For the space of a breath he weighed the idea of leaving her behind. It was a tempting notion—he would have no trouble following the horses’ tracks without her. But no, he concluded, he needed her with him. She could tell him things he needed to know, and if it came to a showdown with Frank, she might prove useful—providing he could keep the little hellion under control.
Deciding to test her, he released her arm and turned to free the mare’s tether. “I’ve decided not to take you with me. You can walk back to town from here and find a way home. When I get my own horse back, I’ll see that this one is returned to you.”
“No!” The word exploded out of her. “I don’t care if you are a lawman, I won’t let you take Gypsy without me! And I need to be there when you find Frank. He’ll be scared. He could even be hurt! I’ve always been there to look out for him. I can’t fail him now!”
Even after what he’d already experienced, Matt was startled by her vehemence. And the fact that she’d looked out for Frank was a revelation. He’d assumed, perhaps because of her diminutive size, that she was younger than Frank. Now, studying her determined features, he realized she must be in her early twenties—a fiercely protective older sister.
“Take me with you!” she insisted, seizing Matt’s arm. “You need to understand what’s happened and why Frank has to be innocent. I can tell you everything. Please—I promise not to give you any more trouble!”
He’d believe that when pigs could fly, Matt thought. But at least it was a step in the right direction. “You can ride behind me. If you go for the gun or the key or try any other tricks, you’ll find yourself on the ground. Understand?”
She nodded. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
He inclined his head in a mocking bow. “Deputy Marshal Matthew T. Langtry, at your service, ma’am.”
“And I suppose the T stands for Texas. I could butter a biscuit with that drawl of yours, Marshal.”
“Whatever you say.” Matt swung into the saddle, hoping she would dismiss the subject of his name. But as he reached down to pull her up behind him, she probed deeper.
“Now you’ve got me curious. What does the T really stand for?” Her husky voice had taken on a teasing note. “Thadeus? Terwilliger?”
Matt sighed. “Close. It’s Tolliver.”
“Oh?” She settled herself into place behind the saddle, her hands resting lightly against his ribs. “Are you related to the Tollivers who live north of here? The ones who own the biggest spread in the county?”
“Being from Texas, I don’t rightly know.” Matt nudged the mare to a silky-smooth canter. He’d been asked the same question before and had given the same answer. He’d done enough quiet checking to know that the late Jacob Tolliver, who’d founded the ranch a generation ago, had brought most of his cattle up from Texas. Jacob had left the place to his sons, Morgan, who was half Shoshone, and Ryan, who’d recently sold out his share and moved to the Canadian border.
Matt knew little else about the family except that they were well respected. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know more, or to know them. And the very last thing he’d ever want to do would be to ride onto the Tolliver ranch, knock on Morgan Tolliver’s front door and announce, You don’t know me, but I have reason to believe I might be your long-lost bastard half brother!
Especially when he could be wrong.
But never mind the Tollivers. Right now he had his hands full with an escaped prisoner, a liquored-up lynch mob and an unpredictable hellion who’d do anything to save her brother. It was up to him to keep all hell from breaking loose.
Spurring the mare to a gallop, he cut off the main road and headed for the ridge where Frank Hammond had disappeared.
Chapter Three
J essie clung to Matt Langtry’s waist, leaning outward to see past his broad shoulders. They had followed Frank’s trail over the first ridge and up the long slope into the high brush. The going was slower here, with the trail obscured by thickets of scrub oak and big-tooth maple, dotted higher up with pale stands of aspen.
It didn’t take a skilled tracker to see that the two horses had been out of control when they’d passed this way. In spots where the trail was clear, the brush was broken and trampled, the earth scarred with the prints of galloping hooves. Frank was an expert rider, but with his hands manacled behind his back, he would be able to do little more than cling to the horse with his knees. He could easily be thrown, or worse, caught by a stirrup and dragged over the rocky ground. The thought of what could happen triggered a spasm of horror in the pit of Jessie’s stomach.
But she couldn’t help Frank by worrying, she reminded herself. Her best chance of getting him out of this mess now lay in pleading his case to Matt Langtry. If she could make the tall federal deputy see the truth, or even win his sympathy, he might be persuaded to help her find out who’d really killed Allister Gates. But how persuadable would Matthew Tolliver Langtry be?
If she’d met him under different circumstances—at a dance, say, or a church supper—she might have been drawn to his chiseled features, gold-flecked brown eyes and rangy, athletic body. She might have flirted a little, laughing and tossing her hair, wanting to catch his eye, wanting him to smile and walk her way. Wanting him to reach out and touch her.
Even now, where her nipples brushed the back of his leather vest, the awareness of his body was like a subtle electric current that tingled along her nerves, pulsing deep and hot where her thighs nested against his long legs. It might be possible to imagine more, or even to make it happen. But Jessie’s actual experience with the male sex had been limited to a few groping kisses from eager farm boys—kisses from which she’d always pulled away feeling flustered and ashamed. She was anything but an accomplished seductress. Trying to charm a man like Matt Langtry with her scant feminine wiles would only make her look like a fool.
Matt was a man intent on his job, and there was only one weapon in her meager arsenal that had any chance of moving him.
That weapon was the truth.
“You have to believe my brother is innocent,” she said, plunging to the heart of the matter. “I’ve known Frank all his life. He could never have murdered Allister Gates.”
“I know you’d like to believe that.” Matt guided the mare around a clump of juniper, his eyes scanning the ground. “But you can’t know for certain unless you were there.”
“I was there!”
Jessie felt his body jerk against her. To his way of thinking, she’d likely made herself an accessory to horse stealing and possible murder. But never mind that. She would do whatever it took to save her brother.
“Oh, I don’t mean right there,” she added hastily. “But I was close by. Frank and I rode Gypsy as far as the Goose Creek ford, about a quarter mile from the Gates house. After we crossed, I let him off so he could go in on foot and get Midnight—the stallion. Then I waited for him, maybe twenty minutes, before I heard him coming back.”
“Did you hear anything else?” Matt Langtry’s voice was flat and tough, the voice of a lawman questioning a suspect.
“Not voices. I was too far away for that. But I would have heard a gunshot. I was listening the whole time, and I didn’t hear one. Allister wasn’t shot until some time after my brother left him. I’d swear to that on a stack of Bibles!”
“Go on,” he said, his tone betraying nothing.
“We rode hard and didn’t get a chance to talk until we were in the hills. That was when Frank told me that Allister had come out to the corral and caught him leading Midnight from the barn. Allister had a pistol, and he ordered Frank to throw down the rifle. Frank did, but before Allister could pick the rifle up, Midnight reared