Marshal of Hel Dorado (4 page)

 
    
“Walk away, Ryker. I am not of a mind to
warn you twice.”

     
Cob spit
the burning remains of his cigarette down, grinding it with his boot heel to
keep the embers from spreading through the dust to the wood on the floor. The
grinding of his heel jerked the other men around. The banker paled further, if
possible, and looked ill.

 
    
If Scarlett wasn’t used to violence, this
man had never really seen it and his anger sank into a morass of sickness as he
realized his precarious position.

 
    
“Whatever, Marshal. You might be able to
keep her safe tonight, but the townsfolk will have their piece come first
light. You just wait and see.” And as quickly as that Ryker’s cold fury backed
down. The Marshal cocked a glance in the door to the other men.

 
    
They didn’t need any further invitation to
scurry out of the office, shoes and boots scuffing the boardwalk as they rushed
after Ryker. Cob lowered the scattergun and grunted.

 
    
“It’s just going to get worse come first
light, Sam.”

 
    
“I know.”

 
    
“She can’t stay here, unless you plan on
letting them string her up.”

 
    
The Marshal sighed, stepping back into the
office, hard eyes on the street. More horses pounded past as riders set out
after the first searchers. The sleepy little town of Dorado was boiling over,
the residents up in arms.

 
    
Over gold.

 
    
Dread was a rock in the pit of her stomach.

 
    
“Son of a bitch.” Sam swore, the oath
virulent. He snatched the Stetson off his head and ran his fingers through hair
the color of ripe wheat. The rock in her belly twisted and she met his hard
stare with a healthy dose of wariness. She’d liked the sharp, easy command in
his voice.

 
    
The way he met a man’s (or woman’s) eyes
directly. She even liked the peek at crispy, springy wheat colored hair visible
where the buttons on his shirt opened.

 
    
But she didn’t like the dark, frustrated look
in his eyes.

 
    
“We have all of one jail, Cob. Where do you
recommend I stash her while the town gets its good sense back?”

 
    
“Take her to Molly’s.” Cob shrugged. “It’s
far enough out of town that most folks will think twice about it and even those
that don't think twice won’t consider taking that argument to Jed.”

     
Sam
dropped the Stetson back onto his head, his scowl turning his mouth downwards.
He fixed that look on her through the bars and Scarlett would have backed up
another step if she weren’t already pressed against the wall.

 
    
“Since your folk abandoned you. Why don’t
you tell me where they are heading? There are folk out there who won’t think
twice about stretching your pretty neck if they can’t get anyone else.”

 
    
Loyalty stiffened her spine. She’d sooner
take up life as an Army tramp, following the troops for the chance to spread
her legs, before she’d betray her brothers. Sam shook his head, a flash of
disappointment in his dark eyes at her mutinous expression.

 
    
Cob chuckled. “You still haven’t learned
you catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar, boy. Take her to
Molly’s.”

 
    
A gunshot split the night air outside,
dragging Sam’s attention away from Scarlett and she let out a breath she hadn’t
even realized she’d been holding. She didn’t know who Molly was or where she
was at, but it might be a good idea to head there. Or…

 
    
“…you could let me go.” Scarlett moved to
the bars, wrapping her fingers around the cool metal. “I’ll make sure you get
the gold back.” The boys would gladly trade the gold for her freedom. She
didn’t doubt it for an instant.

 
    
Especially if it didn’t mean explaining
things to Wyatt or Quanto about letting her tag-along or worse—explaining why
she wasn’t with them anymore.

 
    
Sam snorted. “I’ll get my horse. Get ready
to put her out the backdoor. And Cob…”

 
    
“Yeah?”

 
    
“Don’t let her out of the cell till I’m out
there.”

 
    
“That little thing is no never mind to me,
boy. I’m old, not stupid.”

 
    
“No,” Sam’s speculative gaze lingered on
her. “There’s something about her and her gang…you just keep her locked up
tight till I’m back.”

 
    
Cob bobbed his head once, before resuming
his seat, gun loose on his lap. He glanced at her as the door closed behind
Sam. His mouth curving into a faint smile. “You behave yourself, now Scarlett.
Sam’s a good man and doing you a favor. Be a damn shame if you turned that back
on him.”

 
    
“Yes, sir.”

 
    
This time, Cob didn’t correct her.

 
    
S
am
made quick work of saddling the sixteen-hand bay. The mare favored him with a
bored look, her sleep already disturbed by cowpokes, farmhands and shopkeepers
pulling their own mounts out of the livery. Corona was a sweet mare,
even-tempered and steady. But she was also swift on her feet and cornered
easily, allowing Sam ample time for roping runaway steers and cutting off
headstrong horses.

 
    
He’d raised her from a foal, gentled her
and trained her to saddle and bridle. She’d stand a hack if he asked it of her,
but she was as disinterested in wagon pulling and buckboards as he was in
riding in them. She whuffed at his hat, lips nuzzling his shirt.

 
    
He always brought a treat. Despite the
lateness of his hour, he fished out a sugar cube and palmed it up to her mouth.
She accepted the favor graciously and waited while he saddled her up.

 
    
Leading her out of the livery, he paused to
grab a length of rope off the hook near the door. He’d return it later, but as
unladylike as it might seem, he was going to have to secure the prisoner.

 
    
Sam led Corona between the buildings,
giving the saloon a wide berth on the way behind his office. He knuckle tapped
the door with three quick raps, his gaze scanning the perimeter.

 
    
Corona was quiet, patient. She’d warn him
if anyone was coming faster than his own ears.

 
    
The brace slid off the inner door and it
propped open to reveal the business end of Cob’s scattergun, which lowered as
soon as Sam stepped towards the light, rope in hand.

 
    
“Keys are on the desk.” He told the other
man, but Cob was already in motion, unlocking the door and ushering the lady
out with the gun pointed at her feet.

 
    
Cob was the same generation as his father.
One just didn’t point a gun at ladies. Not even lady thieves. His feisty
redhead stepped out of the office, her gaze darting around the dark.

 
    
Behind Sam’s office the landscape gave away
to a mixture of scrub, rocks and the occasional tree. The lack of a moon left
it a shadowy scrape of nothing. But he hadn’t missed the expectant look turning
up her features.

 
    
“Don’t think being a lady means I won’t
drop you,” he gave her fair warning. The most stubborn beasts in his life were
female and he’d been around horses since he was old enough to walk. He paid
attention.

 
    
He scanned the night air around them,
certain they were alone. The noise coming from the far side of the building was
concentrated on Main Street, riders heading out, other riders coming in and the
general moaning and complaining of shopkeepers taking up watch along the
boardwalk.

 
    
They were armed.

 
    
“Cob,” he paused, a firm hand on the
redhead’s arm. “You watch yourself. Men get itchy when they’re frightened and
armed.” If Micah or Jason were in town, he’d have one of them stay with Cob.
Funny, he wasn’t about to turn the redhead over to them.

 
    
The older man snorted. “You get a move on,
Marshal
, I’ve been riding herd on most
of those men since they were boys and coating their faces in sweets at their
daddy’s knees.”

 
    
Sam nodded, giving his redhead’s arm a
little jerk and pulling her to the horse.

 
    
“Now you behave yourself, Scarlett.” Cob called
quietly, his scattergun pointed to the right of the redhead. She already had
one foot in the stirrup and looked at Cob with a hesitant smile. Sam wondered
what a real smile would look like on that kissable mouth, but shook off the
distraction. He ignored the roundness of her bottom as she pulled herself up,
mounting Corona as gently as a butterfly.

 
    
Corona’s reins were on the ground and the
mare wouldn’t move without Sam’s command, but he saw the twitch of Scarlett’s
legs. He clamped a hand down on her thigh and gave it a warning squeeze.

 
    
“Don’t.”

 
    
The redhead—Scarlett—glared down at him,
her nose wrinkling with rebellion. But she didn’t give the mare a good nudge
and she put her hands on the pommel when Sam tapped it.

 
    
He’d debated the need for the rope all the
way from the livery, but after that flash of near flight, he wasn’t taking any
chances.

     
Ignoring
the disapproval radiating off Cob, he wrapped a length of the rope around her
wrists and then the pommel, repeating the process until she was firmly shackled
to the saddle. He tied it off and then looped the free end through one of the
saddle's numerous buckles.

 
    
Reins gathered in one hand, he tipped his
hat to Cob before swinging up behind her in the saddle. The broad saddle was
designed for long hours working the lines, bringing herds down and sleeping
astride the horse, so it more than accommodated her slender frame. The top of
her head came just to his chin. He gritted his teeth when she shifted her
bottom, rolling it invitingly against his hips.

 
    
Cob sent them off with a wave and Corona
paced out her steps in a slow walk as he gave her a gentle tap. He knew the
trails from Dorado to the Flying K like the back of his hand, and if he didn’t,
Corona certainly did. They followed the line of Main Street fronted shops and
beyond the clapboard houses, circling the vegetable gardens planted for local
use and turned northeast, Corona’s walk picking up to an easy lope, a
ground-eating pace that she could sustain for hours – even with the additional
weight on her back.

 
    
The glow of Dorado’s kerosene lamped main
street faded behind the hills. Spring rains had washed out two of five trails
they could use to reach the Flying K. Two of the remaining trails dipped below
the hills, the flatter terrain better under the dark moon, but lacked any cover
if a summer storm should crop up or her gang returned.

 
    
Sam and Corona knew the hills, so that’s
where they headed. His prisoner was quiet, having held herself stiff and away
at the beginning of the ride, but gradually leaning back into him as the bump
and lift of Corona’s gait brought them together.

 
    
“You should sleep,” Sam said, surprised at
the gruff note in his voice. They’d been riding for nearly an hour and it would
take at least four more to reach the ranch. The ranch was twenty miles as the
crow flew from the town it helped to foster into existence. The Kanes
controlled nearly three thousand acres and they’d be on Kane land within the
hour, but the bunkhouses, corrals and main house were some distance beyond
that.

 
    
It was a two hour flat out ride, but
nestled in the deep bosom of night, he’d keep Corona’s pace to an easy loping
walk avoiding pitfalls, stones and exhaustion. The night was a cool blanket,
with a northern breeze ruffling along his neck, occasionally stirring a red
lock up to tease his nose.