Castillo's Fiery Texas Rose(42)

“She doesn’t look too happy.”

The corners of Trace’s mouth turned down. “No, she doesn’t,” he agreed, almost under his breath, as she stepped onto the porch.

Her shoulders straight, she glared at them both.

“Morning again, Mary Rose,” Rand remarked, pushing his hat up from his head. “Things going okay over there at the freight office?”

“Sheriff Weston.” Her words were clipped.

“Yes, sir, trouble,” he mumbled, and pulled his hat back down, leaving Trace to face the scornful wrath on his own.

The marshal fixed his gaze on her face and examined her expression. The fullness of her lips had disappeared into a thin line. Her eyes glittered with fire and made him want her all the more. “Mary Rose,” he said, “I thought we had an understanding.”

“Oh, an understanding, is it?” She spit the words out like a wildcat. He felt his blood warm to match.

“Was that ‘understanding’ before or after you talked to the bank manager?” She glanced at the sheriff. Rand sank deeper into the rocker. “Or did yesterday’s activities give you other ideas about me and my company and how to—what was it? Ah, yes—take care of me?”

He watched her color turn a higher shade of pink, then glanced at Rand, who stood and tipped his hat.

“Excuse me. This is where I get off. Marshal, you’re on your own.” With that, the sheriff abandoned Trace and shuffled off toward the far end of the porch out of hearing distance.

“What are you talking about, Querida?” he asked, stepping forward. She was mad, sputtering mad. If given room, she would begin to pace. He had thought that if he provided the fence, she wouldn’t bolt.

“Don’t you go sweet-talkin’ me.” she warned. Her Irish accent grew stronger with each passing moment. “Because you and your friend over there talked to the bank, they won’t accept my script. My funds are tied up until your investigation is over.”

“What are you getting at?” he asked as he edged down the porch to meet the stage.

“The money, my company’s money, is tied up in the bank because the manager is afraid the government will want restitution for its damaged goods.”

He watched her beautiful eyes fill with tears.

“Querida,” he whispered. “Do not worry. You will have no need of that company once we are married.”

“Is that all you can say?” Her angry eyes searched his. “I’ll have no need of my company? What about the drivers who are still owed their pay? The goods we still need to ship? Damn you, Castillo.” She turned away, wrapping her arms about her body and keeping her face from him.

“Mary Rose.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. She shrugged them off. He tried to say something else, but the calls from the arriving stagecoach driver and the whine of the brake drowned out his words. She turned to leave, and his heart twisted. Knowing they should not part in anger, he stepped forward, but she anticipated his move and shrank back. When he reached for her wrist, it slipped through his fingers as she stalked away. He had made a half step to follow when he heard the stage driver call out, “Got a couple of passengers for you, Sheriff.”

Glancing back, he watched an officer of the U.S. Army step off the stage.

“Captain Wallace, nice to see you again,” Rand’s voice rang out.

Trace watched as the officer stepped forward and extended his hand. “Sheriff.”

The officer’s uniform might have been pressed only minutes before. Was this the same Captain Wallace that vouched for Moe?

“You were a little late, Tom,” Rand addressed the driver.

“Had to take it a bit slow,” the stagecoach driver replied as he reached into the coach. The stage tilted, and a woman stepped out.

“Well as I live and breathe, it’s Miss Penny,” Rand said.

He watched as the woman stepped across and drew her arm beneath the officer’s elbow. “Hello, Sheriff Weston.” Her smile lighted the features of her face.

“Last time I saw you, you were walking down the aisle.”

She blushed.

“Now, looks like you’ll be welcoming something else.” Rand looked between the two. “I take it congratulations are in order?”

Her hand moved over the fullness of her skirts, and Trace noted the roundness of her middle. She was with child.

“Yes, it was one of the reasons Mary Rose was coming to see me. I was terribly upset when I heard about her and her brother. I convinced my husband that I had to come.”

He noted that the captain looked none too pleased.

“Marshal Castillo, step over here a moment,” Rand called. Having no other choice, Trace moved toward the couple standing in the shade of the porch as the driver put down two bags.

“Let me introduce to you Captain Augustus Wallace and his wife, Penny.”

“How do you do.” The woman smiled.

He took her hand and bowed. “Ma’am. Captain Wallace.”

****

As she moved toward her home, Mary Rose wiped the tears from her face. No, she would not go down in defeat. She shoved the key into the lock, threw open the door, and stepped inside. Closing the door, she leaned on it for strength.

“Not fair,” she whispered to the quiet.

Daniel’s words floated over her. “Nothing in life is ever fair. If it was, then people would have no motive to try.”

“I’ve been tryin’, Daniel.” she sniffed.

With a soft sigh, she locked the door and moved toward his office. She sat down with a thump behind his desk and pulled open the drawer. Lifting out the cash box, she brushed away her tears and undid the lock. Beneath the papers lay some cash. She reached in with her hand, raking the loose bills into her grasp before spreading them out on the blotter. A quick count showed the sum to be a few dollars shy of one hundred.

Mentally she subtracted Mr. Gentry’s pay, then the forty dollars owed the drivers. With a trembling hand, she reached out and pulled that money into her palm. She spread the remaining cash across the blotter and counted. She stared in stony silence. There was a little over forty dollars left. She was still staring when a knock jolted her glance away.

“Mary Rose.”

Trace’s voice.

Folding the money she needed, she closed the top of the cash box. The knock resounded a second time, reminding her of his persistence. She placed the box back in the desk drawer and went to answer the door.

“Mary Rose, I know you are in there. Querida, open the door.”

She reached for the lock and realized she still had the cash in her hand. Rolling the bills together, she slid them up the sleeve of her blouse, next to her right wrist. Then she steadied herself, opened the door, and found herself staring straight into those blue depths.

“Mary Rose.” He seemed relieved.

“Can I help you?” She kept the reply stiff. She didn’t need his sympathy right now.

“Yes...” He paused and seemed to understand not to ask how she was. “There are friends of yours at the hotel. Sheriff Weston sent me to get you.”

“Really? Friends of mine at the hotel? Or is this an excuse to get into my home and search for something?” She looked away. It wasn’t her habit to be rude, but by heaven, he deserved it.

“I apologize, Mary Rose. If you’d like for me to go speak to the bank manager, I will.”

“Never mind. Who is this at the hotel?”

“A Penny Wallace,” he replied.

Penny. Her hand closed over her middle. “I was going to see her when—” She let the sentence hang. A movement of her arm and she felt the brush of the bills in her sleeve. “I’ve got to take something over to the freight office first.”

“Then I will escort you.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but the stern look on his face stopped her. “I won’t be but a moment.”

Stepping onto the porch, she locked the door of her house and, with Trace at her elbow, moved once again toward the freight office. She kept her steps brisk. She didn’t relish being alone with him, if for no other reason than his charm. A charm her body seemed to find so susceptible.

Even now the warmth of his hand and the light touch of his fingers scorched her skin through the calico. If she breathed deeply, the heart-stopping scent of bay rum and sandalwood would leave her breathless. Her tongue dampened her lips, and she wished it were his kisses, but her heart sat like a lump, refusing to feel.

They crossed the main street and headed toward the alleyway. Out of sight of the traffic, she felt a pull upon her sleeve and, tumbling off guard, she slid into his arms.

“Let me go,” she demanded.

“Well, at least you speak to me.”

“Marshal Castillo, I’m not here for conversation.”

“Nor am I.”

She caught his eyes moving toward her lips. No, she couldn’t let him kiss her. He had betrayed her. His actions at the bank were going to cost her the freight company, her livelihood, her future… She must resist.