“You don’t have to remind me. It’s not something I can forget.” He sat against the table, clamping both hands around the edge until his knuckles went white. “If he hadn’t dragged me out of Bloody Alley…” A blank stare turned inward for long moments before refocusing on her. “I can’t repay that debt, but I owe Mark too much not to try. He’d want me to take care of you.”
Chewing the edge of a fingernail, she lowered her gaze to the floor. Footprints tracked through a dusting of flour as though a ghost had waltzed through the room. Mark and his band of brigands, striking blows for a cause that had died, left a mess too big to sweep up.
Roy wrapped her hand and drew her fingertip from between her lips. “Tasty though you are…” He laid the honey-drenched biscuit in her palm. “This makes a better snack.”
From somewhere near her toes, she dredged up a weak smile.
With a soft swipe of his knuckles across her cheek, he matched her expression. “We need to let him rest in peace. He was a fine man, a proud son of Texas, but he’s gone.”
Mark had been a fine marshal, too, before the war turned him bitter and cold. Had he not been quite so proud a son of Texas, he might yet be alive. “I’ll never—” Better unspoken, that thought.
“Say it: ‘Forgive you for running.’”
No, forgive Mark for leaving his soul on a battlefield. Forgive herself for the swell of relief upon his death.
“I’ll regret that display of cowardice for the rest of my life.” A crimp pinched Roy’s brow, trapping a shadow in his eyes. “I watched him die. I didn’t want to be next. No cause is worth a bullet in the head from your own men.”
That bullet had put Mark out of his misery but left her and Roy mired. “You’re sure his gang of avengers is gone.”
“I’m not sure of anything anymore.” Roy shook his head on a wry snort. “Except the army’s wasting its time trying to find those payroll shipments. The money disappeared with the patriots.” His gaze darted away, then back. “All that work to fund a new Confederacy… Greed’ll do funny things to a man.”
Mark had once said the same about love.
“I gotta go.” Roy picked up his hat and dusted flour from the brim. Then, he plucked the sticky biscuit from her hand. “Some dog’s chasing Mrs. McPherson’s grandkids.” He squinted. “Not one of yours, is it?”
“I hardly think so. None of those poor creatures has a mean bone in its body.” She raised her brows. “They haven’t bitten you yet.”
Chuckling, he tore a hunk from the biscuit with his teeth and turned for the door. Halfway across the room, his amusement died. He pivoted to face her. “I don’t want you coming to the jail again. If Henry’s too drunk—”
“He wasn’t drunk.”
Roy’s brows dipped. “Ill, then. Whatever the excuse, if that whiskey-soaked piece of worthless can’t bring the prisoner’s supper, then the murdering scum can starve.”
“What are you worried about? You said your jail is unbreakable.”
Roy’s gaze hardened. “It is. But locking a mad dog in a cage won’t keep it from trying to bite.”
Chapter Three
Spare light from an oil lamp flickered over naked curves, dancing among shadows in all the right places. Ah, Lucy. One chase, two prizes. The tease in her eyes, the surrender on her lips, warmed the Montana night. When he rose above her, a tingle played at the base of his spine. She slipped a hand between them— A hiss scattered Daniel’s nap. “I told you to stay out of town.”
Damn. Just when he was getting to the good part. Vague wisps of the dream lingered. Maybe if he lay real still he could snag one.
A grating whisper shot holes in that notion. “We gotta get outta here, Roy. Can’t hide from the bluebellies forever.”
“Just sit tight. I’ll handle the army.”
Daniel’s eyes snapped open. Halverson. He slammed his lids shut and strained his ears.
“Ain’t you got everythin’ set up down south yet? The boys are gettin’ antsy again—”
“You were supposed to prevent that kind of idiocy. Thank God folks only saw the drifter and Jonas.”
What the hell?
Boots scuffed the stone floor, halting at the cell’s gate. Through the barest slit between his eyelids, Daniel cut his gaze to the left.
Grimy fella. Downright smelly, too.
“What if the drifter says somethin’?”
Halverson snickered. “Who’s he going to talk to—the old drunk who brings his meals?” Paper rustled, then the edge of a stack tapped twice on the desktop. “Even added together, the two of them are about as trustworthy as a cow chip.”
“You ain’t gonna be worth a stinkin’ pile of fresh turds if you don’t get us outta here. Mark would’ve—”
“I don’t care what Mark would’ve done. He was a fool. And a coward.” The spikes in the marshal’s tone flattened. “And too stupid to realize gratitude has limits.”
Grimy’s boots clomped toward the front of the jail. “I’ll hold the reins on the boys as long as I can, but—”
“If they get antsy again, remind them what that cost Jonas.”
The latch rattled, and the door closed with a heavy thud.
The marshal raised his voice. “You don’t make a good possum, Farrow.”
Daniel swung his legs over the edge of the cot and sat up. “Slick as bear grease, aren’t you?”