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

by Cassie Hayes

  The statement sounded satisfied, but something in his voice gave her pause.

  “But you’d rather be a lawyer, wouldn’t you?”

  He shrugged. “It’s too late now so why cry over spilled milk?”

  “Why is it too late?”

  “Whoever heard of a grown man switching careers mid-stream? Besides, apprenticeships are for young men, not old men like me.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “Old? You’re not old! And who cares what people might think. If you want to be a lawyer, you should at least try. I know if I had a chance to better my life, I would stop at nothing to take it.”

  This time his soft smile curled her toes. “Don’t I know it.”

  A blush warmed her cheeks and she thanked God above that the darkness hid it. How strange. Here she thought Curtis enjoyed vagabonding around the countryside, hunting down devils in human form. But a few years ago, he was ready to settle down with the woman he loved.

  A pang of hatred for the woman — Rebecca — shot through Catherine. How could she hurt a man like that? How could she hurt this man like that? He was noble and smart and generous…he was what every woman wanted in a husband. What woman wouldn’t thank her lucky stars to snare such a man as him? But this Rebecca person didn’t appreciate him or his passion for the law.

  Catherine’s stomach soured as she thought on Curtis’s betrothed. Then it dawned on her. She was jealous! She envied the woman Curtis had once loved. As much as she tried to tell herself that couldn’t possibly be true, she knew in her heart it was.

  Standing to hide her embarrassment, Catherine gathered up the towels and scraps from their meal. She needed space, some air to breath, away from him. Her brain turned to mush around him.

  The creek burbled at her feet merrily as she rinsed their cups and the one plate they’d shared. The memory of his knuckles brushing against hers when they both reached for the last piece of bacon set her heart to racing again. The way the silence stretched between made her wonder if he might be having similar thoughts.

  Stop it! Think of something else!

  “Perhaps once you capture Tully Owings, you can quit the Marshal Service and follow your passion,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Perhaps,” he mused, almost as if that one word held all the potential in the world.

  As Catherine turned to stow everything in Gladys’s saddlebag, movement behind a tree caught her eye. Before she could even take a breath to shout, a strong arm wrapped around her waist and a calloused hand closed over her mouth. The acrid taste of dirt reached her tongue, but that wasn’t half as bad as the smell that hit her nostrils.

  “Or maybe not,” said the voice from a second man. He stepped around a tree, a pistol aimed at Curtis, who leapt to his feet immediately. “‘Fraid our boss wouldn’t much like that.”

  Curtis remained calm and cool, watching every move the men made.

  “Who’s your boss?”

  The men laughed in that snide, sneering way evil men had. She knew it all too well.

  “Tully Owings, o’course.”

  8

  Not again!

  How many times could a woman be snatched by bad men in her lifetime? At only twenty-one, she’d already had it happen twice. Last time, she was a blubbering mess, barely capable of doing more than running when the time came.

  Not again!

  Catherine went slack in the man’s arms, pretending to comply and lulling him into complacency. When he loosened his grasp ever so slightly, she pulled her heel up and stomped on his foot as hard as she could. His shout of surprise and pain nearly deafened her right ear but she paid it no mind because she was too busy putting all her weight into an elbow to his gut. He went over like a sack of flour.

  She spun to kick the other man in the shins but the black eye of the pistol’s barrel stopped her dead in her tracks. Her skin ran as cold as the time she accidentally locked herself in an icehouse for a couple of hours. The eyes behind the gun were just as cold and twice as deadly.

  “Well, ain’t you a little spitfire.” The man must have swallowed rocks, judging by the raspiness of his voice. It held no emotion other than pure hate. “Git on over to yer boyfriend then. Git!”

  As she scurried over to Curtis, his eyes gleamed in a way she couldn’t put her finger on. Either he thought her actions were brave or stupid. Probably both. At least that filthy beast no longer had his disgusting hands all over her. That alone was worth the risk.

  Only five minutes earlier, she wouldn’t have dared to sit so close to Curtis. Now she couldn’t get close enough. The same fear she had when the slavers kidnapped her coursed through her, leaving her slightly dizzy. At least she didn’t freeze up. At least she tried to get away this time. And if she saw a chance, she’d try again. But only if they both could run. Leaving Curtis behind wasn’t an option.

  Slowly, the man who grabbed her got back to his feet and pulled his pistol out, glaring hard at her. If they’d been alone…she shuddered at the images that filled her mind. Thankfully, the way he constantly glanced at the gravel-voiced man indicated he was the leader of the pair.

  “What do you plan to do with us?” Curtis asked. How could he be so calm and collected? Nerves had her entire body shaking from head to toe. The outlaw chuckled. It wasn’t a pleasant sound.

  “Well, I bet Rupert here has some ideas of what he’d like to do to your filly, but I think we best let the boss decide. Maybe Rupert’ll get lucky, if you know what I mean.”

  Curtis tensed beside her but he wisely held himself in check. The outlaw stood too far away for him reach before he pulled that trigger. Still, her terror eased ever so slightly that he was ready to spring into action. She felt as safe as she could, under the circumstances.

  “I’ll kill him first.”

  The threat tumbled out of her before she had a chance to stop herself. It surprised her as much as everyone else, who gawked at her for a moment before busting into laughter.

  Except Curtis. A fierceness glowed in his eyes. Not if I get to him first, they said.

  Warmth flooded her soul at the same time ice pulsed through her veins. If they somehow managed to survive this, she could see herself falling deeply in love with Curtis Griffith. A vision of the two of them sitting in rocking chairs on a rickety old porch, holding hands and watching their grandchildren play popped into her head. Wouldn’t that be lovely?

  The last time she’d entertained such childish fantasies, a bitter old woman controlled her miserable life. Whether they admitted it or not, every child in the orphanage dreamed of the day when they would be rescued, either by loving adoptive parents or by a knight in shining armor.

  Curtis was neither. He wasn’t perfect, he had flaws, but he was a good man who lived by honorable principles. He proved that not all men were cads — a fact she knew in her heart but her brain rebelled against. In fact, Curtis would make a wonderful husband.

  Or rather, would have.

  All the fantasies in the world couldn’t save them from the outlaws gloating over them, still smirking at her comment. Lowering a steely gaze on the cretin called Rupert, she stared hard until his smile faltered. It wasn’t much, just a twitch, but at least he knew. If he came near her, she’d do everything in her power to kill him, or die trying.

  “Shouldn’t we be gettin’ back, Horace? Tully will be mighty sore we been gone so long.”

  Horace shifted his gaze at Rupert, silently telling him to shut up, but Rupert had the intelligence of a toad. Sighing deeply at his rotten luck for getting stuck with such a dolt as a partner, Horace waved the gun at them.

  “Gotta tie ya up so ya don’t get any funny ideas.”

  Catherine noticed with some satisfaction that Rupert hesitated before wrapping the rough sisal around her wrists. At least they allowed them to keep their hands in front. She’d be able to break her fall some.

  Rolling her shoulders back, she stood with pride. If her fate was to die this night, she would move forward with all th
e dignity she could muster. No groveling, no begging for mercy. Always watching for a chance to escape.

  When Rupert threw a rope around Gladys’s neck, she nickered in protest. That woke the pup, which’d fallen dead asleep in the flickering shadows cast by the fire. It yipped as it trotted over to Catherine, drawing the attention of the outlaws.

  Shh, she thought. Save yourself. But the pup kept yipping, begging to be picked up.

  “What’s this mangy mutt doin’ here?”

  Curtis caught Catherine’s eye and shook his head almost imperceptibly. Ignore it, his eyes implored. Yes! If they knew the truth, they’d probably shoot it out of spite. Holding his gaze for strength, she shrugged her shoulders as if she didn’t love the little runt with all her heart already.

  “No idea.”

  She winced at the soft thud and yelp of pain that followed her denial, but she refused to let the tears fall. The pup was in God’s hands now.

  A deep rage burned in Griff’s heart but he could do nothing with his hands tied up in front of him. That poor pup had suffered for most of its young life, only to end up getting kicked by a brute with an inferiority complex.

  As the outlaws shoved them forward to start walking, it dawned on him that the pup reminded him of Catherine. They both were orphaned at a young age, they both survived unimaginable neglect and misery, and wicked men had brutalized them both.

  No wonder she never wants to marry, he thought, stumbling blindly in the dark. Not that it matters now.

  Grief clutched at his heart that the realization of his love for her came too late. If he’d only been honest with himself, he could have insisted she stay, refused to take her with him. At least she would have been safe. He’d gladly offer up his life for hers. Why hadn’t he made her stay on the Dalton ranch?

  A chuckle almost bubbled up at the notion he could make her do anything she didn’t want to do. A strong, independent woman like her couldn’t be controlled. Even a dummy like Rupert figured that out pretty fast.

  None of it mattered anyway. As he said earlier, there’s no sense crying over spilled milk. Chastising himself for not keeping her safe in the first place only distracted from what he needed to focus on now — saving her life.

  “How’d you boys find us, anyway?” Griff asked, easing into his quickly devised plan.

  Horace chuffed. “Saw your fire from the cabin we’re hidin’ out in. Purty stupid for a lawman to let it blaze up so high iff’n you’re huntin’ someone.”

  “You’re right about that,” Griff chuckled softly as his mind whirred. They saw the fire from the cabin, which meant they’d ended up much closer than he originally thought. “We sorta lost our bearings out here. You fellas probably don’t have that trouble, do ya?”

  The men walked behind them, their pistols aimed at their backs, but Griff could almost hear them puff out their chests. “Naw, we got a sorta…intuition about direction n’ stuff.”

  “You must. It’s so black out here I can’t even see my toes.” Griff chuckled again.

  Dark silence from behind but he pressed on.

  “You fellas have the guns. Maybe you could untie us? We all know you’d shoot us dead before we took two steps.”

  “True ‘nuff, lawman, but I ain’t gonna give you the chance to test me. Tully will want you alive…for now.”

  The threat loomed like a specter over them. Catherine sucked in a breath only he could hear. Okay, so they weren’t falling for that. Thinking quickly, he changed tacks.

  “I don’t doubt it. A man with that big of a price on his head would want to be sure I didn’t have a posse bringing up the rear.”

  He kept his tone light and easy, but only a real idiot would miss the implication. Rupert was one such dummy.

  “That’s right!”

  “Shaddup, moron!” Horace hissed.

  “What? What’d I say?”

  Now all he needed was the only-slightly-less-of-an-idiot to take the bait. Griff could sense him circling it silently, letting it soak a bit before biting.

  “How big?”

  Griff feigned innocence. “Pardon?”

  “How big a reward we talkin’?”

  “Five thousand dollars!” Catherine chimed in. She caught on right away and jumped into the game. Only it wasn’t a game, it was their lives.

  “Whoa…” Rupert sounded mighty impressed by the figure but a punch in the arm from Horace shut him up.

  They walked along in silence, trying not to stumble on rocks and shrubs that appeared at their feet before they could see them. The moon would be up soon but right now they were in the dark, just like the outlaws. Griff let Horace chew on the figure for a bit before setting the hook.

  “Too bad that fortune’s gonna go unclaimed,” he sighed.

  “Real shame,” Catherine added, nodding somberly. “Can you imagine what you could do with that kind of money?”

  “Oh, I know what I wanted to do. Quit the Marshals and buy a little place somewhere nice, maybe Colorado or Wyoming. Raise a herd. Get a pretty little woman with a good head on her shoulders and a penchant for parasols to marry me…”

  Catherine gasped, then gulped hard. Good, she got it.

  “I’d go to Mexico and buy me a whole passel o’ those señoritas they got down there. What would you do with it, Horace?”

  God bless stupid men.

  Horace stayed mute on the subject but as far as Griff was concerned, that only meant he was still thinking on what he’d do with that kind of reward. He let him daydream for a few minutes before taking it all away.

  “Too bad none of us is gonna get it.”

  “Why not?” asked the dolt. Still no hint at what Horace was thinking.

  “Rupert, you don’t think I’d go off chasing a dangerous murderer like Tully Owings without sending word to the local sheriff, do you? Do I look that dumb to you, Rupert?”

  “You’re dumb enough to get caught by us, ain’t ya?” Horace finally growled.

  Griff laughed. “Fair enough, fair enough. But the thing is, as soon as we go missing, the sheriff will be at that cabin in a trice. Number seven, right? Yup, he knows, too. And I’m pretty sure old Mr. Carson won’t much like that the law will be poking around his land so he’ll offer up the three of you like suckling pigs.”

  “So?”

  “So…so even if you turn Tully in tomorrow, you won’t get a cent of that reward because you’ll be hanging right next to him.”

  He had them, he just knew it. Their grim silence spoke volumes. Each was probably imagining his body dangling from a noose, when only a moment earlier, he’d been fantasizing about living in the lap of luxury. All Curtis had to do was reel them in.

  “Don’t you see, fellas? The only way for you to collect that reward is to let us go. Between the four of us, we can take down Tully and you two can split the money? How does that sound? Pretty good, right?”

  The sound of a rifle being cocked somewhere ahead of them nearly stopped Griff’s heart.

  “Don’t sound so good to me.”

  A face followed the voice. Tully Owings, in the flesh.

  9

  “Tryin’ to get my boys to turn me in for the reward, huh?”

  Tully Owings sat bold and cocky on the edge of the rickety table inside the small line cabin, his rifle aimed right at Griff’s heart. His ‘boys’ had shoved Griff and Catherine into a corner when they entered, and all three men now held guns on them.

  Catherine’s bravery astounded Griff. Instead of sobbing and begging for her life, she simply tucked her legs under her, smoothed her skirts as best she could with bound hands and held her head high. Only the slight shaking of her frame gave away her true fear, and only Griff knew about it. Their bodies touched from knee to shoulder, and he couldn’t think of a better way to go out than touching the woman he loved.

  “Almost had them, too,” Griff said nonchalantly, as if they were sitting in a saloon sharing a drink. “I would have talked faster if I’d known we were so close to your hide
out.”

  Owings chuckled but Griff caught the glance he shot at his accomplices. Neither would meet his gaze. Time to twist the knife a little. If he was going to die, he might as well go out tormenting the man as much as possible.

  “Yup, that fat one right there…Rupert? Boy, that fella was mighty eager to find out how much your hide is worth.”

  Tully’s head swiveled toward the chunky outlaw. “That right?”

  Rupert shifted from foot to foot, glaring at Griff. “Nuh uh, you shaddup or I’ll put a bullet in that big gullet o’ yours!”

  “You shoot before I tell ya, and you’ll fall next.” Tully’s icy words had the effect he wanted. Rupert shook like a leaf on a tree, lowering his gun and his gaze. Griff was surprised the idiot didn’t wet himself.

  Turning to Horace, Tully smiled conspiratorially. “How much am I worth, anyway? Five hundred?”

  “Ha! More like five thousand!”

  Tully whistled. “Whoa, five thousand? Why I’m tempted to turn myself in for that kinda money!”

  They chuckled together for a moment, then Tully continued. “Can’t imagine a man alive who wouldn’t be tempted…”

  The smile fell away from Horace’s suddenly ashen face. “I-I-I wasn’t! Ask him, I never said nothin!”

  “Shut up, idjit!” Tully shook his head at his ‘boys’, disgusted but still trusting enough to let them keep their guns. The fear in their eyes made it clear he had nothing to worry about from them.

  Tully leaned his rifle against the wall and skulked around to the other side of the table, his beady gray eyes never wavering from Griff’s. That jagged red scar gave him a permanent snarl. He pulled a leg from a roasted chicken and gnawed on it. Chunks of meat fell from his greasy mouth because of his missing teeth, his tongue chasing after them noisily. When he cleaned it to the bone, he chucked it over his shoulder, where other bones lay.

  “What I can’t figger is what you had planned. Just you and a woman against the three of us? What kinda third-rate Marshal are ya?”

  The truth of his words cut Griff to the quick. He’d been utterly foolish to give in to Catherine’s demands. He’d been even more foolish not to send word to the sheriff in Weatherford. The only thing that made sense to him, now that he understood his own feelings, was that he’d been looking for any excuse to spend time with her.