her face in her hands. She and Jesse had been planning to buy a small farm, raise fruit trees and chickens once they were married. Rebecca sighed, but now Jesse was gone and thanks to her stepmother, she couldn’t go home.

       Before her mother died, Rebecca’s life had been one of ease and love. Her father, a businessman, enjoyed the warmth of their home as much as she and her sister had, so it had been no surprise that he’d remarried shortly after her mother’s death.

       After that day, life had changed for Rebecca. Her jealous stepmother had kept her busy and away from her only living parent. She’d made her feel uncomfortable in the only home she’d ever known. The woman had been sweet in the presence of her husband and vinegar in his absence.

       By the time her stepmother had forced her to answer the mail-order-bride ad that Jesse had placed, she’d been ready to leave. She was ready to get away and start a family of her own.

       Rebecca desired someone to love her, to make her feel safe and wanted again. She’d thought Jesse Cole was the answer to her prayers. He’d seemed to be stable and to know what he wanted out of life. His letters had promised security and love. Now she knew that wasn’t to be, at least not with Jesse.

       She missed her father and longed to go home, if only he would stand up to her stepmother. Rebecca knew that would never happen. No, she had to figure out what to do, on her own and with no help from her father.

      Lord, what am I going to do now? I don’t want to go home and I’m not sure how I will be able to stay here. Why did Jesse have to die?

      * * *

       Seth hated days like today. The shattered look in her eyes had revealed that Rebecca Ramsey felt as if all were lost. Why hadn’t Jesse just surrendered? He would have been in jail, but at least he would have been alive.

       Jesse had begged Seth as he bled out from his gut wound, “Please watch for Rebecca Ramsey, Marshal. She was to be my bride.” Their last conversation continued to play in his mind. “She didn’t do anything to deserve this. I really wanted to start a fresh life with her. Please take care of her. Please!”

       The easy gait of the horse allowed Seth to recall his answer. “I’ll see that she’s taken care of, Jesse.”

       Jesse clutched his shirt and pulled him closer. “Don’t let Maxwell or any of the Evans gang near her. They’ll try to take her.”

       Jesse’s fear for Rebecca was real and Seth found himself saying the words he knew the dying man wanted to hear. “I’ll protect her, Jesse. That’s a promise.”

       With Seth’s words, peace entered the young man’s eyes and then Jesse Cole took his final breath. Twenty-two was too young to die. Jesse had only been three years younger than himself. Seth shook his head at the sadness of the past week.

       Memories of Jesse flooded his mind. Jesse had arrived in Cottonwood Springs six years ago. Nobody knew anything about him, just that he worked hard at the livery where old man Rodgers had given him a job. Then he’d taken up with Maxwell Evans and his brother. For four years he’d run with Maxwell, his brother Clod and Horace Nance.

       The four men made up the Evans gang. They had been more a nuisance than a real gang. They’d stolen small things and the men of Cottonwood Springs didn’t feel the need to press charges against them. Boys will be boys, as the old saying goes. Old man Rodgers died one night and Jesse moved in with Maxwell.

       And then one night Jesse ran into Reverend James Griffin and found the Lord. Jesse turned his life around that night; he started working on the Vaughan farm just a couple of miles out of town. The other Evans gang members hadn’t been thrilled with the turnabout and they’d given the Vaughan family plenty of trouble.

       Over the next two years the Evans gang had grown and become braver. Their crimes had developed into more serious transgressions. With each passing year, Maxwell had become more dangerous.