“No, it’s not James,” Deputy Charlie asserted, wiping a hand over his chin. “He worked his way up from mucking the stalls. He even allows some of the boys in town to earn extra money by taking care of the horses and changing the teams. He wouldn’t throw that all away.”
Rosalie rose suddenly, causing all the men to awkwardly arise. “Thank you for your time. It appears that we have our work cut out for us. We’ll start tomorrow.” She directed her next question to Sheriff Walton. “Can you point me in the direction of the hotel?”
“Yes, just head east on the boardwalk. You can’t miss it,” he answered. “It’s a white-washed building.”
“Thank you,” she murmured before shooting Paden an icy glare. “I will meet you at the hotel. I find I need a moment alone.”
Paden went to touch her sleeve but thought better of it, dropping his hand. “I will go check us in and have your trunk brought up to our room.”
Rosalie frowned her acknowledgement, then swiftly walked out the door. He watched her retreating figure, knowing he was deserving of her ire.
Sheriff Walton cleared his throat awkwardly. “A word of advice, son. I would tread lightly around your wife. She seems irritated by you, and from the stories I have been told about her, I am confident that she could kill you without blinking an eye.”
Turning to face the sheriff and deputy, he admitted, “When the shotgun messenger was shot, my wife scurried out the window, lifted herself up to the roof of the coach, grabbed the shotgun and started taking aim at the robbers. She then led the team into town after the driver had been shot. She’s a formidable woman.”
“I have heard stories about Rosalie Addis, the bounty hunter, but I didn’t believe them. After all, at the end of the day she is a woman, right?” Deputy Charlie remarked, crossing his arms over his chest. “But after meeting her, I don’t know what to think.”
“She’s Rosalie Brooks now,” Paden corrected. “She is my wife.”
“And partner,” Sheriff Walton reminded him with amusement in his tone. “I wish you luck with that.”
Exiting the office, Paden felt each step slow as he approached the hotel, his heart filling with dread. How was he going to make this right with Rosalie? And did he want to?
Chapter 6
Rosalie stepped out of the sheriff’s office, her anger growing with each step. How dare Paden think she would resort to seducing a suspect in order to collect a bounty! She had wanted him to believe she had changed, but it hurt that he thought she was a strumpet.
As she passed by the alley next to the sheriff’s office, she heard a noise coming from the shadows. Treading lightly, she walked further into the muddy alley which smelled suspiciously like an outhouse. She stopped when she saw a boy, no older than ten, standing on a crate and peering into the sheriff’s small, square, open window. She remained against the wall, hiding herself from him, as she listened to Paden inside the office summarize the events on the stagecoach.
After a few moments, she heard the door open and slam shut as Paden departed the building. She kept her eyes trained on the boy, who jumped down from the crate, moved it away from the window, and ran down the back side of the alley.
Rosalie followed behind but remained far enough away to avoid detection as the boy ran toward the edge of town. Although, it didn’t seem to matter because the young boy didn’t even bother to look behind him to see if he was being followed. Apparently, this boy was not used to a life of crime.
The boy darted across the main road and ran in the door of a small building that read ‘The Barlow Dispatch & Grizzly’s Peak Express’. A large barn was attached to the staging station, and she could hear laughter coming from within. Retrieving her pistol, she crept closer to the barn and peered through the open door. Two teenage boys were standing on the hayloft, throwing hay at each other, making it abundantly clear that they were not a threat.
Turning her attention back toward the staging station, Rosalie approached the open window and heard muffled voices inside. She couldn’t make out the boy’s low voice, but she heard a man exclaim, “Pinkerton agents! Are you sure?”
Hearing enough, she pushed open the door and pointed her revolver at the man. He was no older than she was, but he was a good foot taller than her. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to above his elbows, the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, and his suspenders held his trousers up. Rosalie’s first thought was that he didn’t fit the look of a criminal mastermind.
“Why was this boy spying on the sheriff?” she asked in a direct tone.
The man stepped in front of the boy, shielding him from her, telling her everything that she needed to know. This was not their suspect.
He put his hands in front of him. “You are the Pinkerton agent?” he asked in amazement.
“I am,” she replied, seeing no reason to deny it.
The man opened his mouth and closed it. Finally, he spoke, “But you are a woman.”
“Thank you for noticing,” she remarked dryly, lowering her pistol to her side.
The man rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I apologize. I am going about this all wrong, ma’am. I asked Ryan to listen in on your conversation. It was my fault.”
“Again, why?” she asked, taking in the small room with a ticket counter and a bench in the corner.
“My name is James Murray, and I am the station keeper here in Shelbrook,” he
