Chapter Four

Apologies and Impressions

Woody took a deep breath. There was one man behind him with the barrel of a small caliber piston snugged against the base of his neck. A second man behind that one – of unknown height and weight. And Woody had no idea if the additional man was packing or not. Both men seemed to be thoroughly pissed that he had accosted Miss Cavanaugh.

Miss…Cavanaugh.

The man behind him had addressed her as such. Normally most men…even the most polite of men … don't call a town's fallen angels by Miss. Suddenly…Woody realized he had made a very grave and possibly very deadly mistake. Miss Cavanaugh obviously wasn't one of those women. He swallowed hard and put both hands up. Then he ever-so-slowly turned around to face the men, but not before he had caught the woman's eye. She was still angry. Her whiskey-colored eyes had changed to something dark and stormy.

"I'm…sorry…" Woody managed to stammer out. "I mean…she was at the bar…"

"See there, Jahden…that's what I'm telling you…you hang out at this bar and men are going to think…" Max began.

"I don't care what they think," the woman shot back. Jordan…what the hell kind of name is that for a girl? That's a boy's name…Woody thought. And she is definitely no boy…

"You may not. But I do. Either go upstairs or go home," the tall man said, coming over to Woody. "Now who the hell are you and what are you doing in my bar?"

Nothing like getting right down to business…"My name is Woodrow Hoyt. Federal Marshal." Woody kept one hand up while fishing for his badge with the other. The dandy behind him still had the barrel of the pistol held against his neck. Woody handed the badge to the tall man in front of him.

Max examined it for a minute. "Put your gun away, Nigel. He's legitimate. So you're the new marshal they've sent to take Sheriff Malden's place?" Max raised an eyebrow at him.

Woody nodded. "I've got orders from President Grant himself."

"Sorry for the reception, son. But this town's gettin' a little nervous about strangers. Seems every time one rides in, either they end up dead or something bad happens."

"No hard feelings." Woody went to lower his other hand after Max handed him his badge back.

"Whoa. Maybe not on your part, but there is on mine. You just asked my daughter to share her bed with you. I don't take kindly to that, Hoyt."

"I'm sorry, sir….it's just that…well…"

"I know, I know. Most decent women don't hang out at bars. I've tried to tell her that…"

"Dad…." Jordan tried to interrupt, but Max waved her off.

"But let me assure you that just because she dresses a little differently…."

"Dad…."

"Jordan is a decent woman. Very decent."

"DAD!"

"What?" Max asked innocently, "I'm just trying to get you an apology."

Woody stifled a grin. Turning slowly back around, he eyed Jordan, whose cheeks were now a becoming shade of pink. I bet her skin would flush all over like that if I …Woody bit back a moan. He had been on the trail too long if that was what he thought about in the presence of a "decent" woman. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, his hand going to his Stetson to tip it to her. "I didn't know you were helping your father at the bar…I'm very sorry to have offended you in anyway. Please accept my apologies." He extended his hand to her.

Jordan looked at it as if it were a Texas rattler…at least for a full two seconds…this Lucifer had manners, even if his eyes were still cold. Hesitantly, she put her much smaller hand in his and felt his fingers close around it…all sinew and steel as it caged hers for a full moment before he brushed his lips over the back of her hand. Jordan felt a shiver run up her spine and lightning shot up her arm -- as if the devil himself had branded her as one of his own. As soon as Woody loosened his grip for a second, she pulled her hand back and hid it in the pocket of her skirt.

"Okay, Jordan. Back upstairs for you. I left you some dinner. Go eat and then get home. Stay out of trouble for once."

"Yes, sir," Jordan said, almost meekly, if Max heard right. The new marshal had seemingly stolen her voice along with a kiss. Max, Woody, and Nigel watched her as she ascended the stairs, went into her father's office, and closed the door. Woody nearly grinned outright when he heard the click of the bolts tumbling. She had locked herself in.

"So what do you need, Marshal Hoyt?" Max asked, pulling Woody's attention back down the stairs.

"I was looking for a place to get a good meal and a good drink…somewhere to clean up and get a decent night's sleep before I have to meet Sheriff Malden tomorrow."

"Well, the good drink you can get here." Max went behind the bar and pushed Woody's untouched mug to him. "And when you're through with that one, you can have another…on the house…seeing as how my daughter upset you. As far as a place to clean up, Bug there," Max jerked his thumb towards Vijay, "can help you out with that. He runs the laundry and the bath house. Cleanest place you'll find in this town."

Woody glanced at Bug, who had put his cards down. "I'll go run you a bath, Marshal. My place is across the street. You can come over as soon as you're through with your beer." Bug nodded goodbye to his fellow poker players, put on his hat, and got ready to leave. "And Peter, I'll run one for you, too."

"But it's not Saturday, Bug…"

"I don't care. Some things can't wait and a bath for you is one of them…especially after digging those graves today out in the hot Texas sun."

"He's right, you know," the tall British man said, coming from behind Woody. "You need a bath, Peter." The man turned towards Woody. "Nigel Townsend's the name. Lord Nigel Townsend." He held his pale, bony hand for Woody to shake…which was done somewhat reluctantly. "And after you're finished at Bug's, I can take you over to Mrs. Simmons' boarding house…she'll have the hot meal, the clean bed…and the other thing you obviously wanted to partake in tonight." Nigel raised knowing eyebrows at Woody.

Who for some reason felt a near blush rising to his cheeks. He was no longer innocent…far from a choir boy…but somehow these men knowing he needed a female badly enough to solicit the barkeep's daughter embarrassed him.

"Oh, and my name is Max," the saloon owner said, extending his hand for Woody to shake. "And my daughter's name is Jordan…in case you didn't figure that one out."

"Thanks…and call me Woody…everyone else does," Woody said, picking up his beer mug and swallowing half the contents…feeling some relief as the dry dust of the trail was rinsed off his insides at least. If he was lucky, he'd have a full belly, a clean body, and someone to share the night with before long. He swallowed the other half of the mug.

"And meanwhile, I'll escort the lovely Miss Cavanaugh back out to your claim, Max," Nigel said, turning and going up the stairs. Max nodded his approval.

Woody nearly spit out the other half of his beer.

Woody sighed inwardly as he tried to keep up with Sheriff Malden. After a good night's sleep…alone in a clean bed because he simply decided he was too tired for anything else…he woke up to a clear, hot Tyler, Texas morning. A quick two-egg breakfast and three cups of coffee later found him at the Sheriff's office introducing himself to Malden and presenting his federal papers for inspection.

Malden seemed to take it all in stride. He showed Woody around the tiny sheriff's office and acquainted him with the paperwork. It was nothing that Woody hadn't seen before…and nothing he couldn't handle. "Have you seen the town?" Malden asked.

"Not much of it. It was dark when I rode in last night," Woody lied. While he had spent the better part of yesterday skirting around the town, no one needed to know. He had garnered his own impressions…now it was time to see the town through someone else's eyes…to weigh his impressions against theirs…and see how accurate he was.

"Good…good. Come with me. I'll give you the two cent tour," Malden said, grabbing his hat and opening the door. Woody followed him out onto the wooden walkway.

"Tyler's usually a quiet town," Malden said, rocking back on his heels and pointing across the street. "That's Walcott's General Store. Mrs. Renee Walcott runs the place. She has a little daughter…and no husband. He ran for the hills a few months ago. Real shame…" Malden took off down the street, with Woody following in his wake. "This is the telegraph office. Matthew Seeley runs that. A pompous young man if there ever was one…I keep telling him 'pride goeth before a fall', but he doesn't listen. Still…he's very good at what he does…and if anyone knows the goings and comings of really important information, it's Seeley. Always tried to stay on the good side of him so that he would feel that he could come to me with information I may need."

Woody nodded. Seeley was one of the men he saw playing poker at the Pogue last night.

"And that's Mr. Vijay's … Bug's… laundry and bath house. Everyone comes to Bug at one time or another. He's another source you may find good to tap into…"

"Why do they call him Bug?" Woody asked.

"His real name is ….well…it's one of those foreign things that's really too hard to pronounce. We call him Bug because he hates bugs….and in Texas, bugs get into nearly everything. So the man's waging an unending and loosing battle against the critters."

"Oh."

"And that's the Pogue. I imagine you went there first last night."

Woody nodded.

"Met Max?"

He nodded again.

"Max is a good man. He was sheriff before I was."

Woody was startled at this tidbit of information, but didn't show it. He just tucked it back in his mind, thinking that Max was a good source to have, too…for more than just information. His daughter may not be a fallen angel, but that didn't mean that she might not like to spend some time with a federal marshal.

"And back over there, off the end of the street is the school house. Miss Lily Lebowski is the schoolmarm. But maybe not for long…"

"Why?"

"Matt Seeley has his eyes all over her."

Woody tucked this tidbit of information away, too…thinking that if he was ever introduced to Miss Lebowski, and even if she was drop dead gorgeous, to remember she was off limits. Woody didn't cut in on another man's woman. That went against whatever code of ethics he had left.

"And that is Nigel Townsend's house. Or should I say Lord Nigel Townsend."

The affected way that Malden said it made Woody think the sheriff didn't think a whole lot of the man. "Is he really an English lord?" Woody asked.

"Evidently. Seems he's the biological product of his father, Lord Townsend the Fifth, and a woman that doesn't bear his last name. In return for Nigel not embarrassing his father in England, the father sent his son over here with enough money to keep his mouth shut. And the money just keeps coming…and he did give the boy his title."

"Must be nice…"

"Must be. Working stiffs like you and me wouldn't know how to act if that happened to us…This is the Simmons' Boarding House, but I imagine you knew that…and this," Malden paused in front of a building, his distain clearly written across his face, "is the town's doctor…if you can call him that…and his associate."

Woody looked at the shingle above door: Dr. G. Macy Physician & Undertaker and Associate. He grinned. Even if the good doctor couldn't cure his patient, he could still get a fee out of the family.

Still…Woody had met many excellent doctors during his time on the battlefield. Good men. Men who fought just as hard to save lives as the boys in blue fought to keep the Union together. He shook his head at the memory and felt the scar on his belly burn. "And associate?" he asked. "Is there enough sick people in this town for him to have an assistant?"

"Garret's kind of an odd duck," Malden said, beginning his walk back over to the sheriff's office. Woody followed, listening to every word. "He was a doctor during the Civil War….a surgeon. He was on the battlefield when he met Max's daughter, Jordan."

Woody sucked in a deep breath. Two questions ringed his mind. First, was Jordan married to this Garret person, and secondly…most pressing….what the hell was she doing on a battlefield?

Malden took his silence as permission to continue. "Jordan…God himself still puzzles over her….Jordan had been in school in Boston…graduated well. Max was ready to bring her home when she bolts and signs up to be a nurse with the Red Cross. She and Garret meet up and supposedly she's one of the best nurses on the battlefield. They made a great team from what I've been told…probably in more ways that one." The insinuating tone in Malden's voice made Woody want to reach out with a right hook, but he simply balled his hand up into a fist behind his back.

"Anyway, when Jordan came back home after the war was over, Garret followed her and became the town's doctor and undertaker…and now he's training Jordan to be a doctor…"

"A doctor?"

"Yeah. Can you imagine that? A woman as a doctor? I sure as hell wouldn't go to a female doctor, would you?"

If Jordan is like some of the battlefield nurses I've known, no. They were flighty and stupid. But something tells me she wasn't…Woody remembered her hand from last night. He hadn't really thought about it before, but she had been reluctant to give him her hand…and when he took it, he vaguely recalled the fact that it wasn't soft like the rest of her skin appeared to be – at least the skin the backs of his fingers had brushed against at the open V of her shirt . No, the skin on her hands was rough and dry….like the skin of someone who had washed their hands far too often in lye soap to get the blood off of them. He remembered the nurses' touches after he was wounded. Their hands had been tender and compassionate….but the skin was rough and dry from all the times they had to wash their hands to get rid of the blood.

Just like her hand had been last night.

Woody wanted to peel the sweat-drenched clothes off his body just as soon as he was through with the two cent tour and got back to his room at Lu Simmons' Boarding House. Despite the fact that he had spent the entire day with Sheriff Malden, he felt he had nothing to show for his efforts but a set of sweat-drenched clothes and the knowledge the retiring sheriff was nothing short of an incompetent bastard. And that was on one of the sheriff's good days.

The sheriff had given him the run down on everyone in town…from Lois Carver to Mr. Vijay. He had heard all the biographies and all the town gossip, but yet not a word…at least voluntarily…from the sheriff about who he thought was involved with a gun smuggling ring. That was the primary reason Grant himself had commissioned this post for Woody. Army intelligence had wired into Washington that the tiny town of Tyler, Texas was a probable hub for gun smuggling into Mexico. Yet none of the townspeople appeared to be involved, other than being very suspicious of strangers.

So either it was strangers conducting the smuggling operation….or someone in town was covering their actions very well. He'd bet good money it could be that so-called English Lord…

However…he had no proof…and the sheriff didn't seem overly concerned about the dozen of dead bodies that kept popping up on the outskirts of his town. "We're a stop on the way west….of course, we're going to find bodies of unfortunate setters who don't make it…" Malden reasoned to Woody.

But twelve settlers that were shot between the eyes? If Garret had performed his undertaker duties on the victims, he'd need to talk to the good doctor tomorrow. Woody wanted to gauge what the doctor thought about those bodies…and if Garret and Jordan were married…or at the very least, a couple. Still…if she did belong to Garret, Woody couldn't see any man letting his fiancé…or girlfriend…work at a bar – even her father's bar.. At least not any man he knew…and certainly not himself. His woman would be home at night…taking care of his needs…and God knows he'd be taking care of hers.