Castillo's Fiery Texas Rose(17)

“Do not go back to the freight office,” he said.

If he had thrown a bucket of ice water over her, her expression couldn’t have grown more distant. Then her shock gave way to anger and, before Trace had time to react, her open palm made contact with his left cheek. The sound broke the silence like a clap of thunder.

Her eyes wide in a blaze of female indignation, she snapped, “Your duty here, Marshal, is over.”

Trace drew himself up straight. He deserved that, he supposed, but he had needed to demonstrate how easily a man could break down her defenses. Meanwhile, she turned on her heel and stomped away. His eyes followed her across the yard and into the house. Only when the door slammed did he look away, his mouth grim.

“On the contrary, my job has just begun,” he called out.

****

Mary Rose leaned against the kitchen door and waited for her knees to regain their strength. A flurry of butterflies swirled in the pit of her belly as she wiped her lips in an effort to make his kisses no more than a memory.

“Mary Rose?”

She jerked her hand away from her face. Her eyes blinked wide as Doctor Martin looked down at her. “Are you all right?” He moved toward her. “You look a bit flushed.”

“I’m fine,” she answered, her tone sharp enough to stop him in his tracks.

His brows knitted together as his gaze ran over her. “Perhaps you need to lie down. Folks will understand.”

She jerked to attention. Her mouth pressed into a firm line. “I do not wish to lie down. I do not need people hovering over me like I’m some sort of glass doll who will break if someone shouts ‘boo.’ I am going back into that room to greet the guests who came to remember my brother and raise a glass to his passing, and I don’t care who knows or what anyone happens to think. My brother deserves a proper send-off and, by all that’s holy, it will be what Daniel gets.”

With an angry swish of her skirts, she was gone.

In her wake, Doc Martin could only scratch his head. “Well, I’ll be,” he whispered aloud.

“Doc?” Rand Weston entered the room from the front of the house. His face wore an expression of disbelief. “I just passed Miss Thornton,” he began.

“Yes, you did.” Doc replied. “Madder than a wet hen, I suspect.”

The sheriff nodded as he crossed the room. Both men stood and stared out the kitchen windows, watching a lone figure cram a wide-brimmed Stetson on his head before he stalked off.

“That the marshal?”

“Yep,” Rand murmured.

“Hm,” Doc Martin mused. “Perhaps we might need a word with Mr. Malone.”

“The undertaker?”

Doc nodded. “Could be we need to have him measured for his own pine box.”

Sheriff Rand Weston looked at the empty doorway, then back to the window. The corner of his lips turned up in a knowing smile. “Could be, Doc, could be.”

****

Mary Rose lingered in the shadows of the hallway to watch the people meandering around in small groups, their voices low as if afraid to awaken the dead. She needed to get a hold of her emotions and put them into concealment until this was done. Closing her eyes, she mentally counted to ten, yet it did little to quell the rush of feelings that five minutes alone with that insufferable U.S. Marshal stirred to a maelstrom.

“Oh, there you are, dear.” The Widow Hatfield smiled. “Did you and that nice young man have a good talk?”

Mary Rose’s eyes grew cold. “Aye, we talked.”

“Oh, good,” the widow replied, missing the angry tone. “Now, you get some food before you pass slam out.”

Before she could protest, Mary Rose found a luncheon plate shoved into her hand, holding a dollop of potato salad and a chicken leg.

“There now, go on and find a place to sit.” The widow pushed her along and turned to the next person in line. “Land sakes, Earl, is that your youngest?”

A sigh escaped Mary Rose’s lips as she wandered across the room toward an empty chair near the fireplace. Once seated, she had to admit it felt good to be off her feet. Picking up the chicken leg, she took a dainty bite, only to find it tasted like sawdust. Without a napkin to spit the mouthful into, she was forced to chew and swallow, which nearly gagged her.

“Would some tea help?” a male voice questioned.

She cut her eyes toward the speaker and relaxed. Caleb Gentry held out a delicate china cup.

“The Widow Hatfield is in her element,” he observed.

“Yes,” Mary Rose agreed. Accepting the tea, she took a sip, washing the chicken down. “She enjoys having something to do.”

“Or someone to fuss over.”

Caleb’s remark made her chuckle.

“May I?” he asked, shifting his gaze to the stool beside her.

“Be my guest,” she replied, and he took the seat.

How awkward he looks. With his knees drawn to his chin because of the height of the stool and the length of his legs, he reminded her of a frog ready to leap. “Surely, you can’t be comfortable.”

Gentry looked at her, a genuine expression of happiness on his face. “Don’t mind me,” he told her. “As a child, the corner and I were good company.”

She smirked. “It must be a male trait, for Daniel often did the same.” A beat of her heart went by and the image of her brother as a child fluttered across her mind. She could almost see his mischievous grin and the way his sun-kissed hair was always drooping over one eye. Oh, how she missed him. “I-I can’t believe he’s gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Caleb murmured. “It’s going to be a big change, Miss Thornton. I’ll do everything I can to help things run smoothly.”

“I’m sure you will, Mr. Gentry. Thank you.”

“I told Sheriff Weston and the marshal yesterday I’d have the invoices together and sent over. I just had to find them all first. You know Daniel sometimes didn’t get all his papers filed.”

The sympathetic grin on her face froze. “Invoices?”

Caleb nodded. “Why, yes, ma’am. The two of them came to me yesterday morning asking what was in the wagons.”

Yesterday. A wave of apprehension coursed through her. She’d questioned Daniel about the crates stuffed beneath the seats when she discovered them. Her brow furrowed. What was it he’d said? “Leave the crates alone, Mary Rose. Don’t go poking your nose in where it don’t belong.” Now she suspected she should have done more.

“Miss Thornton?”

Giving her mind a mental shake, she looked over at Caleb. “I’m sorry. I, I lost my train of thought. You were saying?”

He searched her face as he spoke. “I said, I put copies of the invoices in the files and took the sheriff the originals.”

“You did?”

“Yes, ma’am. This very afternoon, right before the services.”

Mary Rose managed to swallow the lump in her throat. “Wh-who’d you give them to?”

“Sheriff Weston.” he replied. “The marshal wasn’t there. He was off getting a bath and shave.”

She dampened her lips with the moist end of her tongue. She’d have to get a look at those invoices. She needed to figure out what Daniel was up to. Deep in thought, Mary Rose filed away the image of Trace beneath the willows, his eyes filled with hunger and want. Taking a deep breath, she hated the next question that sprang to her lips. “Do you recall what those invoices listed?”

Caleb Gentry leaned over. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I remember.” He nodded. “Those two crates held rifles, new rifles sent from Austin, Miss Thornton, bound for Fort Ewell.”

Her brows arched. “Are you sure?” she hissed.

“As positive as I can be. The letter was signed by the Secretary of State, in big bold letters.”

Stunned, Mary Rose sat back. Why had Daniel deemed it necessary to keep it a secret that they were hauling rifles for the army? Were there other things he’d conveniently forgotten? A deepening knot of tension pulled at her brow.

“Miss Thornton?” The sound of her name drew her back to the present. “You sure you’re all right?” Caleb asked.

Her mouth lifted in a friendly expression, masking the foreboding that left her ill at ease. “I, I’m tired.”

“Perhaps we all should leave. You need rest after being injured. Shall I get Doctor Martin?” He rose as if to step away.

“Wait.”

Caleb paused.

Mary Rose gave him a shaky smile. “I need to speak.”

“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.