Castillo's Fiery Texas Rose(44)

“Yes, Daniel and I lived here. Our parents passed away several years ago.”

“I see,” he murmured.

She watched as he pulled the fingers of his gloves out and collapsed the fabric to match the darts across the top. An awkward silence followed, until Penny raised a hand to her husband, saying, “I thought I mentioned that, Captain. Daniel and Mary Rose came out after the war. While their house was under construction, they rented a room from my father. That’s how we met.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, you did.” He nodded. “I had forgotten.”

“So much on his mind,” Penny murmured and offered a smile.

“Yes.” Yet the cold glances she received from the captain did little to make Mary Rose feel less anxious. Suddenly overcome with the feeling she’d just done something horribly wrong, she wished someone would come to her door.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Trace and Sheriff Weston moving to the house. Relief flowed through her even if she couldn’t let Trace see how much better she felt with him in the room. “Oh, your bags are here,” she said, drawing her eyes away from the cold calculating ones of the captain.

“Here you go, Mary Rose. I’ve got to get over to the office.” Rand said, putting down the bag he’d carried.

“Thank you, Sheriff.” Penny smiled.

“Where do you want them to go?” Trace asked.

Mary Rose stood and moved toward the stairs. By all rights, she should offer them Daniel’s room. Yet a cold hardness filled the pit of her stomach. Was it fear?

“I-I haven’t cleaned out my brother’s room yet,” she apologized. Looking up, she could see Trace’s troubled glance. Humph, let him worry.

“Then,” came Penny’s bright voice, “that is what I shall help you with.”

Mary Rose turned. “I can’t ask that of you, not in your condition.”

Penny rose from her seat and moved forward, her hands outstretched to her. “I hardly think putting things away in boxes will sap my strength. I am in a peculiar fashion, but women do recover. Let me help you, Mary Rose.”

How could she refuse? Her shoulders relaxed, and she squeezed Penny’s hands. “Thank you, I’d like that very much. Let me show you to your room. I’m sure you want to get some things straight, and I’ll let you rest for a while.”

She rounded the banister, Trace’s clean scent washing over her. Steeling her urge to return his glance, she placed a foot on the stairs. “Follow me.” She could hear footsteps behind her—Penny’s soft slippers, the captain’s heavy footfalls, and then the jingle of spurs that could only belong to her marshal.

At the landing, she glanced over her shoulder to see how her friend was making out. Her hand on the rail, Penny seemed to be managing the climb on her own. Mary Rose noted her husband didn’t bother to offer her a hand in assistance.

Trace would have. The statement flashed into her mind and, without another thought, she knew it would be true. She felt a bit sorry that Penny hadn’t found that. “Nearly there,” she told Penny, catching her glance. Moving toward the doorway to Daniel’s room, a sobering thought bubbled up, and she knew Trace was a different kind of man than most. His actions were always chivalrous. He took into account her feelings as a woman.

Her thumb brushed the back of the ring he’d given her last night. She looked down and stared at the heart. Her thoughts focused on everything he’d done for her since finding her. Her hand pressed against the doorknob, and she looked back. Trace stood off to the side. His blue eyes grew dark and smoldered with anger, so unlike the concerned and sympathetic ones he’d shown to her when he found her hiding in the brush. Suddenly, she wanted those eyes back.

Her brow puckered. Was she ready to bend her tough Irish pride?

“Mary Rose, are you all right?” Penny’s voice brought her back to reality.

“Yes, I was just thinking.” She smiled. “Here we are.” She turned the knob and pushed the door back. “It’s right across from mine, if you need anything.”

Penny swept past her. “Oh, it’s just fine,” she said brightly.

Mary Rose smiled again and turned her head to see Trace come through the door—and any other thought scattered. His elbow brushed her sleeve. She held her breath. Her nerves stretched and twisted in knots as if she expected him to make some sort of caustic remark. Instead, he ignored her. She realized that hurt worse.

“A very nice room,” the captain remarked. “I’m sure we’ll enjoy it during our stay.”

“I’ll leave you two to get settled,” she said, and, not wanting to be in the room with the man, she hurried toward the door. The captain’s words stopped her.

“Actually, since my wife is going to rest, perhaps this would be a good time for me to discuss the case with you over at the sheriff’s office, Marshal.”

She glanced at Trace. A pleasant enough smile for those who didn’t know him, yet she could sense the wary lion beneath. Her heart hammered in her chest. She didn’t want a scene to mar Penny’s visit or to cause any more problems than she already could have with the government.

Trace cast a look at her that made her shiver. “I want to make sure Sheriff Weston will be there to talk to you, Captain Wallace. I know you’d like to be fully informed.”

Her eyes narrowed. Trace’s smile widened. He reminded her of a cat toying with a mouse.

“I’ll wait for you downstairs, with Mary Rose.” He stepped quickly to her side and propelled her from the room.

“What are you up to?” she hissed as soon as they were out of earshot.

“I’m getting a viper from your midst,” he replied, his eyes focused ahead and not giving her a glance as they moved down the hallway at breakneck speed. Mary Rose pulled to a stop and wrested her arm from his grasp.

“I’ll have you know Penny is my good friend,” she snipped, glaring at him.

His brow rose over his right eye. “She may be, but something tells me her husband is not an admirer.”

She opened her mouth to complain, but his grasp tightened again on her elbow, and she lifted her skirts to maneuver the stairs. Once down them, he let her go as if her skin was on fire, and she swirled to meet him.

“Penny and her husband are my guests,” she said. “They are here in my home, and I expect if you come around that you will remember that fact.”

“If I come around?” He moved closer. She could see the anger shimmering in the depths of his brown eyes. “Oh, I will come around, my Irish Rose. And, when I do, I will have a smile on my face. But, while I’m gone, you think on this. If Captain Wallace is here to do an investigation, by all rights he needs to keep it impartial.”

She should tell him about those boots. Yet, as she watched, his eyes warmed as he stepped closer, and her thoughts scattered. His breath rushed past her face and she drank it in. Beneath her clothing, she could feel her body changing. She wanted him, and him alone. Desire heated her lungs, and she struggled for air as his hand slid around her waist. He held her close.

“By staying here, he will have a hard time separating his personal involvement from his investigation.” His eyes roamed her face from temple to chin, finally settling on her lips.

Please, she prayed, let him kiss me. Her tongue darted out, dampening her lips and igniting a hunger in his eyes. His head moved closer, closer. If she did nothing, then their lips would touch. Mary Rose held her breath, less than an inch remained between him and his goal. She felt her body arch as his fingers pressed against her spine.

“You see how it is, my sweet. One taste of heaven and you’d be undone.”

God, he was right. Her hands moved toward his shoulders as she levied pressure against those bands of steel. “Let me go,” she demanded.

He chuckled and closed the gap. She struggled against him. His arms held her tight. The pressure of his lips bruised until she opened her mouth and let his tongue ravish her. The hands that pushed against his body now pulled him tighter against hers. She practiced returning his tongue strokes until neither of them could breathe. Only then did he release her.

“We, we can’t be caught doing that,” she whispered. “People will talk.”

He shook his head. “My dear Irish Rose, people are already talking. You just haven’t been listening.”

She felt his thumb graze the side of her cheek. “I should be mad at you.”

“But you aren’t.”

Her chin trembled. Afraid to talk, she shook her head.

“Hm, perhaps not anymore.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

The simple gesture soothed her battered feelings. She closed her eyes and thought of nothing but the experience of his lips upon her skin. The thump of boots in the stairwell drew them apart. She turned away, brushed her hair from her face, and tried to calm her racing heart.