Castillo's Fiery Texas Rose (16 page)

“You sure keep things spiced up.”

Trace glanced back. Rand stepped up beside him and slid his hat onto his head.

“Thanks for the backup,” Trace said.

Rand chuckled. “There were only three puny ones. When you haven’t got the gumption to handle that, it’s the day I’ll hand over my badge.”

“Humph,” Trace scoffed. “That will be a cold day in...”

“Never mind that,” Rand interrupted. “I’m heading back to the office. You comin’?”

He took a deep breath and glanced at the sheriff. “I’m thinking I might take a walk around to the other side of town.”

“Understood. Keep your nose clean.”

The sheriff disappeared into the shadows on the way to his office, and Trace stepped off the boardwalk and turned in the opposite direction, crossing toward the livery. He needed a good long walk to rid his mind of the images raised by the conversation he’d been privy to. He had warned her. Why didn’t she choose to listen? Deep down, he knew this was only the beginning. Other things would happen.

The town seemed quiet. He strolled along deep in thought, passing the hotel and the general store. Slowly, with each step, his anger cooled. He had just turned toward the sheriff’s office when a familiar pop echoed in the distance. In that instant, his blood ran cold. Trace paused. His brow furrowed.
A gunshot
. Without another thought, he hurried in the direction of the Thornton home.

****

Beyond the business section, the street lay empty.

Trace turned toward the row of houses and glimpsed a figure hurrying forward. “Halt!” The dark figure skidded to a stop. Gun drawn again, Trace approached. “Your name?” he commanded.

“C-Caleb Gentry.” The voice quavered.

Trace put away his gun. “Were you here a minute ago?”

“Yes,” he replied breathlessly. “I was headed back to the freight office. I wanted to check the doors again.”

“Did you see anyone? Hear anything?”

Caleb shook his head. “I, I didn’t see anyone, but I heard this pop. I was trying to figure out where it came from. I guess someone slammed a door.”

Trace nodded even though he didn’t believe Caleb’s words. “Yes, I just passed the freight office. Things are fine.”

“Good, good.” Caleb seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

“I think I will check on Miss Thornton, while I am so close.”

“Miss Thornton?” Caleb glanced back at the houses in the shadows behind him. “She’s probably asleep.”

“Then she will not answer my knock.”

Trace walked past the clerk. An odd sensation pressed against his back as if death had fingered him. He turned, but Gentry had disappeared. He stepped onto the porch and reached out to knock on the door. An explosion erupted behind the wood. As he leaped out of the way, a hot sting raked against his cheek, and he fell onto the porch floor, stunned.

Instinctively, he drew his weapon and scooted closer to the front of the house. Using his right hand, he fingered the scratch on his cheek and grimaced. He rubbed his fingers together and could feel the slick glide of blood lubricating his skin. His heart hammered, and he dampened his lips and called out.

“Whoever’s in the house, let her go. I’m a U.S. Marshal.”

He heard a gasp. His nerves stretched taut. “Mary Rose, if you’re all right, say so.”

The lock on the door clicked, and he pulled his legs beneath him and stood. Blowing out the deep breath he was holding, he raised his gun, ready for trouble. One chance. One chance would be all he had to rescue her. If they were using her as a hostage, she’d be thrust before them like a human shield. While they knew he’d be on the outside, they wouldn’t know where. Under the cover of darkness, the element of surprise would be his.

By the light of the moon, he made out the handle and watched it turn. Forgetting about the throb on his cheek, he braced his feet and made ready to snatch Mary Rose from their grasp. He licked away the nervousness from his lips as those sweet delicate fingers came into view. Ever so slowly, she extended her hand and pressed the screen door open.

Come,
he begged in silence.
Just a bit more and I have you.

Her arm slid through the silvery light, followed by the hem of her skirt.

That’s it
. He eased a steadying breath through his pursed lips, then flexed his fingers around the handle of his pistol.

The door opened wider.

Trace seized his chance.

With his free hand, he reached across and grabbed her upper arm, snatching her toward him. A startled cry burst from her lips as she stumbled, and the motion sent her body waltzing around him in a whiplash fashion. He followed her lead, capturing her body against the side of the house, using himself as her shield. He pointed his gun at the dark opening and waited for the hail of hot lead to follow.

His ears grew accustomed to her ragged breath. He gave a quick glance and found her staring wide-eyed back at him. She opened her mouth to speak. He placed his palm there, silencing her.

Beneath his hand, her lips moved. He felt the tip of her tongue brush against his skin. A hot throb of sensation moved along his arm and straight to his groin. Had they not been in such a desperate situation, her actions would have been his undoing. He pulled his attention away from her, still listening intently for sounds inside her home. They must be waiting.

He firmed his grip around the bone handle of his pistol. Leaning forward, he felt her breast flatten against his chest, and through gritted teeth, he whispered, “I’m going inside. You run for the sheriff.”

Her head shook against him and she mumbled something against his hand.

“No,” he hissed. “You do as I tell you for once,
Querida
.” He hated being so harsh, but the last thing he wanted would be her following him into the house, perhaps getting herself killed. Taking a deep breath, Trace rushed through the doorway, all the while praying to God that his action would draw the fire of the men inside.

Chapter Twelve

Inside the darkness, nothing moved. Trace could hear the heavy thud of his heart and wondered if those hidden in the darkness could do the same. He moved with caution, keeping low, through the archway, into the parlor. With his back toward the wall, he made his way to the kitchen doorway. He wiped the perspiration from his upper lip and looked back across the area he’d covered.

And blinked.

His jaw dropped.

What the devil?
Can’t that woman follow a simple direction?

It was bad enough that she stayed, but standing there in the moonlight, making herself an easy target… His anger spilled over. He lifted his free hand and motioned her away. She stood still, refusing to go.

“Go to the sheriff,” he hissed.

“Why?”

An awkward feeling rolled over his shoulders. He knew he had been had. “There was no one.” His words were matter of fact.

“Not in the house,” she told him.

The bile of betrayal filled his mouth. He slid away his pistol and narrowed his gaze. “I do not enjoy being played for a fool, Mary Rose.” His words were stiff and sharp. “Shut the door and we will talk.”

Trace turned to the kitchen and, spying a kerosene lamp, pulled a match from his pocket. Within moments, the room was flooded with light. He heard the door click shut. Afraid he would grab her to shake some sense into her, he moved toward the sink and stared out the window, trying to remain calm. Her soft steps came to a halt at the table.

“Explain yourself.” His words snapped like the crack of a whip. In the silence that followed, her inhale sounded loud.

“I didn’t know it was you.”

“You usually fire at strangers? Through your door?”

“No,” she whispered.

“I knocked.”

“It made me jerk. I think that’s why the gun went off.”

His ears detected the anguish in her voice. She moved closer, and laid her hand lightly on his arm.

“I thought you were the man at the window. The gun… It was a means of defense.”

He turned with a jerk. His brow wrinkled. “The man at the window?” he repeated, as she gasped.

“You’re hurt.” She raised her hand toward his cheek.

Ignoring her concern, he grabbed her forearm. “What man at the window?”

Her eyes locked with his blue ones.

“I, I came home,” she began, “and went into Daniel’s study. When I turned out the lamp, I saw him.”

He watched the pain fill her eyes, and his anger softened. “Stay in the house,” he ordered. Picking up the lamp, he paused. “I will knock. Should you hear me shoot, run for the sheriff, screaming at the top of your lungs.”

She nodded.

He could hear her following him to the door. “Lock it after I leave.”

“Go to the left. That’s the side where Daniel’s room is. I saw him at the second window.”

Trace nodded and moved out. He waited until the lock clicked. Holding the lamp high, he made his way around the left side of the house. A cottonwood shaded the southern side of the wood-framed dwelling. Moving to the second window, he crouched down and stared at the ground. There was just enough grass to cover someone’s tracks. Rising, he backed away to the edge of the dirt and turned slowly. He stopped, in front of him the faint outline of a pair of boot prints, definitely smaller than his own. She’d been telling the truth.

With a sigh, he made his way back to the porch. Lifting his hand, he knocked twice. This time the door opened and she welcomed him inside.

“Let’s go into the kitchen to talk.”

She nodded and took a step, then stopped. Turning, she held out her hand. Lying in her palm was the derringer.

“
Querida
,” he whispered. Extending his right hand, he rescued the gun from her grasp. His hand upon the small of her back, they moved to the rear of the house.

“Sit down,” he told her. “I will make us some coffee.”

“I haven’t any kindling for the stove.” She pushed a strand of hair from her face. “I was tired when I came home.”

“I will get it. Is it right outside?”

She nodded.

Opening the back door, he stepped onto the small porch, picked up an armful of wood, and brought it inside. Minutes later, he had the oven heating and the pot waiting to perk. Crossing to the table, he took a seat and, leaning over, touched her hand. “Tell me what happened.”

“I told you. I came home and went to Daniel’s study. I wanted to look at his things. I wanted to try and figure this all out.”

Trace nodded. It made sense. She was still reeling from the events of the other day. “What did you do when you saw the man?”

“I hid,” she whispered. “I hid in the shadows, until I was sure. Then, I went for the gun.”

“Where did Daniel keep the gun?”

“In the desk drawer.” And she explained how she’d crept forward to retrieve it and check that it was loaded.

“That was a very brave thing to do,” he said.

“I’ve never been so scared.”

“
Querida
,” he whispered again, this time with growing reverence, and rose to extend his hand and pull her into his embrace. “You have every right to be scared.”

His left arm surrounded her, holding her tight. The tremor of her voice filled him with remorse for his sharp words. He closed his eyes as her head found his shoulder. When he felt the shudders rolling through her body, he slid his right hand down her left arm and brought her hand to his lips. The acrid smell of gunpowder stained her flawless skin. “It is all right, my sweet,” he murmured once more and pressed his lips to the tips of her fingers. Then, turning her hand over, he kissed the velvet of her palm.

Beyond the gunpowder, she tasted of honey, the sweet intoxicating nectar of the gods. His tongue pressed past his lips and traced a line beyond the heel of her palm to the juncture of her wrist. He swirled against the sensitive skin and brought a moan from her lips.

“My sweet Irish rose,” he whispered, gazing into her heavy-lidded eyes. The slightest pressure of his left hand turned her face closer. He looked down, watching her moisten her lips. The urge to brand her as his own brought a fire raging nearly out of control through his veins. “Mary Rose, you are a temptress. You torment my dreams. I believe you have bewitched me,” he whispered, and their lips met.

This time, she anticipated his move and met his kisses with abandonment. Her hand on his chest crept around to his back to hold him to her. His trousers grew uncomfortably tight. He traced the line of her mouth and, with his left hand, he slipped his fingers between hers, extending their arms to the sides.

Sliding his middle finger beneath their closed palms, Trace boldly stroked the warm flesh. Up and down, he performed the heated dance while their tongues brushed and stroked. Her back arched, and Mary Rose pressed against him. There was no doubt she could feel the depth of his want through her clothing.

His hand let go of hers and moved to her waist. Beneath his fingers, he could feel the flutter of her breathing and knew their kisses affected her. Her fingers pressed against the muscles of his back and dragged down toward his waist. A deep growl rose from his chest as his hands moved up. One thumb brushed the swell of her breast, and she whimpered for more.

Her cry spurred him on. His fingers moved against her breasts, feeling the heat as he kneaded them. The pads of his thumbs grazed her nipples and, through her layer of clothing, he felt them bead. She gasped and stilled.

Releasing her lips, Trace pulled her face away to enjoy the look of rapture that encompassed her features. He wanted nothing more than to bend her over the table and make love until neither of them could stand. It would be easy. She was so willing, but it would be so wrong.

Mary Rose must have sensed his change. She opened her eyes and looked questioningly at him, her lips swollen from their ardent kisses, her skin stained with the blush of passion. Never before had he seen any woman so beautiful. The words of the priest echoed.
Listen to your heart
. Could he trust it?