“Is she right?” Elizabeth asked, ignoring Jesse. Her gaze didn’t waver from her husband’s. “Are you going to become a US marshal? Are you leaving?”
“Your husband is an incredibly valuable asset to the government,” Jesse answered before Cole could. “And the Silver Creek Bandits are wreaking havoc across the country. Their death toll is at fifty-eight.”
“And at last count,” she said, her voice rising slightly, “four of those deaths have been other US marshals. No one has been able to stop them. I’d prefer my husband wasn’t thrown to the wolves because the government has run out of people to sacrifice.”
Jesse smiled indulgently and her blood boiled. “That’s not something for you to worry about, Mrs. O’Hara. There are extenuating circumstances with the deaths of those marshals. But your husband is a man who can take care of himself.”
“You don’t have to explain my husband to me,” she said. “I know that he’s a man of honor. And I know that he can take care of himself. That doesn’t make him immortal.”
“I think this is something my wife and I need to discuss in private, Calhoun.”
“Take your time, O’Hara. It doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere anytime soon. But the president doesn’t want me to return without that star pinned to your vest.”
“You’re not married, are you, Calhoun?” Cole asked.
“Never had the time,” he said.
“Then I’m going to take into account your inexperience and save you from getting stabbed in the face with your butter knife. You should stop talking now and enjoy the rest of your dinner. And my wife and I are going to go upstairs so we can talk in private.”
Jesse looked back and forth between them and shrugged, and then he took his place back at the table to finish his meal.
Elizabeth watched as Cole folded up the likenesses that had been on the table and shoved them into his pocket. He left the badge where it lay and nodded to Calhoun as he took her arm and picked up the bag they’d packed that morning.
She resisted the urge to shrug off Cole’s touch, and she let him guide her out of the restaurant. She continued to stay silent when he got the key to their room from Will, who was standing wide eyed and slack jawed behind the desk.
It wasn’t until they’d reached the second-floor landing that she found her voice again. “How did you know I wanted to stab him?” she asked.
“I recognized the look. I’ve never told you much about my family. There’s not much that’s worth telling. But I’ve learned to recognize a woman who’s reached her breaking point. And in my experience, a woman who’s reached her breaking point when there’s a knife around will use it.”
She stopped on the bottom step that led to the third floor and stared at him in surprise. He’d been right when he’d said he hadn’t shared much about his family. She knew he had a brother, but she didn’t even know his parents’ names.
“Someone in your family stabbed someone?” she asked incredulously.
“She tried,” he said flatly. “My father briefly remarried after my mother died. He thought my brother and I needed a mother, but she didn’t have the temperament to be a mother or a wife. My dad said something that got her back up and she threw a knife right at him. Went into his thigh. He pulled the knife out and told her he didn’t think his boys needed a mother after all. Told her to pack up and head back from where she came from. Gave her money for her time and travels, and she gladly took it.”
“Good Lord,” Elizabeth said. “You dodged a bullet there.”
“That was another life,” he said. “Another time. My dad did the best he could. I was never really sure if he wanted to ship us off too, but we learned how to work and work hard from an early age.”
“You’re making it hard to be mad at you right now,” she said.
“I’m sorry I’m missing out on it,” he said with a grin. “I saw that look in your eyes when you walked in and all I could think about was getting you upstairs and in bed. Your father always said you had a heck of a temper when riled. I’ve waited for a year to see it. Maybe I could do something else to get you riled back up.”
“I might have left the knife downstairs, but I’m still wearing my guns. Proceed at your own risk.”
“My, my, my, Mrs. O’Hara,” he said, moving in close behind her as they reached the top of the stairs. “What have you been holding out on me?”
Her breath caught as he maneuvered her to the door of their suite and pressed against her. She felt his breath on her neck as he turned the key in the lock and opened the door.
She hadn’t forgotten why they’d come upstairs to begin with, and it definitely wasn’t for this, no matter how badly she wanted to feel his touch. His lips glanced the side of her neck and she whimpered, even as chill bumps pebbled her skin.
The room was nice and warm, and it looked as if Will had started a fire in the fireplace. The rooms they’d been assigned brought back memories of their wedding night. She couldn’t help but blush at the thought.
There was a small sitting room with a couch and two chairs in front of the fire, and the frost-etched windows looked out over Main Street, though it was impossible to see anything but the falling snowflakes. She turned and made her way toward the bedroom.
It wasn’t a large room—or maybe the bed was so large that it made the room seem small. It had four posts of the same carved, dark wood as the rest of the furniture. The bed was covered in a white quilt and looked soft as a cloud. And above the bed was a painting of a woman, scantily clad. Elizabeth raised her brows at the scandalous nature of the artwork and found herself wondering why she’d never heard talk of it around town. But then, it made sense that the people who lived in Laurel Valley wouldn’t be staying in the hotel, just like her.
There was a washroom to the side, and she peeked inside, surprised to they’d added a deep porcelain tub and gold faucets.
