chapter Thirteen
The smell of coffee woke her from her slumber and the sweetest dream she knew, an enchanting dream, one in which a dark-haired man with bright blue eyes made love to her with his lips. The thought of it brought a smile to her face. She didn’t need to see his face, for she already knew he was just below. Mary Rose rolled over and lay quietly, listening as he stirred around downstairs. Tossing the covers back, she rose carefully so as not to strain the tender skin around her wound. She paused and rotated her shoulder to relieve the stiffness.
Then she moved to her wardrobe and opened the doors. She studied her choice of practical options. The words Trace had spoken the night before replayed in her mind. Would the morning show she was just as lovely? She reached for the simple figured blouse and gray skirt, both pieces easy for her to manage with one good hand. She slipped them over her chemise and petticoat, then moved to her dresser.
Sitting down, she stared at the woman in the mirror. Her gaze focused on her lips. With her fingertips, she traced the length of her bottom lip and recalled the urgent feel of his lips there. Even in the light of day she shivered with delight. A soft blush filled her cheeks, and she watched the outline of her nipples press against the print of the fabric. Lord, all she had to do was envision the events and her body seemed ready.
“Mary Rose, you are becoming a wanton woman.”
She gave her head a shake, then picked up her brush and ran it through her curls, sweeping them away from her face. Unbound, they fell loose about her shoulders. “This will have to do.” With a sigh, she rose and hurried out the door.
Coming down the steps, she heard a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” she called out and slid the bolt back to open the door. Sheriff Weston greeted her with a smile.
“Morning, Mary Rose.”
“Sheriff.” She held the door open. “Won’t you come in?”
He pushed the door wide and entered. “Is the marshal here?”
She watched his gaze move about the room and rest on the pillows and blanket Trace had folded and left at the end of the sofa. The sheriff turned a penetrating glance back to her.
Her mind racing to come up with some reasonable explanation, her lips parted, but Trace’s voice spoke. “I’m here. Been here all night.”
A knot formed in the pit of her stomach as the two lawmen stared one another down.
“Ask it, Rand. Let’s get this out in the open.”
Neither looked too pleased. She looked at Trace, then back to Sheriff Weston, wondering if they’d come to blows. She tried to smile but her lips trembled.
“Perhaps this can be settled over a cup of coffee. Sheriff, won’t you join us?” She slipped her arm into his.
“Lead the way.”
Giving Trace a silent stare that dared him to say a word, she led the sheriff into the kitchen. The golden glow of the morning faded. She felt like a child who’d had her Christmas toy stolen. Stepping into the kitchen, she was surprised to see a plate of biscuits and bacon already on the table. She turned and looked at the marshal. “You were up early.”
He moved forward and drew out her chair. “I had things on my mind.”
The statement brought a gruff grunt from Sheriff Weston, and Mary Rose felt her cheeks heat. Ignoring the impulse to snap back, she took the seat. “Gentlemen, won’t you sit down?” She waited. Trace moved to her right and the sheriff took the seat on the left. She noticed only two plates. “Let me get you a plate.”
“I’ve got it,” the marshal grumbled as he retrieved one from the cabinet.
“Coffee?” she asked brightly.
The sheriff reached for the pot. “Allow me to pour.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “My arm is still a bit sore.”
As Trace sat down, she asked, “So, what brings you here, Sheriff?”
“I went to the office this morning and found Trace’s room empty.”
“I can explain that. He spent the night here.”
At her words, both men sputtered, choking on their coffee. Seeing their startled and angry looks, she continued, “Last night, when I turned out the light, I saw a man outside, watching me.”
Sheriff Weston put down his cup and listened as they explained the events leading up to Trace’s decision to stay.
“So you think whoever is responsible for the attack on the wagon has figured out that Mary Rose is alive?”
Trace nodded. “That’s my take on it.” He pushed his empty plate away. “So for that reason I’ve decided, as our only witness, she is under protection.”
Mary Rose thought about the papers locked up in the other room. She took a deep breath and felt the eyes of the lawmen turn on her. She studied her cup.
“Mary Rose, is there something you need to tell us?”
Her head jerked up. She dampened her lips with the edge of her tongue. “I’ve told you all I know,” she replied. Her words sounded void of emotion.
“You’re sure?”
She looked over to Trace, then quickly glanced away. Her heart beat heavy against her chest, and she wondered if he could hear it. “Positive,” she answered.
The silence between them seemed long. To break the scrutiny of his glare, she picked up her cup and sipped. Staring straight ahead, she hoped to calm her nerves, which seemed to be near to snapping. She didn’t like lying, especially to a man like Trace.
“From this point on,” he growled, “someone will have to be with you at all times.”
Her eyes darted to his. “What about the investigation into my brother’s death? Who will conduct that?”
“It will be conducted,” the sheriff said. “I’ll pick a few men who are discreet to walk you to and from the freight office.”
“I will walk her home and spend the night on her couch,” Trace added.
Feeling caged, Mary Rose stood. “Well, I’m so glad you all have everything under control.” She knew the marshal could feel the sarcasm laced in each word. “I can take care of myself.”
“A broken window and a hole in a door say otherwise.”
She squared her shoulders, her anger taking control. Opening her mouth to give a pointed retort, Rand interrupted.
“Mary Rose, until we are sure who we’re up against, you’ll have to permit our intrusion,” he explained.
“Perhaps,” she snapped. “But, I don’t have to like it.”
She stood and carried her cup to the dishpan. Chair legs shrilled as they scraped the floor. The sheriff and Trace had left the table. She sensed Trace next to her, and she turned her head to look into his concerned eyes.
“I am sorry, Querida, but you must be safe.”
Her chin tilted. “Catch the men who killed my brother, and you will make me safe,” she urged and watched him dip his chin toward his chest. She waited for him to answer. A tear escaped her lashes. She looked up and brushed it away.
“Come, let me walk you to work.”
****
Setting to work, Mary Rose concentrated on her notations in the ledger until she heard a knock at the door to the office. She looked up from her ledger to see the sheriff standing in the doorway.
“Afternoon, Mary Rose.”
“Afternoon.” She put down her pencil and flexed her fingers. “I didn’t realize morning had come and gone.”
“A few hours ago,” he commented. “I’m hoping you won’t bite my head off if I ask to come in?”
“No.” She sighed. He smiled back and crossed the floor to the desk.
Leaning to the left, she looked back to the doorway. “Where’s your shadow?”
Sheriff Weston eased his body into the chair. He grunted and turned his head to look. She watched the left corner of his mouth pull up.
“You must be talking about the marshal.”
“One and the same.”
“Oh, well, he’s doing some leg work on the case.”
Her ears perked up. “You’ve gotten a lead on my brother’s killers?”
“Er, not quite. I’ve got four men out checking the caves around Coyote Canyon and waiting on the army man.”
She wrinkled her brow and looked at him. “And the marshal?”
“He’s fixing the window over at your place. That boy is death on a house.”
Putting her pencil down, she closed the ledger and thought about how close she’d come to ending Trace’s life. “That, I’m afraid I have to take responsibility for.” When Rand didn’t respond, she looked to him.
He stared at the brim of his hat, which rested upon his knee. She knew there was much more to his visit than the replacement of the glass in her window. The harbinger of fear raised its ugly head and clutched at her heart with its cold fingers. “You have something you want to say to me?”
Rand didn’t look up. He expelled a deep breath and nodded. “I know it’s only been a few days, but I’m gonna need to get your statement on what happened.”
She sat back. “I knew this was coming.” Her mind felt blank. She shook her head, for it was no time to be gathering wool. “I suppose today is as good as any.”
He stood. “Now that that’s settled, how about joining me for lunch, and then we can go to the office. Besides, it would do an old lawman’s ego good to be seen with a pretty woman. I hear the hotel’s serving roast beef.”
His statement brought a chuckle to her lips. The sound seemed almost foreign to her ears. “It’s not your ego that I worry about. I want my brother’s killers found.”
“We’re looking, Mary Rose. I promise you.”
She nodded. Smiling at his warmth, she slipped her hand beneath his arm and they moved toward the doorway.
“Going out, Miss Thornton?”
She glanced to the left, watched Mr. Gentry put down his pen, and smiled broadly.
“Yes, Mr. Gentry, I’ll be gone for lunch. I should be back in a few hours. If anyone comes in wanting to ship, please let them know we are doing short runs, with one long run at the end of the week.”
“Yes, ma’am. You have a good lunch.”
“Thank you. If you need to go to lunch, just lock up and put a sign in the window.”
“I will do so.” He nodded.
Caleb Gentry stood and watched them leave. Once sure they were gone, he stood and walked back to the office. Licking his dry lips, he cast a worried glance over his shoulder. With no one there, he knelt down and rubbed his fingers on the edges of his trouser. Then he gave a light touch to the combination lock. The dial turned and clicked as one tumbler fell into place. He blew out softly and turned it in the other direction. Five clicks over, the second latch caught.
“Almost there,” he murmured.
The dial turned back and the last lock slipped into place with a heavy click. Reaching up, he gave the bar a twist and the door swung open. He pulled out the ledger and scanned her entries. She had recorded the deposits for this week. A tidy sum, for sure. But he didn’t intend to make it easy on her. No, that money would go into the bank. He’d seen the sheriff and the marshal talking to the manager.
Howard Clark was a nervous man who could be easily manipulated. Yes, perhaps he’d go to lunch and make a deposit on the way. “What a shame to be without any petty cash,” he sighed. “But accidents do happen.” Closing the ledger, he slid it back in place. He’d searched the safe once before, but the missing ledger pages and the coin were not there. She had to have taken them home. He needed to get them back or the boss would have his hide.
Standing, Caleb closed the safe and twisted the lock. It was just another loose end, something he could deal with. A desperate woman proved to be an easy mark, no matter how well she could shoot. He turned back to his own desk and opened the strongbox. Yes, he thought, counting the money for deposit, all he had to do was wait.
****
Mary Rose and the sheriff walked down the street toward the hotel. Rand spoke first.
“I must say, you could have knocked me over with a feather when I walked in this morning and caught you two playing house.”
Her cheeks filled with heat. “It isn’t like that. You saw the blanket on the couch.”
Rand brushed her statement aside. “I did. But just so you’ll know, Trace is not the sort of man that usually hangs around a woman.”
“I suspected as much.” She nodded. “I believe he thinks my brother and I had something to do with the stolen rifles.”
Rand pursed his lips. “I think he is more worried you did not.”
“What?” She glanced at her companion, a look of confusion on her face.
He patted her hand. “He seems taken with you, even if he’s not realized it yet. He’s not tangled with a woman in about five years.”
Her mouth went dry. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I think you need to know what you’re getting into.”
Her heart skipped a beat and the blood rushed to her ears. “Go on,” she replied, in a voice barely audible.
“’Course, by now you’ve figured out Trace is part Mexican, part Anglo. Both parents were from old families and straddled the border. Five years ago, Trace, being the oldest, was set to marry and carry on the family name. A woman by the name of Amelia Juarez lured him into proposing.”
“Lured?”
“Like those big old bass Doc’s so fond of catching in the lake. She was from an old Spanish family, like Trace. Their ranches were close together, so it seemed only natural that they wed.”
“What happened?”
“Money won. When she refused him at the altar, Trace found her in his half-brother’s bed. They had a huge row. Trace’s half-brother was mixed up in the conservative fight in the Mexican government, which led to a huge family dust-up. Trace lost it all.”
“Oh, my,” she whispered.
“His grandfather disowned him for not backing Mexican independence, gave his lands to the other Castillo, and Trace chose to remain here in Texas, not to go home to Mexico or fight.”
“Have they patched things up?”
Rand shook his head. “Nope. To this day, he hasn’t spoken to a member of his family. When his grandfather died, Trace was refused entry to the funeral service in the mission church. He had to sit on his horse and watch from the hill above. It damn near broke him.”
Her eyes filled with tears. She could only imagine how hurt his pride must have been. In the little time she’d known him, honor and pride seemed to sum up the man. “I guess that explains why he seems so abrupt at times.”
“I know how you feel about family, so I’m asking you to go easy on the boy. If this attraction between you two deepens, don’t go into it halfhearted.”
Mary Rose recalled their heated kisses and the way he made her feel. Her heart twisted. She felt pulled in two directions. Why didn’t it seem like an easy choice?
****
Sheriff Weston opened the door to his office and stepped back to allow her to enter before him. “Have a seat at the desk. This won’t take long.”
She nodded and took one of the empty chairs by the desk. He tossed his Stetson onto a peg and followed her. Sitting down, Rand pulled the top desk drawer open and grabbed a sheet of paper. “It’s just a few questions—routine, when you think about it.”
“Actually, I try not to,” she sighed.
He offered her an apologetic glance. “I’m sure. What I need is your firsthand account of the attack. You might have seen something and not realized it.”
“So just start from the beginning?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yes, where were you headed?”
“We were headed to Fort Ewell after making a side trip to Claiborne.”
“Why didn’t you go to Fort Ewell first?” Rand asked, writing down her statement.
“Daniel wanted to get the supplies for the general store off the wagons first. The manager of the mercantile in Claiborne had a backorder of dress goods. It seemed better to get them there as soon as possible, as well as lightening the load for the rest of the trip. Besides, we knew the stay at the fort would be overnight or longer.”
“You weren’t just dropping things off, then?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I went along because I was going to stay a few weeks with Penny Wallace. You remember her?”
Rand looked up and smiled. “I do.”
The edges of Mary Rose’s mouth lifted in a grin. “She and the captain are going to have a child. We planned on making some baby clothes.”
He nodded. “So it was a social visit.”
“Yes.”
“Daniel didn’t usually carry passengers, did he?”
“No.” She grew somber. “He wasn’t thrilled about me going, either. But I didn’t want to pay a stage ticket.”
“Was the company short of change?” he asked, lifting his pencil from the paper.
She shook her head. “No, we made a profit last year. I did not want to spend the money." She glanced up. "Now I see how foolish it was. I should have taken the stagecoach.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, had I bought the ticket and gone by stage, Daniel might have gone to the fort without stopping at Cottonwood Springs. Perhaps the men who attacked the wagons wouldn’t have had the chance.”
Rand looked up. “I doubt that, Mary Rose.”
Behind them, the door opened. The sheriff looked up as she turned in the chair. Trace paused in the doorway.
“Sorry, I didn’t know you were here, Rand. I’ll leave if you need me to?”
“No, no, come on in. I’m just getting this young lady’s statement,” Rand replied.
Trace tossed his hat onto a chair and moved toward them, taking the seat next to Mary Rose.
“You don’t mind the marshal being here, do you?” Rand inquired.
“No,” Mary Rose replied in a soft tone.
Rand noted the color creeping to her cheeks and the stolen glance beneath her dark lashes. Bemused, he tried to keep his face from twitching. Trace shot him a warning glance.
“Tell us about the attack.”
A glimmer of alarm raced across her face. Rand watched quietly as Trace’s hand covered her arm and he spoke. “We are here to help you, Mary Rose. Relax and tell your story. You are among friends.”
She glanced at him, and they stared at one another for a moment. Rand felt as if he were an outsider snooping around.
“I was down at the spring when I heard the first shot. I wasn’t sure what was going on,” she began. “I just knew—felt—something was wrong.”
“How did you know?” Rand asked.
“I don’t know, instinct, I suppose. I couldn’t imagine why they would fire a gun. I started toward the clearing, and then I could hear voices arguing.”
“Anyone you recognized?” Trace queried.
She shook her head. “No, I-I don’t think so.” Her brow furrowed. “I could hear Daniel and Moe.”
Rand watched her eyes stare off into the distance. “What did they say?”
“Moe, he was saying, ‘Don’t shoot, don’t shoot.’” She looked at him, and he could see the terror in her eyes. “I was frightened. I hurried up the trail, and when he saw me, Daniel shouted for me to go back. They had their hands up. The others had weapons drawn.”
“What kind of weapons?” Trace asked.
“I don’t know. Guns.”
“Think, Querida. Close your eyes. Concentrate.”
Rand watched her eyes close and the wrinkles on her brow become more pronounced.
“Rifles,” she whispered. “They carried rifles.”
“Keep your eyes closed,” Trace whispered.
As Rand watched, Trace knelt beside her, his hand moving softly over hers as she gripped the arm of the chair. “How many men were there?”
Her hands curled around the arms of the chair. She started to shake her head.
“No, relax,” he continued almost in a monotone. “Focus on what you remember.”
“I remember seeing five men. Three were on horseback.”
He nodded. “Excellent. Now look at their faces.”
“I’m afraid,” she whispered.
“Shh,” he consoled her. “It will be all right. I am with you.” Trace pried one hand from the wooden arm and held it between his palms. Her ragged breathing filled the room.
“A tall man is the leader.” The words brought a fresh trickle of tears down her cheeks. “Their faces are painted, but they aren’t Indians.”
“It’s all right,” Trace whispered. His thumbs brushed away the moisture.
“You don’t recognize him?” Rand asked, surprised to find his own voice husky.
“No, all I remember are his tall black boots.”
Under Trace’s gaze, her eyes opened. She looked like a wounded sparrow afraid of another’s touch. Sensing he wasn’t needed, Rand slid the papers back into his desk, rose, and went to retrieve his hat. Their gazes still locked, they paid no attention.
“I need to go over to the hotel and speak to Elaine about a piece of pie. Lock the door, won’t you, Trace?” His hand grasped the knob and turned it. “I’ll be gone about two hours.” Smiling, he shut the door.