The Marshal Takes a Bride. Renee Ryan
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Taunting her. Mocking her. Far worse than any whispered attempts at hurting her with untrue accusations.
Frantic for some relief, she wove her way between the desks and trekked toward the supply closet in the back of the building. After lighting a lantern, she carried it with her into the dark, tiny room.
Katherine’s trademark military-style order was reflected here as well. Inkwells, writing tablets and fresh sticks of chalk marched in straight rows along the lower two shelves on her left. More writing tablets were stacked on the upper shelves, along with rulers and other miscellaneous supplies.
Katherine set down the lantern and breathed in the comforting scent of books and paper. She ran her fingertip across the cold inkwells, and then along the smooth book spines. But even here, in her favorite refuge, thoughts of Trey Scott threatened her peace of mind.
What if she hadn’t flinched from his touch? Would such a man ever be able to give her the genuine caring and devotion she secretly craved, in spite of what others thought of her?
She was only kidding herself with dreams of the impossible. No man would give her the love and respect that another, untainted woman deserved. Her attacker, and the subsequent response from the townspeople, had shown Katherine exactly what her value was in this world.
Anyone who trusts God will never be put to shame.
The verse from Romans swept through her mind, giving her the reassurance she sought. Ever since that dark night, Katherine had turned to God as her salvation. And she’d always found peace in His shelter.
His opinion was all that mattered. Today would be no exception. Instead of feeling sorry for herself, she would take a quick inventory of her supplies.
She focused her attention of the rows of Michel’s Geography and The Pilgrim’s Progress on her right. Looking forward to the mind-numbing task, she dropped to the floor and began counting the books on the bottom shelves first. She had to bend all the way over in order to reach the books nudged in the farthest back corner.
“Ten, eleven, twelve.” She jabbed at the last one. “That makes thirteen. I’ll definitely have to order more this week.”
“Well, now.” The familiar drawl dropped through the stuffy air and skidded down the back of Katherine’s neck. “This is by far the most interesting sight I’ve seen all morning.”
Katherine jerked upward and promptly thumped her head against the shelf above her. “Don’t you know how to knock?”
A masculine chuckle was Trey’s only response.
She tried twisting around but only managed to bang her head on the shelf again.
“Careful now.”
She quickly flipped over, sat up and hugged her knees against her chest. Huddled in a tight ball, she had to look up—and up farther still—in order to bestow her indignation upon the man.
“Ma’am.” He whipped off his hat and bowed. “Always a pleasure.”
From her vantage point, the brute appeared more mountain than man. “Isn’t there a rule or code or something against sneaking up on unsuspecting women?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Probably. But I think I skipped that day at lawman’s school.”
“You are a mule-headed—”
“Stubborn pig.” A touch of mischief danced in his eyes. “Or so I’ve been told a time or two.”
In this lighthearted mood, with his face clean-shaven and his hair damp on the ends, Trey Scott was far more dangerous than he had been the day before.
This time, however, she would not give in to her fear of him. She would not. The neighbor ladies had caught her at a weak moment this morning. Trey Scott would not be given the same chance. “You’ve only heard that once or twice?”
He laughed, the gesture swiping ten years off his features. She didn’t like the way her stomach twisted in response. But from dread, or something else entirely? Disturbed by the direction of her thoughts, she dropped her gaze and instantly noticed he hadn’t worn his guns.
Come to think of it, he never wore the six-shooters when he came around the children. The consideration for their safety made him infinitely more likable.
The big, heartless brute.
It was so much easier to control her emotions around him when he acted like the mule-headed, stubborn pig he claimed to be. But Trey Scott had hidden depths that Katherine was only beginning to notice after their yearlong, precarious acquaintance.
Oh, Lord, what now?
“Are you going to sit down there all day?” he asked.
“Are you going to prove yourself a gentleman and help me up?”
The aggravating grin on his face widened as he flipped his hat onto one of the desks behind him. “Ask nicely.”
What gave Trey Scott the right to look so vital and handsome, like he was a hero out of a ridiculous dime novel? “Would you stop staring at me like…like…that?”
He rubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Are you taking a tone with me, Miss Taylor?”
His outrageous remark pushed her to stand on her own, but her foot tangled in her skirts, and she fell back down. “Oh, now look at what you’ve done.”
He angled his head at her. “For a good Christian woman, you have a pretty mean temper.”
“How absurd. Christian women get angry, too.”
“Obviously.”
She didn’t like this teasing side of him. What had happened to the Trey Scott who couldn’t go three sentences without arguing with her? That man she could handle.
“You can save the snide remarks, Marshal. And. Help. Me. Up.”
The light from the lantern flickered off the watch fob dangling from one of his vest buttons, blinding her for a moment.
“I wish you’d turn around again.” He drew out a long, dramatic sigh. “The other end didn’t bite.”
A seed of rebellion took hold of her. “Don’t forget, a bee keeps her stinger in her behind.”
His lips twitched. “Miss Taylor, I’m shocked!”
Panicked he might start laughing, and then get her started as well, she gave him her let’s-get-down-to-business look. “Marshal Scott—”
“Right, right. Help you up.”
Pushing from the wall, he reached out to her. Palm met palm, and…nothing. No fear. No terror. Just a pleasant warmth.
Then, when he shifted his hold slightly, all she felt in response was…
Contentment?
At that odd thought, a riot of confusion shot through her already addled brain, and she pulled on her hand. “Either help me up or let go.”
“Right.” With a flick of his wrist, he yanked her to her feet.
Quickly dropping her hand to her side, she took a careful step back and then straightened to her full height. Feeling remarkably out of her depth, she resorted to the one tactic that kept her on an even footing with the man. Antagonism.
“I don’t know why you’re here, but I refuse to continue trading insults with you today,” she said.
He had the nerve to look shocked by her words. “Is that what we’re doing? I thought we were getting on rather well. For us.”
She took a deep breath. “Step back please. So I can pass.”
His expression turned serious, concerned even, and he quickly did as she asked. “Of course.”
Right. Now he had to be heroic and honor her fears, like he had the