Castillo's Fiery Texas Rose(49)

“No, you shot Wallace because he was going to name you as his accomplice. Unfortunately, you’re a little too late. I have a witness who overheard you in the freight office.”

“No! No, you’re lying.” Gentry took a step back, the moonlight shadowing the horror of truth.

“Put it down,” Trace called again as he stepped over the dead body of the army captain.

“Please, God,” she prayed.

“No,” Gentry hissed, raising his .45.

The silence in the street was deafening.

Trace stared into the glittering eyes of his adversary. He watched Gentry’s mouth twitch and his hand flex against the pistol.

Mary Rose screamed as two shots rang out. Trace had leaned to his right, smoke curling from the end of his pistol, and Gentry was prostrate on the ground. She raised her head as a tall man moved out of the shadows and approached them.

“You all right?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint of a proper British accent. She caught the flutter of ruffles on his shirt as they danced in the breeze.

“Fine.” Trace grimaced. “Just a scratch. Check on Gentry, will you?” he asked the man before bending to assure himself she was all right.

“Mary Rose?” His hands moved over her arms. “Tell me you’re fine.” He helped her scramble to her feet, and, once standing, she flew into his arms.

“I’m fine, fine. Don’t you ever leave me, you hear me?”

He wrapped his arms around her. “No, never, my love,” he whispered as she peppered his face with kisses.

“I love you, Trace Castillo. Penny told me I was being a fool. She was right.” She hugged him even tighter. “I can’t live without you.”

“And I love you, my sweet Irish Rose.” He kissed her soundly until the gentleman behind them chuckled. Breaking the kiss, Trace looked over her shoulder. He released her, and she turned. “Mary Rose, allow me to introduce you to a friend of mine, Robert Wythe, out of Claiborne, one of the governor’s right-hand men. Did you find the rifles?”

“Of course. The Willard ranch has an easy trail to the Rio,” he replied. “While there, we chased a friend of yours back to the other side of the border. Sheriff Weston’s on the road with the wagonload of rifles. He’ll have them in town by morning. Good call, Marshal. The governor will be pleased. I’m sure he’ll want a full report in person.”

“My regrets to the governor, Wythe, but it will have to wait,” he replied, looking down into Mary Rose’s shimmering eyes.

“Why?”

“I’ll be taking some time.” He smiled. “For a long honeymoon.”

“You’re getting married?” The words slipped from the astonished lawman’s mouth.

“Just as soon as you get Father Tomas, for I will not go another night without my Irish Rose in my arms.” He turned to look at the woman he held. “I love you, Mary Rose. Will you honor me by agreeing to be my wife?”

With a trembling smile, she nodded her head.

“Well, then, ma’am, I remand this poor besotted man into your custody until death do you part, and may that be a long time.”

“Amen,” she replied, kissing her beloved with all the love in her heart.

A word about the author...

Tessa Berkley resides on the East Coast, but her heart will always belong beneath the wide open skies of the American West.

To see what’s going on in her neck of the woods, check by her website at:

www.tessaberkley.com