Marshal of Hel Dorado (15 page)

 
    
His heart seized in his chest, his first
thought was to rescue her from the flaming water.

 
    
His second, even more startling, was to
wonder how she created such a feat.

 
    
The man who walked through walls.

 
    
The gold stolen from a sealed vault.

 
    
The wolf in the town.

 
    
Her fever, the rage of it that struck, so
swift. Her skin had literally burned his fingertips.

 
    
Rolling his thumb over the fading blister
on his right forefinger, Sam found himself at a complete loss.

 
    
Was this minx even human? Was she a demon,
risen from hell? Did the scriptures even cover such a being?

 
    
Passages from the good book passed through
his mind, vague and unformed, as the minx with her fiery hair cavorted in the
cold pond. Steam rose in lazy whisper around her, flames licked at the surface
of the water, seemingly burning the unburnable, yet he could not look away.

 
    
Her skin was rosy, filled with color and
life. Her smile, so full of abandon, loosened the stranglehold on his heart.
Sam took a step forward, edging closer to the water’s edge. With her thick
length of red hair plastered wetly to her shoulders and chest, she was a
vision, floating upon the water’s surface, surrounded in golden circlets of
flame that both caressed and carried her.

 
    
The steam drifted out, a haze of mystical
fog, softening the sun’s ruddy, golden haze as it peeked through the trees. Was
it even possible that such a being as she could exist? If she was so gifted,
how had she let herself be taken? Couldn’t she have turned those flames on him
that night? And any moment since?

 
    
The questions tumbled like a rockslide,
shuddering and bouncing against one another collapsing until only one thought
remained.

 
    
Had there ever been a woman so beautiful?

 
    
Woman.

 
    
Not creature.

 
    
He fell back against the sunning rocks,
placed carefully at the rim of the pond, so bathers could wash and dry their
clothes or themselves as they pleased. Sweat dotted his upper lip, the moist
air clinging to his face. He pushed the Stetson back off his forehead,
desperate to reconcile what he thought possible with what he saw before him.

 
    
It was in that moment that she rolled over,
her long, pink flushed arms striking for the shore until she stood, the water
wrapping around her waist like a skirt of liquid. Her hair clung to the skin of
her chest, wrapping her full breasts lovingly, allowing only the barest
glimpses of the voluptuous flesh.

 
    
Her replete expression chilled as the
fire-heated green gaze fell upon him. Fear exploded her bubble of exultation,
the chilling look pinching her cheeks and draining her face of its rosy color.

 
    
“What the hell was that?”

 
    
“What are you doing here?” Her outrage
flooded her pale face with color, her eyes sparkling in the mist like some
ancient goddess come to life in the midst of the Texas heat.

 
    
“I asked the question first.”

 
    
“You’re intruding.” Her arms folded over
her chest, concealing further the delicious curves her hair teased. “I left my
boots on the rock. For privacy.”

 
    
“Prisoners don’t have privacy.” Sam yanked
the Stetson off his head for wont of something to do. He ran his fingers
through his hair. Fire flickered around the edges of the water caressing her
belly. His gaze slid down her torso, watching the flames leap and twist, only
to duck once more beneath the water.

 
    
“I am not your father’s prisoner. I am his
guest. I was told I was welcome to take advantage of the pond when I was
feeling up for it.” The strain in her voice pulled his gaze upwards. Fear and
anger warred for dominance over her features.

 
    
He preferred the anger, the tempestuous way
her chin lifted, and the flush in her cheeks and the hardness that struck like
twin flints in her eyes.

 
    
“You’re my prisoner. I arrested you,
remember?”

 
    
“You left me here, remember?” There it was.
Her chin angled up, her back stiffening.

 
    
Sam fought the urge to smile.

 
    
“And yet, here I am. To check…on
my
prisoner.”

 
    
She growled. The flames around her exploded
in dazzling sparks that turned the water droplets on her arms and belly to a
rich golden, sheen. Fascinated, Sam grinned wider. His delight only served to
irritate her and the fire grew bolder, spreading out from her like a grass
fire, circling and hungry.

 
    
“Temper, temper minx. We’re awfully fond of
this pond.”

 
    
She forgot herself, her arms unfolding and
her hands clenching into two, adorable, fists.

 
    
The flames winked out as she slammed her
fists against the agitated water. It splashed upwards, parting some of her
hair, baring one rosy nipple. They were as strawberry colored as he remembered.

 
    
“What are you, minx?”

 
    
“Stop calling me that.”

 
    
Surprised. “Minx?”

 
    
“Yes. I have a name. And the least you
could do is turn your back.”

 
    
“Considering what I just saw, I don’t think
turning my back on you would be wise. Minx.”

 
    
To his utter delight, she growled again. He
forced himself to continue leaning against the rocks, his hands dropping to
rest loosely on his hips. In this manner, he had the high ground, the best
view. The ferocity of her emotions was like a wild, summer storm rolling across
the prairie.

 
    
The air shimmered through the steam rolling
off the surface off the water, wavering. He leaned forward, reaching out a hand
to find the air’s temperature in front of him was as warm as it would be if he
put his hands to a campfire.

 
    
“How are you doing that?”

 
    
“Doing what?”

 
    
She all but stomped her foot with the
question, but he ignored the tantrum. “Creating the fire from the water.”

 
    
Her fists uncurled, her own hands coming to
rest boldly on her hips as she strode forward three steps. He choked as the
water licked to below her belly button, the sharp curves of her hips clearly
visible. Another step and he would learn whether her nether curls were as red
as those atop her head.

 
    
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 
    
Sam snorted. But her fine, thinly formed
eyebrows rose, daring him.

 
    
“You know what you need,” he gave her a
gimlet stare.

 
    
“What?”

 
    
“A solid paddling on that sweet little ass
of yours.”

 
    
A geyser of flame jetted upwards.

 
    
“Beautiful.”

 
    
The rage winked away, leaving only more
steam to filter into the air. The hot, humid air soaked through his shirt.

 
    
“You’re insane.” Her irritation faltered,
stumbling over puzzlement, as though her face was incapable of disguising the
emotions swimming behind her eyes. Ever changeable, just like the sky before a
storm, boiling on moment, still and threatening the next.

 
    
“What are you, Minx?”

 
    
“My name is Scarlett.”

 
    
“That it is and it suits you, but so does
Minx.” He swiped at the sweat threatening his eyes and leaned forward. “But
what are you? How do you do this? I know you didn’t burn into the vault, so
there is more than just you, but you are obviously special.”

 
    
She fell back a step, the water sweeping up
to her belly button. Disappointed at the retreat, he considered aggravating her
again.

 
    
“Why aren’t you afraid?”

 
    
Sam paused. It was a fair question.

 
    
“Because you’re not going to hurt me.
You’ve had your opportunities and you didn’t. So either you have enormous
control or this is very new to you. Considering your fever of a few days ago
and your desperation to reach the water, I believe you have control.”

 
    
“You know for a rude, insufferable,
irritating and overbearing brute, you’re awfully confident.”

 
    
“You realize that most of those words mean
the same thing.”

 
    
The water exploded up in another geyser,
but this time it was only steam, not flames.

 
    
Sam laughed.

 
    
The geyser shot higher, raining water down
on both of them. He turned his face up, letting the warm rain sprinkle on his
face.

 
    
“And you’re delightful when you’re angry.”

 
    
The geyser sputtered out, leaving the
soaking Scarlett to gape at him. Her mouth formed a silent ‘o’. Her hands slid
off her hips, falling to her sides and exhaustion gnawed at the edges of her
expression.

 
    
“You’re tired. Come out of there before you
hurt yourself.”

 
    
“Turn around.”

 
    
“You forget, I’ve already seen it all.” Not
entirely the truth. But he found that he did want to see it all and there was
no denying the fascination anymore. Whatever manner of creature she might be,
he was thoroughly captivated.

 
    
Her cheeks pinkened, but the agitated water
continued to calm. “Turn around.”

 
    
“No.”

 
    
Her eyes closed, frustrated pique wrinkling
her forehead. “Please.”

 
    
“Scarlett. I’m not going to hurt you. Come
out of the water before I come in and get you.”

 
    
Tension beaded the muscles in her
shoulders, she twisted, and he could read the play of thoughts on her face. But
there was no escape. Even if she struck out for the other shore, he could
circle the pond faster.

 
    
Sam reached behind him, fetching the broad
bathing sheet she’d left next to her clothes on the rocks. “Come.”

 
    
He shook the sheet at her invitingly and
sighed as she sagged more into the water. The moist air-cooled. Whatever fire
she called was obviously abated. The cold pond finally exerting itself against
her.

 
    
“I’ll close my eyes.” He conceded, finding
that he was more interested in getting her safely to the shore than ogling.

 
    
She hesitated. “Promise?”

 
    
Sam sighed. He stretched the towel out in
front of him and closed his eyes. “Promise.”

 
    
He waited. At first, only silence met his
gesture. His lungs burned from holding his breath. The first ripple of the
water warned him she was moving and he exhaled in relief.

 
    
“Keep them closed.” The water splashed,
signaling her exit. A damp hand brushed his and then the towel was taken away.
He opened his eyes and found her standing in front of him, hair dark and
dripping where it lay on her shoulders, the towel wrapped around her torso and
fell to her knees.