Marshal of Hel Dorado Read Free

he filled Cob in and damn near ran across the street.
           The woman was a thief. She’d likely be hung
as soon as the territorial judge made his rounds.
           Sam fixed his Stetson on his head and
re-entered the bank. The manager was already there, the vault door wide open
and a look of abject horror etched into his face.
          Unsurprisingly,
the gold was gone.
           All of it.
           Sam gritted his teeth.
           How the hell had the gang pulled this off?

Chapter
Two
           S carlett
Morning Star exhaled a long, slow breath as the Marshal abandoned her to the
cell. The man’s tough as boot leather exterior was softened only by the
kindness in his brown eyes. She’d resented watching the town all day long from
the hills to the north, allowed no more than a passing glimpse of the ladies in
their tailored dresses, the cowpokes kicking up the dust and even the
shopkeepers in their odd little vest and trouser outfits, far too soft for
working the ranges with ropes, rocks and rattlesnakes.
           After two weeks of hard riding, skirting
towns and seeing no one other than her brothers, Scarlett wondered why she’d
bothered. The Marshal catching her was unfortunate, but also thrilling. His
voice was warm, the hot sun baking the rocks in Hawk’s Canyon. His skin was
warmer, kissed by the sun, but not baked to leather. He handled his colt with
comfort and his hand on her arm promised wild strength, but not once had his
fingers bitten into her flesh.
           A curious twist had knotted up her insides.
Her brothers would be back to fetch her at any moment, but she wanted to stay.
She wanted to get to know the Marshal. To spend time with him, talk to him and
maybe, just maybe, earn a smile.
           The door to the Marshal’s office opened,
admitting a dark-skinned man sporting the gray kiss of the elders at his
temples. Scarlett straightened her posture, dropping her hands down to rest on
her thighs. It was one thing to taunt the Marshal.
           A frown rolled the wrinkles of the black
man’s forehead together. Like the Marshal, he was dressed in a button down
muslin shirt with the tails tucked into a pair of denim britches.
           Instead of a leather vest though, he
sported a pair of dark suspenders and a scattergun rather than a gun belt and
pistol.
          “Ma’am.”
The black man nodded. “Folks around these parts call me, Cob. The Marshal asked
me to look in on you.” He said the last with a half-grin that spoke of adult
humor where the youths were concerned. Quanto wore the same expression when the
boys started knocking each other around.
           “Mr. Cob.” Scarlett sat forward, clasping
her hands together. The man’s accent was populated by long, Yankee vowels.
She’d heard them before from a Union Colonel visiting Quanto. He drew out ma’am
the same way, his speech slowing with just a hint of awkwardness.
           “Just Cob. No mister about it.” The man
shuttered the office door and glanced out the smoky glass to the dark street
beyond.
           “Yes, sir.” She bobbed her head. If the
elder wanted to be called Cob, she’d oblige.
           “And what do folks call you, ma’am?” There
was ease to the question. He roamed the room, his knees turned out just
slightly, from too many years in a saddle. Despite the comfort of the rifle at
his shoulder, his fingers hooked faintly, the knuckles thickened and bulbous.
           She opened her mouth to answer, but paused
to consider the implications. They could hardly track her by her given name,
but Cody and the boys were adamant that she not speak to strangers, much less
tell them anything about herself.
           But Cody and the boys weren’t here and it
would be disrespectful to refuse the elder’s question.
           “Scarlett, sir.”
           “Pleased to meet you, Miss Scarlett.”
Wrinkles rippled across his face as he smiled. “And