The Lassoed by Marriage Romance Collection

by Bell, Angela; Breidenbach, Angela; Carter, Lisa

  Gloree’s bottom hit the porch and the rifle went spinning past the stranger across the uneven boards. She scrambled after it, ears ringing.

  By the time she fought her skirts and crawled over to where the rifle landed, Pitt’s man stared down at her. “That was some fancy shootin’, ma’am.”

  “Fancy shooting?” She let the Springfield drop and allowed the fellow to pull her to her feet. “But it wasn’t loaded.”

  “I beg to differ. Those two were down before I lifted my Winchester to take aim.”

  He pointed to a spot some forty yards away where a man lay. The darkened pool he lay in told Gloree someone had shot him dead. His companion lay nearby in a similar condition.

  “Oh, no. I didn’t…that is, I couldn’t have…”

  But apparently she had.

  Gloree set the rifle against the house and sank into the porch rocker she’d hauled in the wagon all the way from Texas. “Wasn’t me,” she whispered under her breath as she watched the stranger make tracks to remove the weapons from the corpses.

  He came back to the porch with three rifles, a pistol, and the knife Francis had threatened her with. Depositing the weapons on the wooden boards at Gloree’s feet, the stranger took a step backward and looked toward the horizon.

  Heaving herself to her shaky legs, Gloree joined him. “At least we got them all.”

  “Maybe.”

  Gloree jerked her attention from the horizon. “We got all three,” she insisted.

  “Ma’am,” he said slowly, “are you certain these three were working alone? Might it be possible there are others? Maybe womenfolk or other kin who will want to bury their dead?”

  She hadn’t thought of that. “I suppose it’s possible, but I’ll not have another member of this family step foot on my property, no matter the reason.” She nodded to the barn. “You’re welcome to water your horse at the stream behind the barn, but I’m afraid I can’t offer any hospitality behind sending you on your way with a biscuit and some bacon.”

  “Not necessary,” he said. “But I must ask what you plan to do with these three.”

  “I plan to hitch up the wagon and deposit them at the undertakers in Calleyville. Their womenfolk or kin can call for them there.”

  “Then I’m going with you.”

  “That isn’t necessary.”

  “Go on and get yourself ready. I’m not worried about what’s necessary,” he said simply before turning toward his work.

  Oh. She ran her knuckles across her cheek and felt the grit of the graves crumbling away at her touch. Maybe she could run a comb through her hair and wash her face. She stumbled inside, the reality of what she’d done chasing her through the door.

  By the time she’d made herself presentable, the stranger had the wagon hitched and filled with three bodies wrapped in horse blankets from the barn. He’d tied his horse to the back of the wagon.

  “Best I could do on short notice,” he said as he gestured to the contents of the wagon. “I’ll see that the blankets are returned to you.”

  “Thank you, but I’ll not be needing them.”

  The stranger helped her up into the wagon and then climbed up beside her to set the wagon in motion. “What did those men want?”

  She slid him a sideways look. “My land. They made an offer, but I declined to accept it.”

  They rode for a while in silence. Her senses dulled by the slow pace of the wagon and the warmth of the sunshine on her back, drowsiness quickly set in. By the time she roused, Calleyville was clearly in view up ahead. Unfortunately, she’d chosen the stranger’s broad shoulder for a pillow.

  Gloree jerked back into a sitting position and straightened her bonnet. “I’m sorry,” she said as she met his amused gaze.

  “You earned the rest,” was his companionable response.

  “I don’t know what I’d have done without your help.”

  It had been a long time since he’d felt like anyone’s hero, but the way she looked at him made Mack feel proper good. “You did all the fancy shooting. I just happened to be there to do the lifting.”

  He cringed at his poor attempt at a joke. Thankfully, the woman seemed oblivious.

  Next thing he realized, the woman was reaching over in his direction. “Gloree,” she said as she shook his hand. “Gloree Lowe.”

  Her hand was small, her grip firm. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Lowe.” He shook her hand and then turned his attention back on the road ahead. “Mack McCoy at your service.”

  “You’re not from around here, Mr. McCoy,” she said. “And you’re sure not a Texas farmer.”

  “An astute observation,” he responded as he guided the clumsy wagon around a narrow turn. “England,” he said simply. Though the true response was much more complicated, this generally worked to assuage the curiosity of the Yanks he encountered.

  “You’re a long way from home,” she said. “I am, too, though not like you are.”

  He nodded. “I tend to make my home wherever my boots land. It’s a policy that has served me well.” He slid her a sideways glance. “What about you? Where’s home?”

  “That ranch where I buried my kin,” she said with more force than he expected. “Before that, Oyster Creek, Texas.”

  “Ah, the Texas coast. I have fond memories of Galveston.”

  She smiled. “So do I. Pitt and I were married there.”

  His memories were less romantic, though they did involve a lovely week in the springtime four years ago. Or was it five?

  A few card games and a well-timed toss of a coin over a bet regarding whose horse was the swiftest had landed money in his account to send him off to San Francisco in style. He still missed that horse, though.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he managed as he spied a shimmer of tears threatening.

  “Mama used to say that the Lord would never give us more than we can manage.” She shrugged as a tear traced a path down her cheek and landed with a plop on her skirt.

  Mack dug into his pocket and handed the woman beside him a handkerchief embroidered with double Ms. The emerald green of his mother’s needlework matched the woman’s weeping eyes, he noticed, as she seemed reluctant to accept his offer.

  “It’s clean,” he said. “I promise.”

  The smile she offered, though fleeting, lit her face. She dabbed at her cheeks and then clutched the handkerchief and stared straight ahead. “Thank you,” she said after a while. “I figure if Mama’s right then God sure must trust me a lot.”

  This talk about God made him antsy. His mother said much the same thing, only with a wee bit of an Irish accent to sweeten the words. The idea was the same, though. Trust an invisible heavenly being and all would be well.

  Lately he’d given that more thought than was comfortable. It was almost as if this invisible heavenly being was trying to tell him something.

  He caught her watching him and decided he’d better respond, even if the truth rang hollow. “Mothers are always right, don’t you know?”

  She smiled again. “I suppose so.”

  Ahead Mack spied the first buildings of Calleyville, Colorado. He’d had a good bit of success at the card tables here last night, and it was possible a few of the town’s less stellar citizens might want to have a chat with him regarding their losses.

  The road ahead was thick with wagons, horses, and people, making for slow going as he made a wide circle around the saloon to pull the wagon up in front of the undertaker’s office.

  “What do we have here?” the proprietor said as he ambled outside, his spectacles balanced on the end of a rather longish nose. Mack suppressed a groan as he got out of the wagon and then helped Mrs. Lowe down. He recognized the fellow from among those at his table last night.

  The undertaker, Ben Tucker if the sign behind him was to be believed, must have recognized Mack, too, because he suddenly whirled around on him. “Did one of these fellows take exception to how you play cards? Not that I’d blame them.”

  Mrs. Lowe ste
pped between them. “They were shot by me on my land, sir. I was defending my property.”

  “And her person,” Mack added as he reached out to shake the undertaker’s hand. “Mack McCoy,” he offered by way of introduction. “I saw the whole thing.”

  The undertaker declined his handshake to walk around to the back of the wagon and lift the corner of one of the blankets. His gray brows rose then quickly fell.

  “Looks like two Jones boys and their pa.” His gaze found Mrs. Lowe. “I don’t doubt your story, ma’am, but you’ll need to go and tell it to Sheriff Drummond.”

  “I expected I would need to do that.” She nodded toward the wagon. “Mr. Tucker, I wonder if I could trouble you to have those men removed before I return.”

  “Of course,” he said. “You go on, and my boy and I will handle this.” He whistled twice and a gangly lad responded. “Fetch these fellows inside.”

  Mack watched Mrs. Lowe turn her back just in time to miss the lad shouldering a corpse and hauling him inside. “We will just be going down to speak to the sheriff.” He slipped the undertaker a few coins. “Would you have the boy clean Mrs. Lowe’s wagon once you’ve got the bodies removed.”

  The undertaker looked over at the woman, who appeared ready to faint dead away. “I’ll do it for her,” he said quietly as he tucked the coins into his pocket.

  “Thank you.” Mack walked over to Mrs. Lowe and grasped her by the elbow. “I’ll handle the sheriff. Why don’t I find you a place to sit in the shade while you wait?”

  She gave him a look that pinned him in place. Before he recovered, she had stalked off and left him behind. He caught up to her at the door to the sheriff’s office.

  “I’ve been expecting someone to drag you in here,” the sheriff said when Mack stepped inside. “But not you,” he said to Mrs. Lowe.

  The little lady stepped around him to shake hands with the sheriff. “Mr. McCoy was passing by my ranch and was nice enough to help me deliver the Jones boys to the undertaker.” She nodded to the chair next to his desk. “Now, how about I give you my statement so I can get back home?”

  Sheriff Tucker looked confused. “What was this card shark doing out at your place, Gloree?”

  Mrs. Lowe didn’t bat an eye. “He was coming to my rescue, Sheriff,” she said as she sat down. “Now you might want to write it all down, though.”

  It had been a long time since he’d felt like anyone’s hero. But this woman, with her dress so recently smeared with mud and her eyes filled with fear, would likely have been grateful with just about anyone who would come to her assistance at that point.

  Or maybe she’d gone beyond the point of caring by the time he rode up. He never could tell the difference, especially with women.

  The sheriff grudgingly took his seat and pulled out pencil and paper from his desk drawer. While Mrs. Lowe dictated her statement, Mack stood back and watched. When she was done, she swiveled to find him. “Do you have anything to add?”

  “Just that I don’t intend to make you mad, ma’am. You’re quite a good shot.”

  His attempt at humor was lost on Sheriff Drummond, although Mrs. Lowe did manage a smile. Mack offered his hand to assist her as she rose.

  “Just a minute, McCoy,” the sheriff said. “I need a word with you.” He turned his attention to Mrs. Lowe. “Just him and me,” he told her.

  Mrs. Lowe gave him a tentative look. Likely she had noticed the sheriff’s tone was less than welcoming.

  “It will be fine,” Mack told her, though he wasn’t at all certain that was the truth.

  She appeared ready to respond then settled for a nod and a quick escape, leaving Mack alone with Sheriff Drummond.

  “You sure have good luck with the cards,” the sheriff said as he studied Mack. “Wonder how that is.”

  Mack let out a long breath and affected the expression he used in situations like this. “Guess it was just my night.”

  The sheriff rose and leaned one hip against his desk, burly arms crossed over his chest. “Interesting that your run of good luck happened the same night my son lost a month’s rent and the ownership of a good horse.” He stared down at Mack. “Looks a lot like that horse Miz Lowe has tied to her wagon.”

  Mack rose. “I’m sorry for your son’s misfortune, but I—”

  The punch came so fast, Mack hardly realized what hit him until he landed on the floor a few inches from Drummond’s boots. Experience told him to take his time standing up. Men whose naive sons were fleeced at cards generally weren’t satisfied with just one punch.

  The sheriff reached down and jerked him to his feet. Though Mack could have taken him, he allowed the older man the advantage and awaited the next fist to his face.

  “The only thing that’s saving you from the beating you deserve and a long stay in that jail cell for a laundry list of charges I’m still adding to is the fact you came in here with Gloree Lowe,” he said as he held Mack by his collar. “Pittman Lowe was a good man. A man I was privileged to call a friend.”

  He paused as if to allow that statement to sink in. Meanwhile, Mack was calculating his options and figuring how fast he could get out of this town in one piece.

  “If you’re the man he chose, then so be it.” He let go of Mack’s shirt. “Just understand one thing. If you hurt that woman, you will find yourself hurting, too. I’ll see to it myself.”

  The sheriff leaned close enough to make Mack decide not to ask what in the world he was talking about. “I assure you she’s in no danger from me.”

  “Oh, but you’re in plenty of danger from me.” The sheriff nodded toward the door. “Now, go take care of your woman.”

  Mack shook his head and then winced. “Wait just a minute. She’s not my woman.”

  Sheriff Drummond didn’t move, nor did he look pleased. Slowly his right hand gravitated to the pistol holstered at his waist.

  “Pitt led me to believe he was sending a man to marry up with Gloree so she wouldn’t be alone out there at the ranch. Gloree herself just sat here in my office and told me a story about you coming to her rescue. If you’re not Pitt’s man…” Pitt’s man.

  Mack edged toward the door as he kept his eyes on the sheriff. He’d leave, but he’d not leave a like coward.

  “You’re not toying with her affections, are you?”

  Mack froze. “Of course not! The idea is absurd. In fact, all of this is absurd.”

  What he was toying with was a way out, not a pretty widow woman. Just as soon as he deposited Mrs. Lowe back at her farmhouse, he’d be off to greener pastures. To safer towns where the men across the card table weren’t related to the town sheriff.

  But Drummond seemed to want a response, so Mack thought carefully before speaking. “From my brief observation, Mrs. Lowe appears to be a remarkable woman. The loss of her family is unfortunate, and I have been happy to assist her, even in this small way.”

  “So the circuit rider hasn’t come to Gloree’s place yet?” Drummond asked, cutting through Mack’s thoughts.

  He was happy to give an honest answer to the question, even if the question made no sense. “I have seen no circuit rider since I arrived.”

  “Well, good news, boy,” the lawman said. “I spied him having his breakfast over at the boardinghouse this morning. I’ll have one of my boys fetch him over and let him do the deed right here in my office.”

  Mack swallowed hard. “Do the deed?”

  “Marry you and Gloree Lowe,” he said. “I’d be happy to stand up as witness. Or were you just saying what you thought I’d want to hear to save your neck?”

  Chapter 3

  Mack found Gloree Lowe waiting for him in the wagon. True to his word, Undertaker Tucker had not only cleared the wagon of its grisly contents, but his boy had done a brilliant job of removing any evidence of the Jones boys last ride.

  “The wife is doing her best to get those blankets cleaned,” he said as he eyed Mack warily. “You can pick them up next time you’re in town, Miz Lowe.”

>   “Burn them,” Gloree Lowe said without looking up from the papers in her hand.

  “As the lady wishes,” Mack said to the scowling undertaker as he climbed up to join her. “Mrs. Lowe,” he said when Ben Tucker had slipped back inside, “you and I need to have a conversation.”

  She looked up sharply, and Mack could see she was fighting tears again. “What about?”

  “I have been asked if I was Pitt’s man.” He swiveled to face her. “I want to know what that means.”

  Her brief laughter held no humor. “I didn’t realize anyone but me knew what my husband was up to.”

  “Apparently he told his friend the sheriff.”

  “Who then had a conversation with you privately. Wonderful.” Mrs. Lowe waved at the air as if clearing away the response. “Look, Pittman Lowe moved me and our two young’uns to Colorado because the doctor in Texas said I’d die if we stayed there. True, I breathed better once I got here, but the trip did in both the little ones and made him sick, too. He told me he’d promised the Lord to take care of me, and his last act of protection was going to be to send someone else to take over for him after he was gone.”

  Those emerald eyes met his. Her look, so direct and yet so vulnerable, took his breath.

  Then it hit him.

  He’d been mistaken for a man sent to be another man’s last act of protection. Someone had thought that he, Mack McCoy, was a hero.

  He cleared his throat and let out a long breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know how to respond except to say that it sounds as if you had a good man. I applaud his desire to protect you.”

  The blond beauty shook her head. “I’m sorry, I know you meant those words kindly, but the problem is when Pitt put his mind to something, no amount of talking could convince him otherwise.” She shook the papers in the air. “So, yes, Pittman Lowe decided to send for a man to come save me. The problem is, he used just about every last penny in our bank account to pay for that man’s way here to Calleyville. Far as I can tell, the man hasn’t shown up, and neither has the money this fellow was supposed to be bringing.”