The Lawman Said I Do Page 8

  What were they up to now? Common sense told him to keep going, but it was his duty to assist the townsfolk.

  Colt went over to them. “What’s going on?” He looked up into the branches and immediately recognized Cassie’s long legs and trim rear end. His breath caught in his throat. She must have been fifty feet above them.

  “Cassie, what in hell are you doing up there?”

  She turned her head and looked down at him. “Enjoying the view.”

  The view he was looking at made him feel horny as hell.

  “She’s trying to get Purr,” Sam said.

  “Let me guess. Purr’s a cat.”

  Petey looked like he was about to cry.

  “Cassie, get down here before you fall and break your neck,” Colt ordered. The damn fool woman was determined to kill herself somehow.

  “Is Cassie gonna get killed?” Petey whimpered and burst into tears.

  Sam got down on her knees and hugged him. She gave Colt a scathing glare. “Now look what you did. You made him cry!”

  “I’ve got him!” Cassie shouted from above. She tried to turn around to climb down, but her hand slid off the branch and she lost her footing. She managed to grab a branch and hang there with one hand holding the branch and the other, the kitten.

  “Hold on, Cassie, don’t try to move.”

  Colt leaped up and grabbed one of the lower limbs, then swung himself up. He worked his way from limb to limb up the tree as she dangled, her feet unable to make contact with a limb strong enough to hold her.

  He finally reached her and braced his feet firmly on a branch below her, his back propped against the trunk. Satisfied the limb would take Cassie’s weight too, he reached up and grasped her around the waist with both hands.

  “All right now, let go of the branch.”

  “I’ll fall.”

  “No, you won’t. I’ve got a secure hold on you. Let go of the branch, Cassie,” he repeated firmly.

  Reluctantly she released her one-handed grasp on the limb, and he lowered her to the branch he was on. “Now, lock your arms around my neck and hold on.”

  “How can I? I’m holding the kitten.”

  “Tuck the kitten into the front of your shirt. My brothers and I did that all the time when we snuck cats into the house.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Like you did when you climbed up here?”

  “I didn’t ask you to climb up to get me. I can get down myself.”

  “Yeah, head first. Tuck the damn cat in your shirt.”

  She opened a couple of buttons on her shirt and put the kitten inside, then closed one of the buttons to hold it in place.

  At the thought of the kitten snuggled against her breasts, his frustration escalated. Even a damn cat got a shot at that forbidden hunting ground!

  “Now put your arms around my neck.”

  “I can make it down myself, now that both of my hands are free.”

  “Cassie,” he said through clenched teeth, “put your arms around my neck.” She did as told. “Now hold on.”

  With her hanging off his back like a knapsack, Colt worked his way down from limb to limb until he reached a sturdy one ten feet above the ground.

  “Now lower yourself and straddle it.”

  Once in place, they both inched their way along the branch until there was no obstruction between the end of the limb and the ground.

  “You can release your stranglehold from around my neck,” he said.

  Cassie dropped her arms and clamped her hands around the tree limb between her legs.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was holding on so tightly.”

  “Give me the kitten. Or would you prefer I get it?”

  His mouth went dry when she dug into the front of her shirt and pulled out the curled-up bundle, then handed it to him. He could swear the damn cat was smiling.

  Colt put the kitten inside his own shirt. “Now just hold on for a minute.” He clasped the limb and lowered his legs, dangled there for several seconds, then let go and dropped to the ground.

  The three children rushed over and took the cat from him. Then Colt raised his arms to her. “Let go.”

  “You’re in my way.”

  “I intend to catch you.”

  “How can you? You’ve got a sore shoulder.”

  “Trust me, Cassie. Just let go.”

  She closed her eyes and let go. The strength of his arms enfolded her before she hit the ground.

  Colt put her down, and the three children hopped around her joyously. He slumped down on the ground to catch a second wind.

  He’d survived four years of war and another year of Restoration, but between Cassie and the three sprouts, he’d never last the week.

  “Colt, your wound’s bleeding!” Cassie said, seeing a red stain spreading across the front of his white shirt. “Let’s get you to the doctor’s office. Are you strong enough to walk?”

  Colt rose to his feet. His shoulder ached like hell, and he didn’t have the strength to even raise his arm. His groin felt tied in a knot, from having her body pressed against his on the way down, but if it took his last breath, he would walk away on his own.

  And he was angry. His physical frustration had been channeled into anger.

  “Miss Braden, I’m sure that someday I’ll be able to look back on my experiences here and manage to laugh. But not today.”

  With shoulders squared and head held high, Colt left them standing there, all speechless.

  Cassie felt a painful tug at her heart as she watched him walk away. She had grown to like him and enjoy his company. He’d been honest with her from the start, about his intentions toward her and the fact that he would be leaving Arena Roja soon.

  Under other circumstances she’d find the situation amusing, but she resented it, because deep down, his attention excited her. And she shouldn’t allow it to; it was being unfaithful to Ted.

  “Sam, what have you kids been up to that has made Deputy Fraser so angry?”

  “Bowie put Leaper in his bathwater,” she said.

  “I see,” she said with a stern frown at the boy.

  “You’re the one who put the cockroach on his pancakes,” Bowie declared.

  “A cockroach!”

  “It was just a little one,” Sam said, and glared at Bowie. “Must you blab everything?”

  Bowie’s eyes looked larger than ever behind his spectacles. “Well, you did. Right on his plate.”

  “Yeah, on his plate,” Petey said.

  Cassie shook her head, frowning. “I’m very disappointed in you children. First the trick pulled on him with Midnight—”

  “That wasn’t our fault. We even tried to stop him,” Sam quickly said in their defense.

  “And then you called for his hanging as a horse thief. What else do you have in mind for Mr. Fraser?”

  “We ain’t thought of anything yet,” Sam said.

  “Oh, yes, we have,” Petey said.

  Bowie looked contrite. “We won’t do nothing else if you don’t want us to, Cassie.”

  “You had no cause to do anything to him at all, children, and I would hope you don’t want to anymore.”

  “Are you mad, Cassie?” Petey asked, his little chin quivering with the threat of tears.

  “No, sweetheart. I just hope you’re through playing these pranks.”

  She would have to apologize to Colt for everything. “You children stay out of trouble, and keep Purr away from trees.”

  Her face scrunched into a frown, Sam sat beneath the tree, crossed her legs under her, propped her elbows on her knees, and rested her chin in her hands. Bowie and Petey sat on each side of her and assumed the same position.

  “What do you think we should do, Sam?” Bowie asked.

  The frown deepened on Sam’s freckled face. “I don’t know. We’ve got some serious thinking to do.”

  “Yeah, ser’ous thinkin’,” Petey agreed. He looked at his brother. “Whatta we got to th
ink ser’ous ’bout, Bowie?”

  “We could tell Mr. Fraser we’re sorry,” Bowie said, shoving back the spectacles that had slid down his nose.

  “I don’t think he’d believe us,” Sam reflected.

  “I suppose so.”

  “Yeah, s’pose so,” Petey agreed, mirroring the others’ frowns.

  After a long moment, Sam jumped to her feet. “I’ve got it! First, we won’t put Slinky in the deputy’s bed tonight like we planned to do. That will make Cassie happy.”

  “I’m glad,” Bowie said. “He might have killed Slinky when he saw him.”

  Sam snorted. “Why would he kill a grass snake?”

  “’Cause the snake was in his bed and not in the grass.”

  “Well, maybe you’re right,” Sam conceded.

  “And then what are we gonna do?” Bowie asked.

  “Hmmm.” Sam began to pace. “We gotta do something nice to him.”

  “We could show him Slinky and tell him that we changed our minds about putting it in his bed. That would show him how nice we are,” Bowie offered.

  “I’ve got it!” Sam exclaimed. “We’ll give him Slinky as a gift.”

  “Slinky’s our pet,” Petey said.

  Bowie put an arm around his little brother’s shoulders. “We’ve got lots of pets, Petey. Poor Mr. Fraser ain’t got none.”

  “Can’t we catch a different snake and give it to him?” Petey asked, pouting.

  Sam sat down beside him and clasped his hand. “That wouldn’t be the same as giving him something we care about.”

  “Okay,” Petey said with a heavy sigh.

  “Good. Let’s go and find a box. We’ll wrap it up real nice with paper and a bow,” Sam said.

  The three children raced back to the hotel.

  Cassie returned home to freshen up for the church meeting before the annual social. She put on a plain white blouse and black skirt, but wore her usual hat and boots.

  Once outside, she scanned the street for a glimpse of Colt. She wanted to apologize to him before the meeting began.

  Seeing no sign of him, she hurried to the doctor’s office. Dr. Williams said he’d changed the dressing on Colt’s shoulder and Colt had left. He had appeared to be fine.

  Next she headed for the jail. Her father told her Colt had been there a short time ago. When she left the jail, she hailed Jeff, who was coming out of the Alhambra with Bob and Glen Callum, his best friends.

  “Jeff, is Colt Fraser inside?”

  “No. What do you want that deputy for?” Jeff asked contemptuously.

  “I have something to tell him,” she replied as she walked away.

  “Well, tell him something for me, too,” Jeff called, producing a laugh from his companions.

  “Be sure and save me a dance tonight, Cassie,” Bob Callum called out to her as she hurried away.

  “Yeah, when Hell freezes over,” she mumbled under her breath.

  As a last resort, she went to the hotel, peeked into the dining room, then approached the desk.

  “Haven’t seen him, Cassie,” Dan James said. “And his key is still in the pigeonhole.”

  Where could he have disappeared to? After another ten minutes of searching unsuccessfully she heard the church bell ring, so she had to give up. She’d apologize to him later.

  What was she doing? Watching Cassie hurry from one spot to another, Colt leaned back against the wall as he sat on the floor of the hotel balcony outside his window. He almost hadn’t recognized her in a skirt and blouse. If it hadn’t been for her hat and long auburn braid, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed her among the people who had crowded into the town.

  Why had he gotten so angry over the tree incident? It wasn’t like him to lose his temper. And why should he care if she wanted to break her neck? He’d be gone in less than a week and never see her again.

  But for some damn fool reason, it mattered. From the time he’d met her, the woman had fascinated him—and for some reason other than just the challenge to get her into bed.

  How many women did he know who’d risk their lives climbing up a tree to save a kitten? Back home, women just didn’t climb trees. As a kid, his sister Lissy used to, to keep up with him and his brothers, until the day their mom had found out. The stern talk that had followed had convinced Lissy that it was improper and unladylike.

  Everything about Cassie Braden was improper and unladylike: her masculine dress, her feisty attitude.

  Even the way she’d candidly discussed his intentions toward her the other night. A proper lady would never discuss such a topic openly with a gentleman. She might giggle behind a fan, or appear indignant, but no proper lady would ever come right out and call a spade a spade.

  Colt couldn’t help smiling. Of course, Cassie would tell him that a proper gentleman wouldn’t have such intentions to begin with.

  She might not be a proper lady, but she was one fascinating female.

  The smartest thing would be to figure out how in hell he was to keep away from her until he rode out of there.

  But he knew damn well that she was a glowing flame and he was a moth dead set on becoming incinerated.

  Chapter 8

  After entering his room by the window to freshen up and change his shirt, Colt went downstairs to retrieve the key to lock his door.

  “Cassie Braden was here a short time ago looking for you,” Dan James said, handing Colt his room key.

  “Looking for me, or gunning for me?” Colt asked.

  James laughed but said, “She appeared worried, Colt.”

  “Did she say what she wanted me for?”

  “No, but she kept her gun in its holster.”

  Dan James and his wife, Nina, seemed to be good people; Colt couldn’t understand how they could raise such unholy terrors for children.

  “Thanks, I’ll look for her.”

  “You’ll most likely find her at church now,” Dan said.

  Colt returned to his room, locked the window so those dratted kids couldn’t sneak in his room for more tricks, locked the door, then headed down to the jail.

  The door was unlocked, and Colt sat down to study the Wanted posters piled up on the desk.

  A short time later the sheriff returned. The two men talked for a short time, then Jethro decided to go home to take a nap.

  “You’d be wise to take one, too, Colt,” he said. “In a couple hours the social will start, and it’ll be a long day. Come nightfall, we’ll be haulin’ some of them boys in here to sleep it off.”

  “I thought the town had an ordinance against selling beer or alcohol on Sundays.”

  “It has,” Jethro said. “That’s why the beer’s free for the social. See you later, son.”

  It was high noon and hotter than Hades when Colt stepped outside again. Since it was siesta time, the street had emptied and businesses had closed up for the next two hours. Most of the merchants would remain closed so that all could enjoy the social.

  Colt was surprised to see Cassie and the three sprouts reading a notice announcing a cooking contest during the social.

  “So, Miss Braden, as competitive as you are, I’m sure you’ll be entering the dessert contest,” Colt said. “What will you be making?”

  Jeff Braden, who was lounging nearby, overheard him and broke into laughter. “Miss I-Can’t-Boil-Water enters a cooking contest! That’s funny, Fraser.”

  Cassie glared at her brother. Couldn’t he keep his big mouth shut for once? It was none of Colt Fraser’s business whether she could cook or not.

  “I don’t see you entering any shooting contests,” she retorted. “For your information, Mr. I-Can’t-Hit-the-Broad-Side-of-a-Barn, I’ve already entered the contest. Let’s go, children.”

  “Did you really enter the cooking contest, Cassie?” Sam asked when they were out of earshot.

  “Of course not.”

  “Then why’d you say you did?” Bowie asked. “Jeff and the deputy will only laugh again when they find out you were lying.�
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  “I guess I’ll just have to enter the contest. It says partners can enter. I’ll get Cathy to help me.”

  “What are you gonna make, Cassie?” Bowie asked.

  “Whatever Cathy thinks best.”

  Her sister was in the kitchen when they rushed into the house. “Cathy, I need your help.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Our big-mouth brother goaded me into saying I’m entering the cooking contest.”

  “Oh, Cassie, why did you let him?”

  “Because he did it in front of Colt Fraser, and I wasn’t about to back down with those two laughing at me. Anyway, the rules say that two people can work together, so I thought you and I could be partners.”

  “I’ve already agreed to make a chocolate cake with Rosalie Murphy. I’m sorry, Cassie.”

  “What are you gonna do now, Cassie?” Sam asked.

  Desperation called for desperate action. She stared at the young girl. “You and I will be partners, Sam. Your mom’s the best cook in town; go get her recipe for that tea cake with the caramel icing. That can win any contest. Meanwhile, I’ll go and register us.”

  Bowie shook his head. “Something tells me this is gonna be disastrous.”

  With a shake of his blond-thatched head, Petey mimicked his brother. “Yeah, ’sasterus.”

  At two o’clock the streets began to fill again. As he passed through the streets, Colt thought to himself that he hadn’t shaken so many hands since the day he’d said good-bye to his comrades-in-arms in the war.

  The social was being held behind the church. Sides of beef, legs of mutton, racks of ribs, and wild turkeys were roasting on a dozen spits. Beans and potatoes bubbled in cast-iron pots on fires, and he inhaled the tantalizing smell of baking bread.

  Platters of steaming tortillas filled with ground meat and cheese, bowls of tasty corn and pickle relishes, potato salads, plates of deviled eggs, and jars of spicy tomato sauces with onions and peppers were set out on tables. Many of the men were clustered around the beer kegs and the women, the lemonade, while the children chased each other around.

  Spectators sat on blankets spread out around a roped-off area, where two dozen teams of women stood behind small, brick-enclosed cooking fires erected in a square. A metal grate was set atop each fire, with a small reflector oven on each grate.