Castillo's Fiery Texas Rose - By Tessa Berkley Page 0,3
call me all the way to Cobb’s Crossing to talk about old times.”
“No, I didn’t. Have a seat.” Rand motioned to the chair facing his desk.
Trace crossed the office, eased his frame into the sturdy wooden chair, and focused his cool eyes on the man across from him. “What is so all-fired important that you couldn’t handle it on your own and had to send for the likes of me?”
“Rumor has it a friend of yours is up to his old tricks.”
“My friend?” Trace took a moment to remove his Stetson. Tossing the hat into the chair next to him, he brushed back thick dark hair that spoke of his half-Mexican heritage and tried to think to whom Rand might be referring.
Under his watchful gaze, the sheriff walked toward the gun cabinet, pulled out the keys to unlock the doors, and reached inside. Trace felt his heart thud to a stop as Rand brought out a Springfield rifle and laid it on the desk in front of him.
“Where did you get this?” he rasped. Reaching out, he wanted to pick up the rifle and examine it. His hand stopped just above the scarred wooden stock. A whirl of voices, cries of pain and terror, echoed in his mind. His hand trembled as Rand’s words brought him back to the present.
“Found it out at the Willard place ten days ago.”
Trace picked up the rifle. He swallowed the lump in his throat and stared down at the length of silver hair just beneath the feather tied to the barrel. “Old Puma’s rifle,” he murmured. Slowly, he brought his eyes level with Rand’s. “But Puma’s dead. I know. I buried him.”
Rand nodded. “But someone is stirring up the Mescaleros and others along the border. Ten days ago, someone attacked the Willards’ place and killed everyone. The only thing I found was Old Puma’s rifle and a mess of unshod pony tracks. I figure whoever left that was asking for you.”
****
From beneath the creak of the wagon came the soft shush of the wheels as they rolled against the loose earth. Mary Rose breathed in the warm spring air and thought how good it was to be alive. The soft sweep of the breeze pulled a copper curl from beneath her broad Arizona Stetson. Using a gloved hand, she swept the lock of hair back from her face and sighed with contentment.
Daniel hadn’t said anything, yet the twitch of his jaw told her he was less than pleased with what had happened back in town. No sooner had he spoken to Moe than he’d shoved her onto the box beside him and they’d headed out of town.
“A penny for your thoughts.” His voice invaded her privacy.
She glanced over, the corners of her mouth lifting as she spoke. “Let’s not throw our money around recklessly, shall we?”
“Always the miser, little sister.”
She could hear the laughter in his voice and gave him a look of disdain. “I suppose I am, but I think I have a right.”
Daniel glanced at her. “Well the price is free, but I need to know what happened back there between you and Moe.”
She took a deep breath. “I did nothing wrong. I was checking the tack. Moe made a few improper advances. He had me by the arm until that man—er, the marshal—showed up.”
“I spoke to Moe. I explained to him that you were my sister and I didn’t want him to be bothering you.” Daniel put a foot on the brake and eased back on the reins. Mary Rose grasped the brass rails and held on as they slowed. Behind them, the second wagon groaned to a stop. Turning, he called out to the driver behind them, “Moe, I want to turn the wagons in at Cottonwood Springs and let the team rest and get some water.”
“Right, boss,” the big teamster’s voice echoed back.
Mary Rose waited until her brother put the team in motion again to speak. “Do you think Moe Horne was the best man to draw for this trip?”
Daniel cast a serious glance at her before he whistled for his team to lean into the traces and pull up the incline leading toward the high stretch of the mesa.
“Moe’s a good teamster. I need his brawn should something happen to the wagons. I want to get there, and get there quick.”
She glanced down at the rumps of the horses. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Dan.”
“I know you didn’t.” He shifted both sets of lines into one hand