First Class Male by Jillian Hart Page A

at you. Boy. I would give anything to have such a nice man look at me that way.”
    “Oh, he’s not really interested.” Ignoring the squeeze of hurt in her chest, she reached for her cup of milk. “He gave me a train ticket. I don’t think he’s wanting me to stay.”
    “Mason is just doing the right thing. That’s who he is.” Mariel bit into her sandwich, chewing away, a knowing look on her face. “I was at his wife’s funeral. I saw with my own eyes how destroyed he was with grief. In all that time since, it’ll be coming up on ten years soon, a whole decade, he’s never shown any woman the kind of personal interest he’s shown you. Callie, if I were you, I wouldn’t be leaving town, not if Mason was that interested in me.”
    “But he kissed me on the cheek. A platonic kiss, that’s all.”
    “It wasn’t platonic from where I was sitting.” Mariel winked. “I saw it too, and yes, I was spying. You’ve got some time before the train leaves. I’d think about staying long and hard if I were you.”
    Callie stared at her plate. Did she have it wrong? Did the marshal’s kiss mean more than she thought? She took a bite of sandwich, pondering that as Mariel turned the conversation to Lena’s new job, asking how it was to work with all those cows.

    “How’s it looking up here?” Mason asked, strolling across the rooftop of the Clark Creek Feed & Seed. “Any sign of trouble?”
    “None that we can see.” Pauly, his arm in a sling, lowered his binoculars. He stood in the beating sun, dressed all in black, six shooters strapped to his thighs, his repeating rifle leaning against the four-foot high false front of the building. The flat roof reflected the noon sun, making it feel hotter than it was. “We’ve kept a sharp eye out. Clem’s watching the side streets and alleys. I’m on all the main roads into town and keeping an eye on Miss Carpenter, just like you asked.”
    “And I’m watching the area just around the jail,” Deeks spoke up, not lowering his binoculars for a second. “Everything’s been normal. No sign of the Folsom Gang.”
    “They’re out there.” The back of his neck crawled, the pit of his stomach twisted. He could feel trouble coming like a storm bearing down on the town. “Anyone here want a break? I’ll stand in.”
    “That’d be mighty appreciated.” Deeks grabbed his rifle and stepped away from the wall. “I need fifteen minutes is all. Enough to cool off, grab a bite. We’ve been rotating out for lunch and I haven’t had anything to eat yet.”
    “Then go.” Mason accepted the pair of binoculars Deeks handed over. “Take your time. It’s gonna be a long day and probably a longer night.”
    “That’s the truth,” Pauly agreed, not taking his attention from the back of the lot behind the jail. “If we had more men, we could hunt them down.”
    “I’ve thought of that.” Mason adjusted the glasses, scanning the east road into town. Empty, just dust devils swirling in the wind. “I don’t want to leave the patrols and lookouts short. I’ve telegraphed the territorial headquarters this morning. More men should be coming before nightfall.”
    “The Folsom Gang aren’t men who wait around.” Clem, one of the sheriff’s men, spoke up. “I’ve been reading up on them for Bart. My take on things is that they move fast, hit hard, it’s always a surprise.”
    “I appreciate hearing that, Clem.” Mason considered the information, moving his line of sight from east to north, carefully taking in details in the town along the way, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Mrs. Arnold crouched in her backyard garden pulling weeds, three teen boys played dodge ball on a dusty side street, and a black-haired young lady in a blue dress walked down the road leading to the Clark Creek Dairy, in the town’s northern outskirts. She stepped off the road, making room for a farmer hauling a wagonload of hay to town.
    “It matches my information on the gang.”