The Marshal's Rebellious Bride: (A Sweet Western Historical Romance) (The Dalton Brides Book 9)

by Cassie Hayes

  The Marshal snorted and turned his fiery gaze on Hank. “See? Hank, talk some sense into this bullheaded woman.”

  Hank scratched the back of his neck as he looked between them. “He’s right, Catherine. The fella who brings in the bad guy gets the reward.”

  “Then I’ll go with him! He probably couldn’t find the man if I drew him a map, anyway.”

  Even in the dim light, the flush of red in the Marshal’s face was as clear as if it had been high noon.

  “That’s ridiculous! Take a woman along on a raid? Stop talking foolishness and tell me where Owings is.”

  “I’m afraid he’s right, Catherine. That’s no place for you.”

  “Why not? I can handle myself.” Panic fluttered in her chest that she was going to miss out on the reward and her chance to finally be on her own. Then more panic settled in that he might let her ride along. What was she thinking?

  “That’s true, dear,” Maggie said, wrapping her arm around Catherine’s shoulders, presenting a united front to the men. “Catherine saved my life back…then.”

  Neither of the women liked to talk about their kidnapping. The terror was still too fresh. In fact, only a few trusted friends in the area knew the truth, and they’d keep the secret till they died.

  “That’s true, I suppose…” Hank said, drifting off into thought.

  “What are you three on about? I can’t be responsible for her safety when I’m hunting down a killer. She’d hold me back.”

  “Nonsense,” Catherine snapped. “Bonnie’s been teaching me how to shoot a rifle and I’ve become quite good, if I do say so myself.”

  Irritation flashed in the Marshal’s eyes. “I’m not taking you with me, and that’s final,” he growled.

  “Then I’m not telling you what I know!” Catherine huffed, crossing her arms and scowling right back at him.

  After a tense moment of silence, Maggie stepped forward. “It seems as if we’re at an impasse. Marshal…I mean, Griff. You’ve been having a devil of a time finding this man. Catherine says she knows where he is. It seems as if that’s worth something.”

  “I offered her a $50 finders fee,” he objected, his tawny eyes narrowing into a glare. “Guess she’s too good for such a paltry amount.”

  Paltry? Catherine had never had that much money at one time in her life. She opened her mouth to tell him so when Maggie spoke first.

  “Hmm, while that might seem generous to you, look at it from her perspective. You’ve been tracking this man for months without so much as a glimpse of his trail. She has firsthand knowledge of where you can find him. Yet, all you’re offering her is one percent of the full reward. Now, does that seem fair to you, Griff?”

  The muscle in his jaw worked overtime as he chewed on Maggie’s observation. “Perhaps it’s skewed a bit,” he finally admitted, a pained expression on his face.

  “Don’t you think splitting the reward down the middle would be more fair? Your search will be over within a day. That has to sound good to you.”

  Every muscle in Catherine’s body tensed. Hope had filled her heart at Maggie’s suggestion — half the reward would be more than enough to allow her to break out on her own — but Griff’s glowering expression quashed it. As much as she loved all the ranch’s residents, she felt out of place. Now he was going to say no and she’d be stuck there forever.

  “I could arrest her right now for withholding information,” he threatened.

  “Ah, but then you’d have to take her to the judge instead of the man worth so much money.” Goodness, Maggie was smart.

  They stared each other down for a moment, his face contorting into all sorts of expressions, none of which were becoming a gentleman — but he was no gentleman.

  “Fine!” he said with an explosion of breath. “Fine. I’ll split it with her. But she stays here.”

  “No!” Catherine nearly shouted.

  Everyone turned surprised looks at her. Even she was surprised.

  “I don’t trust that he’ll send me my half. His only collateral would be his horse, which isn’t worth near that amount, plus he’ll need her. No, I’m afraid I’ll simply have to go along to make sure I get my fair share.”

  “Now she’s calling me a thief!” Marshal Griffith threw up his hands and spun away from them, stalking away for a few steps before returning. He refused to meet her eyes, sending a strange pang to her heart.

  “Catherine,” Maggie urged gently. “It wouldn’t be proper for you to travel with a man for days on end with no chaperone.”

  “Days? Tully Owings isn’t days away. Only a couple hours. It’s perfectly acceptable for a lady to be escorted by a lawman. If we left at first light, we could be on the train to Dallas by early afternoon.”

  The Marshal’s jaw dropped. “Hours? He’s here?!”

  His tone was shocked, yet eager. Any anger he harbored for her had dissipated with the news that his prey was so close. She had him.

  “Close, anyway. All you need to do is say yes. I promise I won’t get in your way. You’ll hardly know I’m there.”

  But you’ll know all too well that he’s there, as you always do.

  His gaze bore into her until it took all her strength not to look away or fidget. But she wasn’t about to back down. Holding her unblinking gaze firm, she allowed her lips to lift in a triumphant smirk, even though all she really felt was terrified.

  The Marshal blinked first.

  “Yes.”

  4

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Catherine? I’m sure the Marshal will be true to his word and send you your portion of the reward.”

  Worry came off Mary in waves as she stood near the door of the cabin they shared with her parents. Wringing hands, furrowed brow, quavering whisper. Catherine hated that she was causing sweet Mary so much discomfort but she wasn’t about to trust any man to keep that particular promise.

  “I’ll be fine, Mary. I don’t plan to get anywhere near the outlaw. I promised Marshal Griffith I wouldn’t interfere with his capture.”

  That didn’t seem to ease Mary’s anxiety so Catherine pulled her into a fierce hug. “I’ll send word as soon as we get to the train station so you’ll know I’m safe, okay?”

  Mary nodded into her shoulder but remained silent. The poor dear had suffered so much, so much more than she and Maggie had. Giving her a squeeze, Catherine let her friend go, picked up her bag and headed out to the barn.

  It was still early, with barely enough daylight to see well, but the ranch was as busy as ever. Hands bustled about in the barn, feeding animals and getting equipment ready for another long day’s work. The Dalton triplets and the Blue brothers oversaw most of the activity, while their wives hurried to catch up with Catherine.

  “Do be careful,” Bonnie said, giving her a brief hug.

  The others followed suit, then escorted her to where Marshal Griffith was saddling his unusual and beautiful horse. She never failed to notice Gladys when the Marshal visited the ranch. She resembled a dark brown Arabian on the front half, but it looked as if a pot of white paint had been poured on her hindquarters. Dark brown spots dappled the white for a mesmerizing effect.

  “Good morning,” Catherine said with too much cheer. She knew it would needle him.

  He glanced down at her bag and choked. “I told you to pack light. Looks like you’re bringing everything you own!”

  The others glanced at each other, no doubt worried what her reaction might be. They needn’t have been concerned. The Marshal needed her so she had the upper hand. Instead of turning churlish, she simply smiled as sweetly as she could.

  “Everything in here is a necessity and I won’t leave any of it behind.”

  “Oh no, not that ridiculous parasol,” he said, pointing to the handle sticking out of her satchel. “There’s no place on a manhunt for a parasol!”

  “There is on this one,” she laughed as she looked around. “Where’s my horse?”

  Once again, the other women exchanged pointe
d looks.

  “Oh, you have a horse, do you?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Better go get it saddled up.”

  Anger flared inside her at his words but she maintained her composure. “No, I just thought…”

  “You just thought you’d borrow one of the Dalton’s hard-working mounts, without a thought for how that might affect them. That’s what you thought.”

  Embarrassment replaced anger. It nearly killed her to do it, but she had to admit he was right.

  “Oh,” she finally managed. “Then how…”

  “You’re gonna walk, that’s how. And you’re going to carry that overloaded satchel the whole way.”

  The anger returned. “I’ll walk Marshal Griffith, but either you strap this bag to Gladys or you ride alone.”

  The stared each other down until he muttered something under his breath — a curse, no doubt — and did as she bid. They said their final goodbyes and headed off the ranch. It should have been a relatively easy three-hour walk across the prairie, but almost as soon as they lost sight of the main house, it began.

  “How are your feet doing, Miss James?” It wasn’t hard to pick up on his snideness.

  “Just fine, Marshal Griffith,” she replied, spinning the parasol that was protecting her from the ravages of the Texas sun. “I’d wager that I’ve walked more miles than you’ve ridden.”

  His chuckle said he didn’t believe her. He thought she was a delicate flower or something. Well, she’d show him.

  Stalking off in the direction she knew Tully Owings to be hiding out, she left him to catch up. Not hard when he was on a horse, but it still caught him unawares.

  “Where are we going, anyway?” he asked when he caught up.

  She knew better than to tell him exactly where Owings was holed up, but she could parse out bits of information.

  “Up past Wiggieville.”

  “You’re going the wrong way then.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You are. We have to go around the Leon River to go north.”

  She rolled her eyes, which he couldn’t see, of course. “My way is faster,” she replied, speeding up even more.

  “Confound it, woman! Quite arguing with me!”

  “Quit bossing me around! I know exactly where I’m going, Marshal.”

  She’d been so focused on proving herself, on showing this arrogant man that she was more than whatever he believed her to be, that she didn’t notice the prairie dog hole until her foot stepped into nothingness and she crumpled to the ground.

  “Ouch!” she cried, clutching her burning ankle.

  He was by her side in an instant, holding her foot and unlacing her shoe. Gently pulling it free, he moved her foot around to test the injury. Concern filled his eyes when he met her gaze.

  “Does that hurt?”

  A fullness filled her chest to almost bursting. He looked so worried. About her. The backs of her eyelids prickled with unshed tears — from the pain — but she sniffed them away.

  “Not too much. I only twisted it. It was my own carelessness. I’ll be fine.”

  “Nonsense, we should take you back.”

  There it was. He wasn’t concerned for her well being, he only wanted to be rid of her. She should have known.

  “I’m fine, Marshal,” she said, snatching her shoe from his hands and stuffing her foot back into it. The ankle was slightly puffy but it really wasn’t that bad. She’d just have to be more careful.

  “You know, everyone else calls me Griff,” he said, helping her to stand.

  She was keenly aware of now nice his hand felt clasping hers. Part of her wanted to rebel and continue calling him ‘Marshal’ but he was offering an olive branch. And they had quite an adventure ahead of them.

  “I’m sorry but I can’t.”

  He blinked rapidly, and if she wasn’t mistaken, disappointment flashed in his eyes. She hurried to clarify.

  “What’s your Christian name again?”

  “Curtis. Curtis Griffith.”

  “Then I shall call you Curtis and you may call me Catherine.”

  The slow smile that lit his features nearly caused her to fall to the ground again. If he weren’t so gruff and hard, she would have sworn she was swooning for the man. She couldn’t resist returning the smile.

  “Well, Catherine, I think you’re done walking for the day. I’ll take it from here.”

  The softness of Catherine’s palm stayed with Griff long after he’d helped her onto Gladys. The mercenary part of him itched to take her back to the ranch but something else, something deeper, urged him to carry on. He might regret listening to it but he was powerless not to.

  He kept tight hold of Gladys’s reins. She was about the best-natured horse he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing, but he didn’t want to take any more chances since it was clear Catherine had almost no experience on horses. Odd for a woman of privilege to not learn to ride in her youth.

  In fact, everything about Catherine was shrouded in mystery. She never spoke of her past, not even how she came to be living with the Dalton family. He’d hinted around with Bart but the man was more secretive than a Pinkerton agent.

  They walked along in silence, even though he had so many questions for her, like what drove a lady to join a manhunt that would have most women fainting at the very thought. His motivations in hunting down Owings was straightforward, but hers…he rather hoped it wasn’t simple greed.

  If he wanted to discover her secrets, to find out what made her tick, he’d have to leave gruff ‘Marshal Griffith’ behind. Maybe ‘Curtis’ was just the fellow to gently draw information from her. After all, he’d been trained for it.

  “We’ve got a couple hours ahead of us. Might as well get to know each other a little better, don’t you think?”

  His stomach flipped upside down when she smiled down at him from under that damnable parasol. “That would be nice.”

  So far so good.

  “I take it you’re from Massachusetts, too?” The entire Blue family, along with the Dalton wives, all hailed from the same town back east.

  “Yes, Beckham, actually. You?”

  He hadn’t counted on her asking him questions, but quid pro quo was the name of the game.

  “Originally from Colorado. Now I’m based out of Dallas, but only because the federal judge there likes me and gives me lots of assignments. Do you like Texas? I imagine it must be a big change for someone like you.”

  Irritation flashed in those emerald eyes. Why?

  “Someone like me?”

  “You know, a lady.”

  She sighed deeply. He couldn’t tell if it was from frustration or sorrow. “Curtis, I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I’m not a lady.”

  He rather liked the way ‘Curtis’ rolled off her lips. No one had called him that since the day he walked out of that church alone.

  “Coulda fooled me.”

  There was that smile again. He would happily walk along side her for days if she kept smiling at him like that. Unfortunately, she had a tendency to scowl at him instead.

  “Appearances can be misleading, Curtis. You’d think a Marshal would know that.”

  He had to glance up at her to make sure she was only teasing, and the smirk on her pretty lips confirmed it. He grinned back. As much as he tried to resist, he liked her. She had sass, and he’d always been attracted to that.

  But just because he liked her didn’t mean he liked her. Or that he should like her in that way. He wasn’t about to put his heart and soul through another beating like the one Rebecca gave him. She was why he took this infernal job in the first place. At least it allowed him to bring bad men to justice. That was the important thing.

  “So if you’re not a lady, what are you?” A risky question, to be sure. Catherine had never been forthcoming with her past and to ask her outright could turn her sweet mood sour.

  “I’m an orphan,” she replied in a flat, emotionless tone.

  That she answered honestly
would have been enough of a surprise to make him stumble, but the truth of it nearly knocked him over. An orphan’s life wasn’t one of luxury and privilege. Hardship and hunger was more like it.

  Griff had visited a few orphanages when needed during the course of his job, and the children — even the older ones nearing the end of their residence — fit the image of Charles Dickens’ ragamuffins perfectly. Not Catherine. She definitely looked more ‘lady’ than ‘orphan’.

  “Oh.” It wasn’t like him to be rendered speechless.

  “I was left at the worst orphanage in Beckham when I was a baby. Mary and Maggie were lucky. They came when they were older, after their parents died.”

  “Lucky? How is that lucky?”

  She looked down at him, a shadow flitting across those dazzling eyes. For the first time, it dawned on him that Catherine had known pain. Real pain, not some trifling lovesick heartache.

  “They knew the love of their parents. And they had each other. I had no one.”

  “You had them, didn’t you? You’re all obviously very close.”

  Her smile looked anything but amused. “Now. But that only came after…”

  Griff glanced up to see why she stopped talking. Concern filled him at the shadow that had fallen on her beautiful features. Gone was the haughty flibbertigibbet. It looked as if the weight of the world had pressed down on her over the course of a few words.

  “After?” he gently prodded, keeping his voice neutral and soft. It was a trick he’d learned in school. Never had much chance to use it as a Marshal.

  Silence lay thick between them. He was tempted to speak but she’d never answer if he did. The next words had to be hers or he’d never learn more about her past.

  “After the kidnapping.”

  He barely heard her words, she spoke so quietly, but their gravity rang in his ears like church bells. This time he really did stumble.

  “Kidnapping?!”

  Her silence answered his disbelief. She sat high in the saddle, her back ramrod straight, not giving away anything she didn’t have to. Not surprising, given her history. A strange sense of pride filled Griff. And horror. Horror that she’d seen so many horrors of her own in her young life, and pride that she had overcome them.