Wild Burn by Edie Harris Page B

the five lead-ore mines. My money built half of Red Creek, including this here schoolhouse.”
    “Good for you,” Del drawled, letting his Southern accent thicken. Men like Matthews, who was clearly a money-grubbing Yank, let their guards down when their superiority complexes came out to play, and Matthews was about to start feeling superior in three…two…one—
    “So you’re Crawford,” Matthews said slowly. “As I’m the man paying your fee, I’d suggest you lower that gun of yours.”
    “Again. Don’t think so.”
    Matthews shook his head, his graying blond hair slicked so close to his skull that it refused to move, even when a strong breeze whipped around their quartet. “Don’t be stupid, Crawford. You’re holding a gun on the sheriff.”
    “Nelson can leave whenever he wants. He wasn’t the one insulting a lady.” No, the next round out of his pistol’s chamber had Matthews’s name on it. Del fought to get his heart rate back under control, to unclench his jaw, to keep his fist from flying forward to break the rich sonofabitch’s nose. “You have an apology to make.”
    “I—”
    Del cut him off by raising the barrel of the gun from chest height to align with the bridge of Matthews’s rather flat nose. “Unless you’re about to say ‘I’m sorry, Miss Tully, for ever saying such vile things about you, and in front of little children no less,’ I’d recommend closing that rude trap of yours.”
    Matthews’s lips thinned.
    “Captain.”
    That was twice now that Moira had used his former title, and he’d bet his hat she did it purposefully. “Miss Tully?”
    She moved to stand next to him, angling her body away from Matthews and the sheriff so she was speaking directly to Del and Del alone. “I don’t need to hear an apology from him.”
    “Well, I do,” he growled, his gaze roving over her from head to toe. Her hair, sleekly coiled at her nape and covering her injured ear, shone like brilliant fire in the sun, and he wanted to reach out and run his hand over it. It looked like satin, would feel like silk, and he remembered how cool and thick it had been gripped between his fingers that night in his room.
    Her round face was paler than normal, her freckled cheeks missing their usual blush. She almost always blushed around him, he’d noticed, but she wasn’t now. Now, she stared at him with serious eyes, big and blue and defensive and weary, and he was so very angry because he didn’t know how to fix it except by beating Matthews into a pile of broken bones. Which he suspected wouldn’t soothe her quite as much as it would him.
    Christ, but it was exhausting having feelings. He almost wished he could return to his previous state of perpetual emotional numbness. He was much more familiar with that.
    He repeated himself, hoping she’d understand why. “I need him to apologize.” He turned his attention to Matthews, raising his voice. “And if he doesn’t want to pay a visit to Doc Browne, he’ll do so. Now.”
    “He’s a prejudiced bully, Captain,” Moira countered, as if Matthews and Nelson didn’t exist. “What he says doesn’t matter. What he thinks doesn’t matter. Not to me.”
    The sheriff cleared his throat, suddenly deciding to join the repartee. “Miss Tully, a word.”
    “I’m not inclined to give one, Sheriff.” She didn’t bother turning around, keeping her pretty gaze locked on Del. His skin grew tight under her regard, but he met her eyes squarely, praying she could see in his the promise to handle the situation. To protect her. To reassure her. To get her that damned apology and find out what caused the need for one in the first place, though he had a fairly good idea it was about the three Cheyenne children in her classroom.
    “Miss Tully, you have to understand—”
    It was then Del learned that Moira didn’t like being told she had to do anything. She whirled on Nelson, her sturdy taupe-colored skirts snapping around her legs. “We had an