He stepped toward her, his weapon trained on the center of her chest. “Don’t like to get rough with a woman, but this is serious business.” The blush that had stained his ears spread to his cheeks with renewed force. He dropped his gaze to her feet. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
Lorelei did as he ordered. Blush or not, he still held a gun. Touching her as little as possible, he clamped the handcuffs on her wrists.
When Lorelei turned to face him again, the marshal had reholstered his gun. Unfortunately he used his free hand to wad her mother’s gown. She bit the inside of her lip to keep from screaming, or worse, crying. Her mother had worn gloves whenever she handled the delicate garment, not wanting to stain the silk with oil from her skin. This oaf had probably snagged the fabric with his callused paws.
He glanced at her triumphantly as he fingered the gown’s hem. “Feels like a bunch of bank notes to me.” He pulled a knife from a holster hooked to his belt. “Reckon we better find out.”
Lorelei tugged against the metal cuffs until they bit into her skin. “It’s a sachet, like I told you. I’ll show you if you let me out of these.”
“Heard that one before.” He inserted the tip of the knife into the seam. He might as well have inserted it between her ribs.
“No! Please stop.”
Before she could think what more she could do, Braddock stormed into the adobe, pistols clutched in both fists. The marshal dropped the dress and knife, then put his hands over his head. Braddock’s hard gaze slid to Lorelei. His eyes widened and, for the first time in their brief acquaintance, he appeared surprised, even scandalized, if he could feel such a thing. His gaze sliced back to the marshal.
“What the hell are you doing with her?”
“She’s my prisoner, Braddock. And just so you know, I’ve been made a deputy U.S. marshal. That means you answer to me.”
“The hell it does.” Braddock stomped over to Lorelei. He scowled at the handcuffs. “Someone must have been pretty damned desperate to make you a deputy marshal. Where’s the key for these?”
“Braddock,” Lorelei sputtered when the marshal eased his hand toward his gun.
Braddock didn’t flinch. "I’ll shoot you dead, Langston. You know that.”
Langston jerked his hands away from his pistols. “You’ve finally stepped over the line, Captain.” The way he sneered the title let Lorelei know it was an insult rather than a show of respect. “The law wants Mulcahy. The U.S. marshal deputized a posse of good and honest men. We don’t need the help of a bounty hunter.”
“The law doesn’t want her.”
Langston nodded to the gown lying crumpled on the floor. “Just rip open that seam and I guarantee you’ll find a wad of bank notes.”
Braddock reholstered one of his pistols so he could scoop up the gown. He adjusted the dress to the crook of his arm, then picked up the knife. His scowl deepened as he examined the long, sharp blade.
Lorelei’s gaze darted from the dress to Braddock. She said, “It’s only a wedding gown. Those are sachets sewn in the bottom, not banknotes.”
He tossed the knife on the table with a clank, then brought the fabric to his nose and sniffed. “Don’t know of any banknotes that smell like flowers. Do you, Langston?” Braddock held the hem of the gown to Langston’s face.
The man turned his head away. “We all can’t be as smart as you, Captain. If you ask me, she seems awful attached to that dress.”
Braddock laid the dress over his shoulder and reholstered his other pistol. “I’m not asking you, Corporal.” Braddock removed Langston’s guns and tucked them in his belt. He held out his hand. “The key.”
Langston reached in his shirtfront pocket and dropped the small brass object into Braddock’s palm.
“Knew it’d be only a matter of time before you went from straddling the line to full fledged outlaw. What would your high and mighty papa think of you aiding and abetting thieves and murderers?”
Braddock stomped to Lorelei and unlocked her handcuffs. He cradled her wrists in his hands and rubbed his thumbs over the red splotches she had created by tugging against the metal. His brief glance told her he wanted to do more. Instead he carefully handed her back the dress and turned to Langston.
“I’m giving a lady back her wedding gown. I know you don’t know much about women, but they tend to get upset when you take a knife to their pretty clothes.”
“Especially if her husband is an outlaw and she’s hiding his loot.”
Braddock stepped toward Langston with his fists clenched. “Her husband’s not an outlaw,” he snapped.