First Class Male (8 page)

The bell on the door chimed cheerfully as an elderly woman and two little girls swept into the shop. The nearly identical-looking sisters appeared to be a year or so apart in age, their brown hair in tidy braids, their matching blue frocks carefully tailored.

“You girls may go look at things.
Quietly.”
The older woman gave them a warning look. “I need to speak with Miss Lindylee.”

“Yes, Grandmother,” the girls said in unison and walked quickly out of sight behind a large bonnet display.

Seeing that the shop owner was about to become busy and perhaps make more sales, Callie took her package, thanked Lindylee again and headed for the door.

“Hello, Mrs.
Reynolds.”
Lindylee emphasized the name, stopping Callie in her tracks.

Mrs. Reynolds. The older lady had to be Earl’s kindly, good mother whom he’d written about so glowingly in his letters. Her hand lingered on the doorknob as she turned, gazing with longing at the mother figure she’d been hoping for. It felt as if someone had reached in and grabbed her heart in a crushing squeeze. Both loss and longing filled her as she took one long look at the mother-in-law she could have had.

“If I’ve told you once, Lindylee, I’ve told you a thousand times. You must stitch the girl’s seams more securely.” Mrs. Reynolds reached into her oversized reticule and hauled out a lovely pink dress with expensive lace and intricate embroidery. “Clara tore through this on the first wear. Hardly a quality product, let me tell you. You should be ashamed of trying to pass yourself off as an accomplished seamstress. I demand my money back.”

“May I ask what Clara was doing when she tore the dress?” Lindylee asked mildly, although her shoulders were set, her jaw rigid. Clearly there were some previous tensions between the two.

Callie watched, aghast as Mrs. Reynolds sneered at the gentle shopkeeper.

“Now that is none of your concern, is it?” The older lady puckered up her mouth most unattractively. She did not look kind or gentle at all. “You’ll refund me the cost of this dress or I’ll let everyone in this town know how you treated me.”

Lindylee sighed. “Let me see the torn seam.”

Smothered laughter drew Callie’s attention away from the front counter, where Lindylee bowed her head to inspect the seam in question. The two angelic little girls with Cupid’s bow mouths and delicate beauty were standing at the bonnet display. One girl struggled not to burst out laughing while the other gathered up spit in her mouth, covertly lifted a hat from its hook, turned it upside down and shot a spit wad into it. She replaced it on the rack with a giggle.

If that was Earl’s mother, Callie thought, then these were his daughters. Interesting. These were the sweet, shy little girls who were nothing but loving and kind?

“What are you looking at, lady?” One girl asked as she gathered up more spit in her mouth.

“Yeah.” The other sister uncovered her mouth with her hand to sneer. “Go away, we don’t like you.”

Callie’s mouth hung open, she didn’t know what to say. Shocked, she turned the doorknob, thinking that if children in the orphanage had behaved that way, they would be sitting in the corner through supper, if that’s what it took for them to learn to behave.

Disillusionment struck her hard as she turned away. Clearly, the reality about Dr. Earl Reynolds and his version of it were clearly two different things. A hot ball of anger gathered in her stomach as she gave the door a good strong yank to open it. The bell overhead tinkled melodiously over the sound of the conversation at the front counter.

“Perhaps Clara was climbing trees in this dress?” Lindylee asked as Callie sailed out of the shop. “Don’t think I didn’t hear all about that. She was swinging from a branch like a monkey and her dress tore. I specifically told you the size was too small, but you had to have the dress for your tea party.”

“Excuses for your shoddy work!” Mrs. Reynolds argued shrilly.

Callie shut the door, sending Lindylee a sympathetic look through the glass. Whew, she thought, standing in the hot puff of the summer breeze. She tripped down the boardwalk, thinking of how close she’d come to marrying the wrong man. She didn’t like Earl or his family at all. Strangely, grief took hold of her. She’d been so eager to love the family she’d read about in those letters.

“Looks like you found something to suit you.” A deep male voice rose above the clatter of horses and vehicles on the road and the drone of conversations farther down the boardwalk. Mason pushed off the rail, his arms folded over his broad chest, his gaze intense as he looked her up and down, from lacy collar to ruffled hem and back up again. His baby-blue eyes glinted with male appreciation. “That’s a good color on you.”

“You haven’t been waiting for me all this time, have you?” She started off down the boardwalk, trying not to look at him, trying to keep her heart from leaping at the sight of him. “Surely you have better things to do than escort me around town.”

“No, I surely don’t.” Kindness softened his hard planes and angles as he strode toward her, all mighty man and easy-going confidence. He smelled good too, like sunshine and leather. He fell in stride beside her. “Thought I’d walk you back to Mariel’s.”

“Because I don’t know my way? I’m perfectly fine on my own.” She wished her eyes hadn’t strayed upward, because something funny happened to her when she gazed at him. Her palms went damp, her pulse went crazy, her stomach gave a little swoop. “Don’t tell me you have ulterior motives.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you.” The crook of one corner of his mouth told her that was a joke. He did have ulterior motives, and she was afraid she knew what they were. He stepped down onto the street, hand out, not touching her, but ready to help her if she tripped on her skirts.

The minute her shoes touched the dusty street, he withdrew his hand, and she couldn’t help but be a little sad at that. Honestly, the last thing she should be wishing for was a man’s touch (Emma would be the first to say
That’s indecent!
with great outrage), but she couldn’t help it. A part of her seemed to long for that hot, solid-male feel of him.

Of course, what woman wouldn’t feel that way? She slid a sideways gaze at him as he stayed at her side, turning onto the side street, kicking up little clouds of dust with his boots. He had really large feet, she realized, to go along with his manly hands. Everything about him was just perfect. She gave a wistful sigh.

“I don’t have a single ulterior motive,” he assured her wryly as he withdrew something from his shirt pocket. The six shooters strapped to his muscled thighs glinted dully in the sun as he held out a train ticket. “I’ve been very direct about this. Here’s your way home.”

“This is too much, Mason.” She took it anyway, studied it as her eyes smarted. Her throat felt thick with emotion. “I’m only accepting this ticket and the clothes because I intend to pay you back.”

“Hmm. I understand you now.” He knuckled back his hat, nodding slowly like a man coming to a grand epiphany. “You are a stubborn woman. That is the real reason you’re unmarried.”

“If I didn’t see those laughing glints in your eyes, I’m afraid I would have to kick you in the shins.”

“That would be a serious offense. Assaulting a U.S. Marshal.”

“That’s a chance I’m willing to take.” Feeling as light as air and tingly all over (she was just going to have to ignore the tingles entirely), she bobbed along beside him, walking in his shadow. “Now that you know the truth about me, and yes, I’m stubborn, my sisters will attest to that, what about you? Why haven’t you remarried?”

“That’s getting personal.” He arched a brow.

“As we’ve discussed, you’ve seen me naked. That’s pretty personal.” She blushed a little, but it didn’t stop her curiosity. She was leaving in a few hours. This was her only chance to find out, the last time she would be with him. He would go on with his life here, she would return to Holbrook and they’d never meet again. That saddened her immensely, a gulf of loss opening up in her chest. If given half a chance, she really could fall in love with Marshal Mason Greer.

“Opal was carrying our first child when she was gunned down in a bank robbery,” he said as casually as if he was reporting on the weather, without a hitch in his stride or a hesitation in his voice. Except for the tight cinch of his jaw, the tendons cording in his neck. Pain shadowed his eyes. “We were standing in line together waiting for the teller to finish with another customer. We were talking about baby names, Opal had decided she wanted James for a boy, and I liked it, when the door swung wide, two shots fired into the lobby and a gang of outlaws stormed in. They killed the security guard with a shot to the head and turned their guns on the rest of us.”

“That’s so horrible, I don’t even know what to say.” She stood stock still in the street, tears in her eyes. She could imagine that terror, but she couldn’t imagine the pain of the loss he’d been through. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder, felt the tension in his muscles, the inner strength.

“I felt so helpless,” he confessed, “when they made us get down on the floor. I remember laying there, terrified for Opal, and I didn’t know how to help her or defend her. You see, I used to be a schoolteacher.”

“You?” She couldn’t picture that. Those wide shoulders, hard muscles and invincible might contained in a classroom, patiently teaching long division to children? Well, maybe she could see it, she reconsidered, tilting her head to look up at him. This man could do anything.

“I know. The guys still tease me about it now and then.” He shrugged, a hint of a smile on his lips at the memory of that teasing, the sadness of his loss dark on him. “The teller wasn’t fast enough, they were yelling at him, saying he’d kill one of the customers if he didn’t get the money out faster. The teller was young, it was his first job. He’d been my student the year before. A good kid, and he was doing his best but he was panicked, kept dropping the money and missing the bag, so the outlaw turned his gun on Opal and pulled the trigger. Just like that. It happened so fast, I couldn’t launch myself over her, no one could have stopped it. One minute she was holding my hand, looking into my eyes for reassurance and the next she was dead. He’d shot her in the back, right through the heart right in front of me.”

“Mason.” She slid her hand down to his chest, over his slow, steady heartbeat. Tears blurred her vision of him. She couldn’t stand what he’d been through. “So that’s why you became a marshal.”

“I signed up the day after the funeral.” His voice choked, the only show of emotion. “I went straight to the new marshal’s office in town and demanded they take me on. I’d do whatever I had to. I didn’t want anyone else to die that way.”

“And now you spend your time trying to keep outlaws from tearing innocent people’s lives apart.” Gentle, those words, filled with understanding. “How long has it been?”

“Nine years. Hard to believe all that time has gone by.” He swallowed, fighting to tamp down the emotions he wanted to keep private. “It seems like yesterday.”

“Life has a way of pulling you forward, even when you don’t want to go.” Her hand lingered on his chest, somehow softening the pain he felt there. “So you’ve simply been too busy to think about marrying again?”

“Something like that.” While the grief would always be there, it had faded, and Callie was right, life had pulled him forward. He’d just been too busy and focused on his work to notice it. “It’s my job that’s important. It’s all I do these days.”

“No time for a personal life.” She nodded, as if she understood perfectly. “Be careful, Marshal. You might look up one day and realize another nine years have whipped by and you haven’t noticed them either.”

“That’s likely.” He couldn’t stop from reaching for her, even though he’d vowed not to. He cradled her face in his hands, such a dear, amazing face. Thick curling lashes, violet-blue eyes, lush, soft mouth. The blinding urge to kiss her rocked through him, sharp as a bullet. Desire tripped through his veins, part need, part wish. Hell, he wanted to kiss her, really kiss her, until her breath turned ragged and her need matched his.

He squeezed his eyes shut for an instant, fighting for control. When he leaned forward, closing the distance between them, he pressed a kiss against her cheek. She was silken soft, warm woman, and he was close enough to hear her soft sigh. It was hard to believe she was feeling anything close to this, and that surprised him. That would have given the man he’d once been a lot of hope. But he wasn’t that man anymore, and he had to let her go. It was the right thing.

“Have a safe trip this time,” he said lightly, stepping back, letting her go. He forced himself to ignore the hook of pain between his ribs as he stepped away from her. “Have a good life, Callie.”

“You too, Mason.” She managed a smile, gorgeous. Everything about her was gorgeous. He caught a glimpse of sadness in her gaze before she spun away from him, swishing toward Mariel’s front door with her graceful, feminine walk, her skirts rustling and swirling, her slender shoulders straight, golden curls tumbling down her back.

Wanting to pull her back, he balled his hands into fists, forcing himself to stay right where he was. He couldn’t follow her, would not haul her into his arms and kiss her the way she deserved to be kissed. With everything he was, everything he had.

It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough. She deserved a man with a whole heart to give her. He waited until she’d hopped onto the front porch of Mariel’s house before turning away, heading down the street, leaving her behind. The part of him she’d brought back to life withered away, going dark like the shadows at his feet.