Missy Meets the Marshal (Lone Star Love Book 2)

by Amelia Smarts

  Grover stared into her pleading eyes, surprised by her strange request and promise, which he could tell she relayed with every intention of keeping. He couldn't imagine what she needed to attend to for a half hour, but it was no use asking. She would only lie about it if he did. He felt very curious and a bit alarmed.

  He ran a hand over the short beard that covered his jaw and pushed the brooch back to her. "All right, Missy. You have your half hour. Go on then."

  "Thank you, Marshal," she exclaimed, and surprised him further by wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him tight. Oh, God. What was she doing? He felt her breasts flattening against his abs and smelled her distinctly womanly scent, which was musky and flowery. He suddenly needed to will his cock to stay in place, so he gritted his teeth. She looked up and flashed a smile at him that dimpled one of her cheeks and further lit her sparkling eyes. Damn, that sure didn't help any. He kept his hands at his side. He wanted more than just about anything to hold her in his arms, but he needed her to know he meant business.

  He frowned down at her smiling face. "Your half hour started thirty seconds ago, Missy. You might want to skedaddle."

  She let out the cutest squeal and bolted toward the exit. He groaned and tried to subdue his unexpected lust. When she touched him, he became aware of just how pretty she was, with long, albeit tangled, blonde hair, swollen breasts, and ivory skin. He couldn't remember the last time a woman hugged him, but he didn't dwell on it for long. He needed to see what she was up to.

  He strode to the street in time to see her disappear into an alley. Jogging at first and then slowing to a walk to avoid making noise, he stepped into the alley as she took a sharp right into the back entrance of Jake's Livery. That perplexed him. What kind of business would she have with the horses? He crept along the wall until he arrived at the door she'd entered. It was nearly dark, but when he peered in, he could make out her blonde hair. Her back faced him. She knelt in front of a pile of hay and picked up some kind of white bundle, then held it in her arms like a mother would her baby.

  Baby. It no sooner dawned on him than he heard the baby's cries. It was a young one, very tiny, and the woman cradled it in her arms. Pulling her rags from her chest, she guided the baby's mouth to her breast.

  Grover headed out of the alley back to the street. He stopped at Ruth's Diner and ordered two meals to go. He waited for what seemed like a very long time before the cook handed him the food. He figured as he walked to the jail that the woman had probably made it back before him, and he was right.

  He entered the front room. It glowed with flickering yellow light from a lit lamp on his desk. The woman sat in a chair next to it with her hands crossed in her lap. She smiled at him again, her eyes catching the light of the fire, before she turned her gaze longingly at the food in his hands. He didn't delay in giving it to her. He stacked his papers to the side and placed her portion in front of her.

  They ate without speaking. She made quick work of the meal, starting with the generous portion of pork before moving on to the green beans, corn, and potatoes. She ate her buttered roll in three bites, careful to chew quietly with her mouth closed even in her hunger and haste.

  Grover's main thought throughout the meal was of the baby. He figured she'd put her child in the cell already, so after he finished his supper, he rose, lit another lamp, and walked to the back hall to have a look. He searched the few places a baby might be hidden—in the quilt, under the cot, and behind the pitcher of water. He even looked in the chamber pot. No baby. Where else could she have hidden that baby? Grover looked around the rest of the hall until it occurred to him. She'd left him alone in the stable for the night. Striding back to the main room, he found the woman chewing her last bite. She stood.

  "Thanks for the meal, Marshal. I feel like a new person, and I'm ready to go to the cell now. You'll let me out first thing tomorrow, won't you? You won't leave me in there past dawn, I hope? I-I'd like to leave then."

  As she spoke her last sentence, desperation and fear altered every feature on her face. He could see it in her pouting lips, furrowed brow, and pleading eyes. Grover glowered at her. It was all he could do not to shout at her for her foolishness and demand to know what kind of mother leaves her baby alone in a stable all night. Worse, she had no guarantee of being free to tend to it in the morning.

  His tone was gruff. "Come."

  He stalked to the back hall. When he motioned for her to get in the cell, she didn't delay. Grover closed the door with a clang and didn't bother to lock it. He left and returned a short time later. He opened the cell door and handed the surprised woman her baby.

  "Marshal, how did you know I—"

  "How do you think?" he growled. "I followed you. Now you're going to follow me to my house and stay with me there, proper or not, until I figure out what you're hiding. Other than that little lass, of course."

  Her eyes were searching his. He frowned at her, wondering if his motivation for taking her to his home, which was to protect her, showed on his face. He felt fairly certain she couldn't see his desire for her. He hadn't allowed himself to speak to her in gentle tones as a man would to a woman he liked, and he was glad about that. He desired her, but he desired the truth more, and he wouldn't let the former get in the way of the latter.

  She looked at her daughter in her arms, and then back up at him. The fear was mostly gone from her eyes. "Thank you, Marshal," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Chapter 2 - Much You Don't Know

  Beth woke the next morning in a warm bed, her baby, Lou, sleeping beside her. The marshal had slept on the sofa in the main room. Before she reached a fully conscious state, Beth allowed herself to feel content. This is what waking up would have felt like every morning, she mused, if she'd married someone like the marshal. It would have felt warm and safe.

  She shook herself awake. What was she thinking, feeling safe even for a moment at the lawman's house? If he figured out who she was, she'd never know freedom again. She contemplated escaping through the bedroom window, but when she tried to open it, it made a loud creaking noise she worried would alert the marshal.

  She heard the sound of water splashing in the other room. Careful not to wake Lou, she crept to the door and opened it a crack. She tried to do so without making noise, but the door whined upon opening. She peaked through to see the marshal pouring a bucket of water into a steaming tub.

  He glanced at her face in the door. "Come on out, Missy. I've drawn you a bath."

  Beth could hardly believe her eyes and ears. She forgot about her desire to escape. Slowly, she stepped out of the bedroom and walked toward the clawfoot tub. No one had drawn her a bath since she could do it herself. She reckoned it was the kindest thing a man had ever done for her.

  "It looks very inviting, Marshal. You didn't have to do that."

  He set the bucket next to him and fixed her with a stern stare from across the tub. It was the same look that made her stomach clench into knots the day before, and she experienced the same when he did it again. He emanated a certain quiet authority, and she felt both drawn to him and scared of him at the same time. Part of her wanted to run into his arms, and the other part wanted to run far away.

  "I've taken it upon myself to care for you and your baby for the time being, young lady, but my care comes at a cost. I expect your honesty in return, and if I don't soon start getting that, you'll find yourself receiving a less pleasant sort of my attention."

  His warning and the tone of voice in which he spoke it made Beth nervous, but it wasn't the kind of nervous she felt around her husband, where she feared for her life. She wondered if the marshal would spank her like he threatened to do the night before when she didn't immediately do his bidding. Looking at his stern face with its fixed jaw and dark brown eyes, she felt fairly sure he would, and without much hesitation. The thought of him taking her in hand gave her anxiety. She also felt somewhat flattered that he would discipline her in that manner as opposed to throwing her o
ut. Despite his brusqueness with her, she could see that his actions had all been to her benefit, from telling the shopkeeper to unhand her to ordering her to sleep in his bed while he slept on the sofa.

  "How did you sleep, Missy?"

  "I slept better than I have in ages. Thank you, Marshal. Lou woke up twice for feeding, but other than that I slept straight through."

  "That means she'd have gone hungry if left in the livery all night. Shame on you, woman. She's needs tending to. She's not meant to be alone."

  To hear him scold her for that felt awful. He thought she was a bad mother. Tears stung her eyes at being judged so negatively by this man she found herself inexplicably wanting to please. He didn't understand that she needed to keep her baby's existence a secret. She wanted to explain to him why and prove that she loved her baby, but she couldn't risk giving him that much information.

  "Get in the tub," he instructed, interrupting her sad rumination.

  She blinked. The marshal stood in place, watching her. He didn't make a move to leave or even to turn his back to give her privacy.

  "Are you expecting to stay and watch me?" she stammered, excited for that to happen, but also outraged that he presumed it would.

  A glint appeared in his eye. "Only if you want me to, Missy. I'll go outside if you say the words."

  Beth's mouth fell open. The marshal rounded the tub to join her where she stood. He cupped her chin gently and tilted her face up. He examined her eyes. "I could be wrong, but I think you want me to stay. Don't you, Missy?"

  She did. She wanted the stern man to find her body beautiful and to be kind to her. It helped that he was handsome, with thick brown hair and neatly trimmed beard and mustache. He wore a tan shirt that buttoned down the front and darker tan trousers over a tall, taut body. Though his clothes were loose-fitted for comfort, she could see his arm muscles ripple beneath the long sleeves in some of his movements.

  "I suppose I don't mind," she said, blushing.

  Releasing her chin, he said, "Go on then. Shuck off those rags. Allow me to look at you."

  His voice still sounded stern, but it didn't sound unkind. There was a gentleness in his tone, and Beth found it compelling to be instructed by him. She did as she was told. She lifted the dress over her head, leaving her completely naked in front of him. She noticed his brief look of surprise, which turned somber.

  "You don't have underclothes?"

  "No." She felt foolish then. That wasn't the reaction to her naked body she'd been hoping for. "I used them to make clothes for Lou." She looked down at her bare feet. An uncomfortable silence followed, during which Beth fidgeted and crossed her hands in front of her, feeling exposed.

  He cleared his throat. "Since you don't have any more clothes to take off, I can't see any reason for you not being in the tub by now."

  In a trancelike state, she absorbed the heat radiating from his body and breathed in his scent. Leather, gunpowder, and soap. That's what the marshal smelled like. She wanted to bury her face in his chest again like she had the night before. She wanted to feel his arms around her and never to leave the comfort she imagined she'd find there. How she longed for a single kind word from him, just one word showing he was pleased with her in some way. Her reverie was interrupted when she felt her feet leave the floor.

  He swept her into his arms and lowered her into the tub. How gently he did so contrasted with his scolding words. "If it were up to you, Missy, the bath would be cold by the time you decided to do as you're told."

  Beth closed her eyes and relaxed in the hot water. She felt bliss and comfort. The warmth soothed her and brought her racing mind to a crawl.

  The marshal positioned an armless wooden chair next to the bathtub and took a seat. "Would you like me to wash you, Missy?" He asked the question in a gentler tone.

  Beth opened her eyes. She felt herself nodding.

  He smiled at her for the first time. "Criminy, honey. If you aren't the nicest surprise to ever show up at the jail."

  Beth felt her spirit soar upon hearing those words, especially his word of endearment. She knew honey was a word used loosely, but it was also a word used fondly. He rolled up his sleeves, lathered soap in a soft cloth, and washed her back in circular motions.

  "I know I shouldn't take such liberties, you being married and all, but I get the feeling your husband is a bit of a bastard and that's why you're not with him. Am I right?"

  "I'm not married, Marshal."

  His hand settled on her back for a moment, changing the sensation she felt from that of being washed to that of being held. "No more lies, Missy."

  She quieted, stilled by his touch and his words, which were delivered to her in a low, firm tone she'd never heard directed at her before. In his words was a warning, but it was unmistakably wrapped in tenderness.

  Beth marveled at the feeling of him gently scrubbing away the dirt and grime from her body, and she wanted to relax completely, but it concerned her that he seemed able to tell the difference between when she lied and when she told the truth. She needed to be careful around him. Very careful. She shivered, afraid once again. The marshal felt the change in her body. He reached over and touched her cheek with the back of his hand so gently that Beth suddenly felt close to tears. He used a finger to turn her face in his direction and searched her eyes.

  "You're afraid of something, Missy. Tell me what it is. It's my job to protect people."

  She stared into his kind eyes. She knew he was right. Protecting people was his job, but punishing people was also his job, and that's what she was afraid of. She racked her brain for something to say that made sense but didn't reveal too much. "I fear many things, Marshal. There's much you don't know about me."

  He resumed, washing her arm. "Yes, that's true. There's much you don't know about me too. How about we learn a little about each other? I'll start. First, you can stop calling me Marshal. My name is Grover." He offered her a smile.

  She relaxed a little. Knowing his name without the lawman title attached made her feel a little more at ease. "Okay, Grover."

  "Should I call you Beth? I will if you insist, but I happen to like Missy a whole lot on you. Fits you somehow." He winked at her, which compelled her to match his smile with one of her own.

  "I don't mind you calling me Missy, if it pleases you, Grover."

  "Good. One thing is settled at least." He moved the cloth to her breast. He spoke in a casual manner while cleaning each of her breasts with a gentleness she'd never felt from a man. "I'm thirty-three years old and I've never been married. Not that I haven't wanted to get hitched, but women are in short supply around here, and I admit I've been too yellow to get a mail-order bride from the east."

  It surprised her to learn he'd never married. She figured him for a widower. "Surely you could have married someone around here, Grover. You have a pleasing look about you and no doubt earn a right smart living as town marshal."

  He smiled again. "Why thank you, Missy, but that's another thing about me. I haven't always made a good living. My parents are gone like yours. They died one right after the other when I was sixteen. After that I was a dirt-poor cowboy with nothing but a puddin'-footed horse and a hankering to find my next meal. Eventually I got lucky enough to hang my hat at the Easy Go Ranch in west Texas for some time. Then the harsh winter of '86 and the death of so many cattle saw most of us ranch hands out of a job, leaving me even dirt poorer and my saddle-slickin' days in the dust."

  Grover moved the cloth to between her legs and rubbed while looking into her eyes. Missy stared back at him, willing him to continue with both his strokes and his story.

  "It was four years 'til I had steady income after that. I mostly wandered, taking odd work here and there. That's when I got into bounty hunting. It's hard to attract a woman, let alone go about courting her, with that kind of dangerous, wandering life."

  He abandoned the cloth and touched between her legs with his fingers. Giving her a roguish smile, he continued speaking while stroking h
er inner thighs then exploring every inch of her folds. "Lucky for me, I was better than most at bounty hunting. I became known as a quick gun, which put me in the county sheriff's sights for this marshal post. He also liked my reputation for having a level head. I've shot more than a few men dead, but I've not fired a single dirty bullet. I've never shot an innocent man or even a guilty one who didn't first try to shoot me or someone under my protection."

  "I'm sure you're very honorable," she managed to say. She closed her eyes and worked to keep moans from escaping her lips as he tended to the intimate place between her legs.

  He chuckled, a rich, velvety sound, and flicked her bud with his thumb. "You're sure of that, are you, Missy? Some might say what I'm doing at the moment isn't very honorable."

  "Yes," she insisted. "I'm sure." She could tell he was a good man.

  Suddenly she opened her eyes. She grabbed the sides of the tub with both hands and bolted to an upright position. "Wait a minute. Grover? Grover Huntley?"

  One of his eyebrows lifted. He removed his hand from between her legs. "You've heard of me, Missy?"

  Of course she'd heard of him. Grover Huntley, one of the fastest guns in Texas, rivaled only by a few, including her husband who wished him dead. Grover Huntley, the gunslinger who shot her husband's brother in a fight that left only one of them standing.

  She felt certain Grover could hear her heart beating. She glanced around the room. "I reckon I read about you in the paper, that's all," she said, trying to sound unruffled, but her words came out in a stutter and her knuckles turned white from the grip she had on the sides of the tub.

  He stood, towering above her. "Reckon that, do you?" He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head back. "You know what I reckon, Missy?" He bent and crushed his lips against hers. His tongue tore into her mouth and plundered it. When Beth glided her tongue to meet his, he gave it one rough caress before pulling away. In a flash, the kiss was over. It left her heart beating faster than before and her stomach fluttering wildly. He bore his eyes into hers. "I reckon that was another lie." He released her hair from his hand. "Finish your bath, Missy. Then I'll give you a proper seeing-to." He ambled to the other side of the room, bringing the chair with him. He sat at a spot next to the kitchen table and waited.