The Marshal's Rebellious Bride: (A Sweet Western Historical Romance) (The Dalton Brides Book 9)

by Cassie Hayes

  The Marshal’s Rebellious Bride

  Cassie Hayes

  Contents

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  About This Book

  He’s hunting a killer but he’s met his match in her.

  U.S. Marshal Curtis ‘Griff’ Griffith is on the trail of a wanted man. The last thing he needs is to be distracted by the newest resident of the Dalton Brothers Ranch. So why does he keep returning? It’s certainly not to see the beautiful-but-bullheaded Catherine James.

  Catherine has no interest in men or marriage but there aren’t many choices for single ladies to earn a living on a remote Texas ranch. When she discovers that she holds the key to capturing the outlaw — and collecting some of the reward — she doesn’t hesitate to force Griff’s hand.

  Will they kill each other before they find the murderer, or will they risk their damaged hearts for a shot at a new life?

  The Dalton Brides Series

  The Rancher’s Mail-Order Bride by Kirsten Osbourne

  The Cowboy’s Mail-Order Bride by Kit Morgan

  The Drifter’s Mail-Order Bride by Cassie Hayes

  Hank’s Rescued Bride by Cassie Hayes

  Benedict’s Bargain Bride by Kirsten Osbourne

  Percy’s Unexpected Bride by Kit Morgan

  Justin’s Runaway Bride by Kit Morgan

  Keep reading for extended excerpts from Benedict’s Bargain Bride and Percy’s Unexpected Bride.

  1

  The Dalton Ranch — Spring, 1891

  The hot Texas sun had just about fried Curtis Griffith as brown as a biscuit and twice as dry. Three long months of scouring every saloon, gambling hell and brothel from Dallas to El Paso — three times — without so much as a trace of Tully Owings. It left him feeling about sixty instead of his twenty-eight years. If he could just track down Owings, all the effort would be worth it, but he was feeling mighty defeated at the moment. The tidy outbuildings of the Dalton Ranch buoyed his spirits some.

  He’d met Bart Dalton a few years earlier when the man was still roaming around searching for something. Griff couldn’t stop a pang of envy when he discovered his old pal had found his true north in the form of a handsome woman named Bonnie, but it passed quickly. Now, whenever the trail of a fugitive drifted anywhere near the Dalton Ranch, he’d stop in for a visit.

  Even though he sat tall in the saddle already, he pulled himself upright to get a better view. The ranch bustled with activity in the late afternoon sun, which seemed odd for a Sunday. The triplet brothers who settled it must have hired a passel of new hands, and at least two more buildings had sprung up since the last time he’d passed through.

  “Those boys don’t let the dust settle, do they, Gladys?”

  The big mare ignored him as usual. A beautiful Appaloosa, Gladys basked in compliments wherever they roamed, but she wasn’t much for conversation. That didn’t stop Griff from talking to her, though. If he didn’t, he could easily go days without uttering a solitary word.

  Her plodding gait told him that her bones ached as deeply as his. Only when the main barn came into view did her pace quicken. Gladys enjoyed the company of other horses — not to mention the Grade A feed the ranch hands lavished on her.

  “They’re all sweet on you, girl,” he said, patting her neck.

  This time she nickered her agreement.

  Griff searched out Bart or one of his brothers but his gaze landed on something he never thought he’d see on a Texas ranch. A parasol. A pink one, to boot. With fringe! As the face under it resolved, irritation set his teeth to grinding.

  “I should have known, Gladys. If there’s one creature on this earth as vain as you, it’s Catherine James.”

  Still, the pale pink of the parasol set off her auburn hair in such a way that Griff couldn’t tear away his gaze. The other women walking with her might as well have been invisible. Even at a distance, he could almost see her green eyes flashing at him, as they always did, from her heart-shaped face. No doubt about it, the woman was a true beauty.

  “She’s also a pampered, uppity, impudent hellcat. Doesn’t matter what’s on the outside when the inside is so unpleasant.”

  Gladys remained mute on the subject as they approached the group. Now that his senses had returned, he noticed Bart’s wife, Bonnie, smiling at him as she carried their almost two-year-old son. Bonnie’s sister-in-law, Maggie — who was married to Bonnie’s younger brother, if Griff had the family tree straight — raised a hand in greeting, but Catherine refused to meet his gaze.

  “Marshal Griffith, it’s so good to see you again,” Bonnie said, shifting little Jedediah from one hip to the other.

  “Mrs. Dalton, the pleasure’s all mine.” Griff doffed his dusty, mangy hat, releasing a mass of wild, too-long light brown hair. Keeping his hair trimmed to a respectable length didn’t matter much when he was on the trail of a killer. But these ladies — well, two of them anyway — were hardy enough to not be offended by too-long hair and rough beards.

  “Mrs. Blue, Miss James, I hope you’re both well.” Try as he might, Griff couldn’t stop his eyes from slipping over to Catherine, a fact Maggie didn’t fail to notice.

  “We’re right as rain, Marshal, and tickled pink you’re paying us another visit so soon after the last,” she said, grinning and nudging Catherine with her elbow. “Aren’t we, Catherine?”

  Only then did the haughty woman deign to meet his gaze. And he was dazzled. Her emerald green eyes sparkled and her alabaster skin glowed rosy in the afternoon light. Her cheeks flushed in a way that made his stomach flip before she dragged her gaze away.

  Stop being such a fool, Griff. Women like her only bring pain, you know that better than anyone.

  “Marshal,” was all she’d say.

  Typical. She’d barely said more to him on the handful of occasions he’d met her since her arrival on the ranch. Probably thought she was too good to associate with a rough lawman like him. Which was pretty ironic, if he thought about it too hard. Hindsight and all that.

  The past is the past, and that’s where it should stay, he thought. But his stupid heart couldn’t seem to rid itself of the painful thorn that had been festering there for so many years.

  “Nice parasol,” he said, careful to keep his tone neutral. The sharp glare his words drew from her, though, told him she caught his jibe.

  “Don’t suppose Bart’s around,” he asked Bonnie, willing his eyes not to drift over to Catherine.

  “No, he’s out in the pasture helping Walt and Nate. A cow’s having trouble birthing her calf. But you know you’re more than welcome to stay in the bunkhouse, as usual.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said.

  “Are you still on the hunt for the same outlaw, Marshal?” Maggie asked, something akin to fear flashing in her eyes.

  “Afraid so, ma’am. But there’s no need to worry. With all the strong, protective menfolk you have around here, Tully Owings would never bother anyone on the ranch. He may be a criminal, but he’s not an imbecile.”

  The ladies snickered — well, all but one. Catherine kept her eyes averted, a frown tickling her perfect pink lips.

  “Marshal, if you do
n’t mind me saying so,” Bonnie said in her no-nonsense manner, “both you and Gladys look like you’ve been rode hard and put away wet. Why don’t you go tend to her and get cleaned up, then join us for dinner at Walt and Gwen’s house?”

  “Oh, I don’t want to trouble you, it being Sunday and all…”

  Liar! An invitation to a dinner Bonnie Dalton had anything to do with cooking was one of the main reasons he kept stopping in at the ranch. That and to catch up with the Dalton and Blue men. There wasn’t a finer bunch of folks west of the Mississippi.

  “Nonsense,” Bonnie sniffed. “Jedediah was baptized today and we’re having a bit of a feast to celebrate. The more the merrier.”

  “Well then, I thank you for your kind offer. I’d be delighted to join the festivities.”

  As Griff rode Gladys to the barn, a pang of melancholy stabbed his heart. If he caught Owings, he planned for this would be his last manhunt. Which meant this might very well be the last meal he ever shared with his friends. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched the pink parasol disappear around a corner, and the pang grew sharper.

  “Marshal Griffith couldn’t take his eyes off you, Catherine,” Maggie teased.

  “As usual.” Now Bonnie was piling on?

  Catherine tossed her head back and sniffed. “So?”

  Maggie laughed. “So? So here’s a handsome man who’s obviously keen on you. Why do you think he keeps dropping in like this? As good a cook as Bonnie is, it’s not just for her food.”

  “He always stays here when he’s passing through,” Catherine objected, her skin burning pink — and not from the sun. “Isn’t that right, Bonnie?”

  “True,” Bonnie agreed. Catherine had always liked the woman. “But never as frequently as since you arrived,” she added. Catherine had always disliked the woman.

  “Nonsense! You heard him, he’s tracking an outlaw. That’s all.” Even as the words left her lips, she knew they sounded defensive. Why did she care about the reason for the man’s visits, anyway?

  “Regardless, I have no interest in Marshal Griffith.”

  Maggie opened her mouth to argue — after growing up in an orphanage with the woman, Catherine knew when her friend had her back up — but Bonnie silenced her with a hand on her arm.

  “Why not?”

  Catherine didn’t dare tell them the real reason. Marshal Griffith reminded her just a little too much of the vile men who had kidnapped her, Maggie and Maggie’s sister Mary. His rough appearance, his brusque manner, his profession, which she had no doubt required a fair amount of violence. If she admitted her true feelings to her friends, they would not only tell her how silly such thoughts were, but they’d know the truth.

  Above all, she had to maintain her image in order to maintain her sanity. It was true that she might have fallen apart after evil men with even more evil intentions had kidnapped her and Bonnie a few months earlier, but she’d risen to the occasion and had been instrumental in their rescue.

  In the months after their escape, everyone lauded her for her bravery while looking the devil in the eye. Their praise helped soothe not only her wounded ego but also her fractured psyche. Since being welcomed into the loving embrace of the Dalton and Blue families, Catherine had never felt so safe, so protected.

  But every time Marshal Griffith stopped in, uncertainty and fear roiled around inside her tummy. It wasn’t the same kind of fear she felt about her kidnappers, precisely, but she felt all jumbly and tingly inside whenever he was near. And she didn’t care one little bit for the way her skin burned under his hot gaze.

  Of course, she couldn’t admit the truth to her friends. They’d put more weight on it than such things deserved. No, better to obfuscate.

  “Did you see the man?” She tried to sound blustery, almost offended. “He’s filthy!”

  “No filthier than my husband when he comes home in the evening,” Maggie countered, sounding almost hurt. The last thing Catherine wanted was to insult her friends.

  “Of course, I’m sorry. I just…I just think I’d be better suited to a mercantile owner or a banker or such, that’s all.”

  Liar! Catherine never wanted to marry. How could she ever trust a man after what she’d been through? Better to live a solitary and safe life as a spinster than risk opening herself up again.

  There was just the small matter of supporting herself. She was a fine cook and a talented seamstress, but work was sparse so far out of town. If she could save a little money to set herself up in Wiggieville, or even Weatherford, she was certain she could earn a tidy living working for the ladies in town.

  Maggie shrugged and glanced at her pretty, new parasol — the only luxury Catherine had ever bought for herself. “Well, you certainly have the tastes of a townie.”

  The comment was probably meant to sting, but Catherine wasn’t ashamed to admit the truth of it. She had a taste for finer things. Naturally, she’d love to be wealthy, but she was also realistic enough to know that it would be almost impossible for a lady to become so on her own — without debasing herself, that is. Regardless, she couldn’t let Maggie get away with it unscathed.

  “Green’s not a good color on you, Maggie,” she spit back.

  Maggie wheeled on her and they glared at each other for a long moment. All the old feelings of distrust and animosity they had for each other growing up flared, as it occasionally did. Old habits died hard. The women had grown to love one another as sisters would but, like sisters, they didn’t always like each other.

  “Now ladies,” Bonnie cooed, edging between them, “let’s not have any arguments on such a special day.”

  Almost as if on cue, the newly baptized Jedediah wriggled and reached out for Catherine. The frost in her heart melted the moment the cherub was nestled in her arms, as it always did when one of the Dalton babies snuggled her. She took a deep sniff of his silky, brown hair, her stomach aching with longing for a child of her own.

  It will never be.

  Sadness engulfed her at the thought, but she pushed the unwelcome emotion aside. If she meant to protect herself, there could be no regret. She would simply have to enjoy being an auntie to the Dalton babies.

  Planting a wet kiss on Jedediah’s cheek, the ticklish toddler giggled and flailed a chubby hand with glee. Shifting the boy’s weight to her hip, she plastered a smile on her face.

  “I’m sorry, Maggie. I’m just testy from the cramped quarters.”

  Maggie gave Catherine one of her patented penetrating looks before nodding her acceptance and hooking her arm in Catherine’s free one. They sauntered on toward Walt and Gwen’s house to start preparing dinner.

  “I know it’s hard living with Mama and Papa Blue, as well as Mary in that tiny cabin. But Hank says the boys have plans to build another one for you two. Won’t that be nice?”

  “Yes, nice,” Catherine said through clenched teeth.

  As much as she cared for Mary — everyone on the ranch, really, with the possible exception of grouchy old Mr. Blue — the prospect of living with her permanently soured her stomach. They all meant well, but after growing up in a crowded, run-down orphanage, Catherine yearned to be on her own.

  If they built a cabin for her and Mary, she would be beholden to live there, at least for a while, and she might very well never leave the safety of the ranch. After all, she’d learned the hard way that the rest of the world could be a very scary place.

  “I’m looking forward to hearing the news from Marshal Griffith,” Bonnie said, as they entered the main house.

  There it was again. That feeling she tried so desperately to hide from the others. Every moment of every day, she carried it with her. She hated it but was helpless against its power.

  Fear.

  And, for some reason, whenever the Marshal was near, it grew to oddly epic proportions.

  2

  As always, Bonnie’s cooking left Griff feeling happy as a hog. Roast beef, fresh green beans from the garden, summer squash and an apple pie that couldn’t be
beat.

  “That was one of the finest meal I’ve ever had the pleasure of devouring, Mrs. Dalton,” he said, beaming at Bonnie.

  “Now, Griff,” her husband Bart said, “we’ve told ya before you don’t have to be so formal. ‘Sides, in this crowd, we won’t know who you’re talking to!”

  “I agree, Marshal,” Bonnie added, giving Bart’s hand a squeeze. “We’re all friends here. Almost family, really. Please call us by our given names.”

  “Only if you do the same. Enough of this ‘Marshal’ business.”

  Bonnie glanced at Bart, who leaned over and kissed her cheek. An echo of that pang of envy he’d felt reverberated in his heart before it faded. He’d had his chance at love and marriage. His life now was all about raining justice down on those who deserve it.

  “Very well,” Bonnie said. “Griff.”

  “Well, now that that’s settled, Griff,” said Gwen Dalton, Walt’s beautiful, if domestically-impaired, blonde wife. “You should know that I made the green beans all by myself. I didn’t even need recipe, did I, Bonnie?”

  Bonnie glowed with pride. “You most certainly did not. You’ve turned into quite a fine cook, Gwenny.”

  “Darn tootin’,” Walt agreed, pulling Gwen into him and kissing her full on the mouth. She melted into him for only a split second before pushing him away and slapping at his chest. Her pink cheeks belied her delight at his attention, though.

  “They were delicious,” Griff agreed, even though they were far and away the simplest dish on the table. How could someone get them wrong? Having eaten a meal prepared by Gwen before, he quickly realized the ways were myriad.

  The large dining room filled with agreement. Every Blue and Dalton who lived on the ranch sat at an unthinkably long table covered with several beautifully embroidered tablecloths. No doubt more of Bonnie’s handiwork. Empty platters and bowls, only a random smear here or there remaining, ran down the center of the table. With seventeen hungry mouths to feed — not including the passel of little ones sitting at a shorter table Bart had whipped up — it was a wonder no one had licked them clean.