DESTINY'S EMBRACE

by Suzanne Elizabeth

"Mornin', boss. Need some help?"

  Matthew had been caught in some suggestive situations before, but this one took the cake. And with Larry, Gene, and Bill as witnesses, it was bound to be spreading through town like a Texas wildfire before either he or Miss Guarder even had a chance to get up on their feet.

  "Wipe those stupid grins off your faces and help the lady up," he ordered. There isn’t anything improper going on here, he reminded himself. He'd simply grabbed what was necessary— and that necessary had just happened to be Miss Guarder's shapely backside. It was as plain and as simple as that. He was just having a hard time letting go of it considering it fit so neatly in his hands.

  Before any of his deputies could dismount and help her to her feet, Miss Guarder managed to climb off him and stand back. Matthew's first impulse was to jump to his feet and deny any wrongdoing to his men. But a hasty action like that might just imply some sort of guilt on his part, so he lay back in the snow and pretended to be disgruntled by the whole situation.

  "We, uh, hurried on out here this mornin' 'cause we thought you might be in some sorta trouble, boss," Larry Dover said. "But you seem to have the situation well in…hand."

  The other two deputies broke into chuckles.

  "Looked like a handful to me," Gene Peers added, laughing harder.

  Bill Booth leaned forward in his saddle and grinned at Miss Guarder. "Mind if I try my hand at it?”

  Lacey Guarder crossed her arms and eyed the men's horses. "You know, I've heard a man often compensates for a certain inadequacy by choosing a powerful mode of transportation."

  Matthew groaned and closed his eyes, knowing that when the woman got that look in her eye nothing good ever came of it.

  There was a tense moment of silence. Then Larry said in a slow, stunned drawl, "I beg your pardon, ma'am?"

  "The larger the mode, the smaller the load," she explained with a shrug.

  Matthew sat up. His deputies' beard-stubbled faces had turned hot-pepper red. These men had followed him into rattlesnake dens, knife brawls, and gunfights without ever showing a hint of fear, and Miss Lacey Guarder had just laid them all low with one quick lash of her tongue.

  "Now, what the hell kinda remark is that?" Larry Dover demanded.

  "An honest one?" she replied.

  "You can't just go around sayin' things like that to a feller," Gene Peers declared. "Can she, Larry?"

  “You certainly had no problem insulting me,” Lacey insisted.

  "That was dif'ernt," Bill Booth protested.

  "Different why? Because I'm a woman and only men can make lewd remarks?"

  "Women ain't s'pose ta… Well, they don't just… Aw, you tell her Larry."

  "Women ain't supposed to be coarse, is what Gene here's tryin' to say," Larry explained. "Ain't no man around here gonna want a coarse woman."

  "Well, now, that news certainly brightens my morning,” Lacey quipped. “Care to leave and make it perfect?"

  His deputies appeared to be at a loss, and Matthew could certainly sympathize. Lacey Guarder was definitely one for the books, and certainly not one to tangle with when it came to a battle of wits—especially not for three dim-witted barrel heads like Larry, Bill, and Gene.

  The snow beneath him was starting to melt and seep through his denims, but he felt his men had been sufficiently distracted enough that it was now safe for him to stand. He pulled his hat on tighter, and rose to his feet. "Close your mouths, boys, before your tongues freeze to your teeth."

  "Where the hell did you find this she-cat?" Larry demanded. "I've seen shorter claws on a mountain lion."

  "And smaller feet on an elephant," Gene remarked. He was staring at the over-sized shoes Matthew had found for her in the cellar.

  "He followed his gun," Lacey Guarder answered. She took hold of the sides of her trousers and hiked them back up around her hips. The strange way she'd tied her shirt through the belt loops was managing to keep the damn things on, but, judging by the shape of the sleek little body he'd just handled, he figured the pants had to be five sizes too big.

  Larry gave him an odd look. "His gun?"

  Not in the mood to explain himself, Matthew ignored the question. "Any news on Lorraine Rawlins?" he asked.

  "That's why we're here," Gene replied.

  "Got a lead she might be holding' up at an aunt's house in Geneva," Bill added.

  Matthew nodded. "Ned and Henry feeling any more talkative after a cold night in jail?"

  "Not a bit," Larry answered.

  Bill smiled eagerly. "I say we string 'em up from a tree and see if that don't loosen their tongues a little."

  "Oh, that's brilliant," Lacey Guarder remarked. "Let's strangle them and see if that'll get them to talk."

  Bill gave her a dark scowl. "I suppose you've got a better idea."

  "As a matter of fact—"

  "She's got no part in this," Matthew interrupted. "You boys get to work clearin’ off this porch while I get my horse. If we're lucky this lead in Geneva will pan out and we'll have that money back by this afternoon."

  "Don't count on it," he heard Miss Guarder comment as he walked past her for the barn.

  He stopped and stared at her red nose. "I suggest you get a coat on."

  "I'm coming with you."

  "We're not going to town. I'm sure the Martins will be happy to drive you there later to get some decent clothes."

  "I don't intend to shop."

  He cast a disparaging look over her baggy attire and couldn't quite help imagining what lay beneath. "Suit yourself.” He headed on his way.

  "I intend to help you recover that stolen money."

  Matthew froze in his tracks. He could clearly hear the bewildered grumbles of his men a few yards away, but he was certain he’d heard Miss Guarder incorrectly. He turned once to face her. "What was that?"

  "I want to help."

  "Go back in the house and have your cup of coffee, Miss Guarder. Me and my men don't need your help."

  She snorted derisively. “You had your gun planted in my face last night thinking I was Lorraine Rawlins. I’d say you need all the help you can get.”

  “You did?” Larry Dover questioned.

  "But, boss," Gene Peers added, “she don't even have black hair."

  "I am aware of that, Gene,” Matthew replied, his patience thinning.

  "One would think,” Miss Guarder continued, “considering how important this money is to the town, that you'd welcome any help you could get in finding it."

  He crossed his arms over his chest, wondering what game she was playing now. "And just how do you intend to help?"

  She gave him a proud smirk. "I'll bet you a new coat that I can get Ned and Henry to talk."

  He smirked at her. “Thanks, but those kinds of visits aren't allowed in my jail."

  Her smile faded, but the determined glint in her golden eyes only intensified. “That’s not what I had in mind."

  "The answer's still no."

  "Afraid I might succeed and show you up?"

  Fear didn't exactly cover it. It was more like doubt. There was something about this woman, something he was finding hard to resist, and he wanted away from her—far away.

  "Ya know, Marshal," Larry spoke up, "a man does tend to be susceptible to a purty gal. Maybe we should—"

  "No," Matthew repeated firmly. He gave Lacey Guarder an unflinching stare. "Absolutely not." Then he turned and headed for the barn.

  He'd been telling himself all morning that once he left the house, once he was out of her company, he'd be fine. He'd almost kissed her after their pillow fight. He still couldn't believe it. One minute he'd been angry as hell, trying to keep from reaching for her neck, and the very next he'd been seized by an almost overwhelming desire to lay his hands on her in a entirely different way. Thank God Hazel had walked in when she did.

  "Mornin', Matthew," George Martin called as Matthew entered the barn. He was sitting on a three-legged stool, milking their cow.

  Matthew headed for hi
s saddled horse. "Mornin’, George."

  "You and Miss Guarder get that porch taken care of all right?"

  "I've got my deputies workin’ on it now."

  George chuckled. "I always knew them boys were good for somethin'."

  And then Lacey Guarder stormed into the barn. “Listen here, pal, just who the hell do you think you are?"

  George looked up in surprise, but Matthew wasn't surprised at all. Of course she'd followed him; she hadn't had the last word yet.

  "I happen to be the marshal," he replied. He steadied his horse and tightened the cinch on his saddle. “You know, the law around here? I think it's about time you came to terms with that.”

  “Is that supposed to intimidate me?"

  He gave her a hard look. "It should."

  “Okay, listen, sweet cakes. This tough guy image you're working here, it doesn't impress me. We both have a problem. You need to find that money, and I need to help you do it. I can get those two men to talk—"

  "How?”

  "By getting them to think I'm on their side. Place a man in the company of an attractive woman who commiserates, and he'll open up like the cargo doors on a B-52."

  He narrowed his eyes. “A what?" Sometimes she said the damndest things….

  "I can get them to talk," she insisted.

  "I don't suppose it would do me any good to ask you why you're so interested in helpin’ find this money?"

  She pressed her lips together and looked down at her feet. More secrets. He wasn’t surprised.

  "I didn't think so,” he remarked. “Look, it's an interestin’ idea, but in order for it to work you'd have to be left alone with the Rawlins brothers, and I'm not cruel enough to subject any woman to that—not even you. So do us all a favor and stay out of it." He turned to his horse and swung up into his saddle. "Thanks for the hospitality, George," he called.

  "Don't mention it, Matthew," George replied. "See ya Saturday night. Hazel and I are lookin' forward to dinner with you and Mizz Simmons."

  Amanda. Sweet, gentle Amanda.

  Matthew looked down at the firebrand standing beside his horse and found himself comparing the two women. Amanda Simmons was the kind of woman men made plans with. Lacey Guarder was the kind of woman who took a man's best laid plans and ground them into dust beneath her heel. The smartest thing he could do was ride out of that barn and never give the woman another thought.

  He tugged his hat brim down low over his forehead, more to hide his thoughts than to block the daylight. "It's been interesting," he said to her.

  “This isn’t over yet, Marshal.”

  "Yes, Miss Guarder, it is."

  He clicked to his horse and rode out of the barn. His men had already finished clearing the porch, and all three fell into line behind him. He had six days to recover that money or he was out of a job.

  But he wasn't thinking about his job or that stolen money as he headed off down the road to Geneva. He was thinking about a copper-haired hellion with flashing eyes.

  Chapter 6

  Lacey wasn't giving up. It was no longer just a matter of proving herself to her spiritual guide. No, now she was determined to help find that money to show up the pompous windbag Tranquility called a marshal.

  He was afraid of her, that much was obvious—afraid she was smarter than he was and would crack this case before he did. And, that's exactly what she intended to do. She'd save the town, and his measly little job, and she'd do it all by herself.

  What she needed was a plan.

  She'd spent the morning cleaning up the feathers in her bedroom. It was impossible to sweep them, so she'd had to pick them up with her bare hands; she never thought she'd see the day when she'd actually long for a Dustbuster.

  Hazel had come into her room and announced that she and George were heading into town to their restaurant, and wondered if Lacey like to spend the day in town with them. Considering a trip into town fit neatly into the plan she was hatching, Lacey agreed. Now if she could only survive the ride there.

  She ducked lower beneath the thick quilt and barely suppressed a shiver. There was certainly nothing like speeding along through the freezing cold, in a wooden convertible, pulled by two gigantic draft horses, to really get the old heart pumping. How she missed the warm California sun. She couldn't feel her nose anymore, and wondered if it was still attached to her face.

  She tucked her hands up inside the sleeves of the large, wool-lined coat Hazel had lent her, and tried to keep her exposed face warm by pressing it into the thick collar. She focused her mind on scenery rolling past.

  Cold though it might be, Washington in the wintertime was beautiful. She'd only seen landscapes like the ones rolling past her on postcards, and never had she dreamed it would be this dramatic in full scope. The deciduous trees were bare of leaves, standing like sleeping sentinels awaiting spring, but the pines and the firs were still rich, deep green with boughs covered in a sparkling layer of pure crystal-white.

  The absolute silence was almost overwhelming, and until this moment Lacey had never realized how loud the twenty-first century was. Here there were no cars, no airplanes, no machinery of any kind to interrupt the perfect sounds of horses crunching through the deep snow to the rhythmic jingle of bells around their necks.

  "How ya doin' there, Lacey?" George asked.

  Lacey looked up and managed to force her cold, dry lips into a smile. "F-fine," she said through the chatter of her teeth.

  He and Hazel had seated her in between them to keep her as warm as possible. They'd also folded up the quilt and given her the entire thing to snuggle beneath. They were the nicest people, always thinking of others before themselves. Lacey had never met anyone like them.

  George smiled. "We're gonna to have to fatten you up, girl, or you're gonna freeze as solid as a icicle on a water pump in these mountains.”

  "I think just gettin' her some clothes that fit might help, George,” Hazel remarked. “You think you and Tyler can handle the lunch crowd on your own today?”

  "Doubt many folks'll be comin' into town to eat in weather like this."

  "Good. 'Cause Lacey and me are goin' shoppin'."

  "Oh.” Lacey shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't have any mon—"

  Hazel held up her hand. "Not another word about it.”

  Lacey looked over at George, to gauge how he felt about his wife's plans, and he smiled down at her. In all her life nobody had ever been this generous to her, and Lacey was suddenly hit with a wave of guilt. "I really can't accept—"

  "Sure is a peaceful mornin', ain't it, George?"

  "Sure is, Hazel.”

  Lacey frowned at the woman. Neither one of them were going to let her decline their offer, but would they still feel so generous if they knew what kind of person she really was?

  "Here we are," Hazel said.

  Lacey turned her attention back to the road and noticed some ramshackle buildings coming up on her left. They were barely standing beneath the weight of the snow. "Where is here?" she asked.

  "Tranquility," Hazel replied. "I know it's not much to look at now, but this town’s got big plans and high hopes."

  That's about all it has, Lacey thought.

  George drove the sleigh down the narrow street, passing more unadorned buildings with faded signs and cracked windows. One sign read Logging Tools. Another read Trapping and Hunting. They drove past a large corral and building that proclaimed itself the Harness and Blacksmith Shop, and a large bearded man stepped out from a low tin roof to greet them.

  "Mornin', George. Hazel."

  "Mornin', Ed," the Martins called back.

  The man remained outside in the cold, staring openly at Lacey as they continued up the road. Then the buildings began to look a little newer—and a little more stable. There was a general store. And a tiny telegraph office. A clothing boutique that boasted ready-made dresses and even had a few hanging in its tall window. Next to that was a colorfully painted restaurant with a large sign that said Hazel’s. T
hat's where George brought the massive horses to a stop.

  "This is our restaurant," Hazel proclaimed proudly. "We've got three employees and can feed fifty people at a time. Across the street there is Matthew's office."

  Lacey turned to stare at the tiny building marked Marshal's Office and City Jail. The meat of the plan she’d hatched up sat somewhere inside that building.

  Laughter came from farther on down the road, drawing Lacey's attention. There were more buildings, these a little larger, and men were milling about in abundance. “Down there is logger's row," Hazel whispered. "It's mostly saloons and a few other unmentionables."

  Unmentionables meaning bordellos, Lacey thought. She business herself with untangling from the quilt as George reached up and helped his wife down to the street. When the man reached toward Lacey she hesitated. To anyone else those strong fatherly arms would have represented shelter, security, but to Lacey they meant exactly the opposite.

  George raised his brows in expectation. "You comin'?"

  Lacey tried to steady her mounting panic. This man had given her food, shelter, kindness, clothing, how could she decline his offer to help her down without offending him?

  "I'd hate for ya to fall, honey,” he said.

  "George, the girl is young and strong. Let her get down on her own."

  George lowered his arms and smiled. "How 'bout if I just stand real close in case ya slip?"

  Lacey smiled, relieved. "That would be very considerate of you." Fortunately, she managed to touch down in the street without any problems. "Thank you," she said to him.

  He chuckled. "I didn't do a thing."

  But he had.

  Suddenly the door to the boutique slammed open and a tornado with black hair and sparkling blue eyes came flying out onto the street. "Hazel!" the young woman cried. "Why didn't ya tell me there was a new girl in town!"

  "Because Miss Guarder only arrived last night, Nettie. Goodness, did you expect we'd come tromping to your place through the storm just to introduce the two of ya?"

  Nettie laughed and turned her big blue eyes on Lacey. "Well, now. Aren't you a beautiful sight to behold.”

  Lacey thought she managed to smile very nicely, considering she was fighting an urge to run. She'd come across enough of them in her life to know, instinctively, that this young woman was a hugger.