kiss on his soft nose, she couldn’t help but look up and gaze at Marcus’s handsome face one last time. She felt a shudder rip through her at the intense look in his eyes. Her chest rose and fell as she took short, labored breaths, knowing full well her tears shone in her eyes.
“Marcus,” she managed to say, “I hope you find what you’re looking for. And… and I hope you find a… woman who makes you happy.”
Unable to stay a moment longer, she turned and ran out of the stables. She didn’t stop until she was locked in her room above the general store, crying her eyes out on her pillow. Shirley snored in her bed, blissfully unaware of it all.
~ * ~
Marcus raced across the desert. He didn’t know where he was going and didn’t care. Melissa’s final words had ripped through his heart with a vengeance. He needed to run--he needed to forget--but, try as he might, the hot desert winds and the merciless sun did nothing to erase Melissa’s scent from his memory or her smile from his soul.
After what seemed an eternity, he slowed Pete down gradually, stopping in the shade of a nearby copse of trees. He was nearing the foothills surrounding Gideon’s Gulch, but he needed to stop and water his horse. Cursing foully, he jumped down and grabbed his water, stroking the horse’s soft nose.
Pete was covered in foam, and Marcus cursed again. He should know better than to run his horse aground in such hot weather. After taking off his saddle and bridle, Marcus rubbed him down as well, deciding to settle in under the shade of trees for the rest of the day. His stomach growled fiercely but he ignored it, sitting cross-legged on the ground and scowling at nothing in particular. The big black horse nudged his shoulder a few times, and Marcus reached up to stroke his face.
“Did I do the right thing, Pete? I’m not sure I did.”
The horse chuffed and tossed his head a few times as if in answer.
“Lissa is the only woman I’ve ever wanted to make love with night after night. She’s the only woman who isn’t afraid to stand up to me.”
Bending his head low, Pete cropped some weeds out of the ground and chewed.
“But this is for the best. It has to be. Lissa doesn’t want a man like me for a husband. If she ever knew…” He shuddered at the memory that tore through him: Women screaming, children crying, rapid gunshots ringing in his ears until he had to cover them with his hands. Tears he couldn’t stop fell down his cheeks as he remembered her face--the little girl’s face. Vacant eyes peering up at him, her life snuffed out before it had even begun.
More visions from that horrible day bombarded him--his gold star pinned proudly to his chest as he confronted the masked bank robbers in their bid for freedom. But he hadn’t thought they’d open fire on him in the middle of a crowded street. Suddenly, his own gun was drawn, returning their fire and killing three of the five bandits. The other two high-tailed it out of town, the money bags they’d stolen lying forgotten on the ground.
That was when he’d heard the woman’s piercing scream. Her daughter was dead, hit in the chest by his ricocheting bullet. The little girl, not much older than four years old, lay dead.
As Marcus ran to console her mother, the other deputies unmasked the bandits and cried out in shock. There, lying in a pool of blood, was Matthew McCaide, Marcus’s younger brother. He’d somehow gotten himself mixed up with a notorious gang from Oklahoma and now lay dead in the street--dead from Marcus’s own gun.
The pain had been too much to bear then, and even now it ripped through him mercilessly. Marcus couldn’t forgive himself, so how could he expect Lissa to forgive him for taking the life of a little girl and killing his own brother? She’d look at him in disgust; and she’d want nothing more to do with him.
No, this was for the best. After watching that poor child die, Marcus had no inclinations to be a family man. How
“Marcus,” she managed to say, “I hope you find what you’re looking for. And… and I hope you find a… woman who makes you happy.”
Unable to stay a moment longer, she turned and ran out of the stables. She didn’t stop until she was locked in her room above the general store, crying her eyes out on her pillow. Shirley snored in her bed, blissfully unaware of it all.
~ * ~
Marcus raced across the desert. He didn’t know where he was going and didn’t care. Melissa’s final words had ripped through his heart with a vengeance. He needed to run--he needed to forget--but, try as he might, the hot desert winds and the merciless sun did nothing to erase Melissa’s scent from his memory or her smile from his soul.
After what seemed an eternity, he slowed Pete down gradually, stopping in the shade of a nearby copse of trees. He was nearing the foothills surrounding Gideon’s Gulch, but he needed to stop and water his horse. Cursing foully, he jumped down and grabbed his water, stroking the horse’s soft nose.
Pete was covered in foam, and Marcus cursed again. He should know better than to run his horse aground in such hot weather. After taking off his saddle and bridle, Marcus rubbed him down as well, deciding to settle in under the shade of trees for the rest of the day. His stomach growled fiercely but he ignored it, sitting cross-legged on the ground and scowling at nothing in particular. The big black horse nudged his shoulder a few times, and Marcus reached up to stroke his face.
“Did I do the right thing, Pete? I’m not sure I did.”
The horse chuffed and tossed his head a few times as if in answer.
“Lissa is the only woman I’ve ever wanted to make love with night after night. She’s the only woman who isn’t afraid to stand up to me.”
Bending his head low, Pete cropped some weeds out of the ground and chewed.
“But this is for the best. It has to be. Lissa doesn’t want a man like me for a husband. If she ever knew…” He shuddered at the memory that tore through him: Women screaming, children crying, rapid gunshots ringing in his ears until he had to cover them with his hands. Tears he couldn’t stop fell down his cheeks as he remembered her face--the little girl’s face. Vacant eyes peering up at him, her life snuffed out before it had even begun.
More visions from that horrible day bombarded him--his gold star pinned proudly to his chest as he confronted the masked bank robbers in their bid for freedom. But he hadn’t thought they’d open fire on him in the middle of a crowded street. Suddenly, his own gun was drawn, returning their fire and killing three of the five bandits. The other two high-tailed it out of town, the money bags they’d stolen lying forgotten on the ground.
That was when he’d heard the woman’s piercing scream. Her daughter was dead, hit in the chest by his ricocheting bullet. The little girl, not much older than four years old, lay dead.
As Marcus ran to console her mother, the other deputies unmasked the bandits and cried out in shock. There, lying in a pool of blood, was Matthew McCaide, Marcus’s younger brother. He’d somehow gotten himself mixed up with a notorious gang from Oklahoma and now lay dead in the street--dead from Marcus’s own gun.
The pain had been too much to bear then, and even now it ripped through him mercilessly. Marcus couldn’t forgive himself, so how could he expect Lissa to forgive him for taking the life of a little girl and killing his own brother? She’d look at him in disgust; and she’d want nothing more to do with him.
No, this was for the best. After watching that poor child die, Marcus had no inclinations to be a family man. How
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