***Now, we have a marshal named Marshall, a horse named Marshal, a marshal who's not supposed to be a marshal, and someone *looking* for a marshal. Whew! And, really, I'm just wondering where Brad went?***

***Thank you so much for continuing to read and review! And, of course, I couldn't even begin to thank dispatchvampire, rj_lupins_kat and roar526 enough!***

"You are one... superior... son of a bitch!"

- Breakheart Pass

-o-o-

"You may not know this but... there's things that gnaw at a man worse than dyin."

– Open Range

Sheryl was tired. The kind of tired that made you wonder if you'd actually be able to take one more step…climb out of bed one more time. Bone weary and soul sucked. The sun beat down on her head as she trudged towards home, black hair absorbing every ray, and Sheryl muttered unpleasant curses to the Beloved Twain for the early summer heat. The air seemed thick with anticipation, and the pale glassy blue of the sky foretold of a change in weather; wispy mare's tails blending into a translucent veil on the horizon and the fitful southeast breeze whispering promises of a front. Hopefully it would turn cooler…even more hopefully it would rain. She blinked as a trickle of sweat burned the corner of her eye, ducking her head to use her shoulder to wipe away the errant perspiration. The tiny damp spot left behind was dwarfed by the larger damp expanses dotting her t-shirt. Even her shorts felt wet.

The body was somehow not ready to tolerate the high temperatures before the calendar could acknowledge the season, and the heat had messed with everyone's minds - igniting tempers and melting away common sense. The last thing she needed was for Brad and his men to be any more anxious than they usually were at the beginning of the summer…any more watchful. She truly felt as though a break in the weather would provide more than just physical relief; it would release her from an ever tightening noose of her own making. A faint cry drew her eye to a wake of buzzards in the distance, their lazy death spiral a fitting picture of her current mood…a slow descent of doom.

The last few months had tried her in ways she had never imagined, and she woke up each morning with a prayer to St. Jude to make it through the day. She doubted anyone else would take her case. Hell, even Jude was probably tying on his racing shoes as it came down to the wire. Ready to clear out before all hell broke loose. Sheryl grunted a chuckle with the thought as she turned down the gravel drive leading to the cluster of living quarters. Jude was a chicken shit.

Her bucket of cleaning supplies bounced against her knee as she increased her pace towards her apartment, the weight counterbalanced by the small basket of clean clothes tucked under the arm on her opposite side. She had become a master of efficiency: washing her own family's laundry with the guest linens while completing the rest of the morning chores with rote finesse. Wasted motion equaled wasted time, and she had too often suffered the consequences of deviating from the housekeeping schedule set by Brad. He offered her no quarter despite her familial status, and, in fact, seemed to delight in singling her out for transgressions added in fine print that very day.

Sighing in delight as she reached the shade of the carport, Sheryl set the bucket of cleaning supplies on top of the cracked plastic table decorated with scribbles of permanent marker. She smiled as she slung the backpack off her shoulder and dug for the keys. The kids had rescued the sad piece of furniture from a fateful trip to the dump a few days prior. They had wanted to decorate it, and she saw no reason to quell their artistic streak. It was really the first thing they had been excited about for a while as school had become a chore, they weren't allowed to roam freely about the ranch and Brad had now banned them from the game room in the main lodge. "What a jerk," she mumbled as she turned the doorknob. Soon, they'd have new frontiers to explore…and maybe the smiles would come back. Grabbing the bucket as the door swung open, Sheryl pushed into the welcome coolness of her family room.

"You know what the Indians used to do to squaws that betrayed the tribe?"

Brad's low growl came out of the darkness and Sheryl's heart slammed against her chest. The laundry and cleaning supplies spilled onto the carpet as she startled and tripped over the low magazine rack near the door, throwing her arms out to catch herself against the back of the couch. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the gloom with adrenaline, and she felt her cheeks flare with heat while fear and anger turned into nausea.

"Brad!" she gasped, panting now as her brain tried to decide between fight or flight. Kicking a magazine out of the way, Sheryl side stepped along the back of the couch as she watched her brother-in-law's shadow shift in the chair by the kitchen. The sweat that now trickled down between her shoulder blades was made of ice. "What the hell are you doing here?" A shout in her head, the words emerged as a strangled squeak and she hated the audible tell of weakness.

Brad watched the woman slide along the couch like a spider watches a fly. Waiting. Enjoying the struggle and sounds of helplessness as they were trapped without escape. He had her at a complete disadvantage, and a smile of victory tugged at his lips with her tremulous inquiry. A fly might tell him just about anything to be freed of the web.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" He threw out the bait.

Sheryl continued her sideways creep until she reached the far wall and reached out to flip on the light switch. The standing lamp in the corner glowed to life and lifted the gloom from the corners of the rooms…lifted the death grip of fear from her heart. She could see him now and that somehow made it easier to think. He blinked against the illumination, and Sheryl's pulse slowed to a more normal rhythm as the light seemed to level the playing field in her mind.

"Find out about what?" She stalled as she looked around for signs of a disturbance.

Brad watched her eyes dart about furtively and stood. Sheryl's gaze immediately flew back to him. "Don't fuck with me, Sher. You think you can go behind my back and mess with my business? Do you think I'm stupid?" He walked towards her and she scuttled around the end of the couch to press against the wall leading towards the kitchen.

Her thoughts were screaming at a thousand miles and hour. There was no way he knew…no way. She had been so careful. Had never used her own phone to call Taliswell and had only placed calls to the number he gave her from phones in town…or Maggie's phone. Brad never even spoke to Maggie. He drew near, his posture angry and mean, and Sheryl had a sudden thought: he was bluffing. He was trying to get her to admit to something.

"Listen, Brad," she pleaded, trying to think up an excuse as she eyed possible escape routes. The bedrooms were a sure trap, but the kitchen had potential weapons. "I know I've taken a few extra breaks these past few weeks, but the kids had some sort of flu and I must've caught it -"

Her explanation was cut short by a yelp as Brad lunged forward to grab her arm and yank her towards him. "No…no, no…" she chanted as he crowded her against the wall and she ducked her head and pushed against his chest in defense. "I don't know what you want!"

Brad's lip curled up in a satisfied sneer as he squeezed the flesh of her small arms and felt her flinch. He used his height to pull her onto her tiptoes while he leaned in to growl at her. "Don't fucking lie to me." She gasped as he shook her hard and pushed her into the wall. "Don't lie to me…don't fuck with me…and if I find out you've done anything, I mean even a hint of anything, to jeopardize this ranch…" he breathed onto her neck as he trailed off and was mildly aroused as she shuddered and whimpered. Another time…

Sheryl squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to hyperventilate. She knew this would end badly…as it always did, but she still had options. She could still walk away instead of crawl away. Keeping her head down and injecting as much sincerity into her voice as she could, Sheryl tried to talk him down as she thought of salvation that resided in a guest cabin.

"I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't. I don't want you to think I would do that, Brad. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." She apologized out of years of reflex. "I don't want to be any trouble. Gary always told me not to be any trouble…"

He stiffened with the mention of his brother, and the woman's pathetic words suddenly disgusted him. "Shut up," he hissed, releasing her to smack her across the mouth. Sheryl stumbled away from him with one hand on the wall and the other covering her lips. She looked about to cry, and he couldn't stand it anymore. The heat…the stress…the small apartment…he had to get out.

As Brad whirled and stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door shut so hard two pictures fell off the wall, Sheryl leaned against the wall and slowly slid down to sit with her head in her hands. She trembled with adrenaline and shame, the sour taste of bile sticking to the back of her throat as she tried to take deep breaths to bring the world back into focus. He was gone…out the door. And she knew from experience he wouldn't come back.

Her arms ached, her cheek and lip throbbed, and Sheryl wrapped her arms around her quivering legs to rest her head on her knees as the warm sting of tears released her from silence. The sobs were familiar, yet somehow more raw…more intense as the extra layer of fear gripped her. He suspected her, and now he would be watching. A shiver of terror rippled through her and she fumbled in her pocket for her phone. She had to call Taliswell…had to get out.

He would be watching. The thought echoed in her mind as her fingers wrapped around the cell and she froze. Watching. Her…and the kids. Sheryl groaned and rested her head back against the wall with that realization. She couldn't run yet. She couldn't set something into motion that may be noticed and endanger her children. "Jesus," she whispered, half curse, half plea. She had spent most of her life trapped in one situation or another, and it seemed even now, as escape beckoned only a heartbeat away, that she was again tied down.

"Less than a week," she whispered to the ceiling as she gathered her knees to her chest again. She could wait. She could plan. She would get out.

/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\/

Mary groaned in delight as she rounded the side of the equipment shed and the aroma of grilled meat nearly enveloped her. Her empty stomach overrode any complaint from her sore legs, and she picked up her pace as she headed towards the gathering in front of the main lodge. The BBQ was in full swing, and she hoped her somewhat late arrival to the party wouldn't look suspicious in any way, but everyone around the large grill and BBQ pit was engaged in conversation, drinking, or both, and Mary was fairly sure it wasn't even noted when she began to mingle around the edge of the crowd.

She had fought with Marshall for twenty minutes about the camera after Diane had left the room. There was no way in hell she was wearing her jean jacket to dinner, especially a dinner that involved standing around a fire pit in ninety degree heat, and he insisted she take the digital camera in lieu of clandestine opportunity.

"Right, idiot," she scoffed. "Like no one will notice I'm taking pictures of every blade of grass."

She could hear his annoyed look over the phone. "You're a guest on vacation. With a whole bunch of other guests. People take pictures when they're on vacation. God forbid you act normal."

"You've got glossies of all the players." Mary was trying to find the small digital camera she hoped she had put in her bag. "And why can't I just use the damn phone?"

"We need to see them in situ. Video would be preferred, but enough still shots will still give us a good feel for relationships and behavioral quirks. The phone takes poor quality shots." Marshall was silent a moment as Mary continued to check the pockets of her bag, wondering when they had become a 'we' with ICE.

"You forgot the camera, didn't you?" His sigh made her bare her teeth at the phone.

"No, asshole," she growled, then pumped a fist in the air as her fingers found the camera tucked into a corner. "I'm holding it right now."

"I don't believe you," he drawled suspiciously. "Take a picture and send it."

Mary grinned at his demand. "What's your choice? Tits or crotch?" She was sure she heard him choke on a drink.

"W-What?"

"I don't have time for this bullshit, and if you insist on show and tell…" she let the half threat hang in the air as she tucked the camera into the front pocket of her jeans. Her partner was silent just a moment too long, and Mary narrowed her eyes. "Are you fucking thinking about it?" For some reason, that possibility caused the sore muscles in her thighs to burn just slightly more.

"Oh my god, pervis" she hissed, not waiting for his answer. "Don't download too much porn while you and Tallywhacker jack off. I gotta go."

She was still wondering about her reactions at the end of the conversation when Diane sidled up to her with a cold beer.

"Where have you been?" her roommate scolded with a grin as she handed over a beverage. "The shirts are just starting to come off and you're missing the show." Diane gestured towards the BBQ pit.

Eliot and another wrangler were tending to the racks of ribs and other food items arrayed on the large grill and on screens over the fire pit. The men were sweating and laughing, each holding a beer in one hand while they expertly flipped and basted with the other. Mary uttered a quiet 'wooo' at the sight…both men having stripped down to white tank tops to keep cool. Muscles bunched and rippled, and she couldn't help but admire the lean planes of Eliot's back and shoulders as he stretched before taking a long drink of his beer. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed and Mary's eyebrows journeyed upwards. Diane noticed.

"Oh, no you don't," she teased. "I've got first dibs on that."

Mary couldn't help but chuckle as she watched two other women stroll up to Eliot and ask him to pose with them for a picture. He flexed and grinned, then flipped some ribs into the air to show off. Diane groaned and rolled her eyes.

"Jesus, I love a man who can handle his meat." The redhead winked at a surprised Mary before wading through the crowd towards Eliot.

"Run, Eliot…run," Mary muttered with a crooked grin.

Forty-five minutes later, Mary was contentedly licking sweet, sticky BBQ sauce off her fingers as she sat on a low bench and balanced a paper plate heaped with bones on her knees. It was probably the best bunch of ribs she had ever had, and she needed to tell Marshall to get the recipe, and the cow, before they had to go back to Albuquerque. If the rest of the meals on the ranch were going to be like this, her horse would be complaining about the extra load by the end of the week.

She had met most of the women there for Cowgirl Camp, and she was surprised that, on the whole, they seemed an agreeable bunch. There were one or two she would take great pains to avoid, and one who had brought her teenage daughter who would be better suited to a prison cell, but Mary was fairly certain she wouldn't have to waste a bullet on any of her remaining companions. The wranglers had introduced themselves to everyone, and there were a couple of younger men…boys…spending the summer on some sort of internship, but Mary knew there were more staff to meet and she really needed to spend some time mingling to get more pictures. Stirring up a little cloud of dust as she adjusted her feet to stand, she rubbed her nose with the back of one hand while looking around for a trash can.

"Don't tell me you're allergic to horses, too?" A now familiar drawl came from her left.

"Would it buy me a reprieve from a trail ride if I were?" Mary asked, turning to see Eliot standing with his hand held out. His longish hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail and he had re-donned his shirt, though it remained unbuttoned with the tails fluttering around the waist of his low-slung, worn jeans. He gestured towards her empty plate and she handed it over and followed him as he sauntered towards the trash cans.

"You did fine today. Even looked like you were having a little fun." Eliot winked at her as he dusted off his hands and noted her narrowed eyes. He leaned in slightly and lowered his voice, "Just a teenie tiny bit of fun. Hardly noticeable at all."

Mary couldn't help but grin at his conspiratorial tone and felt somehow flattered by the subtle compliment. "I'll never admit to it," she said, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.

The wrangler chuckled, a low husky sound she could appreciate, stepped closer and stage whispered, "And I'll never tell. It'll be our little secret."

His teasing, though blatant flirting, was infectious, and Mary found herself a willing participant. "Somehow, I'm sure you have a number of 'little secrets' filed away. One for each day of the week, maybe?"

Shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels, Eliot's exaggerated grimace and affected sheepish look had Mary rolling her eyes with her own chuckle. "I just bet you wrangle more than the horses."

"Oh, no, ma'am," he drawled, now grinning with her. "That would be against the rules."

The simple statement had her mind racing back to a tense moment in a café hundreds of miles away. Another cowboy…another pair of blue eyes. A warbled war cry intruded on her thoughts, and a blur of arms and legs hurled themselves at Eliot as she stepped back slightly.

"I caught you! I caught you and now you have to give me a ride!" The blur resolved into a boy about six years old. Cropped black hair, a face of freckles and a red bandana wrapped loosely about his neck, the child gripped Eliot's shirt and wrapped his boot clad legs around the man's knee. Attached. "Please, Mr. Eliot, please?" Light brown eyes crinkled with the impassioned plea as the boy looked upward. It was Sheryl's son.

Eliot smiled and laughed, seemingly unperturbed by the pint sized leech, and reached down to rub the boy's head. "Good approach, Tyler…I never saw you coming. So, I guess I owe you a ride." As Tyler cheered, Eliot raised his head to scan the crowd with a look Mary recognized too well: threat assessment. Her own senses went on alert, though she had no idea the nature of the danger.

"Where's your uncle?" Eliot asked as he gently disentangled Tyler from his leg.

The boy shrugged. "He left. Told my mom he had to go into town."

"Well, then," the large man grunted, lifting Tyler onto his shoulders as the boy squealed, "let's go for the super duper expert rodeo ride." Tyler wrapped his small hands around the man's forehead. "Say goodbye to the lady," Eliot instructed as he again winked at Mary.

"Bye, ma'am!" The salutation ended in another squeal as Eliot loped away.

What is it with men and kids? she thought, shaking her head in bemusement.

"I'm really sorry about that," a woman's voice spoke from behind her. "My son's not quite old enough to understand he can't just interrupt adult conversation to get what he wants. I hope you're not angry?"

Mary turned to see a woman in a Circle R polo and tan shorts looking nervous and resigned at the same time. She glanced at Mary, then went back to watching her son bounce away on Eliot's shoulders. Sheryl. Mary took the moment afforded to her to study her witness: Long, glossy black hair with nearly black eyes to match, her skin was already tanned to the color of heavily creamed coffee this early in the season; her native American ancestry obvious. She was only about five inches shorter than Mary, but probably weighed at most 110 pounds soaking wet, with a delicate bone structure that was made even more prominent because of the slightly too large shirt she had on. Sheryl wrung her hands with a furrowed brow as she watched Tyler and Eliot, and Mary wondered if her worry was due to the present activity or more to an overall state of continuing anxiety. She held out her hand in greeting.

"It's not a problem. Kids are kids. I'm Mary." Sheryl eyed her with a small, appreciative smile and finally shook her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Mary," Sheryl replied, obviously studying her in return. "I'm Sheryl Christianson. I'm a housekeeper here…live here, actually." She tilted her head and squinted slightly. "So, what do you do, Mary?"

Mary made sure to remain nonchalant about the abrupt fishing expedition, hoping Sheryl's lack of subtlety didn't extend beyond generic questions. Though direct questioning would only seem socially gauche to most, if the wrong people overheard, suspicions would be heightened. A small gust of wind lifted Sheryl's hair away from her face and Mary's eyes were drawn to a poorly camouflaged bruise on the woman's cheek…and a split lip. Drawing in a long, slow breath, Mary tried not to jump to the conclusion that was clubbing her like a baby seal.

"I'm in law enforcement," Mary answered with a shrug. "Corrections officer. I'm on…vacation of sorts." She saw a glimmer of hope in Sheryl's eyes die with the clarification and wanted to leave parts of Taliswell scattered about the mesa. It was time to change the subject. "So, 'Christianson'. Are you related to Brad Christianson? I saw his name as one of the managers here."

Sheryl's gaze immediately dropped to the ground and she nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before touching her lip for a moment. "He's my brother-in-law." She looked back up to Mary with a set jaw. "We don't really get along."

Mary opened her mouth to reply when young girl pushed by nearby group of people and ducked under Sheryl's arm to lean against the shorter woman. She held her mother's arm around her with both hands gripping her wrist and stared silently at Mary as she rubbed the toe of one shoe in the dirt. There was no smile, no curiosity…just the emotionless stare of one who had learned that the end of one day only meant another one was coming. Mary was trapped in Leanne's gaze for a long moment before dragging her eyes back to Sheryl.

She cleared her throat and smiled tightly. "It was nice to meet you Sheryl. I better go talk to my roommate. She's plotting to take over the bathroom." It was lame, but Mary's mind was already racing past the boundaries of the ranch to a motel room with too many electronics and the one man who would understand the anger beginning to roil within her. Sidestepping the main portion of the guests still milling about the BBQ pit, Mary pulled out her cell to tap out a quick text:

'Game plan needs to change! Players on the field with unnecessary roughness. Suspect underage participants.'

*** Oh, this is not good. At all. Mary's going to take this too heart...maybe a little too much. But Marshall's on his way...I know...you all want to see our favorite cowboy! Well...stay tuned :) If you're still reading, please REVIEW! ***