First Class Male

by Jillian Hart

  “Try it, and you’ll be dead, Marshal.” The threat seemed to chill the air, dim the sun.

  “I’m not afraid of death.” He’d learned long ago some things were worth dying for. Cassie was one. “But I’ll take as many of you with me as I can.”

  “I see your men flanking me.” The voice echoed in the canyon now, moving ever farther away. “If I don’t get back and meet up with Lew, he won’t wait until sunset. He’ll kill her. Don’t doubt it.”

  Mason hung his head. He didn’t doubt it, and he couldn’t risk it. Frustration boiled up, anger erupting like a churning volcano. He hung his head, trying to control it, trying to push aside his fear for her.

  “We know where they’re going.” Deeks ambled up, rifle in hand. “We know where they’re keeping her. I say we sneak in before sundown and take her.”

  “No, that’s a decoy,” Mason ground out between gritted teeth. “Lew would never give away his location like that. He has to know how badly I want to rescue Callie.”

  Determined, he caught a brief glimpse of a horse’s rump and tail as it disappeared around the rocks far overhead—it looked like the hatless outlaw wasn’t taking the same trail as his comrades, which Clint and Deeks had been counting on. Mason blew out an angry sigh, red hazing his vision.

  “We split up, we track both parties,” he decided, mounting up. “Be aggressive, because Lew won’t let Callie live. He’s just hoping we’ll believe him and free his men, hoping for the trade. Well, we won’t do it. C’mon, Clem, you ride with me.”

  Grim, the men returned to their horses, those still mounted wheeled up the hill, breaking into two groups. Mason led the way across the bluff, following Callie’s trail. His stomach clamped sickly, afraid for her, knowing what Lew Folsom was capable of.

  Chapter Eight

  Callie’s mouth felt like it was full of sand. She’d never been so thirsty. The blazing sun beat down on her relentlessly and had been for more hours than she could count. Her entire body ached, her hair had tumbled down on the run and was sticking against her forehead and cheeks, her sunbonnet was hanging by its strings down her back but she couldn’t reach it because her wrists were tied to the saddle horn. They’d been riding hard without a break. The sun was much lower in the sky, the shadows long. Maybe it was five o’clock, maybe six. The outlaws, two ahead and one behind her, pushed their horses relentlessly.

  “Why are we passin’ by that creek, Lew?” the old man asked, puzzled. “The horses can’t go much farther without water. Neither can we.”

  “Oh, shut up.” Lew pulled his horse to a stop, twisted in the saddle. His red bandana covered his face, keeping the dust out during the ride, but he yanked it down now to reveal a whisker-stubbled sneer. “If that worthless marshal was gonna kill one of us, why couldn’t it have been you? I don’t need your constant opinions, old man.”

  “I got experience, more’n you.” The outlaw sneered, not bothering to hide his opinion of his gang leader. “You’d be smart to listen to me. I saw how that marshal kissed this girl, same as you did. I saw ‘em in the street together, and there’s some caring there. A man like the marshal, he won’t stop. This is personal to him. He and his men are coming, trust me.”

  “Then where are they? I don’t see ‘em. We lost ‘em.” Lew guffawed, but he did dismount, swinging down easily as if the idea to stop had been his all along. “You don’t know everything, old man. Now water the horses, fill the canteens. We take five minutes, then we get back on the trail.”

  The old outlaw muttered under his breath but dismounted with a creak of leather. He turned his horse and led him downhill to where cottonwoods shaded a cheerful little creek. Callie leaned forward in her saddle, yearning for that cool, fresh, sparkling water. Boy, it looked good. Her horse obediently plodded along behind Old Sam’s horse, as the outlaw headed toward the bank, gave his animal some rein and let him drink.

  “What about me?” she asked, impatient. She watched the gray-haired outlaw cool himself by whipping off his hat and dunking it like a bowl into the creek. He didn’t answer, pouring water over his sweaty, balding head.

  “What about you?” Lew spit out sarcastically, kneeling down to fill his canteen. “Oh, you think you deserve water too? That’s not how this works, Missy. You can’t be trusted, so you’ll sit up there tied in place. I don’t care if you’re thirsty. I don’t care if you die of thirst.”

  Well, that didn’t come as a big surprise, she guessed. She glanced longingly at the water. At the glistening drops falling from Old Outlaw’s hat, at the ribbony current cutting through the center of the creek, bubbling over rocks. She sighed at the splashing sounds Lew made as he lifted his canteen from the creek and droplets of water dripped off, plunking back into the current, creating little radiating rings.

  “But what if I need to use the privy?” She asked, trying to sound completely innocent, like a woman with no other motives than to find a nice private tree, boulder or bush to get behind. But really, once she was free she was going to run like the wind. “Please? I really need to go.”

  “Then go.” Lew moseyed over, water dripping off his whiskey stubble. His canteen was clutched in one beefy hand, his rifle in the other. Something ugly shimmered in his black eyes—unveiled, unbridled lust. He looped his canteen over his saddle horn. “I’m not letting you down from that horse.”

  “What?” Well, that wasn’t sanitary nor would it work for her plan to run. She looked away, relieved she didn’t actually have to go very badly.

  “I see you judging us.” Lew strolled over, unsheathing his knife. The dappled shade tumbled over him, flashing bits of scattered light and shadow. He jabbed the knife upward like a finger, catching the underside of her chin, tipping her face toward his so she could see the evil in his eyes, devoid of any humanity.

  “Sweet, tiny thing like you,” he scoffed, “so uppity with your rules, so clean and tidy. You think you’re better’n us. Well, that virtuous life you live is all a lie, Missy. Might as well face the ugly truth. You live, you die, and in this life you only get what you take from others. Otherwise, you die without it. You’re gonna find that out, and believe me, I’m gonna enjoy showing you.”

  She looked into his eyes, dilated to black, and knew he spoke the truth. He was going to take from her, kill her and love every minute of it.

  “Horse and rider coming!” Old Outlaw shouted, raising his rifle as he ran, disappearing through the underbrush. “Aw, it’s just Si.”

  “They’re following me.” The outlaw on horseback rode up the slope and into sight. “I ran hard to keep ahead of them, but that damn marshal is relentless.”

  “Did he send a man back to the jail?” Lew wanted to know. “Are they gonna bring our men to Black Wolf Bluff?”

  “I don’t know.” Si drew his horse to a stop, breathless. “Probably.”

  “Good. We win.” A dark smile twisted his mouth as he refocused his attention on Callie. “We get our men back and we get to play with the little missy. That’s a good day.”

  He drew the knife down the length of her throat, the razor-sharp tip gliding lightly along her creamy skin, not deep enough to cut, but the threat of it and what was to come left her numb with terror. The knife’s tip halted at her collar, dug into the hollow there, between her collarbones and hesitated.

  Waiting for the cut, Callie squeezed her eyes shut, not able to stomach the mirth in Lew’s eyes. She thought of Mason, the image of him riding on horseback, charging up the slope after her, heedless of any danger to himself. Of how he’d towered over her on the town street, his big hands framing her face, his touch gentle, his blue eyes soft with emotion.

  Mason. Affection warmed her, nostalgic and sweet. Her breath caught on a muffled sob, and she wished she wasn’t so afraid. Her heart fluttered wildly, the wind caressed her hair, tossing it over her shoulder and against the left side of her face while she felt the blade’s tip linger, still poised, as if its holder were debating the merits of plunging it deep into her neck.


  A tear dripped out of the corner of her eye, sliding silently down her cheek. Was he going to kill her right now?

  “Stop toying with the girl, Lew.” Si bellowed with authority. “We don’t have a lot of time if you want this to work. You ride ahead, we’ll erase the tracks and ambush ‘em here. Kill as many of ‘em as we can.”

  “The bastards,” Old Outlaw groused, tightening the lid of his newly filled canteen. “They deserve to die. I’ll be glad to wait for ‘em, pick ‘em off on the trail as they come up. Si, you work on erasing our tracks. When this is all done, we’ll head over to Black Wolf Bluff and see if they released our men.”

  Callie didn’t like this plan at all. She imagined Mason riding up first, cresting the small rise and getting shot. Again, he wouldn’t see the danger until it was too late. Her chest wrenched, and she could no longer deny the strength of her feelings for him. They were strong, vibrant and powerful, like nothing she’d ever known. He’d stolen her heart.

  “Well, it looks like it’ll be just you and me, Missy.” Lew’s face twisted. His blade lifted, bumping over her collar to glide along the material of her dress. Not cutting, but easing down the valley between her breasts. He smirked, as the blade traced lower, between her ribs, over her stomach to halt at her crotch.

  “Yeah, I’m gonna have some fun with you.” He sheathed the knife, mounted up. “It’ll be even better knowing that marshal wanted you, but he ain’t ever gonna get you. I will. I’ll be the one. Guess he’ll be watching from heaven, unable to stop what I’m gonna to do you.”

  Callie gulped, her flesh breaking out in icy chills. Goosebumps broke out on her skin. Terror rattled through her, charging through her veins, making it impossible to think. As her horse lurched forward, continuing up the trail, she stared at the rope binding her wrists. Maybe if she could wiggle free, she could slide off the horse and maybe Lew wouldn’t notice. He was riding hard and fast, determined to outrun the lawmen after them—

  Gunfire shattered the serenity. The faint drone of birds, ceased, the wind stilled, the furious pop-pop-pop of gunfire echoed through the canyon and the higher bluffs above. Mason. It had to be him. Lew stopped, swung his horse around and fired his gun. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing Mason to be okay, not to be the one surprised or possibly shot by those outlaws who’d been waiting to ambush him.

  “Drop the rifle, Lew.” A voice came out of nowhere, booming with an authority more powerful than the gunfire thundering behind her.

  Mason! Her eyes snapped open and there he was, racing his black gelding down an embankment, rifle steady and aimed directly at the outlaw’s chest. Her hopes rose, her heart soared, no man had ever looked as mighty. He sat tall in his saddle, broad shoulders set, riding effortlessly, his presence commanding, his dark hair blowing in the wind.

  “Marshal.” Lew didn’t lower his weapon. “You killed my brother.”

  It happened so fast. The outlaw’s gun fired, Mason’s rifle fired, a nearly simultaneous explosion that rocked the high country. Lew tumbled backward off his saddle and hit the ground, black eyes staring up sightlessly at the sky, dead.

  “Mason!” She twisted in her saddle, fearing she’d see him on the ground too.

  “I’m right here.” He reined his horse close, so their animals were shoulder to shoulder, close enough to touch her. Dust streaked across his cheek, sweat dampened his skin, his five o’clock shadow roughened him up, made him irresistibly male. “Are you all right?”

  “All right?” She repeated, shaking her head. “I don’t think so. I saw him shoot you.”

  “Yeah, well, he missed. He’s not as good of a shot as I am.” Mason pulled a knife, leaned in to cut her free. “Indigo knows to move when someone’s aiming a gun at me. That helps.”

  “You’re bleeding.” She stared at his shirt in dismay. She saw two holes, one in his side seam, the other through his sleeve. Just grazes that broke the skin, but still. “You’re hurt.”

  “Nothing to worry about.” Unconcerned, he sawed at the rope. When the strands of hemp gave, he carefully brushed away the bindings, freeing her. “This is twice now I’ve come to your rescue.”

  “Yes, I think I owe you.” Her heart beat wildly, faster now than when she’d been terrified by the outlaws. “I did have an escape plan. It’s not like I’m in the habit of letting some man rescue me.”

  “That’s good to know.” He sheathed his knife but he didn’t move away. Tension bunched along his jaw. He swallowed hard, like a man trying to hold back emotion. He pulled a clean, folded blue handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the hollow between her collarbones. “Are you all right? I didn’t know if we could get to you in time.”

  “I’m fine,” she choked out.

  Tenderly, he blotted the little bit of blood from her throat. She was surprised to see blood. It stung just a little as he swiped. She wanted to fling her arms around him and hold him close, relieved he was fine. She wanted to rake her fingers through his dark hair to try to tame it. She wanted to hold onto him forever.

  But he seemed so business-like, lips compressed with concentration, his gaze focused on her slight wound, gently blotting up the last speck of blood. Then, as cool as if he were counting bullets, he rocked back in his saddle, folded the cloth over on itself and stuffed it back into his pocket, job done. He’d taken care of her wound dispassionately, as if it was something he always did for the women he rescued.

  And that realization hurt. She wanted to be special to him. Callie bowed her head, staring hard at her horse’s ratty mane. She willed down her hurt and disappointment and did her best to clear the sound of it from her throat before she spoke. “Thank you, Mason. I guess this means you captured the rest of the gang?”

  “Yep, my job is done.” He looked away, staring off toward the eastern horizon, where long shadows lay across the parched, arid high country. A hawk wheeled overhead, drawing a lazy circle against the pristine blue sky. “We’ll clean up here and get you back to town. Guess this means you missed your train ride home.”

  “There’s always tomorrow.” The words caught in her windpipe, stuck there, cutting. She stared off at the horizon too. This wasn’t how she pictured this moment. Mason felt so distant, although he was within touching range. Maybe he really only had been doing his job all along.

  “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through today.” He dismounted with a creak of leather, landed with a soft knell on the hard earth. “Why don’t you go sit in the shade by the creek, get something to drink. Relax, you’re safe now.”

  “I couldn’t be safer.” This she knew to be true to the depths of her soul.

  “Here, let me help you down,” he offered, holding out his hand.

  She hesitated, not sure it was a good idea, but in the end she couldn’t resist. She laid her palm against his, ignored the spark that shot up her arm, that fluttered low in her abdomen. She tried to pretend her heart wasn’t wounded as she swung her leg over the saddle horn, careful of her skirt. She landed on the ground before him, standing squarely in his shadow, tipping her head back to look up at him.

  Exhaustion marked his face in hard lines and weary crinkles. He looked as if he’d been through hell and back. For her, she wondered, or had he simply been doing his job? Torn, she pivoted on her heels and walked away, heading to the creek. She felt his gaze on her like a warm caress, but she didn’t look back.

  She’d never wanted anything the way she wanted Mason. But she didn’t know how he felt about her, if, after losing his wife the way he had, he would ever let himself care that much for someone again.

  “The job is his life.” One of the marshals came up, striding capably across the rocky earth, a canteen in hand. He knelt beside her on the creek bank. “It’s been that way since the first day he walked into the office. We went through training together, me and Mason.”

  “You two must be good friends.” She leaned forward, dipping her fingertips into the cool water. Such sweetness. She sighed, catching a palm full in her h
and.

  “Well, we’re friends as much as anyone can be with Mason,” the marshal admitted. “That’s the way it is with him.”

  “I’ve noticed.” She sipped, let the delicious wetness roll across her tongue, fill her mouth. It chased away the terrible, sandy thirst and gave her something to do, so she wouldn’t have to focus on the fact that her feelings for the handsome marshal had to be showing, at least somewhat, for one of the lawmen to notice. Her face heated, and she cupped her hand again, sinking it into the fresh water.

  “He was hurting something bad. Horrible bad.” The lawman kept his voice low as he dunked his canteen into the gurgling creek’s current. “First five years I knew him, I don’t think he smiled once.”

  “I see.” She daintily swiped water droplets from her lips with her sleeve cuff, taking the time to digest what Mason’s colleague was telling her. Mason had been irrevocably broken with grief. She shrugged, resigned, aching for him. “Maybe there are some things in life you can never get over.”

  “Still, I haven’t seen him like this.” The marshal rescued his canteen from the current and screwed on its cap. “He’s lighter somehow. He’s better. He wasn’t like that before you. Maybe you don’t want to get on tomorrow’s train.”

  “Oh.” She watched him stand up and walk away, striding through the spindly trees and dappled shade. He milled around to the other lawmen checking the bindings on the captured men. When she glanced over her shoulder, Mason was securing Lew’s slack body over the back of one of the horses. When he was done, he cut the lead rope, freeing the animal Callie had ridden. The animal stood trembling, not sure what would happen next.

  “It’s okay there, fella.” Mason’s baritone rumbled low and gentle, soothing. That sound rolled through her, hooked deep into her soul. Her hopes stirred, and when he caught her looking, he smiled.

  She saw forever in that smile.