The Marshalls Boxed Set (Texas Heroes: The Marshalls Books 1-3)

by Jean Brashear

  He turned her into his arms, willing her to stay…to give him a chance. Shaken by the power of what they’d experienced, he knew, without a doubt, that Sammie was all he’d ever wanted in a woman. She was the mate of his dreams—fiery magic, tender warmth, intelligence and strength. A man could spend all his days with her and never truly understand her, certainly never tire of her. She soothed his troubled soul in a way he’d never let himself wish for.

  He stroked her hair as he wrestled with his need to possess her, to shield her. He was afraid of words—he’d hurt her too much with words—but somehow he needed to make her know that he was sorry, more sorry than he could ever find words to say. He’d spend the rest of his life trying to make it up to her for not giving her a chance to explain.

  When she leaned into his caress, he took his first real breath and cradled her head against his shoulder, wrapping her more securely against him. He laid his cheek on her hair and exhaled a sigh of pure pleasure. For just these few moments before they had to face the pain of the past and the uncertainties of the future, this was…perfection.

  “Sammie, I’m sorry.”

  “Case, I’m sorry.”

  They spoke in unison, then halted, waiting for the other.

  Case pressed on. “I’d say Ladies first, but you don’t owe me an apology. I let my cursed temper get out of hand and never even gave you a chance to explain. I deserve your anger. Anything you say against me won’t compare to what I’ve said about myself. I thought Linnie Mae was going to take me over her knee. She was spitting mad that I behaved like such an ass. I don’t have a good excuse—I just felt so betrayed.”

  “You had every right. I should have trusted you and told you the truth, but—”

  He didn’t let her finish. “After what you’ve been through, how could you know who to trust?”

  “I knew I could trust you. You’ve—oh, Case, you’ve done so much for me. I don’t want you involved in this. You need to go back.”

  “Like hell I will. I’m already involved. There’s no way I’m leaving you to face this alone. Don’t waste your breath trying to discourage me. I’ve scoured New Orleans looking for you.”

  Sammie’s gaze met his, emotion brimming over. Long moments ticked away before she answered. “I wish I could say I didn’t need your help. I couldn’t bear it if you were hurt.”

  Elation surged, washing away nights of anguish and despair, endless hours in which he’d cursed himself for his cruelty and thoughtlessness.

  He swept her up in his arms, burying his face against her throat. Slowly he began to turn in a circle with her, and her back arched in bliss, her glorious locks draping over his arm.

  Just then, Jerry walked in. “Samantha, Luther, what the hell—?”

  Sammie jackknifed in surprise, and Case nearly dropped her.

  “Luther? Who’s Luther?” she asked.

  Jerry pointed a finger at Case. Her eyes narrowed.

  Case shrugged. “Hey, I didn’t know why you were here or who he was. It seemed best…”

  Jerry scowled. “Then just who the hell are you? And what are you doing with Samantha?”

  Case set her down but didn’t let go. He grimaced, realizing that he still hadn’t finished buttoning his jeans. He extended his hand, trying to make the best of things. “Case Marshall, Jerry. No offense intended.”

  Jerry regarded his hand like a venomous snake. He shot Sammie a piercing glance, and Case could tell he knew exactly what they’d been doing.

  Then Jerry sighed and accepted the handshake with a disapproving glare at Sammie. “Looks like you’ve decided not to take my advice.”

  Sammie blushed.

  Case’s arm slid around her waist, drawing her closer to stake his claim. Too bad, dude. You’re a nice guy, but she’s mine.

  Jerry’s face tightened, but he said nothing.

  Sammie touched his arm, and Jerry flinched.

  He studied the floor briefly, then sighed and looked at both of them. “Well, it looks like we’ve got some catching up to do. Come on upstairs. I think we all need a drink. I know I do.”

  As he turned to lead the way, Case arched one eyebrow at Sammie. “Some history there?”

  “I’ll explain later.”

  She started to follow, but Case held her back, threading his fingers through her hair and stealing one more long, scorching kiss. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do, too, beautiful.”

  She responded hungrily. When the brushfire threatened to spread out of reach, Case drew back reluctantly, hanging his head and struggling for control. “I wish to hell we were home right now.”

  “Me, too.”

  He blew out a breath. “Guess we’d better go on up. Not fair to rub it in.” He slung one arm around her shoulders and led her out of the garage.

  Sammie wove her fingers through his as they draped over her shoulder, a soft, tender smile playing over her face as she leaned into his side.

  They ordered pizza delivery. Sammie was surprised to discover that she was ravenous. For the first time since she’d left the ranch, the thought of food was enticing. As she sat next to Case on Jerry’s couch, she began to have hope that she might come to a good end, after all. No question that there was danger ahead, no doubt that she had hardship in store. But somehow, Case’s very presence gave her a glimmer of optimism. She was no longer alone.

  Jerry brought Sammie a glass of Chardonnay and Case a beer.

  “Sammie.” Case’s voice was low, his tone grim. “Catch me up on what’s been happening.”

  The day’s discoveries came bounding back, and dread took over. How could she have gotten so lost in Case when there was so much danger around them? “I saw them—the men from the truck stop. The one who hurt me.”

  “Where?” His jaw tightened.

  She began to relate the events of the day, unable to sit still as she told him about spotting Frenchy. She paused before a picture on the wall across the room, staring sightlessly, remembered horrors swamping her brain.

  When Case touched her, she practically jumped out of her skin.

  “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He gathered her close.

  For a moment, she let herself surrender to the comfort of his nearness.

  “I’m not letting you get hurt, not ever again.”

  She tipped her face up to his. “I’m not so afraid, now that you’re here.”

  “You’ve been damn brave through everything, but I won’t kid you. I’d rather you were tucked far away, somewhere safe.”

  “But it’s not going to go away. If they really did find me at the ranch, they can track me anywhere.”

  Sorrow chased over his face.

  “They did, didn’t they? How?”

  “They broke into my truck. I’m pretty sure they got the address of the ranch from my registration papers.”

  “Then they did set the fire. Oh, Case, how can you worry about my forgiveness when I should be begging it from you? I can’t stand knowing that innocent people have been endangered and it’s all my fault. I should have kept running—I wish you’d never stopped to help me. I’ve been nothing but trouble since the day you met me.”

  Case grasped her by the shoulders. “None of this is your fault. This is all so foreign to anything you’ve ever experienced, yet you keep dredging up the courage to search for a way out. Don’t you dare wish I’d never stopped to help—if I’d never met you, I’d still be wondering why I bothered to get up every day.”

  His eyes blazed with emotion so fierce that it yanked her out of her misery. Knowing that he cared gave her a reason to fight for a future. It roused the stubborn spirit that was both blessing and curse to her.

  “So what do we do now?”

  His jaw flexed. His gaze went steely.

  “Now, we find Roland.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  When they entered Bullhorn’s club, Sammie tensed as she recognized Dolly’s voice.

  Case cast her a rueful grin and guided her ar
ound the edge of the crowded room. As they neared the right side of the stage, Dolly crossed to them, still singing.

  Sammie stared defiantly right back at her.

  Dolly’s gaze was not that of a woman who wished her well.

  When Case drew her on, she glanced up to find him glaring at Dolly.

  “Don’t worry about her,” Case spoke, his breath a tickle upon her ear. “She’s nothing to me, I swear.”

  “I’m not worried. I want to rip her hair out by the roots.”

  Case burst out laughing. “Wow, the society girl has a mean streak.” He gently played one long finger across her cheek, then drew her onward.

  She hazarded one last glance at Dolly, only to see an expression of such wistfulness that sympathy stirred. How could she blame any woman for wanting him?

  Then they reached a door that swung open as they approached. Inside was the most enormous black man Sammie had ever seen. His attire was eye-popping—a diamond stickpin sparkled from the lapel of an iridescent green/gold suit. His tie was a colorful silk scarf, and one earlobe gleamed with the brilliance of another impressive diamond. His fingers flashed as he moved, each bearing a ring of some sort, even his thumbs.

  But what she found most arresting was his eyes. Large and liquid dark, they shone with curiosity and welcome. The moment she laid eyes on him, she felt that she’d found a friend.

  “So the prodigal finally returns.”

  When he spoke, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

  Bullhorn laughed, and Case chuckled. “His bark is worse than his bite,” he assured her. “It’s been some time since I’ve seen him draw blood.”

  Bullhorn muted his voice and beckoned. “Come here, chère, don’t be listenin’ to no reprobate like Case here. This one, he don’t know nuthin’ ’bout how to behave around a lady.” He rose and graciously offered his arm to escort her to the chair beside his. When she was settled, he offered her refreshments, but she declined politely.

  He turned to Case. “I knew she would be special, but you never told me she was a real lady. This one, mon ami, you treat like crystal, you hear me? Bullhorn hear dat you bring one tear to her eye, and we gonna see ’bout drawin’ blood.” His voice carried a serious note beneath the teasing.

  “You don’t have to remind me how precious she is.” His gaze on her was hot yet tender.

  Bullhorn resumed his seat beside her, drawing her hand from her lap and cradling it between his huge paws. The top hand patted her gently as if to reassure her.

  “What have you found?” Case asked.

  “Well, ‘tite ange,” Bullhorn addressed himself to Sammie first, “Ton oncle, il n’est pas comme toi, bien sûr.” His tone was almost apologetic.

  It was Sammie’s turn to pat Bullhorn’s hand in commiseration. “C’est vrai, M’sieur Bullhorn.” Her tone was as mournful as his. If she’d ever doubted that her uncle was not like her, recent events had cured that misperception.

  They continued to converse in French, Bullhorn bemoaning the deplorable lack of civility in a conversation she could easily imagine having with her mother. The very notion of the two of them in one room made her want to giggle.

  Case cleared his throat loudly. “If you’re finished with your little tea party, Bullhorn, I’d like to get back to the subject. You said you had information on Roland. What did you find out?”

  Bullhorn sighed extravagantly. Turning to Sammie, he rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Pardon, ma jolie fille. I must now deal with this barbarian who accompanied you. We will continue our little chat later, oui?”

  Sammie smothered a grin.

  When Bullhorn spoke again, however, the somber tone sobered her. “He’s still in town. We don’t yet know where he’s staying, but one of my contacts spotted him yesterday near the home of an old bookie friend.”

  As Case and Bullhorn kicked around possibilities for finding out where her uncle might be located. Sammie’s mind began to wander. Case’s presence had relaxed her enough to realize just how keyed up she’d been, and fatigue hit her like a wall of water dragging her under.

  Maybe splashing some water on her face would help her perk up. “I’ll be right back. Which way is the ladies’ room?”

  Bullhorn offered to escort her, but Case was beside her in an instant.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  She smiled. “I don’t think you’d be allowed.”

  “I meant—” He reddened. “You know what I meant.”

  She placed a hand on his arm. “I’ll be fine. Back in a minute, okay?”

  “You look so damn tired. We’ll finish up before you get back, then I’ll take you home.”

  Home. Only the ranch felt like home now. Shaking off the maudlin thought, she smiled, then winked at Bullhorn. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

  Splashing water didn’t help her energy much, but it did cool her off a bit. The club was packed, and the air conditioning strained to do the impossible. Dolly had the crowd whipped into a frenzy. Sweating, gyrating bodies were everywhere. As Sammie edged along the wall on the opposite side of the club from Bullhorn’s office, she had all she could do to squeeze through the scant extra space, dodging bodies swaying and shaking in celebration.

  A man stood in her way, and she searched for a way around his bulk.

  Something hard and metallic dug into her ribs.

  A voice she’d hoped never to hear again slithered into her brain. “Well, putain, you and me, we got some unfinished business.”

  For the second time that day, she stared into the terrifying face of Frenchy Pelletier.

  He grabbed her arm and pressed the gun into her waist, then dragged it upward until it stabbed into the tender underside of one breast.

  She tried to jerk away, but the dancers behind her mashed her up against him. She glanced around frantically, hoping someone would notice what was happening.

  “Don’t even think about it. No one can hear you. Dolly, she’s making them lose their minds right now. You just turn around and start walking toward that door in the corner.”

  Sammie stood her ground, daring him to create a scene. She had to buy time for Case to find her or for someone else to notice her distress.

  If she let him take her out of here, she was lost.

  He jammed her against the wall and ground his pelvis into hers, his face contorted in rage. “If you want trouble, bitch, just try to get cute. I don’t have a schedule for showing up with you—you and me, we could have some fun before we get there.”

  Sour acid rose. The thought of being alone with him…

  She’d already had proof that he’d welcome any chance to maul or terrorize her. Her thoughts raced as she searched frantically for a way out.

  A cocktail waitress was finishing with the table behind him. She had to get the woman’s attention.

  She forced her body to relax. When his tension eased, she shoved him as hard as she could into the back of the waitress. The woman whirled around, spitting mad, drawing the attention of the people in the immediate vicinity.

  Sammie scrambled away, but he rebounded toward her, murder in his eyes. The press of bodies gave her no room to maneuver.

  He lashed out with the pistol, catching her on the side of the head. As she fought to keep her feet, she screamed “Get Case!”, hoping that the waitress knew who Case was. Frenchy grabbed her arm and dragged her out the door into the night.

  Raymond Boudreaux waited there.

  She didn’t go easily, fighting Frenchy with everything she had.

  Finally he hauled back and punched her so hard that she collapsed like a sack of potatoes, ears ringing, barely able to hear him yell, “Block that door, Ray—let’s get the hell out of here!”

  The atmosphere in Bullhorn’s apartment was grim. It had become a command headquarters of sorts, as Bullhorn reached out to every contact he had to try to find where Gascoigne’s men might have taken Sammie.

  There was no doubt that’s who had done it. The waitress’s description of Frenchy was
unmistakable.

  Why the hell hadn’t anyone stopped him? She’d been in the middle of a goddamn crowd.

  Why had he let her out of his sight for one second?

  Inside Case rumbled a volcano ready to spew out dangerous poisons, wreaking havoc on everything in its path. He paced the rooms, crazed to be out there looking for her, even though he’d agreed that it would be a pointless search, with nothing to go on.

  Frenchy could have taken her anywhere. Gascoigne owned extensive properties that would provide hundreds of places to go to ground.

  Case had no choice but to stay until they could get a break.

  But being this helpless was killing him.

  “Goddamn it!” Case’s fist smashed into the paneling, startling the other occupants of the room. “Where in the hell could she be, Bullhorn?” Agony hoarsened his voice. Fear for her crushed his heart in a fist.

  “Case…” Dolly started toward him, hand out for comfort.

  “Are you happy now? You got what you wanted—Sammie’s not here anymore.” He knew he was wrong to savage her, but he was desperate to strike out, a madman in his frustration and fear. She recoiled as though slapped, then turned and left the room.

  “Don’t do this, mon ami. She’s not who you want to hurt,” Bullhorn chided.

  Case sagged to the sofa, rubbing his hands over his face, then raking them through his hair.

  Then he jumped right back up and resumed pacing.

  Lashing out like a wounded animal didn’t help anyone. These were his friends. They deserved better.

  But his stomach turned at the thought of what might be happening to Sammie.

  Bullhorn approached, the only person in the room big enough to dare to get close. He laid a hand on Case’s shoulder, holding him firmly in place. “Case—”

  The telephone rang. One of his aides answered, speaking quietly, then listening intently.

  Not a soul in the room moved. Case barely breathed.

  The aide hung up and spoke to Bullhorn. “Nothing on her yet, but we’ve found Roland Bracewell.”

  “Where is the little sonofabitch?” Case demanded.