From Home to High Plains

A Hand Full Of Dollars

The Marshal was sitting on the end of my bed, and I sat awkwardly on the head end, the tray of breakfast food a barrier between us. Clara had sent a wide assortment of foods, some of my favorites. I began with a biscuit and blackberry jam while the Marshal started with some eggs. 

I watched him as he took another drink of coffee. I wondered if he caught my slip-up about Mia and texting, and if so, what he thought about it. I inwardly cringed, thinking again about how I'd fumbled my words again earlier. 

He definitely thinks I'm crazy.

Opening my eyes, I gazed at him as he turned his head to watch out the window. His eyes seemed warmer now than when we had first met, and the wrinkles in-between his eyebrows had evened out. I realized I didn't know that much about him, except that he was a U.S. Marshal and was assigned to this town to take in the Lager gang.

"Where are you from?" I questioned. Small talk never was my strong suit. 

He cleared his throat, looking back at me. "I was born back east, but I grew up mostly in the Southeastern part of what's now the Wyoming Territory."

I nodded. I took another sip of my coffee, wincing at the bitter taste and causing the Marshall to smirk again. 

"Not the way they make it back east, huh?"

I smiled, missing my typical morning caramel latte. He had no clue how right he was.

The conversation went back to us sitting in silence, leading me to try to think of another question to ask him. 

"Are you married?" I cringed again, but I found myself hoping he'd say no.

The Marshall let out a half suppressed laugh. "Nope," he responded simply, reaching for a slice of fried ham.

Before I could stop myself, I asked, "Why not?"

He smiled, looking me directly in the eyes. "I guess I haven't found the right woman yet."

Feeling the heat rising in my cheeks, I broke away from his deep stare. Reaching for a piece of ham, I tried changing the subject.

"What made you want to become a Marshall?"

The Marshall paused from assembling a sandwich of biscuit, egg, and ham. The mood seemed to change, and I saw his eyes grow darker. 

"I..." he began, ".... it's just something I needed to do." He stared at his makeshift breakfast sandwich, not meeting my eyes.

I stayed silent, feeling like I had said the wrong thing and ventured on a sore subject. 

After a few minutes, the Marshall started wrapping the sandwich in a napkin before putting it in his pant's pocket. He glanced out the window again. Standing up, he spoke. "There should be another stagecoach coming in tomorrow afternoon, you should plan to be on it."

I nodded, although I wasn't planning on leaving town anytime soon. "Thanks for eating with me."

He smiled, and I saw what looked to be regret flash across his eyes. "I was happy to join you."

The Marshal tipped his hat to me before walking out of my room, shutting the door softly behind him. 

~

After the Marshal left, I decided to take the tray back to Clara. She was in the kitchen washing dishes and cleaning up after breakfast when I found her.

"Good morning, Miss Miller!" She called to me in a cheerful voice. 

I grinned, "Good morning, Clara. Thank you for breakfast."