freight clerk took it. “And for handling things until I can get back on my feet.”
“Miss Thornton, you needn’t worry,” Caleb reassured her.
Under Trace’s watchful gaze, she offered him a smile. “Still, it goes beyond what you need to do.”
“I hope you’ll be back soon?” he replied, leaning forward.
Trace found himself searching the man’s hands, looking for a wedding ring.
“I plan on coming in sometime tomorrow,” Mary Rose told him, “so we can begin to sort through this mess.”
Trace felt his blood rush to his ears. Had the woman gone loco? Did she think she could step into her brother’s boots and run a company? Holding himself in check, he placed a hand against her waist.
She turned.
“May I speak with you a minute, Miss Thornton?” he whispered and sent Gentry a proprietary glare. The clerk backed away. Trace turned his attention to the woman at his side. He watched those lush blue eyes search his face. For a moment, there were only the two of them. Then she looked away. He followed her gaze to the people moving toward the doorway.
“Can it wait?”
Trace looked at Gentry’s departing back. “No.”
Her eyes flared at his emphatic tone. A momentary look of confusion crossed her face. As quickly as it came, it was forgotten.
“Yes, of course,” she whispered, and stepped back.
With his hand upon her back, Trace guided Mary Rose through the throng, into the kitchen, and out the back door into the yard.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
Trace spied a bench partially hidden beneath the boughs of a willow tree. “Over there.” He motioned with his hand and escorted her to the bench. “Sit.”
She sat down and looked back. “What is so important, Marshal, that you brought me out here, away from my guests?”
“Miss Thornton,” he began, “Do you think it’s advisable to return to the freight office?”
The air filled with a stunned silence. “Excuse me?” she whispered. He detected a hint of laughter with her disbelief. When he didn’t speak, her eyebrow rose in mild contempt. Trace’s mouth pulled to a straight line.
“You have experienced the tragic loss of your brother, whom you clearly adored, not to mention being injured. Surely, you don’t expect to walk into—”
Her hostile glare stopped him cold. “Go on.”
He recognized the trace of contempt in her voice. Her eyes were cold and stormy, and he knew he stood on dangerous ground. But she was being pigheaded, and he intended to prove his point. “A freight office is a place where men hang out, rough men. The type of men who would walk over you as soon as look at you.”
She rose to her feet and stood nose to nose with him. The faint scent of vanilla surrounded them as, eyes ablaze, she lashed her words like a whip. “Don’t you dare tell me it’s not my right to work,” she hissed. “My brother may be dead, but I own that freight company. It is my blood, my sweat, my life!”
“Your life,” he scoffed. “Your death, Miss Thornton, if you keep up with this foolhardy attempt.”
She flashed him a look of disdain. “You pompous windbag.” Her nostrils flared and color crept into her cheeks. “Don’t you preach to me! I intend to honor my brother’s memory by making Thornton’s the best freight company in Texas.”
Her fire set his blood aflame. Any other woman would have run in the opposite direction. In defiance, she stepped closer, glaring up at him, the color of her eyes deepening from blue to deep indigo. In their depths a sparkling of fire leaped and could not go unchallenged. Unable to control his movements, Trace reached out and grasped her by the waist, his broad hands nearly spanning her middle.
“Oh, yes.” His words tumbled over his lips, deep, throaty, and laced with desire. “You’ll make a name for yourself. Every unmarried man, every scoundrel, and every hot blood in southwest Texas will turn up on your doorstep. They will watch the tilt of your head, the sway of
“Miss Thornton, you needn’t worry,” Caleb reassured her.
Under Trace’s watchful gaze, she offered him a smile. “Still, it goes beyond what you need to do.”
“I hope you’ll be back soon?” he replied, leaning forward.
Trace found himself searching the man’s hands, looking for a wedding ring.
“I plan on coming in sometime tomorrow,” Mary Rose told him, “so we can begin to sort through this mess.”
Trace felt his blood rush to his ears. Had the woman gone loco? Did she think she could step into her brother’s boots and run a company? Holding himself in check, he placed a hand against her waist.
She turned.
“May I speak with you a minute, Miss Thornton?” he whispered and sent Gentry a proprietary glare. The clerk backed away. Trace turned his attention to the woman at his side. He watched those lush blue eyes search his face. For a moment, there were only the two of them. Then she looked away. He followed her gaze to the people moving toward the doorway.
“Can it wait?”
Trace looked at Gentry’s departing back. “No.”
Her eyes flared at his emphatic tone. A momentary look of confusion crossed her face. As quickly as it came, it was forgotten.
“Yes, of course,” she whispered, and stepped back.
With his hand upon her back, Trace guided Mary Rose through the throng, into the kitchen, and out the back door into the yard.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
Trace spied a bench partially hidden beneath the boughs of a willow tree. “Over there.” He motioned with his hand and escorted her to the bench. “Sit.”
She sat down and looked back. “What is so important, Marshal, that you brought me out here, away from my guests?”
“Miss Thornton,” he began, “Do you think it’s advisable to return to the freight office?”
The air filled with a stunned silence. “Excuse me?” she whispered. He detected a hint of laughter with her disbelief. When he didn’t speak, her eyebrow rose in mild contempt. Trace’s mouth pulled to a straight line.
“You have experienced the tragic loss of your brother, whom you clearly adored, not to mention being injured. Surely, you don’t expect to walk into—”
Her hostile glare stopped him cold. “Go on.”
He recognized the trace of contempt in her voice. Her eyes were cold and stormy, and he knew he stood on dangerous ground. But she was being pigheaded, and he intended to prove his point. “A freight office is a place where men hang out, rough men. The type of men who would walk over you as soon as look at you.”
She rose to her feet and stood nose to nose with him. The faint scent of vanilla surrounded them as, eyes ablaze, she lashed her words like a whip. “Don’t you dare tell me it’s not my right to work,” she hissed. “My brother may be dead, but I own that freight company. It is my blood, my sweat, my life!”
“Your life,” he scoffed. “Your death, Miss Thornton, if you keep up with this foolhardy attempt.”
She flashed him a look of disdain. “You pompous windbag.” Her nostrils flared and color crept into her cheeks. “Don’t you preach to me! I intend to honor my brother’s memory by making Thornton’s the best freight company in Texas.”
Her fire set his blood aflame. Any other woman would have run in the opposite direction. In defiance, she stepped closer, glaring up at him, the color of her eyes deepening from blue to deep indigo. In their depths a sparkling of fire leaped and could not go unchallenged. Unable to control his movements, Trace reached out and grasped her by the waist, his broad hands nearly spanning her middle.
“Oh, yes.” His words tumbled over his lips, deep, throaty, and laced with desire. “You’ll make a name for yourself. Every unmarried man, every scoundrel, and every hot blood in southwest Texas will turn up on your doorstep. They will watch the tilt of your head, the sway of
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