Castillo's Fiery Texas Rose(35)

Pulling out a chair, he lowered his body to it and watched her open the cupboard. “So, Moe stayed here?”

“Yep.” She nodded. Under his watchful gaze, she put the glasses on the table and then went back for the pitcher on the cutting board. It had been covered with cheesecloth so the flies wouldn’t get in. “I wasn’t sure I wanted him here. But he had a captain from the army come and vouch for him.”

His heart skipped a beat and the hairs rose on his arms. Doing his best to remain calm, he asked. “Really? Do you recall the captain’s name?”

His reaction brought a smirk to her face. “I may be old, but I’m not losing my memory. His name was Captain Wallace, I believe. At first I thought to refuse him the room, but he vouched for him.” She brought the pitcher over and poured.

"He? This captain?"

She nodded. “Said Mr. Horne had been through some rough times during and after the war. He needed a place with rules and structure. That, I knew I could provide.”

“You treated him like he was a child in your class?” Trace asked, picking up the glass to take a sip.

“In a way, he was.” She sat down across from him. “Mr. Horne needed to know what time he was to get up, go to work, come home, and go to bed." She shrugged. "I suppose it was his experiences in the war. The only times he got into harm’s way was when he was on his own or if he went to the saloon. Like most men, he had his problems, and they seemed to magnify when he took to drink.”

“Would you say he was simpleminded?” Trace asked, looking down at his glass.

She took a deep breath, held it for a pause, and expelled it in a hiss. “I think the horrors of that war and being slashed with a saber did something to his mind.”

Trace sat in silence for a moment, thinking about what she said. He glanced up. "You’re probably right. Have you cleaned out Mr. Horne’s room?”

“I have.” She nodded. “I’m a widow, Marshal. I gotta have a way to make ends meet. Mr. Horne was prompt in paying me, and now that he’s gone, I’m going to have to make up that income.”

Trace’s hopes plummeted.

“However, knowing you might come by...”

He glanced up.

“I saved his things in a box. It’s in his room. I couldn’t lift it.” She gave a shrug of her shoulders. “Would you like to see it?”

“If I could,” he replied, without batting an eye.

She stood. “Follow me.”

He rose and had taken two steps when she paused at the doorway leading to the stairs.

“Marshal?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“You sweet on Mary Rose?”

Trace felt the blood rush to his face.

“Never mind. I got my answer.” She chuckled and, grabbing hold of the banister, moved up the stairs.

He followed her into the first room on the right. There wasn’t much—a single bed, a dresser, and a small table and chair. On top of the round table sat the box of things. Moving to it, he fingered through Moe’s belongings.

“Not much left for a man’s life,” Lucille commented.

“No, it’s not,” he agreed. He gazed down at a few papers, a three-penny dreadful, and a metal tin. “What’s in the tin?”

“An army pin and some playing cards that would make a God-fearing man blush. I guess the pin was from his uniform. Funny. With his accent, I would have thought he’d have fought for the southern cause.”

He glanced back. “A Union pin?”

She shrugged. “It says U.S. Army.”

Down below, a clock struck five, reminding him where he was to be. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take this back to the sheriff’s office and go through it.”

“No, of course I don’t mind. If you find his family, you can send it on.” She nodded.

“I will.” He picked up the box. “Thank you, ma’am. You’ve helped out more than you know.”





Chapter Seventeen

The lights of the hotel were on and dusk had fallen by the time Trace was washed and dressed. He’d found a note from Rand saying he would join them later. Entering the hotel, he drew a long low whistle from Elaine. He paused as she moved from behind the desk and circled him. She ran her fingers across the dark stripe of the jacket yoke, brushing off something he couldn’t see.

“They say clothes make the man. If I was ten years younger, Mary Rose might get a run for her money,” she commented.

He pulled against the collar of the starched white shirt, as it seemed to tighten around his neck. He’d borrowed the jacket from Rand and purchased the stiff white shirt from the general store along with something else, just for Mary Rose.

“Stop that,” Elaine hissed, pulling his hands away. “You look too nice to muck it up.”

He gave her a roguish grin. “I need a table,” he began. “Secluded, if you don’t mind.”

“I know,” she answered, with a waggle of her brows. “Follow me.”

Skirts swishing, she led the way to a small table behind a rather large and audacious plant.

“What the blazes… I don’t need a jungle,” he growled.

“Sit down and cool your heels, cowboy. This is the best I can do to keep prying eyes away.” He sat down and watched her wave over to them the gentleman waiting tables.

“Make sure this man has what he needs,” she instructed, and then, looking back, she winked. “I’ll go let Mary Rose know you are here.” The waiter turned the coffee cups up so he could fill them.

While he waited, Trace reached inside the pocket of his jacket, closed his fingers around the round metal button, and pulled it out to turn it over and study the insignia. An eagle with spread wings, and on his chest a large C. “Must stand for cavalry,” he said to himself. His brow puckered. “Did Moe serve in those ranks during the war?” He rubbed his forehead in thought.

Still focused on the button, he heard a murmur roll through the clientele sitting at the tables in the dining room. A soft swish of satin and the smell of roses swirled around him. Thinking it was Elaine, he glanced up. Trace’s eyes widened.

“Hello.” A soft sultry voice curled around his ears, and he rose from his seat. Standing before him stood Mary Rose, not the young woman wearing practical clothing to run a freight office, but something different, something soft, and feminine. The color of the dress made her copper curls burn brighter and deepened the blue in her eyes to velvet. When he could find his voice, his words were, “You should always wear satin.”

His eyes moved over her body, taking in how the dress clung to her breasts, which swelled against the heart-shaped neckline. She shimmered. Afraid she might disappear like a mirage, he took a quick step toward her and clasped her hand. She tilted her head, and her mouth gave him a coy smile as his gaze took in her perfect features. Her hair, instead of hanging loose, was pinned at the top of her head in graceful curls. A few strands left to dangle formed a single curl that lay charmingly across her left shoulder.

“You look beautiful,” he told her and placed her hand to his cheek. The innocence of her blush turned his heart to mush. “Won’t you sit down?” He stepped back, and she followed the tug of his hand.

The soft breath her skirt sighed as she gathered it sent blood once again rushing below his belt. He pulled the chair out, and she floated into the seat. As he scooted the chair closer to the table, his knees nearly buckled from the sheer want to take her in his arms, mount the stairs, and find an unoccupied room.

Dampening his dry lips, he moved back to his seat, unable to take his eyes off the charming creature across from him. Her hand reached out, and she picked up something on the table.

“What’s this?” She asked and looked to him.

He tore his gaze away to glance at the palm of her hand. In it lay the button he’d found in Moe’s things. He turned his gaze upon her again. “I went to see Lucille today and picked up Moe’s things.”

“This was in there?” She reacted with surprise and handed the token back to him. “Poor Moe. He didn’t have anyone.”

He thought about what Lucille had mentioned. “Did you ever hear him talk about his exploits in the war?”

“Me? No.” She shook her head and spread the napkin across her lap. “Mr. Gentry might have. I usually took care of listing the freight and getting those lists to Daniel, and packing the bags for the drivers.” She sipped her coffee. “I can tell you there’s a lot more to this business of freight hauling than I realized.”

He placed the button back in his pocket, then reached out and took her hand. “Once we are married, can you put that behind you?”

“Trace, Thornton’s is my life.”

“You will see the folly of this belief,” he assured her and gave her hand a squeeze as the waiter moved toward their table. Taking their order, the man departed, leaving the two alone. Trace watched as she fiddled with the silverware, moving the pieces to make them even. “You seem a bit nervous.”