First Class Male (13 page)

“Drop the rifle, Lew.” A voice came out of nowhere, booming with an authority more powerful than the gunfire thundering behind her.

Mason! Her eyes snapped open and there he was, racing his black gelding down an embankment, rifle steady and aimed directly at the outlaw’s chest. Her hopes rose, her heart soared, no man had ever looked as mighty. He sat tall in his saddle, broad shoulders set, riding effortlessly, his presence commanding, his dark hair blowing in the wind.

“Marshal.” Lew didn’t lower his weapon. “You killed my brother.”

It happened so fast. The outlaw’s gun fired, Mason’s rifle fired, a nearly simultaneous explosion that rocked the high country. Lew tumbled backward off his saddle and hit the ground, black eyes staring up sightlessly at the sky, dead.

“Mason!” She twisted in her saddle, fearing she’d see him on the ground too.

“I’m right here.” He reined his horse close, so their animals were shoulder to shoulder, close enough to touch her. Dust streaked across his cheek, sweat dampened his skin, his five o’clock shadow roughened him up, made him irresistibly male. “Are you all right?”

“All right?” She repeated, shaking her head. “I don’t think so. I saw him shoot you.”

“Yeah, well, he missed. He’s not as good of a shot as I am.” Mason pulled a knife, leaned in to cut her free. “Indigo knows to move when someone’s aiming a gun at me. That helps.”

“You’re bleeding.” She stared at his shirt in dismay. She saw two holes, one in his side seam, the other through his sleeve. Just grazes that broke the skin, but still. “You’re hurt.”

“Nothing to worry about.” Unconcerned, he sawed at the rope. When the strands of hemp gave, he carefully brushed away the bindings, freeing her. “This is twice now I’ve come to your rescue.”

“Yes, I think I owe you.” Her heart beat wildly, faster now than when she’d been terrified by the outlaws. “I did have an escape plan. It’s not like I’m in the habit of letting some man rescue me.”

“That’s good to know.” He sheathed his knife but he didn’t move away. Tension bunched along his jaw. He swallowed hard, like a man trying to hold back emotion. He pulled a clean, folded blue handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the hollow between her collarbones. “Are you all right? I didn’t know if we could get to you in time.”

“I’m fine,” she choked out.

Tenderly, he blotted the little bit of blood from her throat. She was surprised to see blood. It stung just a little as he swiped. She wanted to fling her arms around him and hold him close, relieved he was fine. She wanted to rake her fingers through his dark hair to try to tame it. She wanted to hold onto him forever.

But he seemed so business-like, lips compressed with concentration, his gaze focused on her slight wound, gently blotting up the last speck of blood. Then, as cool as if he were counting bullets, he rocked back in his saddle, folded the cloth over on itself and stuffed it back into his pocket, job done. He’d taken care of her wound dispassionately, as if it was something he always did for the women he rescued.

And that realization hurt. She wanted to be special to him. Callie bowed her head, staring hard at her horse’s ratty mane. She willed down her hurt and disappointment and did her best to clear the sound of it from her throat before she spoke. “Thank you, Mason. I guess this means you captured the rest of the gang?”

“Yep, my job is done.” He looked away, staring off toward the eastern horizon, where long shadows lay across the parched, arid high country. A hawk wheeled overhead, drawing a lazy circle against the pristine blue sky. “We’ll clean up here and get you back to town. Guess this means you missed your train ride home.”

“There’s always tomorrow.” The words caught in her windpipe, stuck there, cutting. She stared off at the horizon too. This wasn’t how she pictured this moment. Mason felt so distant, although he was within touching range. Maybe he really only had been doing his job all along.

“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through today.” He dismounted with a creak of leather, landed with a soft knell on the hard earth. “Why don’t you go sit in the shade by the creek, get something to drink. Relax, you’re safe now.”

“I couldn’t be safer.” This she knew to be true to the depths of her soul.

“Here, let me help you down,” he offered, holding out his hand.

She hesitated, not sure it was a good idea, but in the end she couldn’t resist. She laid her palm against his, ignored the spark that shot up her arm, that fluttered low in her abdomen. She tried to pretend her heart wasn’t wounded as she swung her leg over the saddle horn, careful of her skirt. She landed on the ground before him, standing squarely in his shadow, tipping her head back to look up at him.

Exhaustion marked his face in hard lines and weary crinkles. He looked as if he’d been through hell and back. For her, she wondered, or had he simply been doing his job? Torn, she pivoted on her heels and walked away, heading to the creek. She felt his gaze on her like a warm caress, but she didn’t look back.

She’d never wanted anything the way she wanted Mason. But she didn’t know how he felt about her, if, after losing his wife the way he had, he would ever let himself care that much for someone again.

“The job is his life.” One of the marshals came up, striding capably across the rocky earth, a canteen in hand. He knelt beside her on the creek bank. “It’s been that way since the first day he walked into the office. We went through training together, me and Mason.”

“You two must be good friends.” She leaned forward, dipping her fingertips into the cool water. Such sweetness. She sighed, catching a palm full in her hand.

“Well, we’re friends as much as anyone can be with Mason,” the marshal admitted. “That’s the way it is with him.”

“I’ve noticed.” She sipped, let the delicious wetness roll across her tongue, fill her mouth. It chased away the terrible, sandy thirst and gave her something to do, so she wouldn’t have to focus on the fact that her feelings for the handsome marshal had to be showing, at least somewhat, for one of the lawmen to notice. Her face heated, and she cupped her hand again, sinking it into the fresh water.

“He was hurting something bad. Horrible bad.” The lawman kept his voice low as he dunked his canteen into the gurgling creek’s current. “First five years I knew him, I don’t think he smiled once.”

“I see.” She daintily swiped water droplets from her lips with her sleeve cuff, taking the time to digest what Mason’s colleague was telling her. Mason had been irrevocably broken with grief. She shrugged, resigned, aching for him. “Maybe there are some things in life you can never get over.”

“Still, I haven’t seen him like this.” The marshal rescued his canteen from the current and screwed on its cap. “He’s lighter somehow. He’s better. He wasn’t like that before you. Maybe you don’t want to get on tomorrow’s train.”

“Oh.” She watched him stand up and walk away, striding through the spindly trees and dappled shade. He milled around to the other lawmen checking the bindings on the captured men. When she glanced over her shoulder, Mason was securing Lew’s slack body over the back of one of the horses. When he was done, he cut the lead rope, freeing the animal Callie had ridden. The animal stood trembling, not sure what would happen next.

“It’s okay there, fella.” Mason’s baritone rumbled low and gentle, soothing. That sound rolled through her, hooked deep into her soul. Her hopes stirred, and when he caught her looking, he smiled.

She saw forever in that smile.

Cold, hard steel. That’s how he had to keep himself. Mason tied Lew Folsom’s horse to Deek’s lead line. Three of the other outlaws were dead, only one had been captured alive. With a bullet wound to the abdomen, no telling how long he’d last either. Mason blew out a heavy sigh, glad he wasn’t adding Callie’s body to the others. That one fear had driven him—he’d turned off everything else during the hair-raising chase and hunt. Only she mattered.

“We did good.” Deeks ambled up, gathered his reins. “We got all but two by my count.”

“Think they might be waiting at Black Wolf Bluff? I think it’s a possibility.” Mason planted his hands on his hips, taking in the scene of his men mounting up, horses, bodies and outlaws under control. He felt weary. Hell, they were all weary. They’d fought hard and ridden long today. Now, in the soft shade of the cottonwoods, he felt the exhaustion begin to settle in.

“I think so too.” Deeks toed his boot into his stirrup and rose into his saddle. “Mason, you take the little lady back, she trusts you the most. I’ll take the captives back to the jail, the rest of the men will ride on to the bluff. We’ll meet you in town tomorrow morning.”

“Good luck hunting.” He tipped his hat to his friend and colleague. Those two remaining members of the Folsom Gang didn’t have a chance with his men on their trail. Mason waved them off, watched as they followed the faint trail uphill, passing by Callie too. She stood at the creek bank, watching them quietly. Gratitude brightened her violet-blue eyes.

Yeah, he felt grateful too. Grateful they’d got to her in time. She was so precious. The space behind his ribs ached like a sore tooth as he whistled for Indigo. The black gelding pranced over, ready to get on the trail.

“We’re down to one horse.” He kept busy gathering the reins, laying them across Indigo’s neck so he wouldn’t have to look at her standing there in the scattered light, sweet and vulnerable, and so real. He kept his chest like stone—nothing could touch it. Not even her. It was called self-preservation. “Hope you don’t mind sharing.”

“It’s better than, say, walking back to town.” Her dulcet alto was light, held a note of amusement but hid something deeper. That deepness tugged at him, made him put up his defenses a little higher.

“Well, you’d be riding and I’d be the one walking then.” He managed what he hoped was a light tone, a man unaffected, a man as carefree as the breeze. “But it’s been a long day, so I appreciate being in that saddle.”

“I’ve always wanted to learn how to ride a horse.” Her skirts rustled, coming closer, her gait a light, rhythmic tap. “Maybe you could show me, if your gorgeous horse will allow it?”

“Let’s ask him.” Mason turned his back to her, bracing against her approach. The effort not to be affected by her felt like it was tearing him apart. Struggling, he patted his gelding’s neck. “What do you say, Indigo. Want to have a pretty lady handling your bits?”

Not that that had come out right, but at least Callie was laughing in her musical way, still the bright, shining woman she was meant to be. The Folsom brothers hadn’t taken that from her. Mason clenched his jaw, thankful for that, realizing too late that he’d laughed too.

She was changing him. He never used to laugh.

“Don’t worry, Indigo.” Callie sauntered over, rubbing her fingertips across the gelding’s velvet coat. “I’ll be gentle.”

Neither the gelding nor Mason had any doubt. He knelt, cupping his hands to give her a boost onto the saddle. She slipped her foot into his hand and he boosted her up, her petticoats rustling. It took all his effort to deny the tenderness rising through him. He didn’t want to care. He shook his head. Hell, it was too late for that. He cared, nothing seemed to be able to stop it. What he had to do now was find a way not to care too much. That’s the best he could hope for.

At least she would be leaving town tomorrow. He mounted up behind her and showed her how to hold the reins properly. She smelled like sunshine, and he breathed her in—he just couldn’t help it. He clamped an arm around her waist, holding her against him as the horse took off at a slow walk, the rock and roll of his gait moving her body against his. He gritted his teeth, but his iron will could not stop the desire heating his blood. It could not stop him from wondering how it would feel to have her in his arms, rocking her just like this.

“Ooh, I see berries.” A few hours later, Callie drew Indigo to a stop, pleased when he obeyed immediately, head up, waiting for her next command. What a good horse, she thought, fondly. Maybe she could get a horse of her own when she returned to Holbrook. It would be better than always having to rent an animal whenever they needed one, right? She frowned, biting her bottom lip.