Drew (The Cowboys) (12 page)

He wanted to explore the issue further. If Jake and Isabelle were real, if they really had adopted all those kids, they might have established a network of gangs all over the South. No telling what a really clever leader could accomplish by adopting kids already alienated from society and teaching them to get back at people who’d hurt them. He wanted to know more about this couple.

“Who are those men over there?” she asked.

“Which men?”

“The ones talking to Carl. Why is one of them pointing at me?”

“Those are reporters. I invited them to come see you give a demonstration. I’m going to make you the biggest attraction in this show.”

Chapter Seven

“Who gave you the right to bring them here?” The look she gave him said she’d rather riddle his body with bullets than speak to even one reporter.

“I told you what I wanted to do.”

“I never thought you’d do it.” She got to her feet. “You asked them here, you talk to them.”

Cole grabbed her wrist. “You can’t leave. They came to see you, not me.”

“Watch me.”

Drew pulled hard against his hold on her; he let her go. He didn’t understand why she was so set against meeting the press, unless she didn’t want anybody to take a picture, for fear somebody could identify her as the leader of the robbers.

“Do you want your act to be a success?”

She stopped and turned to face him, irritation pinching her features. “We’ve already been through this.”

“Do you want to earn enough money for your ranch in one more year, or do you want to keep doing this for the rest of your life?”

“You know the answer to that, too. Get to what you mean to say.”

“This is show business. The person with the most talent doesn’t always come out on top. You’ve got to sell yourself to the public, make the audience want what you have to offer. You’ve got a great gimmick, a woman who can shoot better than a man.”

“It’s not a gimmick!”

“Sorry, wrong word.” She was stuffed with enough pride for two people. “People are naturally curious about guns and sharpshooters. They’ll be even more curious about a woman.”

“So?”

“So you’ve got to let people know you’re here.”

“My name’s on all the posters.”

“So are a lot of other names. There’s nothing to draw attention specifically to you.”

“I don’t want to draw attention to me.”

“Then why are you in this show?”

“To make money.”

“Like you said about your family, everything comes with strings attached. To be successful in show business, you’ve got to advertise. The way to do that is to get people to write about you, to put your picture in the newspaper so the public will know who you are, what you can do. If they make you sound interesting enough, you’ll be famous.”

“I don’t want to be famous.”

“Then you’ll never make enough money to buy a ranch.”

This wouldn’t be a very convincing argument if she was saving all the money she got from the bank robberies.

But she was thinking about it He could tell from the angry look she threw him, she didn’t like it one bit. That confused him even more. If she was saving her money from the robberies and really didn’t want publicity, why was she even considering it?

“What are they going to want me to do?”

“To give them a demonstration.”

“What else?”

“They’ll want to know something about you. That bit about Jake and Isabelle adopting eleven orphans is perfect, especially after they see Zeke and Hawk.”

“I’m not telling them about Jake and Isabelle. They’d hate it. I’m not making oddities out of Zeke and Hawk, either. They’re people, not freaks for strangers to gawk at.”

“Then let me do the talking for you.”

That didn’t placate her. “Why should I trust you? You’re the one who got me into this mess in the first place. Why didn’t you stay up in those stands that first night? Did seeing a woman outshoot a man needle your male pride so badly you couldn’t stand it?”

He didn’t like letting her think he was that shallow, but it was certainly better than the truth.

“It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I thought it would be fun.”

“You’ve caused me nothing but misery ever since.”

The last person to say that to Cole had been his mother. He didn’t like having to add Drew to that list.

“Well, it’s done and can’t be changed now.”

“You’ve
done it, so you deal with it.” She turned and walked away.

“You can’t leave now,” he called after her.

She didn’t answer, but just kept walking. He looked at the approaching reporters, calculating whether he should try to bring Drew back or disappear himself. He decided to face the reporters by himself. He’d brought them here without consulting Drew, so he had to be the one to figure out what to do next. But when he’d done that, he was going to throttle one very stubborn and frustrating female.

He didn’t know what he’d expected this assignment to be like when he took it, but it was turning out to be unlike any other.

“They tell us you’re Cole Benton,” one of the reporters said when he came up.

“You got the right man.”

“Where’s this dame you were telling us about?”

“Any chance she’s the little lady we saw sitting with you when we came in?” another asked.

“Yes, that’s Drew Townsend.”

The man whistled. “If she can shoot anywhere near as good as you say, we can have every man within a hundred miles fighting for a ticket.”

“She wouldn’t like that,” Cole said, knowing Drew would hate it. “She’s a little shy.”

“Why?”

“Drew is proud of her abilities, but she doesn’t want anybody making a fuss.”

“I never met a dame in show business who wouldn’t give her left breast to get her picture in the newspaper,” one reporter said.

“Drew is more likely to shoot the pen out of your hand for saying something she didn’t like.”

“No woman can shoot that good.”

“She’s even better than that,” Cole said.

“How come?”

It was up to him to give them a story that would interest the readers, but he didn’t want to stray too far from the truth.

“Her parents didn’t know much about getting along in the West,” Cole said. “They’d have starved if it hadn’t been for the game Drew shot. She was too little to use a shotgun, so she used a rifle. Got to where she could shoot the head off a squirrel, quail, or a rabbit. Since she used a rifle, they didn’t have to dig buckshot out of their dinner.”

The reporters wrote rapidly on their pads.

“Where are her parents now?” one asked.

“They headed west and got killed by Indians. Drew was taken in by a couple that adopted eleven kids.”

“Nobody’s fool enough to adopt that many kids,” one reporter said.

“They did. Two of them are working in the show, a black man and a half-breed Comanche.”

He had everybody’s undivided attention now.

“How did she end up in this show?” one man asked.

“She’s trying to make enough money to buy her own ranch.”

Cole looked up to see Zeke approaching. He looked madder than a stomped-on snake. He had several bull’seyes, which he handed to Cole.

“Set these up,” he said.

“What for?”

“You wanted a demonstration, didn’t you? Well, you’re going to get one. Drew’s coming out on that horse, just like you wanted, only I’m catching her.”

He punched Cole in the chest with a long black finger.

“No need to be mad,” Cole said. “I’m doing this for her.”

“I know you are. That’s the only reason I don’t let Hawk cut your throat.”

“Then why the hell are you so mad?”

“Because you made Drew mad. I don’t like it when that happens.”

“Well, you must stay upset a lot, because that sister of yours doesn’t ever seem to be very happy.”

“She was until you showed up.”

One of the reporters tapped Zeke on the shoulder. Zeke turned and glared so fiercely at the man, he stumbled back a few steps.

“You that black kid that was adopted with her?”

“Yeah,” Zeke growled. “What of it?”

“What do you do in the show?” the man asked.

“Trick riding, some lassoing. I’m thinking about adding knife-throwing.”

The reporter backed farther away. “If this is what he’s like,” he said to Cole, “I don’t want to see the half-breed.”

“That’s good, because he doesn’t want to see you,” Zeke said. “Now if you want to see Drew’s act, get yourself up into those seats,” he said, addressing himself to the group.

“Is she going to do the whole act?” Cole asked Zeke.

“That plus some of the new tricks.”

Greatly relieved, Cole smiled in spite of himself. Only her pride could have caused Drew to change her mind. She must have figured if she didn’t perform, the reporters would write about her anyway, only they would say she was a fraud, that she hadn’t shown up because she didn’t want to be exposed.

She was going to be about as happy as a coyote after a wolf stole its dinner. He’d forced her to do something against her will to protect her reputation.

“Okay, gentlemen,” he said to the reporters, “get ready to be dazzled.”

Cole had to give Drew credit. When she decided to do something, she went all out.

She entered the arena standing on her horse, a big smile pinned on her face. He hoped the reporters couldn’t tell it was completely insincere. She shot the center out of all three targets. Cole held them up for the men to see, then rushed to put up three more. Three more shots, dead center. She dismounted by leaping fearlessly into Zeke’s arms.

Then, without so much as a pause, she shattered a series of targets that ran across a table like ducks in a shooting gallery. She followed that with the candle trick. Then, while Cole relit the candles and started the table spinning, she shattered three clay pigeons one after another. She then turned, shot the flames out of the moving candles, and ended up by hitting more clay pigeons, two at a time, and finally three at a time.

She came forward and executed a curtsey. Then she took a pistol Zeke handed her and proceeded to fire directly at each of the reporters. Their open-mouthed wonder at her performance was nothing compared to the shock of having their hats shot off their heads. A couple went white as sheets. One yelled and dived under his seat. Another jumped up and fled. One—and Cole had to give him high marks for bravery—leaned over, picked up his hat, and looked at the neat hole in the brim.

He looked up at Drew, then back at his hat. “Lady,” he said, “that’s the fanciest shooting I’ve ever seen. You must have kept your family’s table well stocked.”

“I told them your parents weren’t very good at living rough, so you had to supplement the menu with game you shot,” Cole explained. He wasn’t certain she wouldn’t turn her pistol on him next. She had one bullet left.

“They never went hungry,” Drew answered, giving Cole one last withering look. “Anything else you want to ask? I wouldn’t want you to get anything
else
wrong. You there, under that seat,” she called, pointing her pistol at the reporter still crouched on the ground. “Come out. If I’d meant to hit you, you’d be dead. And you,” she said, indicating the two reporters who hadn’t yet regained their natural color, “buck up before you disgrace your parents by fainting.”

The one reporter who hadn’t seem fazed by anything broke out laughing. “Lady, I’ve never met anybody like you. I figured if you were half as good as your fella said you were, you’d look like a cross between a fur trapper and the bearded lady. But your fella said you were damned pretty, and he’s right.”

Drew fixed Cole with a look that promised retribution, then turned back to the reporter. “I’m flattered you like my looks, but if you don’t want a hole in your forehead, you’ll stop referring to that coyote as
my fella.
I’d as soon be yoked with a longhorn bull. In fact, I’d prefer it.”

“Anything you say,” the reporter replied, not visibly upset by Drew’s threats. “Anything else you do in this act of yours?”

“No.”

“We’ve got several new tricks in mind,” Cole said, “but we don’t want to show everything at once. We thought it would be better to add one here and there, you know, keep the act fresh, give each audience a little something new.”

The reporter looked from Cole to Drew, the faintest suggestion of a smile on his lips. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” Her answer was reluctant. “I’ll be riding in on horseback for the second time tonight. I don’t know when I’m going to add the candles.”

“She’s never missed one yet,” Cole told the reporters, “but she wants to practice it a little more. You can hit a thousand targets and no one notices, but miss one and they won’t talk of anything else.”

“They’ll be talking about something else this time,” the reporter said. He looked at his hat once more and shook his head. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself. Come on, guys,” he said to the other reporters. “We have stories to write. I don’t know about you, but mine is going to be on the street by suppertime.”