Marshal of Hel Dorado (7 page)

 
    
“I—” Scarlett’s agreement cut off when Sam
reached over and thumped his brother in the back of the head, sending his
Stetson flying and nearly knocking the younger man off the saddle.

 
    
The mare he was riding paused as Micah
scrambled for safe purchase on the sleek, brown back.

 
    
In the same motion, Sam nudged Corona up
into that ground-eating trot and that jarred her bones, leaving Micah to his
fate.

 
    
“That wasn’t very nice.” She admonished the
Marshal. Not that she was too worried about it. Her brothers did a lot worse to
each other, but her insides panged with regret that she was the source of Sam’s
irritation with Micah.

 
    
“Huh.” Sam grunted. “Micah’s got a nose for
trouble and a talent for landing square in the middle of it. You steer clear of
him.”

 
    
“And if I don’t want to?” Why did the men
in her life always insist on telling her what to do? The churlish, childish
thought was followed by a far more pragmatic:
because you’re tied to
a
saddle and facing a hangman’s noose for not listening.
 

 
    
The ring of truth in the latter thought
increased the sting of the former. By the time they followed the sprawl of
gardens, tree groves and cabin clusters, they found a new trail, bearing fresh
ruts that ran straight up to the largest house Scarlett had ever seen.

 
    
Her arguments died a swift death on her
tongue as she gaped at it. It was at least three stories high with white
columns and a sweeping veranda. It was bright white against the green backdrop.
Trees lined the path leading up to the circular drive around a center of grass,
flowers and stone benches.

 
    
“Welcome to Molly’s,” Sam whispered the
words against her ear. Excitement dimpled her cheeks.

 
    
“It’s beautiful.”

 
    
“That it is.”

 
    
“But it’s so big.”

 
    
“Our mother was from Virginia,” Micah explained
having caught them up. His expression promised his brother retribution, but
Scarlett was grateful they didn’t start that tussle with her right there in the
middle. “Our Pa met her on a horse trading visit. Sparked her. Courted her and
then brought her west after he married her.”

 
    
“He built this house for her.” A soft spot
grew between her ribs. What a terrifically romantic and thoughtful gesture.

 
    
“Yes.” Even Sam’s gruffness was tempered by
affection. “He didn’t want her to miss her home, so he sent word ahead with
some riders. They had the frame up and the first floor done by the time he
brought her home. The second floor was finished by the time I was born.”

 
    
“And the third just in time for my birth,”
Micah flashed that easy grin again. The morning sun dappled the ground under
the shade trees, giving it an almost mystical quality. Scarlett’s gaze traveled
from the house to the trees to the buoyant spray of color that made up the
flowers around the stone benches in the center of the circular drive.

 
    
Between two trees she glimpsed a white
tombstone. It sat right at the edge of the stream that paralleled the main
path, just below a giant weeping willow whose dipping branches touched the top
of the water, like fingers, gently stirring the stream up.

 
    
She knew without asking that was where Miss
Molly was buried, nestled safe under the shade of a tree, at the edge of a
stream with a grand view of the home built for her and the rich landscape that
rolled out around it.

 
    
A knot tightened her throat and Scarlett
sighed. Their father must have really loved their mother, because Scarlett had
never before seen anything so grand, elegant and beautiful. They rode out from
beneath the trees and circled the green garden, careful never to put horse hoof
to the rich, virgin grass. A wide pair of double doors opened before the horses
even came to a stop.

 
    
Scarlett sucked in a breath at the man who
stepped out to greet them. He was Sam in twenty or thirty years. Tall,
broad-shouldered and square jawed. His face, leathery from years in the sun,
was clean-shaven and his hair was close cropped silver and white. His shirt was
expensive cotton, off white and tucked loosely into a pair of well-worn denim
britches. Ancient boots showed their polished age on his feet. He strode out
across the veranda, descending the three steps to the drive without pause.

 
    
Sam drew Corona to a stop with Micah
lagging behind a pace or two.

 
    
“Pa.”

 
    
“Samuel.” The man’s voice boomed, low and
earthy, like thunder rumbling across the prairie. But it wasn’t Sam he was
looking at and Scarlett felt herself shrinking under his regard.

 
    
The man didn’t slow until he arrived at
their side. He pulled a knife from his belt and reached for the rope at her
wrists. Flame threatened to engulf her fingertips as the steel flashed so
closely to them, but the ropes just fell away at the touch of the knife, blood
rushing painfully back into her numb hands.

 
    
“Pa, she’s a prisoner.”

 
    
“She’s a lady and I brought my sons up
better than to be tying women to horses and dragging them out half the night on
a ride. You set her down here this instant.”

 
    
Behind them Micah snickered, which only
earned him a baleful look from the older man.

 
    
“I don’t pay you for gaping at our guests,
Micah. Get to work.”

 
    
“Yes, sir.” There was a tinge of a salute
in those words and Micah nudged his mare to circle around them, catching
Scarlett’s gaze as he went. “I’ll see you at lunch, Miss Scarlett.”

 
    
Scarlett wasn’t sure whether to smile and
answer, so she just rubbed t her wrists, grateful to be free. Sam was shifting
behind her and nudging her thigh to lift it. It took a little effort and help
on his part to slide her leg over the pommel and then she was falling, but his
father was there to steady her as her numb legs screamed in protest at the
change in position.

 
    
“Pa, before you go setting her up in a
guest room…” But Sam never got to finish the sentence, the older man was
already picking Scarlett up and while she was grateful for the assistance, she
was dwarfed by his booming presence.

 
    
“Tend your horse. Then get yourself back up
here lickety split. I’ll take care of our guest.”

 
    
Scarlett caught a glimpse of Sam’s
thunderstruck expression as his father carted her into the house. She didn’t
know whether to laugh or cry. But instead of following them, Sam turned the
mare towards the barn, following after his brother with a shake of his head.

 
    
Then she lost sight of him altogether as
his father carried her into the house. The inside was just as grand as the
outside. “Lena!” He boomed, his boots thumping against the polished wooden
floor.

 
    
A cocoa skinned woman appeared at the end
of the hall drying her hands on a towel. Her hair was wrapped up in a white
scarf and a cheerful yellow apron protected her deep blue gingham dress from
whatever she’d been doing.

 
    
“Oh my.” The woman was older than she
appeared. Younger than Sam’s father, but older than Sam. She had kind eyes and
a warm smile. She took in Scarlett’s disheveled appearance with quick
appraisal. “Which one of your boys is in trouble now?”

 
    
“Samuel.” His father all but growled and
Scarlett winced. She felt bad for the Marshal.

 
    
“Sir?” She said the word carefully, not
sure of her precarious position since he was carrying her and she was
technically a prisoner.

 
    
“Yes, ma’am?” Cool blue eyes met hers
easily, and she had the distinct impression that he didn’t miss anything when
he set his gaze to it.

 
    
“In his defense, I did rob the bank.” It
wasn’t a flattering to her, but she didn’t want to get Sam in any more trouble
than he was in.

 
    
“Did you now?” His father set her down
slowly, keeping one hand on her arm to steady her. Lena drew abreast of them
and gave her an encouraging smile.

 
    
“I’m afraid so.” Shame stung her cheeks and
she found it hard to meet Mr. Kane’s gaze.

 
    
Her shirt had come untucked, her legs were
weak and threatening to buckle and she didn’t want to even imagine the tangled
mess her hair had become during the ride.

 
    
“Well, we’ll sort it out. In the meanwhile,
you let Lena take care of you. Welcome to the Flying K, Miss…”

 
    
“Scarlett.”

 
    
“Miss Scarlett it is then. You go with Lena
now. She can help you draw a bath and find you some food and a change of
clothes.” He turned his gaze to the other woman. “If you don’t mind, Miss Lena.
I know you were baking this morning and you don’t like to have your baking
interrupted.”

 
    
“I don’t mind at all. Most of the pies are
ready for the oven as it is, so I’ll just get our guest settled and finish
that.”

 
    
“Thank you. I think the blue room for her.”
The man’s humbleness was at odds with his great voice and spectacular size, but
Lena gave him an affectionate look before capturing Scarlett’s hand and tucking
it into her arm.

 
    
“As you wish. Go deal with your boys,
you’ll be a sore bear until you do.”

 
    
“Right then.” And with that, he abandoned
Scarlett to the older woman with a polite nod.

 
    
Scarlett stared after him and then looked
at Lena, bewildered.

 
    
“Mister Kane has firm ideas on how one
treats a lady, all ladies. Now let’s get you settled. You smell like a horse
and not a particularly nice one and you can tell me all about robbing a bank.
Was it exciting?”

 
    
S
am
stripped the buckles, pulling the heavy weight of the saddle off Corona’s back.
The mare’s tail flicked from side to side, slapping away the occasional fly
buzzing around her sweaty flanks. Her back was a striped mass of foamy,
sweat-dampened hair. He stroked a hand over her neck, rubbing gently before
dropping the saddle on a wooden stand and hanging the blanket up to dry.

 
    
The halter, reins and bit came next. He
hung them on a peg next to Corona’s stall. He wasn’t surprised that Corona’s
stall was layered with fresh, clean and dry straw. His father kept every horse
stall ready for an occupant and it didn’t matter that Sam moved to town, kept a
house there, or paid for a stall at the livery, like Sam, his mare always had a
home on the Flying K.

 
    
He used dry clothes to start rubbing the
mare down, strokes even and firm to alleviate the muscle stress and dry the
sweat. He knew his father entered the barn long before he arrived at the stall.
He tossed a glance over his shoulder to see his father standing next to the
saddle.

 
    
“Pa.”

 
    
“Samuel.” His father checked the buckles on
the saddle, his fingers stroking a rip around the metal loops Sam used for
running rope if he needed too. “This saddle is in piss-poor shape, boy. You’ll
oil and tend it before you head up to the house.”

 
    
“Pa,” Sam sighed, pausing in Corona’s rub
down to look at his father. The man’s expression challenged him to speak up. “I
will take care of the saddle, but you need to make sure that Scarlett is locked
up. At least until I get up there.”

 
    
“I’ll do no such thing.” Jebediah Kane
folded his arms across his chest, disapproval turning the corners of his mouth
down. “You know better than to treat a lady as you have. Lena will see to her,
find her some clean clothes to wear and we’ll sit down and discuss it this
evening when Jason arrives.”