***Oh, this story is riding me *hard*! Actually, RL is doing that, the story is just being difficult :) I thank you for your patience and ever encouraging reviews and PMs!**

***A chapter with some intrigue, some hands on goodness, and an unlikely pair...Enjoy...and review!***

"Will she make the white words?"

"She won't try, she is being difficult."

"Well she's the one who's crying, perhaps the difficulty is yours..."

-Dances with Wolves

-o-o-

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

– Open Range

A faint rustle behind her was the only warning she got before the hand clamped over her mouth.

Mary abruptly stiffened, the large hand effectively muffling her startled yelp, and any additional movement was prohibited as another arm snaked around her torso and pinned her arms to her sides. The body she was now captured against was large…and male. A flash of panic ripped through her.

"It's me." The voice was a barely audible puff of air against her temple, and the rational mind recognized the owner before primitive instincts realized they weren't going to get to fight. Marshall maintained his firm grip as she jerked and muttered a few choice words into his palm.

"Are you done?" he asked in a whisper. She rested back onto her heels and nodded; rewarded by a less hay flavored breath of air.

"What the hell are you doing…" she started to ask, then elbowed him in the ribs instead and hissed, "shhhh…just listen."

Marshall leaned forward over her shoulder to abide by her request, his right hand still resting lightly on her neck and collarbone where it landed after releasing her mouth. Mary was unexpectedly aware of the heat of his fingertips at that delicate pulse point; a tactile distraction that increased her heart rate slightly beyond the prior wariness. A shift of his thumb and she shivered, despite the warmth of the night.

"Is that Sheryl?" he asked, and Mary squeezed her eyes shut to focus. There was a reason one was not supposed to mix hot tubs and alcohol. Nodding in response to his question, she tuned back into the conversation wafting out of the laundry room.

"…shut up!" Sheryl's command was laced with tears. "Don't you dare come near her!"

Carter's chuckle lacked any humor. "Not me, sweetheart. Money isn't the only currency to ensure silence, and Brad just thinks we could look closer to home to encourage…discretion. Especially when there're strangers in town."

"What are you ta-talking about?" Sheryl stuttered. Mary hoped the fear she heard had not been noticed by Carter, but Marshall's hand tightened on her neck and she knew those chances were slim. She just clenched her fists and willed Sheryl to keep her mouth shut.

"The better question would be; what have you been talking about, Sher?...and who's listening? You think you have friends here? You think you can keep secrets from me? From Brad? You think some boy scout cowboy in your corner is going to save you if we decide it's time for you…and your family…to take a little "vacation?"" Carter's voice dropped into a sinister growl, and the marshals could hear Sheryl's sobs. Marshall had stiffened with Carter's possible allusion to silent observers, and Mary felt her anxiety ratchet up another notch.

"Just leave me alone!" Sheryl cried. "I haven't done anything…I haven't said anything…" Her words ended on a yelp, and Mary tensed.

Marshall's hands were on her biceps, gripping them tightly as he halted her instinctual forward motion. "No, Mary," he murmured through gritted teeth. "We can't…not yet…just wait. Wait."

"We'll find out whether that's true soon enough," Carter said, his words followed by Sheryl's gasp and a clatter of laundry baskets hitting the floor. "We're checking a few things out. Watch yourself…and your brats." His boots tapped across the floor quickly as he strode to the main doors of the laundry room on the other side of the building and pushed through into the night.

More objects were pushed around in the laundry room as Sheryl released a stream of curses in Spanish with a few phrases in a tongue Mary didn't recognize. The woman was sobbing and slamming items around for a few minutes before she, too, rushed out the door Carter had left through minutes before. A silence descended upon the deepening night, and Mary closed her eyes as the adrenaline singing in her veins brought it down an octave.

She had hidden in countless doorways and stairwells as words filled with anger, hate and threats filled the air and pursued her into corners and under beds. Sometimes she had listened with hopes to understand what grievous error had occurred to bring down such wrath…other times she had only prayed and covered her ears. Wished for far away faces and even further places. And sometimes she was forced to intervene. Coerced by pity or a shadow's sense of justice, or some white hot surge of reciprocating anger, she would throw herself into the fray. Those currents sparked in her now.

Marshall felt the gooseflesh beneath his palm smooth as Mary's muscles tensed and she straightened in his grip. Sheryl's departure had left them marooned in the shadows of the laundry and maintenance building until they were sure they were unobserved, and he had been slowly relaxing muscles held tight by anxiety and threat. Heat from his partner's body radiated onto his chest, thighs and groin, and he allowed himself the chance of forced proximity to breathe in the scent of chlorine and citrus while he scolded his libido for suggesting he close the inch gap between them. There were more pressing things to think about…more important matters at stake, but for that moment while she was distracted…

She turned in his arms suddenly, and he released her briefly until she faced him, latching back onto her upper arms to halt any charge into battle she may be contemplating.

"We need to get her out of here, Marshall," she stage whispered. "That's twice in two days she's been threatened and physically assaulted by these fuckwits. That is not acceptable."

"Though I regret having to play the role of naysayer after witnessing that," he sucked air through his teeth and squinted into the night before continuing, "I have to think this behavior isn't out of the ordinary. The threats may have become more personal…with more intent, but she's been tossed about before this all started."

"So that makes it okay?" Disbelief mixed with anger and Marshall tried to head her off at the pass.

"No, that's makes it normal." He caught her eye in the dim, ambient light. "Unpalatable as it may be, Sheryl is used to this. She knows how to survive in the trenches, and she knows she can dial that number if it gets to a point where bluster and bully tactics become something more malicious. We have to let her call this."

She tried to shrug off his hands, and he allowed her to free one arm in concession. Gave her the length of lead he would give to a nervous and unbroken colt, with a firm grip on the other end. "Think it about it, Mary," he said soothingly as she made a few attempts to peel his fingers off her other bicep, then jammed her hand onto her hip with a snort and glared at him. "They're paranoid. They're jumping at shadows as the walls are starting to close in. That gut feeling that you're being watched…being stalked. You know it…I know it. You start to notice the little things, the normal things. And when those normal things aren't normal anymore, that's when you start changing plans and making bad decisions." She stared down at their feet and tilted her head with a sigh. About to agree. He allowed her a moment to think, then stepped slightly closer to add, "We can't disturb the normal. Not yet."

Mary huffed a quiet chuckle. "Tallywhacker would have our heads if we fucked this up." Looked up at him with an apologetic grin.

He raised one eyebrow in agreement. "Taliswell would have our badges if we fucked this up. And if what Carter says is true, that they're checking out strangers in town, we'd be putting ourselves into unnecessary danger far before the need arises."

Her grin faded and she worried her bottom lip while a breeze rustled the pines. "Not 'we'…me. I'd be putting us into danger. I need to step back, but it's - "

"Too close to home." Marshall filled in the line as he shifted his weight to face her directly.

Too close, she thought, suddenly noticing his proximity with the soft words, and she quickly placed her hands on his chest to keep him from encroaching further. His t-shirt was thin under her fingertips, slightly damp from exertions through the evening, and the heat from his skin radiated easily into her palms. A mosaic of starlight and shadows hid his face from her, but Mary had heard his sharp intake of breath and knew he was staring down at her. Intense and still. With senses focused on every point of contact, she felt his fingers curl intimately around her tricep; a calloused caress amplified by the cooler breeze now riding through the valley.

"We need…we need to call…Taliswell will need to know…" Mary tried to force her voice and thoughts towards normalcy, unable to ignore the feel of lean muscle under her fingertips.

Flat footed while he wore his boots, the height difference enhanced the looming presence he presented…the pure maleness of her partner encompassing her, seductive in the desert night. Her fingers twitched in their grip on his chest as she unknowingly leaned into him. He reached up with his other arm to grip her side and steady her, the action instinctive, placing them into an embrace better suited to lovers.

"Mary…" Marshall's voice was a low rumble of warning mixed with the thickness of desire.

She wanted to step away; create the protective distance needed to release herself from whatever spell had been cast by pretense and danger, but his body had reacted to her as well, and she could no more resist slowly brushing her fingers over his now hardened nipple than she could resist breathing. His chest quivered with her exploration, and Marshall reduced the distance between them to less than a molecule by sliding his hand from her arm to around her back. He lowered his head and she looked up, faces inches apart.

Her wandering fingers, her sigh fanning his face, the weight of her barely clad breast resting just above his hand on her ribcage…the woman filled every sense he possessed except one. Do something about it. Gently but firmly, he covered her lips with his own. A taste. A moment to ripple the still surface of deep desire. For as long as she would let him.

Mary had no time to react…no time to hesitate or question or even back away. His mouth covered hers and she was caught. Unprepared. Now, it seemed, her body and mind were unwilling to be released. He tasted of sweat and chapstick, with just a hint of sweet hay that had lightly dusted him in the barn. Cowboy. She stretched into the kiss, needing to kiss him back, and their bodies pressed together. Heat and hardness were impossible to mask, and Mary became aware of her relatively undressed state…and their vulnerable position. She pushed gently at his chest as she pulled away. He released her reluctantly, and she could feel unspoken questions hanging between them.

"Put you in a saddle and you jump right into the role, don't you?" She fidgeted and adjusted her cover-up. Defensive.

Marshall was silent for a moment. "Sometimes it's fun to pretend."

Mary stopped moving to stare at his shadowed form as a horse whinnied loudly in the barn. There was hurt there. "I've never been good at pretending." He took a step towards her and she moved away. "You should get back to the barn, Geronimo." She tried a smile. "Even the horses can smell you way over here."

Blowing out a long breath, Marshall pulled his flannel shirt from the back of his jeans to put on as he looked over at the barn. "Yeah. Eliot's probably thinking I jumped ship." He looked back to her as he did up the buttons. "You call Stan. I'll take care of briefing Taliswell." She nodded and turned to leave when Marshall reached out to snag her wrist. They stared at each other. "Watch yourself, Mary."

"You know I will." She slid away into the night and Marshall carefully checked in all directions before finally striding back to the barn.

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

Sheryl exited the main lodge with a sigh and stretched as she looked towards the lightening eastern sky. Father Sun announced his impending arrival with streaks of pink and purple clouds, heavenly banners that proclaimed his ability to inject life into that which previously had been cold and drifting. There was a reason the Zuni word for 'sun' was the same as the word for 'life'; the latter would not exist without the former and the world would end, and whether from suspicion or some primitive call to worship, she whispered the lyrics of the Sun Song to greet the day. It was mornings like these, weary and alone, that Sheryl pushed aside her usual cynicism towards her grandmother's native beliefs and allowed the old stories to color her world with more than the gray mundane she had known for too long. She knew she suffered from some sort of depression, even took the little white pills everyday that the doctor had ordered. Maybe they helped…maybe not…but she hadn't offed herself or her offspring yet, so she continued to refill the prescription.

Gary's absence had weighed heavily upon her the last few days. She rarely truly missed him now, just brief twinges of loss now and then when a smell or situation reminded her of him, but Brad and Carter's scare tactics had served to more than remind her of how alone she was…how unprotected. No one to run to besides a number on a piece of paper folded to fit into her cell phone. Fingering the object deep in her pocket, she thought about Carter's words the night before; threats that went beyond harm to her, but now included her daughter. A little girl not much younger than the girls she had seen in the river…the girls slated to live a life of servitude and prostitution. Sheryl moaned in frustration. She needed to figure out what Gary would've wanted her to do. Her gut told her she was right; waiting it out knowing that the end of the trial was within sight, and that her actions could possibly change people's lives, but she was scared. She couldn't live with herself if any harm came to the children, and she knew her husband's ghost would haunt even her waking hours.

"Sheryl?" The soft inquiry startled her and she whirled with a gasp, toppling her bucket of supplies.

"I didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry." Eliot noted the woman's wary stance and the fear behind her eyes with a furrowed brow. His gaze darkened as he saw the long scrape on her arm. "What happened?"

Profound relief rendered her slightly dizzy, and Sheryl's hand shook as she covered the scratch. Closing her eyes briefly, she shook her head. "Nothing. Just tried to get into a corner that was too tight." She looked up as Eliot stepped over to her. "What are you doing here, Eliot?" The man's kind gaze unnerved her this morning, and she swallowed as he considered his answer.

"I heard some rumors that raised my hackles a bit. Things that made me wonder if you were in some sort of trouble." His lips thinned as he slowly reached out to touch the fading bruise on her cheek. "Other than the normal trouble, that is."

She turned her face away from his hand with a heavy sigh. It would be the same argument they had every time there was an "incident." She would tell him the same lies, he would know what really happened, and they would both fervently hope things could be different. That she would let him in…that he would quit asking.

"Tyler wanted to know if you were still going to enter him in the rodeo," she asked the question as she stepped back out of reach. "He's been practicing."

Eliot let his hand fall back to his side and chewed on the inside of his cheek as he looked past her. Finally, he nodded and offered her a crooked smile. "I wouldn't dare disappoint him. He could do the barrels too, you know. He's a natural in the saddle."

"He's six," she said, returning the grin. Another tired argument.

He shrugged. "You can't put an age limit on a cowboy, darlin'. It's in his blood."

She squatted down to place the supplies back into the bucket, thanking him when he retrieved an errant roll of paper towels. Resting her hands on her knees, she blew a piece of stray hair off her forehead. "Fine. I'll think about it, but," she raised on eyebrow as a familiar twinkle appeared in his eye, "don't you dare tell him I said he could until you hear it from me. I know how you two work."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Eliot's face was all fake innocence as he helped her up. Seriousness returned as she readied to leave. "Are you back at ten tonight?"

"You know I am." She tried not to look at him.

Eliot wanted nothing more than to make the world right for her, but could only offer what he knew she would accept. "I'll meet you at the road. Keep the coyotes away." For some reason, she looked as though she would cry, the usual line producing an unusual reaction. Before he could move, though, she was walking away with a small wave. Retreat.

He watched the first rays of the sun alight on her hair, the glossy black shot through with red and gold as her ponytail swayed in tandem with her hips. 'What could be' tasted as dusty as the arroyos in July, but he was damned if he'd abandon her. There would be a day of reckoning for those who tormented her…and he only prayed he'd get to be there to throw the first stone.

***Mary, Mary, Mary...why can't you let yourself give in? And then there's Sheryl too...what *is* it with the stubborn women in this story? And the men who would move the sun and stars for them. Ay yi yi... I hope you enjoyed it, and please let me know what you think. REVIEW! ***