Castillo's Fiery Texas Rose - By Tessa Berkley Page 0,54
and slid the bolt back to open the door. Sheriff Weston greeted her with a smile.
“Morning, Mary Rose.”
“Sheriff.” She held the door open. “Won’t you come in?”
He pushed the door wide and entered. “Is the marshal here?”
She watched his gaze move about the room and rest on the pillows and blanket Trace had folded and left at the end of the sofa. The sheriff turned a penetrating glance back to her.
Her mind racing to come up with some reasonable explanation, her lips parted, but Trace’s voice spoke. “I’m here. Been here all night.”
A knot formed in the pit of her stomach as the two lawmen stared one another down.
“Ask it, Rand. Let’s get this out in the open.”
Neither looked too pleased. She looked at Trace, then back to Sheriff Weston, wondering if they’d come to blows. She tried to smile but her lips trembled.
“Perhaps this can be settled over a cup of coffee. Sheriff, won’t you join us?” She slipped her arm into his.
“Lead the way.”
Giving Trace a silent stare that dared him to say a word, she led the sheriff into the kitchen. The golden glow of the morning faded. She felt like a child who’d had her Christmas toy stolen. Stepping into the kitchen, she was surprised to see a plate of biscuits and bacon already on the table. She turned and looked at the marshal. “You were up early.”
He moved forward and drew out her chair. “I had things on my mind.”
The statement brought a gruff grunt from Sheriff Weston, and Mary Rose felt her cheeks heat. Ignoring the impulse to snap back, she took the seat. “Gentlemen, won’t you sit down?” She waited. Trace moved to her right and the sheriff took the seat on the left. She noticed only two plates. “Let me get you a plate.”
“I’ve got it,” the marshal grumbled as he retrieved one from the cabinet.
“Coffee?” she asked brightly.
The sheriff reached for the pot. “Allow me to pour.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “My arm is still a bit sore.”
As Trace sat down, she asked, “So, what brings you here, Sheriff?”
“I went to the office this morning and found Trace’s room empty.”
“I can explain that. He spent the night here.”
At her words, both men sputtered, choking on their coffee. Seeing their startled and angry looks, she continued, “Last night, when I turned out the light, I saw a man outside, watching me.”
Sheriff Weston put down his cup and listened as they explained the events leading up to Trace’s decision to stay.
“So you think whoever is responsible for the attack on the wagon has figured out that Mary Rose is alive?”
Trace nodded. “That’s my take on it.” He pushed his empty plate away. “So for that reason I’ve decided, as our only witness, she is under protection.”
Mary Rose thought about the papers locked up in the other room. She took a deep breath and felt the eyes of the lawmen turn on her. She studied her cup.
“Mary Rose, is there something you need to tell us?”
Her head jerked up. She dampened her lips with the edge of her tongue. “I’ve told you all I know,” she replied. Her words sounded void of emotion.
“You’re sure?”
She looked over to Trace, then quickly glanced away. Her heart beat heavy against her chest, and she wondered if he could hear it. “Positive,” she answered.
The silence between them seemed long. To break the scrutiny of his glare, she picked up her cup and sipped. Staring straight ahead, she hoped to calm her nerves, which seemed to be near to snapping. She didn’t like lying, especially to a man like Trace.
“From this point on,” he growled, “someone will have to be with you at all times.”
Her eyes darted to his. “What about the investigation into my brother’s death? Who will conduct that?”
“It will be conducted,” the sheriff said. “I’ll pick a few men who are discreet to walk you to and from the freight office.”
“I will walk her home and spend the night on her couch,” Trace added.
Feeling caged, Mary Rose stood. “Well, I’m so glad you all have everything under control.” She knew the marshal could feel the sarcasm laced in each word. “I can take care of myself.”
“A broken window and a hole in a door say otherwise.”
She squared her shoulders, her anger taking control. Opening her mouth to give a pointed retort, Rand interrupted.
“Mary Rose, until we are sure who we’re up against, you’ll have to permit our intrusion,” he explained.