The Marshal Takes a Bride. Renee Ryan

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      “Stay close,” he said. “And keep your ears open. I may need your testimony, if he talks.”

      The deputy nodded.

      Forcing aside all emotion except uncompromising resolve, Trey moved deeper into the cell, kicked the leg of the bed. “Wake up.”

      The body stirred under the blanket.

      Trey waited, watched, gauged.

      Although the man had fifty pounds on him, without his brother, Ike, by his side, Drew Hayes was a coward. He’d proven that well enough when Trey had found him in Mattie Silks’s brothel on Market Street. A few threats and a cocked pistol were all it had taken to bring the man into custody without a fight.

      The easy arrest hadn’t been the only surprise. Trey had expected a simple admission of guilt and a full disclosure of his brother’s whereabouts. Drew hadn’t talked.

      “I want a word with you.” Trey yanked the blanket to the ground. “Now.”

      The outlaw lifted his head. “I ain’t talkin’ to no law dog.”

      Leaning against the wall, Trey folded his arms across his chest and clung to the last scraps of his humanity. He forced all thought of Laurette out of his mind and focused only on the most recent murders, the ones he could pin on Drew with or without an admission. “About the night of the twenty-third, on the McCaulley ranch…”

      “I ain’t answering none of your questions,” Drew snarled, then launched into a string of obscenities.

      Trey ignored the foul language and continued. “Was it only you and your brother that day?”

      Snorting, Drew sat up, swung his beefy feet to the ground. “What do you care? It was just a woman and some snot-nosed kids.”

      A dark rage swept over Trey, one he hadn’t felt since that night in Colorado Springs when he’d found the twisted bodies of Mrs. McCaulley and her boys. The unforgettable images of blood and brutal death were still clean and sharp in his mind. The fact that the Hayes brothers had done the same thing to Trey’s wife and child added fuel to his fury.

      In that moment, Trey knew that Marc was dead wrong. Trey didn’t seek vengeance only for his own behalf. He sought justice for all the innocent victims murdered by the Hayes brothers.

      “I’m gonna see you hang for what you’ve done,” Trey said.

      “I ain’t afraid of you.”

      “You should be.”

      Drew vaulted off the bed.

      In a heartbeat, Trey drew his gun and pressed it against the man’s temple. Death was gunning for Drew Hayes. And in that moment it didn’t matter to Trey how it came about, just that it came swiftly.

      “All I need is a reason.” His finger itched to pull the trigger. “Just one.”

      Palms facing forward, Drew inched two paces back toward the bed. “I don’t want no trouble.”

      “Then start talking.”

      The outlaw’s small, deep-set eyes narrowed into calculating slits. “I know your kind, Marshal. You ain’t no better than me.”

      “We’re nothing alike,” Trey said, holstering his gun to punctuate his point.

      “You enjoy killing, Marshal.” Drew dropped to the bed, and a sinister grin glinted behind the dirty beard. “Same as me.”

      Black crept across his vision as Trey yanked Drew off the bed and wrapped his fingers around the outlaw’s throat. “You and I aren’t anything alike.”

      “Turn him loose, Marshal. You…”

      Trey couldn’t hear the rest of the deputy’s plea over the sound of his own pulse drumming loudly in his ears. Nor did he pay much attention to the metal click of a key turning in the lock.

      “Marshal Scott.”

      Trey squeezed tighter, and Drew’s eyes began to bulge.

      “Marshal. Stop.”

      The urgent yank on his arm finally got through to Trey. Slowly, deliberately, he loosened his grip from around Drew’s neck, then launched the outlaw to the floor.

      Drew flopped around like a dying fish, clutching his throat and wheezing in between coughs.

      “Don’t you ever compare yourself to me again.” Trey turned his attention to the deputy. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Make sure he’s in a more talkative mood by then.”

      The deputy flattened his lips into a grim line. “You can count on it, Marshal.”

      Without looking back, Trey walked out of the jail. Once he was on the street, a burst of cold mountain air punched through his black mood.

      He felt dirty. Contemptible.

      Vile.

      Was Drew Hayes right? Was Trey more like the outlaw than he wanted to admit?

      No. The need to protect, especially women and children, was deeply ingrained in him—as much a part of the reason why he’d accepted President Grant’s appointment to the U.S. marshal post as to avenge Laurette’s death.

      All Trey had to do was think back over the events earlier in the day with five-year-old Molly Taylor. No matter how silly and foolish, he’d set out to defend a little girl who’d simply wanted a few more hours of play.

      Didn’t that make him better than the Hayes brothers?

      Perhaps. But now, with the distance of time, Trey’s reasoning told him that he’d chosen the wrong path to demonstrate his loyalty to the child.

      Marc’s accusations suddenly shot through his mind. Had Trey silently made a promise to champion Molly Taylor for his own purposes, even knowing he couldn’t give false guarantees where the future was concerned?

      At least he could right that particular wrong. First thing in the morning, he would set matters straight with Molly and Miss Taylor. Perhaps with the schoolmarm’s forgiveness, Trey could erase some of the ugliness from his recent encounter with Drew Hayes.

      Once she’d helped settle the other children and said all their evening prayers, Katherine returned to her sister’s bed for a final good-night kiss. Pulling the blanket up to the child’s chin, she tucked the corners underneath her tiny shoulders. “Pleasant dreams, sweetheart.”

      Big round eyes filled with childlike worry looked up at her. “You still angry at me, Katherine?”

      Katherine dragged her sister into a fierce hug. “I was never angry at you, Molly. I was only upset with your behavior. I didn’t set out to ruin your fun, but rules are rules.”

      The little girl rubbed a wet cheek into her shoulder. “I don’t really hate you, you know.”

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