Dakota Marshal

“The dangerous cases just come to me, Alessandra. I don’t go looking for them.”

“Yes, you do. The more the danger, the more you like it. Because even though you balk at a by-the-book approach, you always get the job done. You were never meant to be married, or anything more than superficially involved with a woman. We made a mistake, an incredibly hot one for a while, but our marriage was wrong from the start. Death is your shadow, McBride. Except that one day the roles will be reversed. Death will be real, and you’ll be the shadow. I need you to sign the divorce papers.”

His stomach clenched, but beyond that, he didn’t react. Didn’t want to think about Alessandra as part of his past. He knew it was unfair to her, and really, if he’d been asked, he wouldn’t have been able to explain to anyone, least of all himself, why he rejected the thought of divorce so completely.

“McBride, look out!”

When she made a grab for the wheel, he swore. Directly in front of them, in the middle of the road, stood a white-tailed doe and two half-grown fawns. He swerved, hit the brakes and felt the truck begin to slide.

The back end struck something—not one of the deer, he hoped—fishtailed and slammed into a large spruce. Which was the only thing that kept them from falling into the creek bed some thirty feet below.

Several seconds passed before Alessandra released a slow breath. “If it’s any consolation, we missed the deer. Did we damage anything?”

“Only the outer edges of my pride.”

Her eyes danced a little. “So nothing important, then.”

“I’ll let you know in a minute.”

It didn’t take half that time to determine that the rear axle was bent. Not undrivable, but the work needed would cost more than just money.

With Alessandra’s help, McBride changed the flattened left tire and limped the truck the rest of the way to Ben’s Creek.

One of the things he’d always appreciated—and, yes, loved—about Alessandra was that she never bitched or berated. She did what she could, what she had to and left the rest to him.

The unpaved road widened, the terrain began to open up and the woods thinned as they approached the valley town of Ben’s Creek. Small houses dotted the landscape. He saw a kid with an iPod, train tracks bordered by weeds half as high as his truck and a small filling station with three men sitting in chairs beneath the overhang.

Alessandra regarded the unmoving trio. “Doesn’t look terribly promising, does it?”

“It’d look a lot better if they saw you.”

Unfastening her seat belt, she stretched her back muscles. “I figure it’ll take the better part of a day to repair that axle, McBride. Given the fact that it’s after eight now, getting dark and I have no intention of sleeping in your truck again, someone in this town is going to see me. Might as well be these guys.”

She had the door open before he could get his teeth unclenched. How the hell had she gotten more bewitching since their separation? More to the point, how was he supposed to fight the hunger gnawing in his belly and his groin?

Stuffing his gun in his waistband, McBride reached for his jacket, forced a lid down on the heat and followed her into the thankfully cool night air.

Every head on the porch went up at Alessandra’s approach. “Hello.” McBride heard the smile in her voice and allowed himself a vague one of his own. Just keep breathing, boys. The blood will start moving again in a minute.

The youngest of the men, seventy-five if he was a day, stood. “Hello back at you, ma’am. I’m Larry Dent. These are my brothers. Folks hereabouts call ’em Curly and Moe.”

“What did your parents call them?”

“Among other things, Curly and Moe. Our ma died watching the Stooges on TV.” His grin gave way to a shrewd once-over for McBride. “You together?”

Since he didn’t mean that in the traveling sense, McBride draped an arm across Alessandra’s shoulders. “Married six years. Is there a mechanic in town?”

“Repair shop’s mine,” the oldest and least mobile of the trio said. “Closed till morning, I’m afraid.”

If he was the mechanic, it probably wouldn’t matter.

“Engine trouble?” Larry asked. The question was directed at Alessandra.

She fell easily into the part. “If it was that, my husband could fix it, no problem. We went for a bit of a slide to avoid some wildlife and wound up damaging our back end.”

The owner, Moe, creaked toward the stairs. “Let’s have a look-see, Mr….?”

“Abbott,” Alessandra supplied.

She used her mother’s surname. Going with it, McBride added a cheerful, “Joseph Abbott. My wife’s Chastity. Her sister’s due to give birth any day now. We need to get to Pennsylvania as soon as possible.”

Alessandra watched old Moe descend the stairs. “We heard there was an accident on the main highway, so we took an alternate route this morning and pretty much stayed on it.”

“Surprised your truck’s not in worse shape, considering.” Old Moe finally reached solid ground. “Nice machine, though. Don’t see many like it ’round here.”