The Marshal's Mission. Anna Zogg

      Dear Lord... Lenora didn’t know what to pray.

      Instead of warming, the sunlight grew brittle, spearing the air with shards of yellow crystal. She could hear nothing but the whistling wind and the horses as they stamped and blew. Even the morning birds stopped their happy chirping. Her chest tightened until she feared she would faint.

      The barn door slammed, drawing her attention.

      Cole walked across the yard with studied nonchalance. Like he lived there.

      Is he in with them? Lenora choked down the panic that rose in her throat as she shoved her son behind her.

      Cole pulled up short as though surprised by the men on the other side of the corral. Thumbing back his hat’s brim, he glanced between them. “G’morning.”

      Jeb’s eyes squeezed to slits. “Who’re you?”

      He smiled as though oblivious to the man’s rudeness. “The name’s Cole.”

      Jeb shot Lenora a glance. “You didn’t tell me about him.”

      “I...” She coughed and tried again. “I didn’t have a chance.”

      As Cole rested a boot on the fence’s lowest rung, the polished gun at his hip flashed in the morning light. “The lady’s been kind enough to let me rest up my horses.”

      “Is that so?”

      “My mare stepped in a hole yesterday. Hopin’ she won’t be lame long.”

      Irritation erupted on Jeb’s face as though he had no idea how to respond to small talk.

      Lenora piped up. “You can stay as long as you like, Mr. Cole.”

      Jaw jutting, Jeb glared at the stranger. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll pack up the minute your horse recovers and move on.”

      Grinning, Cole leaned his left elbow on the fence. He casually hooked a right thumb in his belt, directly above the butt of his revolver. “Actually, I’m thinking of settling down around here. Maybe you could recommend a good location. I plan to breed horses. Fine stock.”

      Cole couldn’t be in with the Hackett gang. Not with Jeb’s open hostility.

      Convulsively swallowing, Lenora glanced between the men. How would Cole fare if it came down to shooting? The sun at his back would be no advantage with one man against three. Besides, no one ever stood up to Jeb. His father, Eli Hackett, was rumored to own half of Laramie County. Time and again, his outlaw son had weaseled out of trouble. Regardless of how heinous his crimes, Jeb had not spent one night in jail.

      He scowled at Cole. After swinging his leg back over his horse’s head, he thrust his boot through the stirrup. “I ain’t done with you yet, ’Nora.” He jerked the reins and kicked his horse into a gallop.

      Not until the men were out of sight did she sigh in relief.

      With narrowed eyes, Cole stared after them, mouth flattened into a grim slash. Only when he looked in Lenora’s direction did his expression relax. After a nod, he turned on his heel and headed back to the barn.

      “I’ll send Toby when breakfast is ready,” she called.

      Cole turned. “Sounds real good. I’ll clean up.” He squeezed the brim of his hat.

      Still shaking, Lenora breathed a prayer of thanksgiving aloud. “Thank You, Lord.”

      Perhaps God had sent him.

      Toby came from behind her. “Jeb Hackett won’t come back, will he, Ma? Leastways not while Cole is here, right?”

      “I hope not.” She passed the palm of one hand across her heated neck.

      What if Cole stayed for more than a couple of days? Would Jeb take that as a personal insult? He would think nothing of having ten of his cronies thrash any man who dared challenge him.

      Perhaps it would be best if Cole left as soon as his horse recovered.

      But what would happen the next time Jeb dropped by when she and Toby were alone?

      * * *

      “Meal was excellent. Thanks.” Cole leaned back in his chair. When had he last eaten that well? He vowed to split a cord of wood in payment. The stack leaning against the house seemed low. It might last a mere week or two.

      “Another biscuit? They’re best fresh.” The woman Hackett called Nora extended a plateful.

      He declined with one hand as he patted his stomach with his other. “No, ma’am.”

      After Toby wiped his mouth with a napkin, he grinned. “Told ya Ma is the best cook in the county.”

      “Sorry I doubted it.” Cole regretted skipping supper.

      Determined to be on his way, he had arisen long before sunup. However, his mare had limped just enough to warn him they shouldn’t travel another mile until she rested a spell. In the predawn, Toby had surprised him by showing up at the barn. Together they had led the three horses into the back pasture. Sheba had rolled in the grass, apparently happy to stay put. The geldings had bucked and played.

      If Cole had left at first light as planned, he would have missed the arrival of the three visitors. When Toby had whispered Jeb Hackett’s name as they peered through the barn’s slats, Cole couldn’t believe his ears.

      Hackett was the very man he sought.

      And had Cole left, he would have forfeited this incredible meal. Fried potatoes, eggs, bacon, beans, fresh coffee and hot, flaky biscuits—what more could a man want?

      Sighing again in pleasure, he contemplated a nap. Nah, he had wood splitting to do.

      “Can I take this to Blister, Ma?” Toby scraped leftovers into the slop bowl.

      “Certainly. But you keep feeding him like that, he’ll get fat and lazy.”

      When Toby laughed, his adolescent voice cracked. She glanced at Cole, hand pressed to her chest as a soft smile graced her lips. Because her motherly heart swelled at the proof that her boy was growing into a man?

      Grinning, Cole watched the youngster hasten out the door.

      Once they were alone, he met Nora’s dark eyes. A slow blush crept up her cheeks. Light coming from the window glanced off her honey-brown hair, braided and pinned up. She smoothed a stray strand into place.

      Realizing he’d been staring, he cleared his throat. “Where’d you learn to cook like that?”

      “Minneapolis. My aunt ran...well, used to run a restaurant. Before she moved back east. After my parents died. But that was a long time ago.”

      He considered the obvious discomfort in her tone. “She’s one...incredible teacher.” He took care to mind his words. It had been a long while since he had spent time in the presence of a lady. This woman’s gentle ways and modulated speech left no doubts about that.

      How had she ended up in the wilds of Wyoming Territory without a husband? And why hadn’t she yet remarried? Any man would count himself blessed to have a wife who was not only talented, but beautiful.

      Truly modest, Nora inclined her head. Another mark of one gentle born.

      He glanced around as he sipped his coffee. Nice house—not the usual soddy other homesteaders lived in. They sat in a large open room with two windows that faced north and west—so she could see who was coming up the road? Pegs lined a space by the door where he had hung his hat and coat. A pump poised above a large basin—another extravagance in a frontier home. Two chairs clustered by a fireplace. A built-in ladder lined the back wall, leading to a loft. Where Toby slept? The only other door likely led to a bedroom.

      Dragging his gaze away, Cole focused on the blue and white dishes that lined the mantel. “My mother has bone china similar to yours. Where’d you get them?”

      “My