Castillo's Fiery Texas Rose(8)

“Damn.” The sheriff shook his head. “This makes no sense. I’ve never known the Thorntons to have an enemy.”

“My guess, it was something in the wagons. Do you know what was in the shipment?”

Rand shook his head. “Nope, I haven’t talked to them in a while.”

Trace watched as he took a deep breath.

“How’d the men die?”

“Both were shot in the chest, then scalped.” Trace picked up his cup and took a sip of the strong brew to squash the bile in his throat. “Or so I hope.”

The room grew silent. With a voice laced in raw emotion, Rand said, “No man deserves to meet his Maker under those circumstances. Do you think she saw it?”

“I don’t think she saw the actual murders,” Trace replied. “I think she was shot and fell back down the slope toward the spring. She probably woke up later and found them. I bet that’s why she hid in the scrub.”

Rand shook his head. “I really wish she hadn’t seen her brother like that. In any case, we’re lucky something else didn’t happen to her. Perhaps there is honor among thieves?”

As Trace watched Rand, his mouth soured, and he put his cup down in disgust, recalling the fear he’d seen in her eyes. “I doubt it. Maybe what they found in those wagons was more important than her.”

Rand glanced over at him, face serious. “I gotta wonder, Trace. Both men being scalped, could it have been our group of renegades?”

In truth, he had been contemplating the same thing the whole way back from the spring. “It makes sense,” he agreed. “I could see both shod and unshod pony tracks.”

“But why take the wagon?” Rand sat back. “They usually haul between here and the fort with goods for the stores, mostly pretty doodads for the ladies.” He shook his head. “Just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Did Thornton know about the attack on the Willard place?”

Rand looked up. “I reckon so. Everyone in town came to the funeral.”

“Why would a man take a woman on a slow-moving freight wagon if he knew of such danger?” Trace murmured. He looked at the liquid in his cup and snorted. No doubt she batted her lashes at him and pouted. Yet it made little sense that her own brother would put her in danger.

Rising from his chair, he moved to the windows lining the front of the building and stared out. He paused and collected himself before glancing back at Rand with a sober expression. “Was this Daniel Thornton always irresponsible when it came to women, or was it just because his sister was used to getting her own way?”

“Hold on there, Marshal. Stand down.” Rand’s voice became stern.

“She was manhandled by the other driver here in the street just the other day,” Trace reminded him. “You saw that.”

“Moe Horne didn’t have sense enough to harm a woman,” the sheriff replied.

“You sound surprised.”

“I am. The Thorntons gave him a job when others refused. Moe wasn’t exactly the smartest cookie in the box. I think that saber wound in the face did something to his mind. But Moe’s worked for them over a year now, and this is the first I’ve heard of him making a play for Mary Rose.”

Trace snorted. “You know how women are when they want their way. He might have felt justified in demanding she ride with him.”

“Get that hot end of your Spanish blood under control,” Rand barked. Rising, he stormed his way across the floor to confront him. “Daniel was no fool. She was as safe with him as on the stage.” The sheriff’s finger became a dagger poking into his chest. “That man loved his sister—practically raised her on his own. He’d never put her in danger.”

Rand abruptly stopped. His eyes narrowed. He stared straight at Trace. “But this isn’t so much about Mary Rose, is it?” The edges of his mouth twisted in a grim smile. “Unless you are putting her in the same box as Amelia?”

Trace’s jaw twitched at the mention of her name.

A look of disgust ran across Rand’s face. “Well, I thought so, and I’m here to tell you, you’re wrong.”

Trace flinched. “No, I pray to God no woman is like her.”

They fell into an uneasy silence. He hated that Rand saw through the hole in his defenses, but being played for a fool didn’t sit well with any man. “We need to find out who did this?”

“Well, that depends on you.” Rand sighed. “That little lady is going to need someone to find her brother’s killers. I want to know if you’re man enough to step up.”

****

Trace shook his head as he stepped off the boardwalk and crossed the hard-packed street toward Doc Martin’s home. In his mind, he could hear the crackle of laughter from his friends back at Indigo Plains. Ever since he’d found Amelia in the arms of his half brother, he’d done his best to brush off women. If he was attracted, he could enjoy the moment but he kept his distance.

And yet here he was, tossing his best defense aside, accepting the challenge issued by an old friend to bring a group of killers to justice. Why? He couldn’t say. Maybe he could blame it on a woman with a pair of blue eyes the color of the sky. Or maybe the heat of the Texas sun had made him go soft. With another shake of his head, Trace gave a false smile.

He was a U.S. Marshal, used to few creature comforts, battling nature to stay one step ahead of lawlessness. And it took only one woman falling into his arms—a woman with hair like polished copper—to scatter his thoughts like leaves upon the wind. They were opposites. His life harsh and hers tender. Deep down, a part of him yearned for that softness; he wondered if Miss Thornton could be the one to soothe away the pain Amelia had left.

Turning the corner, Trace saw Diablo standing at the rail, and at his approach, the horse turned his head and nickered. He paused and scratched behind the animal’s ear.

“Who goes there?” Clyde’s voice called out.

“Marshal Castillo,” he answered.

Feet shuffled as Clyde came to the doorway. “Evening, Marshal. I did just like you told me. No one came by.”

“Good.” Trace untied his saddlebags from the strings behind the roll, tossed them over his shoulder, and moved toward the house. “Clyde, can you take my horse to the livery?”

“Why, sure. Just so you’ll know, it’s down the street next to the Feed and Seed.”

He pulled out a five-dollar piece and placed it in Clyde’s hand. “Let the man in charge know I want him to have a good rubdown and an extra ration of oats.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll do just that,” Clyde replied as his chest puffed out like a bantam rooster’s. “Never thought I could say I helped out a U.S. Marshal. Why, it makes a man feel ten feet taller.” He grinned and handed over the rifle.

Trace watched the man untie Diablo and lead him away. Shifting his bundle, he walked through the door. A voice behind him spoke. “I’d ask you to shut the door, but there’s not much left to shut.”

Swiveling, he pulled the rifle’s stock into his hand and leveled the gun from his waist, his finger on the trigger.

Doc Martin stood in the doorway. His eyes wide, he paused for a moment to raise one eyebrow. “If you weren’t a U. S. Marshal, I’d say hired killer is more the mark. Remind me to call out next time,” he said.

Trace lowered the rifle and took a cleansing breath. “Sorry. Habit.”

The doctor took a step into the room and pushed closed what was left of the door.

“How’s Miss Thornton?”

“She’s resting.”

Trace walked to the door to see for himself. Only one lamp remained lit, the wick turned down so only a faint yellow light flickered over her features. Staring at her, his gut knotted as if he’d been kicked by a mule.

“I will sit with her tonight.” He turned and looked at the doctor, daring him to challenge his right to keep her company.

Doc Martin tossed the towel he was holding over his shoulder and stared back. His eyes reflected the same strong will. “It’s a good thing you’re a man of the law, ’cause right now,” he said with a jerk of his thumb in the direction of the patient’s room, “that woman is going to need someone to lean on and keep her safe. Don’t take it on, son, unless you’re up to the job.”

Trace swallowed, digesting everything the doctor said—or, more importantly, left out. A foot out of line and the good doctor would delight in exacting his own pound of flesh. “I’ll keep her safe,” he replied, knowing that one misstep would send him out of town faster than Santa Anna’s retreat.

The doctor narrowed his eyes. “You do that, young man, you do that.”

Trace watched him walk away. He glanced back at the door. A large crack ran the length of the wood and would have to be repaired. He strode over and positioned the pieces of the broken jamb back in place as best he could. Tomorrow he’d ask Rand where to find a carpenter. With that done, he moved to the room where she lay.