The Marshal Takes A Bride

by Sylvia McDaniel

  Tucker laughed. “So you didn’t make her understand she was wrong?”

  “No. I don’t think I even made a dent in that woman’s armor. She wants you married,” Sarah exclaimed, amazed at the depth of Eugenia’s convictions with regard to her son.

  “I know.” He looked at Sarah, his eyes twinkling with laughter. “But you thought you would change her mind, didn’t you?”

  “I had to try.” Sarah returned his gaze, the warmth of his brown eyes touching her like flint to stone.

  Odd, but in the entire time they had known each other, they had never discussed marriage. She had always known he was a wild spirit, elusive and free, but somehow she had thought the right woman would tame him, settle him down. And she had always hoped that she would be that woman.

  “So why are you resisting? Why not just get married to satisfy her? Have you never wanted to marry?” Sarah asked.

  “Not since you left town and went to that fancy school and left me here to fight off all the old maids who hadn’t found a husband yet.”

  She shook her head at him. “I don’t know why I try to have a serious conversation with you.”

  “Oh, Sarah. Why does a man have to get married and settle down? Why can’t I be different?”

  “You can’t be different and be married, Tucker?” she asked, suddenly curious.

  “No, I can’t.” He glanced at her. “I had this stupid notion that when I became known for being a fast draw, somehow I wouldn’t be ‘that Burnett boy’ anymore. That it would somehow garner me more respect.”

  She tried to discreetly cover her mouth and hide her smile. “So becoming a fast draw, did it help you?” He gazed at her warily as the wagon crawled up a sloping ridge, and she had to cling to the wooden railing to keep from sliding out.

  “What do you think? Now I’m that Burnett boy that’s known for being fast with a gun. And being known for having a lightning fast draw only tempts foolish young men into trying to make a name for themselves by getting rid of me.”

  “So what does all of that have to do with getting married?”

  “I guess the reason I don’t want to settle down is because those two words equal being tied down. Never going anywhere, never seeing new places. I guess I associate raising a family with loss of freedom and tied to responsibility.”

  Sarah nodded. “There is a certain amount of both when you have children. They’re dependent on you for their every need, and you can’t come and go as you please anymore. But the rewards far outweigh the restrictions they place on you. And they are your blood, a part of you.”

  Tucker shrugged. “I guess it would be exciting to see a part of you living on. But if I don’t have anyone depending on me, I can do whatever I want. I can travel to different parts of the country. That’s the way my life was when I was younger, and I enjoyed being free.”

  “So what are you doing here? Why aren’t you pursuing your freedom now?”

  He paused a moment. “Timing, I guess. After I left Tombstone, I almost killed a kid in Santa Fe. He was barely sixteen. I could have hit him in the heart, but at the last moment I shot him in the shoulder, wounding him seriously.”

  They hit a bump in the road, and the wagon rattled as dust rose up through the air. “I knew that sooner or later, I was going to kill someone, and the law was not going to consider it self-defense. I would hang, and the thought of a rope tightening around my neck was enough for me to put an end to that part of my life. So I came home unsure of what to do. Only certain that I hated ranch work.”

  “So now you’re home, but you wish you were back roaming the countryside.”

  “Yes. I’m hoping to get a federal marshals position, but until then I’m here.”

  “So a woman and a family couldn’t fit into your life living here, right now?”

  “Don’t want to take a chance on them getting hurt. What happens when someone faster than me shows up and challenges me to a shootout?” he asked. “What happens if I’m killed?”

  “Easy. You don’t participate in gunfights. You’re the marshal.” She stared at him questioningly. “Surely, you don’t respond when someone comes into town and wants a gunfight now, do you? You have stopped that awful practice, haven’t you?”

  Tucker refused to meet her gaze. “Being marshal sometimes provokes them even more than just being someone with a reputation. I have to protect the town. It’s my job.”

  Sarah shook her head. “You mean to tell me that if someone came into town and wanted to pit their speed against yours, you’d do it?”

  He stared at her as if she had suffered a memory lapse. “Of course I would. If I didn’t, that person would think that he could come into my town and take over.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  He turned his attention back to the horses, his voice a deep, rich baritone sound. “I’ve seen it happen, Sarah. Not here, but in New Mexico, in some of the mining towns of Colorado and even in some of the smaller towns of Texas. As long as I’m the law, it is not going to happen in Fort Worth.”

  The wind teased wisps of blond curls about her face, and Sarah pushed a strand away from her cheeks. “But you’ve already been shot once, and there’s no guarantee you won’t be again. Next time you could be killed.”

  “You’re right, I could be,” he said, staring into her eyes. “But I’m damn good, and I enjoy being one of the best. I want to remain free.”

  “You are a foolish man, Tucker Burnett. You’d give up having a wife and children just because your pride wouldn’t let you pass up a gunfight?” Sarah accused, her voice rising with repressed emotion.

  Why should she tell him about his son if he didn’t want the responsibility of being a father? How could she tell him, knowing that he could die at any moment?

  “That’s not what I said, Sarah.”

  “No, but it’s the truth!” she said fiercely. “You’d rather die than let someone else possibly outgun you. Well, guess what? Sooner or later someone is going to, and when they do, you’re going to die.”

  He glanced over at her as if she were an irrational female who didn’t know what she was saying, not the doctor who had already patched him up once.

  “You don’t understand. As marshal it’s my job to make sure this town is safe. I deal with criminals and take chances every day.”

  “I understand that, and I know that there is a certain amount of danger in being the law; but you’re using your position as marshal to keep your skills up as a gunfighter, not as a peacemaker,” Sarah replied her voice rising with emotion.

  Tucker shrugged “Maybe so. As a doctor do you always choose the path of a healer or do you sometimes use your social position to convey strength and power?”

  Sarah sat thinking, mulling over her response. “It's different for me. Being a gunfighter does not promote healing.”

  “So my job as marshal is not as important as yours is of being a healer?” he asked his voice rising.

  Sarah wanted to grit her teeth, but instead she glared at him. “I didn’t say that. Being a marshal is a very important and worthy job. Being a marshal who gets into gunfights just for the sake of making sure he’s still the fastest is wrong.”

  “I’m good Sarah. Damn good. This is my town, and no one interferes. I’ll take on their challenge either as the marshal or as a gunfighter, their choice.” She stared at him in the semidarkness, the urge to hit him upside the head almost overwhelming, knowing that wasn’t the answer, but tempted just the same. In so many ways, he was still the same arrogant gunfighter she had patched up and fallen in love with in Tombstone.

  “So you’re going to die because of your pride. You’re a damn fool, Tucker Burnett, and don’t expect me to piece you back together a second time.”

  He turned and stared at her, the anger emanating from his body, his face a tight grimace, his brown eyes sparkling with temper.

  “But you would.” He said it low and with such conviction she could feel the power behind his words. “I know you, Sarah.
You wouldn’t leave a man to die. Not a pious do-gooder like yourself.”

  She turned and faced the front of the wagon. He was right, and she knew it. If something were to happen to him, of course she would try to save him, but what if this time the bullet she so desperately wanted to protect him from killed him? What then?

  When was he going to realize that he was one bullet away from death? One bullet from never knowing the son he knew nothing about.

  Tucker angrily snapped the reins, urging the horses to go faster. Sarah didn’t understand. She never had and probably never would appreciate that it wasn’t the violence or even the idea of being faster than anyone else that was the attraction to a gunfight.

  For those thirty seconds a man didn’t know whether he was going to live or die. A man with a gun didn’t know if he was going to take his next breath or find himself eating the dust in the middle of the street. And after it was all over, life seemed sweeter for the victor.

  No, he didn’t condone violence, but when a challenge was issued, he couldn’t just ignore the demand and pretend it hadn’t occurred. A man had his pride, and Tucker wouldn’t be labeled a coward or afraid to face a fight. He would rather be six feet under than have people look at him and think he had backed away from a brawl.

  Yes, he was older and a little more settled than the wild days of his youth; but he would never back away from a fight, and he would never walk away from a challenge. And the good doctor could take her peace-loving ways all the way back to Tombstone for all he cared.

  He had never felt as though he was good enough for Sarah anyway, and today was just another example of why a gunslinger-turned-marshal and a doctor had no business trying to work together.

  Once again he was sure that he was meant to be a man without ties. A man without a wife, a family or a home. A man without a reason to keep him from taking on a fight, whether it was with his fists or with his Colt Navy revolvers. He had no reason to turn the other cheek and walk away.

  Except Sarah...

  The image of Sarah, limbs entwined with his, blond hair cascading over her shoulders, twirling about his chest, came to mind, and he almost groaned. Some memories were better left buried in the recesses of his consciousness. Especially the ones that made him think he had lost his mind for leaving the woman behind in Tombstone.

  Though he wondered why that particular image kept popping into mind. Why couldn’t he forget about the night they spent together and let the image of Sarah scolding him fill his mind?

  Tucker pulled on the reins, slowing the horses as they entered the streets of Fort Worth. He knew who he was, and he was not a man who was going to resolve problems by talking about them. No, he was a man who settled things in the street, with his fists or a gun.

  He pulled the horses to a halt in front of the hotel. The lanterns from inside cast a yellowish glow out into the street. The sound of laughter and singing drifted down Main Street where one of the many saloons was in full swing. It was late. As soon as the wagon rolled to a stop, Sarah leaped to the ground without waiting for his help. She walked around to the back while he set the brake and looped the reins around the wooden handle.

  Tucker watched as Sarah lifted the sleeping boy into her arms.

  “Wait. I’ll carry him in,” he said.

  “No need. He’s my responsibility,” she replied, before he could react.

  He glanced at her, noticing the tight set of her mouth, the determined look in the blue irises of her eyes. “I know that, but he’s heavy. Let me carry him in."

  “No!” she said, in a clipped voice. “There’s no need for you to walk us upstairs. And as for the church picnic, I’ll meet you there. We don’t need any more rumors started than the ones your mother will be busy creating.”

  She was angry. Well fine, he couldn’t help who he was, and he was no peace-loving do-gooder like her. Never had been. But why was it this time she suddenly had trouble accepting him? Why had it never affected their friendship before?

  “Sarah . . . ,” he said reluctantly, not wanting to part with anger unresolved between them.

  “I think it’s time we said good night. I’ll see you at the picnic on Sunday.”

  She turned and walked away, the gentle swish of her skirts bewitching as he watched the sway of her backside. He couldn’t help but stare at her in confusion. What was different about their friendship? Somehow he got the feeling that there was something he didn’t understand. She had always accepted him before, so what had changed?

  And damn it, why did the good doctor always manage to get under his skin and leave him still wanting her despite the fact that he knew they could only be friends?

  ***

  Sarah glanced around at the people who were gathered inside the meeting hall of the small church. Children dashed through the building chasing one another while the ladies arranged the baskets and the desserts to be auctioned.

  She felt foolish and almost hadn’t come. But somehow she had been determined not to let her differences with Tucker frighten her away. She was not going to let a simple argument keep her from seeing people she hadn’t seen in years. She also knew that there would be less speculation about her and Tucker if she was here to dispel the rumors.

  Her grandfather stood beside her, carrying Lucas. Eugenia hurried toward them. “Hello, George. How are you, Lucas?” Without waiting for a reply, she turned her attention to Sarah. “Sarah, I’m so glad that you came and you brought a basket for the auction.”

  “I wanted to help the church,” Sarah said.

  “Good, the church will be pleased with your donation.” Eugenia smiled. “And I’m sure that son of mine will be bidding on your basket.”

  Eugenia plucked the basket from Sarah’s arms.

  “Mrs. Burnett, Tucker will not be bidding on my basket. The only reason I came today was to see the people I haven’t seen since I left.”

  “Don’t be so certain. But there are several single young men here today who I’m sure would love a chance to eat the food you’ve prepared.”

  “Maybe,” Sarah said, glancing at her grandfather. “The rest of the family except for Travis and Rose, who decided she really didn’t feel like attending, are sitting in that far comer over there.” She pointed them out to Sarah. “I must help with the baskets, so why don’t the three of you join our group?”

  Sarah looked up and stared straight into Tucker’s earthy brown eyes. He smiled at her and shrugged his shoulders. She knew without question that it was his subtle peace offering. It was his way of saying, Let’s not fight. He had used it since childhood and never was one to offer an apology.

  But she wasn’t ready to end the war or call a truce. She wasn’t even ready for a peaceful negotiation. The battle was still on-going, even though she wasn’t sure what the war was about.

  She returned his smile, though it didn’t quite reach her heart. She should never have gotten upset with him about his propensity for gunfights. It was his life; he had made his choices, and so had she. And hers didn’t include Tucker.

  If there were lingering feelings for this man, she had them buried deeper than even a miner would be willing to go, and it was best they were left there.

  “Do you want to sit with the Burnetts?” her grandfather asked.

  “Let’s wait until after the auction, to see who will be joining us for lunch,” Sarah suggested, still not ready to face Tucker.

  Her grandfather grinned. “Is there anyone you have in mind?”

  Sarah shrugged. “Not really.”

  “I was hoping maybe there was someone. Maybe if you found a husband here, you’d stay in town,” he said, his mouth twitching with a smile.

  “We’ve been over this, Grandfather,” she said, an edge to her voice. All she needed was for her grandfather to join forces with Eugenia. She would be on the next stage out of town regardless of her promises to Tucker.

  She wanted a man who wanted her.

  “I know, but you can’t blame an old man for trying,” he
said, with a sigh.

  She turned and glared at him. “Yes, I can. Now let’s try to enjoy the rest of the day.”

  The auctioneer walked to the podium. “We’re going to begin the auction. The single ladies have prepared baskets of food, while the married ladies brought cakes and pies to auction off. So let’s get started. I’m sure we’re all hungry.”

  For the next half hour Sarah watched as they auctioned off all the desserts and then began on the baskets. There were only five baskets, and it didn’t take long until they reached the one she had brought.

  The auctioneer held up her basket. “The food in this basket was made by Dr. Sarah James, who has recently returned from Tombstone, Arizona, and taken over Doc Wilson’s practice until he heals. So what is the starting bid on this basket?”

  Neville Smith stood up, his mother by his side. “I’ll bid one dollar.”

  Sarah groaned, then whispered to her grandfather, “I’m leaving if he gets my basket.”

  “Now, Sarah, just wait,” her grandfather replied in a lowered voice. “There are other young men attend- mg.

  “I’ll give you two dollars,” Tucker called out.

  Sarah glanced over at him. He was bidding on her basket to keep her from dining with Neville. It was one more attempt at reconciliation. She smiled at Tucker, unable to resist his peace offering, knowing this would only encourage his mother.

  “Do I hear three?”

  “Two and a quarter,” Neville said.

  “Four dollars,” a deep masculine voice called out from the back of the room.

  Sarah glanced around until she located the bidder, but didn’t recognize the man.

  “Five,” Tucker said, never skipping a beat.

  “Six dollars and that’s my final offer,” Neville Smith said, as he glared at Tucker.

  The crowd laughed, and Sarah felt uneasy being the center of attention.

  “Seven,” the unknown voice called out.