INCOGNITO: CHAPTER 16

"No, no, no!" Sara shrieked. "That's not fair, Momma!"

"He needs help," Kitty answered, a coy smile on her face. "And I'm helping him because I love him."

"Uck," Sara grimaced, studying her cards all the more intently.

Kitty bumped Matt's knee under the table, then leaned over and whispered in his ear. "Never try to draw to an inside straight, sweetie."

"I'm countin' on a joker." he said audibly.

Luke started giggling uncontrollably. "You've tried that before, Daddy."

"What?" Matt feigned ignorance.

"We know you're gonna try to bluff us again, cause your hand needs help. Lots of help."

"All right, mister card sharp, I'll just stay if that'll make you happy." Matt slid his bet in play, then closed his cards in his hand, pleased as punch that he'd outfoxed an eight-year-old.

Kitty, Luke, Jake and Sara made the pot right from their stash of pennies. Sara gave everyone their last card, then announced, "dealer takes one."

Surprised when Kitty raised the bet, Matt scowled at Sara. "That hadn't better be a joker you dealt your momma, cause if I hadn't stayed, that card would've been mine."

Luke giggled again, put all his cards face down on the table and announced "too rich for me."

Jake and Sara followed suit. Her head cocked in delight, Kitty raked the pot across the table in front of her.

"Now wait a minute, Mrs. Dillon," Matt announced with his booming voice. "I'd like to see those cards. Because if you have a joker there . . ."

"Ooooh! It's his marshal voice," Kitty teased. "If it's a joker, you're going to run the dealer out of town, right?"

Undeterred, Matt slid a long arm in front of his wife and flipped her cards over. "Full house," he muttered. "Three tens, a seven . . . and of course, a joker." Just like after the previous night's poker game had ended, chaos erupted at the table. Matt started tickling Kitty mercilessly, while Sara, Jake and Luke rushed to snatch up as many pennies as they could from the abandoned pot.

As soon as Kitty caught her breath, Matt gave her a soft kiss. "You're gonna teach me how you do that."

"I will," she giggled. "Later on. Privately, in our room."

"But I already know how." Luke cocked his head confidently, mimicking his mother.

"I'm sure you do, Kitty answered her son. "The next thing you need to know is never to interfere with a woman and the man she loves."

"Ugh." Sara shrugged. "You two never quit."

Kitty turned to her daughter, who still figured the best kisses were the ones she got from her horse's lips. "And you, young lady, will be the subject of that exact quandary in a very short time. Now off to bed, all of you!"

The table cleaned up, Matt retrieved his cane in his right hand, then put his left hand in the small of Kitty's back and guided her to the bedroom. The past two days spent at home with his family had provided a respite for him that he'd never been able to imagine. He lit the lantern and glanced out the window to the courtyard, watching the soft snow drift down. If this was what Griffith Price meant about giving the next phase of his life a chance, bring it on.

Kitty's carefree question jolted him from his dream. "You wanted to know about that joker?"

"Sure," he lied, preferring to cuddle with her in the warmth of their bed as soon as possible.

She pulled the deck from her pocket and fanned it face down on the nightstand. "Here, look." She tapped the cards with a perfectly manicured index finger. "Show me the two jokers."

Distracted by the challenge, Matt spread the cards out farther. Not a mark, not a sign. "No clue," he shook his head.

Deftly, Kitty slid two cards from the pile. "See the tiny scratch top center of these two?"

Matt's eyebrows shot up at the miniscule marks. "Yeah."

"I made them with my fingernail. Can't put that little mark on the bottom because that's where players hold their cards and most jokers only face one direction. Players almost always organize a joker face up. Watch for that, it's a clue even if you don't have a marked deck. And don't ever put a mark in a corner because that's where professional dealers look for marks. Only in the center, got it?"

Matt sat down, pulled off his deerskin slippers and wiggled his toes. Hadn't needed to pry boots off for two days. "Our kids know all those tricks, don't they?"

"They do."

"Where the hell have I been all this time?"

"Ohhhh." Eyes gleaming, she smiled with rounded lips. "You don't want to start that conversation when we're headed for bed."

XOXOXO

He'd been ignoring the nagging pull for two days, reluctant to face the empty office with Frank gone to Washington, and not sure what he'd say to Blake if he showed up. But a man could only duck the issue for so long, so he headed for the barn. It was easier saddling Buck on this sunny morning, especially since he'd been practicing everything Doc had taught him. Out of habit, he slid his rifle into the rear scabbard, then racked his cane in the front one, vowing that he wouldn't need it when he stepped down.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary when he rode up Front Street. Friendly faces smiled up at him and people waved, and several men cheerfully added "G'mornin', Marshal." "They don't know yet," he thought to himself as he waved back. Damn, what would happen when he didn't have a heavy coat on and one of his friends popped into the office and eyed his empty shirt? Sooner or later, it'd happen. Apparently Frank had left without saying a word. The thought brought a warm smile to his face. It was so like Frank.

Not paying attention as Buck meandered along, he almost reined in at the office. But Spring Creek Ranch was delightfully isolated from the worries of the world, and there was one stop he wanted to make first, so he put a leg to the big gelding and pressed him on to the newspaper office. Carefully, tentatively, he stepped down and stood with his legs bent for the few seconds he allowed himself, then retrieved his cane and walked in, only touching it to the ground when he stepped up onto the boardwalk. He retrieved the latest edition from the counter and handed his nickel to the pressman, then took a seat in the corner and riffled through it. With six short pages to skim, news of his replacement in Kansas would have been on one of the first two. Nothing. Impatiently, he turned a page and then another, until his eye fell on a tiny article buried on the fourth page about two little girls missing from a small town that he'd never heard of near Pueblo. It had the familiar Associated Press byline, meaning the pressman had picked it up from the national newswire, and probably used it only because he had a space to fill. Brief as it was, it told the same heart-wrenching story of their abduction while walking home from school. But there was an intriguing twist. This time a strange boy had been seen talking with the girls earlier in the day.

Out of habit, Matt leaned back in the chair and ran his tongue over his lips. Nobody in Dodge was interested in two girls disappearing in Colorado, but where the hell was the law down there? Gamely, he rose from the chair without so much as the use of the cane, then folded the newspaper and stuffed it in his back pocket.

He'd never given a thought to walking into his office, but this day was different. There was the familiar sign next to the door that proudly proclaimed "US Marshal Office," but it wasn't his office anymore, another chilling first. The minute he opened the door, Blake pushed his chair back from the deputy's desk and stood at attention like a soldier, a broad smile on his face. "Mornin', Marshal Dillon," he beamed.

Matt took a minute to peg his hat and coat on the wall where they'd hung for twenty years before he answered, and just studied the room that welcomed him like an old friend. There was the stove over in the corner, the one that always leaked just the tiniest amount of smoke, making the room smell like a fading campfire. The bulletin board right there above the safe was still full of wanted posters, most of them hung crooked so they could be doubled up, and right there in front was Creed Carson's. Frank had left it up there like a trophy, and no doubt it'd be a while before he pulled that one down.

"Mornin', Blake." He pointed at the empty spot on his shirt. "I'm not the marshal anymore. Just plain 'Matt' will do like it always has."

As soon as he'd said it, he realized his words had been too harsh. Blake's smile disappeared, his bottom lip sucked between his teeth before he spoke. When he did, he looked crushed. "You'll always be Marshal Dillon to me."

"And I appreciate that, but it's something we're both going to have to get used to. Like it or not, life has a way of moving on."

"Uh, Matt. Nobody in town knows about you and Frank yet." The young deputy volunteered optimistically. Then he gestured toward his desk. "Tell you the truth, I'm mighty glad you're here. I've got a lot of questions about this pile of paperwork."

"Great," Matt thought to himself. "Just what I was hoping to help with." But he took a seat at Blake's desk. "All right," he said reluctantly. "Whatever I can do."

He dove into the pile and started riffling through it like the expert he was, lecturing as he did. "Start with three stacks. Save for Marshal, open and act, and the best pile of all, trash. Nothing goes in the trash that shouldn't be seen by other eyes; put things like that in the stove. If you're in doubt about anything, put it in your open and act pile and figure it out. Frank won't mind."

In no time at all, the entire thing was sorted. "You and Frank gettin' along good?"

"Always have. He's sure taught me a lot. It's just different around here right now, that's all. He left for Topeka without saying much. Told me to play dumb if anybody asked about you."

Suddenly Matt was all ears, more than pleased that he'd stayed to make small talk with Blake. "Did you say Topeka?"

"Yeah. He said he needed to stop there for a couple of days before he went on to Washington. Oh, and he left an envelope for you over there in his desk drawer. Maybe that'll explain something."

Reinvigorated, Matt stood and took the first step to the big desk, completely forgetting the new skills he'd been practicing, forcing him to grab the back of the chair and wait for some feeling to return to his leg. Frustrated, he picked up his cane and hobbled the rest of the way. Didn't matter if Blake had noticed. After all, he'd been relegated to a desk job by a thirty-something deputy. When he pulled the top drawer open, everything was just as he'd left it: pens, pencils, a few old eviction notices he'd refused to serve on delinquent landowners who needed a little more time, even the long ago dated clipping from the Dodge City Bulletin when he and Frank had first gotten curious about the missing girl near Topeka. But right there on top of the clipping was a clean white envelope with his name neatly printed on the front. Eagerly, he laid the cane across the desk then slit the envelope open. The note inside, in Frank's distinct handwriting, simply read:

"Some men work from sun to sun, but a marshal's work is never done."

And tucked inside the note was the one remaining Santa Fe ticket from Dodge to Pueblo.

tbc