Below her, the door opened, and she heard the sound of Trace’s voice speaking to Rand. Mary Rose stood and brushed the wrinkles from her skirt, then tucked her blouse in at the waistline. There was no doubt in her mind that her face would tell Rand what they had been doing. She ran her fingers through her hair and did her best to push it back into place. With one last look in the small mirror on the wall, she moved quietly down the stairs.
Halfway down the stairs, she paused. The voices were louder, and she pushed her hair behind her ears as if that would allow her to better hear what was said.
“So, did you get things worked out?” Rand’s voice drifted up to her.
“We will marry,” Trace answered. “No one will dare confront a marshal’s wife.”
Her throat tightened.
Oh, yes, things worked out the only way you saw them.
She sighed quietly, putting aside the rankled feelings that made her shoulders grow tense.
“Any sign of the army?”
“Tomorrow,” the sheriff replied. “I expect him here on the stage sometime around noon.” She heard the sound of papers being shuffled and smelled coffee. “Do you think the army might put up some fuss if those rifles aren’t found?”
“Don’t know.” Trace’s voice carried around the corner of the hallway. “The government in Austin is pretty messed up with all the reconstruction heads. Why?”
Rand’s chair squeaked. “We may have a problem.”
“How so?”
Her knees went weak.
“The bank manager came by to see me today while I was at the hotel. It seems he’s heard some rumors that the army might place some sort of lien on her business.”
“Make her pay for the rifles? Don’t worry. It makes no difference. Once we are married, the business can be sold to make up the cost. As my wife, she will not need to work.”
Something struck her square in the stomach. The world spun. She settled down against the steps and hugged her skirt close to her legs. The main room of the sheriff’s office grew silent.
“Have you talked to her about this?” Rand questioned. “She’s a mighty strong woman. I can’t see her just giving up and selling.”
“When we marry, she will have much to do. She is a woman. She will forget this foolish notion of business.”
“Perhaps.” The sheriff groaned. “But I think you might have a tiger by the tail on this one, Marshal.”
She came to her feet and brushed away the dampness that had somehow found its way to her cheeks. She needed to stop this conversation before she heard any more. Moving back to the landing, she stomped heavily down the stairs so her footsteps would be heard. Plastering a smile on her face, she swung around the corner and through the doorway with a glance at Trace.
He stood by the stove, holding a cup of coffee, but when he saw her, he put the cup down and crossed to her side. “Mary Rose.” His voice was low and possessive.
His arm slid around her waist, and she steadied her nerves and relaxed in his grasp, then allowed him to pull her close. With her eyes closed, she enjoyed the brush of his silken lips against her cheek. For a brief moment, she was back upstairs, in his arms, under the spell of his skillful manipulation. Just as quickly, he pulled back, and the spell broke.
“Trace,” she whispered before facing the sheriff.
Rand Weston looked away. She noticed the slight tinge of red to his cheeks. Yes, everything that had happened upstairs seemed to be an open book.
“Sheriff, did I hear you say something about the officer from the fort?” she managed to ask.
He looked up, said, “Yes,” and repeated what he’d told Trace.
“I see. Well, if it will help bring all this to a close, that will be wonderful.” She turned and looked up at Trace. His glance masked, she wondered what information she had not heard.
“Let me walk you back to the freight office,” he replied, moving toward his hat on the chair.
She brought her hand up against her arm. She felt cold and alone. An emptiness filled her stomach where before there had been only exhilaration. “I-I think I’d like to go home, please.”
Her statement seemed to cause the room to still. She glanced over at Sheriff Weston. His pencil paused in midair, and she followed his glance to Trace, who stood by the doorway. “It’s nearly four. I need to get some things done at the house. On the way, we can walk over to the freight office and tell Mr. Gentry to close up.”
She watched Trace moved toward her, his eyes searching her face. “Are you all right?”
She nodded and pushed a strand of hair away from her cheek. “Yes, I—well,” she stammered, then blurted out the only thing that came to her mind. “You said you wanted to take me to supper. I thought I’d change.”
She watched the relief flow through him.
“Yes, yes, of course, my dear,” he replied, offering her his arm.
She tucked her hand into his elbow, a part of her yearning for the use of that little word
querida
. For some reason, “dear” from his mouth did not give her the same chills and anticipation. How sad, she thought, as they moved toward the door.
“I will return,” he told the sheriff as he ushered her out the door.
Although she stepped into the sun she felt cold, as if her soul lay bare. Her eyes closed and, with a tilt of her chin, she brought her face fully beneath the warmth of the beams, yet even they didn’t feel warm enough to soothe the chill from her bones. His hand found the small of her back and, before she could stop it, a flinch tremored through her.
“Did I scare you?”
Her eyes opened. “I wasn’t expecting it,” she replied in all honesty.
He took her elbow between his fingers and guided her down the boardwalk. Her body felt drawn to him. She glanced down, yet there were no visible signs of rope or barbed wire to link them. But the brand was there—the brush of his leg against her hip, the precision of their steps. If she were to lay a hand upon his chest, no doubt their hearts beat as one. Yet the grain of sand that rubbed her raw was the leader in the fence being built between them. All because he refused to say the words she deeply needed to hear: “I love you.”
“
I will find a priest and we will marry
.” The words echoed in her mind. She dampened the edge of her lips with her tongue and gave a shy glance beneath her lashes to the man beside her. The swell of her heart filled her with yearning. If only she could turn back those hands of time and somehow get him to say those all-important words.
“We are here.”
His words jolted her out of her reverie. Mary Rose glanced around and found herself standing before the freight office. Oddly, she had no desire to go in. Her hesitation must have been noticeable.
“Do you want me to walk you inside to tell Gentry?”
She turned. “No.”
His face took on a puzzled expression. She gave a nervous laugh. “What I mean is, I’d like for you to wait while I give Mr. Gentry some closing instructions. When we leave here, I would like to get some things and go over to the hotel.” She felt a blush creep up her neckline. “For a bath.”
Instead of being upset, he took her hand. “Of course,” he agreed, as if this happened every day. “Go speak to Mr. Gentry. I will wait here.”
With a nod of her head, Mary Rose moved up the steps, crossed the platform, and saw the door still closed. A look through the glass panel told her the office seemed empty. She took a step back, but no sign was on the door. Grasping the handle, she turned it and entered.
****
Trace watched her climb the steps and disappear into the shadows toward the office. The loud banging of a hammer drew him, and he moved across to the open barn where two men were busy taking the hubs off the wagon wheels and liberally applying grease.
His shadow blocked the light, and the men looked up. The large man swinging the heavy hammer narrowed his gaze. “Can I help you?”
“Marshal Castillo,” Trace replied.
The two men exchanged a glance. The second man rose from his crouched position. Trace could see they were making a consolidated front.
“I’m here to find Daniel Thornton’s killer. Can you tell me about Moe Horne?”
“Moe drove for the company. He was sort of a solitary fellow.”
He nodded. “Did he live around here?”
“Had a room over at Lucille’s. With him dead, I reckon she’ll be cleaning out his things sometime today.”
Lucille’s?
He turned the name over in his thoughts, then remembered seeing the boarding house down past the saloon. “Thanks.” With a nod and a touch of his brim, he began to turn away, then swung back and gestured toward the wagon. “Tell me, do you do that before every run?”
The men looked down at the wagon joint now fully exposed. “Most drivers take care of their own equipment. Daniel kept the supplies, and we maintain the equipment.”
He nodded. “So you’d know where you were going? I mean, whether it was a long haul or short?”
“Yeah,” the second man replied. “We’d get a list of runs for the week, with the destinations.”
“How’d you get ’em?”
“Gentry would give them out at the end of the week, with the pay.”
“So Gentry knew.”
The tall man shrugged. “I don’t know. I wasn’t privy to that. I know the envelopes were sealed, so I assumed Mr. Thornton did it.”
Trace nodded. “Yes, makes sense.”
“Marshal?” Mary Rose’s voice called out.
“Gents,” he nodded again and walked away.
Interesting,
he thought as he walked toward where she stood. “Find Mr. Gentry? Will he lock up?”
She gave a nod.
“Then, are you ready?”
“Yes, please.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Do you want me to check the house?” he asked as they stood by her doorway.
“No, I don’t think anyone would be brazen enough to come in the daylight.”
“Perhaps not yet,” Trace agreed. “Your key?”
“Over the door.” He followed the direction as she pointed to the decorative scroll of wood over the entry.
Stepping forward, he reached up, and the toe of his boot nudged the soft leather of her slipper. It seemed only natural he should reach out and capture her body against the door as his fingers felt for the keys. She took a deep breath, allowing the swell of her breasts to brush against him. He looked down and gazed into her wondrous eyes.
A much more experienced woman would have known how the lure of her charms seduced a man. Perhaps this proved to be the appeal that drew him to her side—then again, perhaps not. Those luminous eyes held him tight and seemed to draw him to the edge of sapphire pools. His head spun. Fingers grasping the key, he smiled down at her, and the color ripened. She was like an open book; he could easily read her desire to be kissed.
Not a man to disappoint, he lowered his head and captured her mouth. The soft tissue molded to his. He heard her sigh, and she placed a hand upon his sleeve. As their kiss deepened, he felt a squeeze of her fingers. Reluctantly, he drew his head away.
Under his watchful gaze, she lifted those smoky lashes from her cheek and stared back at him. “If we do this again, we’ll miss our dinner.”
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Would that be such a bad thing?”
A soft rose stained her cheek, accentuating the freckles across her nose. He pressed his mouth to both cheeks. “But I will concede your point today.” Still staring, he inserted the key and turned the lock. She pulled the door open, and he followed her inside.
“You want me to wait down here?” he asked jokingly as she placed a foot on the stairs. To his surprise, she answered, “Yes, I shan’t be long.”
Disappointed, he nodded and moved to her settee. Lowering his body to the cushions, he listened to the thud of her feet as she hurried upstairs. His mind drifted to a delicious daydream, one in which those footsteps would bring her to his bed. Sighing with contentment, he placed his hands behind his head and dreamed.
The vision of his home materialized. The huge master bedroom would be lit by the flames in the fireplace, and she’d come to him. In his mind’s eye, he could see her, the light dancing across her body, wrapping it in a golden glow, and like today she’d be wearing nothing but a smile. “Oh, yes,” he murmured, a grin splitting his face from ear to ear.
****
Mary Rose hurried to her room to pick up her best dress and a corset. Elaine could help her put it on. Tonight she wanted to look her best. Stepping into her room, she moved toward her wardrobe, then stopped. An odd feeling rolled across her skin. Frightened, she glanced around to see if anyone was watching.
Her brow furrowed, she moved toward her bed and, keeping her feet away, lifted the edge of her quilt and peered beneath. No feet, no boots, nothing. Still, the feeling wouldn’t go away. Mary Rose swallowed and felt the rapid beat of her heart beneath her chest. “I’m being foolish,” she whispered.
At her dresser, she opened a drawer to pull out her innerwear. Her eyes continued to dart toward the doorway, making sure no one filled the space. Then, moving again toward the massive wardrobe, she stopped in her tracks. A hem of green silk hung caught in the door. A cold chill ran down her arms as the terror rose in her throat.
Someone had been in her home
.
Afraid to breath, she listened to the sounds around her.
What if they were still there?
Her ears strained, but she heard nothing. Keeping a wary eye, she gently opened her wardrobe and looked inside. Her dresses had been pushed around. A drawer on the left had the sleeve of her gown lying against it. There could be no doubt. Her things had indeed been disturbed.
Swallowing the urge to run screaming from the room to let the marshal know, she took down the green satin and folded it over her shoulder. If someone had been in her room, they might be watching her now. Her thoughts turned to the shadow of the man from the other night. Feeling the overwhelming need to get out, she closed the wardrobe and moved toward the doorway. Reaching behind her, she grabbed the door and pulled it closed.