DESTINY'S EMBRACE

by Suzanne Elizabeth

  She heard him march across the street after her. He cursed, and she knew he hadn't been as lucky as she about avoiding those hidden mud holes and dung piles. She turned and faced him head on. “Yes, you are! Because you’re wrong—again!”

  He hooked his thumbs in his gun belt and replied evenly, "Tell me what they said."

  "Apologize. And then agree to let me go after the money with you."

  He threw his hands in the air. "What the hell is the matter with you? This isn't a game, Miss Guarder! This town's future—not to mention my own—is at stake, here!”

  "And to think you're letting two little things like an apology and a tiny compromise stand in the way of saving it." She turned and continued toward the restaurant.

  "Don't you walk away from me!" he shouted at her. She heard him sloshing through the wet snow after her.

  "Touch me," she warned, walking onward, "and you'll pull back a bloody stump."

  Out of nowhere, her spiritual guide appeared beside the restaurant door. Lacey stopped in her tracks. The little woman was frowning, as if Lacey had done something wrong. Lacey opened her mouth to ask what the problem was, and that’s when the wet snow beneath her feet magically turned into a solid sheet of ice.

  Lacey’s feet slid out from under her. Her eyes flew open wide. She let out a startled shriek. The angel smiled at her and vanished as quickly as she'd appeared.

  Lacey made a grab for the nearest stable object, and that stable object happened to be Matthew Brady.

  Unfortunately, the marshal’s situation wasn't any better than hers. He ice-skated in place for a moment, arms spiraling. He grabbed for her and found a solid grip on the sleeve of her coat.

  "Don't move," she commanded.

  She crouched to balance herself, but her left foot betrayed her and began to slip sideways. She did an odd little dance but somehow managed to stay on her feet.

  "I thought we weren't supposed to move," he remarked.

  She glared at him. "Back up.”

  "If I fall, I take you with me."

  "Then let go," she said tightly.

  He shrugged and did as she asked.

  Her feet instantly began a slow horizontal slide in opposite directions. She was forced to take hold of the front of his jacket. “Are you just going to stand there and let me fall?"

  “I’m considerin’ it."

  Lacey's indignation got the better of her survival instincts and she gave him a little shove. He arched backwards. His left foot slipped out from beneath him. The two of them did a shimmy, a slow slide, and then gravity finally won out and they both landed, hard, on their backs.

  Lacey tried to catch her breath. “You lumbering ox!" she shouted. "Why did you have to grab hold of me! Like I could hold up a two-ton elephant like your sorry ass! What are you trying to do, kill me! And haven't I told you about a thousand times not to touch—" A glob of slushy snow came flying through the air and hit her in the chest.

  "Would it be possible for you to shut up?” the marshal demanded. “If I'd known you would be my punishment for leading a questionable life, I would have entered the damn clergy.”

  Lacey gritted her teeth and struggled to her knees. She scooped up a handful of snow, packed it into a tight, hard ball, and then turned to him. “Hindsight’s twenty-twenty.”

  "Don't you dare—"

  Her snowball hit him smack-dab in the center of his forehead where it shattered and crumbled down the sides of his face and neck. He brushed the ice away, smiling coldly at her. Then he crouched down and began to pack another missile of his own.

  “Okay, that’s enough,” she said to him. “We’re even.”

  The marshal straightened, grinning maliciously, and hefted up the granddaddy of all snowballs. It was as big around as his head. Seeing a concussion in the making, Lacey scrambled to her feet and began backing up toward the restaurant. She forgot about the mysterious ice patch—until her feet went flying out from under her and she landed on her back again.

  The marshal loomed over her, his gigantic snowball clutched tightly in his hands. His hair was wet and dripping into his eyes. His forehead was red where she'd hit him with her iceball, and his breath was coming hard and fast.

  Lacy covered her face with her hands.

  "Matthew Brady!" came a sharp retort.

  Lacey let out a relieved sigh. It was Hazel, come to save her. She sat up as the woman strode toward them from the doorway of the restaurant looking fit to kill.

  "What in tarnation do you think you're doin'?" Hazel demanded.

  "Gettin’ even," the marshal returned between gritted teeth.

  "Not in front of my restaurant you're not. And not with my houseguest." She slipped her hands beneath Lacey's arms, and hauled her to her feet as if picking up a rag doll. "I swear, you two act like a couple of children when you get together. Come on inside where it's warm, Lacey, honey."

  The marshal tossed his snow boulder aside and pointed at Lacey. “We’re not finished with this conversation.”

  Lacey ignored him and followed Hazel into the restaurant.

  The establishment was decorated victorian style with glass chandeliers and linen table cloths. There was a cozy fire burning in the hearth and the dining room was currently packed to overflowing with customers.

  Enchanted, Lacey stripped off her coat and hung it on a rack by the door. “This place is wonderful.”

  Hazel sighed and shoved a stray hair from her face. Thank you, dear, we do our best.” The woman looked flustered.

  "What is it?" Lacey asked.

  “Oh…” Hazel waved a dismissing hand. "Things are sorta hectic today. The restaurant's packed full to capacity for some odd reason and one of our waiters is out sick. George and I just don't seem to have enough hands," she finished with a laugh.

  After all George and Hazel had done for her, Lacey didn't hesitate with her response. “Consider yourself two hands stronger. Toss me an apron."

  Hazel gave her a startled look. "Oh, no, Lacey. You're our guest. Me and George would never ask ya to—"

  "You're not asking. I'm offering."

  Chapter 9

  Lacey followed Hazel through the restaurant. Dozens of interested male eyes swung her way. It suddenly became apparent to her why Hazel’s restaurant had such a large, unexpected lunch crowd. As requested, the lumberjacks had bathed, and then they’d congregated at the restaurant in hopes of getting another crack at the new girl.

  "So how did it go at the jail?” Hazel asked.

  Lacey gave the woman a victorious smile. "I know where the money is." She looked down at Henry Rawlins' ring. "And how to get it."

  "Ya hear that boys?" Paul Smith called from a nearby table. "Lacey's done it! She's found our money!"

  A loud shout went up from the crowd, and the men began to rise from their seats.

  "Hold it!" Hazel shouted. "The first man to stand is the first man to leave. If you wanna eat in my restaurant, you'll keep your backsides in your chairs and leave Miss Guarder to herself.”

  “What if I’d rather keep my chair to myself and leave my backside to Miss Guarder?” someone shouted.

  The room burst into laughter.

  Hazel gave Lacey a sympathetic look. "You think you're gonna be able to handle this hungry crowd?"

  Lacey could handle the crowd, it was what they were hungry for that had her worried. But, considering the crowd was her fault in the first place, she wasn’t about to leave Hazel to handle it all. “No problem."

  “If you're not up to this after spendin’ time with the Rawlins brothers, George and I'll understand."

  "No, no." Lacey tried to smile brightly, but figured the action probably looked more like a grimace. "It'll be a piece of cake."

  Three hours later Lacey was rushing through the restaurant carrying a tray of food and rethinking her impulsive generosity.

  "Where's that piece of cake, Lacey?"

  "Hey, Lacey, I ordered a platter of fried chicken fifteen minutes ago."

  "How
long does it take to fetch a mug a coffee, Lacey?"

  "Lacey, can I get a little service over here, please?"

  She paused in the middle of the restaurant and blew a loose strand of hair back from her eyes. It was nearly five o'clock. The lunch crowd had blended into the dinner crowd without even giving her a chance to catch a breath. She'd taken close to sixty orders, received more than twenty marriage proposals, and had been pinched on the bottom so many times she was going to be black and blue for a week.

  "Hey, Lacey, come on over here and meet my pal, Johnny!" a man in the back called.

  Word had apparently gotten out around the lumberjack camp that a new lady was in town, and that she was going to help find the stolen bank money. As a result, the stream of curious men filing into the restaurant appeared to be endless. She was the center of attention amidst a horde of gigantic men who acted as if they hadn't seen a real live woman in months.

  "Lacey,” somebody called out, “you've got about as much get up and go as a two-legged horse!"

  "Sure is a hell of a lot more in'erestin' to look at, though!"

  Lacey felt the familiar sensation of someone pinching her bottom, and spun around to face her abuser. There were three lumberjacks sitting at the table behind her, all three within pinching distance, and all three now looking as innocent as lambs.

  "Looks like you found her start-up button!" somebody shouted, sending the room into laughter again.

  Lacey pointed her finger at the offending table of men. "I'm going to warn you one time, gentlemen. Hands off the waitress."

  "Or what?" one of them dared to ask. "Come here, li'l gal."

  Before she could step back, the big smelly man reached out and pulled her onto his lap. The crowd cheered their approval and panic took Lacey tightly by the throat. She struggled with the man, but his strength far surpassed her own. She fought down a gag when he attempted to press his mouth to hers.

  But then another arm snaked around her waist and lifted her off the offending man's lap. She let out a shout and kicked backward, determined to fight them all to the death if she had to, and was surprised to find herself placed on her feet.

  She turned and came face to face with Matthew Brady.

  Breathing hard, she stared up into his face and noted his grim expression. The clapping and cheering in the restaurant stopped.

  "There a problem here?" the marshal asked.

  The big man who'd pulled her onto his lap looked instantly contrite. "Sorry, Marshal."

  Lacey saw red. "Oh, yes, do forgive him, Marshal, for pinching your butt and then attempting to shove his tongue down your throat!"

  The marshal pointed at the man. “See that you leave the lady alone.”

  The lumberjack nodded and went back to talking with his two friends without giving Lacey so much as a conciliatory glance.

  She leaned on the table toward the man. "You ever touch me again and I'll be serving your ears to you on a plate," she snarled.

  Meanwhile the marshal had walked to a small table near the front window. He took off his coat and hat, and sat down, which meant Lacey had to serve him.

  She gave him a moody glare, hoping he wasn't there to pick up the fight where they’d left it earlier. She was too tired to deal with him or the Rawlins brothers right now.

  She strode toward the Marshal’s table. "What do you want?"

  "Coffee. And maybe a little cooperation."

  "Cup of coffee coming up.” She turned to walk away.

  He stopped her. “How long do you intend to go on like this? Do you have any idea how important that money is to this town?"

  She turned back to him."I know how important it is to your job."

  His features tightened. "Is that why you're holdin’ out on me?”

  “That's why I am trying to help you.”

  He arched a skeptical brow. "You’re tryin’ to help me?”

  “Yes, as hard as that is to believe.”

  "And what, exactly, do you expect in return?"

  Lacey sighed and folded her arms. “How about a little consideration? You've been on me since the moment I hit town. You've been suspicious, narrow-minded, and offensive—and I haven't even had the chance to do anything wrong yet.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she plowed forward.

  “Out of the goodness of my heart, I've offered to help you find that money, and you've been nothing but rude and ungracious. And when I finally do convince you to let me help by having a go at the Rawlins brothers, you insult me by insisting that something other than talking went on during the less than enchanting hour I had to spend with them."

  He stared hard at her, his eyes searching. "Did somethin’ else happen?"

  "What could have happened?” she demanded. "We had a set of iron bars between us!”

  “A meetin’ of the minds, perhaps?”

  She leaned closer to him. “You listen to me, marshal," she said tightly. "I may run with a suspicious crowd on occasion, but I wouldn't be caught dead in company like that for more than the hour I was allotted. For you to even suggest anything happened in that cell between me and those vile men makes me want to take a long hot soak in a tub full of lye!”

  His stare held hers for a moment longer, and then dropped down to her mouth. The action took her off guard and she quickly straightened. “I…I’ll get your coffee."

  She turned to leave, but he caught hold of her hand and yanked her back around so fast it wrenched her neck. "What the hell is this?" he demanded darkly.

  Lacey jerked her hand from his. "It's called a ring."

  "I know what the damn thing is. I also happened to know whose it is. What I want to know is why the hell you're wearin’ it."

  His olive-green eyes were flashing lightning, and Lacey knew what he was thinking. That she'd lied to him. That she and the Rawlins brothers had come to a meeting of the minds—and then some. "Well, you see," she said dramatically, "Henry and I are engaged. We haven't told our families yet, so if you could just keep it to yourself—"

  "What the hell did you have to do to get it?" he said viciously.

  "Why, lift my skirt and fanny up to the bars—what else?!”

  Leaving him with that image planted firmly in his brain, she turned and marched across the room, ignoring the standard taunts and proclamations of love from the other men. She barged into the kitchen and was mortified to realize she was fighting tears.

  "How's everythin’ goin' out there?" George asked. He was frying pan steaks at the stove while Hazel peeled potatoes over the garbage bin.

  She dashed at the moisture on her face. “Fine," she retorted. "Just fine." She reached for the tin coffeepot on the counter.

  "You might want to heat that up," Hazel suggested.

  “No, this'll do just fine."

  She took the entire pot and headed back out into the dining where she made a beeline for Matthew Brady’s table, ignoring a multitude of raised coffee mugs along the way.

  She stopped in front of the marshal with the coffee pot raised high. “Apologize," she stated.

  "I only apologize when I’m wrong. Now start talkin’ before I toss you in jail for withholdin’ vital information that might help my investigation."

  “Is that what you call it? An investigation? It looks more like a three-ring circus with you as the biggest clown. Here. Have some coffee.” With that, she turned the entire pot over, dumping the lukewarm contents into his lap.

  The marshal was on his feet in seconds, probably thinking she'd ruined his chances of ever procreating, and the entire dining room burst into hoots of laughter.

  "Will there be anything else?" she asked him sweetly.

  His hands formed into claws, and she, wisely, took a step back. “You are the most…” he sputtered.

  "Looks like you could use a change of clothes there, Sparky."

  "First thing tomorrow!” he blustered. "I want you in my office first thing tomorrow!”

  "Wanting can be so frustrating, can't it?"

&
nbsp; "You be there, or so help me, woman, I will ride out to the Martins' and drag you back by your hair!” he seethed. "And be prepared to talk. Because you're not leavin’ until I've heard every single word that was said between you and the Rawlins brothers!”

  With one, final, hostile glare, Marshal Matthew Brady turned and…sort of hobbled from the restaurant.

  Amanda Simmons's house was as quaint and as pretty as the school teacher herself.

  Matthew paused at the white picket gate and stared at the neat little moonlit walk lined with snow-draped shrubbery. He hadn't found the time to talk to Amanda yet that day, or at least hadn't found the energy to make the time. But he knew he couldn't let the evening end without apologizing to her for not taking her to dinner at the reverend’s the night before.

  He pushed open the gate, scraping aside a thin layer of shoveled snow, and headed toward her front stoop. His heart just wasn't in this visit, and he chalked it up to two tiring days of trying to save his job while doing his best to keep the unpredictable Miss Lacey Guarder in line. He hadn't had a moment's peace since that woman had sauntered into town.

  Three neatly shoveled steps later he was knocking on Amanda's front door. And then she was standing there, the moonlight reflecting off her warm smile. She was the very picture of respectable in her blue flowered dress with her blond hair pulled up in a tidy bun—everything a decent man was ever supposed to need.

  He took off his hat. "I just wanted to stop by and tell ya how sorry I am about last night."

  “There’s no need to apologize, Matthew," she said gently. "God Himself wouldn't have ventured out in that storm. Come in. Have you eaten?"

  Instantly Matthew's thoughts returned to Hazel's restaurant and inevitably Lacey Guarder. No, he hadn't eaten. But he had absorbed an entire pot of coffee.

  He followed her into the drawing room, after being sure to wipe his feet on the reed mat outside the door. She took his coat and hat and hung them on the coat tree in the entryway.

  "You look tired," she said. “Please, come in and sit down."

  Matthew followed her into the front room and sat down on the comfortable sofa. Saying he looked tired was an understatement. He'd hardly slept at all the night before, and figured he’d do just about as good tonight worrying about that money. He swore that if that hellion wasn't in his office by the time he arrived in the morning—