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“Sam. Sam, wake up.”
“Uh,” he grunted. “What?” He raised his head and pried his eyes open. For the briefest of moments, the sight of Celine lying beside him startled him. But just as quickly, the memory of their loving flooded his mind and senses. He moved closer, seeking her warmth, ready to take advantage of her sweetness once more.
She shoved his hands away from her lush breasts. “Sam! Stop it! I heard something. Someone’s in the house.”
“It’s probably Mrs. Crayton doing something for the baby, or maybe the sheriff and the posse are back.” He lay back on the pillow and shut his eyes. Entirely too early to stay awake if she wasn’t...
“No! Mrs. Crayton is sleeping on a cot in the room with Star and the baby. Sounds like someone who’s trying to be quiet. It’s not your normal moving-around sounds.”
“I don’t hear anything. Go back to sleep.” He rolled over, determined to go back to sleep.
She poked his shoulder. “Hush and listen.”
Thump.
“There is it again. You have to do something.”
Right. Sounded like someone bumped into a chair. “Yeah, I heard it.” He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. He grabbed the borrowed denims from the chair beside the bed and drew them on, buttoned the fly and cinched the belt tightly around his waist since the sheriff’s trousers had a tendency to slide down his hips. Picking up his gun belt and Colt, he drew the six-shooter from the holster and padded softly to the bedroom door.
“Stay here,” he cautioned. Dang woman was already half-dressed and looked like she was of a mind to follow.
“But—”
“Stay,” he hissed. After opening the door, he eased into the hallway. From the sounds below, someone had bumped into a piece of furniture more than once, followed by a stream of low curses.
Sam walked to the top of the stairs, eased one foot down, then another. Third step creaked. Six-shooter held low at his side, he froze.
Listened.
Not a sound.
Shooting his host would be a definite black mark, not to mention inconvenient and difficult to justify. “Sheriff Taylor, if that's you, you'd best call out. I'm armed and ready.”
Then he heard a rush of footsteps toward the front of the house. He flew the rest of the way downstairs and caught up with the intruder at the already open door. Sam tackled the man, and they tumbled through the screened door.
The intruder sprang to his feet, moving warily to the far end of the porch. “How in bleedin’ hell did ye get out of that shite cave?”
“O'Reilly!” Sam scrambled to his feet and rushed the outlaw, swinging his fist into the Irishman's gut. “Going to sneak into the house with two lone women and a baby? Going to play your dirty games with them, were you?”
The Irishman kicked Sam in the ribs. He gasped with pain and jumped back to catch his breath. “You no-account mick. You did your damnedest to kill us, but we were tougher than you figured.” He punctuated each word with a blow to the intruder's chin, his gut, his nose. Sam smiled as he felt and heard the man's nose break.
Grabbing his face, O'Reilly staggered and then hit the dirt. “Gah!” He sprang to his feet, spat blood and pulled a long blade from his belt. “I’ll cut your bleedin' heart out this time.” Crouching low, he lunged.
Sam jumped to the side, averting the blade. The Irishman drew back, but before he could throw the knife, Sam flew at the Irishman again. They tumbled off the porch and onto the dusty ground with a thud. They came to a puddle of blood darkening the earth. Out of one eye, Sam saw that the sentry's throat had been slit. More of the Irishman's handiwork. Given there was no sign of the other sentry. Likely he’d met the same fate.
“I'd be doing the world a favor if I strung you up here and now.” Sam sat astride the Irishman with his hands around the killer's throat. “You're a sneak and a coward. You prey on women and children who’re too weak to fight back. Low-down, lily-livered bastard.”
O'Reilly kicked and struggled, clawing at Sam's fingers. Reluctantly, Sam released his death grip, settling instead for slugging the Irishman with the butt of his Colt.
“You'll need this.”
Sam looked up to see Celine standing in the doorway, a blanket wrapped around her upper body, holding a rope.
“Where'd you find that?”
“In the stable. Where else?”
“Dressed like that?”
Grasping the blanket tightly, she growled, “Do you want the rope or not?”
Holding his ribs, he struggled to his feet. He closed the distance between them and took the coiled rope.” Smart. What if I hadn't won? O'Reilly would have you stripped and begging for your life by now.”
“I knew you'd prevail,” she said with a sweet smile. “He's no match for a real man.”
“See any sign of the other guard?” He knelt beside O'Reilly and began binding his hands.
Her expression grew somber. “Yes. He's dead, just like this one.” She rubbed her upper arms and shivered.
“You're cold.” He shot her a concerned look. “Best get inside. I'll take care of this varmint.”
She nodded and left him to finish his task.
***
ONCE BACK IN HER BEDROOM, Celine was tempted to return to their bed but she was too keyed up to rest. Then came the thundering sound of horses’ hooves. The posse. Instead falling into the bed where she and Sam had just made love, she rallied, pulled on the top of her shirtwaist and ran downstairs to the kitchen. After a long day and night on horseback, the men were bound to be tired and hungry. She started a fire in the cookstove and rechecked the icebox to see what she could feed a gang of hungry men.
She heard one man running for the stairs. She poked her head around the door to the kitchen and spied the sheriff. “They're all right,” she called. “O'Reilly never got that far.”
The sheriff's broad shoulders relaxed as he turned and sat on one of the steps, exhaustion clearly written across his face and body. His elbows on his knees, he shut his eyes and rested his head in his hands.
“I'm heating up the stove. I'll have y'all something to eat pretty soon.”
He looked up, meeting her gaze. “You shouldn't be on your feet. Not after what you've been through.”
“I’m fine. Don't know when I've felt better,” she said, unable to hide the lilt in her voice. “After what you all did for Sam and me, I owe you a hot meal, at the very least.”
“Much appreciated, ma'am.” He stood and headed up the stairs to see his wife and new baby son.
***
BY THE TIME THE REST of the posse had seen their mounts fed and watered, Celine had a large pot of coffee perking, fresh biscuits baking, and bacon frying in the heavy iron skillet. The aroma of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon set her stomach to growling.
After caring for their mounts, most of the posse had split off, opting to return to their homes. For the sheriff, his brother Luis and two remaining members of the posse, Celine whipped up a large bowl of milk gravy to go along with the biscuits. She set the crockery bowl of gravy on the table beside two big platters of bacon and hot biscuits. “Dig in! That should keep starvation from the door until you make it back home.”
There were “Thank you, ma'ams” all around.
Standing beside Sam, Celine smiled. “Happy to oblige. And I'm the one who should be thanking you. The marshal and I wouldn't be here without your help.” Sam gazed up at her with—dare she think it-love glowing in his whiskey-brown eyes.
Unable to keep from yawning, she felt the blood rush to her cheeks again.
A mischievous twinkle lit Sam's eyes as he looked up at her. Reaching behind her, he patted her butt and then grabbed a couple of biscuits and several strips of bacon for himself.
“I’ll leave you men to it, then.” Still blushing, she ran upstairs, but not before she heard the men's guffaws.
She eased open the bedroom door where Star and the baby were sleeping. All was right with their world.
“Selma?” Star pushed up on her elbows.
“Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. And I guess you might as well start calling me Celine. I've started thinking of myself that way again.”
Star raised an eyebrow. “You and the marshal?”
Celine nodded. “I’ll tell you more tomorrow. Go back to sleep.” She eased the door shut. But what would she tell Star? Nothing was really settled except Sam wasn't going to arrest her and he still loved her. But would they have a life together or not? That was the real question.
***
AFTER CHOWING DOWN the quick breakfast, Sam trudged up the stairs. Surely Celine had gone back to bed and wasn't waiting to argue about their future. Heaven knew she needed the rest. Hell, he wouldn't mind a little himself.
Yet the same questions plagued him. Where would they go from here? He'd be leaving town as soon as the trial was over to go back to Austin for his next assignment. She’d either go with him or not.
True he spent most of his time either in Austin or moving around the state as his duties as a US marshal called for.
Was it fair for him to expect her to leave her business? He shook his head. To hell with it. Their future wasn't something he wanted to deal with right now. He had too much else on his mind.
As soon as he reached the top of the stairs, Celine emerged from the other bedroom. “Sam?”
Damn. Not ready to entertain more discussion, he said, “I'm heading into town with O'Reilly,” he said. “Why don't you go back to bed?”
Giving him a tentative half smile, she glanced at the room where they'd spent the night together. “Don't you think we should talk?”
“Not now.”
“Later, then? When?”
He shrugged. What was the point? She didn't want to leave Kenton Valley, and his job was based at the state capital. “I need to get the prisoner to the jail.” The Irishman had spent what Sam hoped was an uncomfortable few hours chained in the barn. The sooner the man was behind bars, the better Sam would like it.
“When will you be back? I think we should talk before you go back to Austin. That's where you live now, isn't it?”
“I rent a room in a boardinghouse. I'm not there much, but it's where I hang my hat.”
“Like I have at the Foleys'?”
“Yeah, like that.” Any other time, he'd head back to Austin once the trial was over. But this occasion was different—yeah, different all right. “Don't suppose you're coming back to town today?”
Celine shook her head. “Mrs. Crayton needs to get her husband buried. I ought to stay with Star for as long as she needs me.” She chewed her full bottom lip, then said, “I want to see you again. We really need to have that discussion about our future.”
“Don't reckon we have one...unless you're planning on selling out and moving to Austin?”
“There's a lot to think about. It's not something I can decide and accomplish overnight. I've already promised some of young ladies I'd make their dresses for the spring Grange dance.”
“A dance, you say? Been a while since...” He shook his head, trying to remember how it felt to be young and excited about a dance at the Grange hall.
“I can't disappoint them. The dance is two weeks away. What with giving Star a hand here and making those dresses, I'll have my hands full.”
“Understand that. Two weeks from now? I'll be back in Austin, or I'll be back on the trail-no telling where.”
She nodded. “I know. I remember how it was when you were in the Rangers.”
“And I remember how it was when I came home and found you missing.” He’d tried to keep the edge from his voice but failed.
She averted her gaze. “I thought you'd forgiven me. I guess I was wrong.”
He set his hands on her shoulders, wanting to reassure her. “I have. Just can't forget how it felt. Old hurts take time to fade.”
She pulled away. “Go to town, Sam.”
Her tone was flat, her expression flatter. “I hope I'll see you before you go.” She gathered her skirts and slammed the bedroom door behind her, leaving him standing in the hall.
Damn woman. What did she want from him?
He stomped downstairs. No matter, he had a job to do. And do it he would.
***
CELINE GAZED OUT THE window, watching Sam, the sheriff and what was left of the posse as they loaded five dead men into the Crayton's wagon. A manacled O'Reilly was forced to ride with the bodies. Served him right. So much violence in such a short time, some of which she was responsible for. Yet she couldn't say she regretted the part she'd played in turning two of the outlaws against each other.
Poor brave Mrs. Crayton. Her back was straight as she rode home accompanied by one of the posse. Her husband had died needlessly, as had the two guards.
Celine picked up a tray of food and carried it upstairs. “It's me,” she said with a quick rap on the bedroom door. Her friend was already on her feet, leaning over the small cradle. “Sit and have some breakfast,” Celine said.
“All right...” Star sat with a huff.
Celine set the tray across her friend's knees. “Before Mrs. Crayton left, she said you were to stay in bed for the next week, preferably two weeks.”
“I've already been up and suffered no ill effects. Mrs. Crayton's ideas of childbirth are mired in the Middle Ages. I was mighty glad to have her here, though, but I'm fine now. To my way of thinking, women through the ages have been having babies in the fields and gone back to work.”
***
“NO, THAT WAS THE dark ages.” Celine set her hands on her hips. “You've had a baby, and while some women out of necessity might've been forced to go back to work, you aren't. You can take it easy. I'm staying here until you're ready to be up and about.”
“I'm ready to be up and about now. But while I drink my coffee, why don't you tell me what happened with you and the marshal.”
While Star ate her breakfast, Celine proceeded to regale her about the incidents leading up to the cave-in, including that transformative event, until a loud, angry squall interrupted her.
Star smiled and tugged at the neckline of her gown. “I may be a new mother, but I already know what that cry means.”
Celine reached for the baby, then, feeling the damp diaper, she asked, “May I change him? Please.”
“Be my guest. If I'm not mistaken, you'll be having some of your own someday soon. Good practice.”
While Celine changed the baby boy, she wondered if she ever really would have one of her own. Given the current state of affairs, it wasn't something she could take for granted.
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I really don't want to sell my business. I do so enjoy being a part of the town. And I have three dresses I'm supposed to make for the Grange spring dance. How can I disappoint those girls?”
“And after that? You know, Austin isn't that far. Maybe there's some way you can both have what you want.”
“A compromise? I don't know. Sam's not the compromising type.”
“Neither, it seems to me, are you.”
