First Class Male

by Jillian Hart

  The problem wasn’t what to do with a stranded, penniless woman in his town. It was what to do about the heat ticking through his bloodstream. His fingers and palm felt on fire, from touching her, the heat radiating up his arm. He cleared his throat, hoping what he felt didn’t show in his voice.

  “There’s a dress shop at the end of the next block.” He gestured toward the striped yellow awning up ahead. “We can get you some ready-made things, everything you need.”

  “We?” She tilted her head, arched a slender golden eyebrow, the smile lingering on her lush, rosebud mouth.

  That mouth was the most kissable one he’d ever seen. That he noticed her rosebud lips in such detail was another troubling point.

  “No, there is no we. I’m solely responsible for myself, Mr. Marshal.” She tapped along beside him, silken curls bouncing, her skirts rustling. “I don’t see that it’s your business at all.”

  “Really?” He found himself grinning again. “You don’t think it’s my concern that a woman who doesn’t have a stitch of clothing to her name is walking around town?”

  “No, as I’m decently clothed.” She gestured toward the pretty little frock hugging her slender feminine curves.

  Yeah, he was noticing those feminine curves much more than he should. The graceful arch of her neck, the lean line of shoulders and arms, the generous rise of her bosom, the nip of her tiny waist, and those hips—-He gritted his teeth as an image from last night took over and dominated his brain. Long, lean legs, creamy thighs... He’d really better stop thinking about that or his denims were going to get more than a little tight and he’d be walking around in a seriously indecent state.

  “You’re clothed for now,” he argued, stepping from the boardwalk to the street, checking for traffic. There was none. “But for how long? Eventually, you’re going to have to give that dress back, and then what? I can’t have that kind of calamity in this town. Think of the horses and vehicles skidding to a stop or into each other because their drivers are shocked and staring? No, I’m sorry, you’re going to have to keep yourself adequately covered at all times. And if that means making sure you get a decent wardrobe, then that’s my sworn duty.”

  “Your sworn duty?” Now she was biting her soft, full bottom lip, trying not to laugh at him. “Do you really think you’re fooling me with that argument?”

  “I absolutely do.” Dust kicked up beneath his boots as he crossed the street, keenly aware of her at his side, her womanly softness, the light pad of her gait, the swish of her skirts. Unfortunately, desire still ran hot in his blood and it didn’t look like it was going to leave. Time to admit he was more than a little attracted to her. Just a little. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Nothing to worry about.

  “You are not going to buy me a bunch of clothes.” She lifted her skirts so she could step up onto the boardwalk without tripping. “And that’s that.”

  “You can order me around all you like, but it’s not going to work.” He had to clench his hands into fists, forcing them at his sides so he didn’t reach out to help her up the steps. Helping her was the gentlemanly thing to do, but since he was trying to get his attraction to her under control, touching her wasn’t a good idea. He frowned. “You’re not in charge here.”

  “I’m not?”

  “No.” He clomped up the steps and onto the boardwalk beside her, easing over to put more distance between them. It helped.

  “We’ll see about that,” she said sweetly, unaware of the emotional hold she had on him.

  A door on the shop to their left swung open just ahead, and a matron and her daughter stepped out, packages in hand. Clearly on a shopping trip.

  “Marshal.” Mrs. Bauer strategically planted her sturdy frame in his path, placed a pleasant smile on her doughy face and dragged her marriage-aged daughter with her. “It’s always so charming to see you. I was just telling my Griselda all about your heroic capture of the Folsom Gang. I heard about it from Mrs. Dittmeyer. Isn’t that right, Selda?”

  The young lady in question nodded, clamping her upper lip over her pronounced overbite. Blushing, she nodded shyly.

  “Just doing my job, Ma’am.” He tipped his hat to the marriage-minded mother and sidestepped to the right.

  Mrs. Bauer side-stepped too, blocking his path. “I was just telling Griselda how we must have you over to supper to thank you for all you do for our little town. Our proper town.” Mrs. Bauer added, shooting a pointed look at Callie.

  “Maybe some other time, Ma’am.” He deliberately took Callie’s hand in his, making it clear he did not think less of the lady for her ordeal. “Right now I’m busy helping Miss Carpenter. Excuse me.”

  “Yes, I heard about you, too.” Mrs. Bauer shifted her gaze, speaking directly to Callie now, her upper lip curling in distaste. “Griselda, step away. I do not want you to have anything to do with this woman.”

  “Now that’s no way to behave, Mrs. Bauer.” Mason let his voice boom low at her, full of warning. He only earned a nasty look in return as the matron huffed, grabbed a hold of her daughter and marched away as fast as she could, shoes knelling down the boardwalk.

  The sunlight seemed less bright and so did Callie. She stared down at the toes of her borrowed shoes peeking out from beneath the ruffle of her dress. She inhaled slowly, clearly hurt.

  He really felt sorry for her. Her hand was small, tucked in his own, and he wanted to pull her into his arms, tell her it was going to be all right, hold her safe against his chest.

  If only he could.

  “Sorry about that,” he said instead, pushing away his tender feelings for her. Letting himself care about her was one path he had to avoid. “Mrs. Bauer always gets like that. She can be rude and she has a crazy notion I might want to marry her daughter.”

  “You don’t have to try and spare my feelings.” Callie cleared her throat, eyes too bright, her smile too forced. She took a determined step down the boardwalk, as if nothing had happened. “I’m stronger than I look, Marshal.”

  “I have no doubt, and it’s Mason.” He pulled her to a stop, didn’t let go of her hand. Heat built between his palm and hers, a physical heat, but also something more. It settled into the pit of his heart, the place within him that had been empty for so long. “Now, back to what we were discussing. I am going to buy you some traveling clothes, no arguing.”

  “And just where would I be traveling to in these clothes?” She arched a brow with a hint of a challenge, a touch of defiance that made his blood run hot again. She might look meek and polite, but there was something indomitable about Callie, something incredibly amazing. She lifted her chin, mischievously. “You wouldn’t be planning on tossing me out of town, would you? I mean, I am a woman of questionable reputation. Mrs. Bauer pulled her daughter away from me.”

  “You’re joking about that.” He couldn’t believe it. Somehow he was grinning too. “Tossing you out hadn’t crossed my mind, but now that you mention it, maybe it would be a good idea. You are causing a lot of trouble in town.”

  “Yes, so I see, and this is with all my clothes on.” She gestured toward the street where a passing driver paid more attention to her than the road in front of him, barely missing a collision with a teamster’s loaded wagon. The teamster bellowed out a string of curses as he sped away.

  Mason laughed. It felt good to have laughter rolling up from his belly, filling him. Or maybe it was Callie that was doing this to him, chasing away the emptiness. It was hard to think that was even possible.

  “Yes, it’s for the public’s safety,” he joked. “It’s all for the greater good. Besides, you’re going to need something to wear for the train ride home.”

  He forced himself to release her hand, vowing never to touch the woman again. It was the only smart thing to do.

  “What do you mean? It’s going to take me a while before I can earn enough money for a ticket.” She shook her head, scattering blond curls. “I’m not about to write my oldest sister and ask her for train fare.
My pride would never recover. So I need to find a job and earn my way.”

  “Not necessary.” He reached around her to open the dress shop door. A dainty bell overhead jingled merrily. “I’m putting you on the two o’clock westbound train. You’re going home.”

  “Today?” She bit her bottom lip, torn. “No, I can’t let you do that for me.”

  “Yes, you can. It’s the right thing.” He moved in, gesturing through the open doorway and inside the shop where pretty dresses and gowns hung on their displays and a curious shop owner watched from behind her round spectacles. Mason’s voice dipped low, full of caring. Genuine caring. “You’ll be better off, Callie, especially after what happened.”

  “The abduction.” A chill shivered through her, remembering. Her skull and body still hurt from the ordeal, but it could have been much worse.

  “Yes. If you go home, no one will ever have to know what happened to you, if you keep it between you and your family.” The granite planes of his face softened. He seemed genuinely concerned and so full of caring it made her heart forget to beat.

  “Your reputation will be pristine again.” His gaze locked onto hers. “No one else will treat you like Mrs. Bauer did, not ever. Isn’t that what matters?”

  Her throat closed up, her windpipe clamped shut and she couldn’t speak. She nodded, agreeing when she couldn’t think straight. Her brain had stopped functioning, maybe because her heart was stuffed so full of feeling that it overflowed, drowning out all the other systems in her body. Mason’s caring touched her. Deeply.

  Did she care about him too? The sun seemed to highlight him, glowing all around him. That’s how much she thought of him too, as if he were the brightest light, and when her heart began beating again he was the reason.

  Chapter Five

  In the jail, Mason shifted on his feet, keeping a sharp eye on the men spread across four different cells while Deeks and Matt slid trays of food in to the prisoners.

  “You’re a dead man, Marshal.” One of the gang members spit at him from behind the steel bars, the wad of saliva and who knows what else missed and landed on the stone floor. Dirty and unshaven, Otis the Kid grimaced, showing tobacco stained teeth. “Just wait until Lew finds out what you done. You killed his brother, he’ll kill you.”

  “Don’t doubt he’ll try,” Mason commented grimly. He kept his hand steady on his six-shooter, ready to draw because with men like this you just never could be too careful. Better safe than sorry was his motto.

  “Lew’ll succeed too, don’t think he won’t.” Otis threw himself at the bars, knocking several roast beef sandwiches to the floor in his fury. Spittle congregated in the corners of his mouth and with his black hair wild, he looked as uncivilized as he smelled. “Count on it, Marshal. You’re as good as dead. All of you.”

  “And so is that pretty gal, too.” A calmer, more rational voice spoke from the back of the cell. A tall, brawny outlaw, cousin to Lew and Lyle Folsom, stood up from his bunk, fists clenched, eyes furious. “She’s the reason Lyle is dead. I saw it. I saw you kill him, you coward. Shot him in the back of the head to save that little whore.”

  Mason’s entire body jerked with instant, crimson rage. It hazed his vision, charged through his blood, made him want to pummel the man and defend Callie’s honor. But wasn’t that what the outlaw was doing, trying to bait him into action? Into unlocking the door, fighting, making an escape possible? Not going to happen. Mason gritted his teeth so hard, pain jabbed through his jawbone.

  “She sure was a tiny little thing,” one of the outlaws in another cell remembered, as if fondly. He sighed, like a man who’d been too close to a dream. “I got a hankering for her. You know I like the pretty little ones.”

  “That’s true, Hank,” another outlaw agreed. “Would you have taken your knife to her too?”

  Images of the dead woman they’d found and buried haunted Mason. His stomach clenched, sickened, remembering another outlaw who’d regarded another woman just as coldheartedly. The memory jumped into his mind, unbidden, unwanted. That drizzly autumn afternoon when he’d just finished teaching school for the day. That had been back when he’d had a normal life, when he’d been a different man. Opal had surprised him, showing up while he’d been cleaning blackboards intending to walk home with him.

  The memory from long ago had dimmed, grown fuzzy around the edges, but the happiness of that innocent time wrapped around him. Opal at his side, listening as he told her about his day with his students, her laughing at his stories, reporting on how well her vegetable garden was growing and of the baby afghan she was knitting.

  She had a month yet to go until her confinement, so she’d been out looking at fabric in both the mercantile and the dry goods shop, trying to decide what to buy for the baby clothes she was planning to make.

  He’d held the door to the bank for her and they stood in line together, waiting for the first available teller. He would never forget that cozy feeling of being with her, of being in love, or the low music of her laughter a few minutes before her life ended.

  Heart heavy, he blinked, the memory was gone and he was following Deeks and Matt out of the jail, locking the heavy iron barred door that separated the cells from the office, a safety precaution with the types of prisoners they usually had. The jail walls were two layers of unusually thick stone blocks, which resisted most dynamite blasts.

  That didn’t stop the tingle at the back of his neck or the twist of foreboding in the pit of his stomach. The jail wasn’t impenetrable, and he’d bet good money that the men in those cells were biding their time, as calm as they were, until the rest of their gang returned.

  Well, Mason resolved, hand on his gun. He and his men would be ready.

  Callie studied her reflection in the Cheval mirror in the far corner of Miss Lindylee’s dress shop. It was hard to admire the dress when her gaze kept slipping upward to her face, where the black and purple bruise barely visible beneath her bangs reminded her of all that had happened.

  How was she going to explain this to her sisters? Thanks to the marshal, she would be going home today, but her abduction was shameful to other people. What if the marshal was wrong? What if word somehow reached back home about what happened to her?

  Steps tapped on the floor behind her. A slender, dignified lady in her middle years studied the dress’s reflection before raising her eyes to meet Callie’s in the mirror. Kindness shone there.

  “That color is just perfect on you.” Miss Lindylee smiled, producing an iris-blue and purple sunbonnet. “Try this on. I think it will match both dresses perfectly.”

  “Two dresses seems extravagant.” She would have refused the hat, but it was difficult to say no to the gentle-voiced seamstress, so she took the sunbonnet. She settled it over her blond locks, tugged the ties down beneath her chin and considered her reflection. The hat was lovely, as fine as any Emma or even Maggie had sewn—and they were fine sewers. Guilt was the problem. She didn’t want to spend so much of the marshal’s money. “I should just take this one.”

  “You’ll need something to wear when you get home.” Lindylee’s words were gentle, like silk over unbendable steel. “You’ll take both dresses. I won’t go against what Mason wants, oh no, I think too highly of him. He said at least two dresses and that’s what you’ll get. You really ought to have a third one, since all your clothes are who-knows-where.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. She thought of her satchel and sighed. “This is going to be quite costly for Mason.”

  “It will be all right,” Lindylee assured her, studying the bonnet carefully before giving an approving nod. “Yes, that’s a darling combination. It will match the purple dress perfectly too. Now, I’ll get your other items wrapped up, or would you rather I deliver them to Mariel’s house?”

  “How did you know I’m staying with Mariel?”

  “Gossip spreads fast in a town like this.” Lindylee gave an apologetic shrug. Something sad lurked in her voice. “I’m afraid when it concer
ns you, the gossip isn’t good. You know how folks can be. Overly concerned with a lady’s virtue. One hint of a taint on your reputation, and you are an outcast. It isn’t right.”

  “No,” Callie said quietly, wondering what had happened to Lindylee. “It isn’t right.”

  “Perhaps in time things will change. Maybe women won’t always be judged the way we are now.” Lindylee tapped over to the front counter and circled behind it. “You never said if you wanted this delivered?”

  Callie considered the brown paper wrapped bundle sitting on the counter. “I’ll take it with me. That will save you a trip.”

  “Then let me just tie this string and I’ll be finished.” Lindylee bent over the task, her brown hair tumbling over her forehead as she tied a bow with a flourish.

  The bell on the door chimed cheerfully as an elderly woman and two little girls swept into the shop. The nearly identical-looking sisters appeared to be a year or so apart in age, their brown hair in tidy braids, their matching blue frocks carefully tailored.

  “You girls may go look at things. Quietly.” The older woman gave them a warning look. “I need to speak with Miss Lindylee.”

  “Yes, Grandmother,” the girls said in unison and walked quickly out of sight behind a large bonnet display.

  Seeing that the shop owner was about to become busy and perhaps make more sales, Callie took her package, thanked Lindylee again and headed for the door.

  “Hello, Mrs. Reynolds.” Lindylee emphasized the name, stopping Callie in her tracks.

  Mrs. Reynolds. The older lady had to be Earl’s kindly, good mother whom he’d written about so glowingly in his letters. Her hand lingered on the doorknob as she turned, gazing with longing at the mother figure she’d been hoping for. It felt as if someone had reached in and grabbed her heart in a crushing squeeze. Both loss and longing filled her as she took one long look at the mother-in-law she could have had.