Castillo's Fiery Texas Rose(45)

“Ah, Captain. Your wife is resting?” Trace asked.

Pulling herself together, Mary Rose took a deep breath and turned toward the men.

“She is, indeed,” the captain replied. His glance moved from Trace to her and back. "The heat bothers her in this condition."

“While you are over at the sheriff’s, I’ll keep an eye on her as I prepare dinner,” she said.

“The usual time?” Trace asked innocently enough.

She nodded, then stopped. "No, with the heat, shall we push it back a bit? Why not come back around dusk. It will be cooler. Shall we say, seven?" She cast a glance to the captain, then to Trace.

He stepped back to her and took her hand. “Agreed. I shall be here at seven or a little after. Shall we go, Captain?”

Penny’s husband glared at her before preceding Trace to the doorway. He opened the door and moved onto the porch as Trace, right behind him, asked, “So when do you expect to welcome your child?”

“Sometime in the early fall.”

Mary Rose stood listening to the men as they moved away, the door closing behind them. Turning on her heel, she walked to the mirror behind the front door and gazed at her lips swollen from Trace’s ardent ministrations. Yes, there was even the flush of a woman in heat around her eyes. No wonder the captain had stared. She closed her eyes in defeat. Trace had been right all along. Anyone could see she was now a woman in disgrace. She had fallen for a man who believed in honor but not love. The farce of an engagement was still on.





Chapter Twenty-Two

Mary Rose stroked the knife across the potato, pulling the red skin away from the white flesh, and fantasized peeling Trace’s shirt from his body. She thought about the deep tan of his skin, how when she kissed it the other day it left a tang upon her tongue. With a sigh, she dropped the potato into the pot and reached for another.

“That sounds like the sigh of a woman in love.”

Her eyes widened. The potato fell from her hand, and the blade nicked her finger. “Ow,” she cried and stuck her finger into her mouth.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Penny moved forward. “Let me see.”

“It’s nothing,” she mumbled.

Penny gave her a deep look. Mary Rose removed the finger from her mouth and held out her hand.

“Just a little cut.” Penny smiled. “Run some water on it, and I’ll get a strip of linen to bind it.”

Mary Rose pumped the handle, and as the cold water poured from the channel, she thrust her hand beneath the flow.

“So what were you thinking about?” Penny’s voice came from the pantry.

“Nothing in particular, just thinking,” she answered. Pulling her hand back, she wiped the water from her skin.

“Okay, let me have it again.”

She held the finger out to Penny and watched as she wrapped the cloth around it, then tied the ends together.

“So you weren’t thinking about anything or anyone in particular?”

She shook her head.

“Not even a certain U.S. Marshal?”

Blood rushed to Mary Rose’s cheeks, and Penny Wallace giggled.

“You never could lie. He is quite handsome, this Marshal Castillo.”

“Yes, he is.”

“Is he the one who gave you that beautiful ring?”

Glancing down, Mary Rose looked at the gold ring that graced the third finger of her left hand. “Yes.”

“Do you love him?”

Her face contorted in doubt. “I don’t know.”

Penny shook her head. “You must know, Mary Rose.” She bit her lip. “If you don’t, you’ll end up like me.”

Her heart thudded to a stop. Her fears were true. “I thought you loved the captain.”

This time her friend shook her head. “I do, but the love is a bit one-sided.” She placed a hand upon her rounding abdomen. “I’m hoping this will change how he feels. If I have a child, a son, perhaps he will see me in a different light.”

Mary Rose squeezed her hand tight. “He doesn’t hurt you, does he?”

Penny swallowed hard. “I’m sure it’s my fault. I always seem to be making things worse.”

“Penny,” she began, but her friend shook her head.

“No, enough about me. Let’s talk about something happy. Tell me about this whirlwind courtship.” Penny smiled. “And don’t leave anything out.”

****

The map covered Rand’s desk, and three heads pored over the topography pictured there.

“So you think the guns might be in Coyote Canyon?” Doubt filled the question that came from Captain Augustus Wallace. For the past hour or so, he had been tearing apart both Trace’s and Rand’s statements.

“That’s what we figure, Captain. I’ve got a few men checking the caves.” The sheriff pointed at the mark on the map.

“Why are you leading the investigation?”

“We’ve had a couple of incidents here in town, and we’d hoped to keep a watch and try to find out who the local contact is,” Trace explained.

“Yes,” the captain said, “it’s rather curious that she was the only one left alive, with the others being so savagely murdered.”

Trace stepped back. “What are you getting at?”

Captain Wallace stood up and arched a brow as if brushing off his next statement. “I’m not getting at anything, except for the fact her wound was apparently minor in contrast to the others. I can’t help but wonder if, perhaps, she was the orchestrator.”

Trace’s eyes turned murderously cold. “I don’t think that even deserves an answer.”

“I’ve been the sheriff here for the past seven years, and that little girl and her brother have been pillars of the community,” Rand added.

“There is always a first time.” The captain glared at them. "We all know the Irish are thieves and charlatans. All one must do is look to New York."

“She was not involved.” Trace’s voice crackled. “I found her hiding in the bushes along the pond. She was definitely scared, frightened.”

“It could have been an act,” Captain Wallace ventured.

Trace stepped forward. "And here I thought you were her friend."

Rand moved to block his way. Beneath his breath he mumbled, "Steady." Turning, he looked at Captain Wallace. “Look, this was an outside job. Neither Mary Rose nor her brother had anything to do with the attack or the missing rifles,” Rand stated.

“You willing to bet your badge on that? Both of you?” the captain scoffed.

“Damn right,” Trace hissed. “Mary Rose couldn’t kill her own brother. Let alone bash his brains out and then sit there for twenty-four hours hoping someone would come by.”

“You’d be surprised what people can do when they are desperate.”

Trace’s eyes narrowed. “You speaking from experience, Captain?”

The captain shot him an equally dark glance. “No, Marshal, I’m not.”

Slipping past the edge of Rand’s desk, Trace snarled back, “Who made you holier than thou, Captain? Whatever you’ve got to say, spit it out.”

“As a representative of the government, it is within my authority to issue a statement of negligence. This was federal government property, and if it is not found, Thornton’s Freight will be held responsible.”

“You sit there, taking her kindness and hospitality, and in the next breath you are so ready to accuse her of wrongdoing?” Trace growled.

“We all know how the Irish are,” Captain Wallace sneered.

“Why you yel—”

Rand stepped in and grabbed Trace’s arm, pulling him back. “Look. This arguing is getting us nowhere. I’ll make a copy of the statements this evening and bring them over to Mary Rose’s place.”

“Yes, do. I wish to speak to this Caleb Gentry. Where can I find him?”

“Probably over at the freight office. I’ll walk you over,” Rand offered, pushing Trace back with a shove of his hand and a warning glance. The clock on the wall struck five, and the captain turned to look.

“I think perhaps I’ll save that for another day. Since dinner will be soon, I’d like to go freshen up.” One side of the captain’s mouth lifted in a scornful smile. “I look forward to seeing you at dinner, Marshal.” Turning then, he walked out.

Trace wanted to spit fire. His hands ached to plant themselves in the middle of that man’s face, regardless of the consequences.

“Look at me.” Rand’s voice blared in his ear.

He turned his gaze from the figure beyond the door to his friend’s face.

“You gotta get your anger under control. For God’s sake, you are supposed to be a U.S. Marshal. He’s baiting you.”