Clari Dees - The Marshal Meets His Match

“Sorry. I’m not in the habit of releasing horse thieves, especially ones who don’t have any manners.” A tinge of laughter denied the validity of the apology, and a dimple winked in his left cheek.

Meri had had enough of this ridiculous conversation and turned. Abe stood behind her, head cocked, looking a little perplexed at all the commotion, but awaiting further directions. She placed her hand under his chin, gently urging him forward until he stepped up to the gate.

“Abe, open the gate.” She held the latch open and pointedly ignored the stranger as she added sweetly, “Please.”

The horse pushed his chest into the gate, forcing the tall man to hurriedly step out of its arching path. As the gate swung wide, Abe calmly stepped through and to one side to allow Meri to close and latch the gate behind him. Remounting in the same manner as before, she looked down at the shadowed, grinning face watching her. With tart civility she uttered two words. “Good day!”

At the touch of her legs Abe loped toward the barn and his stall. Meri ignored the chuckles coming from behind them and welcomed the protective shelter of the barn.

* * *

Wyatt Cameron watched the fiery female disappear into the shadows of the barn. She had caught his attention when she’d crawled through the fence, and as Franks had been helping another customer at the time, Wyatt had stepped outside for a closer look. The horses had blocked his view of her, however, until she’d appeared as if by magic atop the black gelding and come flying toward him.

Where had she learned to ride like that? She rode with all the skill and effortlessness of an Apache warrior. He’d commanded cavalry soldiers who hadn’t ridden half so well. Wyatt leaned against the fence replaying her jump. She was clearly a capable rider, but that jump had been foolhardy. The ground in the pasture was still muddy enough that the horse could have slipped and fallen on either the takeoff or landing. At least the soft ground would have cushioned her fall. He grinned as he remembered her rubbing her head. Or maybe not.

He hadn’t intended to frighten her off the horse, he’d only aimed to tease her a bit, but she’d come up fighting, again like an Apache. Reminded him a bit of his sister when he’d pushed her too far as a kid. Either that or a wet cat. Not that she resembled anything close to an Apache warrior or a wet cat. She was attractive, though not in the same overdressed style as the women he’d met around town so far. There was a fresh, carefree prettiness about her with her honey-brown hair twisted back in a windblown braid and her cheeks flushed with exercise.

Who was she? He’d not seen her before. And he’d seen every female in Little Creek. Or maybe it only felt that way because he was the newest single man in town. He certainly hadn’t lacked for dinner invitations since arriving.

He was at the barn door before he realized his feet had followed her. He paused as Franks’s voice rumbled in response to something the woman had said. His job as Little Creek’s new marshal did not include following the first attractive woman that caught his attention. His feet stepped closer to the door. As marshal, however, it was his job to follow up on suspicious activity. He would just verify that Franks knew who she was before he left. If the horses knew who she was, then surely Franks knows her.

He ignored the logical thought, as the voices inside the barn grew more distinct.

“You is gonna spoil that hoss, missy!”

“Don’t try to fool me, Franks. I know Abe is your favorite. I can’t spoil him any more than you’ve already done.”

The woman was gently running a brush over the black horse as Wyatt slid into the shadows inside the barn door. Was this the same woman who’d tried to snap his head off outside? Her prickles had disappeared, and there was a smile in her voice.

Franks chuckled. “Abe don’ agree with you none. He dun say he is de mos’ abused hoss on de place.”

Their banter sounded like an oft-repeated ritual. Now that he knew she had told the truth, he could leave. But his feet continued to have a mind of their own and stayed put.

“You’re both telling tall tales. Speaking of tall tales, some saddle tramp just made Abe dump me at the gate and accused me of being a horse thief. Have you seen any drifters hanging around? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before, but the way my head was spinning from bumping that gate, I could be wrong.”

Franks sounded choked when he spoke. “Real tall fella?”

Wyatt had to swallow a chuckle of his own.

“Yes...” She straightened slowly, watching Franks as she exited the stall. “Do you know who he is?”

“He’s helpin’ out ’roun’ here for a while,” Franks hedged, avoiding her eyes and looking straight into Wyatt’s.

Wyatt laid a warning finger over his lips and moved on cat’s feet to stand behind her. He’d learned a thing or two about dealing with Apaches in his years as a cavalry soldier.

“Franks, do you know anything about this man? What if he’s an outlaw on the run or something?”

Franks’s dark eyes snapped. “Now, missy, I’se seen a lot of things in my time, and I knows how to read a man. I likes what I sees in this un. Just cuz you is upset over comin’ off old Abe don’ mean you can go accusin’ people a bein’ outlaws. Yo mama dun raise you better’n that!”

Wyatt decided it was time to announce his presence before she accused him of any more crimes. “Hear, hear.” The violence of her startled jump almost made up for her attack on his character.

She spun around, grabbing her head as she blinked rapidly. When she looked up at him, surprise widened her brown eyes, and she backed away. “Sneaking around, scaring a person out of their wits, doesn’t speak too highly of your character, Mr....”

The prickles were back in full force. But he hadn’t become a captain in the U.S. Army Cavalry because it was easy. He could handle prickles. “Wyatt Cameron, Marshal of Little Creek, at your service.” He doffed his hat and dipped his head in a small nod.

She stared then blinked like a sleepy owl. “The marshal?” Her eyes narrowed. “Where’s your badge?”

He pointed to the vest he’d discarded earlier when he’d gotten warm in the barn. It lay over the edge of a stall, a five-pointed star glinting dully in the shadowy structure. “And might I add, you don’t seem too witless to me, ma’am.” He had a few prickles of his own. He also had years of military strategy and Apache fighting up his sleeve. Keeping the enemy on the run prevented them from launching a successful attack, even if the enemy was only a single diminutive female. Because a female on the run couldn’t chase him.

“Witless? What...? What are you talking about?”

“You said I scared you out of your wits, but I think you’re just mannerless not witless.”

“Mannerless...?”

If the confusion on her face was any indication, his military strategy was working. But never before had he had the desire to laugh when trading fire with hostile natives. “When a gentleman introduces himself, a lady is expected to reciprocate the gesture.”

* * *

There it was again! The tone that made it sound as if he was talking to a simpleton!

Meri straightened to her full height, glaring at the man towering over her. She wasn’t short at five foot seven, but this man, his shoulders nearly as broad as Franks’s and standing several inches taller, made her feel unusually small. Now that he’d removed his hat, she could finally see his features.

She sized up the irritating stranger. Thick wavy brown hair glinted with cinnamon highlights and framed a nicely put together face. Smiling hazel eyes were set under arched brows of the same brown hue as his hair. Sun-bronzed skin stretched over high, sculptured cheekbones and directed her eyes to a nose that looked to have been broken once. Firm lips tucked up at one corner in a lopsided grin set off a very determined chin.