Marshal of Hel Dorado by Heather Long Page B

you want blood on your hands, we’re going to have to pay
them off. Scarlett is more important than the gold.” Cody glared at Jimmy,
daring him to challenge the decision.
           Buck ignored the tension passing between
the two to walk over to the bedrolls. He stretched out on one, eyes closing. He
would drop into a light sleep and reach out to their father across the desert
miles separating them. He would seek Quanto’s wisdom and…
           “Buck,” Cody pitched his voice low, knowing
that Buck could hear him even as he drifted into that netherworld he traveled.
“After Quanto, reach for Scarlett again.”
           His brother didn’t answer. He didn’t have
to. Cody padded barefoot away from the flames. Ike and Noah were loading up
Scarlett’s horse with the gold. The gentle mare had carried her load with
aplomb despite the absence of Scarlett. The rider less horse taunted him,
fanning the quiet fury that gnawed at his insides.
           “We’ll get her back, Cody.” It was Jimmy
who followed him. Cody nodded, letting the warm desert floor sting the bottoms
of his bare feet. He needed to calm the beast that still rode him hard inside.
The beast that wouldn’t be satisfied until Scarlett was back with them and
those that threatened her were savaged.
           God help them all if they hurt her.

Chapter
Eight
           F our
days after tending Scarlett in the sick house, three days since he’d returned
to Dorado and Sam couldn’t get the woman’s face out of his mind. He told
himself it was her face he was thinking of, he shouldn’t have knowledge of the
way she was formed. Not her round, curvy breasts, her strawberry colored
nipples or the pale hips that flared out from her tiny waist.
           No, he shouldn’t have knowledge of any of
it.
           But it didn’t stop him thinking about her.
           Wanting her.
           So he stayed in Dorado. He was needed here,
regardless. The town was on edge. The strange circumstances surrounding the
bank robbery coupled with the denied lynching had left the good people of Dorado
blood thirsty and foul tempered. Even the good church ladies were given him
sour looks. Miss Millicent, the town’s only octogenarian had left her clapboard
home long enough to walk down to the Marshal’s office and pray for him.
           She didn’t speak to him or even look at
him. She’s just stood in his office, wizened hands clasped together, shaking
like a leaf in a tornado, reciting the Lord’s Prayer before exiting on the arm
of her granddaughter, Miss Amy. Amy had looked at him, with censure and disappointment.
           Word circulated that Sam stole the prisoner
away because she’d seduced him.
           Apparently, Miss Amy had purchased a stake
in that ill-favored gossip and disapproved. He’d thought about courting Amy
come the autumn, she was a sweet girl, a fresh faced eighteen with apple
colored lips and a gentle disposition, but the pinched expression she bestowed
on him told him that was a bad idea, now.
           It was a worse idea that he compared her
fresh, soft cheeks to Scarlett’s more refined features and fiery temper.
Scarlett didn’t hesitate to meet his eyes, even as shame and embarrassment
deepened the ruddy pink of her skin. She’d maintained her defiance, her raw
spirit and strength.
           Amy was sun-ripened fruit, ready to fall
from the tree, but likely just as easily to bruise.
           Scarlett was made of sterner stuff. Even
ill, overcome with burning fever and wild hallucinations, calling out in a
tongue he knew was Native American, she’d still seemed strong, vibrant,
exquisite.
           Desirable.
           Sam scowled at the direction of his
thoughts. He let the chair he was leaning back in thump to the boardwalk. The
sun was sinking below the western horizon, flaring a brilliant red and orange.
His body hardened, complaining, he longed to saddle Corona, ride for