Castillo's Fiery Texas Rose(2)

“That’s it.” The man’s voice, soothing and calm, seemed to steady the giant. “See, it was easy.”

Moe’s shoulders slumped. He focused on the ground. “They told me she wanted to ride with me. They said it would be all right.”

Mary Rose pulled her forearm close and rubbed where his hands had been. The stranger stepped next to Moe and extended his hand.

“You did the right thing. That’s all that’s important.”

Moe glanced back at her. Mary Rose schooled her features and tried to hide her anxiety.

“Mary Rose,” she heard Daniel call from the door of the general store.

Twisting to glance over her shoulder, she couldn’t help but give a sigh of relief as he pushed through the onlookers to her side.

“What’s going on?” he asked, looking from her to the cowboy beside Moe.

“Just a misunderstanding,” the cowboy responded, placing a reassuring hand upon Moe’s shoulder. “Go on and see to your team. I’ll have a talk with those fellows. They won’t give you any more trouble.”

Moe nodded and sent a harsh glare at the men across the way.

“Did he hurt you?” Daniel inquired in a low voice.

“No.” Mary Rose shook her head. “He frightened me. This gentleman stepped in and soothed the situation.”

“Just doing my job.” The cowboy touched a forefinger to the brim of his hat. “If you don’t mind a bit of friendly advice,” he said, looking straight at Daniel, “Never bring a woman on a run. They’re always a source of trouble.”

Mary Rose’s jaw dropped. “How dare you!” She gasped, taking a step to confront him. “I have as much right as any man to ride on our wagons.”

“Mary Rose…” Daniel said.

The eyes that had been so clear blue suddenly turned icy. The cowboy’s stare made her shiver. “Ma’am. Go home and tend to your knitting. Let a man handle this job from now on.” He touched his hat.

Her eyes narrowed. Raising her chin, she confronted him. “I’m Mary Rose Thornton, and I own half these rigs.”

Her words rolled off his back like water off a duck. “Commendable,” he drawled. “But it’s still no place for a woman. Next time, take the stage.” With a nod, he sauntered away.

Her mouth widened in outrage. “Who does he think he is?” she demanded of Daniel.

“My dear sister, didn’t you see the star? He’s a U.S. Marshal,” Daniel replied.

Mary Rose stared at the departing back, her mouth agape.

****

Sheriff Randall Weston stepped out of his office and watched the crowd slowly disperse. Trace Castillo swaggered across the dusty street in his direction as if nothing had happened. Shifting the toothpick in his mouth to the other side, the sheriff looked to the teamster climbing up to the box of his wagon and the young man helping the woman aboard the second. The jingle of Trace’s spurs was the only sound to break the stillness of the late afternoon as he stepped onto the low-slung porch in front of the sheriff’s office. Rand stepped aside without question as Castillo brushed past. Then he turned on his heel to follow the marshal inside.

“I should have known if there was trouble your face would turn up.”

Trace looked up from pouring a cup of coffee. “You have it all wrong, Rand.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “I didn’t find the trouble. It found me.”

Rand laughed. “I’ll say it did, but you’ve turned yourself around pretty good. That star looks like it belongs.”

Trace glanced down at the shiny metal pinned to the left breast of his cotton shirt. The letters U. S. Marshal looked back at him, and a sense of pride puffed out his chest a bit more. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

Rand moved around to his chair and took a seat. “Your folks would be proud.”

Trace lifted his cup and thought about his folks. Their deaths by the hands of rogue bands of Mexican outlaws and renegade Apaches had sent him on a path of murderous revenge, stopped only when Randall Weston had taken him under his wing. He took a deep sip of the strong brew and turned to face his mentor. “You didn’t call me all the way to Cobb’s Crossing to talk about old times.”

“No, I didn’t. Have a seat.” Rand motioned to the chair facing his desk.

Trace crossed the office, eased his frame into the sturdy wooden chair, and focused his cool eyes on the man across from him. “What is so all-fired important that you couldn’t handle it on your own and had to send for the likes of me?”

“Rumor has it a friend of yours is up to his old tricks.”

“My friend?” Trace took a moment to remove his Stetson. Tossing the hat into the chair next to him, he brushed back thick dark hair that spoke of his half-Mexican heritage and tried to think to whom Rand might be referring.

Under his watchful gaze, the sheriff walked toward the gun cabinet, pulled out the keys to unlock the doors, and reached inside. Trace felt his heart thud to a stop as Rand brought out a Springfield rifle and laid it on the desk in front of him.

“Where did you get this?” he rasped. Reaching out, he wanted to pick up the rifle and examine it. His hand stopped just above the scarred wooden stock. A whirl of voices, cries of pain and terror, echoed in his mind. His hand trembled as Rand’s words brought him back to the present.

“Found it out at the Willard place ten days ago.”

Trace picked up the rifle. He swallowed the lump in his throat and stared down at the length of silver hair just beneath the feather tied to the barrel. “Old Puma’s rifle,” he murmured. Slowly, he brought his eyes level with Rand’s. “But Puma’s dead. I know. I buried him.”

Rand nodded. “But someone is stirring up the Mescaleros and others along the border. Ten days ago, someone attacked the Willards’ place and killed everyone. The only thing I found was Old Puma’s rifle and a mess of unshod pony tracks. I figure whoever left that was asking for you.”

****

From beneath the creak of the wagon came the soft shush of the wheels as they rolled against the loose earth. Mary Rose breathed in the warm spring air and thought how good it was to be alive. The soft sweep of the breeze pulled a copper curl from beneath her broad Arizona Stetson. Using a gloved hand, she swept the lock of hair back from her face and sighed with contentment.

Daniel hadn’t said anything, yet the twitch of his jaw told her he was less than pleased with what had happened back in town. No sooner had he spoken to Moe than he’d shoved her onto the box beside him and they’d headed out of town.

“A penny for your thoughts.” His voice invaded her privacy.

She glanced over, the corners of her mouth lifting as she spoke. “Let’s not throw our money around recklessly, shall we?”

“Always the miser, little sister.”

She could hear the laughter in his voice and gave him a look of disdain. “I suppose I am, but I think I have a right.”

Daniel glanced at her. “Well the price is free, but I need to know what happened back there between you and Moe.”

She took a deep breath. “I did nothing wrong. I was checking the tack. Moe made a few improper advances. He had me by the arm until that man—er, the marshal—showed up.”

“I spoke to Moe. I explained to him that you were my sister and I didn’t want him to be bothering you.” Daniel put a foot on the brake and eased back on the reins. Mary Rose grasped the brass rails and held on as they slowed. Behind them, the second wagon groaned to a stop. Turning, he called out to the driver behind them, “Moe, I want to turn the wagons in at Cottonwood Springs and let the team rest and get some water.”

“Right, boss,” the big teamster’s voice echoed back.

Mary Rose waited until her brother put the team in motion again to speak. “Do you think Moe Horne was the best man to draw for this trip?”

Daniel cast a serious glance at her before he whistled for his team to lean into the traces and pull up the incline leading toward the high stretch of the mesa.

“Moe’s a good teamster. I need his brawn should something happen to the wagons. I want to get there, and get there quick.”

She glanced down at the rumps of the horses. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Dan.”

“I know you didn’t.” He shifted both sets of lines into one hand and reached over to pat her arm. “Trust me, Mary Rose, to do the right thing.”

“Aye, Dan, I do.” She offered him a winning smile and made herself content to count the number of jackrabbits scared up from the brush at the sound of the wagons. As smooth as the ride was, her heart gave a silent cheer when they pulled into the shade of the few cottonwood trees above the spring.

“Whoa,” Daniel cried out, pulling the team to a stop and setting the brake. “Sit tight.”

Mary Rose pushed her hat back off her head, allowing it to dangle by the latigo leathers held at her throat with a carved wooden bobble. Her brother looped the reins around the brake handle, climbed onto the wheel hub, and hopped to the ground with a grunt. “Your turn,” he murmured.