Castillo's Fiery Texas Rose (12 page)

“Let me take your plate and cup,” he offered.

“I’ll need my cup,” she sighed, surrendering the plate of nearly untouched food. He took her elbow and helped her rise. Moving to the center of the room, she stood alone, gathering her thoughts and summoning her courage.

“Pardon.” She spoke, and the low murmur of voices stilled. With all eyes upon her, Mary Rose continued. “I’d like to thank each and every one of you for stopping by.” She slowly circled to take in the gazes of friendship and sympathy. “Daniel Thornton was a fine young man.” Her smile trembled. “A good brother and a good friend.”

Her eyes caught the movement as a tall figure stepped through the front door. She would know those shoulders anywhere. Her palm burned as she recalled the heat of his skin beneath the starched white of his cotton shirt. She pressed her lips tight for a moment and could still taste him there, from the coffee he had this morning to the hickory of the bacon he’d consumed with it. If she breathed deep, no doubt the scent of bay rum would invade her nostrils.

“A good businessman,” she continued, her voice a bit brighter than it should have been as she watched the marshal turn to stare.

“Hear, hear,” someone called out.

Trace’s eyes met hers and their gazes locked. Mary Rose smiled. “Yes, hear, hear.” Her gaze spontaneously moved to the person who spoke. “Today, we buried Daniel Michael Thornton’s body, but not his spirit. As long as Thornton Freight stays in business, my brother’s dream stays alive.”

She glanced back. The marshal’s eyes glittered ominously in her direction. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin and met his accusing gaze without flinching. “So, come tomorrow, Thornton’s Freight business will reopen at noon, ready to serve the fine residents of Cobb’s Crossing and beyond.” She lifted her cup. “To Daniel.”

Voices echoed the cry. “To Daniel.”

She circled again, holding the cup high to acknowledge their toast. A smile came readily to her lips. Finishing the circle, a look of triumph on her face, she searched for the marshal. Let him tell her Thornton’s was no place for her. The people of the town told her differently. Her eyes caught a movement in the shadows, and the screen door slammed. The thrill of victory fell from her face. A cold hand gripped her heart as she realized Marshal Trace Castillo had walked out. Why, now, did she feel as if she’d lost the best thing in her life?

Chapter Nine

Trace squinted at the invoices and yawned. As tired as he was, he needed something to keep his mind off the tactical display Mary Rose had staged in her parlor yesterday. He blew out a deep breath and rubbed his hand across his face. Unable to shake the image of her defiance, he gave a growl and pushed his chair from the desk. He stood and stretched before crossing over to the front windows.

The shadows from early morning had yet to dissipate, lingering just a bit longer before the heat of the day overruled their existence. Across the way, he could see her house, the door still closed. Trace wondered if she’d slept any better than he had. The thought of her in a bed conjured up the image of that glorious hair, a gossamer gown, and little else. His body stiffened as his mind played with erotic images.

Still lost in his thoughts when the door opened, he scrambled from the window to pick up a mug as Rand Weston walked in. Rand’s footsteps paused at the door, and Trace mentally drew the familiar image of him hanging his hat upon the peg. His friend’s gaze burned a hole in the center of his back.

“Pour me a cup of that substitute you call coffee,” Rand said.

Trace filled a second cup with warm coffee from the pot he’d made earlier that morning. Turning, he watched Rand amble across the floor to his desk and, with a grunt, settle behind it. The sheriff picked up the information lying there and stared at it.

Trace placed a cup beside the sheriff’s right hand and took his seat. “Did the freight wagon get an escort?”

“Yep, sent the bouncer from the saloon along. Thanks,” he replied without looking up as he slid his fingers into the handle, then pulled the cup to his lips for a drink. “Anything I should know?”

Trace took the time to sit in the chair across from him, then shrugged. “Not much,” he replied. “The usual supplies, flour and tobacco for the fort store. Some female doodads, things you’d normally see.”

“Then what is it we’re not seeing?” the sheriff asked, setting his cup beside the papers and lifting them up one by one for perusal.

“It’s the very last page. About a third of the way down,” he said. The papers rattled as Rand sifted through them. “I nearly missed it.”

He watched the sheriff put his fingers on the last invoice page and run his hand down the column of descriptions. He paused abruptly and looked up.

“Guns!” His widened eyes stared at Trace.

“Not a good thing,
amigo
. With what is going on in Mexico at this moment, it could only fan the fires along the border.”

“But it doesn’t seem that Daniel is hiding the fact,” Rand observed with a bit of surprise.

“No, but then again, why? Why didn’t he ask for an army escort? Why take his sister? Did he plan on selling them?”

Rand shook his head, his face a mask of bewilderment. “How many rifles?” He glanced back at the papers.

“Twenty-five in each case.” Trace replied. “Two cases in all, so at least fifty rifles.”

“That’s a lot of uncertainty.”

“Underneath you will find a note from the Adjutant General of the State of Texas, asking the major to put the cargo into the field.”

“Into the field,” the sheriff repeated, flipping the invoices over and reading the notes. “This shipment is not a good thing to fall into the wrong hands.”

“No, it isn’t. Every citizen along the border of the Rio Grande and Mexico should worry about their safety.”

Rand sat up and thumped the papers with his index finger. “I think I’ll telegraph the fort. They have a new commander. A spit-and-polish from back east. I want to let him know what’s going on. Come on, son. We’ll send the telegraph, and then breakfast is on me.”

Trace placed his cup on the desk and followed Rand out the door and across the street to the hotel. Stepping inside, he blinked after the brightness and adjusted to the shadows.

“Morning, Sheriff,” a silken female voice called from the front desk.

Looking up, Trace watched Rand move toward a brunette in a sedate blue dress.

“Elaine, I need to send a message to the fort.”

“’Course.” She nodded and flipped the latch, lifting the edge of the counter up so she could pass through. “Follow me.” They fell into step, moving toward a small room just off the main entryway. Trace noted the word “Stenographer” carved on the plaque on the door.

“Here you go,” she said, and shoved a pad toward Rand. As he scribbled his note, she moved to the seat behind the desk where the telegraph sat secured.

“Elaine, I’d like you to meet Marshal Castillo.” Rand gestured with a jerk of the pencil over his shoulder.

“Marshal.” She smiled.

Rand shoved the pad back.

“You want to wait for confirmation?” she asked, her fingers tapping out the message.

“I’ll wait.”

She completed her task and tore the message from the pad, handing it back to the sheriff. “How’s Mary Rose?”

“Holding up,” Rand replied.

Trace’s mouth soured and the woman chuckled. He gave her a sharp glance, and she raised a hand in defense.

“Pardon, Marshal, but you just look like you got a mouthful of something you didn’t like.”

“Don’t mind him, Elaine. Seems Mary Rose’s announcement yesterday about the freight company put a burr under his blanket.” The sheriff grinned and stuck the paper into the pocket of his vest.

She grew sober. “I heard.” Trace watched her turn toward him, her eyes laden with sympathy. “I was a bit surprised,” she said. “But look at me. I’m no one to talk. You’d best either find something to occupy your mind or take a job with the freight company.”

Before he could reply and defend himself, the key began to strike. She grabbed the pencil and sat down to copy the message coming through the line. With a sigh, she pulled the reply from the pad of paper and handed it to Rand.

His mouth formed a thin line. “They’re sending someone down. This might complicate things.” He looked at the woman across from him. “I need to keep this quiet.”

She nodded. “My lips are sealed.”

“You’re a good woman,” Rand remarked.

She gave him a knowing glance. “Took you long enough to find out. Shall I put an order in for your breakfast?”

“Sure,” Rand nodded. “Make it two. The marshal will be joining me, but give us a few minutes. I want to go over to the bank.”

“Not a problem.” She nodded and walked back to the other room.

Trace waited as Rand took a deep breath, then asked, “Something goin’ on between you two that a man should know about?”

The sheriff cut him a hard look and a single brow arched. “No, and not from the lack of trying. Elaine Harmon is a strong woman. It’s gonna take the right man to bring her back to marriage.”

Before Trace could follow up with another question, Rand walked past him to the front door.

“You’re not that man?” Trace asked, joining him beneath the shadows of the porch.

“Nope.” The sheriff slapped his hat onto his head. “Like you, I’m married to the law.”

The words rang hollow to Trace’s ears. He’d asked himself that very question when his eyes opened that morning. Across the street, a flash of bright copper-colored hair caught his attention. He stood transfixed as Mary Rose waltzed across the street. If she knew of his presence, she didn’t acknowledge him. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the proud tilt of her chin. Her face focused straight ahead to her destination, and she strode with purpose, her skirt swinging with the sway of her hips.

The urge he could only describe as want crawled down his spine and took hold of his lower anatomy. His skin tingled as if he’d kissed her all over again. It was all he could do to control the desire to march across the street and take possession of her lips, run his hands through her hair, and brand her for his own.

“Infuriating female,” he growled beneath his breath. Glancing over at the lawman, he caught Rand’s bemused expression.

“Yep, you best find something to occupy your mind, or I might have to arrest you for indecent thinking.”

Trace gave Rand a murderous glare as he stepped into the sun.

“You coming?” Rand called over his shoulder.

Taking one last look at Mary Rose, he followed the sheriff in the direction of the bank.

****

Just keep your eyes straight ahead,
Mary Rose told herself. She’d no sooner rounded the corner of the street than the marshal’s figure came into view. She could feel the goose pimples rise on her arm as she walked through his line of sight. Her heart beat like the big kettledrum Doc Martin played when the town band got together. She wondered that Trace didn’t hear it.

Even the hair on the back of her neck rose as he stepped into the street. Would he come over and demand that she go back home? Lord, what she’d give for two good hands to put her hair up in a more attractive manner. “Keep walking, keep walking,” she mumbled and focused on the corner of the building where she’d turn to head to the freight office.

“Morning, Miss Thornton,” Gentry called out. He stood in the center of the side street, waiting for her.

Mary Rose paused and cut her eyes in the direction of the marshal, but the street lay empty. An odd sense of disappointment washed over her.

“You said you’d be here at noon.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “I believe you’re a bit early.”

“I wanted to get a look at the files on Daniel’s desk today before we opened,” she hurried to say.

“Of course,” he nodded, slipping the watch away. “May I?”

He offered her his arm.

She looked back once more at the empty street before she stepped forward and placed a hand on his arm. “Lead on.” She smiled.

They paused as he unlocked the front door and stood back so she could enter. The building looked the same as it had the day they left, only now the mound of crates and backlogged freight seemed to mock her. She walked toward the mess and placed her hand on her hip. “I suppose the first order of business is to get this sorted.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll get right on it,” she heard Mr. Gentry reply. With a glance over her shoulder, she waited as Caleb placed his hat on the rack and put the apron over his clothing.

“How do you want it sorted?”

“Sort it by runs. Short runs to long. We can get the short runs done in the next few days. I’ll need to interview two drivers for long hauls. Until they find out who did this, I want no long hauls without someone riding shotgun.”

“Yes ma’am.” The clerk nodded and started on the packages.

Seeing him occupied, she turned away and moved toward her brother’s office. Unlike her desk, his was in the back of the gated area. Daniel had constructed a small room where he could work in silence and view the employees from windows that lined the walls. She paused at the door.

Without thinking, she brought her good hand up and rubbed the outside of the sling. She wanted to push open that door and find him. But, no amount of yearning would allow her brother to rise from the ground. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she placed her fingers around the brass knob and turned.

The smell of the cigars her brother was so fond of lingered bittersweet in the warm air. She went to the desk, placed a finger on the edge, and traced the outline around to the back, where the chair sat ajar as if he’d just left it. Her lips trembled.

There it was, his throne. Evidence of his life lay scattered everywhere—files upon the desk, some haphazardly askew with their contents spilling from the edges, his pens at the edge of the blotter, not placed into the holders. With a shake of her head, Mary Rose reached over, picked one up, and slid it home. Grabbing hold of the chair, she turned it around and sat down. There was much to learn and little time to do it.