Castillo's Fiery Texas Rose (2 page)

Her eyes narrowed. Raising her chin, she confronted him. “I’m Mary Rose Thornton, and I own half these rigs.”

Her words rolled off his back like water off a duck. “Commendable,” he drawled. “But it’s still no place for a woman. Next time, take the stage.” With a nod, he sauntered away.

Her mouth widened in outrage. “Who does he think he is?” she demanded of Daniel.

“My dear sister, didn’t you see the star? He’s a U.S. Marshal,” Daniel replied.

Mary Rose stared at the departing back, her mouth agape.

****

Sheriff Randall Weston stepped out of his office and watched the crowd slowly disperse. Trace Castillo swaggered across the dusty street in his direction as if nothing had happened. Shifting the toothpick in his mouth to the other side, the sheriff looked to the teamster climbing up to the box of his wagon and the young man helping the woman aboard the second. The jingle of Trace’s spurs was the only sound to break the stillness of the late afternoon as he stepped onto the low-slung porch in front of the sheriff’s office. Rand stepped aside without question as Castillo brushed past. Then he turned on his heel to follow the marshal inside.

“I should have known if there was trouble your face would turn up.”

Trace looked up from pouring a cup of coffee. “You have it all wrong, Rand.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “I didn’t find the trouble. It found me.”

Rand laughed. “I’ll say it did, but you’ve turned yourself around pretty good. That star looks like it belongs.”

Trace glanced down at the shiny metal pinned to the left breast of his cotton shirt. The letters U. S. Marshal looked back at him, and a sense of pride puffed out his chest a bit more. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

Rand moved around to his chair and took a seat. “Your folks would be proud.”

Trace lifted his cup and thought about his folks. Their deaths by the hands of rogue bands of Mexican outlaws and renegade Apaches had sent him on a path of murderous revenge, stopped only when Randall Weston had taken him under his wing. He took a deep sip of the strong brew and turned to face his mentor. “You didn’t call me all the way to Cobb’s Crossing to talk about old times.”

“No, I didn’t. Have a seat.” Rand motioned to the chair facing his desk.

Trace crossed the office, eased his frame into the sturdy wooden chair, and focused his cool eyes on the man across from him. “What is so all-fired important that you couldn’t handle it on your own and had to send for the likes of me?”

“Rumor has it a friend of yours is up to his old tricks.”

“My friend?” Trace took a moment to remove his Stetson. Tossing the hat into the chair next to him, he brushed back thick dark hair that spoke of his half-Mexican heritage and tried to think to whom Rand might be referring.

Under his watchful gaze, the sheriff walked toward the gun cabinet, pulled out the keys to unlock the doors, and reached inside. Trace felt his heart thud to a stop as Rand brought out a Springfield rifle and laid it on the desk in front of him.

“Where did you get this?” he rasped. Reaching out, he wanted to pick up the rifle and examine it. His hand stopped just above the scarred wooden stock. A whirl of voices, cries of pain and terror, echoed in his mind. His hand trembled as Rand’s words brought him back to the present.

“Found it out at the Willard place ten days ago.”

Trace picked up the rifle. He swallowed the lump in his throat and stared down at the length of silver hair just beneath the feather tied to the barrel. “Old Puma’s rifle,” he murmured. Slowly, he brought his eyes level with Rand’s. “But Puma’s dead. I know. I buried him.”

Rand nodded. “But someone is stirring up the Mescaleros and others along the border. Ten days ago, someone attacked the Willards’ place and killed everyone. The only thing I found was Old Puma’s rifle and a mess of unshod pony tracks. I figure whoever left that was asking for you.”

****

From beneath the creak of the wagon came the soft shush of the wheels as they rolled against the loose earth. Mary Rose breathed in the warm spring air and thought how good it was to be alive. The soft sweep of the breeze pulled a copper curl from beneath her broad Arizona Stetson. Using a gloved hand, she swept the lock of hair back from her face and sighed with contentment.

Daniel hadn’t said anything, yet the twitch of his jaw told her he was less than pleased with what had happened back in town. No sooner had he spoken to Moe than he’d shoved her onto the box beside him and they’d headed out of town.

“A penny for your thoughts.” His voice invaded her privacy.

She glanced over, the corners of her mouth lifting as she spoke. “Let’s not throw our money around recklessly, shall we?”

“Always the miser, little sister.”

She could hear the laughter in his voice and gave him a look of disdain. “I suppose I am, but I think I have a right.”

Daniel glanced at her. “Well the price is free, but I need to know what happened back there between you and Moe.”

She took a deep breath. “I did nothing wrong. I was checking the tack. Moe made a few improper advances. He had me by the arm until that man—er, the marshal—showed up.”

“I spoke to Moe. I explained to him that you were my sister and I didn’t want him to be bothering you.” Daniel put a foot on the brake and eased back on the reins. Mary Rose grasped the brass rails and held on as they slowed. Behind them, the second wagon groaned to a stop. Turning, he called out to the driver behind them, “Moe, I want to turn the wagons in at Cottonwood Springs and let the team rest and get some water.”

“Right, boss,” the big teamster’s voice echoed back.

Mary Rose waited until her brother put the team in motion again to speak. “Do you think Moe Horne was the best man to draw for this trip?”

Daniel cast a serious glance at her before he whistled for his team to lean into the traces and pull up the incline leading toward the high stretch of the mesa.

“Moe’s a good teamster. I need his brawn should something happen to the wagons. I want to get there, and get there quick.”

She glanced down at the rumps of the horses. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Dan.”

“I know you didn’t.” He shifted both sets of lines into one hand and reached over to pat her arm. “Trust me, Mary Rose, to do the right thing.”

“Aye, Dan, I do.” She offered him a winning smile and made herself content to count the number of jackrabbits scared up from the brush at the sound of the wagons. As smooth as the ride was, her heart gave a silent cheer when they pulled into the shade of the few cottonwood trees above the spring.

“Whoa,” Daniel cried out, pulling the team to a stop and setting the brake. “Sit tight.”

Mary Rose pushed her hat back off her head, allowing it to dangle by the
latigo
leathers held at her throat with a carved wooden bobble. Her brother looped the reins around the brake handle, climbed onto the wheel hub, and hopped to the ground with a grunt. “Your turn,” he murmured.

Moving to the left, she lifted her leg over the edge of the seat box and found the wheel hub. With her brother’s help, she climbed down, then brushed the crease out of her riding skirt. She stretched her back and glanced over to find Moe staring. Heat flared in her cheeks, and she looked away.
Concentrate on the sunlight hitting the leaves,
she told herself.

“Does get a bit cramped,” Daniel replied, reaching beneath the seat to pull out a pair of canteens and an oilskin bladder. “I’m going to get water for the animals. You might want to stretch your legs, but don’t go too far. Moe, keep your distance and check your team.”

Mary Rose watched her brother disappear down the path that led to the spring. Disposing of her hat, she brushed her hair back with her hand as a thought crossed her mind. With Daniel being at the water’s edge, no one was here with her and Moe. She didn’t relish being left alone with the big teamster. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said with a shaky smile. “I-I’ll leave you to this and see if my brother needs any help.” She hurried to the slope cut in the embankment, giving only one quick look back, to find Moe’s eyes on her, before she disappeared down the incline toward the spring.

****

The smooth earthen wall pushed the afternoon heat away from the spring and back toward the clearing. “Daniel,” she called out, hearing the gurgle of the water below the beaten path. “Daniel?” When he didn’t answer, a wave of panic rushed over her. “Dan—” His voice cut her short.

“Over here.”

Mary Rose paused and took a calming breath. Relieved, her steps grew in confidence as she rounded the side of the red clay walls and found him kneeling beside a clear pool of water.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, pulling a large oilskin bladder from the spring.

Mary Rose opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated.

“Go on, darlin’,” he urged, turning on the Irish charm.

With a sheepish expression and feeling more sixteen than twenty-three, she spoke. “You’ll think me foolish.”

Her answer made him chuckle. “Won’t be the first time.”

“I-I just didn’t like being left alone with Mr. Horne,” she replied. “So I thought I’d see if you needed help.” Despite her attempt to sound nonchalant, Mary Rose felt the rise of heat to her cheeks.

Yet Daniel said nothing. His facial expression filled with a deep understanding. “He’s a good man, Mary Rose. Others never gave him a chance.”

She gave a shake of her head in hopes of dispelling her fears. “I’ll trust your judgment for now, Daniel Michael Thornton. But, one day, you’ll have to listen to a woman’s instincts.”

“Ah, there’s me good lass.” His imitation broad Irish brogue sounded just like their father. Stepping over to her, he pulled a smaller canteen from his shoulder and held it out. “I can always do with a bit of help.” He smiled and held out a second canteen. “Fill this one for me, and I’ll go and water the horses.”

“Sure.” Taking the canvas-covered container, Mary Rose moved to the water’s edge and crouched down as he had. Her right hand reached out and stroked the pond’s surface before pressing the container below it. A slow procession of bubbles moved to the surface and popped as water replaced air. Behind her, her brother’s footsteps faded up the trail.

Yet that nagging fear wouldn’t leave her. She shivered, thinking about Moe’s advance. Good man or not, he made her nervous. She’d have to talk to Daniel about him once they reached the fort. At least she’d be free of his company in two days.

Pulling the canteen from beneath the water, she groped for the cork. Still fumbling with the stopper, she rose and moved toward the path. As the incline increased, she heard the sounds of hoofbeats and voices raised in surprise. Mary Rose stopped. Her hand still fixed upon the mouth of the canteen, she listened. Another shout. This time there was no mistaking her brother’s cry of alarm. A tremor of terror ran through her. A frantic horse neighed, and the air was shattered by the blast from a gun.

“Daniel!” she cried out, rushing forward, dropping the canteen.

In her haste, her feet slipped on the clay. With a bone-jarring drop, she fell to her knees. Clawing at the ground, she scrambled to her feet and finished the climb. But as she burst into the open she ground to a halt. Heart pounding in terror, she gazed at the ragtag group of renegades surrounding the wagon. A whiff of smoke drifted up from the barrel of a rifle as a man turned away. A pair of legs with thick hobnail boots protruded from the back of the wagon.

“Run!”

Daniel’s shout startled her. She glanced in his direction as he wrenched his arms free and threw himself toward the man with the gun.

“Daniel!” She charged forward. A shrill Apache war cry stopped her. A menacing face flashed before her, and a gun butt thudded against her cheek. The wind knocked out of her, she fell to her knees, trying to remember how to breathe.

“Mary Rose!” Daniel’s shout brought her to her senses. She needed to run!

Clambering to her feet, she heard a rifle fired. Something hot slammed against her shoulder, shoving her backward. Her feet grew rubbery. She stumbled over them repeatedly. Turning, she grasped for the cottonwood and fell short.

Cloth ripped as the branch caught her sleeve while, in the distance, she heard Daniel’s voice shouting her name. Someone was running toward her. Then another shot echoed, and his shriek shattered the air. Her breath came in hard gasps at the thud of a body hitting the dirt. The beat of her heart thundered in her ears, drowning out all sounds, and Mary Rose could feel herself fall as her knees folded.

The ground was where the sky should be. Beyond the gathering darkness, a woman cried out. At the last moment, she realized the voice was her own. The wind flew from her lungs as her shoulder collided with the earth. Pain ripped through her left side. She could feel her body slide, greased by the soft soil. Bits and pieces of sound drifted over her, filtered by her own ragged breathing. She was dying.

Her vision narrowed. As the darkness closed in, she heard a deeper voice, eerily familiar, say, “I told you, not the woman.” With a deep, ragged breath, she let the beckoning emptiness become her friend, and she embraced it.

Chapter Two

A hot breeze stirred the southwest Texas air, and beads of sweat curled lazily past the bones of Trace’s back. He could feel the full strength of the sun as it pressed its rays upon the earth. The moisture gathered along the sides of his face clamped the stray ends of his shoulder-length hair to his skin. Removing his hat, Trace Castillo lifted his head to glance at the sun hanging overhead. The heat turned the leather of his saddle into a hot griddle.
Yes, a cold drink, a fine woman, and some shade would be in order.
Perhaps they could make him forget the conversation he’d had with Rand Weston.
But where can I find such a willing woman?

Those words conjured up the beauty from yesterday. He wished he hadn’t gotten close enough to see those blue eyes spark when he told her man to put her on the stage. Now the vision of her haunted him, and he wondered if he’d used good reasoning. He ran his hands along the inside of his hatband and recalled the tilt of her lips as they pulled into that pout. No doubt she thought it gave her power over men. Maybe other men, but not him.