Dedication
To my friends,
who held my hand every step of the way
and refused to let me give up.
Bless you for your faith in me.
To Nan Swanson,
who generously gave me a chance.
Chapter One
Whoever brought a woman along on a freight run was asking for trouble, Trace Castillo mused as he sat on the porch of the sheriff’s office. Enjoying the shade, he watched the shenanigans going on across the street. Hell, trouble might liven up the little town of Cobb’s Crossing. It didn’t matter how it turned out; he had a front row seat to watch the mess unfold.
He lifted one foot, placed it against the post, and leaned back to enjoy the show as he caught sight of the freight driver, Moe Horne, making his way across the street toward two loaded wagons. He’d run into Moe a couple of times. He wasn’t a bad man. However, his size and quick anger made him volatile, easy to manipulate when plied with sufficient alcohol. Trace wondered if that had been the case today.
Moe stepped off the boardwalk and looked back at the group of saloon regulars who stood half hidden in the shadows. One of them waved him onward. Trace shifted his gaze and calculated the direction of the target. Of course, it would be that woman, the one standing in front of the general store beside the freight wagon as if she owned it.
With a tilt of his head, he looked from under the brim of his Texas flat-top to give her a better appraisal. When the wind blew just right, he could make out her petite frame beneath the billowing white blouse, all rounded out like a nice little filly. Mother Nature’s fingers lifted the hem of her split riding skirt to reveal a pair of shapely legs encased in brown leather boots. He’d estimate that bundle of trouble stood a little over five feet. She seemed intent on the tack of her animals while waiting for the man he’d seen disappear inside.
To her credit, she wasn’t one of those women who dressed to the height of fashion while traveling from town to town. No bustle or heavy skirts. She used common sense about the rigors of the trail and dressed accordingly. His mouth curved in a wicked grin. How he’d loved to have a peek beneath that wide-brim Stetson she wore, to see what color her eyes were.
He’d gotten a tantalizing glimpse of a copper-colored curl or two. However, right now, he had to content himself by watching the seductive twitch of the fabric covering the soft curves of her hips. His smile faded, however, as Moe’s body blocked his view. Irritated, his mouth stretched into a thin line and his eyes hardened.
****
Mary Rose Thornton listened to the sounds of the town stirring behind her and focused her attention on the team of bay draft horses hitched to the bright red wagons emblazoned with gold lettering that proclaimed them the property of the Thornton Freight Company. She moved her hands along the tack, making sure the buckles and straps had not strained. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she brushed her fingers over the sun-burnished hides of the horses. Daniel would be through soon with the owner of the general store, and they’d set out again toward Claiborne. Engrossed in her task, she didn’t realize anyone stood behind her until she turned.
She blinked in surprise and took a step back to gain some space. “Mr. Horne,” she said. “I didn’t hear you come up.”
Moe Horne would never be called handsome. A large man, his arms looked thick as fence posts, his hands so massive the only things similar would be the hammers used by the local blacksmith. But, by far, his most unnerving feature was the milk-white eye contained within the scar that ran the length of his face, from temple to chin. She swallowed as one side of his mouth lifted in a warped grin.
The gaze of his good eye moved up her body, pausing at the curve of her hip in the riding skirt before moving on to the swell of her breasts against her blouse. She blinked. Mary Rose wanted nothing more than to pull her arms across herself and hide as much as possible from his leering view. She watched his look move to her face, and the hunger she saw made her blood chill. She took another step back. Her hip brushed the trace on the wagon, and the lead horse stepped to one side, rattling the chains.
With nowhere else to go, she drew herself up straight and addressed the problem. “Mr. Horne, state your business.” Her words were curt, made even crisper by the bite of her Irish brogue. She would not tolerate being ogled by any driver, no matter how important he was to turning a profit.
“I came to see if you needed anything,” he replied, lifting his hand.
Her eyes left his face to follow his movement as he placed the hand on the harness two inches away from her left shoulder. Mary Rose found it hard to breathe. His foot moved forward, pressing his body closer. The odor of stale sweat filled the air, and her stomach churned. Trapped by his towering figure, she attempted to get away with a turn of her back, in hopes he’d understand her dismissal.
“I’m fine,” she said. Maybe if she didn’t have to look at him it would ease her nervousness. She tried to focus on the harness again. Across the street, she heard two men snicker. Mary Rose looked into the plate-glass windows of the store but couldn’t see her brother.
“A little lady like you shouldn’t have to check a harness.”
Moe’s voice sounded closer. She glanced at the shaft loop that held the trace. Gravel crunched beneath his hobnailed boots, and she shivered as his hot breath brushed against the side of her neck.
“You smell good.”
Panic seized her when a second arm dropped to her right. The urge to flee overwhelmed her and, with sudden agility, she ducked down, slid beneath, and backed two steps away.
“Mr. Horne, I believe you’ve overstepped your boundaries.”
He smiled and rubbed a hand across his grimy clothing. “You’re a nice lady.”
“Mr. Horne.” She dampened her lips and placed a hand upon the lines of the first horse. “You need to check your rig. Mr. Thornton will be along momentarily, and we’ll be ready to move out.”
“You wanta ride with me?” he asked.
“No, Mr. Horne. I don’t want to ride with you,” she told him curtly. “In fact, I think I’ve had just about enough of this conversation.” Turning, Mary Rose crossed in front of the team. She heard his boots scratch against the sand as he plodded after her. Two more steps and she’d be on the boardwalk near the door to the store. Daniel would see her. Too late! A hand grabbed her elbow and, despite herself, Mary Rose screamed.
“I want you to ride with me,” Moe said.
Her eyes widened. Mary Rose drew back in fear, pulling her arm up, hoping to break his grasp. The laughter erupted louder than before from the gallery across the way. She glanced over to see a small crowd had gathered. Heat roared into her cheeks. She didn’t fancy being the center of attention. Despite her attempts to get free, she could not peel his vise-like grip from her arm.
Would no one step in to help her? Her heart rose in her throat. A deep baritone voice silenced the sounds around them.
“Let the lady go.”
Mary Rose looked past Moe’s twisted face as the crowd parted to reveal a man, tall and broad-shouldered, in the center of the street. A blue cotton shirt clung to the well-made shoulders. His wide chest narrowed to his hips, where the double holster was slung low and tied to muscular thighs by thin leather rawhide strips. Her mouth went dry.
“The lady said she didn’t want to ride. Let her go,” he repeated.
Moe glanced at the intruder and back at her. The corners of his mouth turned down and his eyes grew sullen. “She wants to ride. She’s just playin’ hard to get.”
Mary Rose bit her lip as the words chilled her blood. Alarmed, she opened her mouth to protest, then stopped. Beneath the gray shadows of the stranger’s hat brim she caught the flash of eyes so blue they stole her breath away. Mesmerized, she saw his quick glance of reassurance as he continued to talk.
“Who told you that?” the man asked. He turned and glanced over his shoulder, and her gaze followed his look. “You mean those three fellows over there?”
Moe redirected his attention across the way to the three men at the front of the crowd. The men gazed at their feet and fell silent.
“Hm, I thought so,” the cowboy murmured. “Those three men take delight in getting others in trouble.”
Moe’s brow furrowed. “They said they were my friends.” His grip on her arm relaxed, and Mary Rose’s tension ebbed. The rate of her heart steadied, and she waited for Moe to move away.
“You bought the drinks, so of course you became their friend,” Trace continued moving a step closer. “What they wanted was to see this nice young lady slap your face.”
Moe glanced back at her, a pained expression shadowing his good eye. She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.
“Let her go.”
Moe glanced around at the small crowd that had gathered. His hand flew from her arm, as if holding it scalded his palm. Indeed, the big man seemed ashamed and hung his head to study his boots.