The Marshal Takes A Bride (13 page)

“So you’re going to die because of your pride. You’re a damn fool, Tucker Burnett, and don’t expect me to piece you back together a second time.”

He turned and stared at her, the anger emanating from his body, his face a tight grimace, his brown eyes sparkling with temper.

“But you would.” He said it low and with such conviction she could feel the power behind his words. “I know you, Sarah. You wouldn’t leave a man to die. Not a pious do-gooder like yourself.”

She turned and faced the front of the wagon. He was right, and she knew it. If something were to happen to him, of course she would try to save him, but what if this time the bullet she so desperately wanted to protect him from killed him? What then?

When was he going to realize that he was one bullet away from death? One bullet from never knowing the son he knew nothing about.

Tucker angrily snapped the reins, urging the horses to go faster. Sarah didn’t understand. She never had and probably never would appreciate that it wasn’t the violence or even the idea of being faster than anyone else that was the attraction to a gunfight.

For those thirty seconds a man didn’t know whether he was going to live or die. A man with a gun didn’t know if he was going to take his next breath or find himself eating the dust in the middle of the street. And after it was all over, life seemed sweeter for the victor.

No, he didn’t condone violence, but when a challenge was issued, he couldn’t just ignore the demand and pretend it hadn’t occurred. A man had his pride, and Tucker wouldn’t be labeled a coward or afraid to face a fight. He would rather be six feet under than have people look at him and think he had backed away from a brawl.

Yes, he was older and a little more settled than the wild days of his youth; but he would never back away from a fight, and he would never walk away from a challenge. And the good doctor could take her peace-loving ways all the way back to Tombstone for all he cared.

He had never felt as though he was good enough for Sarah anyway, and today was just another example of why a gunslinger-turned-marshal and a doctor had no business trying to work together.

Once again he was sure that he was meant to be a man without ties. A man without a wife, a family or a home. A man without a reason to keep him from taking on a fight, whether it was with his fists or with his Colt Navy revolvers. He had no reason to turn the other cheek and walk away.

Except Sarah...

The image of Sarah, limbs entwined with his, blond hair cascading over her shoulders, twirling about his chest, came to mind, and he almost groaned. Some memories were better left buried in the recesses of his consciousness. Especially the ones that made him think he had lost his mind for leaving the woman behind in Tombstone.

Though he wondered why that particular image kept popping into mind. Why couldn’t he forget about the night they spent together and let the image of Sarah scolding him fill his mind?

Tucker pulled on the reins, slowing the horses as they entered the streets of Fort Worth. He knew who he was, and he was not a man who was going to resolve problems by talking about them. No, he was a man who settled things in the street, with his fists or a gun.

He pulled the horses to a halt in front of the hotel. The lanterns from inside cast a yellowish glow out into the street. The sound of laughter and singing drifted down Main Street where one of the many saloons was in full swing. It was late. As soon as the wagon rolled to a stop, Sarah leaped to the ground without waiting for his help. She walked around to the back while he set the brake and looped the reins around the wooden handle.

Tucker watched as Sarah lifted the sleeping boy into her arms.

“Wait. I’ll carry him in,” he said.

“No need. He’s my responsibility,” she replied, before he could react.

He glanced at her, noticing the tight set of her mouth, the determined look in the blue irises of her eyes. “I know that, but he’s heavy. Let me carry him in."

“No!” she said, in a clipped voice. “There’s no need for you to walk us upstairs. And as for the church picnic, I’ll meet you there. We don’t need any more rumors started than the ones your mother will be busy creating.”

She was angry. Well fine, he couldn’t help who he was, and he was no peace-loving do-gooder like her. Never had been. But why was it this time she suddenly had trouble accepting him? Why had it never affected their friendship before?

“Sarah . . . ,” he said reluctantly, not wanting to part with anger unresolved between them.

“I think it’s time we said good night. I’ll see you at the picnic on Sunday.”

She turned and walked away, the gentle swish of her skirts bewitching as he watched the sway of her backside. He couldn’t help but stare at her in confusion. What was different about their friendship? Somehow he got the feeling that there was something he didn’t understand. She had always accepted him before, so what had changed?

And damn it, why did the good doctor always manage to get under his skin and leave him still wanting her despite the fact that he knew they could only be friends?

***

Sarah glanced around at the people who were gathered inside the meeting hall of the small church. Children dashed through the building chasing one another while the ladies arranged the baskets and the desserts to be auctioned.

She felt foolish and almost hadn’t come. But somehow she had been determined not to let her differences with Tucker frighten her away. She was not going to let a simple argument keep her from seeing people she hadn’t seen in years. She also knew that there would be less speculation about her and Tucker if she was here to dispel the rumors.

Her grandfather stood beside her, carrying Lucas. Eugenia hurried toward them. “Hello, George. How are you, Lucas?” Without waiting for a reply, she turned her attention to Sarah. “Sarah, I’m so glad that you came and you brought a basket for the auction.”

“I wanted to help the church,” Sarah said.

“Good, the church will be pleased with your donation.” Eugenia smiled. “And I’m sure that son of mine will be bidding on your basket.”

Eugenia plucked the basket from Sarah’s arms.

“Mrs. Burnett, Tucker will not be bidding on my basket. The only reason I came today was to see the people I haven’t seen since I left.”

“Don’t be so certain. But there are several single young men here today who I’m sure would love a chance to eat the food you’ve prepared.”

“Maybe,” Sarah said, glancing at her grandfather. “The rest of the family except for Travis and Rose, who decided she really didn’t feel like attending, are sitting in that far comer over there.” She pointed them out to Sarah. “I must help with the baskets, so why don’t the three of you join our group?”

Sarah looked up and stared straight into Tucker’s earthy brown eyes. He smiled at her and shrugged his shoulders. She knew without question that it was his subtle peace offering. It was his way of saying, Let’s not fight. He had used it since childhood and never was one to offer an apology.

But she wasn’t ready to end the war or call a truce. She wasn’t even ready for a peaceful negotiation. The battle was still on-going, even though she wasn’t sure what the war was about.

She returned his smile, though it didn’t quite reach her heart. She should never have gotten upset with him about his propensity for gunfights. It was his life; he had made his choices, and so had she. And hers didn’t include Tucker.

If there were lingering feelings for this man, she had them buried deeper than even a miner would be willing to go, and it was best they were left there.

“Do you want to sit with the Burnetts?” her grandfather asked.

“Let’s wait until after the auction, to see who will be joining us for lunch,” Sarah suggested, still not ready to face Tucker.

Her grandfather grinned. “Is there anyone you have in mind?”

Sarah shrugged. “Not really.”

“I was hoping maybe there was someone. Maybe if you found a husband here, you’d stay in town,” he said, his mouth twitching with a smile.

“We’ve been over this, Grandfather,” she said, an edge to her voice. All she needed was for her grandfather to join forces with Eugenia. She would be on the next stage out of town regardless of her promises to Tucker.

She wanted a man who wanted her.

“I know, but you can’t blame an old man for trying,” he said, with a sigh.

She turned and glared at him. “Yes, I can. Now let’s try to enjoy the rest of the day.”

The auctioneer walked to the podium. “We’re going to begin the auction. The single ladies have prepared baskets of food, while the married ladies brought cakes and pies to auction off. So let’s get started. I’m sure we’re all hungry.”

For the next half hour Sarah watched as they auctioned off all the desserts and then began on the baskets. There were only five baskets, and it didn’t take long until they reached the one she had brought.

The auctioneer held up her basket. “The food in this basket was made by Dr. Sarah James, who has recently returned from Tombstone, Arizona, and taken over Doc Wilson’s practice until he heals. So what is the starting bid on this basket?”

Neville Smith stood up, his mother by his side. “I’ll bid one dollar.”

Sarah groaned, then whispered to her grandfather, “I’m leaving if he gets my basket.”

“Now, Sarah, just wait,” her grandfather replied in a lowered voice. “There are other young men attend- mg.

“I’ll give you two dollars,” Tucker called out.

Sarah glanced over at him. He was bidding on her basket to keep her from dining with Neville. It was one more attempt at reconciliation. She smiled at Tucker, unable to resist his peace offering, knowing this would only encourage his mother.

“Do I hear three?”

“Two and a quarter,” Neville said.

“Four dollars,” a deep masculine voice called out from the back of the room.

Sarah glanced around until she located the bidder, but didn’t recognize the man.

“Five,” Tucker said, never skipping a beat.

“Six dollars and that’s my final offer,” Neville Smith said, as he glared at Tucker.

The crowd laughed, and Sarah felt uneasy being the center of attention.

“Seven,” the unknown voice called out.

She glanced around the room, grateful for the man who nodded in her direction. At over six feet, two hundred pounds, his masculine frame seemed to make Neville look like a runt. She was grateful that he had effectively silenced the man.

“Ten dollars,” Tucker called.

What was he doing? Neville had dropped out; he was no longer bidding. Yet Tucker seemed intent on getting her basket. Didn’t he realize that by continuing to raise the bid, he was causing more speculation about the two of them?

His mother was sitting there smiling as though she was on top of the world. And Sarah only knew she didn’t need to spend more time with Tucker. They wanted different things in life. They had no future together; yet the attraction was there, and it was hard to resist.

“That’s the most the church has received for any basket, Sarah,” her grandfather said. “You should be proud.”

“Of what? The fact that Tucker is driving the price up? I know that’s what he’s doing,” she whispered back.

“Eleven dollars.”

A gasp went through the crowd. Sarah felt tiny prickles tingle along her spine. Whoever this man was, he was serious about winning her basket of food and her company at lunch. Maybe she would be eating with him after all.

“Twelve,” Tucker called.

Sarah widened her eyes, trying to signal to Tucker to stop his bidding, to let the man win.

“Fifteen dollars,” the man said, and he stood up and looked at Sarah. “I hope your cooking is as good as your doctoring.”

She smiled. He was nice looking with dark hair and bright green eyes. Suddenly she had mixed emotions. Part of her wanted Tucker to win her basket, and part of her knew that this man should be the one to claim her and the lunch she had prepared.

So why was Tucker continuing the bidding war? Why didn’t he just let the man win?

“Twenty dollars,” Tucker said, an impish grin on his face.

Sarah felt her heart plummet as the crowd applauded. The gossips would be feasting on them today. She knew there was no way that they had squelched any rumors regarding the two of them.

A quiet hush fell on the room as they waited for the other man to respond.

He shook his head, a frown on his full lips. “Maybe next time, but right now the price has gotten a little too steep, even for your cooking, darlin’.”

Tucker grinned. “No hard feelings, Brad.” Then he turned to Sarah.

“Sarah, I hope you brought something good,” Tucker said, aloud to the crowd, drawing their laughter.

“Pigs’ slop would be too good for you,” she said, under her breath. The fool had done considerable damage today and given his mother’s beliefs credibility. Sarah felt the urge to berate him unceasingly for acting recklessly in front of these people. For believing he was invincible to the death of a bullet. For making her feel things she had tried her best to forget.

Tucker walked across the room, his steps steady, his swagger secure as he made his way to her. She took a deep breath. He had a commanding
presence in the room that seemed to fill the space and leave her breathless. Damn, why did only Tucker seem to alert her senses to the point all she could think
about was the way his hands made her feel.

She wanted to forget Tucker, but he seemed ingrained in her soul.

She watched as he tweaked Lucas on the nose. The boy smiled at him with the exact same dimples before he buried his face in his grandfather’s shirt. Tucker shook hands with her grandfather. “How are you, Mr. Kincaid?”

"Doing great. Excuse me while I take Lucas over and show him off to several of my friends.”

Sarah watched her grandfather walk away and felt a moment of unease at being alone with Tucker. He stared at her, a sheepish grin on his face. It had been three days since she had seen him. Three days since their argument. Three days, and his image had never once left her mind.

“Hello,” he said, a smile still gracing the hard planes of his face.