Castillo's Fiery Texas Rose(32)

“Right? Right for you or right for me?”

He turned and unleashed his anger on his clothes, yanking them onto his body. “We must do what is right before God. I realize you have not had time to think. Take this afternoon, and we will talk tonight. I will pick you up at five for dinner at the hotel.”

“An afternoon. How generous of you, Marshal. You want to marry me because I was a virgin.” She stood quietly in the room, her arms folded about her body.

“I will marry you because it is the right thing to do.” Trace knew he sounded sharp. He wished he could take the bitter edge from his words. He sighed and walked over to her. His hands on her arms, he moved his palms up and down, hoping to bring warmth back to her body. “I am doing this, my Irish Rose, not because I took your virtue, but because I wish it.”

She glanced up. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

Softening, he smiled. “I told you the other day we would come together. Nothing can stop us, and nothing can keep us apart. You will be my wife.” He kissed her gently. “Now hurry, for Rand will be returning. I will wait for you downstairs.” Leaving her with a smile, he went down the stairs to unlock the front door.

****

The thrill, the glow of romance, faded in an instant. Mary Rose turned and picked up her blouse, drawing it across her arms. He was offering her marriage because of his blasted honor. She knew it, even though he didn’t admit it. She sat down heavily on the bed and ran her hands over the rumpled sheets.

She might have believed him if he’d said he loved her. The words “let me make love to you” didn’t have the same ring. She sighed and slid a slipper onto her foot. It had been so easy to give her heart. Why didn’t he? What had that woman done to so crush his heart that he could not say those simple words, I love you? Lying back across the bed, she closed her eyes and crushed his pillow to her chest.

She wanted to breathe in the scent of him. Could she marry without his words of commitment? Her breasts prickled against her blouse, and she knew the truth. Yes, I could marry him, and every night I could lie with him, making love, holding on to whatever happiness I could find, and praying one day he would feel the same.

Below her, the door opened, and she heard the sound of Trace’s voice speaking to Rand. Mary Rose stood and brushed the wrinkles from her skirt, then tucked her blouse in at the waistline. There was no doubt in her mind that her face would tell Rand what they had been doing. She ran her fingers through her hair and did her best to push it back into place. With one last look in the small mirror on the wall, she moved quietly down the stairs.

Halfway down the stairs, she paused. The voices were louder, and she pushed her hair behind her ears as if that would allow her to better hear what was said.

“So, did you get things worked out?” Rand’s voice drifted up to her.

“We will marry,” Trace answered. “No one will dare confront a marshal’s wife.”

Her throat tightened. Oh, yes, things worked out the only way you saw them. She sighed quietly, putting aside the rankled feelings that made her shoulders grow tense.

“Any sign of the army?”

“Tomorrow,” the sheriff replied. “I expect him here on the stage sometime around noon.” She heard the sound of papers being shuffled and smelled coffee. “Do you think the army might put up some fuss if those rifles aren’t found?”

“Don’t know.” Trace’s voice carried around the corner of the hallway. “The government in Austin is pretty messed up with all the reconstruction heads. Why?”

Rand’s chair squeaked. “We may have a problem.”

“How so?”

Her knees went weak.

“The bank manager came by to see me today while I was at the hotel. It seems he’s heard some rumors that the army might place some sort of lien on her business.”

“Make her pay for the rifles? Don’t worry. It makes no difference. Once we are married, the business can be sold to make up the cost. As my wife, she will not need to work.”

Something struck her square in the stomach. The world spun. She settled down against the steps and hugged her skirt close to her legs. The main room of the sheriff’s office grew silent.

“Have you talked to her about this?” Rand questioned. “She’s a mighty strong woman. I can’t see her just giving up and selling.”

“When we marry, she will have much to do. She is a woman. She will forget this foolish notion of business.”

“Perhaps.” The sheriff groaned. “But I think you might have a tiger by the tail on this one, Marshal.”

She came to her feet and brushed away the dampness that had somehow found its way to her cheeks. She needed to stop this conversation before she heard any more. Moving back to the landing, she stomped heavily down the stairs so her footsteps would be heard. Plastering a smile on her face, she swung around the corner and through the doorway with a glance at Trace.

He stood by the stove, holding a cup of coffee, but when he saw her, he put the cup down and crossed to her side. “Mary Rose.” His voice was low and possessive.

His arm slid around her waist, and she steadied her nerves and relaxed in his grasp, then allowed him to pull her close. With her eyes closed, she enjoyed the brush of his silken lips against her cheek. For a brief moment, she was back upstairs, in his arms, under the spell of his skillful manipulation. Just as quickly, he pulled back, and the spell broke.

“Trace,” she whispered before facing the sheriff.

Rand Weston looked away. She noticed the slight tinge of red to his cheeks. Yes, everything that had happened upstairs seemed to be an open book.

“Sheriff, did I hear you say something about the officer from the fort?” she managed to ask.

He looked up, said, “Yes,” and repeated what he’d told Trace.

“I see. Well, if it will help bring all this to a close, that will be wonderful.” She turned and looked up at Trace. His glance masked, she wondered what information she had not heard.

“Let me walk you back to the freight office,” he replied, moving toward his hat on the chair.

She brought her hand up against her arm. She felt cold and alone. An emptiness filled her stomach where before there had been only exhilaration. “I-I think I’d like to go home, please.”

Her statement seemed to cause the room to still. She glanced over at Sheriff Weston. His pencil paused in midair, and she followed his glance to Trace, who stood by the doorway. “It’s nearly four. I need to get some things done at the house. On the way, we can walk over to the freight office and tell Mr. Gentry to close up.”

She watched Trace moved toward her, his eyes searching her face. “Are you all right?”

She nodded and pushed a strand of hair away from her cheek. “Yes, I—well,” she stammered, then blurted out the only thing that came to her mind. “You said you wanted to take me to supper. I thought I’d change.”

She watched the relief flow through him.

“Yes, yes, of course, my dear,” he replied, offering her his arm.

She tucked her hand into his elbow, a part of her yearning for the use of that little word querida. For some reason, “dear” from his mouth did not give her the same chills and anticipation. How sad, she thought, as they moved toward the door.

“I will return,” he told the sheriff as he ushered her out the door.

Although she stepped into the sun she felt cold, as if her soul lay bare. Her eyes closed and, with a tilt of her chin, she brought her face fully beneath the warmth of the beams, yet even they didn’t feel warm enough to soothe the chill from her bones. His hand found the small of her back and, before she could stop it, a flinch tremored through her.

“Did I scare you?”

Her eyes opened. “I wasn’t expecting it,” she replied in all honesty.

He took her elbow between his fingers and guided her down the boardwalk. Her body felt drawn to him. She glanced down, yet there were no visible signs of rope or barbed wire to link them. But the brand was there—the brush of his leg against her hip, the precision of their steps. If she were to lay a hand upon his chest, no doubt their hearts beat as one. Yet the grain of sand that rubbed her raw was the leader in the fence being built between them. All because he refused to say the words she deeply needed to hear: “I love you.”

“I will find a priest and we will marry.” The words echoed in her mind. She dampened the edge of her lips with her tongue and gave a shy glance beneath her lashes to the man beside her. The swell of her heart filled her with yearning. If only she could turn back those hands of time and somehow get him to say those all-important words.

“We are here.”

His words jolted her out of her reverie. Mary Rose glanced around and found herself standing before the freight office. Oddly, she had no desire to go in. Her hesitation must have been noticeable.

“Do you want me to walk you inside to tell Gentry?”