by Linda Broday
She walked toward him in a tantalizing stroll that made her hips sway. “I know you’d die trying to be fair. To me. To you. To everyone. But I’m tired of denying what I feel. I told my father how much I care for you.”
“Bet that went over well.”
An exasperated sigh left her mouth. “He already knew, Roan. He’s awfully observant.”
“He’s only looking out for your best interests, Marley. He’s not doing it to be mean but to keep men like me away from you.” Roan turned back to the task of tightening the cinch and steadied his heart. “And he’s right about me. What good can come this?”
“Tell me that you don’t care for me, and I won’t bother you again.” Marley pressed her face against his back. “You are the gentlest, most honorable man I know. Tell me that what we have doesn’t mean one blasted thing to you.”
Heaven help him. Roan closed his eyes against the pain, unable to speak. He relished the feel of her face between his shoulder blades, her arms around his waist, burning her touch into him. He hadn’t the strength to lie, to deny his heart.
Unable to bear the torture any longer, he whirled and crushed his lips to hers.
A hunger so powerful that it hurt to breathe spread through him, rushing along his limbs and touching off a whirlwind inside him. He stood in the storm and let the emotion wash over his body, healing his ragged spirit and muzzling his fear.
A moan escaped from him. His heart beating like a thundering herd of buffalo, he held Marley so tightly against him that he expected her to complain. If he could somehow open himself up and draw her inside, he would. He’d protect her with every bit of strength he had and carry the beautiful woman with him forever.
Dear God, he wanted her. Wanted her more than anything in the world. His hands roamed over her curves, memorizing every indentation and soft swell. She seemed to be learning every inch of his body as well, and the way she clutched, kneaded, and caressed him spoke of a great need of her own.
The very air seemed to vibrate with this craving that swept through him. His senses filled with her, Roan deepened the kiss and backed her against a worktable where they repaired harnesses and saddles. Tightening his grip, he lifted her onto the planks. She knocked off his hat as she reached for him, and it tumbled to the floor. He ran one hand up her leg above her low stocking and didn’t think he’d ever felt anything so soft, so satiny, so enticing.
His heartbeat roared in his ears and drowned out everything except this overpowering desire for her.
How long they stood wrapped in each other’s arms, he didn’t know. He was barely conscious of where they were or of the dawn breaking. Men and children would spill out any second and find them.
It took everything he had to remove his hand from her leg and break the kiss. He tenderly brushed a tendril of hair from her eyes and studied her dark eyes. “You’re like those shooting stars we watched. You blaze across a man’s life with such a streak of color and pageantry it steals his breath. You’re my Texas star, Marley Rose McClain. That is if you don’t object to the title.”
“That’s beautiful. I’ve never been compared to a shooting star before.”
“Well, you are. I don’t know what the future holds or if I’ll ever see you again,” he mumbled against her mouth. “Keep shining, Texas Star, for as long as you live.”
Marley’s gaze met his, and she ran a fingertip along his jawline. “No promises, no regrets.”
“None.” The rooster finally crowed, reminding Roan he’d best hurry. He grinned. “Maybe you’ll write a story one day about me and how you saved my life one frosty morn. Just don’t read it to Matt. It might give him ideas.”
Tears bubbled in her eyes. “You’d better come back or I’ll come looking for you.”
“You will, huh?”
“I’ll brave a den of snakes and go through a hail of bullets to get to you, and you can count on that.” Marley straightened his collar and picked a piece of lint from his coat. “You’re a handsome man, Roan Penny. Women are going to chase you, but it doesn’t mean you have to let them catch you.” Her voice broke.
Roan swallowed a lump in his throat. This was tearing him up inside.
With a cry, she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him close for another kiss.
“I’ll pray for you, Roan,” she whispered against his mouth.
“Save your prayers for those who believe in their power.”
Before the banked fire had a chance to flare again, Roan stepped away from her and issued a stern warning. “Don’t come after me. I mean it. You don’t know the danger waiting in San Saba. If they knew I cared for you, they’d kill you as easily as looking at you. Promise you’ll stay here. You have to promise not to come after my sorry hide. Go on with your life.”
Marley shook her head, her dark eyes large in the low light. “I can’t do that.” She reached behind her and brought out a burlap sack. “This isn’t much, but maybe it’ll silence your hunger pains later.”
“Thanks.” He touched her passion-swollen lips. “Goodbye, my Texas Star.” Before he could voice more that was better left unsaid, he picked up his hat from the floor and reached for the reins. Adjusting the Stetson on his head, he swung up onto the gray mare’s back. Keeping his eyes ahead, he rode out into the frost-covered blackness.
A shiver had him tugging the collar of his coat up around his ears. Damn, he wanted a pot of hot coffee! He’d build a fire down the road and make some when he stopped to change. Maybe it would help him forget Marley Rose McClain. Except he knew it would take a lot more than that to put the beauty out of his mind.
Though, if he couldn’t focus on the task at hand, he wouldn’t live long enough to ride back.
The morning chill seemed to have crawled inside his skin. Roan jumped at every noise. Once he swung around when he felt someone following but saw nothing.
A layer of frost still lay upon the ground an hour down the road. Unable to silence the grumble of his stomach, he stopped to make that fire he’d promised himself and boil coffee. Once it was ready, he opened the burlap sack Marley had packed and found thick slices of ham along with a loaf of fresh-baked bread. Roan wondered if she’d cooked all night.
As he ate, he let his thoughts drift to the woman who made him dream of a life with her by his side. Every waking moment was filled with thoughts of her, teasing him, testing his strength. He remembered when he’d first returned to consciousness to find her sitting beside him with the gun pointed at him. And he recalled a few hours ago when he’d kissed her and said goodbye.
One memory held happiness—learning that he’d survived and had been found by a friendly face. The last was full of nothing but sad longing.
No promises. No regrets, she’d said.
“Yeah right,” Roan muttered sourly. “Speak for yourself.”
If he survived this, he was going to make a lot of changes. He’d become someone worthy of the dark-haired beauty who’d stolen his heart. Someone Duel had no objection to.
A limb cracked. He jumped and whirled, pulling his gun. “Who’s there?”
The sad cooing of mourning doves filled the air. It must’ve been an animal, but to make sure, he poked around. Ten minutes later, he packed up. A couple of other times, he felt eyes watching but never saw anything.
“You’re crazy as a loon, Penny,” he mumbled low.
Five miles from town, he changed into the new clothes. He buttoned the gold brocaded vest, running his fingers down the expensive material. He’d never owned, never even dreamed, of wearing anything so fine.
Roan arrived in San Saba two hours before sundown. The stores were packed, and a huge banner advertising the county fair and horse race hung across the street. People milled up and down the boardwalk like a bunch of ants. Roan relaxed. With this many visitors in town, maybe they wouldn’t pay him any notice. He went straight to the livery and left his
mare in the care of the owner, an old man with a long, white beard by the name of Jessup.
“Don’t worry none about your mare.” Jessup winked. “I’ll take real good care of her.”
Roan liked the honesty in his eyes. “Obliged.”
Even if the hotels had any vacancies left, Roan couldn’t afford a room, so he secured a spot in the loft of the livery from Jessup. A bed on some fresh hay would do just fine. He staked out a corner with his saddle and bedroll and went out into the street.
He pulled his Stetson down low and caught a man walking by. “Could you tell me where to register for tomorrow’s horse race?”
The man looked him up and down through narrowed eyes. “Go to the fairgrounds and you’ll see a tent with a sign in front. Where are you from, mister?”
“The Aces ’n’ Eights Ranch.”
“Well, good luck. You’ll need it.” The stranger moved on up the street, and Roan watched him hurry into the Bull’s Head Saloon.
The fairgrounds were easy to find, and the short walk gave him time to look around, hoping to spot Wes Douglas or anyone he recognized. But he came up empty. He couldn’t help wonder if Sheriff Bagwell had brought the dead kid’s body in yet. Most likely the lawman would telegraph first to find out if the boy had kin in San Saba though. Roan hoped someone claimed the boy. Everyone deserved a decent burial and maybe a tear or two.
Who would shed a tear for Roan? Marley McClain?
Roan frowned. He didn’t want her crying for him, didn’t want to cause her grief.
As the man had predicted, the tent was easy to find. It appeared the big purse had attracted a lot of risk takers. Roan took his place in line. By the time he made it inside, ten more were behind him. He glanced around the tent. A man with a goatee sat in the middle at a desk, taking names and money, and a large man stood directly behind him with his arms folded. He wore twin revolvers. The bodyguard most likely.
A couple to the left of the table drew Roan’s interest. An auburn-haired woman stood with a tall, thin companion. Roan moved closer for a better view, and shock ran through him to find himself staring at the hawk-nosed stranger who’d passed Roan and Marley on the way to Granny Jack’s. Who the hell was he?
The hair on the back of his neck rose. Bathed in shadows, the tall man’s cheeks appeared even more sunken and his skin stretched tighter over protruding facial bones. Roan couldn’t hear the scarecrow’s voice from where he stood. He had to know what it sounded like.
But the man with twin revolvers was staring a hole through Roan. He couldn’t make his interest so obvious or he’d get shot. He reached into his vest pocket for a silver dollar.
Turning his gaze to the line stretching behind him, Roan let the coin slip from his hand. The heavy silver piece rolled in the right direction, stopping just inches from the man’s boots. Roan hurried to pick it up.
“Virginia, you worry too much. It’ll be all right,” the man grated out.
The gravelly voice sent chills through Roan. It was the same he’d heard the night of Mose’s death, giving the order to burn the cabin.
What would a lowlife like that be doing with a pretty lady? He made a note of her name.
The goateed man at the table barked an order to get back in line or get out. Roan pocketed his coin and complied but kept his gaze riveted on the two. Judging by their body language and low tones, they were angry and arguing about something. When the women spoke a bit too loudly, they both glanced around to see if anyone had heard.
All too soon, Roan reached the sign-in table, and it only then occurred to him that he couldn’t use his real name. His father’s? He wouldn’t give a dying, smelly skunk his father’s name. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a fellow contestant fishing a bag of Bull Durham from his pocket.
“Your name?” the goateed man snapped.
“Jack Durham.”
The man glanced up. “You’re dressed awful fancy. Ever race a horse before?”
“I assure you I have. Won a bunch too, but I don’t know what that’s got to do with anything.”
A young man limped into the tent and up to the desk. “Bartender over at the saloon sent me, Mr. Quinn. Your son Willie got hisself in a fight.”
“Is he winning?” Quinn asked.
“He’s out cold, sir.”
“Then pour some water on him or get the doctor,” Quinn snapped. “I’m too busy.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy limped out.
Mr. Quinn turned back to Roan. “Color and name of your horse?”
“Shadow, and she’s a gray mare.”
Tittering commenced behind him. Roan slowly turned. His steely glare quieted the bunch.
Quinn squinted up at him. “Where are you from, Durham?”
Roan didn’t like the uneasiness sliding up his spine. Quinn hadn’t asked any of the others these questions. Why him? “Aces ’n’ Eights Ranch.”
“Only residents of this county are allowed to participate. Wait here.” Quinn rose and went to speak to Virginia and Scarecrow.
They talked for several minutes and kept glancing at Roan. He knew they didn’t recognize him, or he wouldn’t have gotten this far. Maybe they were trying to figure out his connection to Duel McClain. But why did Quinn have to get their approval for Roan, when he hadn’t done the same for any of the others?
Finally, Quinn returned. “You can race if you have the money.”
Roan laid down the fee, and while the man counted it, he watched Scarecrow stalk from the tent. Virginia stared at Roan silently, a smile curving her mouth. He touched the brim of his hat and nodded politely. Best that he could tell in the low light, she appeared midforties. Was she married to Scarecrow? If so, they seemed an odd match. She was much too good for him.
Roan sauntered from the tent and glanced around, looking for the tall, gaunt man with a devil’s heart. When he caught sight of him disappearing around a building, he hurried after. Putting a name to Scarecrow could be the break he needed in finding the killers.
Roan lengthened his stride. Just as he reached the corner, a stagecoach rumbled by, kicking up a cloud of dust, and he couldn’t see much of anything. He fanned the grit away from his face, but Scarecrow had vanished.
For the next hour, Roan strolled up and down the street but saw no sign of him. He went into the Bull’s Head, several other saloons, and two hotels but found no one resembling the man. Finally, leaning against a support on the boardwalk in front of Hendrick’s Mercantile, he was just about thinking of giving up when he spied a rider on a big sorrel cantering down the street.
It was him!
Busy watching the rider, he didn’t notice the passersby until a woman bumped into him.
“My apologies, ma’am.” When he noticed who it was, the rest of his words lodged in his throat. He stared at Virginia.
A smile curved her mouth and set her green eyes twinkling. “It’s quite all right, Mr. Durham.”
Best to not let on he’d heard her name. “You have me at quite a disadvantage.” Roan found himself admiring the beautiful woman. The low light he’d seen her in earlier had done her an injustice.
Her laugh tinkled like a musical brook. “I’m Virginia Creek.”
He lifted the back of her gloved hand to his mouth. “I suppose you’re one of the organizers in charge of the horse race?”
“Goodness! I’m not really in charge of anything.”
“Then, I really should thank the gentleman who was with you in the tent for giving Quinn the okay to let me race.”
“Oh, you mean Mr. Gentry.” Her smile vanished. “I’d steer clear of him.”
Gentry. Roan finally had a name for Scarecrow.
“I’m deeply obliged, Mrs. Creek.” Now Roan was even more confused. If the two weren’t married, why had she been with him? Maybe she was his sister instead.
“I’m sorry,
Mr. Durham, I really have to catch the clerk at the telegraph office. I hope you enjoy your stay in San Saba.”
“I’m sure I will.” As he watched her stroll down the boardwalk, he wasn’t sure at all. But Virginia Creek was sure friendly.
Since Roan was already at the general store, he entered and wandered to the bulletin board at the back. The advertisement for the book publisher was still there, and he took the chance to ask the clerk for a pencil and piece of paper and write down all the information.
Intent on crossing over to the bank, Roan strolled onto the boardwalk. He noticed a flash of dark hair and a sky-blue skirt darting into the alleyway.
A load of bricks dropped in his stomach. Surely, she wouldn’t be here. No, she wouldn’t do anything so foolish. It had to be some mistake.
He raced across the street and into the alley. Nothing was obvious, and he strolled slowly down, peering behind barrels and boxes. He was about to think he’d lost his mind when he noticed a curl of a blue hem peeking from behind a crate. He reached for an arm and pulled Marley out.
She let out a shriek before clapping a hand over her mouth and giving him a sheepish look.
“I hope you have a good explanation for being here. Your father is going to kill you, and then he’s going to kill me.” Roan wiped a streak of dirt from her cheek with the pad of a thumb. “Well?”
Seventeen
Darn it! Marley swallowed hard and tried to avoid the fierce storm in Roan’s gray eyes. But she had no regrets. She lifted her chin. “You needed help, and I came.”
“Help by doing what—getting killed?”
She raised her chin higher and glared into his steely gaze. “Are you one of those men who think girls can’t do a darn thing except cook and clean and tend children?”
Roan glared back. “No, but this is different.”
She didn’t see how. If he’d simmer down to a low boil, she’d tell him about her expertise. “Aren’t you the teeniest bit glad to see me?”
“Yes…no. That’s a trick question. I think you must be a little crazy in the head. Now I have to protect and watch out for you in addition to myself. Oh, Marley.” He slipped a strong arm around her waist and hauled her close, then lowered his head, his mouth finding hers.