Capturing The Marshal's Heart (Escape From Texas) (12 page)

What if the impetuous girl refused to cooperate with the bandits? Dread grabbed hold of his gut and twisted. Something told him she wouldn’t keep silent about being abducted.

What niggled at him, and had to be faced, was the possibility he wouldn’t succeed. Normally, he was pretty confident in his capabilities. Maybe the heavy heat was getting to him, or the fact these bastards had beaten him once. Or maybe he hesitated over the near impossibility of discovering which direction they’d headed. His temples pounded with the rhythm of a carpenter’s hammer, and he fought to stay in the saddle.

If he were honest, he’d have to admit he could be wasting his time and energy. Those women could be halfway to Mexico. His chest pinched and, although the movement cost him dearly, he shook his head.

Or they could already be dead.

Chapter Nine

The sun hung low in the sky, shading the clouds pink that hovered against the mountains. Slade squinted at the distant horizon and frustration tightened his jaw. About two hours of daylight remained. He didn’t want to think about the wild ideas those vermin might get after nightfall.

Spotting a dark spiral of smoke, he coaxed the horse forward, the urgency to see Jazzy again fueling his movements. Within a few hundred yards, the breeze carried the aroma of frying bacon to his nose.

He’d found someone. And he hoped he’d interpreted the signs right.

His fingers moved to his vest pocket stuffed with scraps from a green silk petticoat he’d been picking up along the way.

A trail left for him by one smart, resourceful female. Every nerve in his body tingled with the thought of her being within his reach.

Slade tied the horse to a bush and crept forward, the scent of the meat guiding him in the right direction. Eliminating the posted guard had been as simple as finding the guy snoozing in the shade of the tallest bush and whacking him over the head with a rock. At the moment, the careless bandit was taking a longer nap than he’d originally planned.

He figured this bunch hadn’t pulled off many robberies and had relied on a single sentry. But underestimating them could be fatal. Slade moved cautiously over the uneven ground, his pistol drawn in his steady hand. When the adobe house came into view, he stopped and scanned the terrain. A door and two windows were visible in the front. No one moved outside. To avoid being seen, he dropped back and walked a wide circle, checking the area surrounding the house.

The smell of biscuits, beans, and bacon grew stronger, and his stomach rumbled. He tried not to think about how many hours had passed since the apple and biscuits he’d eaten for breakfast. For several minutes, he watched the back of the house, waiting for evidence of anyone checking through the window or door. Then he crept forward, using the lean-to stable and outhouse as cover.

Instinct urged him forward, closer to Jazzy. He reached the corner of the house and hesitated, listening for any sound that meant his presence had been discovered. With his back against the rough structure, he inched along toward the window.

Weak light filtered through the grimy glass, casting shadows over the room. One glance through the window stopped him cold. He clamped his jaw against the primal shout building from deep in his throat.

Across the room, one of the bandits was advancing on Jazzy, lascivious intent written in his every move.

With her blonde hair loose and tumbling around her shoulders, she stood her ground, one hand resting on a cocked hip.

Damnation.
He didn’t know if he should charge inside and bury his fist in the bandit’s face or cheer on her defiant attitude. In the next instant, he felt the cold metal of the doorknob against his palm. Jazzy was in danger and he had to get to her. He forced himself to take deep breaths and release the knob. That was not the solution. While running through several choices, weighing each to determine the safest, he eased back a few steps and positioned himself so he could see inside the room.

The man took another step closer, an arrogant grin displaying missing teeth.

Jazzy put out a restraining hand and her lips moved. With a toss of her hair and a coy look from under her lashes, she flirted with the man and inched her feet backward.

A slow anger burned in Slade’s gut. What the hell was going on? Where were the others? And why was Jazzy alone with this bandit? He glanced around the sparsely furnished room and saw the object she must be attempting to reach. The metal candle stand on the table near the bed made a perfect weapon.

Then her gaze shifted in his direction, and her eyes widened.

He connected with the outrage and determination in their depths. Taking a closer look, he spotted her hands drawn into fists and a poised readiness about her stance.

She narrowed her gaze and inclined her head toward the advancing man.

A signal? What was she up to? Slade shook his head.

Her eyes flashed him a look as cold as ice, then she turned all her attention on the man who almost had her penned in. Dipping her head, she smiled and her fingers moved to the buttons of her blouse, undoing several.

Trying to determine if she needed his help, he studied her face. She didn’t look scared or worried about this seductive playacting. In fact, her movements were unhurried, almost as if she moved through a practiced routine. Familiar movements, like he’d seen—realization hit him hard, and he swallowed against a too-dry throat.

This diversion was easy because she’d clearly gone through the motions many times before. He flashed back to the familiar way she’d touched him at the side of the stage stop, to her provocative statements in her conversations with the other women, to her ease in accepting his presence in her room at the boarding house. Blood pounded in his ears. She was a soiled dove…a fancy lady…a woman of ill-repute. A woman who operated on the opposite side of the very law he’d sworn an oath to enforce.

Pulling in a sharp breath through his nostrils, he ducked out of sight and dropped his head back against the house. What had he gotten himself into here? Had he been blind because she touched a part of him that had been untouched for too long? How could he have missed the signs of who Jazzy really was?

The questions bouncing through his thoughts were drowned out by a single one. Did any of that matter?

A shrill laugh sounded from inside the room. “Oh, what’s your hurry? Waiting will make it better.”

Slade heard the nervous note in Jazzy’s voice and his innate desire to defend her pushed away concerns over her past. He looked over his shoulder and clenched his jaw at how the situation had deteriorated so fast.

Laying across the mattress and supporting himself on his elbows, the man watched, his hooded eyes and the pistol he held followed each of Jazzy’s movements.

She inched her blouse down her shoulders and sashayed her hips, sliding her feet along the floor.

From this angle, all Slade could see was the wolfish expression on the ruffian’s face as he watched each glide of her sensuous hips. Things had gone on long enough.

Slade grabbed the doorknob, ready to charge through the door. With a last glance through the window, he saw a flash of movement.

Jazzy raised the candle stand and brought it down hard on the bandit’s head.

He sagged against the bed and lay still, his pistol resting in lax fingers.

Shoulders heaving, she stumbled backwards and turned away from the bed, arms wrapped around her stomach.

Had she been hurt? Slade charged through the door and advanced on her. His gaze scanned her body then narrowed on her pale face.

Her mouth rounded and she moved away until her back met the wall.

Gaze unwavering from her face, he didn’t stop until scant inches separated their bodies. “What was that?” His words were ground out through clenched teeth.

Eyes flashing with determination, she raised her chin. “I figured a US marshal would know a diversion when he sees one.”

Marshal?
He tensed. So, in their time apart, she’d learned who he was. They’d discuss that point later. Right now, he had a more important topic. With steely control, he assumed a casual pose, resting a palm on the wall next to her head. “I knew what it was. I want to know why you put yourself at such risk.”

The faint scent of jasmine rose from her body. At that moment, the anxiety hit him square in the middle of his chest. This woman meant the world to him. He raised his other hand to grab a fistful of her hair and lowered his lips toward hers. He needed to know she was all right.

* * *

At the last moment, years of training kicked in and Jazzy angled her head, feeling the onslaught of his bruising kiss on her cheek. Slade Thomas was a lawman, a representative of the law she’d spent years avoiding. How could she be intimate with such a man?

His lips coaxed and cajoled along her jaw line. The nerves under her skin tingled. She sagged against his hard chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. Slade was really here. He’d come back for her, just as she’d hoped and prayed he would. Right now was the most tempted she’d ever been to kiss a man on the mouth.

Her doubts over his intentions still pulled at her feelings, confusing her. Had he come back to perform his sworn duty? Or had he come back because he cared about her safety?

He groaned and pulled away, touching his forehead to hers and sucking in a deep breath. “What you do to me, Jazzy girl!”

If she needed proof he’d come back for her, all she had to do was look into the depths of his lusty gaze. Or… she angled her hips forward and pressed against the bulge straining the front of his trousers.
Oh, my!

A firm hand cupped her breast and squeezed. His breath was hot on her cheek as he kissed his way up her jaw.

“Ahh, Slade. We can’t—” Her words said one thing but her right leg circled his, the heel of her boot rubbing the back of his rock-hard calf. She couldn’t help but yearn for the heat of his body, the safety of his embrace. Completing what their lusting bodies wanted wouldn’t take long.

“Don’t talk. Just let me touch you.” His lips tickled her neck and his voice was muffled. “When I came to in the desert and you were gone…” He leaned heavily against her, both arms wrapping around her back.

Something had changed. She sensed it in his touch. Instinctively, she ran a comforting hand up and down his back and tugged at an errant lock of hair that fell over one ear. He smelled of earthy male sweat, gritty dirt, and hot sun. “You found me…us.”

He loosened his hold and stared directly into her eyes, dark brows lowered in a frown. “Jazzy, I came for you.”

Goose flesh rose on her arms, and her heart sped. “I’m grateful.”

A grin hiked up one side of his mouth and then he ran a finger along her jaw. “I’ll collect on your gratitude later.”

A scuffle and a shout sounded from the other room.

Jazzy stilled, a hand gripping the front of his shirt. “The other women. I almost forgot—”

Slade stepped back and instantly became US Marshal Thomas, his pistol held at his hip and weight balanced on the balls of his feet. He eased open the door and leaned out his head before slipping through the doorway and shoving aside the blanket.

Jazzy dashed to collect the pistol left on the mattress then pushed in behind him and stopped, her jaw dropping at what she saw.

Feet braced apart and shoulders squared, Sarah Whitfield stood in the middle of the room and brandished a pistol at the remaining two bandits. “Get over in that corner. Ladies, tie them to those chairs.”

Prudence and Amanda huddled together near the stove then rushed forward to follow Sarah’s command.

Jazzy brushed past Slade and moved farther into the room. “Sarah, what are you doing?” At her side, Slade shifted closer. Was he being protective? She wasn’t sure, but, in an instant, his body heat infused her with confidence.

Sarah’s hand moved in a steady arc until the pistol aimed at their side of the room. A knowing grin stretched her lips. “Ah, Marshal Thomas, you’re just a little too late. I’m grabbing my bag and getting out of here.”

Jazzy couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Was this the same meek woman who’d ridden beside her on the stagecoach? The shy lady who was traveling to attend a wedding? The one who’d fainted at the thought of abduction? Or had she? “Slade’s here now, Sarah. He’s rescuing us. We’re all safe.” She moved a step closer, but felt the pressure of Slade’s restraining hand on her elbow.

“Jazzy, no,” Slade commanded.

The pistol jerked back and forth, pointing toward the bandits in the corner and then at Jazzy. “Stay where you are, Jessimay. I don’t want to hurt anyone. All I want is my money.”

His body tense, Slade inched forward. “You mean the bank’s money.”

A sneer wrinkled Sarah’s lip. She grabbed the handles of the satchel she’d kept close all during the trip. “I’ve got what was owed me. Let me see your other hand, Marshal.”

Slade shifted his body away, the gun tight along his thigh. “I’m sworn to bring you in. No one wants any problems here. Put down the gun and toss aside the bag.”

Sarah jeered and shook her head. “Can’t do that.”

“Well, I can’t believe this.” Prudence’s words were scathing. A spoon rattled against the stove, and she stomped across the floor, hands on hips. “I’ve been sharing the stagecoach and a bedroom, I might add, with a common thief.”

In a moment of disbelief, Jazzy wondered what Prudence’s reaction would be when the prissy woman learned the truth about her own former occupation. She turned back to Sarah and held out a staying hand to this suddenly brazen woman. “Sarah, you don’t even know where we are. How can you get back to town?”

Sarah’s gaze flicked over the occupants of the room, the pistol followed a beat behind. “Doesn’t matter. All’s I care about is holding onto my money and getting away.”

A sudden movement blurred in the corner of Jazzy’s eye, and she saw Sarah spin in reaction.

In the same instant, a gunshot boomed then a hard blow slammed into her hip, making her stagger backward.

* * *

Instinct pushed Slade into a crouch and he fired, aiming at the spot where he’d last seen Sarah. But quicker than the gun smoke lifted, she’d disappeared out the front door. He allowed himself one rapid scan of the room to check on the others before following his quarry, the bank robber.