The Lone Sheriff
A woman detective? Not on his watch!As if tracking down train robbers wasn’t hard enough, now Sheriff Jericho Silver’s back-up has arrived – and she’s a gun-toting, head-turning beauty. She sure spells trouble.Madison O’Donnell had the perfect life – a beautiful home and all the ladies’ luncheons she could stomach – but it left her bored to tears. Now a widow, she’s determined to fill her days with daring deeds and wild adventures. Jericho is equally determined that she’ll be on the next train home. But this is one lady who won’t take no for an answer…
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“You’re here to help?” Jericho echoed.
“Of course. I am Madison O’Donnell. The Smoke River Bank hired me to help catch the gang robbing their gold shipments.”
Jericho stared at her.
“I believe you were expecting me?”
He snapped his jaw shut. The last thing he’d expected was this frilly-looking female with her ridiculous hat. In her green-striped dress, and twirling her parasol like that, she made him think of a dish of cool mint ice cream.
“Whatever is the matter, Sheriff? You have gone quite pale. Are you ill?”
He jerked at the question. Not ill—just gutshot. “Uh, yeah. I mean, no, I’m not ill. Just…surprised.”
She lowered her voice. “Most clients are surprised when they meet me. It will pass.”
Hell, no, it won’t.
During my research for this book I was pleased to discover there were a number of women Pinkerton agents; in fact Allan Pinkerton stated that some of his most valuable operatives, particularly during the Civil War, were women.
So I thought a female agent in the Old West deserved her own story.
For Joe Walsh, with love
With grateful thanks to:
Suzanne Barrett
Carolyn Comings
Kathleen Dougherty
Tricia Adams
Brenda Preston
Susan Renison
Ann Shankland
Austin Sugai
David Woolston
LYNNA BANNING has combined a lifelong love of history and literature into a satisfying career as a writer. Born in Oregon, she has lived in Northern California most of her life. After graduating from Scripps College she embarked on a career as an editor and technical writer, and later as a high school English teacher.
An amateur pianist and harpsichordist, Lynna performs on psaltery and harp in a medieval music ensemble and coaches in her spare time. She enjoys hearing from her readers. You may write to her directly at PO Box 324, Felton, CA 95018, USA, email her at [email protected] or visit Lynna’s website at www.lynnabanning.com
Contents
TO: SHERIFF JERICHO SILVER, LAKE COUNTY, OREGON
SENDING TOP AGENT MADISON O’DONNELL TO ASSIST CAPTURE OF ARMED GANG STEALING WELLS FARGO GOLD SHIPMENTS
ALLAN PINKERTON
PINKERTON DETECTIVE AGENCY,
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
Smoke River, Oregon, 1873
“Sonofa—” Jericho shoved his shot glass of Red Eye around and around in a widening circle. That’s all he needed, some citified armchair detective telling him how to do his job.
The bartender swept out a meaty hand and rescued the glass. “Got a problem, Johnny?”
“Nope. Gonna get rid of it soon as it turns up.”
Jericho tossed off the whiskey and slapped the glass onto the polished wood counter. “No fancy-ass Pinkerton man from the city is gonna sit on his duff at the jailhouse giving me advice while staying out of the line of fire.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. Fill it up, Jase. Jawing with some city slicker from Chicago’s gonna be easier with this inside me.”
The bar man looked him over. “Ya keep this up, you’re gonna be pie-eyed. That’s your fourth shot.”
Jericho grunted an obscenity. Pie-eyed was okay with him. Three weeks of chasing the Tucker gang, and now his arm was in a sling. His gun arm. He swore again and downed his shot.
The windowless saloon was smoky and dim, but it was over a hundred degrees outside and the Golden Partridge was the coolest place in town. He grinned at the paunchy man on the other side of the counter and slowly pivoted to study the room behind him. A puff of hot air through the swinging double door told him he was no longer alone.
Hooking his boot heel over the bar rail, he shoved both elbows onto the bar top and watched his still-wet-behind-the-ears deputy sidle up beside him.
“You gonna meet the train, Sheriff?”
Jericho nodded. The kid was young. Red-haired and shiny-faced, sharp as a whip and foolishly brave. Sandy had been with him two years, now. Jericho relied on him. Trusted him.
But Lake County had never faced anything like this before.
“Whatcha gonna do, Sheriff?”
Jericho shrugged. He had a plan, all right. At four o’clock this afternoon the big black steam engine would roll into the station and Madison O’Whatsisname would get off. At four-oh-five, Jericho would strong-arm him right back onto the train.
It’d be easy.
* * *
At precisely four o’clock, the Oregon Central chuffed into the station. Jericho adjusted his sling so the sheriff’s badge showed, jammed his left thumb in his belt and waited.
The first person off the train was Darla Weatherby with her bossy mother-in-law right behind her. Another trip to the St. Louis opera house, he guessed; both women fancied themselves singers. Jericho had heard them once at a church social, warbling a duet in Italian. Lessons in St. Louis weren’t gonna help.
