Castillo's Fiery Texas Rose (22 page)

In the shadows of the hallway, Mary Rose waited, yet no one materialized. She inched along the corridor, her eyes alert to any movement. At the top of the stairs, she cast one glance back. No specter of death materialized from thin air. She paused to let the rapid beat of her heart slow, then carefully made her way back down.

At the landing, she could see him, and relief poured over her. His hands behind his head, he wore a self-satisfied smile on his lips. She wondered what he was thinking. Her eyes focused on his lips, and her mouth tingled as she remembered how easily they could arouse her. Oh, how easy it was to fall beneath his spell. U.S. Marshal Trace Castillo had so easily captured her heart.

Hearing her feet upon the stairs, he opened his eyes and stood to walk across the parlor and meet her. “May I take this?” He held out his hands for her garments.

She handed over the dress and pushed her hair back over her ear. “I’ve got one more thing to get. Would you check and make sure I’ve locked the back door?”

“Of course.” He nodded.

Mary Rose waited as he went to the back of the house. Giving the upstairs a nervous glance, she hurried into her brother’s study. Moving behind the desk, she looked at the drawers. Nothing seemed disturbed.

She moved her fingers beneath the blotter and retrieved the key. As quietly as she could, she removed the strongbox and took out the coin and papers. She looked for something to hide them in. Her mind moved to the reticule she kept by the doorway. Locking the box, she put it away and hurried to the hall rack. Pulling her purse from the peg, she nervously looked around before shoving the papers and the coin inside. She had just pulled the strings together when the sound of Trace’s spurs alerted her to his presence.

“You checking the window?” he asked.

Her glance went back to the room and the new window he’d installed. “Yes,” she lied, clutching her bag more tightly. “You did a nice job of replacing it.”

“Thanks. Are you ready?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “Everything secure in the back?”

“Yes.”

“Then we are ready to go.” She pushed the screen door with her backside. “Please lock it.”

She waited and watched as he inserted the key, turning the lock into place. He raised his hand to place the key back in its hiding spot, but her voice stopped him.

“Wait.”

He gave her a puzzled look.

If someone was watching her house, she didn’t need to give them an easy way to get in. Thinking fast, she said, “It will be late when we return. I wonder if possibly you might keep the key in your possession until then.”

He tossed the key in the air and caught it in his hand. She watched his fingers close over it. “As you wish.”

“I do wish it.” Relief flowed through her as he stuck the key into the pocket of his trousers. Waiting for him to take her elbow, Mary Rose took some satisfaction in the thought that if someone was in the house they would not find the treasures in her box, nor would they get out without leaving further evidence of their having been inside.

****

She watched Elaine laugh and round the corner of the front desk as Trace escorted her inside.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in. Good to see you, Mary Rose, Marshal. What brings you to the hotel?”

“I was hoping you could spare a bath and a room for a bit,” Mary Rose asked. “My shoulder prevents me from hauling warm water to my tub room.”

“Say no more.” Elaine reached to take the gown from Trace’s arms. “My, what a pretty thing. You wore this at the Christmas social, didn’t you?”

Mary Rose nodded. She cast a shy glance at Trace. “I, um, have a dinner function to attend tonight.”

“Oh?” Elaine’s eyebrows rose, and she too looked at Trace. “Well, let’s get you upstairs so we can gossip.”

Turning to Trace, Mary Rose said, “I’ll see you a little after five?”

“After five.” He nodded.

She turned to walk away and felt his hand upon her arm. She turned her head, and he pressed his lips against her cheek as heat rose to her face.

“I will return,” he whispered.

“Do.”

She stood in the lobby and watched him walk out into the late afternoon sun. Her heart swelled as she recalled him as he stood against the window—the wide chest, the build of his body—and the security she felt in his arms. Without thinking, she sighed. Behind her, Elaine Harmon cleared her throat.

“Care to enlighten me on what’s going on?” she asked as they walked toward the staircase.

Hesitant to say too much, Mary Rose returned Elaine’s smile. “Later, in privacy,” she began. “There are things I need to ask.”

Elaine looked baffled. “Sure, hon. We’ll go to my rooms.” With that, she led the way up the stairs and to the right, where a suite of three rooms awaited.

Behind the silk screen, Mary Rose removed her clothing, tossing her skirts over the screen and pulling her blouse from her body, as Elaine rummaged through her dresser for something.

“Here, this may work for you,” she said, tossing a flowered silk robe over the edge of the screen.

“Thanks.” The soft cloth slid over Mary Rose’s body, and she tied the sash tightly around her waist. Stepping around the screen, she watched Elaine pull the top off a container and sprinkle it across the steaming water. “What’s that?”

“Bath salts,” was the answer. “I hope you like the scent of roses.”

A smile tugged at Mary Rose’s lips. “I’ve no problem with it.”

“You slip in while I turn my back, and then we’ll talk.”

Curls of heat rose from the water brought up from the kitchen, and the scent of fresh flowers wafted through the air as her fingers tugged against the sash.

“Are you in yet?”

“No.” Mary Rose looked over her shoulder at Elaine’s back. Opening the robe, she dropped it and slipped nearly soundlessly beneath the bubbles. Closing her eyes, she laid her head against the back of the warm copper tub and sighed.

“Feels that good?”

She wanted to say, “Not as good as making love with Trace,” but she didn’t. “Yes,” she replied, giving the only safe answer.

Elaine turned and moved to the overstuffed chair by the wall. “So,” she began, as she sat. “What’s important enough that you need to speak to me privately?”

Mary Rose plucked the soap from the holder and began to build up a good lather. “It’s about Trace Castillo.”

“The marshal?” Elaine’s voice gained an octave.

Looking across the rim of the tub, she could see the twinkle in her friend’s eyes. “Yes.” She took a deep breath. “I want to know the best way to get a man to say those words.”

“Words, as in, ‘Will you marry me,’ or as in, ‘I love you’?”

She stared at the bubbles on the cake of soap. Since he’d already decreed they would wed, she wanted the other. “I love you,” she replied.

“Have you kissed?”

“Yes,” she answered. Not wanting to give too much away, she coated her arm with the bubbles and rinsed them away.

“I see. I suppose the main question I should ask is do you love him?”

The steam rose from her pink skin as she pulled her knees up and, wrapping her arms around them, leaned close. “I think so,” she whispered.

“Think?” Elaine raised a brow.

Mary Rose’s own brow wrinkled. “He makes me feel things… Things I shouldn’t.” Fearing to bring up the fact that his touch could send her over the moon, or the fact that she loved the way his tongue swirled over her breasts, she concentrated on general feelings.

“Shouldn’t?”

“He ties my stomach in knots, and when we kiss I lose all concentration.”

“I see.” Elaine sat back and tapped her fingers against the arms of the chair. “Well, men are such simple creatures at times. I think if we give him a sight he’ll never forget, those words will tumble from his lips in quick fashion. The dress you picked is perfect for this little operation.” She got up and went to touch the silk hanging by the door. “By the way, I hear he’s staying over at your place. No hankie-pankie going on, is there?”

“Guarding me,” Mary Rose answered, rubbing the soap on the other arm to avoid meeting Elaine’s eagle eye. “He seems to think whoever killed Daniel is after me.”

Elaine nodded. “He’s probably right. You have to wonder if all this is wrapped up with the killing of the Willard family, with so much meanness going around.” She shook her head. “Well, never mind that. I think we might need to have that little talk mothers have with daughters.”

“What talk is that?”

Elaine smiled broadly. “It’s called ‘the birds and the bees.’”

Mary Rose bit her lips, trying not to smile, for they had gone way beyond that point. The bird had all ready flown the coop.

****

Having a few minutes to himself, Trace walked down past the saloon to the modest boarding house at the south end of town. Over the doorway stood the painted sign proclaiming it as Lucille’s, and as he drew closer he could see an older woman sitting on the porch swing, snapping beans.

“Hello,” he called out, not wanting to frighten her.

She looked up from her work. “Afternoon.”

He placed a boot on the bottom step and leaned on his thigh. “I understand Moe Horne rented a room from you.”

The woman put the bowl down beside her. “I wondered when you were gonna get around to talking to me. You’re that U.S. Marshal the town’s been buzzin’ about.”

He chuckled. “That would be me.”

She took a deep breath and wiped her hands on her apron. “I got some lemonade in the kitchen. Let’s go have a glass. I have a feelin’ there are a couple of things you need to know.”

His brows rose, arching just below his hairline. “You’re very astute,” he replied, stepping up to hold the door open for her as she gathered her things.

The woman winked. “I used to be the town’s schoolteacher. It’s in my nature to understand character.”

Her piercing gaze rolled up his frame. He squashed the urge to shiver.

“Humph. You’re a good man. The best thing we can do is put an end to this mess and get Mary Rose on stable ground. Follow me, young man.” He followed her to the kitchen of the two-story farmhouse and stood quietly as she placed the pan of beans in her sink. “Sit down.” She motioned to the chairs at the table. “We don’t stand on ceremony here.”

Pulling out a chair, he lowered his body to it and watched her open the cupboard. “So, Moe stayed here?”

“Yep.” She nodded. Under his watchful gaze, she put the glasses on the table and then went back for the pitcher on the cutting board. It had been covered with cheesecloth so the flies wouldn’t get in. “I wasn’t sure I wanted him here. But he had a captain from the army come and vouch for him.”

His heart skipped a beat and the hairs rose on his arms. Doing his best to remain calm, he asked. “Really? Do you recall the captain’s name?”

His reaction brought a smirk to her face. “I may be old, but I’m not losing my memory. His name was Captain Wallace, I believe. At first I thought to refuse him the room, but he vouched for him.” She brought the pitcher over and poured.

"He? This captain?"

She nodded. “Said Mr. Horne had been through some rough times during and after the war. He needed a place with rules and structure. That, I knew I could provide.”

“You treated him like he was a child in your class?” Trace asked, picking up the glass to take a sip.

“In a way, he was.” She sat down across from him. “Mr. Horne needed to know what time he was to get up, go to work, come home, and go to bed." She shrugged. "I suppose it was his experiences in the war. The only times he got into harm’s way was when he was on his own or if he went to the saloon. Like most men, he had his problems, and they seemed to magnify when he took to drink.”

“Would you say he was simpleminded?” Trace asked, looking down at his glass.

She took a deep breath, held it for a pause, and expelled it in a hiss. “I think the horrors of that war and being slashed with a saber did something to his mind.”

Trace sat in silence for a moment, thinking about what she said. He glanced up. "You’re probably right. Have you cleaned out Mr. Horne’s room?”

“I have.” She nodded. “I’m a widow, Marshal. I gotta have a way to make ends meet. Mr. Horne was prompt in paying me, and now that he’s gone, I’m going to have to make up that income.”

Trace’s hopes plummeted.

“However, knowing you might come by...”

He glanced up.

“I saved his things in a box. It’s in his room. I couldn’t lift it.” She gave a shrug of her shoulders. “Would you like to see it?”

“If I could,” he replied, without batting an eye.

She stood. “Follow me.”

He rose and had taken two steps when she paused at the doorway leading to the stairs.

“Marshal?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“You sweet on Mary Rose?”

Trace felt the blood rush to his face.

“Never mind. I got my answer.” She chuckled and, grabbing hold of the banister, moved up the stairs.

He followed her into the first room on the right. There wasn’t much—a single bed, a dresser, and a small table and chair. On top of the round table sat the box of things. Moving to it, he fingered through Moe’s belongings.

“Not much left for a man’s life,” Lucille commented.

“No, it’s not,” he agreed. He gazed down at a few papers, a three-penny dreadful, and a metal tin. “What’s in the tin?”

“An army pin and some playing cards that would make a God-fearing man blush. I guess the pin was from his uniform. Funny. With his accent, I would have thought he’d have fought for the southern cause.”

He glanced back. “A Union pin?”

She shrugged. “It says U.S. Army.”

Down below, a clock struck five, reminding him where he was to be. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take this back to the sheriff’s office and go through it.”

“No, of course I don’t mind. If you find his family, you can send it on.” She nodded.

“I will.” He picked up the box. “Thank you, ma’am. You’ve helped out more than you know.”

Chapter Seventeen

The lights of the hotel were on and dusk had fallen by the time Trace was washed and dressed. He’d found a note from Rand saying he would join them later. Entering the hotel, he drew a long low whistle from Elaine. He paused as she moved from behind the desk and circled him. She ran her fingers across the dark stripe of the jacket yoke, brushing off something he couldn’t see.