The Marshal Meets His Match Read Free

of tall tales, some saddle tramp just made Abe dump me at the gate and accused me of being a horse thief. Have you seen any drifters hanging around? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before, but the way my head was spinning from bumping that gate, I could be wrong.”
    Franks sounded choked when he spoke. “Real tall fella?”
    Wyatt had to swallow a chuckle of his own.
    “Yes…” She straightened slowly, watching Franks as she exited the stall. “Do you know who he is?”
    “He’s helpin’ out ‘roun’ here for a while,” Franks hedged, avoiding her eyes and looking straight into Wyatt’s.
    Wyatt laid a warning finger over his lips and moved on cat’s feet to stand behind her. He’d learned a thing or two about dealing with Apaches in his years as a cavalry soldier.
    “Franks, do you know anything about this man? What if he’s an outlaw on the run or something?”
    Franks’s dark eyes snapped. “Now, missy, I’se seen a lot of things in my time, and I knows how to read a man. I likes what I sees in this un. Just cuz you is upset over comin’ off old Abe don’ mean you can go accusin’ people a bein’ outlaws. Yo mama dun raise you better’n that!”
    Wyatt decided it was time to announce his presence before she accused him of any more crimes. “Hear, hear.” The violence of her startled jump almost made up for her attack on his character.
    She spun around, grabbing her head as she blinked rapidly. When she looked up at him, surprise widened her brown eyes, and she backed away. “Sneaking around, scaring a person out of their wits, doesn’t speak too highly of your character, Mr….”
    The prickles were back in full force. But he hadn’t become a captain in the U.S. Army Cavalry because it was easy. He could handle prickles. “Wyatt Cameron, Marshal of Little Creek, at your service.” He doffed his hat and dipped his head in a small nod.
    She stared then blinked like a sleepy owl. “The marshal?” Her eyes narrowed. “Where’s your badge?”
    He pointed to the vest he’d discarded earlier when he’d gotten warm in the barn. It lay over the edge of a stall, a five-pointed star glinting dully in the shadowy structure. “And might I add, you don’t seem too witless to me, ma’am.” He had a few prickles of his own. He also had years of military strategy and Apache fighting up his sleeve. Keeping the enemy on the run prevented them from launching a successful attack, even if the enemy was only a single diminutive female. Because a female on the run couldn’t chase him.
    “ Witless? What…? What are you talking about?”
    “You said I scared you out of your wits, but I think you’re just manner less not witless.”
    “Mannerless…?”
    If the confusion on her face was any indication, his military strategy was working. But never before had he had the desire to laugh when trading fire with hostile natives. “When a gentleman introduces himself, a lady is expected to reciprocate the gesture.”
    * * *
    There it was again! The tone that made it sound as if he was talking to a simpleton!
    Meri straightened to her full height, glaring at the man towering over her. She wasn’t short at five foot seven, but this man, his shoulders nearly as broad as Franks’s and standing several inches taller, made her feel unusually small. Now that he’d removed his hat, she could finally see his features.
    She sized up the irritating stranger. Thick wavy brown hair glinted with cinnamon highlights and framed a nicely put together face. Smiling hazel eyes were set under arched brows of the same brown hue as his hair. Sun-bronzed skin stretched over high, sculptured cheekbones and directed her eyes to a nose that looked to have been broken once. Firm lips tucked up at one corner in a lopsided grin set off a very determined chin.
    Glancing down, she noted a red neckerchief, faded blue shirt belted into dusty brown canvas duck-cloth trousers and well-broken-in boots. All of which clothed a broad