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

by Jean Brashear

  She was silent for a long moment, then she shook her head. “New Orleans.”

  “I lived there once.”

  “Where?”

  “Nowhere you’d ever want to go.” He shrugged. “It was long time back.”

  “You must have been pretty young, then.”

  I’m not sure I was ever young. “I left home at sixteen, so I’d been on the road a long time. I felt older.”

  Her hand brushed his arm lightly. “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “Water under the bridge.”

  “Didn’t your parents miss you?” She halted, her breeding evident. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “My dad sure as hell didn’t. My mother was dead.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He gentled his voice. “She’d already been gone for several years. As for my old man, I’m sure he was glad to see me go.” Weird feeling, discussing this. He’d never talked to anyone about leaving home, not even Wiley. The lady was no doubt shocked.

  “But—” she started.

  “But what? People don’t hate their kids in your safe little world?” No matter what he’d tried, he’d never been able to please Jack Marshall. Case had long ago accepted his failure to be someone worthy of his father’s love.

  He shook off old memories. “Enough of that. What’s going on? You’re clearly on the run—from what? And who were those guys?”

  For a moment, he didn’t think she was going to answer.

  “I think they might have been sent by the man I was seeing. He didn’t want to take no for an answer.”

  “Then why not get the cops involved? Get a restraining order?”

  “He’s…a powerful man. It’s not that easy.”

  Anger simmered. “Did he hurt you?”

  Her shoulders curved inward. “Yes,” she barely whispered.

  His hands clenched on the wheel. The urge to turn back and give the guy some of his own medicine was powerful.

  But he had a ranch waiting. People who depended on him.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  “What?” She looked over.

  “Come to my ranch. You’ll be safe.”

  After a long moment, she responded. “Seriously?” Her voice mingled disbelief and…hope. “Oh, I couldn’t ask you to—”

  “You didn’t,” he interrupted. “I offered. I mean, it’s not much, but it’s isolated and way off the beaten path.”

  What the hell was he doing? You have lost your mind for sure, son. “Look, if you don’t want to, no big deal. I just can’t fool around because I’m needed there and—”

  “Yes.”

  His head whipped around. “Yes?”

  Her lips were pressed together, her eyes glistening. She looked so damn fragile. “Thank you. Oh, thank you, Case. I promise I won’t be any trouble, and I won’t stay long, just until—” One tear fell. “I’ll get this figured out, I promise.”

  Well, he was in the soup now. Too late to back out, not when a beautiful, wounded woman was looking at him like he was some kind of hero.

  He almost snorted. She’d find out soon enough. He was no hero.

  The next couple of miles passed in silence. He wondered if she was having second thoughts, too.

  At last she spoke. “What does it look like? Where your ranch is, I mean.”

  “It’s harsh country, open and vast. You can see miles in every direction, and it reminds you that you’re only a man, that the land will always be the victor, that you’re lucky if she lets you eke out a living.”

  “Are we close yet?” she asked.

  “Another hour before we stop for fuel. I’m going to call a friend near Snyder who’ll let me park the truck on his deer lease. It’s covered with mesquites, so the truck won’t be easy to spot there. I’ll get my foreman, Wiley, to meet us there and take us on to the ranch. In case our friends back there got a look at my truck when we left, I want us to be seen headed west on I-20 so maybe whoever’s following you will keep heading that way.”

  “You’ve done so much for me.” She sank against the door. She looked beat.

  “How does your head feel now? Still dizzy?”

  “It hurts some, but there’s only one of you looking at me now.”

  “I guess one’s enough, huh?”

  She smiled. “I’m betting women like looking at you.”

  That smile was a killer.

  Ditto, babe. He cleared his throat. “You can climb in the sleeper to nap until we have to stop for fuel.”

  “I’m fine here.” She touched his arm. “Case, I don’t know how to thank you. I’m so sorry I got you mixed up in this. If you want to drop me off at the next stop, I’ll understand.”

  Their gazes held for a long beat, then Case turned back to the road, jaw working. There were many things he wanted to do with her. Leaving her wasn’t one of them.

  “You go ahead and sleep now.”

  Maybe while she did, he’d recover what little good sense he had left.

  Chapter Three

  The darkness inside her apartment felt different. Felt…wrong.

  A faint scrape against the wall to her left. The hairs on her neck stood on end. Fear prickled down her spine. She turned toward the noise, her back against the wall of her foyer.

  Anticipation. The animal sense of being stalked. She felt someone close.

  No one she knew would play a game like this.

  Her phone was at the bottom of her purse. No way she could reach it without making sound.

  Go back or go forward? She’d already thrown the deadbolt on her door.

  Suddenly a large frame loomed.

  She couldn’t help the quick gasp.

  A big hand clad in latex clamped over her mouth. The man spun her around, shoving her face into the wall. Pressed his hulking frame against her backside, mashing her breasts painfully against the unyielding surface. She shuddered in horror as she felt his erection pressing against the curve of her behind, only the thin silk of her dress separating her from him.

  The sour smell of his sweat rolled over her. She struggled to breathe, her mind recoiling in horror as she struggled against him, every movement bringing his body in contact with hers…

  Case heard Sammie panting in her sleep, her face contorted by fear, whimpering as she stirred restlessly.

  “Sammie?” He touched her shoulder.

  She screamed, her eyes popping wide with naked terror. She scrambled against the door, revulsion and horror sweeping over her features.

  “Hey…it’s okay…it’s only me, Case.”

  Eyes glazed, she shrank back, frantically trying to get away.

  “Sammie…Sammie, hold on.” Case pulled over on the shoulder, glad the traffic was light in mid-morning out here.

  He reached for her, and she fought him. “Please don’t hurt me…please…”

  “Sh-h, it’s me, Case.” He tried again, stroking her arm gently. “It’s okay, honey. You’re safe.” He wrapped one arm around her and kept his voice soft. “Sh-h, it’s okay, I promise. It’s only a dream. You’re safe,” he repeated. As if she were a child, he stroked her hair slowly.

  Slowly she subsided, still trembling in his arms. With careful, steady movements, he lifted her onto his lap and cradled her tenderly, wrapping her securely within his embrace. He laid his cheek on top of her head and rocked her gently. Tears streamed down her face, and she burrowed closer.

  It was a new feeling for Case, this tenderness, this wish to shield a woman, to protect her from harm. There was so much he didn’t understand about her, so many reasons of his own to stay away, but he didn’t know how he could turn his back on her, however much he didn’t need the complications of her presence—to say nothing of the man who would send two bruisers after her.

  What the hell he’d do with her, though, he had no idea.

  So he simply held on and let her cry.

  At last the tears slowed. She tilted her head back to look at him. Stared at
his mouth, her pupils going wide and soft.

  The atmosphere in the cab shifted.

  The press of her body against his was a slow burn, desire a river of gold, sparking within him a yearning to forget what was sensible, to ignore reason…to taste her just for a moment, before he had to remember his responsibilities. He lowered his mouth to hers.

  In the first instant he knew one kiss would never be enough. All the adrenaline of the past hours swept through him again, fueling within him a hunger that one kiss could not stem.

  Bathed in longing, desperate for oblivion, Sammie opened to him, starved for the feast his dark beauty promised, hungering for the joining. She arched to him, her body urging his closer. His clever tongue swept within, his touch raising goosebumps on her skin, her blood thickening like dark honey.

  A passing truck sounded its air horn.

  They both jolted.

  Their gazes locked for one long, charged moment.

  Then, though reality was creeping in too fast, he lingered to place a lush, wet kiss on the sensitive pulse point in her neck. He caressed the side of her breast, trailing his fingers up to cradle her cheek, then traced her lips with one long finger, rubbing them softly…slowly…

  Suspended in silent wonder, Sammie knew she should straighten and move to her seat, but she wanted only to open herself to him, to arch against him once more, to spiral downward into his dark spell.

  Case’s voice was husky when he spoke. “This isn’t over.” With one last, mesmerizing gesture, he caressed her full lower lip with his thumb and lowered his head.

  He swirled that dangerous, promising tongue one last time over the contours of her mouth, and she moaned.

  When he picked her up and set her back in her own seat, Sammie grasped for a foothold in a world that had shifted.

  Case rolled the truck into place at the fuel pump. Since he’d set her back in her seat, he’d wrapped silence around him like armor. The stranger was back, all the tenderness and every speck of passion had vanished.

  But Sammie couldn’t forget the man who’d fought to save her. His actions spelled out a different man than his guarded silence. Few people would have gone out of their way for a perfect stranger to the extent Case had.

  But where did they go from here?

  Where did she go, she cautioned herself as she got down from the high perch while he fueled his truck. She couldn’t let herself forget that she was alone in this—she, who once had a tightly-knit world at her beck and call. Oh, of course her Papa was overbearing, but there was no doubt that he loved her. He had created a life for his family that, while sometimes stifling, was supportive and all-encompassing, a gossamer womb in which they were all safely ensconced.

  Look at her now, Samantha St. Claire, formerly the much-envied Queen of Rex at Mardi Gras. Would anyone in her social circle ever have imagined a day when she’d trade her jeweled ballgown for the life of a fugitive?

  She couldn’t afford to be this dependent on anyone. She’d already cost Case too much, and from the condition of his truck, he didn’t have a lot of resources to spare.

  Coming around the back of the truck, she stopped a minute to look at Case as he stood by the pump. Weariness and pain hovered in the lines of his body, but pride kept his back straight.

  He was a handsome devil. His was the dark, compelling beauty of a Lucifer, a dark angel unafraid to test the boundaries—of desire, of passion, of the prescribed ways of behavior agreed upon by polite society. She had no difficulty imagining that Case had rebelled before and would do so again. Her circumspect existence in New Orleans would never have led her to cross paths with someone like him.

  Despite all that had befallen her this night, she thought she was glad that she had.

  “Is it very lonely on the road?” Sammie spoke up for the first time since they’d gotten back on the highway. The long silence was giving her too much time to think, with no answers in sight. She was desperate to forget her own problems.

  “Sometimes. It’s not for everyone. You have to like your own company a lot, or hate everyone else’s enough to endure it. You can go for days with only a few minutes’ conversation, if that’s the way you want it. But sometimes, out there on the road, you can forget everything else for a while. Other times, too much time to think can drive you crazy.”

  She could certainly relate to that. Something in his tone made Sammie wonder what it was he wanted to forget.

  Case Marshall was a real puzzle. It was easy to assume he had little education, given that he’d left home at sixteen, but his wits were sharp and his intelligence clear. He intrigued her, this strong and powerful man, capable of violent rage and great tenderness. He didn’t shy from brute force, but she couldn’t imagine him using it for dishonorable purposes. He’d defended her, cared for her…opened his home to her.

  Sobering, she reminded herself that she knew next to nothing about him—and most of what he knew about her was lies. Don’t get too comfortable. You’re in big trouble, and you haven’t outrun it yet.

  Case saw the sudden frown that marred her lovely face and assumed she must be thinking about the man she feared. He could ask her, but she seemed to be as tired as he was. It had been a tumultuous few hours since they’d met.

  He settled back, wondering at the contradictions of this elusive woman, the many faces of her he’d seen. He thought of the wildcat; he remembered the lady. She might be patrician, but she was not a snob. She’d treated Jolene with courtesy and a gracious warmth, despite how nervous and frightened she’d been, and that surprised him.

  Case had spent most of his life in the company of the common folk who made up the backbone of society. He’d also spent time with the roughest elements.

  From the invisible position of the bartender or the valet parking attendant, he’d also logged numerous hours in the company of those considered society’s finest. This woman was different. He could easily imagine her in a ballgown or seated behind a desk giving orders, but she treated someone like Jolene, whom most of them would never even notice, with a genuine friendliness that spoke volumes about her true nature.

  One more time, Case wondered what in heaven’s name he thought he was doing.

  And how he’d explain his decision to bring her home to Wiley and Linnie Mae, when he couldn’t even explain it to himself.

  The windmill nearby creaked as it turned, the tank at its base brimming with dark water, deep green with algae, flashes of gold from the huge goldfish swimming in the small space. As the wind picked up, the windmill whirred, and the laboring creak increased its frequency.

  Sammie stood under a shade tree, fanning herself with a piece of paper she’d found in the truck. She held her hair up off her neck and closed her eyes with a sigh of pleasure.

  Case wouldn’t let himself look over at the sound of her sigh. It wasn’t a far cry from the sounds she’d made as he’d caressed her. If Wiley wasn’t due here any minute…

  Shaking his head to ward off the direction his thoughts were straying, he turned away to watch for Wiley’s arrival. He’d hidden the truck carefully, and he was ready to get home.

  Just then he spotted a cloud of dust in the distance. He squinted in the sunlight and recognized Wiley’s old brown Ford lumbering their way. He smiled, thinking about Wiley’s harrumphing and snorting on the phone. That old man had a heart of purest gold which he felt duty-bound to hide behind a crotchety exterior that fooled no one. Right now, Case couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather see, cranky or not.

  Maybe Wiley could knock some sense into him.

  The old man pulled to a stop near them and emerged from the truck, his legs bowed from years and years on horseback. He had a jaunty walk, exaggerated by his scuffed boots with their old-style heels and pointy toes. Wiley scoffed at the idea of wearing anything else, a horseman through and through. His weathered face framed bright blue eyes with laugh lines etched deep around them. For all his efforts at playing the curmudgeon, Wiley was one of the most relentlessly cheerful p
eople Case had ever known.

  Case turned and beckoned to Sammie. When she neared, Wiley removed his hat, showing a shock of pure white hair.

  Wiley’s eyes widened as he took in Sammie’s beauty. Case could tell that his appreciation nearly displaced the frank curiosity. Gentleman to the end, however, he merely said, “Ma’am” and nodded. He’d often told Case that his mama would have whipped him for not taking off his hat to a lady.

  “This is Sammie St. Claire, Wiley. She’s going to be coming back to the ranch with us.” Case didn’t want to make her self-conscious, so he didn’t even try to explain why.

  Wiley took it in stride. “Well, Miss St. Claire, I never saw Case bring home anything as pretty as you before. The boy might amount to something yet.”

  Case snorted.

  Sammie smiled and held out her hand. “Please call me Sammie, Mr. Cantrell. I’m not sure Case is bringing home such a bargain. I’m a little worse for wear.” She glanced down ruefully at her wrinkled clothes.

  “I’ll be glad to call you Sammie if you’ll call me Wiley.” He placed his left hand over their clasped ones, patting hers. “And you look just fine to me, but let’s get you home and let you clean up.”

  She looked so lonely then. So fragile Case wanted to sweep her up again. Make foolish promises.

  He settled for a gentle touch to her arm. “Ready?”

  She nodded and squared her shoulders. “I am.” She smiled at Wiley. “Thank you for coming to pick us up, Mr. Cantrell.”

  “Wiley,” he reminded her. “You just come on now, little lady, and we’ll fix you right up.”

  Apparently Case wasn’t the only white-knight fool in the bunch.

  Chapter Four

  “Sammie, we’re here.” Case’s voice urged her up from her dreamworld.

  She sat up, realizing that she had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Wiley and Case had been talking about happenings on the ranch, naming people she couldn’t keep straight. She had been grateful they didn’t ask her any questions, and soon the motion of the old pickup had lulled her to sleep, tucked between the two of them.