Marshal of Hel Dorado (22 page)

 
    
The argument broke off when she opened her
eyes and Cody hadn’t pushed her away when she’d retched all over him. Tears
pricked her eyes, Cody had just held her closer and when she’d finished, he’d
carried her to the lake and helped her clean up.

 
    
She’d cried for three days.

 
    
Refused to go back to the house.

 
    
Refused to eat.

 
    
Refused to sleep.

 
    
Cody never left her. When she got cold,
he’d changed and curled up next to her.

 
    
Growling at the others to keep them at bay.

 
    
Until Quanto came for them both.

 
    
They never talked about that day. The skin
of his shoulder and upper left arm were melted. The scars of the burn licked up
the column of his throat and dipped down to his wrist.

 
    
Every time she saw it, she remembered what
she’d done.

 
    
“I don’t reckon a mistake at seven is
something you can be held accountable for now.”

 
    
The Marshal’s calm words soothed the ache
in her soul. “My father always said the hardest lessons are the mistakes we
make. The best lessons are what we learn from those mistakes.”

 
    
“And still you’re not afraid?” What was
wrong with the man? Shouldn’t he be running?

 
    
Pointing his gun at her? Instead, he
stretched his legs out, folded his hands together on his belly and gave her a
heart-tugging grin.

 
    
“You’re not going to hurt me, Minx. You
were plenty pissed at the pond and if the look you gave me after the paddling
was any indication, you were plenty mad then. But you’re not lighting me up, so
I don’t think you’re going to. Not on purpose. So being afraid of it would be
like being afraid that the horse is going to kick me.”

 
    
“Except a horse kicking you won’t kill
you.”

 
    
Sam shrugged. “Depends on where it kicks
you, minx.”

 
    
He had a point.

 
    
She threw a glance at the rain outside and
sighed. Sheets of rain continued to drench the landscape.

 
    
“Tell me about your brothers.”

 
    
“Um…no.” No matter how complacent and kind
he seemed, he was still the Marshal.

 
    
Sam sighed. “Scarlett, they returned the
gold.”

 
    
“I know.” She bit her lip, wincing. The
weight of his stare was a tangible thing.

 
    
“And how do you know?”

 
    
“I can’t tell you.”

 
    
He huffed out a breath and put a hand on
her knee. “Scarlett…”

 
    
“I can’t.” She jerked away, slapping his
hand and scrambling off the bedroll. Her bottom protested the sudden movement,
but she ignored it for the ache blossoming in her midsection.

 
    
Her stomach cramped. “Don’t you understand?
Haven’t you been listening to what I’ve already said?”

 
    
“You’re afraid. And I’m sorry I’ve
contributed to that fear. But you’re also all in trouble.

 
    
Because that was your brothers in that
gang. You’ve been robbing banks, stealing gold and sooner or later the army is
going to come after you. I can’t unsend the word to the judge, but I can put a
word in for you and you’ve already got my father on your side. So help me, help
you.”

 
    
Oh, she wanted to believe him. She wanted
to be able to shrug off the burden and know that her family would be safe. She
paced deeper into the cave and spun around when Sam touched her shoulder. She
hadn’t even heard him move. He was just there, in front of her and she had to
tilt her head back to look up at him.

 
    
“Scarlett, trust me.” A slender frown
gathered his eyebrows together, his gaze intense.

 
    
Even backlit by the gray half-light
spilling in the cave entrance, she could read the intensity in his eyes. He
brushed the back of one hand down the side of her cheek.

 
    
“Sam, these aren’t just my secrets to
tell.” She tried to ignore the flash of surprise mingling with pleasure when
she used his name.

 
    
“I understand loving brothers and wanting
to protect them. But what they’re doing is wrong and it could get you killed.”
He hovered closer, blotting out the light behind him until she could see was
his face. She dropped her gaze, focusing on his collar and the skin revealed
where the button had come undone. She could imagine the thrum of his pulse.

 
    
“But they returned the gold. Buck told me.”

 
    
Sam’s throat bobbed with a swallow, his
mouth firming into a thin line. “They gave it back to Kid. After Kid warned
them that you were going to hang. He told them our family would likely
intercede, particularly if the gold was returned. No stolen gold, no crime. But
Dorado’s bank wasn’t the only bank they robbed.”

 
    
Scarlett looked away, her gaze skating over
the cave walls and then back to Sam. There was nowhere to go. Her muscles
tensed with the need to run. Sam stroked his hand along her cheek again, the
action tugging her gaze back to his.

 
    
“Don’t be afraid,” his voice lowered, a
husky whisper against the rhythmic spill of rain and cheery crackle of fire.

 
    
“Stop touching me.” The plea tumbled out.
“Please.”

 
    
His hand fell away, relief edged with
disappointment eased the tension in her neck. Her body was reacting like a
traitor, seemingly craving both his touch and his retreat. It was confusing.

 
    
“Are you still not the Marshal?” She backed
up a pace, needing to see his face, to see the truth of it in his eyes.

 
    
Sam placed a hand over his breast pocket.
He tugged out the tin, five pointed star and handed it to her. The metal was
warm from its nearness to his skin. She ran her thumb around the circle,
tracing the points. She bit down on her lip, needing a little pain for clarity.

 
    
“Right now, I’m just Sam.” He said into the
silence. The sincerity of his words was reflected in the cool calm of his dark
eyes.

 
    
“What I tell you, will you give me your
word you won’t tell anyone else?”
What
was the
worth of a man’s word? Could
he not make promises that he would later break? Wasn’t he the
Marshal whether he wore the star or not?
 
An impatient little voice nagged her, but she
pushed it aside. Her brothers rarely gave their word because Quanto urged them
to give value to it, that the giving of it was a binding contract, a promise
not only to the person it was given to, but also to oneself. Breaking that
promise was as injurious to oneself as it was to whom it was given.

 
    
A man’s word had to be trusted.

 
    
“I give you my word, Scarlett. I gave it to
you at the pond and I give it to you now. I will tell no one what you tell me.
Help me understand, so I can help you.”

 
    
She closed her hand over the star, soaking
the heat from the metal into the flesh of her palm. Her heart struck a painful
four-step cadence against her ribs, a rush of blood filling her ears. She
wanted to trust him.

 
    
Despite every damn thing that had happened
since she left the mountains for her adventure, she’d had the most fun on the
Flying K. She’d been indulged, treated well and even Sam with his wary eyes and
warning stares had been kind to her. She wanted to trust him.

 
    
Pressing her palms together, she cradled
the star in her hands and lifted the steeple of her fingers to rest against her
lips. She studied him from beneath her lashes, surprised and pleased that he
allowed her wrestle with doubt, not seeking to intrude.

 
    
He waited.

 
    
Patiently.

 
    
Circling him, she tested his resolve and
her own. Pacing past the fire to look out at the rain, the sheets of water were
lighter, but no less intense. The creek bed below was a raging foam of current
rushing south.

 
    
“My name is Scarlett Morning Star,” she
answered him finally. “I was raised by Quanto Dream Walker and Maker of Peace.”
She squeezed her hands together around the star, praying that she was making
the right choices. “I can call fire.”

 
    
Sam moved up beside her, saying nothing. He
leaned against the cave entrance, opposite her. She glanced at him. His gaze
was quiet, watchful and waiting.
Could she
really trust him?

 
    
 
Dare she?
 

 
    
“I have seven brothers.”

 
    
S
am
looped his fingers against the gun belt, forcing himself to stay still. His
minx was so skittish that he worried any sudden movements would swallow the
confession trembling on her lips. Her shoulders were stiff and hunched, her
hands pressing against her lips as though to stem the tide of words that
trickled out.

 
    
“I have seven brothers.”

 
    
The words jolted him. Six of those brothers
were likely with her in town. Brothers would come back for her. She’d warned
him that she had to go. She’d told Micah it was to protect them.

 
    
Was it to protect the Flying K from her
gift or from her brothers?

 
    
“Quanto raised us. Taught us how to read,
how to survive and how to control our gifts.”

 
    
Her gaze was steady on the rain outside, as
though speaking to it instead of him. The trembling in her lips drifted over
the rest of her. Her fingers shook where they pressed against her mouth, her
shoulders quaked and even her heels tapped with a bobbing force.

 
    
Quanto was an Indian name. Scarlett’s pale
skin and rich red tresses belied any Indian blood. Despite the Morning Star
appellation, her first name suggested a white man’s too. Had her mother been a
kidnap bride? If she had those same flaming red tresses, he could believe it.
Most of the Indians, full and half-bloods, he’d ever met were fascinated by red
hair and Scarlett’s was particularly rich, turning even the gray light of the
stormy day into molten amber.

 
    
“We live in the mountains to the west,
beyond the contested lands where Mexico and the Federals leave us be. But with
the war over, settlers are pushing west and…” She hesitated, but Sam didn’t
need her to paint the picture.

 
    
“The Union Army wants U.S. settlers to take
the mountains and they are planning a Fort.

 
    
They’re pushing the Indians past the
mountains into the painted desert.”

 
    
Scarlett turned those soulful green eyes on
him and nodded solemnly. “The auctions begin next spring. Their surveyors are
crawling all over our mountain.”

 
    
“And you need the gold to buy the land.”

 
    
Sam sighed. Their home was being
threatened. Their safety. Of course they were searching for solutions. “How
much gold have they taken so far?”

 
    
“I don’t know. Really, I don’t. I don’t think
Quanto knew what they were doing at first and I don’t even know whose idea it
was. But he was concerned, we found the surveyors close to our home several
times. We have a cabin, nestled amongst the pine, with a clear view of the
Crystal Lake. The tribe, they come and go, migrating as they need to, many left
the mountains during the war with Mexico, but they mostly lived in the caves.
We hunt only what we need and we maintain the balance. It’s safe for us there.
We are miles from the western settlements and we like it that way. But if the
ranchers take the mountain in the spring, we were told the Army will push us
out.”