Castillo's Fiery Texas Rose(12)

“Yes.” Mary Rose’s mouth pulled a bit downwards at the thought of his destination.

“Go ahead and get those things, Mrs. Hatfield,” Doc Martin told her. “I can get her over to the chair.”

She watched the widow leave and then returned her attention to the doctor, who seemed preoccupied, fiddling with the elbow end of the sling. “Whatever it is you are going to admonish me for, get it over with.”

Doc Martin looked up at her. His eyes held a father’s glare. “I’ve known you since you were a skinny filly, Mary Rose. You’ve been a bit too silent all morning. I’m here to tell you to put those notions out of your head about going after whoever killed your brother.”

“My family is my business. I want to bring those villains to justice.”

“You let the law handle this, my dear girl.” He waggled his finger just beneath her nose.

She reached up and swatted his hand away. “I’ve a business to run. I’ll let the law do their job, but I won’t stand for them to forget it, either.”

The doctor stepped back. “Fair enough. Let’s get you over to that chair for a bit. The widow’s brought some fried chicken for lunch. I hear it’s legendary.”

He helped her to stand, and with slow steady steps she reached the cushioned chair. Feeling a bit lightheaded, she turned, bent her knees, and sat. Her eyes closed for a count of ten and when she opened them, the room had stopped moving. Satisfied, she glanced up at the doctor and smiled. “It sounds like you’re testing the waters for a new wife?”

“Bite your tongue, young lady,” he snapped, but she noted he left whistling a tune.

Sitting there alone, she watched the scene outside her window. A few horses and their riders crossed the street as they made their way toward the other end of town. Along the boardwalk, she could see the foot traffic as the ladies of Cobb’s Crossing sought shade from the noonday heat. However, it was the creak of a wagon that garnered her alert attention.

She held her breath and watched the buckboard with two men move slowly across her field of vision. A sharp pain twisted against her heart as she caught a glimpse of the two pine boxes in the back. “I won’t let this go unchallenged, Daniel. I’ll bring them to justice.” She paused and took a ragged breath. “So help me, God, even if it takes my last breath.”





Chapter Six

Afternoon’s shadows were long as the undertaker’s wagon pulled back along the main street of Cobb’s Crossing. Trace swayed with the slow steady movement of the horses. Their hoofbeats against the earth pounded out a funeral dirge in heavy clops, a melancholy tune that called the citizens of Cobb’s Crossing to put away their livelihood and step to the edge of the boardwalk out of respect for the dead.

One by one, shop doors opened and people moved to line the street. Men removed their hats. Women held rambunctious children by the shoulders to keep them still. No man could earn any greater respect. It was evident that word of Daniel Thornton’s death had spread like a prairie wildfire throughout this small town.

All eyes concentrated on Trace and the badge he wore pinned to his chest. He kept his eyes focused on the hotel up ahead and watched Rand step off the porch, then head toward the undertaker’s. As sheriff, Rand would want to see the bodies and perhaps even have the doctor confirm the cause of death, even though it was quite evident. Then they would compare notes to see if any clues emerged.

The road broadened and branched off. A force stronger than his will power turned Trace’s gaze. The low white house stood out against the two taller buildings. His eyes raked the porch. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find, until the door opened.

Trace felt his heart rise as she walked to the edge of the porch. With the doctor close by, Mary Rose’s foot moved down to the first step. The sunlight caught strands of hair, sending flames along the shades of copper. He wondered if her eyes searched for him or if she even cared. Yet he knew. He could feel the gaze of deep blue staring at him, making sure he’d done the right thing. He’d promised to see her as soon as the bodies were settled. A pledge like that a man didn’t soon forget, nor would she. Mr. Malone turned the wagon, and their long gaze ended.

Rand stood in quiet respect as they pulled to a stop in the alleyway. Trace swung down and fell in behind the two men hired by the undertaker to help remove the bodies. Reaching into the wagon, they grabbed the rope handles and pulled the pine box to them. Another set of boots came into view beside the wagon. He looked up to find the sheriff positioned at the other corner.

“This way, gentlemen.” Mr. Malone pushed the double doors wide so they could maneuver through. Working together, the four men carried the two caskets into the workroom one by one and placed them on the pine tables provided. Trace stared at the closed lids and paid his respects before stepping back.

Leaving the undertaker to do his work under the sheriff’s supervision, Trace headed for the open doors of the workroom, where the two workers stood, hats in hand. “Thank you, thank you both,” he murmured and shook both men’s hands. “Miss Thornton requested you be paid for your services.” He pressed a ten-dollar gold piece into each palm. “I would also like to remind you to keep what you saw to yourself.”

“Yes, sir, Marshal,” they both agreed.

“Thank you,” he replied again and watched the men walk off.

Just then Doc Martin came hurrying over to find Rand. They talked quietly for a moment before the doctor moved toward the boxes and Rand stepped away to await his findings. Holding his hat between his hands, Trace walked back to where the sheriff stood.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice. A nice thing to do,” Rand said.

Trace looked off out the doorway and pretended to be watching the street. “The least I could do.”

“Of course,” Rand replied. “The least you could do. I dare say you won’t even bother to tell her.”

Trace let the jab pass. They stood passively and waited until Mr. Malone looked over to them.

“Do you need to see the bodies any more, or can we close them up?”

Rand looked at Trace. He shook his head. In truth, he’d seen enough. Yesterday, when he found them, and then today when removing them from their temporary resting place to bring them back here. No, he wanted no further reminders.

“If the doc’s through, close them up.”

Behind him, he could hear the three men talking. He stared into the distance, thinking of Mary Rose, how she’d looked when he passed by. The agonized expression scrawled across her face. How could he find the words to question her about Daniel’s death?

The coarse words spilling from Rand’s mouth drew him back to the present. The sheriff stepped beside him and paused, his lips thin, his face a bit green. Even the strongest lawman felt his gut twist when he viewed a man who’d been so viciously mutilated. Trace understood and waited.

“I need a drink.”

With the sheriff in the lead, Trace fell into step behind him. Neither spoke as they moved to the porch surrounding the Tomahawk and pushed their way through the swinging doors. Inside, away from the sun, the shadows lay long and cool. Rand moved to the bar and motioned for the barkeep. “Two shots.”

Trace eased beside his friend and hooked the right heel of his boot against the brass rail. The whiskey gurgled from the bottle, and Rand shoved a shot glass with a neat two fingers’ worth towards him.

“To Daniel Thornton,” he mumbled and lifted his glass.

Following the sheriff’s lead, Trace did the same, repeating the words as their glasses clinked. Rand tossed back the drink and slammed the glass down on the bar, his eyes watering as he swallowed.

“I suppose I could blame it on the heat,” he gasped as he poured himself another shot. “I didn’t expect them to be so bad.”

Trace took a sip of his own drink. “We haven’t had a lot of time to discuss their condition.” He ran his tongue along his lips, tasting the rich woody flavor of the whiskey. “I told the undertaker to nail those lids closed.”

Rand stared at his drink. “Probably for the best.”

“I thought so,” he agreed and brushed the thoughts of Mary Rose’s objections from his mind.

The sheriff whirled, his face as fierce as anytime Trace had known him. “I want you to promise me you’ll never let her come near that undertaker. I want those bodies in the ground so fast she won’t have time to demand to see ’em.”

Finishing off his drink, Trace caught the tense expression in the mirror behind the bar, and his voice hardened. “You have my word. She will never see those bodies.”

Rand nodded. “Good.”

Trace pushed the glass away and motioned for the barkeep. “Coffee. Make it hot.”

The sheriff glanced over with a curious expression.

“I will not go to a woman in mourning with whiskey on my breath,” he commented. “I am a man of honor.”