the hammer on the Peacemaker, Matt thrust it into his belt. Then, still pinioning her wrists, he used his free hand to tug away the red bandanna, revealing the lower part of her face.
He stifled a reflexive gasp.
If Frank Hammond’s sister had been as plain as mud, he thought, it would have made everything easier. But she was far from plain. And as Matt filled his gaze with the sight of her heart-shaped face, lush lips and straight little nose, crowned by those unearthly violet eyes, he knew that he was in danger of tumbling over the edge of reason. The heavenly powers were too prudent to have created such a face—only the devil could have done it.
“Let me up.” Her whispery voice raked his senses. “No tricks, I promise, as long as you agree to listen to my story.”
“You can tell me your story while we ride after your brother.” Matt sat back on his heels. “Come on. Let’s go.”
She’d begun to struggle again. “But I haven’t got—”
“Don’t lie to me, Jessie. You and your brother raise horses—that’s what he told me. And you didn’t get clear out here on foot. Now take me to your horse. We can ride double till we come up with something better.”
Rising, he jerked her none too gently to her feet. She was the sister of an accused killer, desperate to free her brother, he reminded himself. To save Frank Hammond’s life, she would lie, steal, seduce—and maybe even put a bullet through an unwary lawman’s heart. Show even a moment’s weakness, and she would pounce on it like a cat. He could not afford to lower his guard, even for an instant.
“Where’s the horse?” His grip tightened on her arm, easing only when she winced and pointed down-hill toward a wash, where willows trailed over a sluggish stream.
“What are you going to do?” She stumbled over her boots as he pulled her roughly down the hill.
“I’m going to find your brother, make certain he’s safe, and take him to Sheridan for trial. That’s my job. If I want to keep it, I have no choice.”
“What if I could prove to you that Frank didn’t kill Allister Gates?” She stumbled, twisting her ankle as she went down on one knee. Matt forced himself to keep moving, dragging her along until she regained her footing.
“Can you prove it?”
“I could try! That’s more than you’ve done!” She wrenched herself loose and stood facing him, her raven hair bannering in the wind. “Look at the facts! Frank dropped the rifle. Anybody could’ve picked it up and used it to shoot Allister!”
“I’d wager that’s exactly what his lawyer will argue. Reasonable doubt.” He seized her arm again, yanking her against his side as he strode down the grassy hillside. “It’s a fair defense and it might work. But I won’t be on the bench or in the jury box. My only duty is to bring him in.”
“You’re heartless!” She flung the words at him. “Frank’s never harmed a soul in his life! Why, I’m more capable of killing Allister Gates than he is.”
“Now that I can believe.” Matt cast her a sidelong glance and was seared by the blaze of fury in her eyes. “I have to ask,” he said. “Did you kill him?”
“Of course not! And neither did Frank!”
“So who did? You must have given the answer some thought.”
She frowned, the black wings of her eyebrows shifting pensively. “It had to be someone at the ranch, someone who was close enough to see the rifle and seize the chance to kill Allister before he went back into the house…maybe a cowhand with a grudge, or even Virgil. He had the most to gain from his brother’s death.”
“But you have no proof.”
“No. No more proof than you have against Frank.”
They had reached the stand of tall willows where Jessie had tethered the horse, a sleek buckskin mare that nickered and pricked its ears at their approach. It was a beautiful, spirited animal, Matt thought, not unlike its owner. But Jessie Hammond had too much spirit for her own good. From the moment he’d first heard her voice, the woman had caused him nothing but trouble. He’d be crazy to take her with him when he could just as easily trail Frank on his own.
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
