The Lawman Said I Do

by Ana Leigh

“Just do as I say.” Cassie turned her back to him, removed her shirt, and pulled off the white camisole she was wearing. Quickly donning the shirt again, she buttoned it and turned back to him. His eyes were wide open. She might have known he’d ignore her request.

  With a strong tug, she managed to rip the garment in half, then tore a smaller piece off and wetted it from the canteen. She began to cleanse the wound gently, washing away the blood and dirt with light strokes.

  “I just thought of something,” she said. “Hold this compress on the wound until I get back.” Hurrying over to Jeff’s sleeping body, she dug into his pocket and found the flask, then returned to Colt.

  “There’s enough whiskey in here to sterilize your wound. I’m afraid this is going to hurt, though,” she cautioned, and gingerly poured the liquid on the wound.

  Colt sucked in a deep breath when the whiskey hit, but the shock gave him something to concentrate on besides her nearness.

  She folded the other piece of torn camisole into a compress, poured the remaining drops of the whiskey on it, and then pressed it against the wound. Pulling the bandanna from around her own neck, she looped it around his shoulder and underarm to hold the compress in place.

  Satisfied, she bent down and looked him in the eye. “What do you think?”

  Those kissable lips of hers were temptingly close, but before he could carry out his thought, she straightened up.

  “You can use a little cleaning up.” Wetting the cloth again, she began to wash away the smeared blood on his chest.

  Cassie’s strokes gradually slowed as she became more and more aware of the warm flesh beneath the thin cloth. She’d never felt this funny tingle when she’d rubbed salve on Jeff’s or her father’s chests when they had colds.

  With an open palm she slowly ran the cloth across the corded brawn of his chest and shoulders. Her hand itched to toss aside the cloth and run her fingers through the cluster of dark hair that trailed down his flat stomach and disappeared into the top of his pants.

  She’d never experienced this feeling before, and it frightened her as much as it excited her.

  What was she thinking of? She barely knew this man, and didn’t much like him, to boot.

  Cassie quickly stepped back. “That should do it. Do you need any other help?”

  “I’ll say. Now that you’ve got that camisole of yours tucked tightly against my chest, I can’t help thinking of the last place it’d been. And that thought’s causing a powerful pain…elsewhere. Don’t suppose you’d consider healing that area, too, Miz Cassie?”

  Cassie bolted to her feet, her face flushed in fury, her eyes blazing in contempt. “You, sir, are indescribably rude—and depraved!”

  His warm chuckle followed—as warm as the hungry gaze that regarded the sway of her hips as she stormed away.

  Colt got up slowly and tested his legs. They seemed steady enough, so he started to move to where Cassie was kneeling beside Buck, to offer her an apology. His teasing had gotten way out of hand, which wasn’t like him.

  Jeff was sitting up looking around groggily. “Where in hell is my flask?”

  “Over there,” Colt said.

  Jeff staggered over and picked up the flask. “What the hell; you drank it all!”

  “He didn’t drink it, Jeff,” Cassie said. “I used it to sterilize his wound.”

  “You wasted my whiskey on a stinking Reb,” he snarled.

  Still feeling embarassed and frustrated, Colt turned on him.

  “You drunken fool! They were riding away. You could have gotten us all killed!” He clenched his hand into a fist and punched the drunken idiot in the jaw.

  The force of the blow shot directly up to Colt’s wounded shoulder, and the last thing he remembered before blacking out was Braden staggering backward and falling to the ground.

  Colt slowly fought his way through the darkness into a gray haze. When he groped instinctively at his aching shoulder, his hand encountered a thick wad of gauze. He opened his eyes to discover he was lying on a cot, but when or how he’d gotten there was a mystery to him.

  Colt closed his eyes again, and slowly the picture materialized: the stagecoach, the holdup, and that damn kid setting off the fireworks. Then the burning sting of the bullet.

  He sat up slowly and swung his legs over the edge of the cot. For a long moment he fought off the dizziness. When his head cleared, he looked around and gaped in shock. What in hell? He was in a jail cell!

  Through the bars, he could see a man sitting at a desk across the room. “Hello,” Colt called out.

  The man got to his feet and approached the cell. Middle age had set in, in the jowls of his face and the thickened waist of his tall frame. His mouth pursed in a grin as he ran his fingers through thin, sandy-colored hair generously sprinkled with gray.

  “So you’re finally awake, Mr. Fraser. How are you feelin’?”

  “Like I’ve been shot. How long have I been out?”

  “Slept through the night and most of the mornin’, son. Doc Williams gave you somethin’ to keep you still.”

  That meant this was Thursday. Perplexed, Colt asked, “Where am I?”

  “In Arena Roja.”

  “Arena Roja?”

  “Red Sand, if you don’t speak Mex.”

  “How far is that from Santa Fe?”

  “’Bout a hundred miles. Name’s Jethro Braden. I’m the sheriff here.”

  That came as no surprise, since a shiny silver star was pinned to his shirtfront. The bad news was his name—especially if he was related to the drunk Colt had socked in the jaw.

  Colt’s expression must have betrayed his thoughts, because Sheriff Braden grinned. “Yep, I’m his pa. You in the habit of throwin’ punches, son?”

  “Only with drunks who start gunfights. He could have gotten us all killed—your daughter included.”

  Braden nodded. “Yep, Gus said the same.”

  “What happened to the wounded guy riding shotgun?”

  “He wasn’t as lucky as you. Doc Williams had to dig a bullet out of Buck, and he’ll be laid up for a couple weeks. The shot you took only peeled off some of your flesh. Trouble is, you bled like a stuck pig. You’ll have to take it easy for a couple days.”

  “Did the cavalry catch up with the robbers?”

  “No, they got away. But thanks to you, the money was recovered.”

  “Then why am I locked up?”

  “Door to the cell ain’t locked. We ain’t got no hospital in town, and the doc only has one cot in his office. Buck needed it worse than you did, so we put you up here for the night.”

  “Then I’m free to leave.”

  “Soon as you get your legs under you. You’re lookin’ shakier than a newborn colt.”

  “I’m fine.” Colt sat down on the edge of the bunk and pulled on his boots, then got up and shoved the cell door open. “Where’s my hat and gunbelt?”

  “Hangin’ on them pegs over there. You can claim your traveling bag at the stage office.”

  Colt tried not to stagger as he walked over and strapped on the belt.

  “You’re welcome to bunk in the cell ’til you’re up and around. Bed and food are on the house.”

  Colt plopped his hat on and shook his head. “Thank you, Sheriff. I appreciate your offer, but I think I’ll be more comfortable in the hotel.” A horrifying thought crossed his mind. “You do have a hotel, don’t you?”

  “Yep, with clean sheets and no bedbugs.” The sheriff opened a drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Want to sign this receipt, Mr. Fraser? There’s a fifty-dollar reward on the head of each of them robbers—dead or alive.”

  Fifty dollars was a lot of money. Considering the fact that he’d only gotten a grazed shoulder out of it, it was worth having taken the bullet.

  “This is an unexpected surprise,” Colt said, tucking the money into his shirt pocket. “When does the next stage come through?”

  “Depends where you’re headed.”

  “Santa Fe.”


  “Pulled out this mornin’.”

  Dammit! Just his bad luck. “When’s the next one?”

  “Not for a week, son. But the hotel’s got hot baths and the grub’s good, too. It’s even better at the restaurant, if you like steak.”

  “Sounds like it’s just what I need.” Colt headed for the door.

  “You take care, son.” The sheriff’s ruddy face split with a wide grin. “I hear you’re quick with that iron you’re packin’, so keep it leathered. I don’t want no trouble in my town.”

  “I’m not looking for any trouble, Sheriff.”

  They shook hands and Colt stepped out into the bright sunlight and paused to look around.

  Arena Roja was typical of the other towns he had passed through—small, compact, and dusty. A dozen wood-and-adobe buildings stretched for a couple of blocks on each side of an unpaved main street. Scattered houses boxed in the business buildings from the streets behind them.

  As Colt walked along the wooden sidewalk that lined the main street, a rider astride a magnificent black stallion rode up on the walk and blocked his path. Colt glanced up and recognized Cassie Braden.

  He tipped his hat. “Miss Braden.” He might have known she wasn’t the type to ride sidesaddle.

  She scowled down at him. “Mr. Fraser, I’m grateful to you for saving my life, but I don’t figure I owe you anything. I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m sure you can, Miss Braden. But I don’t understand your animosity. Your brother could have gotten us all killed.”

  “He didn’t, though, did he?”

  “Thanks to the timely arrival of the cavalry.”

  “Keep away from my brother, Fraser, or you’ll have me to deal with.”

  “Is that a promise, Miz Cassie?” He grinned broadly. “As much as I would welcome the opportunity of dealing with you, I settled my differences with your brother with my fist. I have no further quarrel with him. If he has one with me, I suggest you offer your advice to him.”

  His remark brought amused chuckles from the spectators that had been attracted to the scene.

  “He’s sure got your number, Cassie,” a male voice shouted from the crowd.

  Her growl remained fixed on Colt. “Consider yourself warned, greenhorn.”

  When she started to leave, Colt grabbed the reins to halt her and said softly, “It must be painful, Miss Braden, to ride with that thorn you have up your…posterior.”

  Her darkened glare pierced through him like a saber thrust. Wheeling the horse, she rode off.

  Colt watched her ride away. That trim little ass of hers could sit a saddle admirably, but she sure had no sense of humor. Wonder what it took to get a smile out of her?

  Two young boys and a girl with a battered hat pulled over her red hair stared at him intently as he passed the livery. He nodded and smiled at them. The youngest one grinned back, and the other two glared at him. Colt figured they must have Braden blood, although, in all fairness, the sheriff seemed to be a very affable fellow.

  Colt stopped at the stage office and claimed his luggage, then continued on to the two-story hotel. Its sign promised clean sheets and a hot bath for a dollar a night.

  Several men sat in chairs in front of the hotel, and they nodded and offered a “Howdy” when he drew up to them. It became clear that his reputation had preceded him, because they all knew who he was and introduced themselves to him. After chatting with them for several minutes, he excused himself to go register.

  Colt liked the feel of the town; maybe hanging around here for a week wouldn’t be so bad. He’d get well rested, and the people all seemed pleasant—except for that termagant, Cassie Braden, and her redheaded kin.

  He paused when the object of his thoughts and another young woman came out of a store across the street. Both women were slim and tall, but there the resemblance ended.

  A straw bonnet was perched on the other woman’s long blond hair, and she wore a bright blue dress.

  Cassie must have seen him, because she said something to her companion and the woman turned her head and glanced in his direction. She made a comment to Cassie, and they broke out in giggles. Arm in arm, they walked away.

  Good looking or not, Cassie Braden was a pain in the ass, probably as untamed as the mustangs that ran wild out here.

  By nature, he was an easygoing man who got along with most people. He rarely started an argument, but it would be a cold day in hell before he’d run from one. And apparently Cassie Braden intended to stir one up. The wisest thing to do was give her a wide berth, but her unruly streak intrigued him.

  “She just needs some loving and domesticating,” his brother Garth used to say about a wild mare they’d had on Fraser Keep.

  Yeah, Arena Roja was looking more and more interesting. A man needed a goal to focus on, and what better motivation than an intriguing and feisty female? His mother hadn’t raised any sons who couldn’t charm the skin off a snake, and Miss Cassie Braden wouldn’t be the first filly he’d gentled to his touch.

  Grinning, Colt entered the hotel.

  Chapter 2

  His room was on the second floor overlooking the main street. Colt unpacked his suitcase, then opened the window and climbed out on the balcony that circled the building. A staircase at the rear offered a way of reaching the balcony from the outside.

  All things considered, he’d been in far worse hotels than this one. It had a nice lobby with comfortable upholstered furniture, a barroom, and a dining room adjacent to the lobby. In addition, the hotel boasted an indoor privy and bathroom on the second floor. That, and the promise of a soft bed and clean sheets, was well worth the cost to a weary traveler.

  Colt’s gaze swept the dusty street, which was practically deserted at the moment. The sudden growl of his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since yesterday, so he climbed back inside and headed for the dining room downstairs.

  A waiter had no sooner taken his order for a steak, fried potatoes, and a cup of hot coffee, than Cassie Braden came in with the woman he’d seen her with earlier. He stood as they reached his table.

  “Miss Braden, we meet again.”

  “It’s a small town, Mr. Fraser.” She started to move on.

  “Would you and…” He looked at her companion with a questioning smile.

  “I’m Cathy Braden—Cassie’s sister,” the woman said pleasantly.

  “My pleasure, Miss Braden.”

  Cathy was a lovely young woman. Her features were similar to those of her sister, her eyes the same light blue. Cathy Braden’s blond hair hung freely to midback and was topped with a perky bonnet, while Cassie’s auburn tresses were woven into a single braid that hung below the wide brim of the Western hat she wore.

  Grinning, Colt waved a finger from one to the other. “Twins.”

  “What gave us away?” Cassie said.

  Colt let her tone bounce off him and responded instead to Cathy Braden’s delightful light laughter and smile.

  “I was about to ask if you two young ladies would give me the pleasure of joining me for a meal.”

  “No thank you, Mr. Fraser,” Cassie said, rejecting the offer immediately. “We only came in for a lemonade. Come on, Cathy.”

  Once again Colt was subject to Cathy’s sweet smile. “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Fraser. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Perhaps another time, Miss Braden.”

  Her eyes twinkled with humor. “Perhaps, Mr. Fraser.” She followed her sister to a nearby table.

  Colt sat back down and drank his coffee. The sheriff seemed pretty levelheaded, so how could he raise a son with the sense of a gnat, one daughter with the sweetness and delicacy of a rosebud, and another daughter who was a doom-threatening Valkyrie?

  After finishing his meal, he tipped his hat as he passed their table.

  “Have a good day, ladies.”

  “My, he’s a handsome figure of a man, isn’t he?” Cathy said when Colt moved on.

  Cassie glanced in his direct
ion. She’d forgotten how tall he was, and she had to admit Cathy was right.

  “The bigger they are, the harder they fall,” she grumbled.

  “What is your problem with Mr. Fraser, Cassie? He’s handsome, mannerly, and very charming.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re smitten with him.”

  “Of course not; I just met him. And I don’t understand your obvious resentment toward him.”

  “He had no call to punch Jeff the way he did.”

  “Jeff’s the one you should be angry with. I heard Gus tell Dad that Jeff’s rash action could have gotten all of you killed. If Mr. Fraser hadn’t punched Jeff, Gus said he would have done it himself. Mr. Fraser was wounded protecting you, and you owe him an apology, not angry scowls. I think there’s something else that’s bothering you about this stranger. What is it?”

  “He made a very suggestive remark to me when I was bandaging his wound.”

  Cathy’s eyes widened in shock when Cassie told her. “He said that to you!”

  “He started to apologize but then Jeff woke up, and you’ve heard what followed.”

  Sighing, Cathy said, “I’m sorry to hear that. Mr. Fraser seems like such a gentleman. Perhaps he was feverish from his wound.”

  He was feverish all right, but it had nothing to do with his wound, Cassie reflected. Recalling her own feelings at the time—the tingling excitement of his nearness, his warm, muscular chest—her pulses quickened, and she realized her thoughts had been just as heated.

  Cassie swallowed hard and lifted her chin. “But that isn’t my major concern, Cathy. I’m afraid for Jeff, Cathy. You know how foolish he can be at times, and he might bear a grudge against Mr. Fraser now. Something tells me Mr. Fraser’s not the kind to run from a fight, and Jeff is the kind who starts one. I think some cowboy would have shot him by now, if Dad weren’t the sheriff.”

  Cathy looked concerned. “I think you’re right. What are we going to do?”

  They sat in deep concentration, with worried frowns, their chins cradled in their hands.

  Raising her head, Cassie exclaimed, “I’ve got it! Fraser will only be around for a week. Why don’t you cozy up to him while he’s here? That will keep him and Jeff apart.”