Capturing The Marshal's Heart (Escape From Texas) Read Free Page B

pushed and shoved for the chance to carry her lunch pail. Not when Billy Weston stood up to his mean, scary daddy to court her. Not even in her terrifying first week as a fifteen-year-old new to the life in Miss Veronica’s. A soul-numbing experience that taught her to count on no one but herself.
    With a groan, she sagged against the rough-planked building, banging her forehead with both fists. Dumb, dumb, dumb! What had she just done? Her actions had not been those of a genteel lady. Of course, he’d lit out like his boots were on fire. Any proper gentleman would.
    Alone with a male above the age of puberty for only a few minutes and her basest instincts had taken over. In truth, her old habits had run full steam ahead from the moment that particular man had boarded the stage. Before he’d opened his mouth to greet the others, she’d started sizing him up—judging his worth by the cut of his clothes and the way he conducted himself—and set her askin’ price. The longer she’d watched, the more she’d been tempted to cut him a bargain deal. In her experience, a good-looking male in possession of God-given parts in such fine shape didn’t happen by very often. Her willpower wasn’t strong enough to keep her away.
    “Stagecoach is heading out.”
    Pete’s voice drifted into her thoughts, and she shook her head.
    He stood at the corner of the building and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “All passengers must board now.”
    Huffing short breaths through tight lips, Jazzy squared her shoulders and stomped off toward the stage. She had to put that part of her life behind her. Time to concentrate on her future—a future that involved traveling to a mountain city and opening her own shop.
    A hand smoothed along the fabric and patted the folds of her skirt, checking for the coins sewn into her petticoat. A sigh of relief escaped. As long as she had her money, everything would be okay.
    She rounded the corner of the building and spotted Pete standing beside the open door of the coach. Mr. Thomas must already be aboard. Her steps immediately shortened. She didn’t feel up to sharing the small space with that handsome but infuriating man. At the very thought, she became aware of a most unexpected heat rising up her neck and into her cheeks. Embarrassment? Not likely. Expectation? Out of the question!
    Pete waved her forward. “There ye be, missy. Thought you’d figured on waitin’ fer the next coach.”
    Well, shi--, saints be praised . Hope bubbled in her chest and she stopped a few steps from the door. “There’s another one? When?”
    The driver scratched his chin. “In four days.”
    Her shoulders slumped. “Oh.” As much as she wanted to avoid seeing or speaking to Mr. Thomas, she wanted to get on with her new life more.
    “Driver!” Mrs. Harrington stuck her head out the doorway and narrowed her gaze at Jazzy. Her plump lips rounded into an “o” and an eyebrow winged high. “Are we still on schedule?”
    Pete’s wiry hand at Jazzy’s elbow guided her into the coach. Being last meant she was wedged in the middle between the shy, quiet woman dressed in faded calico and the older gentleman.
    “Close enough, Miz Harrington.” Pete crossed his arms and rocked back on the heels of his boots. “Folks, I allowed a bit more time at this stop and may do the same for the next one. Been some trouble at the home station on down the line. Bandits stole the reserve horses, so we may have to stop for the night.”
    “Bandits!” Several voices chorused together and bodies leaned forward.
    Jazzy gasped, her hands freezing in the folds of her skirts. Thieves in the night! A knot formed in her stomach. Her money. On sheer instinct, her gaze swung to Slade, the most powerful of the group, and she studied his face for a reaction. His jaw tightened, but otherwise, his face appeared calm. The tightness in her chest eased.
    Slade’s hand gripped the window frame. “Anyone hurt?”
    At the realization she looked at