Marshal of Hel Dorado by Heather Long Read Free Book Online

     Her arguments died a swift death on her
tongue as she gaped at it. It was at least three stories high with white
columns and a sweeping veranda. It was bright white against the green backdrop.
Trees lined the path leading up to the circular drive around a center of grass,
flowers and stone benches.
           “Welcome to Molly’s,” Sam whispered the
words against her ear. Excitement dimpled her cheeks.
           “It’s beautiful.”
           “That it is.”
           “But it’s so big.”
           “Our mother was from Virginia,” Micah explained
having caught them up. His expression promised his brother retribution, but
Scarlett was grateful they didn’t start that tussle with her right there in the
middle. “Our Pa met her on a horse trading visit. Sparked her. Courted her and
then brought her west after he married her.”
           “He built this house for her.” A soft spot
grew between her ribs. What a terrifically romantic and thoughtful gesture.
           “Yes.” Even Sam’s gruffness was tempered by
affection. “He didn’t want her to miss her home, so he sent word ahead with
some riders. They had the frame up and the first floor done by the time he
brought her home. The second floor was finished by the time I was born.”
           “And the third just in time for my birth,”
Micah flashed that easy grin again. The morning sun dappled the ground under
the shade trees, giving it an almost mystical quality. Scarlett’s gaze traveled
from the house to the trees to the buoyant spray of color that made up the
flowers around the stone benches in the center of the circular drive.
           Between two trees she glimpsed a white
tombstone. It sat right at the edge of the stream that paralleled the main
path, just below a giant weeping willow whose dipping branches touched the top
of the water, like fingers, gently stirring the stream up.
           She knew without asking that was where Miss
Molly was buried, nestled safe under the shade of a tree, at the edge of a
stream with a grand view of the home built for her and the rich landscape that
rolled out around it.
           A knot tightened her throat and Scarlett
sighed. Their father must have really loved their mother, because Scarlett had
never before seen anything so grand, elegant and beautiful. They rode out from
beneath the trees and circled the green garden, careful never to put horse hoof
to the rich, virgin grass. A wide pair of double doors opened before the horses
even came to a stop.
           Scarlett sucked in a breath at the man who
stepped out to greet them. He was Sam in twenty or thirty years. Tall,
broad-shouldered and square jawed. His face, leathery from years in the sun,
was clean-shaven and his hair was close cropped silver and white. His shirt was
expensive cotton, off white and tucked loosely into a pair of well-worn denim
britches. Ancient boots showed their polished age on his feet. He strode out
across the veranda, descending the three steps to the drive without pause.
           Sam drew Corona to a stop with Micah
lagging behind a pace or two.
           “Pa.”
           “Samuel.” The man’s voice boomed, low and
earthy, like thunder rumbling across the prairie. But it wasn’t Sam he was
looking at and Scarlett felt herself shrinking under his regard.
           The man didn’t slow until he arrived at
their side. He pulled a knife from his belt and reached for the rope at her
wrists. Flame threatened to engulf her fingertips as the steel flashed so
closely to them, but the ropes just fell away at the touch of the knife, blood
rushing painfully back into her numb hands.
           “Pa, she’s a prisoner.”
           “She’s a lady and I brought my sons up
better than to be tying women to horses and dragging them out half the night on
a ride. You set her down here this instant.”
           Behind them Micah snickered, which only
earned him