First Class Male Page 3

  “The ride?” She eyed the trousers and muslin shirt. Both looked like they’d been plucked straight off a clothesline. When she ran a finger over the coarse fabric, it was slightly damp.

  “It’s too risky to set up camp somewhere and stay put, we’d be easy targets.” The marshal tipped his hat brim down, all business, growing more remote, more stony, as he backed away. “Lew Folsom is going to want revenge once he realizes his brother is dead. And if that isn’t enough, they might want you back. So we ride, and we ride soon. You’ll have to change right here by the fire, I’m afraid. Stay where I can keep an eye on you. I don’t know how far away the remaining gang ran, or if they’ve already turned back. Okay?”

  She nodded, a shiver snaking down her spine. So, she wasn’t entirely safe yet? There had to be a dozen men under the marshal’s command, lawmen moving in the background, in the shadows, busy with their work. Horses stood patiently by, swishing their tails, shuffling their feet.

  She reached for the trousers, shook them out. They smelled like strong lye soap, which was better than sweaty, dirty outlaw, so she couldn’t complain. Not that she’d ever worn pants before, but there was a first time for everything. Trousers surely would make it easier to sit on one of those horses, she thought, much better than a dress. She slipped her feet into the trouser legs. Way too big for her, but she kept going, shimmying the garment up over her thighs and hips, struggling to keep the blanket covering her for modesty’s sake. Fortunately no one in the camp seemed to be gaping at her, which helped, as she tugged the trousers up over her bottom and felt the scratchy seam against her lady places.

  Well, not exactly comfortable without drawers, but at least she wasn’t at risk of exposing herself. That was an improvement. Now for the top. She unbuttoned the marshal’s shirt. Modesty here might be a challenge. She had no desire to give a dozen men a view of her jiggle-y parts—a corset would be good, but oh well. Maybe better to wrap the blanket around her first, ease off the shirt beneath it and try to get into the clean one. The question was, would she be that coordinated? Guess she was about to find out.

  “We’re ready to ride.” The marshal strode over with his glorious chest—really, she shouldn’t be looking at that. (Emma would have a fit). “Want me to hold that blanket for you?”

  “No, I’ve almost got it.” She shimmied his shirt down her body with one hand while holding closed the edges of the blanket with the other. “I’ve never been on a horse before.”

  “Don’t worry. He’ll be tied to another animal, so you won’t have to worry about controlling him.”

  “Good, because that could very well be a disaster.” She shimmied again, writhing beneath the blanket. “If something is going to happen, it will happen to me, that’s what my oldest sister always says. Like today, for example. The train I was on just happened to get robbed, they just happened to choose my car to rob, and then they took me, nobody else.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind for our trip home.” Wryly, he watched as she tossed off the blanket with one hand, holding the muslin men’s shirt together with her other. “I’m pretty good at stopping disaster.”

  “That’s a relief.” She bowed her head to button the shirt, locks of soft blond hair tumbling forward to curtain a face that was very lovely. Delicate, fine-boned, soft and sweet. She had to be, what, nineteen? Ten years his junior, and she carried an innocence about her, one of goodness, that not even Lyle Folsom and his crew had been able to destroy.

  He was glad for that. He kicked dirt over the fire, but his attention stayed on her. On the graceful way she bobbed to her feet, holding the waistband up with one hand while she folded the blanket in half, then in perfect quarters, and one more time before she left it on the log. The shirt and trousers hung around her slender, womanly form. He swallowed hard, ignoring the hitch in his chest. It was hard to forget what her form had looked like—lean, shapely thighs, slender hips, narrow waist, full breasts.

  She offered him his shirt with her free hand. “Here. Thank you for lending it to me. Thank you for, well, everything.”

  “My pleasure, Miss.” A frisson of warmth curled in his chest. Maybe that emotion was just gladness that she was all right, that he’d stopped a bunch of bad men from harming a nice lady. That’s all it could be, he thought, taking his shirt from her. His heart had died long ago. He couldn’t love, he no longer had it in him. Even if he could, what were the chances a sweet beautiful thing like her would want a used up man like him? None. He knew that for a fact. He winced, kicking dirt over the last of the fire, smothering it.

  “It’s Callie.” She padded in bare feet toward him, offering him a shy smile. “Any man who has seen me naked had better know my first name.”

  “Callie.” He sighed, smiled, slipping on his shirt. The stars in the sky really did seem to twinkle more brightly when she passed by. Whoever it was who’d promised to marry her, well, he was one lucky man. No doubt about that.

  Chapter Three

  The town of Clark Creek was a shadowy frontier town cast in silhouette by the rising sun. Callie took one long look, drinking in the sight of those two story, boxy buildings marching down a main street with their awnings shading boardwalks. Hitching posts stood empty, a few leafy trees rustled in the mellow breeze.

  There was promise in this town, she could feel it as the horse she sat on slowed to a stop. It was homey and peaceful. Her future was here, a happy future. And despite the rocky start to her journey, nothing, especially a bunch of outlaws, could out shadow her dream. She had a loving husband-to-be waiting for her, and two adorable soon-to-be daughters.

  This was her life starting, and it was going to be great. She could feel it as brightly as the cheerful beams of the new day’s rising sun.

  “I’ll take you from here.” Mason strolled out of the long shadows from the building, all in black, exhaustion marking him. In the dark, he’d been handsome. In the light, he was jaw-dropping with his casually powerful movements, rugged strength and big hands that untied her horse’s lead rope from Deek’s saddle. “The men will ride on to the jail.”

  “What about me?” She gulped, glancing around. She didn’t know where to go, or what to do. Everything was closed, the town still felt asleep and she was wearing men’s clothes. Without a single stitch of underwear. Riding into town with a group of men, well, what would people think? (Emma would be scandalized).

  “I’d rather not let the gossips see you like this.” Mason coiled up the lead rope as he strode closer. What a sight he made. Little flickers of heat warmed her blood at his nearness.

  “Oh, me either.” Her hand flew to her hair, which was a wild mess, and she was terribly aware of her breasts bare against the muslin shirt. “I’m just so happy to be here. It was nice of you to bring me to Clark Creek.”

  “It’s where I live.” He took charge of the bridle bit and led the dutiful horse she rode down the shadowy side street. “My office is at the other end of town. Oh, howdy, Mrs. Dittmeyer.”

  “Marshal Greer.” A pleasantly plump woman well past her prime chugged toward them dressed all in pink. Pink skirts, pink shirtwaist, pink bonnet. Even a pink silk flower bobbed along as she marched down the street. She attempted a smile, which was really more a judgmental sneer. “Good to see you are cleaning up this town. Have you been helping the sheriff with his campaign to clear all the soiled doves out of town?”

  The pink woman lifted her lip when she glanced at Callie, as if she’d never seen anything more disgusting.

  Oh. Callie’s hand flew to her chest, aware of her unbound breasts bobbing, of the man’s clothes. She really must look as terrible as she feared—like a fallen woman.

  “She is no soiled dove, not by a long shot.” Mason’s voice boomed with authority. “Don’t you spread that around town.”

  “Me? I wouldn’t dream of it.” Mrs. Dittmeyer huffed to a stop, panting from her vigorous walk. Her hand flew to her throat, the look of a most innocent, virtuous woman. “Why, the poor thing. Is there anything I
can do to help? You just name it, Marshal.”

  “Sorry, you aren’t getting any information out of me.” He tugged on the bit, urging the horse forward. He wasn’t fooled, cursing their luck in running into the town’s most notorious gossip. “Good day, Ma’am.”

  Mrs. Dittmeyer didn’t answer, and Mason gave thanks for that. He didn’t like the woman. Instead, he tightened his grip on the gelding and led them down the street.

  Callie sat quietly, not saying a word, clinging to the saddle horn, looking troubled. Her rosebud mouth was puckered up, her forehead crinkled, her golden hair as tousled and as unruly as if she’d spent the night in a man’s arms, in the throes of passion. She was beautiful, with porcelain skin, a heart-shaped face, wide violet blue eyes. And her mouth, well, it was made for kissing.

  Desire spilled into his blood, surprising him. He turned away, scanned the street, headed down Third Avenue. Maybe it was the hint of her nipples grazing the shirt that was getting to him. Or maybe it was the images that had haunted him through the long night’s ride, the ones of her naked, creamy white thighs, soft belly, full breasts. He tried to be professional and banish those thoughts from his brain. Guess he ought to try harder.

  “This is a lady’s boarding house.” He gestured to the tidy three story building that was more home than house. Gingerbread trim, bay windows, a widow’s walk. “The owner, Mariel, will take good care of you. She’ll help you clean up, get you settled.”

  “I don’t have any money to pay her.” Worry dug little crinkles around her mouth. “The robbers took it.”

  “My men found no cash, nothing. Likely the gang members took it with them when they escaped.” He gritted his teeth, not happy about that. “Don’t worry, Mariel won’t demand payment up front. She can work something out with your fiancé.”

  “Right.” Callie bit her bottom lip, still troubled. “I just hate to burden him, but I guess that can’t be helped. Marshal, thank you again.”

  “You’ve thanked me enough, and call me Mason.” He held out a hand, grinning. “Since I’ve seen you naked, you should call me by my first name.”

  “Funny.” She rewarded him with a smile so stunning it could outshine the sun. She placed her hand in his—delicate little hand, silken skin, warm woman.

  The heat in his blood ramped up a notch. Best to ignore that, he thought, as she brought her leg over the horse’s rump and slid to the ground, landing with a graceful bounce.

  Why did he have to notice the sway of her bosom? He shook his head at himself. He was simply a man who’d had little to no sleep in the last forty-eight hours. He was tired, otherwise he’d have better self-control. That was all. Satisfied with that rationale, he let go of her hand, cleared his throat and wished his palm would stop tingling where she’d touched him.

  “I’ll need to talk to you later,” he said, turning back to business as he escorted her toward the little white picket gate, but that was as far as he got. A horse and buggy rolled around the corner, horse hooves clopping on the hard-packed street, buggy wheels slightly squeaking.

  “Hello there, Marshal,” the town doctor called out. “Good morning to you.”

  “Morning, Earl.” Mason nodded. He couldn’t say he liked the doc. Not at all. “On your way to a morning call?”

  “Mrs. O’Dooley is in labor.” Earl reined his horse to a stop in the street. “Are your men back? Anyone hurt? I could stop by the office later on. Don’t know how long this will take.”

  “See to Mrs. O’Dooley first.” Mason pushed the gate open. “We can wait. Pauly took a bullet to the arm, not serious. A few of the outlaws took hits, but no rush. I’d also like you to come take a look at this lady. We rescued Callie from the Folsom Gang. They kidnapped her off yesterday’s train.”

  “Callie, you say?” Earl hopped out of the buggy, his rather round face set with shock. “This wouldn’t be Callie Carpenter? My bride to be? She never arrived at her stop, some of the passengers said a woman was taken. Are you Callie, my dear?”

  “I am.” She whirled to face him, so vulnerable standing there in the shadow of the house, hope lighting her up. “Are you Earl?”

  “Yes. Why, I just can’t believe this.” He rushed up to her, and Mason looked away, retreated to the saddle horse, not sure why it felt as if he was ready to break. He had no claim to Callie.

  “Thank goodness you’re alive,” Earl went on, talking fast. “I feared the worst. I told the girls you were gone, and we were all dismayed. You must be hurt. There’s blood on your collar. I’m sorry for what those men did to you, Callie, I’ll come back to take care of you after Mrs. O’Dooley’s baby is born. I’ve taken care of women like you before.”

  “Like me?” She sounded puzzled, a little breathless.

  Mason didn’t want to turn around, he didn’t want to see the happiness and hopes for life with another man shining in her violet-blue eyes. Mason untied the rope lead from the horse’s bit ring, coiled it up, trying not to hear what was going on behind him. He’d delivered her safely, his duty was done.

  “Yes, women like you. Women who had been ruined,” Earl said gently, as if he were speaking to a small, helpless child. “It’s such a shame, too, but I’ll do my best by you. We’ll get you patched up as well as we can.”

  “What do you mean? I’m not ruined.” Callie’s gentle alto still sounded confused, and the vulnerability in it reached out to him.

  It’s not your business, Mason told himself, mounting up. Just ride away.

  “Oh, well I just assumed.” Earl sounded relieved. “That’s a boon in a case like this, but I really must go. Babies wait for no man.”

  “All right, I understand.” Callie sounded relieved. “It’s such a relief after what I’ve been through knowing you’re here to take care of me. I think we’re going to be very happy together.”

  Definitely time to leave, Mason thought, reining the gelding around in the street. But something held him back, that tightness in his stomach warning him something was wrong.

  “Together?” Earl’s voice changed, dipped in tone as if he were embarrassed—not for himself but for Callie. “Oh, no, that simply isn’t possible.”

  Mason drew back on the reins, keeping the gelding in place, a hollow feeling digging into the pit of his stomach, knowing now what was coming, and he bowed his head. It wasn’t right. Not one bit.

  “I’m afraid we can’t get married now.” Earl broke the news, his tone pedantic, laced with sympathy. “I chose you very specifically, Callie. An untouched virgin, one who worked in an orphanage. Why, that is the perfect wife for my stature in this town. But now your reputation is in tatters, and think how that would reflect on me.”

  “But I’m the same as I’ve always been.” Confused hurt layered those words. “I don’t understand, Earl. You promised to take care of me. You just said so.”

  “I meant as a doctor.” Earl patted her shoulder awkwardly as if she were a small child needing to be soothed. “Certainly I didn’t mean that I’d be responsible for you. No, you simply are not up to my standards, not anymore. Think of the girls, Callie. They can’t be exposed to something like this. You spent time with rough men without a chaperone.”

  “I see.” Quietly spoken words, as if every dream she’d ever had had fallen to the ground at her feet, dead. “So you don’t want me and you’re breaking your commitment to me.”

  “I have no choice.” Earl shrugged, as if it was just one of those things, something that couldn’t be helped.

  The swine. Mason dismounted, summoning up all the self-control he possessed not to march over there and plant his fist in Earl’s face.

  “Under the circumstances, I won’t ask you to reimburse me for the train ticket I sent you.” Earl tipped his hat to her, backing off. “I won’t even charge you for an examination.”

  “Don’t bother.” She squared her shoulders, chin up, eyes fierce but full of pain. “I don’t need a doctor. I especially don’t need a spineless man for a husband. Goodbye, Earl.”

/>   “No need to get like that!” Earl shook his head, giving Mason a look that said, women. “Maybe those robbers did me a favor. You are not the kind of woman I believed you to be.”

  “I was thinking the same thing about you.” Callie’s chin hiked up another notch, her hands fisted, golden curls framing her pale face. Her insult didn’t dawn on the doc as he escaped to his buggy and sped away as if glad to be rid of her.

  “Oh, you’re still here.” She spotted Mason then, with unfallen tears in her eyes, spiking her lashes. She let out a shaky sigh. “I guess you heard some of that.”

  “Everything.” He strolled closer. “Earl is an ass.”

  “I won’t argue. He’s certainly not a real man.” Her throat worked, as if she were doing her best to hold back her disappointment. Earl was the man she’d hoped to be happy with. Of course this was hard for her. She arched a slender eyebrow. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be getting back to your office? Don’t you have outlaws to jail?”

  “I do, and more to catch.” Mason smiled. He hadn’t smiled so much in more years than he cared to think about. He liked this woman, and it wasn’t just because he’d seen her naked. “C’mon. Let’s knock on the door, and I’ll introduce you to Mariel. I think you’ll like her.”

  “You don’t have to feel responsible for me, Marshal.” She straightened her spine, standing tall, moving away from him like a ghost through the shadows. “It’s nice of you, but I can take care of myself. Maybe I’d be better off, considering some of the men in this world.”

  “It would be a real shame for you to come to that conclusion.” He followed her up the steps, crossed the porch at her side. “And the name’s Mason. Use it.”

  With a wink, he rapped on the door. Left her in Mariel’s capable care. Did his best to walk away without looking back.

  But he thought of her. Yes, he absolutely did.