The Lassoed by Marriage Romance Collection
Page 17
Emerging from the bank, Double Dog Derring pressed his six-shooter against the carotid artery of the Farm and Ranch bank manager. Three men scooted out behind them. Their saddlebags bulged with ill-gotten gain. The two men on the street untied the horses and mounted. Heavily armed, their eyes never stopped calculating the danger.
The outlaw ringleader, his face plastered all over the West, had probably laid low until the most opportune moment to strike. When the citizens had been distracted with the Mule Days celebration. With the marshals in transition. When Brax and the manager were off their guard.
Brax assessed his chances. Outgunned; the silver wasn’t worth the life of one of his people. Let the felons think they’d succeeded. Derring wouldn’t kill the manager unless Brax forced his hand.
One conk on the head to prevent the manager from raising the alert and the desperados would be gone. Lulled into believing they’d gotten clean away, Brax would track them down. There wasn’t a man or beast alive, Brax couldn’t track. Uncle Wilbur had said so.
And Brax wasn’t without recourse. Despite their greed and ruthlessness, Brax had a lot more on his side. Surprise. Speed. And God.
Brax fell back into the shadow of the mercantile. Steadying his mind, his hand hovered over his gun belt. He took slow, even breaths. Flexing his fingers, Brax craned his neck around the corner. The saddlebags were almost loaded.
If only the villains could clear the town limits without someone sounding the alarm…. Then what Brax most dreaded—a woman screamed.
Coming into the sunlight, Brax drew his weapon in one smooth motion. Derring tightened his stranglehold around the manager’s neck. The others yanked rifles free of the scabbards strapped to their horses.
Brax waved his arm. “Get off the street! Take cover!”
Mayhem resulted as women grabbed their children, and men ducked into the storefronts. One child stood frozen in the middle of the street. Brax darted forward to put himself between the child and Derring.
“Look out, Sheriff!” someone yelled. “Ten o’clock! Balcony!”
Numbers? Brax spotted the metallic gleam of a shotgun high above his head on the second story of the hotel.
Shoving the child behind the safety of a buckboard, Brax jerked to the right. But in that split second, his gun arm swung up too late. A muzzle flashed with a deafening explosion of sound. White-hot lead whizzed past, inches from his face, splintering an adjacent post.
The outlaw clutched his shirt and fell face forward over the balcony onto the street. Numbers emerged from underneath the awning outside the feed store. His gun smoked. Genesis and Leviticus erupted from out of nowhere. They seized the bridles of the skittish horses and dragged the first two ruffians off their saddles.
Kicking like a mule, the manager dived for the bushes beside the steps. Derring jerked his man off one of the horses and vaulted into the saddle. The outlaw thrust his spurs into the horse.
“Halt, Derring! I’m ordering you to surrender.” Brax had only time to pop off one shot. Derring reared, clutching his leg, but didn’t stop as he disappeared out of sight heading for the hills.
Brax pivoted as another felon grabbed his shoulder. Landing an uppercut to his jaw, Brax followed with a fist into the man’s belly, sending the outlaw reeling. Deut and Exodus subdued the remaining members of the Derring gang.
Though it played slow as molasses in Brax’s head, as the smoke from the gunfire dissipated and the dust cleared, not five minutes had passed since the shooting started. His heart hammered. Numbers had saved his life.
“Woo-whee!” Numbers stowed his gun. “That was the most fun I’ve had in ages.”
“If you hadn’t spotted the gunman, Numbers…” Brax gulped. “I’d be as dead as him.”
Numbers butted the toe of his boot at the fellow who’d taken the nosedive. The man groaned. “He ain’t dead. He’ll live to hang.”
Brax passed Genesis a pair of handcuffs. “I don’t know what to say, boys, but thank you.” He holstered his gun and helped Exodus hog-tie another prisoner.
Leviticus shoulder-slapped Brax. “Well done, Brother Braxton.” Lev elbowed Deut. “Reckon if he can handle the likes of these ne’er-do-wells, we can trust him with Sissy’s heart.”
Brother? Brax looked up as two federal marshals rode into town. Their gold badges shone in the early afternoon light. He motioned them over. “You’re just in time to keep these lowlifes from cluttering my jail cell.”
One of the marshals, an old friend of Uncle Wilbur’s, laughed. “Looks like you got everything well in hand.”
“Except the capture of Double Dog.” Brax thrust out his jaw. “I plugged him. He’s bleeding. Easy to track. I’ll have him in custody by sundown.”
Tall in his saddle, the lawman studied the streets and the citizens venturing once more into the daylight. “We’ll wait and take the silver plus your prisoners off your hands then. Mighty fine town you’ve got here, Sheriff Cashel.”
Yes. It was.
The marshal inspected the Brimfield brothers. “Mighty fine deputies you’ve got, too.”
Deputies? The boys grinned at Brax.
Brax arched a brow. He reckoned they were at that. He’d quietly deputize them. Braxton Cashel liked things legal. Tied with a knotted bow.
Speaking of knots and legality, Brax was half-surprised Harriet hadn’t rode in with guns a-blazing during the robbery. He wondered again, now that he had time to catch his breath, where she’d gotten to. And an inexplicable, nagging fear stabbed Brax. He started at a run for his horse stabled in the livery.
“Brax!” one of his new brothers called out. “What’s your hurry? Derring can’t go far.”
“Derring took the road.” Brax grimaced, mentally calculating the remaining number of cartridges in his gun. “The road that goes past the cabin.”
Chapter 9
Mules must be handled just right…. There is simply no forcing a mule to do anything he doesn’t want to do.
FOR THE LOVE OF A MULE
Charging out of the underbrush, the outlaw bushwhacked Hattie halfway to town. Toppling from the saddle, she landed hard on the rocky ground. The man walloped Sugarfoot’s haunches and sent the poor mule, hooves thundering, out of Hattie’s reach. Flat on her back, she peered at the looming, pockmarked villain. Blood flowed in a steady stream down his pant leg. Pockmarked…
Gasping, she tried to scuttle free. He yanked her by the scruff of her hair and hauled Hattie to her feet. She cried out and fought to loosen his grip on her locks. “You’re going to be my ticket out of this territory.”
“Double Dog Derring, I wouldn’t help you if you held the only cup of water in the Sahara.”
He shook her like a rag doll. “Glad to see my fame precedes me. You keep quiet or I double dog daresay you’ll regret crossing me.”
She kicked his shin. Cursing, he backhanded Hattie. She reeled. Her mouth opened in a silent scream. Darkness clouded her eyes.
Braxton had never known such gut-twisting terror as when he found Sugarfoot on the side of the road, riderless and reins dragging. Genesis retrieved the molly mule and pointed to Harriet’s valise strapped to the saddle. Angry murmurs arose from the Brimfield posse.
Tightening his hands on the reins, Brax dug in his heels. “Come on. We’ve got to find her.” A quiet desperation he might already be too late sucked the oxygen from his lungs.
Rounding a bend, he spotted Derring towering over Harriet’s crumpled form in the road. Derring jumped into the saddle. Brax spurred his appaloosa as Derring fled. Drawing alongside Harriet’s too-still body, Brax leaped off his horse and fell to his knees, uncaring whether Derring got away or not. “Harriet?”
Leviticus reined in his horse and dropped to the ground beside Brax. Jimbo, also newly deputized, and the rest of the boys slapped leather and galloped after Derring.
Scooping her into his arms, Brax cradled Harriet against his chest.
“Baby Sis?” Lev’s voice broke.
“Harriet,�
� Brax hollered. “Answer me.” Why didn’t she wake up?
Brax buried his face into her neck. And felt the pulse of her heart. “Hattie, sweetheart. Wake up.” His lips grazed hers. “Please, honey. Don’t leave me this way.”
She stirred. “Brax…”She coughed and her body jackknifed.
Lev scrambled for the canteen tied to his bay. “Give her some water.”
Brax grabbed the canteen and held the container to Harriet’s lips. “Take it easy. Not too fast.”
After a few sips, her eyes fluttered open. “Brax…” She heaved a deep sigh. “You must get so tired of rescuing me.”
Something sad—something Brax didn’t understand—dulled her eyes. His fingers toyed with the ends of her hair, and he searched her face. “Are you okay?”
With a ragged breath, Harriet struggled to sit upright. “I’m okay.”
Brax and Lev helped Harriet regain her footing. The choking horror Brax experienced when he sighted Harriet lifeless on the ground sapped the last bit of energy from him. Relief washed through him like a flash flood in a canyon. He sagged against his saddle.
Harriet peered beyond Lev’s horse. “Where’s Sugarfoot?”
Lev raked a leaf from her hair. “Gen’s got her. She’s fine.”
A cloud of dust arose. Jimbo and the rest of the boys rode up with Derring, arms bound, in tow. Ex vaulted off his horse. “You okay, hon? You ’bout had us and your husband worried sick.”
Brax’s breathing slowly resumed something resembling normal. Her husband. Yes. He was.
“I’m fine.” Harriet flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I see you caught the scoundrel.”
Numbers held the rope binding the outlaw. “Jimbo’s lasso wrangled Derring.”
Deut dismounted and touched his finger to Harriet’s cheek. “What happened to your face?”
“Nothing.” She veered away. “Hush now, Deut.”
Brax angled. The fist-size whelp bruising her face socked Brax in the gut. Raw fury engorged him. He lunged for the outlaw. “You hit her!”
He tackled Derring to the ground and started slinging punches. “I’m…gonna…kill…”
“Genesis,” Harriet cried. “Exodus.”
Rough hands pulled Brax off Derring, who cowered in the dirt.
“He hit her.” Brax struggled against their firm grip. “I’m going to—”
Numbers patted his shoulder. “Easy there, brother. Our law-abiding sheriff has finally lost control.”
Lev removed the prisoner from harm’s way. “Understandable, Brother Brax. But better to let justice have its way with this one.”
Forcing back the killing rage, Brax mounted his appaloosa and reached to give Harriet a hand up.
Avoiding his eyes, she edged away. “I’ll ride Sugarfoot to town.”
Letting Jimbo, the boys, and their prisoner surge ahead, Brax maintained a plodding pace beside Sugarfoot on the trail. “Harriet—”
“Please don’t say anything, Brax.” She studied the watch fob pinned to her bodice. Curlicues of yellow hair shimmered like wheat in a summer breeze.
Brax opened his mouth and closed it. Something was wrong. An awkward distance gaped between them, and he didn’t know why. Or what he could do to fix it.
Until they passed the circuit rider coming out of the church. And the judge coming from his chambers with the soon-to-be-annulled marriage decree in hand. A stagecoach driver heaved boxes onto the top of the carriage. The brothers rode Derring toward the waiting marshals.
Brax swung his leg and stepped down. “I’ll get this sorted out, and then—”
“Don’t bother.” Harriet slid to the ground. She fumbled to free her valise from Sugarfoot’s saddle. “Sir!” she called across the street and raised her hand. The stagecoach driver paused.
Brax’s stomach knotted. “Harriet, you know our shotgun wedding wasn’t legal.”
The judge inched forward, pen in hand. “I need your signature, and then you’ll be Miss Brimfield again before the reverend—”
“Here.” Harriet snatched the pen from Judge Mitchell. She slammed the page against Brax’s chest. He staggered a step.
She scrawled her signature. “Driver!” Harriet thrust the pen at Brax. “My bag, if you please, Driver.”
“Yes’m.” The driver snagged the valise and tossed it to his buddy who rode shotgun.
Brax frowned. “Harriet, what’re you doing?”
“Trying not to make this any harder than it needs to be.”
“Harriet, I don’t think you—”
“I believe I owe you the price of a mule.” She gathered Sugarfoot’s reins and thrust them at him. “Grand Champion of Hitching Post, Montana Territory, 1885. A mature mule, but still probably worth more than the hundred and thirty I owe you.”
Clutching the reins, annulment paper, and pen, Brax stared at her. “Harriet, you don’t owe me.” Why wouldn’t she look at him?
“All aboard!” yelled the driver.
She wrenched away.
“Harriet!” Brax passed the pen and paper to the judge. The circuit rider lifted his finger to get Brax’s attention. Brax handed him Sugarfoot’s reins. “Just a minute, Reverend.”
Brax strode after Harriet. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Last call for Helena!” the driver yelled.
Harriet kept her back to him. “I’m sorry, Brax. So sorry for everything. Silly, wasn’t it? To ever think you and me… I’ll never trouble you again.”
Brax inhaled sharply. And dodging his outstretched hand, she slipped inside the stagecoach.
Pounding the side of the carriage, the assistant leaped aboard. The driver slapped the reins, and the horses took off at a trot.
Like a fool, Brax stood rooted in the middle of the street as the dust swirled in the wake of the wheels. What just happened here? Paralyzed, he watched the coach and Harriet disappear from sight. As suddenly exiting his life as she’d entered it.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this. This wasn’t what he’d planned. His heart sank to his boots. He’d lost her for good. Why hadn’t he told her what he felt?
No more bossy Harriet. Brax could eat his meals at the hotel. No more Harriet hanging curtains in his jailhouse. Emptiness consumed him at the thought of the ruffled blue curtain.
Brax had his life back. All the peace and quiet he could stand. He drummed his fist against his thigh. Only now his cabin would be too quiet. Harriet Brimfield had ruined him for quiet. She’d turned his whole world upside down.
Without her, he was the same lonely boy who desperately longed to jump out of that other stagecoach in Wyoming. Taking him—so he’d believed—forever away from the crazy-haired little girl whose wide-eyed devotion had given him glimpses of a hope Brax only now understood could be his. She’d said she loved him. You didn’t stop loving a person between last night and today. His heart ached. Did you?
He’d never—Brax straightaway realized—never stopped looking for the love she’d given him as a child. Not until he’d found that kind of love once more—with her—when she tried to rescue a mule in Hitching Post.
Brax wheeled. Some kind soul had already led his appaloosa away. The judge and the reverend stood, shoulders hunched in pity, beside Sugarfoot. Brax gritted his teeth.
For the love of a mule… He wouldn’t give her up this easily. Not without a fight. He was far more mule-headed than Harriet could ever be.
Chapter 10
The way to a woman’s heart may sometimes be through a mule.
FOR THE LOVE OF A MULE—A DEFINITIVE GUIDE
by HARRIET BRIMFIELD CASHEL
Step out of the coach, Harriet.”
At the sudden standstill, Hattie leaned out the stagecoach window. Her eyes widened at the sight of long-legged Braxton astride her molly mule, the Grand Champion garland still strung around Sugarfoot’s neck.
Hattie jutted her jaw. “I don’t have to do what you say. We’re not married anymore, remember?”
&nbs
p; Braxton bared his teeth and dismounted. “I’m still the sheriff of Hitching Post, and you’re under arrest.”
Hattie’s eyes narrowed. “For what?”
“For disturbing the peace.”
Hattie thrust open the door and stuck one booted foot onto the step. “What peace did I disturb?”
Brax pursed his lips. “Mine.” He took hold of her arm.
She wrenched free and planted her hands on her hips. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Oh yes, Harriet. You are.”
Seizing her about the waist, he slung her onto Sugarfoot. With a whoosh of air, she landed on her stomach across the saddle. Hattie squawked. The mule snorted and danced sideways. Hattie grappled to hang on. Brax swung into the saddle behind her.
“Always got to do things the hard way.” He grabbed the reins. “Don’t make me handcuff you, Harriet.”
She raised her head. “You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you, Sheriff?” Hattie glared at him as Sugarfoot set off at a trot, rattling her teeth. “Y–you j–just tr–try i–t–t–t.”
Her bones jolted with every step. Brax, with a firm grip, prevented her from sliding off. And so it went all the way to town—Hattie protesting a blue streak, Braxton ignoring her like he always did. She kicked her heels. Sugarfoot bucked.
Brax only just kept his seat and hold on Hattie. “For the love of a mule, if you don’t stop that, Harriet, I’m going to get Genesis to tan your hide. Something, I suspect, is long overdue.”
She growled as they clip-clopped through Main. Parading past the gawking stares of the Hitching Post citizens crowding the boardwalk.
Pulling the reins, Brax brought Sugarfoot to a halt. He swung his leg over and dismounted. He looped the reins on the hitching post in front of the jail. “Bringing in the sheaves,” he sang and tugged Hattie off the saddle to the ground. “Bringing in the sheaves…”
Hattie snarled. “You’re making a spectacle out of us.”
Braxton gave her a lopsided smile. “Sure am.” He hustled her inside the jail and prodded Hattie toward the empty cell. “We shall come rejoicin’—”
“Stop singing and smiling at me like that.”