Marshal of Hel Dorado (19 page)

 
    
“For what?” But for some reason, the
question pressed too far. Stiffness threaded through her muscles and her jaw
tightened. “Scarlett, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

 
    
“Why do you even want to help me?”

 
    
That was a fair question. Sam gave her a
gentle tug as she leaned forward, settling her back against his chest, his
fingers working the muscles along the back of her neck. She bent her head
forward, allowing him.

 
    
“First, you’re a lady. My father is right,
no lady should have to pay for the crimes of the men in her life.”

 
    
“And second?” She prodded when he went
silent.

 
    
“Because you’re different from any other
lady I’ve ever met. You’re…” Unfortunately, he wasn’t a man given to many
words. That was more Jason or Kid, hell, even Micah was better with the sweet
words than he was. He growled mentally at the thought. Micah always knew what
to say and he’d had a lot to say about Scarlett.

 
    
“I’m what?” The guarded tone returned and
this time, when she pulled away, he let her.

 
    
Thunder rumbled across the sky, vibrating
the rocks around them.

 
    
“You’re beautiful.” He said bluntly.
“Beautiful, loyal, spirited and free. You don’t want to fit into the molds my
father and brothers are trying to build for you. You’re impetuous, stubborn and
irritating. You defy convention and you do the unexpected.”

 
    
She dropped her gaze, stretching her
fingers out to the stack of wood. Sam held his breath, waiting. A sizzle
shivered the air and then flames were licking greedily over the wood, pushing
the damp, chilly air away.

 
    
The red-gold light of the flames turned
warmed her skin and flickered in her eyes as she glanced up to meet his gaze.

 
    
“And you do things like that.” Admiration
tucked into the words.

 
    
“It doesn’t scare you?”

 
    
“Should it?”

 
    
“Most people would be afraid of someone who
can just start a fire, who can burn things with her mind.” She squatted down,
holding her hand to the flames. He fought the urge to jerk her hand away,
watching as the pale fingers passed in and out of the hungry fire, unmarked.

 
    
“Damn.” He dropped down, squatting opposite
her. The fire warmed his face, the smoke drifting out the opening. The rain
continued to pour outside, the horses making sleepy sounds inside and
Scarlett’s hand danced in and out of the fire.

 
    
“I don’t know how I can do this,” she
admitted softly, her gaze on the flames. “For as long as I can remember, I
could start them. It used to happen only when I was angry or very upset.”

 
    
“That explains a lot.” Sam laughed. The
sense of entitlement his minx wore like a badge of honor, likely earned by
those cosseting her temper, afraid she’d burn everything down around her if she
didn’t get her way.

 
    
“It’s not funny.” Her protest carried a
genuine sadness that sobered him. “I couldn’t play with others, I couldn’t
travel far and they were always worried that I would be found out, that people
would try to hurt me or worse.”

 
    
Sam frowned. “What could be worse than
hurting you?”

 
    
“Using me.” She lowered herself, sitting
gingerly, and with obvious discomfort, on the floor. Her actions reminded him
of the stinging slaps he’d delivered to her bottom. He rose to his feet and
circled the fire, heading back to the gear he’d stowed. He pulled out the
bedroll and retrieved the pouches of food he’d pilfered from the kitchens.

 
    
Returning, he nudged her over and set the
bedroll down. He met her suspicious look with a half-smile. “I think your
bottom will appreciate this more.”

 
    
Scarlett hesitated, waiting for Sam to move
away before shifting herself gingerly onto the softer surface. Her grimace
pricked him. If she hadn’t been so stubborn and foolish, he wouldn’t have
spanked her. As it was, she deserved a lot more than what he’d delivered, but
he couldn’t bring himself to do more.

 
    
Handing over the soft cloth pouch, amused
at the loud gurgle her stomach bellowed when she opened it. “Cheese, biscuits
and an apple. It’s not much, but better than nothing at all to eat.”

 
    
It was early afternoon and he was sure she
hadn’t eaten since the day before. Gratitude curled up the corners of her mouth
and Sam found he was holding his breath again. She really did have the most
magnificent smile, when she wasn’t scowling or pouting.

 
    
“Thank you.” The great reluctance in those
two words tugged another chuckle from him.

 
    
“You’re welcome.” He waited for her to bite
into the apple, chew, swallow and take another bite before opening his own
pouch and choosing the fresh, doughy biscuits he’d pilfered from Lena’s cooling
rack. She’d likely smack him later, but it was worth it for this brief moment
of contentment.

 
    
He let her eat, grabbing the canteen and
passing it to her to wash down the apple, then the cheese and most of her
biscuits. He liked the way she ate, her fingers plucking out the cubes of
cheese and nibbling them with unabashed gusto.

 
    
The food, the water and the fire coupled to
fill in the hollows around her eyes, warming her skin from the sallow, sickly
pale she’d been when he found her.

 
    
“Who would use you?”

 
    
She was silent for a very long time, so
long, Sam feared she wasn’t going to answer.

 
    
“The army. Other men. Powerful men. People
who would want my fire for a weapon.”

 
    
She paused, tracing a path over the surface
of a biscuit with her finger. “My father warned me…he warned all of us…that man
does not always appreciate the gifted that walk amongst them. That kings in
foreign lands will bend those to their will or destroy them if they are not
able and even though our land has no king, it still possesses those that want
the rights of kings.”

 
    
Her father. It was the first mention of her
people she’d made. He thought back to the man in the bank. The one who walked
through the walls.

 
    
The one she’d called Rudy.

 
    
Was he a brother?

 
    
He was definitely gifted and in ways
different from Scarlett. There were no scorch marks or burned holes in the bank
wall. She pressed a hand to her mouth, covering up a yawn.

 
    
“You should sleep. I can stretch the
bedroll out. The storm will likely go on for hours.”

 
    
His conscience nagged at him. He had more
questions. Had she met those that would use her?

 
    
Was the gang she rode with the same? What
the hell had they needed the gold for?

 
    
How soft would her lips feel under his?

 
    
“No,” she shook her head. “I can’t go to
sleep. Not now.”

 
    
“You’re exhausted.” Sam gentled his voice.

 
    
“It doesn’t matter, Marshal…”

 
    
“…Sam…”

 
    
“…it doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t be safe
for you if I went to sleep. Not now.”

 
    
Safe for him? It wasn’t the first time
she’d mentioned that. She’d said something similar to Micah. His brother
relayed their conversation and her determination to protect his family.

 
    
“Why wouldn’t it be safe?”

 
    
“My brothers are coming,” she confessed,
meeting his gaze across the fire. There was a sorrow in them that stabbed him
to his core. “If I go to sleep, they’ll find me for certain.”

 
    
“Don’t you want to go home?” Brothers or
not, if she didn’t want to go, Sam wouldn’t let them have her.

 
    
“I do.” She admitted. Scarlett scrubbed a
hand over her face, her distress beckoned him and he gave in, rising to circle
the fire and squat down next to her. He caught her hands in his, marveling at
the simple softness of her skin.

 
    
“But?”

 
    
“It won’t be safe for you, Marshal…”

 
    
“…Sam.”

 
    
She sighed. “Please don’t do that.”

 
    
“Do what?”

 
    
“Insist that we become friends. It was
easier when I didn’t like you.”

 
    
He smiled. She liked him. He could work
with that.

 
    
“And now you’re smiling.” Scarlett shook
her head at him, glancing down at their entwined fingers. “And you’re holding
my hands.”

 
    
“I am.”

 
    
“Marshal…”

 
    
“Sam.”

 
    
She growled, her glare cutting through the
pinch of worry on her face. Sam grinned. The tart sass was back. He preferred
her temper, the way it kindled like sparks struck by flints in her eyes. It
suited his fiery haired minx far more than the quake of fear, shame or regret.

 
    
“Samuel.”

 
    
“Better, but I prefer Sam.”

 
    
“You are impossible.” A smile peeked out
from behind her scowl.

 
    
“No, ma’am. I am entirely possible. But
regardless of which, if you do not want to go anywhere, you do not have to.”

 
    
“And if I want to go?” She challenged him
boldly, lifting her gaze and holding his. Sam’s stomach clenched. His heart
kicked against his ribs, a wild beast, desperate for escape.

 
    
Could he let her go?

 
    
“A
ny
luck?” Cody studied the wet landscape around them. The stream they’d paralleled
since the Marshal crossed over onto his own land had swollen to twice its size
in the downpour.

 
    
Rain rolled off the brim of Cody’s hat,
splashing down onto the oiled buckskin he wore as a coat.

 
    
“No. There’s no safe place to ford.” Buck
answered. He’d taken Ike and Noah north along the streambed while Jimmy and
Rudy rode with Cody south. “Whatever keeps us from making the crossing does not
weaken with running water.”

 
    
The Marshal’s trail had been easy enough to
pick out when he’d ridden out of Dorado hours before dawn, but after just one
hour on the trail, they’d discovered an invisible barrier none of the brothers
could penetrate.

 
    
“Dammit.” Cody’s oath startled Scarlett’s
rider less mare. The empty saddle taunted their failure. They knew where she
was, but they still couldn’t get to her. “What the hell is it?”

 
    
“I don’t know.” Buck shook his head. “I’ve
only ever heard stories of places where entry was barred to others, holy
places, places of reflection … but it bars us, not the horses.”

 
    
Cody paused. “It lets animals across.”

 
    
“Cody,” Jimmy called through the rain.
“That’s a bad idea.”

 
    
“Not if it gets Scarlett back. We can’t
cross. It could take days to find a weakness in this barrier, whatever it is.”