Free Capturing The Marshal's Heart (Escape From Texas) by Linda Carroll-Bradd

departure and fretted about what would happen when she and Slade spoke again. The embarrassed looks, the shuffled feet, the cleared throats. Judging by his haste in leaving her room, Slade Thomas was probably no different from any other man she’d ever known. They wanted every little bit of her time and attention in the moonlight, but only gave a scant nod of greeting in the daylight.
    From another room, a clock started to chime. Pete tossed back the last of his coffee and stood. “Fifteen minutes, folks. We’ll be rollin’ at quarter past the hour.”
    She shook away thoughts of Slade and willed herself to think only of her plan for her future. Her hand crept to the pockets of money hidden in her skirts and her resolve deepened. With her precious savings, she was free to start a new life. And this time, the choice of how she earned her money was hers and hers alone.
    Jessimay Morgan counted only on herself…and no man, not even Slade Thomas, would change that.
    * * *
    Across the street from the boardinghouse, Slade leaned against an awning support and watched the stagecoach. He counted himself lucky the sheriff had deferred to the jurisdiction of the US marshal’s office on the bank robber case. Not all law enforcement individuals Slade had met were as reasonable. The minute he’d finished with the sheriff and headed back toward the chatter of voices in the dining room, he’d known he couldn’t make polite conversation around a breakfast table.
    Not after last night with Jazzy. Instead, he’d used the back hallway to exit through the kitchen, grabbing a handful of Ella’s biscuits and a couple apples before scooting out into the fresh air.
    His actions from the previous night weighed heavily. He’d had a suspect in hand, bound in the iron grips of justice, and he’d released her from those metal restraints. That had never happened before. Shouldn’t have happened. Nor could he let it happen again.
    Of course, none of the criminals he’d ever taken in had eyes bluer than Texas bluebonnets, hair the color of Kansas prairie grass that rippled in golden waves, or lips redder than Indian paintbrushes.
    He rolled his eyes. Hell, man! He’d gone as poetic as a schoolboy in knee britches. Plus he’d even recited Shakespeare to the woman.
    But more than her good looks and fetching smile, she had an unbounded and irresistible spirit. Not only had she been delightfully adventurous under the sheets, willing to try whatever he suggested, but she’d aroused him like no other woman before had even come close. He’d never forget the way she’d come apart at the touch of his hand.
    Uncrossing his boots, he moved his legs apart on the warped boards of the boardwalk to ease the pressure in his groin. No good would come from getting himself fired up with heated memories of their late-night romping. Today’s travel would prove trying enough without having to hide his vigorous physical reaction to the sweet and seductive Miss Morgan.
    Pete exited the boardinghouse and walked to the head of the team, a hand patting the horses as he moved. He scratched the lead horse’s forehead and started checking the harnesses.
    Slade stepped down onto the packed dirt of the roadway, eyed the street for early morning wagons or riders, and quickly crossed. “’Mornin’, Pete. Can I help?”
    Pete turned and smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening into crevasses. “Howdy, Slade. I’m a mite superstitious about checking the tack myself. But I wouldn’t stop ya from loading the baggage.”
    Slade walked around to the back of the coach, grabbed his case from under a bench, and loaded it in the box. As the other passengers stepped onto the sidewalk, he grabbed their satchels and fitted them on the top rack as best he could, watching the females with renewed interest.
    Jazzy was the last to exit the building, and their gazes tangled for only a moment. A hesitant smile twitched at the corner of her lips, and she tugged at the dress’s