The Marshal's Rebellious Bride

by Starla Kaye

  Her stomach clenched. Safer? “What do you mean?” she asked warily. “Has something happened to Tyler?”

  He met her troubled gaze, shook his head. “Not yet.” He sucked in a deep breath, blew it out. “Someone is going after my father, Hanging Judge Rydell. Meanest sonofagun on God’s green earth.”

  “This someone? Or your father?” She was confused, worried, too.

  “Truth to tell, both Rafe Marino and The Judge are mean sonofaguns.”

  She couldn’t imagine thinking of your own father that way. Certainly her father was a strong-willed man, but he was a good man. She loved him dearly and was extremely proud of him. And she missed him.

  She turned her thoughts back to what Morgan had said. “If your father is so mean, why did you have your son living with him?”

  “I didn’t have much of a choice,” he growled out.

  He suddenly stood up, nodded at a thunderhead that had seemed to build out of nowhere in typical Kansas fashion. “We’d best be heading back.”

  Sighing, she understood. She wanted to ask more questions, wanted more answers, but she knew his time of letting loose with even a few more tidbits about his life and his son was done. And she wasn’t all that fond of getting caught in a summer rain storm. More and more clouds rolled in even as she started to gather up the picnic stuff.

  They raced all the way back to the house, barely beating the storm. As it was she sped into the house with the hamper when the first raindrops fell. Morgan, however, got drenched as he drove toward the barn.

  She watched from the kitchen window while he jumped from the carriage just inside the big, wide doors. He was a complex man, more than just a tough lawman with a fierce reputation. He had a son and she sensed a whole passel of problems beyond hunting down outlaws and battling for his life. He was a hard man who upheld the laws of the land and followed rules of his own—or so Taos had told her. And he had rules for the woman he would marry. Her? Hmmm. She really hated rules and she wasn’t fond of his “consequences” for going against him or his stupid rules. But she didn’t think she really hated Morgan Rydell. Not so much as before, anyway.

  She moved away from the door, more confused than before. Maybe they understood each other a tiny bit better now, but she still would not—could not—take a chance on a relationship with him. She couldn’t bear to lose another man she loved. Even if she didn’t actually love Morgan Rydell…at least not yet. It was the yet part that worried her.

  * * *

  “So how was the picnic?” Taos asked from the doorway of the tack room as the rain fell in buckets behind Morgan. “Are you making any headway with Whiskey?”

  He was disappointed to find he wasn’t alone. He’d needed time to mull over what had happened on the picnic, which wasn’t really as much as he’d have liked. Taking time out to warm her backside had cut down on their time to get to know one another better.

  Unhitching the horse from the carriage, he avoided meeting Taos’ eyes. “Your sister is one stubborn woman.”

  Taos snorted. “That she is.” He opened the door to one of the stalls and grabbed a cloth to help rub down the wet horse. “I take it she is still resistant to the idea of marriage.”

  “Damn hard on a man’s ego, a woman refusing his offer of marriage so much.” He led the Bay into the stall. “She doesn’t want me for a husband. She doesn’t really want me for a partner on the ranch, not that she has any say about that.” But he had a gut feeling she didn’t resent him as much as she had at first. Still, she wasn’t going to be easy to win over.

  They worked at rubbing the horse dry. Taos looked at him over the animal’s back. “Not that I don’t want you to marry my sister, but I suppose you could simply be partners.”

  Morgan thought about how he’d wanted to run his hands through that wealth of red-brown hair…about how he’d come close to grabbing her and kissing away her protests…about how he’d want to do a whole more than spank her butt…

  He sucked in a breath and was glad that Taos was on the other side of the horse. His body had jerked to life at those disturbing memories. “No way would that work.”

  “It sounds like marriage is the only option.” There was the hint in Taos’ tone of warning about him not messing with Whiskey until vows were said.

  “Truthfully, I think she’s protesting too much. I think she’s trying to convince herself, maybe more than you or me, that she doesn’t want this wedding to happen.” Taos looked directly at him. “I’ve seen the glances she slides your way from time to time. She never looked at Ace that way, not that I recall anyway.”

  Whether Taos was right or not about what he thought he saw, the words went a long way toward boosting Morgan’s ego again. Her continual spouting off refusals had been wearing him down, even if he sensed the refusals weren’t said as strongly as they’d once been.

  “She’s still talking about tending to the livestock,” he said, bringing up the other issue of disagreement between them. “It scares the hell out of me.” Almost as much as her taking the balloon up again. Something which he would never allow.

  “I’m not fond of the idea either, but she does have some kind of gift with animals. Always has. Aunt Mae does too. I’m not sure how to change her mind on that doctoring matter, or if you need to. Maybe—”

  “No. I don’t like the idea at all,” he countered grimly, stomach knotting.

  He couldn’t be with her every minute of every day. He couldn’t protect her from some big animal doing her harm just because it was in pain and she was trying to help. “Why can’t she be content with quilting or sewing or weaving a rug or something more domestic?”

  Taos chuckled. “That sounds more like our sweet Brandy than Whiskey.”

  “How about I marry Brandy? You can find some other sap for Whiskey.” Morgan hated the idea the second he said it.

  Taos raised an eyebrow and looked at him squarely. “I suppose I could talk to Pete about Whiskey…”

  “No! She’s going to marry me and that’s all there is to it.”

  The knowing grin Taos sent him rankled. But he honestly couldn’t let another man take the redheaded beauty for wife, take her to his bed.

  Chapter Five

  The first rays of sun streaked the sky as Morgan led his saddled Bay from the barn, grumbling to himself about some neighboring rancher named “Pete.” He had spent half the night trying to envision the man who Taos had mentioned could possibly marry Whiskey instead of him. He thought he’d spent most of the other half of the night wanting to ground the man to pulp because… well, just because. He needed time and distance away—far away—from the redhead who was making him think irrationally. Picnic. He’d taken her on a damn picnic; even found her a batch of flowers. It had been so unlike him. He understood chasing down outlaws. He knew about fighting, about shooting, about killing. This was so different from all he knew. He didn’t do romance, seduction, playing games. He was pretty sure he’d made a fool of himself.

  Two steps out of the barn Demon raised his head, jerking his arm, and whinnied like a foolish young colt. His big, bad horse had begun acting a bit crazed whenever Whiskey was anywhere around. She’d started sneaking him apples she picked from the row of fruit trees out back of the house. Spoiled and besotted was what he was. He’d probably be worthless out on the trail after all this nonsense.

  Annoyed, he tipped his hat brim down against the sun and looked toward the middle corral. Sure enough she was there rubbing down her one-eyed mule. The ingrate was baring his teeth and looking as if he’d nibble her arm, again. Damn, but he hated seeing that. His stomach curled up in a knot. But he now knew that was just the way the critter teased, flirted, whatever the hell he was doing, with the pint-sized woman who took care of him. ‘Course that didn’t mean he had to like it, but it meant he had to get used to the odd behavior.

  He told himself to mount up, ignore her. Two of the ranch hands had already headed out to the south pasture to spend another day mending fences. He was suppos
ed to join them to help with the endless ranch chore. He really didn’t mind the tedious work, although he wasn’t fond of baking in the hot sun and it looked to be another scorcher today.

  Instead of climbing into the saddle and getting the hell away from her, he found his feet carrying him across the ranch yard as if they had a mind of their own. Stop! Just ride away. Don’t do this.

  He just couldn’t make his feet obey. Yep, he was plumb crazy.

  “I thought you were going out on the range today,” Whiskey said over her shoulder, sounding less than pleased that he was coming closer.

  “I was planning on it,” he confirmed and led Demon next to the corral. Okay, Demon practically led him to the corral.

  At their approach, the mule looked over and bared his teeth even more as if warning them to keep their distance from her. Protective. Possessive. Odd behavior for a mule, but all of her animals were strange. Demon, in turn, showed his feelings about her. He snorted and bumped against the railing as if demanding her attention and challenging the mule.

  “Stop it, you damn fool,” Morgan said, trying to pull his horse back.

  Whiskey gently patted the mule’s neck and turned to smile at Demon. The smile was warm and understanding, nothing like she would give him and that irritated him. Jealous. He was damn jealous of a horse and a mule. Humiliating. Flat out stupid.

  She lifted her gaze to meet his and the smile slipped away. “Don’t let me keep you.”

  He jerked out of his state of foolishness and pulled up into the saddle. “Are you going into town today? That dressmaker said you needed to get fitted for a gown as soon as possible.”

  “I’m going into town today, yes.” When he glanced in her direction, he caught the spark of fire in her green eyes. “Not to get fitted for a dress I don’t intend to wear.”

  The most obstinate female in the whole world, that’s what she was. “Then why are you going to town?”

  She put her hands on her small hips and said, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m going to visit a couple of my friends at Varieties.”

  “The dance hall?” he asked, looking sharply at her in disapproval. “A lady shouldn’t be going into a place like that.”

  The mule nudged her from behind with his nose. She shoved him away with a, “Stop that.” Then she faced him again. “I suppose you also think a lady shouldn’t go into a saloon?”

  “Course they shouldn’t.” Immediately he knew the idiocy of that statement since her family owned a saloon and she’d spent a lot of time there. Hell, he even knew the story of how she and her sister had earned their nicknames. The two mischievous imps had been there with their father, who had gotten busy and left them alone unsupervised. They’d evidently each gotten stone cold drunk drinking from a couple of bottles they’d found behind the bar: one a bottle of whiskey, one a bottle of brandy. Their amused brothers had come up with the names and they’d stuck.

  “Good thing I’m not a lady then. At least I’m not a lady by your definition.”

  “I didn’t…” He was losing ground here, best to shut his mouth and head out to the range. He wouldn’t get in more trouble there.

  She turned around to pick up the brush that had slipped from her hand. “There are just so many reasons for why we shouldn’t get married. We don’t see eye-to-eye on most anything.”

  True enough, he supposed, but now that the idea of marrying Whiskey had settled into him, he planned to do it. Even if she made him nuts. Besides, he kind of looked forward to taming the little wildcat.

  “Three weeks, Angelina. Actually nineteen days from now.” He used her real name just to annoy her.

  “Just because you keep on harping about it doesn’t mean its going to happen.” She didn’t even bother to look his way, simply went back to brushing down the mule.

  Demon snorted and appeared determined to bust on through the fence to get to her, clearly wanting some of her attention as well. Again, he felt a twinge of jealousy. He wanted her attention, too. He was getting right down tired of arguing with her. He reined his horse away with a firm jerk. “You’ve got to be the most stubborn woman God ever created.”

  “Proud of it, too. Now go away. Quit bothering me and go on about your business.”

  He held his anxious horse in place for a minute longer. He sure didn’t like her always wanting him to go away, always telling him they weren’t getting married. He didn’t have a lot of time for courting or wooing or whatever a gentleman was supposed to do in order to get a woman to marry him. He had to head back to Texas and another assignment a week after the wedding. Unless Rafe showed up before then and the two of them had their final showdown, one Morgan intended to win. If that happened, he’d wire his resignation down to the U.S. Marshal’s office in Texas.

  Deciding it was best to leave before the conversation turned even more upsetting, he reined his horse toward the ranch road. “Go to the dressmaker and stay away from the dance hall,” he said and pushed Demon into a trot not wanting to hear yet another refusal.

  * * *

  “I’ll take a shot of red-eye,” Whiskey stated boldly as she walked through the batwing doors of Varieties and spotted Ham Bell behind the bar. After arguing with Morgan and avoiding her brothers, she wasn’t in the best of moods. She’d been worrying over this ridiculous marriage idea all during her ride into town. One thing for sure, she wasn’t going to see the dressmaker.

  She headed for the long, currently spotless wooden bar and plopped her elbows on it with a heavy sigh. “I need a drink something awful.”

  Ham hadn’t said a word in response, didn’t appear to be his usual jovial self. It worried her, causing her to put aside her own problems to find out what was going on with her friend. Finally he looked up into the big mirror behind the bar and met her gaze. He looked like he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. His forehead was furrowed.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked, straightening, considering going behind the bar to get her own drink.

  As if he read her mind and had actually heard her before, he turned to face her and shook his balding head. “Your brothers would skin my hide if I gave you a glass of red-eye. But I’ve got some tea back here that Maybelle made earlier.”

  She heaved a put-upon sigh but nodded. Few people in town would go against her brothers and she knew it. They didn’t approve of either her or Brandy partaking of liquor of any kind. “Fine. Tea it is. My throat is parched and I need something to drink.”

  It only took him a minute to pour her a glass of tea and set it on the bar in front of her. He still didn’t say anything, just leaned back against the shelves by the mirror. He seemed to be thinking, wrestling with something.

  Taking a quick drink, she pressed him. “Tell me what’s troubling you, Ham. Can I help?”

  He looked at her for a few seconds, opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again, shaking his head.

  Her two friends, Maybelle and Abigail walked up behind her and she smiled at them in the mirror. She’d met the women near her age when they’d came to town on a stage several years ago. They’d become friendly almost immediately, even though the more proper “ladies” in town didn’t approve of them, especially when they had quickly gone to work for Ham. Dance hall ladies were shunned by many of the town’s women, but not by all. As for her, she didn’t care a bit what the old, pompous biddies thought about her friends or about her. She befriended who she wanted to and that was that. Even her brothers’ meager attempts to change her mind hadn’t worked, and they’d given up. Truth was, Keno and Taos liked Maybelle and Abigail.

  Abigail appeared to have had trouble containing her wildly curly reddish-orange hair today. She had it tied back in a ponytail of sorts, but it was trying hard to escape being confined. She grinned at Whiskey. “It sure is good to see you here, to see a smiling face.” She glanced at Ham. “He’s been fretting over business lately.”

  That surprised Whiskey. Usually the Varieties did a lot of business, almost as much as Keno�
�s place. She set her glass down and studied the forty-something man. “What’s the problem, Ham? I thought your place was packed most nights.”

  His shoulders slumped beneath his white shirt. “It has been until recently. The regulars still show up, but fewer newcomers are dropping in. I hear grumbling about the men wanting something more.”

  A bar was for drinking, playing poker, for getting rowdy at times with a man’s friends. At least that’s all she’d ever witnessed in Keno’s saloon, on those rare times she’d gone there at night. He frowned on her being there more and more. “It’s not proper for a woman like you to be here.” And he didn’t listen to her arguments on the matter.

  “What kind of ‘something more’ do they want?” She couldn’t figure it out.

  Maybelle moved beside her and answered before Ham could respond. She looked worried as she said, “They want Abigail and me to do some new fancy dance they’ve heard of. Some kind of leg-kicking dance.”

  Whiskey raised an eyebrow. She’d heard her brothers talking about this dance. Evidently Keno had seen it on one of his trips to Chicago. “The Can-Can? That new French dance?”

  Ham nodded grimly. “It’s innocent enough, from what I gather. Just some high-kicking, some leg showing.” He looked warily at Abigail and Maybelle. “They could do it; I don’t doubt that for a minute. But they’re nervous about trying it. Understandably. And I won’t make them do something they’re uncomfortable with.”

  “I’ve heard Keno talk about this dance. He says that sometimes the men in the audience get a bit boisterous.” She worried her bottom lip. She didn’t want her friends to be in any kind of danger.

  “You know I wouldn’t let anyone harm my girls,” Ham said firmly.

  She did know that. He looked on the two women almost as his daughters. He took care of them, watched over his crowds like a hawk.

  “I’d even pay a couple of men to control the crowd, make sure the audience behaved.” He met her eyes and she sensed that he’d given this matter a lot of thought.