Wild Burn (24 page)

She turned abruptly. “Very well. Why do you ask?”

Hood stood a few feet away, the open placket of his dark coat tucked behind his hands as he settled them on his hips. “It took me a moment to place him, but I feel I ought to warn you that he’s a notorious gunslinger.”

“I know.” It was strange to discover she was rather proud of her man, unable to keep the smugness from her tone. She was almost tempted to show the marshal her ear, but she feared that would give Hood the excuse he was looking for to turn on Delaney. There’d been a preponderance of masculine aggression between them from the moment introductions were made, not that she understood why, exactly. Still, she didn’t want to act as an unintentional catalyst. “He’s the Dog Man Killer.”

“You know?”

“He came to Red Creek to hunt down a renegade group of Cheyenne. It’s how we met.”

“Miss Tully, he’s a dangerous—”

“Marshal Hood,” she interrupted, lifting her chin as she met his gaze coolly. “I know
exactly
what sort of man Captain Crawford is. And while I may not approve of what he’s done—at the behest of the United States government, I might add—I trust him implicitly. I am not, nor have I ever been, in any danger from him.” Notched ear notwithstanding, she amended, suppressing an impish grin.

Hood’s mouth was pinched tight, and his brows had lowered menacingly. “My apologies,” he grated, insincere, but she was already opening the door and moving eagerly into the narrow hall beyond.

There to her left, pacing the shallow length of floor between an exterior window and the door to the parlor, was Del, a tense frown marring his striking features. When he heard her footsteps, he halted and looked up, his expression caught somewhere between worry and relief as his gaze raked her.

Before she thought twice, she ran to him, nothing in her mind but the urgent need to be held by him. It was a buzzing in her brain, like bees caught in a tin can, and it drove her to the point of instantaneous madness until she saw that his arms opened and he was moving toward her, murmuring her name over and over as he enfolded her. She dropped her hat and shawl, and her reticule twisted to painful tightness around her wrist, but she didn’t care. Burying her face in his shoulder, she clung to him and let loose the wracking shudders of repressed sense memories she’d buried deep for the duration of the marshal’s questioning.

He held her fast, one arm resting heavily around her shoulders while the other stroked slowly, soothingly, up and down her lower back. His chin accidentally bumped against her injured ear, but though she winced, she didn’t shift away. “Del.” Her voice was muffled by his coat.

He continued to hold her, so close she could barely breathe, but that was the best part and what eventually calmed her. With one final, unsteady sigh, she turned her head to press her overheated forehead against his cool cheek. “I’m all right,” she told him. “I promise.”

“You don’t have to be. I’ve got you.”

It was in that very moment that Moira fell irrevocably in love with Delaney Crawford.

The sound of a throat clearing behind them had her craning her neck around to see the clenched-jawed figure of Marshal Hood. “Crawford.”

“What do you want now?” Del growled, the words a low rumble emanating from his chest. Funny, with all the alterations to his appearance, Moira had failed to notice that his voice, with its gravel and drawl, hadn’t changed a bit. That sameness warmed her from the inside out. “She’s had enough.”

“It’s not her I want to speak with. It’s you.” He paused deliberately. “Captain.”

A new tension stiffened Del’s honed body, and he bent his head to murmur that he was going to let go of her now and that she should stand behind him, just for a moment, and then they’d be on their way. She did as he bid her to, stooping to retrieve her hat and shawl from the floor before she stepped to the side. Del moved forward, no more than half a foot, but it was enough to send a clear message to both her and Hood.

Moira is mine.

A scowl twisted Hood’s face before he quickly schooled his features into submission. When he spoke again, his words were calm, measured and carrying the crisp Yankee accent she’d occasionally heard in Boston’s wealthier neighborhoods. “Miss Tully says she’s aware of what you do for a living. I’m wondering if she’s been fully informed of your past, Captain.”

“What concern is it of yours?”

The larger man leveled an unflinching stare at Del. “You kill people in order to make your way in the world. It’s not soldiering—it’s murder. I admire Miss Tully a great deal, and it’s obvious to me that she is a very capable young woman. But I would hate to learn that she’s just come through this ordeal only to be put through another one, perhaps one she might not survive.”

Del advanced on him, his hand moving to hover over his pistol. “I would never hurt her.
Never.
”

“You’re reaching for your damn gun in the middle of simple conversation, Crawford. Is this how you solve all your disagreements?”

The derisive words hit their mark, and Del staggered to a halt as if struck. It was too close to her ribbing days earlier about how often he pulled his gun, and she was glad she couldn’t see his face, as it would likely tear out her heart.

She rushed forward. “Well, how could you expect him to do anything else, Marshal? First there was a war, and then the government kept him killing. Violence begets violence, after all.”

“Moira.” Del spoke softly, but it was clear he didn’t want her defending him.

Moira, however, wasn’t willing to let the subject drop. He needed to know she trusted him and that she believed him to be far more than the man the public saw. “He could do anything with his life, but
you
, Marshal, you and your government cronies would rather have him do your dirty work for you. Dirty work that is completely unnecessary, I should say, but since you insist on ridding the territories of this ferocious ‘scourge’, that means someone has to do it. And you’ve forced this role upon him, don’t tell me you haven’t!”

“We—”

“He could do
anything
. He could
be
anything. Why won’t you let him?”

Hood lifted his hands, placatingly. “I suppose he could quit.”

She shook her head vehemently. “No, he can’t. Because then you’d just find someone else to do it, and perhaps that person wouldn’t be quite so discriminating. Perhaps the next Dog Man Killer would r-rape women”—she hated that she’d stuttered over the word—“and murder innocent children. Perhaps the next Dog Man Killer would lead massacres, and when he ran out of Indians to slaughter, he’d turn to negroes. Or Chinese. Or the Irish. We just ended a war, Marshal Hood. It doesn’t mean we finished it.”

The hall was deathly still in the aftermath of her speech, and she drew in a steadying breath. “The point is, Captain Crawford may reach for his gun a titch too often right now, but that will fade with time. It may not feel like it,” she said, reaching out to grab on to Del’s wrist with one hand, squeezing gently before she released him again, “but it will.”

“And will he keep with his role as the Dog Man Killer?” Hood asked quietly.

When Del didn’t seem inclined to answer, Moira stepped forward. This time it was her body standing guard between the two men, and her silent statement.
Delaney is mine.
“Surely the government can utilize him in some other way. This is a growing territory. Not that he’d have to stay here.” She shot a look over her shoulder at Del, saw him staring at her with an inscrutable expression, and faced Hood again. “He could go anywhere.”

Hood nodded tightly. “I will keep that in mind, Miss Tully.”

“Good.” Finding herself at a sudden loss for words, she glanced down at her fingernails, leaving crescent-shaped indents in the smooth brim of her hat. Hurriedly, she smoothed her thumb over the marks, trying to erase them. “Good,” she repeated, mumbling.

“If there’s nothing else…” Appearing loath to leave them, Hood shook his head and buttoned his coat. “Thank you again for coming today, Miss Tully.”

She swallowed around the nervous lump that had formed in her throat when she realized Del wasn’t saying anything, anything at all. “You’re welcome, Marshal Hood.”

“Would that we had met under better circumstances. However, if you ever have need of me, I—”

“Hood.” Del’s voice was quiet but hard. “She has need of you now.”

“What?” She did? She frowned at him. “No, I don’t.” She turned back to Hood. “No, I don’t.”

But Del was as intent on ignoring her protests as she had been with his. “There’s a man in Red Creek, a mine owner named Jacob Matthews, who’s made threats against her. He’s also the man who hired me to hunt down a band of dog soldiers he claimed was a danger to the town.” He paused, looking for all the world as if he were swallowing nails with his next sentence. “I have reason to believe Matthews had some sort of control over these savages and was using them to further his own ends, but I can’t prove it.”

Hood’s face darkened. “And the Indians themselves?”

“Dead. I did my job. I didn’t develop any real suspicions until after.”

“Developed how?”

Del moved forward, and the men were suddenly conversing in earnest, their animosity momentarily set aside. “We found money and rifles at the braves’ campsite, which itself was situated damn close to the mines. The whole thing just felt wrong.”

“You said this mine owner threatened Miss Tully. What did he say?”

Moira felt obliged to jump in. “I wasn’t really threatened. It was only—”

“He said he’d get her fired from her job as Red Creek’s schoolteacher.” Del spoke over her protestations, causing her to glare at him. “She’s been working with a local Cheyenne man to integrate Indian children into the classroom. Matthews said some ugly things when he found out, and I don’t doubt that if I hadn’t shown up when I did, he would’ve struck her.” His jaw clenched at that. “She’s gonna get caught in the crossfire unless I figure out what Matthews is up to.”

Hood appeared to be similarly incensed. “What about the sheriff? Nelson, right?”

“Fairly certain he’s in on the whole thing too. Whatever it is.”

“Well, then.” Hood straightened his shoulders, an action that made him appear even taller, even broader. “I’ll ride up to Red Creek tomorrow morning and do some digging. Can you meet me and show me where the dog soldiers’ camp was?”

“I’ll give you the guns and money we found then too.”

“Excellent.” A devilish gleam lit his dark eyes, the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Nothing I love more than a good riddle. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Captain.” He extended his hand.

Del took it. “Just Crawford.”

“Until tomorrow, Crawford.” He sketched a short bow to Moira, the likes of which she hadn’t seen since crossing the Mississippi. “Good day, Miss Tully.”

“I… Good day.” Her words were unheard by the marshal, as his long legs had carried him nearly halfway across the hotel’s atrium. She stared after him, refusing to look at Del as he stood beside her. She may love him, but damn, the man had a singular talent for getting her dander up. “That was unnecessary.”

“When it comes to your safety, honey, nothing is unnecessary.”

“Matthews isn’t a threat, you know. Not to me.”

Del’s hand came to rest between her shoulder blades, a comforting weight that somehow expressed his belief more than his words. “He’s a threat to everyone in Red Creek. I just don’t know how much of one yet.”

Turning on her heel to face him, she searched his face, his handsome, lovely face, for the softness she’d seen earlier—first when he came to her cabin, then before her deposition, and again afterward, when he held her in his strong, unyielding arms. There was no sign of it. “Del, I—”

“Let’s eat something,” he interrupted, voice devoid of any inflection. “We need to talk.”

“What about?”

“About the past. And then you’ll have a decision to make.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Though he’d said they needed to talk, Del and Moira sat through nearly the entire meal in the hotel’s restaurant with hardly a word said between them. Inanities such as, “Please pass the butter,” and, “Would you care for more tea?” but nothing real, and certainly nothing near the depth of what he needed to discuss with her.

After settling their bill, he cleared his throat. “We have to talk.”

“So you said.” Her lips, pink and soft, twitched in a wry smile.

“I…” He glanced around, taking in the disparate mix of dining patrons. Several well-dressed women clustered in threes and fours, nibbling at sandwiches and sipping from soup spoons. In the far corner, at a long table, was a group of ten men whose dirt-streaked clothing declared them to be laborers. At the head of the table, however, sat a coiffed blond gentleman who reminded Del of some of the dandies he’d known back in Savannah. There were other couples too, similar to Del and Moira but most a decade or two their senior.

He knew he should feel comfortable, but he couldn’t shake the sense that he was out of place. Five years ago he could’ve lounged in this fine hotel with confidence, secure in the knowledge that such luxuries were his due, but he wasn’t that young man any longer. Growing up, he’d itched in his own skin, never quite comfortable taking his luxuries for granted but too complacent in his lifestyle to change. He’d had no identity before he picked up a gun and started killing. It was nauseating.

Hood was right. Del was a danger to Moira, and if he was going to give her the ring currently weighting his coat pocket like a lead ball, she deserved to know the entirety of his tarnished past. Because he wasn’t certain he would survive it if her immediate yes turned into a distasteful no. She was too vital to him now.

He stood, offering her his hand. “Let’s go.”

“I thought you wanted to talk.” She pinned her hat in place and slipped her shawl around her shoulders before letting him take her hand.

“I do.” And he did, just…not yet.

Leading her through the lobby, her arm tucked in his, he donned his own hat as they moved through the oversized front doors. The wagon had been brought from the hotel livery and waited for them at the foot of the steps, and he quickly handed her up into the seat, then climbed in beside her, releasing the brake. With a cluck of his tongue and a flick of the reins, the horses were in motion.