Marrying Miss Marshal (11 page)

I
n a blind panic, reckless, Chas kicked his horse, riding past where Danna's horse limped on three feet, several yards away from where her body lay. He threw himself to the ground before he could stop the beast; it slowed to a stop near Danna's horse.

“Danna,” he cried, dropping to his knees and not even noticing the wet from the ground.

He took her shoulders and turned her over, being as gentle as possible. Other than a scrape on one cheek, her face was unmarred. Her dark eyes blinked open, focusing on his face.

Her hat had fallen off and her hair fell loose in the wind, dark strands tickling his fingers as he clutched her shoulders. She gasped for breath. “Danna!”

She struggled against him, and for once he was thankful for her stubborn independence. “I'm all right. Just winded.”

She pushed his arms away, tried to sit up, finally catching her breath.

The sense of relief he felt nearly crippled him. She
was all right. Again. Did the woman have to
constantly
put herself in danger?

“Let me—” His throat threatened to close, so he cut off his sentence as he ran his hands through her hair that had come loose, checking for bumps on her head. Large, fluffy snowflakes continued landing in her hair, stark white against the dark locks.

“I'm all right, Chas.”

Her quiet words stopped his erratic movements but not the frantic beat of his heart. Before he could think, he leaned in and took her mouth in a kiss.

He felt her surprise in her utter stillness, was conscious of her hands trembling against his chest. When he pulled back, hands on her shoulders, she stared at him with large, dark eyes. “What…was that?”

“Relief,” he said quickly. “Probably shouldn't have done that—we work together—”

She stood up, cutting off the rest of his words—not that he knew what he was saying—and moved toward her horse.

 

Danna couldn't stop shaking. Not from adrenaline or fear from when her horse had thrown her.

From Chas's kiss.

The kiss that he thought was a mistake.

She went to her horse, immediately noting that something was wrong. A quick examination revealed it had thrown its shoe. She patted its neck, intensely relieved that nothing worse had happened, like a broken leg.

“He won't be able to carry a rider, not with a thrown shoe.”

Chas had moved to his horse, too. He wouldn't look at her. She closed her eyes, realizing he must regret kissing her.

“So what do we do?”

“We can both ride out on your mount, but the snow's getting worse.”

It was—coming down now in clumps, the cold wind buffeting it in all directions.

“I think we're better off buckling down here for a while. We wait until the worst of the storm is past.”

She wouldn't be able to track the bank robbers farther in this weather either. It galled her to have lost them, but the circumstances seemed to go against her mission to capture them.

Shelter was scarce this high in the mountains, but Danna scouted their best option. She showed Chas the best places to find dry kindling in this kind of wet weather, then picketed the horses in a spot where the ground dipped away, providing a wall to shelter them from the worst of the wind.

Nearby, she found a hollow between a hill and a large fallen tree. It would give her and Chas the most protection possible. Hopefully, they wouldn't be stuck for long. Especially with the awkward tension now between them because of that kiss.

He'd pulled away so quickly…had he been able to tell how it had affected her? Her heart had beaten like a big bass drum she'd heard once at a parade in Cheyenne; she hadn't been able to breathe correctly.

It was nothing she'd ever felt before. Not even with Fred.

She couldn't be falling for her deputy. She just couldn't.

Quickly getting a fire going, Danna secured the wood Chas brought to her and motioned him to sit close to the flames. She spent a few more moments carrying their gear over, including the saddle blankets that they would use to keep warm.

 

Chas watched the marshal move around the improvised campsite as if nothing was out of the ordinary. The kiss they'd shared didn't seem to affect her at all.

He wished he could forget it as easily. How she'd felt in his arms, her scent… His head pounded, but not with pain.

He shook those traitorous thoughts away as she sat down, near enough to touch.

She tipped her head back and glanced at the sky. He watched, entranced, as snowflakes fell on her face and into her dark hair that she seemed to have forgotten hung loose past her shoulders.

“Snow's coming down faster.” Her voice was hushed, awed. “It's a good thing we didn't try to go back. If we couldn't find our way, we might freeze to death. Your head all right?”

“Fine.” He didn't know what to say to her. He was completely off-balance from that kiss.

She tucked her knees up toward her chest, wrapping her arms around them and loosely clasping her hands toward the fire. “It's my fault.” This was said so softly that Chas barely heard the words over the popping of the fire. “We should've turned back earlier. But I wanted to race the snowstorm.”

“Do you think the bank robbers holed up somewhere? Why would they come up into the mountains like this?”

“I don't know. There are lots of caves in these mountains, even some old trappers' shacks where they could've taken shelter.”

She was silent for a long time. Chas watched the fire until he finally felt compelled to say, “It's not your fault we got stuck here. The weather…”

She shook her head. “Fred would never have gotten in a pickle like this.”

“You compare yourself to him too much.”

Her eyes flashed up to his and he saw the surprise in their depths. “I do?”

“Mmm. All the time. You make coffee like Fred used to make it. Patrol the town at the hours he used to patrol. What's wrong with making the job your own?”

A flush ran up her jaw and into her cheeks. He hoped he hadn't offended her with his words.

“I don't know,” she said, unclasping her hands to hold them toward the fire. It made him realize the air was biting cold on his exposed skin, mostly his face, and he shifted closer to the fire's warmth.

“Fred was a good marshal. He'd been doing it for years. A good teacher.”

The affection in her tone when she spoke of her husband wasn't surprising, but his reaction was. He felt
jealous
. He tried to ignore it. “You're not the same person he was. No reason you have to be marshal the exact same way he did. The town council appointed you for a reason.”

“Why did they?”

Her abrupt question seemed to surprise her as much as it did him. She went on a rush. “You asked me about my appointment before, and once I started thinking, it really didn't make sense. Why me, instead of any of the
other men Fred used as deputies? Why not hire someone from another town?”

“Maybe they asked those others and none of them wanted to be marshal.”

Her brows wrinkled in skepticism. “That doesn't seem likely.”

“Perhaps…perhaps they simply considered all the candidates and decided you were the best.”

Something changed in her eyes, some softer emotion that he didn't recognize. Didn't want to recognize. “I'm still sorry you're caught in this snowstorm with me.”

He shrugged. “I guess there could be worse things than being stuck in the wilderness with a beautiful woman.”

She turned her face away, but not before he saw the flare of hurt in her expression. “I'll thank you not to mock me, even though we shared—even though you stole that kiss earlier.”

What? She thought he was jesting?

The cold, and his still-roiling emotions from earlier, made him scoot across the damp ground, reach out for her, pull her flush against his chest. All the while bracing for an elbow or a fist he was sure would be coming his way. “I wasn't mocking you,” he said quietly.

“What are you—”

“It'll be warmer this way,” he interrupted her before she could finish her protest. He settled his arms loosely around her and rested his cheek against her brow. The softness of the hair at her temple made him close his eyes. He forced them open, forced away thoughts better left alone. “Who'd have thought this city boy would be camping with a pretty marshal in a snowstorm?”

She was silent for so long he thought she wasn't going to respond.

“I'm not…pretty.” Her whisper was nearly inaudible.

He looked down at her. Was she blushing? Yes. Warm color lit the side of her cheek. How could she doubt herself?

“Yes, you are. Why, at least half the men wanted to dance with you the other night at that rancher's shin-dig.”

She didn't speak, but somehow he knew she didn't believe him.

“Didn't your husband ever tell you how pretty you are?”

He nearly bit his tongue as the words escaped him. He didn't want to talk about her dead husband.

“Fred told me that I was a good shot. That I could outride him most days, and that I had a good memory for details. He told me the truth.”

“Well, he didn't tell you everything. Your eyes and your smile are…incredibly lovely.” His voice stuck on the word, so caught up was he in making her believe him. He went on, voice lower. “And your hair…like silk…”

He didn't dare touch her hair, not the way he wanted to, although a few strands tickled his chin and neck.

One of the horses blew and Danna turned her head, her temple grazing Chas's jaw. They both remained quiet for a long while, Chas simply enjoying the opportunity to be close to her and the marvel of the falling snow. He
was
warmer now, with the small fire blazing and Danna near.

The woods were silent until she burst out, “If they wanted to dance with me, why didn't they
ask?
”

 

For a moment, Danna felt Chas's breath catch in his chest and she thought he was going to laugh at her.

“Maybe they're a little afraid of you,” he suggested. “Or it could have something to do with that weapon you carry and the badge you wear.”

“Or because I don't dress like the other women?” she asked, knowing her curiosity betrayed that she wasn't entirely indifferent to how the people in town treated her.

Most days she ached to belong. To walk into one of the stores and be welcomed like the other wives and daughters, not with the grim, condescending smiles she always received.

“Maybe,” he responded. “Although I can't really picture you jumping into a brawl at the saloon in a skirt.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder to gauge if he was mocking her
now,
but he wasn't smiling, he was staring out into the night. Why was it that being close to her deputy like this made her want to open up to him? He wasn't even holding her tightly; his arms loosely covered hers. His head rested against hers in an almost brotherly way.

But the thrills coursing through her veins didn't feel sisterly at all.

He blew out a breath. “If you want to blame anyone, it's really
my
fault we're stuck out here.”

Her brows scrunched as she followed his change of topic. “What do you mean?”

“Outside the bank. I was there sooner, but…I froze.”

“I wondered how you came to be there.”

“I was patrolling. I've been…anxious since that blond man has been around town.”

Something about the way he finished his sentence was off. She sensed that he'd started to say something else.

“I saw a light in the window. And I thought I saw you…on the roof?”

She nodded. “I was there. I was out looking for Katy—Katy!” How could she have forgotten the girl? Yes, Danna had been extremely busy with the robbery and its aftermath, but—

“What about her?” Chas asked.

“She'd disappeared. That's how I stumbled on the bank robbery. I was out looking for her. I'd tucked her in and left, and when I came back she was gone. I haven't even thought about her….” Guilt pressed heavy. Danna should have remembered the girl, should have told
someone
before she left town.

“She'll be all right. She'd survived until we found her.”

“I hope so,” Danna said. It was true, but it didn't make her feel any better. “I'm sorry. I interrupted you earlier. You were telling me why you thought the robbery was your fault?”

He shrugged, eyes on the fire. “I heard your shot, heard scuffling, but before I could make myself go inside, I just…couldn't move.”

Again, she sensed he hadn't said what he wanted to say. She waited for a moment to see if he would.

“Even if you'd come into the building right away, we were outnumbered,” she said finally. “And since I didn't know you were there, I might've shot you.” She was just glad she hadn't known about the hostage— Silverton—that the robbers had left behind.

“How do you do it? Walk into dangerous situations like that alone? You could've been killed.”

“I wasn't alone. God was with me.”

He snorted his disbelief and she drew away from him; he let her go easily.

“It's true. He is with me every day, every moment. You don't have to believe for it to be true. It just is.”

He didn't reply.

“When He calls me home, I'll go. But I'm not going to stop living life—that includes doing my job—until then.”

He flipped a twig into the fire; the moisture in the twig sizzled for a moment before it was engulfed in flames. “I used to…be religious.”

She stifled the urge to tell him that her relationship with God was more than “religion,” but something held her silent.

“Then someone I loved—someone I was close to—died.”

A wife? She couldn't bear the thought. “God didn't make her die.”