***Saddle back up, boys and girls. The story continues with a dusting of lust sprinkled on top. Marshall is a cowboy worth waiting for...mmmm***

"Hot damn!I'm gunna declare a holiday...Hot damn!"

– High Plains Drifter

-o-o-

"Bad horse...Bad horse..."

– Dances with Wolves

Marshall readjusted his shoulder bag with a shrug as he squinted up at the sky. The sun was about to clear the row of low slung ranch houses across the street from the shuttle stop, and although a high layer of cirrus clouds diffused the light, the refractive properties of those same clouds still drove him to don his sunglasses as the morning progressed. It was already hot. He rolled up the sleeves of the blue plaid, long sleeved shirt to seek relief, and again wondered if Abrams and Bettes were smoking crack when they forecasted thunderstorms for eastern New Mexico. The air seemed too dry to feed any instability approaching from the northwest, and barring the sudden formation of a large inland sea in the region, he estimated the eagerly awaited front would, at most, conjure up a shower or two. But then again, he thought as he inhaled deeply through his nose, there's moisture up there somewhere. He could smell it – the desert plants their own barometers that released the teasing scents of sage and creosote in anticipation of rain. He gave it twelve hours.

Marshall refocused on street level activity as the groan-wheeze of the shuttle bus' brakes heralded its approach. Pressing his cowboy hat more firmly onto his head, he waited for the glass doors to open so he could toss his bag to the driver and climb aboard. The air conditioner was set to arctic, and he was glad for its heroic efforts. Choosing a seat near the front of the small bus, Marshall perched on the side of the bench and turned to face the two other men silently assessing him.

"Marshall Miller," he introduced himself with a smile and a nod. "How are you gentlemen this morning?"

The simple question prompted both men to introduce themselves in turn, and the conversation progressed from guarded experience checks to a relatively friendly banter before the bus had lumbered to the next stop. Marshall cataloged both Manuel Santiago from El Paso and Timothy 'Tucky' Clem from Amarillo as good 'ole cowboys working the summer ranch circuit to earn enough money for fall and winter rodeo entry fees and stable rentals. They were seasoned ranch hands, and rolled their eyes when Marshall expressed his eagerness to get on with the morning.

"I'll remind you of your enthusiasm later when the first horse pisses on your boot," Tucky drawled with a grin.

"Or when some mariposa gets his loafer caught in the stirrups and demands you buy him a new pair." Manuel snickered as he chewed on a callus.

Marshall shared a knowing chuckle with the men. He had let them know it had been a while since he worked a guest ranch, and had left enough of a gap in years to keep any lack of knowledge believable and acceptable.

"Well," he said, "I think we're in luck. I read it's Cowgirl Camp this week. The only mariposas will be the kind that take flight."

Manuel whistled low and long while Tucky pantomimed a lewd action, and Marshall was reminded of SWAT operations and office parties. Wrangling was a man's world. The hats and boots weren't for show, the long sleeved shirts and jeans hid scars from close calls, and fourteen hour days spent wrestling anything from bulls to hay bales left the men tired, thirsty and eager for female companionship.

He was sure Mary would have some emasculating vitriol to sprinkle onto his thoughts, some crude comparison between man and horse, but Marshall smiled in anticipation of his partner's attacks. He had the advantage this time. The knowledge and skill. She would need him this week…all he had to do was wait. In fact, the first cry for help had come sooner that he had expected, and for reasons he hadn't expected.

After receiving her text the evening before, and getting a few more sketchy details with inquiry, Marshall had immediately called Stan to discuss the now unacceptable situation regarding lack of communication between marshal and witness. Even without details from Mary's end, the men knew Sheryl's position was more potentially volatile than Taliswell's team had realized. Stan took the bull by the horns and sicced various office personnel on key members of the DHS investigation, and within a few hours Marshall had information that would surely inspire Mary to up her monetary offer for his services. He had impatiently waited for her call.

"Somebody better have some good news, otherwise there'll be more than just four legged geldings on this ranch," Mary barked as she joined the conference call.

"And here I thought you were opposed to mutilating poor dumb animals," Marshall replied. He could just about hear her pacing on the other end of the phone.

"I'd start with you," Mary warned, "but I think there might be a reason your mother already wonders why you haven't given her any grandchildren." Marshall glared at the phone.

"And, I'm on the line…" Stan interrupted any reply Marshall would've given. "Save the domestic disputes for another time, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, we've got things to discuss and Mary can't be away for too long."

"Yeah, speaking of domestic disputes," Mary said with a sigh. "Someone's knocking Sheryl around, we can all guess who, and knowing that these things escalate when the abuser is under stress, I think we've got another level of threat to consider here. That, and I'm pretty sure the oldest kid has been involved to some point."

"You saw bruises on the kid too?" Stan asked.

Mary's curt reply followed a long moment of silence. "I don't need to see bruises."

Because she recognizes herself in the skinny, black haired girl, Marshall thought. She remembers being too young…too small…to defend herself against the raging, unpredictable adults in her life. No father to protect her, and a mother who was just getting by. In Mary's case, a mother who was likely more a part of the problem than the solution.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut. This had the potential to get way too personal way too quickly. This wasn't a witness Mary had to deal with after the problem had been removed. Not a case where his partner could rant and rave at words in print that described abuse and helplessness. This was real…happening right in front of her and she was being asked to turn a blind eye and wait. To ignore the surely silent pleas for help when she could swiftly and effectively dispatch the threat if only given the word. By law, she was required to report her suspicions; but because she was the law, she was being asked to remain silent. Mary would twist herself up so badly over this that he would have to spend weeks unraveling her followed by months ironing out the wrinkles.

"Mare," Marshall said quietly. "Taliswell is going to give Sheryl your temporary cell number. She won't know who you are, but she'll have a number to call knowing you're close by."

He heard her sigh in frustration, but she replied calmly. "It's better than nothing, I suppose. Thanks, Stan."

Stan acknowledged his part as Marshall teased over him. "What? I get nothing? No thanks? No offers of undying gratitude?"

Mary snorted and ignored him to pose a few more questions to Stan, and Marshall smiled quietly. The situation was defused slightly for the time being.

"So, how's the transition to cowgirl going?" Stan asked.

Mary groaned. "I have muscles I didn't know I had. Although…" she chuckled quietly and the hair on the back of Marshall's neck stood up. "I have to say I'm pleasantly aching after riding Marshal hard all afternoon, giving him a good rubdown, then standing under a hot shower." She hummed for effect. "He wore me out."

There was stunned silence, then both men spoke at once:

"I don't think…" Stan stuttered.

"No…no, you didn't," Marshall scolded, shifting in his chair as his libido was certainly hoping she would.

"He's so responsive when I squeeze my thighs just so," Mary continued as her voice dropped into that sultry cadence Marshall recognized. "Marshal's the biggest one I've ever ridden…I had no idea what I was missing."

Stan made a few helpless noises while Marshall's rational brain stepped forward with a newsflash even though the rest of his body ran up a white flag and lay down to submit to the hormonal rush.

"Ignore her, Stan," he growled. "Obviously her horse's name is Marshal. She's probably been waiting for this opportunity all day."

Mary laughed, the sound just throwing fuel on his fire, and Stan harrumphed a weak rebuke before wishing them both a good night and signing off.

"You know," Marshall drawled at his still chuckling partner. "You've probably just burned images into his brain that'll keep him awake all night."

"And what about you?" Mary teased. Marshall narrowed his eyes as he tried to interpret the question. Without being able to see her, he couldn't take the chance that the bait hid a hook he wouldn't be able to wiggle off of.

"I stopped trying to pay my nine dollars a minute years ago. You're good…but you're not that good." He heard her affronted snort and grinned as he effectively derailed her. "Now, go get some sleep. Breakfast is at 6:30." Mary grumbled and cursed for a few more minutes before hanging up.

He really tried not to replay her words in his mind for the next hour as he readied for bed. But like any other time he was a witness to impromptu phone sex, Mary's murmurs and moans seemed to coat his senses and slowly melt into every cell of his body; infusing him with a want he could not shake for days.

His dreams kept him restless. Chasing elusive shadows while his partner's voice taunted and teased him. He found her finally, pulled her to him in a tangle of sweaty limbs and musky sweat. Her thighs gripped him as she rode atop him with her breasts swaying tantalizingly just out of reach. She clutched her hair with both hands and arched backwards with rising, beseeching cries as their movements became faster…more frenzied. He tried to reach her, tried to slide his hands over her slick skin…he was so close-

Marshall awoke with a strangled grunt as he jerked beneath the tangled sheets, the pillow sweat-soaked even though the air conditioner rattled at full blast. He lay there panting for a few minutes before throwing the covers back with a croaked curse and staggering towards the bathroom. The damn woman had reduced him to a hormonal mess worthy of a teenage boy; stray thoughts and wayward air currents resulting in a need for housekeeping.

Loud laughter and a particularly jarring lurch of the shuttle dragged Marshall's thoughts back to the present, and he looked out the windows to see they were pulling into the front parking lot of the Circle R. The six men on the shuttle stood to grab their belongings as they all continued to chat, and Marshall made sure to add his voice to the general hubbub. He needed to concentrate on the job at hand, build a level of trust and camaraderie in order to blend in and allay any suspicion, not get lost in thoughts of what could...would…never be.

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

Mary again wondered what gods she had angered in order to witness the fourth dawn in a row. She blinked wearily as she gathered a plate and silverware from the end of the buffet line and tried to tie on a civilized attitude at a decidedly uncivilized time of the morning. Already the incessant chatter of the women had her pondering her fork for its effectiveness as a weapon, and she hoped to hell the coffee was as strong as all the stories she had heard. She perked up slightly at the sight of every breakfast food that made her mouth water laid out before her, and soon her plate was heaped with farm fresh goodness while she tried to juggle a coffee cup.

Finally, standing with full plate and mug, Mary looked out over the small dining room and spotted Diane waving her over to an empty spot.

"Hey, Mary," Diane greeted her. "You remember Cat and Gina, right?" The women were the first two on the shuttle the day before, and Mary nodded to them before digging into her breakfast. "They just told me they heard from one of the other girls that the staff said the summer wranglers were arriving today."

"Did they also tell you that Johnny was dating the sister of one of the friends of Susie's cousin?" Mary mumbled snidely around a mouthful of biscuit.

Gina and Diane looked puzzled, but Cat tilted her coffee mug at Mary in a silent 'touche.'

Mary took a long drink of her coffee and tried to muster up a tight smile. "I'm not really a morning person. Try not to hit me with any information that's not essential to life before I've had three cups of coffee." The other women nodded in understanding and resumed a former discussion amongst themselves. Mary gratefully took the time to sort her own thoughts and looked around for any sign of Sheryl, Carter or Brad. No luck.

"Oh, they're here," Gina said as another guest waved her over to one of the windows. She was followed by Cat and Diane, and Mary cast an uninterested glance in their direction while trying to decide whether to eat the French toast or pile of eggs next. She couldn't help but overhear the conversation that ensued.

"How many?" asked Diane.

"Five…no, six," someone replied. "Oh, wow. Look at that one. He's tall."

Mary's sleepy brain nudged her then and she stopped chewing to look at the women huddled around the window. Marshall was getting off that shuttle. Now interested in the conversation, Mary slowly rose to wander over to the small group with a smirk. She couldn't quite see the men around the shuttle.

"Oh, hell," sighed Cat. "The one with the red shirt is built like a truck. Look at those arms!"

"Too short. I like my men with some height," replied Gina. "I'm still picking either the one with the blue boots or the one with the sunglasses. They're both god awful gorgeous."

"I'm happily married…I'm happily married…" chanted one woman as she chuckled and walked away. Another followed and they shared a joke about tall cowboys and long trail rides. Mary stepped into the empty spots to get a better view and pulled up in surprise. There was only one 'tall cowboy' in the bunch.

"You know what, Mary?" Diane asked, intent upon watching the men. "You're welcome to Eliot. As nice of a ride as that would be, I think I've found my Derby winner."

"Let me guess," Mary replied, still mentally chewing on the women's reaction to her partner. "The blonde with the Doc Holliday mustache?"

Diane laughed. "You crazy, girl? I'm talking about that tall, cool drink of water with the long legs and fine ass. The man moves like a dancer. I bet he'd give a girl a nice, smooth ride."

There was still only one man decidedly taller than the rest, and Mary shot Diane more than a few glances as she interpreted her response; most of them appalled. "You mean Mar…Mr. Beanpole?" she stuttered.

"Beanpole?" Diane asked, confused. She squinted at Mary. "That man's all muscle. Look at those forearms…those thighs in those jeans. He's more defined than a geometrical proof." She hummed in pleasure and went back to watching Marshall. "You know what they say about man who's all long like that?"

Mary knew exactly what they said. She also knew from personal experience that Marshall's legs weren't the only long, lean thing about him. He was one of the few people with hands bigger than hers. She closed her eyes briefly as a wispy memory of fingers brushing her neck tickled her mind. Snapping back to reality, Mary tried to ignore the flush in her cheeks.

"He'll probably turn out to be some dorky, trivia spewing geek," Mary teased, somehow wanting to dissuade Diane's interest.

"I don't care if he's a nuclear engineer with a lisp and a pocket protector," Diane replied. "So long as I can get my hands on those thighs…that ass…"

The men turned to walk towards the barn and Mary swallowed. She was sure the last thing she should be doing was ogling her partner's suddenly very interesting ass.

***Mary! What are you thinking? *wink* About time that girl got her share of sexual frustration. Why should Marshall be the only one with sweaty sheets? Still reading? Please REVIEW and let me know what you like! I'm so grateful to all my readers! ***