Read Online Castillo's Fiery Texas Rose by Tessa Berkley - Free Book Online
Authors: Tessa Berkley
Tags: Western
Ads: Link
handsome?”
“Came in yesterday,” he replied and turned to continue on his way.
“Well, the fun starts around eight. You come on by and tell ’em Lori sen’ cha.”
He looked back over his shoulder and saw her bare leg hanging over the side, swinging against the breeze. Instead of dwelling on her enticement, Trace gave a nod. However, his mind turned to a delightful daydream of his own invention, that of his hand upon the creamy skin of Mary Rose. He could imagine his hand stroking her thigh while he watched those blue eyes turn to velvet. He stopped and swallowed. Such musings were not appropriate. He grasped the door handle of the undertaker’s establishment.
“Get a hold of yourself,” he grumbled. Perhaps this woolgathering came from lack of sleep. No one said staying awake all night, sitting in a chair, would pass for a good eight hours’ sleep in a bed. With a shake of his head, he turned the handle to venture inside.
The atmosphere of the room was opposite of that outside. The sunshine and warmth became subdued against the pallor of death. Two types of pine boxes sat on sawhorses for display inside the whitewashed room. He removed his hat out of courtesy to those lost and walked toward the low counter at the back as a tall, slim man with a waxy complexion pushed back the dark curtains to greet him.
“I’m Mr. Malone, the undertaker. How may I help you, sir?” His deep voice echoed around the room.
“I wish to purchase two pine boxes,” Trace began, and filled him in on the need of additional men to bring back the bodies from the spring.
“I’m sure we can accommodate your request,” Malone said.
“I’ll be going with you to show you where the bodies are buried,” he replied, at which the undertaker’s brows rose.
Mr. Malone paused for a moment to digest the information before he continued. “It will take me about an hour to round up a few men. Where would you like to meet?”
“Meet me at the sheriff’s office,” Trace replied.
“Shall I bill the County for these items?”
“No,” He started to say the bill should be sent to the Thornton Freight Company, as Mary Rose wanted. Instead, he replied, “I’ll be in to pay the bill tomorrow.” He watched the pencil in the man’s hand still.
“Very well, I’ll have things ready for you then,” Malone murmured and tore the note from the pad. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
Making his way back to Main Street, Trace heard his name called. Rand Weston stepped from the back of the livery and made his way toward him.
“I just stopped at Doc’s. He told me you’d come here.”
Trace smoothed his hair back and placed his hat on his head. “Yeah, I promised Miss Thornton I would bring the bodies home.”
“Understood,” the sheriff grunted. “Look, I’m headed over to the freight office, if you’d like to come along.”
“Sure.” He nodded and fell in step alongside the sheriff.
As they walked the long narrow dirt street, Trace noted that no rail spur ran to town. A person had to either ride in and out or take the Overland Stage from the hotel. They crossed the street beside the general store and took a small road toward the rear of the town. The road widened, and he caught a glimpse of a single-story low-slung building situated near a few trees. One wagon sat in front, unloaded, painted bright red with yellow trim. A huge covered porch ran the length of the building’s side, providing the comfort of shade. He looked up at the bold letters: Thornton Freight Company.
“Would have thought such a bright red an odd color for a freight office,” Trace mumbled.
“Most would.” Rand explained with a chuckle. “Her idea. She said people would remember it better if it was different.”
They watched a clerk in a dark apron and white shirt open the front doors and begin to sweep off the entrance. Rand pulled out his pocket watch and opened it. “Nine o’clock. You can set your watch by Caleb Gentry,” he remarked as
“Came in yesterday,” he replied and turned to continue on his way.
“Well, the fun starts around eight. You come on by and tell ’em Lori sen’ cha.”
He looked back over his shoulder and saw her bare leg hanging over the side, swinging against the breeze. Instead of dwelling on her enticement, Trace gave a nod. However, his mind turned to a delightful daydream of his own invention, that of his hand upon the creamy skin of Mary Rose. He could imagine his hand stroking her thigh while he watched those blue eyes turn to velvet. He stopped and swallowed. Such musings were not appropriate. He grasped the door handle of the undertaker’s establishment.
“Get a hold of yourself,” he grumbled. Perhaps this woolgathering came from lack of sleep. No one said staying awake all night, sitting in a chair, would pass for a good eight hours’ sleep in a bed. With a shake of his head, he turned the handle to venture inside.
The atmosphere of the room was opposite of that outside. The sunshine and warmth became subdued against the pallor of death. Two types of pine boxes sat on sawhorses for display inside the whitewashed room. He removed his hat out of courtesy to those lost and walked toward the low counter at the back as a tall, slim man with a waxy complexion pushed back the dark curtains to greet him.
“I’m Mr. Malone, the undertaker. How may I help you, sir?” His deep voice echoed around the room.
“I wish to purchase two pine boxes,” Trace began, and filled him in on the need of additional men to bring back the bodies from the spring.
“I’m sure we can accommodate your request,” Malone said.
“I’ll be going with you to show you where the bodies are buried,” he replied, at which the undertaker’s brows rose.
Mr. Malone paused for a moment to digest the information before he continued. “It will take me about an hour to round up a few men. Where would you like to meet?”
“Meet me at the sheriff’s office,” Trace replied.
“Shall I bill the County for these items?”
“No,” He started to say the bill should be sent to the Thornton Freight Company, as Mary Rose wanted. Instead, he replied, “I’ll be in to pay the bill tomorrow.” He watched the pencil in the man’s hand still.
“Very well, I’ll have things ready for you then,” Malone murmured and tore the note from the pad. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
Making his way back to Main Street, Trace heard his name called. Rand Weston stepped from the back of the livery and made his way toward him.
“I just stopped at Doc’s. He told me you’d come here.”
Trace smoothed his hair back and placed his hat on his head. “Yeah, I promised Miss Thornton I would bring the bodies home.”
“Understood,” the sheriff grunted. “Look, I’m headed over to the freight office, if you’d like to come along.”
“Sure.” He nodded and fell in step alongside the sheriff.
As they walked the long narrow dirt street, Trace noted that no rail spur ran to town. A person had to either ride in and out or take the Overland Stage from the hotel. They crossed the street beside the general store and took a small road toward the rear of the town. The road widened, and he caught a glimpse of a single-story low-slung building situated near a few trees. One wagon sat in front, unloaded, painted bright red with yellow trim. A huge covered porch ran the length of the building’s side, providing the comfort of shade. He looked up at the bold letters: Thornton Freight Company.
“Would have thought such a bright red an odd color for a freight office,” Trace mumbled.
“Most would.” Rand explained with a chuckle. “Her idea. She said people would remember it better if it was different.”
They watched a clerk in a dark apron and white shirt open the front doors and begin to sweep off the entrance. Rand pulled out his pocket watch and opened it. “Nine o’clock. You can set your watch by Caleb Gentry,” he remarked as
Similar Books
