by Cassie Hayes
As a guest of the ranch, Griff sat near the head of the table, where the three Dalton brothers and their wives ate. The Blue family sat at the other end, too far for Griff to engage with them. Maybe it was only coincidence that Catherine sat directly across from him. Then again, maybe not. However it came to be, he certainly didn’t mind the view, even if the conversation — or lack thereof — left something to be desired.
“So what brings you back through our neck of the woods again so soon, Griff?” asked Nate Dalton. Of the three brothers, Nate always dressed sharp for family meals. It was a point of pride for his pretty wife Libby. And thank goodness, because Griff would have had to wear his grungy trail clothes if Nate hadn’t generously loaned him some of his fine duds.
“Same scoundrel as last time, actually,” he said, forcing himself to keep his gaze on Nate and not letting it slip over to Catherine. The effort almost hurt.
Bart chuckled. “Thought ya woulda hauled his sorry butt back to Dallas by now, Griff.”
Bonnie squeezed her husband’s hand, giving him a reproachful look. “Watch your language at the table, please.”
Bart brought her hand to his lips, brushing them across her knuckles. “Sorry, my love.”
The affection they had for each other — all the couples at the table, actually — made Griff shimmy in his seat with unease. Seeing this much love in one room was almost too much. He couldn’t keep watching, so he shifted his gaze away, landing on Catherine.
Just as his eyes touched her, she blinked and looked down at her plate. Had she been looking at him? A flutter in his gut told him ‘Yes’. A bitter voice in his head told him ’So?’
“So? Griff, so?”
Someone was talking to him! He spun in his seat to face the speaker, almost knocking over his water glass in the process.
“What?”
It was Nate again. “So why is it taking so long to hunt this one down? You usually get your man on the first pass.”
Frustration flared in Griff, the same frustration he’d been feeling for the last few months since he set out to track down Tully Owings. It rarely took him this long to bring in a fugitive and that stung even more than the swarm of wasps he ran into in an outhouse once.
“Don’t I know it. But this one’s a slippery devil. I hear word of a sighting in a town but he’s gone by the time I get there, if he was ever there at all. No, I think he’s hunkered down somewhere, lying low like the snake he is. One of these days, he’s going to think it’s safe to poke his head out, and I’ll be there to chop it off. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”
He felt eyes on him and a quick glance confirmed that Catherine was staring at him. Oh boy, another one of those women. He had all too much knowledge of the type of woman who preferred her men to be ‘manly’, and nothing proved a man’s heroism better to such a woman as killing another man in the name of righteousness.
Catherine would probably be bitterly disappointed to learn that Griff had never killed anyone. He would, if he had to, but all of his arrests had been reasonably peaceable. Sure, there was the odd punch in the mouth, or the threat of shooting the criminal, but the cowards always gave up in the end. And that was fine by him.
“What’s he look like again?” Bart asked. “We could spread the word around to be on the lookout.”
“Small fellow, no taller than Bonnie, and just as thin. Running close to forty, brown hair. Nothing much to look at, but he’s got a wicked ugly scar running down the left side of his face.”
“What’s he wanted for?” Gwen leaned forward, eager to hear the salacious details.
“Oh, I’m afraid that’s not fit for ladies’ ears, ma’am. Let’s just say that his crimes were so deplorable, so wicked, that there’s a $5,000 bounty on his head.”
The womenfolk gasped in shock, the men grunted their surprise. A natural response of God-fearing people to such a statement. Only one person on their end of the table stayed silent. As he met her sparkling green eyes, a chill skittered up the back of his neck like a hundred spiders. It was the same sensation he felt the first time he laid eyes on Rebecca.
Not again…
A fine China platter almost slipped from Catherine’s damp hands as she tried to dry it while keeping an eye on Marshal Griffith in the other room at the same time. It didn’t help that her hands shook like leaves on a tree.
“Careful,” Gwen scolded from her spot at the sink.
The orphanage’s kitchen sink was a dingy, mildewed wooden thing lined with greenish-black copper that leaked if you left water standing in it too long. But Gwen’s new sink…it was top of the line. Made of porcelain-enameled cast iron, the gleaming white basin sported not only a backsplash but drain boards on either side. Gwen was almost as proud of it as she was of the matching bathtub.
“Sorry,” Catherine mumbled as she set the dried platter in a cupboard, glancing out into the dining room again.
“Seems as if Catherine’s attention is elsewhere tonight,” Maggie chirped, a teasing twinkle in her eye. Catherine shot her a warning look, but Maggie simply laughed as she put a small bowl of leftovers in the icebox.
“Ladies, who would like to join me in a cup of tea,” asked Bonnie, ever the diplomat. She poured steaming water into a white porcelain teapot with pretty purple flowers running around the top while Libby placed matching cups and saucers on the kitchen table.
Catherine chewed her lip in indecision. On a normal night, she enjoyed sitting with her new ‘sisters’, chatting about the day’s events or news from Wiggieville or even which of their husbands was the most handsome. The fact that three of them were identical triplets never factored in to their good-natured arguments.
Movement in the dining room caught her eye. Marshal Griffith stood and started saying his goodnights to all the men in the room. With this family, it would take a while. If she hurried, she might have enough time.
“None for me, thanks,” she said, trying to sound exhausted. In reality, her heart raced so fast in her chest she was certain they all could hear it. “I’m so tired I can barely see straight.”
“I’ll walk with you, if you wish,” Mary said, dragging her rail-thin frame upright in her chair with great effort. It had been months since they escaped the slavers, yet she was still frail. Every day she grew stronger and a little happier, but it would be a long haul for sweet Mary.
“No, dear. You stay with the ladies. I’ll be fine. Goodnight!”
Catherine ignored the suspicious expression on Maggie’s face and breezed out the kitchen door and into the night. A chill had crept into the air during dinner, and it was echoed on her skin in the form of goosebumps. She did her best to avoid going out alone after dark, but she couldn’t risk anyone finding out what she was up to.
The moon was barely cresting the horizon, so she hid herself in the deep shadows of the little cabin she shared with Mary and her parents. Pressing herself against the wall, she took deep breaths to calm her nerves. Thoughts of setting herself up in a tidy little cottage in one of the nearby towns kept her occupied while she waited.
Heavy footfalls grew louder as the man making them came closer to her hiding spot. A fine layer of sweat formed on her brow and her dinner nearly made a reappearance. Choking it down, she held her breath until she could make sure it was him.
The moment Marshal Griffith strode past her, oblivious to her presence, her heart clenched. She had tried not to watch him all evening, but he cut such a surprisingly fine figure all cleaned up and in Nate’s clothes. She’d never before seen him so dudded up. He looked almost like a gentleman.
Every time his hazel eyes had passed over her, she felt them like fire on her skin. His presence had so flustered her that her voice quivered any time she tried to speak, so she kept her mouth shut the entire meal. Unusual for her.
She had to speak now, though, if she was ever going to do it. He was already past her and well on his way to the bunkhouse. It wouldn’t be proper to follow him there. Besides, as friendly as the ranch h
ands were, she didn’t completely trust any of them. Clenching her fists tight, she stepped out of the shadows.
“Marshal?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
He wheeled around, his hand dipping to a gun that wasn’t strapped to his hip. Catherine jumped at his reaction, then chuckled nervously. How could such a hard man be afraid of her?
He blinked in surprise a couple times, and then his eyes narrowed into a squint. “What do you think you’re doing, jumping out at me like that? If I’d had my gun on me, you could very well be dead right now.”
Any amusement she’d had at the situation fled, replaced by the same old fear that haunted her every day. She refused to show him that he affected her that way, though.
“I hardly jumped out at you, Marshal. What kind of man is frightened of a tiny little woman like me, anyway?”
To drive the point home, she tossed her hair and sniffed in the most disdainful manner she could muster. Even in the dim light from the rising moon, she could see a muscle working in his cleanly shaven, well-defined jaw.
Good!
“A man who’s on the hunt for a dangerous killer, Miss James, that’s who,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Now what do you want?”
How rude!
She’d done nothing to warrant such discourteous behavior, and she had half a mind to dress him down for it. But he’d never agree to her proposition if she scolded him. No, she’d just have to hold her tongue…for now.
“I’m sorry for startling you, Marshal.” She tried not to sound patronizing. She failed. “You mentioned that the man you’re tracking…Owings?”
“Tully Owings. What about him?”
“You said there was quite a large bounty on his head.”
“So?”
She drew in a lungful of crisp air to soothe her irritation at his brusque attitude.
“So…I was curious how that works. How would someone go about claiming that reward?”
His brow furrowed as he considered her question. “Well, first, the bad guy has to be taken into custody, and that’s not remotely close to happening in this case. Why do you ask?”
Nerves got the better of Catherine and she broke eye contact with him, glancing down at the toes of her shoes. She scuffed at the dirt as she tried to figure out what to say.
“Well? Why do you want to know?”
Looking up, she met his gaze without wavering. “Because I think I know him.”
3
Griff had been thinking of none other than Catherine James when she jumped out at him like a common mugger. She’d been so quiet at dinner, and though he didn’t know her well, he knew she normally chattered away during meals. Something was off with her. Why he cared was a mystery, though.
When Nate offered to loan him some clean duds for the baptism dinner, he felt obliged to accept. He hadn’t worn a suit in years, but he’d do just about anything to eat Bonnie’s cooking. That was why he kept coming back to the Dalton ranch, not because of Catherine’s presence, as Nate had subtly implied.
“You sound like a gossiping hen,” Griff laughed as he shrugged his broad shoulders into one of Nate’s brown jackets. It was a bit snug but fit well enough otherwise. He didn’t care much for the smirk on the middle Dalton’s face.
Yet as Griff sat across from her at the dinner table, he couldn’t stop stealing glances at her. The light shining from the oil lamps on the table danced in her hair like fire. A few stray waves had tumbled free from her upswept style and she spent most of the evening trying to corral them. His fingers itched to help her.
The handful of times Catherine had deigned to look in his direction had felt like gifts. No matter how much he chided himself for such silly and potentially dangerous thoughts, he couldn’t stop the feeling. When she’d swept out of the dining room after dinner without so much as a backward glance, presumably to help clean up, his mutinous heart ached at her departure.
The next thing he knew, she jumped out of the shadows, scaring him almost to death. God was looking out for her because, if Griff had had his gun strapped to his hip, as he almost always did, she could very well have died.
He tried to maintain a neutral expression at her words but he’d just had the shock of his life. Not only was Catherine standing before him, bathed in the light of the rising moon, but she claimed to know Tully Owings. A man worth $5,000 dead or alive!
How on earth would a girl like her — whose parents probably spoiled her rotten, judging by her snooty attitude and fancy airs — know such a scoundrel? No, she most likely heard Griff describing Owings at dinner and thought she knew someone that looked like him.
Don’t get your hopes up, Griff.
“I see,” he said, gathering his thoughts. On the off chance she was actually right, he didn’t want to offend her. “Why don’t you tell me all about it?”
Catherine’s head titled to the side, appraising him in the blue light of the moon. Almost like she was deciding if she could trust him. Him! A U.S. Marshal!
“If I tell you, I get the reward, right?”
He could no longer hold onto his passive expression. His jaw dropped at her audacity.
“Miss James, hunting down this criminal is my job, and it’s a dangerous one at that. Do you have the slightest idea of what’s involved in bringing a man like this to justice? Forget that Tully Owings would kill you just as soon as look at you, the hunt itself is rife with peril. The sort of people one has to engage with to find a man like him…well, I doubt that a lady such as yourself has ever met such low-lifes, much less spoken to them.”
As he spoke, Catherine grew more and more tense, until her back was rod-straight and her nose pointed to the Big Dipper. Spiders skittered across his skin again as he drank in her beauty, but it didn’t take long for him to remember that he didn’t much care for her.
“You might be surprised at the company I’ve been forced to keep, Marshal. But that’s beside the point. What I want to know is, if I give you the information to find this man — and make no mistake, he’s your man — then I get the reward, right?”
He’d had just about enough of her, no matter how fair she looked in the moonlight. She really was lucky he wasn’t armed because right now he was mighty tempted to show her what it felt like to look down the barrel of a pistol.
“Of course you don’t get the reward! Even if you’re right, which I highly doubt, I’m the one who has to subdue him — and any cronies he might have collected along the way — and drag his sorry behind to the federal judge in Dallas.”
Catherine had the gall to cross her arms in a huff and scowl at him. The nerve of the woman…
Feigning innocence, he added, “Unless you can do all of that all by yourself. Can you?”
The scowl turned into a glare. “Of course not!”
“Well, then the best I can do is offer you a $50 finder’s fee. If you’re right.”
He waited patiently as her face contorted through several different emotions, none of which were becoming of a lady. A twitch of guilt burned in his belly at being the cause of her ire, but he wasn’t treating her any differently than he would anyone else with information.
But she is different, something in his head whispered.
As her hands clenched into tiny fists, she reminded him so much of Rebecca it hurt. Yeah, she’s different — yet exactly the same.
“Then I won’t tell you where he is,” she finally spat out. “Find him on your own. You’ve been doing such a grand job of it so far!”
She harrumphed and spun on her heel, but before she could take more than three steps, Griff latched onto her arm with a growl and stopped her forward progress. She stumbled but he caught her in his arms before she fell. Her warmth and the light lavender fragrance she wore combined in a heady mixture. He was brought back to sanity by her scream.
“Let go of me!”
She’d only meant her command to release her to sound sharp, so the screech that erupted from her mouth surprised her as much as it probably
did him. It wasn’t that she was afraid he would hurt her. In fact, a secret part of her had wondered what his touch would feel like. Now she knew. Every inch of her body that was in contact with Marshal Griffith sizzled like she’d been branded. The sensation nearly overwhelmed her.
A shout sounded from the main house in response and running feet quickly approached. The Marshal seemed frozen in place, staring down at her, his hold on her easing until she could find her feet. Shoving at his broad, hard chest, she pushed away from him. The moment his hands left her skin, a chill rippled through her.
She felt alone.
“What’s all this about?” Hank ran up to the pair ready to take down the brute hurting Catherine. Maggie was close behind him, worry etched on her pretty features.
“He-he grabbed me!”
Catherine huddled in Maggie’s embrace, pretending — even to herself — that the confusing emotion roiling around inside her was fear. It couldn’t be anything else.
“Is that true, Griff?”
Hank sounded incredulous but maneuvered himself between her and the Marshal. After what they all went through a few months earlier, he acted overly protective of Maggie, Catherine and Mary.
“Well, yes…but she’s withholding information from a federal Marshal!” His voice grew louder as he spoke, and the look he gave her wasn’t the enchanted gaze from a moment before. It was hard and accusing.
“What information?” Hank asked, turning back to Catherine, who hid her face in Maggie’s neck, hoping to avoid answering.
“She knows where my outlaw is and she’s trying to blackmail me for the information.”
Maggie pulled back until Catherine looked her in the eye. “Is this true?”
“I’m not blackmailing him,” Catherine said, squaring her shoulders and meeting her friend’s eyes. “I think I should get the reward is all.”
