The Marshalls Boxed Set (Texas Heroes: The Marshalls Books 1-3)

by Jean Brashear

  This was his fault. He clasped her hand to his chest. Prayed as he’d never prayed in his life.

  “I believe it now, Elena,” he whispered to her. “You are my soulmate. Come back. We get this life together, you hear me? I’ll make it a good one, I promise.” Punish me, he begged Fate, but not this way. Please.

  “I found a pulse,” Quinn said. “It’s thready as hell, but she’s alive. Get someone here quick,” he shouted to Greg, squeezing Josh’s shoulder, his own face filled with emotion.

  Josh sagged. Closed his eyes in thanksgiving as he bent to her and kissed her brow.

  They had a chance.

  Whatever it took, he would devote the rest of his life to making her happy and safe.

  He looked up at Quinn. “Tell me what I can do to help. She has to make it.” His voice strengthened as he held her. “She’s going to make it, I swear. We get to be together this time.”

  He bent to her again. “Do you hear me, Elena? This time is ours.”

  And no one would separate them again.

  Epilogue

  Elena’s hospital room resembled a greenhouse. Every surface sported something floral. The aroma was almost overpowering, but Elena cherished every blossom. Every breath, however painful.

  Because Josh was alive and so was she. Still unable to spend much time awake this second day, nonetheless she’d heard bits of the story. She’d heard about Carmen’s foot connecting with Ernesto’s shin long enough to jar his arm loose, so that Greg could drop him with a shot after Carmen fell to the floor.

  Quinn had wounded Richard, who was now in jail awaiting trial, along with his crony the sheriff. Greg said no slick lawyer would be able to get him out of a multitude of charges. Apparently, Rich’s new friends from south of the border had decided to let him face this one alone, leaving ample evidence behind.

  Though Richard was alive, Josh assured her that the deed she’d signed was illegal, having been signed under duress. Thus, though all Richard’s assets would be seized under racketeering statutes, her land would be exempted.

  So the ranch was safe, and she was safe from Richard.

  She breathed a small sigh of relief. A big sigh would hurt too much, with her cracked ribs.

  The door opened, and her favorite pair of green eyes peered inside. Josh smiled broadly when he saw that she was awake. He rounded the bed and perched on the side of it. “Hi, beautiful,” he said. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I just won the lottery.” She smiled. “Oh, Josh, I can’t tell you how it feels, knowing that I’m free of him. Thank you for rescuing me—again.”

  “Rescuing you?” Josh’s eyes darkened in remembrance. “Sweetheart, you nearly died, saving me. I can’t close my eyes without seeing you lying there.” His voice went hoarse. “I thought I’d lost you, when we’d barely found each other.” His hand sought hers. “I wish to hell your ribs weren’t cracked. I want to hold you so badly.”

  “Do it anyway.”

  “Not on your life. You are never suffering again on my account.” He stood and held up his palms with a grin. “Back off, you vixen.”

  She laughed, then her breath caught at the sharp pain.

  His eyes instantly turned worried. “You’d better get some more rest.”

  “I don’t want to rest, Josh. I want to see you. You’re already late for your filming, and I don’t want to miss a minute of whatever time is left.”

  He goggled. “Are you kidding me? Honey, if you think I’m going anywhere without you, you’re crazy.” He leaned closer, his gaze completely serious now. Intense. “I didn’t want to live when I thought you were gone. I swore then, and I meant every word, that nothing is going to keep us apart.” He touched her lips with one finger. “Nothing and no one, Elena. I’ve spent too much of my life without you already, and I’m not spending one second more.”

  “But what about your film? Your career?”

  “What about them?”

  She looked down at their clasped hands. “I won’t fit in that life.” She looked back up. “You know I won’t. All those sophisticated people, those beautiful women.”

  “You are more beautiful than any of them.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen a mirror. I’m a mess.”

  “Right now, yeah—do you think I care? Every mark is a badge of honor, a tribute to your courage and strength. He tried to beat you down, to destroy you—but you won, Elena.”

  He shook his head. “You are beautiful in your own right, but more importantly, you’re real. Tía was right. The life I’ve been leading has felt increasingly empty. Maybe I’m done with this career.”

  “No, Josh. You have a gift. You can’t…don’t even think about giving it up for me.”

  “Honey, I’d give up more than my career for you.”

  “I don’t want that. I don’t want you sacrificing anything for me.”

  “But you’re ready to give me up so easily? What we could have?”

  “I just…” She shrugged. “I can’t see an answer.”

  “Maybe I can. Here’s the deal—”

  Despite her despair, he made her smile. “Another deal?”

  He grinned. “I’ve had pretty good luck with them.” Then he sobered. “But seriously, I’ve been thinking a lot about this. It’s true that I do have a career that takes me away from home at times, but you can go with me. I’m at a point where I don’t need to do so many films, so I can take a long time in between, and we can live anywhere you want.”

  She bit her lip, wanting so badly to believe there was a solution.

  “If I have to do something you don’t feel comfortable with, like occasionally attending parties full of shallow idiots, I won’t ask you to go if you don’t want to. Just do me this favor: don’t assume you won’t fit in until you try.”

  His gaze tender, he continued. “Elena, even shallow idiots know quality when they see it. I won’t promise we’ll never be the subject of gossip or innuendo—unfortunately it comes with the territory. But you and I, and our children, God willing, will know the difference. We’ll make our home with normal people in Mesa Roja or near Quinn and Lorie, or Timbuktu, if that’s what you want. We’ll have real friends and a real home, and we’ll fill it with love and laughter. And we’ll never forget what’s important.” His eyes were filled with all the love she could ever want. “Because you, Elena Navarro, are the most important part of my life. Nothing else comes close.”

  Elena Navarro. “Oh, no—I’m still married.” The thought was horrifying.

  “I have a good lawyer ready and waiting to help you with that.” He raised her hand to his lips. “So it’s really pretty simple, if you’ll do me the honor of becoming Mrs. Marshall. Will you do that, Elena? Will you make me the happiest man alive?”

  She smiled through her tears. “I thought you were already the Sexiest Man Alive. That’s not enough?”

  He leaned closer, his gaze dropping to her lips then back up, his look filled with yearning. A mischievous twinkle sparkled in her favorite green eyes. “Not nearly enough. Anyway, we’ll just have to see about the sexy aspect, won’t we? Yours is the only opinion that matters.”

  After his first gentle kiss on her still-bruised lips, he spoke again. “Say yes, Elena. We can work on sexy later, when you’re recovered. Let’s focus on happy now. Deal?”

  She pressed his hand to her cheek, her grin as hopeful as her heart.

  “Deal.”

  Josh smiled, but his eyes were as moist as hers.

  Soulmates.

  With another chance at life.

  At love and all its promise.

  ~THE END~

  Texas Danger

  Texas Heroes: The Marshalls

  Book Three

  Jean Brashear

  Texas rancher Case Marshall is driving a truck instead of his hell-raiser Harley after a crooked partner nearly bankrupts his Flying M Ranch. New Orleans socialite Samantha St. Claire never dreamed she’d be on the run from the mob—or that she’d fin
d her white knight at a truck stop. Their worlds couldn’t be less compatible or their attraction more high-octane…but there are dangers and shocking secrets to battle before they can dream of a future together.

  Chapter One

  The road to hell sure had been more fun than this one.

  So why had he given up the sweet life of no strings, hot women and his Harley?

  Oh, yeah, right—his damn fool notion to save the Flying M Ranch he’d gladly left behind so long ago.

  But not for Black Jack Marshall’s sake. His father was gone, and no one was shedding tears over the loss. Wiley Cantrell, however, deserved better. He’d been more a father to Case than Black Jack ever had, but he was only the foreman. The ranch was in the hands of the son Black Jack had hated, and the old man was probably spinning in his grave over that.

  So here Case was, driving a big rig, the only one left from his grand notion of diversifying. He’d been well on his way until he’d made one crucial mistake: trusting a smooth-talking stranger who’d helped him get a loan the local bank couldn’t extend.

  Then vanishing one day with nearly every dime Case had put together to save the Flying M. Now Case was back where he’d started, nearly dead broke and itching to be anywhere but here.

  He had another option: his obscenely wealthy cousin Josh Marshall, a big star in Hollywood, who’d probably loan him the money.

  But he’d never ask. Not after the way Black Jack had given the finger to his whole family in his teens. Case had only met Josh and his brother Quinn a couple of times as a kid, but from what he knew, their whole branch of the family was solid and upstanding—the exact opposite of his dad.

  Black Jack would have asked for the loan in a heartbeat.

  But Black Jack would never have paid it back.

  Case might have his own checkered past, but he was not his old man. He’d long ago lost count of the fights they’d had, the beatings he’d endured. Finally, it had been easier just to leave. Scary as hell to be alone at sixteen, but it beat battling his old man until one of them wound up in the hospital—or worse.

  But forget Black Jack. Wiley had left a message asking Case to get home as soon as he could. He’d said they might have a lead on Case’s cheating so-called partner. Case hoped to hell Wiley was right. He itched for revenge, though he was the fool who’d trusted too easily.

  But first he needed fuel. And coffee. He turned into the Lazy J Truck Stop and pulled up to the pump.

  Samantha St. Claire was exhausted. The terror she’d barely held at bay in New Orleans had preyed on her mind every mile she’d driven, running for her life.

  For the lives of her family.

  She’d hoped to find her Uncle Roland in San Angelo as promised in the cryptic letter that had sent her serene, orderly life into free-fall—but her favorite relative had vanished, and now she had no idea what to do or where to go. Only that she couldn’t go home.

  She’d been warned.

  Uncle Roland was the black sheep of her mother’s family, but he’d always doted on her, and she’d thought his days as a scoundrel were long over.

  Apparently not. His misdeeds couldn’t include something simple like sleeping with the wrong man’s wife or drinking too much, though—oh, no.

  He’d gotten himself right in the crosshairs of the biggest crime boss in New Orleans. Even Samantha, with her patrician family background and her staid job as a banker, had heard of Etienne Gascoigne. She would never have dreamed, however, that their paths would have any reason to cross—but she’d learned better. His men had come for her. Had vividly demonstrated that her social standing meant absolutely nothing. Had forever robbed her of the ability to feel safe.

  And they’d threatened her family. If she breathed a word of what she’d learned, what she’d endured that terrifying night would be nothing to what they would do to her dignified father, her beautiful, fragile mother or her two beloved sisters.

  What was she going to do?

  She’d fled New Orleans in haste, withdrawing only the paltry sum she could take from an ATM. Raised to be her father’s princess and a leader of New Orleans society, however, she’d made a rookie mistake that first day in handing over her credit card without thinking—then asking for it back too late.

  One of her attackers had shown up in the parking lot of the cheap motel that night.

  Her red Porsche was far too noticeable—another mistake. She’d rectified it by climbing out the bathroom window of the motel that night, and she’d faced the fact that her precious car had to go. In Houston, she’d traded it in—and lost her shirt on it—for the distasteful but anonymous sedan she’d hoped would last long enough to get her to Uncle Roland.

  Wherever he was.

  But she’d been too frightened to battle over the cost. Her situation had rapidly become deadly serious, and all that had mattered was getting away from the men who were after her. She couldn’t contact the authorities; she couldn’t ask her family for help. It didn’t matter that she had no experience with subterfuge, that this shadow world she’d entered was light years from all she’d known.

  Until she found her uncle, she was on her own. There was no one to turn to, no one to trust.

  But now that junker car wouldn’t start. She’d left it a mile down the road from this truck stop and hiked here to buy herself time to think.

  “Hon, you sure you don’t want to eat something? You need some meat on those bones, and you look dog tired,” said the waitress named Jolene. She’d been refilling Samantha’s coffee cup for the last hour as she took up space in a booth she had no right to monopolize.

  But she didn’t know how far her scarce funds would need to stretch. How she would ever find more—an irony when she had ample savings in addition to a trust fund.

  “I’m okay. Thank you. I-I guess I should—” Go, she was about to say.

  But Jolene’s attention had shifted to someone headed that way.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in!”

  Case was headed toward the back corner to grab his favorite booth when he realized somebody was in it.

  His favorite waitress, Jolene Burnett, spotted him and broke into a grin. “Out kinda late for an old man, aren’t you?” It was typical of her to remember his recent thirty-second birthday. The irony of Jolene—at sixty plus a few she wasn’t counting—calling him an old man, wasn’t lost on Case.

  “Darlin’, I’m still young enough to kiss you breathless, but come over here and let me make sure.”

  “Oh, no, cowboy, I’m too hot for the likes of you. You here for a shower first or a meal?”

  “You gonna wash my back?”

  “Sugar, you just keep hoping.” Her helmet of aerosol-laden bleached-blonde hair hardly moved as she shook her head at him, dimples winking.

  “You sure play hard to get, Jolene. A guy could get discouraged.”

  Despite the late hour, her eyes still twinkled. “Get on with you. Grab yourself a stool, and I’ll be right there.”

  “They’re full. How much longer—” He leaned around to see who had his booth.

  Whoa. Hold the phone, folks. The night just got a whole lot brighter.

  Samantha was already frowning when the man peered around Jolene.

  Dieu, a man shouldn’t be so gorgeous. That black, black hair falling down over his right eye and curling slightly on his neck, the play of muscles in his forearms. The long, lean thighs, the wide shoulders, the cocky once-over he was giving her…a player, clearly. Samantha rolled her eyes and looked away—but not before he caught her.

  His dark eyebrows rose in challenge.

  She gave him her mother’s best you-are-beneath-me dismissal, something she herself was normally far too well-mannered to do.

  But nothing was normal. Life was too frightening. Too serious for a flirt like him.

  Jolene turned to her. “Hon, are you about finished?”

  Guilt assailed her. “I am so sorry. I’ve been here too long.”

  “I don’t min
d sharing,” the man said. “Don’t get up.”

  She grabbed her purse and started to rise, anyway.

  Jolene’s hand on her shoulder stopped her. “You look far too exhausted to be driving. At least have something to eat. Would you mind if Case here sits with you? I promise you he’s harmless.”

  “Low blow, Jolene. You are gonna ruin my reputation, talking like that.”

  “Oh, get on with you. Sit down and behave yourself.”

  But to his credit, he hesitated, addressing himself to Samantha. “It’s your decision. If it helps, I can’t stay long, anyway. Just refueling, then I gotta get back on the road. My rig’s still got miles to go.”

  She could have a reprieve. They were in a crowded café, after all. What would be the harm—wait. My rig, he’d said. He was a trucker? Would he give her a ride? Was she brave enough to try?

  Could she make herself do that? Leave with a total stranger?

  No. Absolutely not. But she had to find Uncle Roland. Had to figure out a way to get—

  Where? Where did she go from here? What did she do? She wanted to lie down and sleep until all this was over.

  “Never mind.” He turned to go.

  “Wait—” she said. “Yes, please. Join me.”

  He frowned.

  “Sit down, Case,” Jolene ordered, and at last he complied. She went on as though nothing had happened. “So what’ll you have besides coffee, hot stuff? Some of that coconut cream pie you love?”

  He took a minute and studied Samantha. “Pie sounds good. And bring her something filling and put it on my tab.”

  Before she could argue, Jolene spoke, beaming. “I’ve always said you’re a nice man.”

  “Aw, Jolene, no call to insult me.”

  “Say what you want. I know what I know. I’ll just go turn in her order and get your pie.”

  “No!”

  They both looked oddly at her frantic tone.

  “I mean, it hasn’t been that long since I ate.” If convenience store crackers and juice sometime yesterday counted.

  “You sure?” he asked. His expression lost all teasing. His eyes held both doubt and compassion. A kindness that made her want to weep. “Then bring us two forks, Jolene.”