He opened the door to find a well-dressed, middle-aged woman, who was preparing to knock again. When the door swung inward, she smiled and said, “Marshal Fury?”
“Yes, ma’am! Sorry about the delay. I, uh, fell asleep at my desk.” And then he added, by way of explanation, “My deputy is out of town at the moment. What can I do for you?”
“You can do quite a bit, actually,” she said, and started to come into the office. Now, Jason had hoped to keep her where she was. He didn’t much like the idea of advertising Rafe’s presence. But he had no choice but to move out of her way. Fortunately, she went straight to his desk and sat down in the chair opposite his, entirely ignoring the cell area.
He followed suit by going to his desk, upending his chair and sitting down. Which wasn’t such a good idea. One of the legs had broken in his fall, and he took a second tumble, this time catching himself on the edge of his desk —with his chin.
The woman sprang to her feet. “Are you all right, son?”
Jason nonchalantly waved his hand, once he was halfway standing. “Stupid chair. Keep forgettin’ to have it fixed. Now. Let’s start over. I’m Marshal Jason Fury—the town’s named after my father, not me—and you’re with the wagon train, right?”
The woman cocked her head. “Your father isn’t Jedediah Fury, is he?”
Jason nodded. “Yes’m. Or at least he was. He died while we were ferrying the main part of the town, here, out from Kansas City. The folks, I mean.”
Genuine sympathy filled her face. “I’m so sorry to learn of this. I knew your father. He ran the wagon train that Linus and I—he was my husband—took passage with back in ’49. He got us to the California goldfields in fine shape. We spoke of him often.”
“And now you’ve lost your husband.” He didn’t phrase it as a question. The pain that had overtaken her face told him what he needed to know.
After a moment of staring out the front window, and not at him, she turned back to him. “Yes, I have. And I’m sorry, I’m Judith Strong, and I’m looking to settle in Fury.”
Jason’s face lit up. “Well, we’d be glad to have you, Mrs. Strong, and welcome to the Fury family. We’re a little rough around the edges, but we try.”
“Sounds like I’ll fit right in. I’ve got a few rough edges, myself. A woman doesn’t spend over a decade moving from mining camp to mining camp without developing somethin’ of an attitude.”
Jason chuckled. “I imagine so.”
“To get right down to brass tacks, Marshal Fury, I’m a dressmaker and a milliner, and I intend to find a place here in your town to set up shop. I’ve been looking over properties for the last couple of days, and I believe I’ve found one that will suit me. If the price is right, that is. And what I need to know from you is who owns it.”
“Which building are we talking about, Mrs. Strong?”
She pointed out the window. “Right there. The one next to the newspaper office or print shop or whatever it is. And please, call me Judith.”
“And I’m Jason. I’m fairly certain that Salmon Kendall owns that property—Salmon’s our mayor and he has the newspaper office and the boardinghouse, too. He’s the man you should talk to.”
“Well, thank you, Jason,” Judith said, rising. “You’ve saved me a lot of trouble.”
He stood as well. He’d been sitting on the edge of the desk. “No trouble at all, Judith. That’s why we’re here.” He grinned at her despite his aching jaw, and walked her to the door. “Any more questions, you just come see me.” He meant it, too. She put him in mind of his mother.
“Thank you, Jason,” she said. “I’ll do that!” Then she stepped through the door.
He stood there, watching, as she crossed the street and entered the newspaper office. He hoped Salmon would sell her the place. He could use the money, Jason knew. Hell, they all could.
He turned back toward his desk, moving what had been her seat behind it. It would do until he could get another one.
“Seemed like a nice lady,” said Rafe, startling Jason. He’d almost forgotten Rafe was still there, in the cell.
“You know, you got a real knack for spookin’ the bejesus outta people,” Jason said.
Rafe sat up. “Why, thank you very kindly, Mr. Chair Crusher. How’s your chin? And your leg?”
“My leg?”
“Don’t try to hide it. I seen you limpin’.”
“It’ll be fine. Just bruised it, I think.” Jason took a seat in his new chair, still warm from Judith’s backside. He slung his leg up on the desk and pulled up his pantleg. Oh, he was going to have a bruise all right. An area the size of a silver dollar, centered on his shin, was already turning from an insulted red to an accusing purple.
“Got coffee?” Rafe was standing on the other side of the desk.
Jason nodded toward the potbellied stove. “Might still be some left from last night.”
Rafe managed to find half a cup still left and sipped at it. “Just the way I don’t like it. Too strong and too cold.”
Jason started to open his mouth, but Rafe beat him to it. “I know. Beggars can’t be choosers. Crap. What time is it, anyway?”
Jason pointed toward the clock, which read seven-thirty. And was then treated to a line of expletives by Rafe, who was only stopped by the opening door.
