Outlaw’s Bride (37 page)

“I’m not going to be dancing a jig anytime soon,” she gasped.

Ethan smiled briefly. “Move away from Boyd,” he instructed.

Patch crawled painfully away from Boyd a few feet, toward where his gun had landed, until she was out of the line of fire.

Boyd lifted a hand and Ethan said, “I wouldn’t move a hair, if I were you.”

“We’re best friends, Ethan. Surely you’re not going to kill me over one slightly used woman.”

Ethan bit back a retort. If he had learned one thing in all the years he had been on the run, it was that the man who stayed in control of his emotions was the man who survived. “It isn’t just Patch you have to account for, Boyd.”

Ethan paused and waited for Boyd to start confessing his sins and pleading for mercy. He should have known better. Boyd hadn’t survived all these years by worrying about the wrongs he had done. Ethan looked right at Boyd and said, “Trahern is alive.”

Ethan marveled at how little Boyd’s expression changed. His mouth flattened slightly and his eyes narrowed, but otherwise he didn’t move a muscle.

“You know, then,” Boyd said.

“About the rape, yes. About how you blackmailed the Felbers, too.”

That surprised a raised brow out of Boyd. “You know about that?”

“Mrs. Felber confessed everything, including the fact Chester was responsible for raping Merielle. Only that turned out not to be the truth. Trahern told me how Merielle remembered everything. You raped her, Boyd.
Why?
”

Boyd glanced at the gun, fifteen feet away, then focused his gaze on Ethan. “It just happened.”

“Why accuse Chester?”

“I hated Horace Felber. It was a way to make him suffer.”

“And the blackmail?”

“He offered me the money before I asked for it.”

“You could have turned him down.”

Boyd’s lips curled downward. “Could I? He offered me what amounted to a fortune. More money than I could make in ten years of riding herd. All I had to do was keep my mouth shut. You know what my life was like. I saw a chance for something better.”

“What about me?”

“How could I know you would be accused?” Boyd said. “I was damn sorry about that, Ethan.”

“Not sorry enough to take the blame yourself!”

“You have to understand, Ethan. With that money from Horace, I had a chance for a new life,” Boyd explained. “I could have everything you had.”

“Including my parents!” Ethan snarled. “When I think how I asked you to take care of them—I get sick to my stomach, Boyd. Were you a good son? As good as I was?”

“Better,” Boyd said sharply. “I appreciated
them more, because I knew what it was like to do without.”

“Then why did you poison them?”

Boyd cocked his head sideways. “How did you know I did that?”

“I didn’t. Until now.”

Boyd shook his head in disgust at how he had been tricked.

“Why?”

Boyd tried to look at Ethan, but found his stare too intense for comfort. His gaze dropped to his feet. He kicked at a tuft of grass with his boot. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible. “Your father caught me rustling cattle. He was going to turn me over to the law.”

Ethan frowned. “But Pa didn’t die right away. It took a while for the poison to kill him. So why weren’t you arrested?”

“Oh, I promised I’d pay him back the money I got for the cattle and that I wouldn’t do it again, and he gave me a second chance.”

“Then why did you have to kill him?” Ethan asked in an agonized voice.

Boyd looked up at Ethan, his eyes pleading for understanding. “I found out the railroad was coming through Double Diamond land. I knew he wouldn’t sell to me. Besides,” he said with a shrug, “there was always the chance he would change his mind.”

“Dear God.” Ethan’s heart pounded in his chest. His ears buzzed. His eyes glazed, and he blinked to clear them. His gunhand wavered, and
he tightened his grip, forcing himself to keep his finger away from the trigger.

“And my mother?” he said in a hoarse voice. “What good thing did she do for you that you figured she ought to die?”

“I wanted the Double Diamond,” Boyd said bluntly. “I always have. I figured if she were dead, you’d have no reason to stay in Oakville, and you’d sell the ranch to me.” He shrugged. “I guess I miscalculated the dose.”

“Too damn bad for you,” Ethan said bitterly. “What about Chester? Did you shoot him, or have him shot?”

“One less person to tell tales if I did the job myself.”

“I don’t understand you, Boyd. What makes a person like you tick?”

“You only had to walk a mile in my shoes,” Boyd retorted. “All my life I had nothing! I
was
nothing! Just poor white trash, son of a drunken sot, with nothing but the shirt on my back to call my own. Nobody gave a damn what happened to me!”

“
I
cared! You weren’t nothing to me!” Ethan cried. “You were my
friend
, the brother I never had.
I loved you!”

Boyd smiled sadly. “I never knew.”

Ethan stood stunned. “How could you not?”

“Maybe I did,” Boyd conceded. “I guess it just wasn’t enough to fill up the hole inside me.”

“Did all that blood money make you feel like
something?”
Ethan demanded.

“It gave me power,” Boyd said. “It made people listen to me. It bought me respect and respectability. I’m someone, something, in Oakville.”

“
Were
something,” Ethan corrected. “Things will change a bit once the truth is known.”

Boyd smiled grimly. “I’ll be
nothing
again? I don’t think I could stand that, Ethan. I’d rather die.”

“That can be arranged.”

“If you’re going to shoot me, get it over with.”

“A bullet in the heart is too quick and easy a death for you, Boyd.” Ethan holstered his gun and began unbuckling his gunbelt. “I figure it’s time we settled things between us once and for all.”

Boyd was smiling as he took off his Stetson and hooked it on his saddle horn. “A fair fight?”

“You don’t know the meaning of the word
fair
,” Ethan said. “Just a fight. To the finish.” On the last word, Ethan dropped his gunbelt on the ground and walked—long step, halting step—toward Boyd.

When Ethan was only a few steps away from him, Boyd ran for the mesquite bush where his gun had landed. He had the advantage because Ethan was prevented by his awkward gait from getting back to his gunbelt before Boyd would get to his gun.

But Boyd hadn’t reckoned on Patch, who stuck her foot out and tripped him.

Or on Ethan, who knew his limitations, and launched himself at Boyd rather than trying to reach his gun.

The two men landed in a heap and rolled several times before they came to a breathtaking stop.

That was when Patch realized Boyd had a knife.

“Ethan, look out! He’s got a knife!”

Patch’s warning came barely in time for Ethan to keep Boyd from cutting his throat, and the two men went rolling over and over in the dust. The underhanded attack made Ethan furious. It was further proof that the man who had been his best friend was every bit as deceitful and treacherous as his actions in the past had proved him to be.

“You fight dirty, Boyd,” Ethan said through gritted teeth as he struggled to keep the knife from his throat.

“You didn’t ask for a fair fight,” Boyd replied through equally clenched jaws.

It was a contest between two men who, physically, were evenly matched. But even though Boyd was a bad man, he had spent his life in a much more civilized world than the one Ethan had inhabited. Outlaws and derelicts, killers and thieves had taught Ethan a few tricks that Boyd had never learned.

Ethan delivered a quick punch to the throat that, if it had been harder, would have killed
Boyd. As it was, Boyd dropped the knife and grabbed his throat, trying to catch his breath through his bruised windpipe. Ethan recovered the knife and held the tip of it under Boyd’s car.

“I ought to slit your throat.”

“Go ahead,” Boyd taunted. “Murder me. And live with it the rest of your life.”

Ethan smiled wolfishly. “When did you get so good at manipulating people?”

“It’s a talent I’ve always had,” Boyd said. “You were just too gullible to see it.”

“Unfortunately, you’re right about how I’d feel later if I killed a defenseless man. Even if you do deserve to die.” Ethan stood and left Boyd on the ground still holding his throat. He threw the knife so the point landed in the bark of a mesquite, then gave Boyd his full attention. “On the other hand, I wouldn’t feel a damn bit guilty about beating the hell out of you before I turn you over to the sheriff.”

Boyd struggled to his feet. “You going to let me catch my wind first?”

“This isn’t a fair fight,” Ethan reminded him.

“All right, Ethan. Whatever you—” Boyd lunged before he finished his sentence, his shoulder driving into Ethan’s solar plexus and knocking the air out of him as both men landed hard back in the dust.

Patch watched the combatants with bated breath, terrified for Ethan until she witnessed several of the lethal maneuvers he used on Boyd. The viciousness of the fight amazed and appalled her.
The two men were engaged in a knock-down, drag-out brawl, with no holds barred.

Blood flowed from a cut over Ethan’s left eye, blinding him on that side. His cheekbone and chin suffered bruising blows. His knuckles were rubbed raw from punching Boyd, who was in even worse shape. Boyd’s lips were puffy, his right eye was swollen almost closed, and his nose was broken and dripping blood. He was half bent over to protect the ribs Ethan persistently and effectively attacked.

The two men circled, each trying to keep his prey in sight with his one good eye. Every once in a while one or the other got in a blow, but just as often they swung and missed.

Ethan kept punching at Boyd’s stomach and ribs, trying to wear him down. His head was ringing from the jabs Boyd had managed to deliver. Ethan leapt back to avoid Boyd’s boot aimed at his crotch and grinned raggedly. “Missed,” he taunted.

Boyd replied with an uppercut to the jaw that left Ethan reeling. He responded with another blow to the belly that doubled Boyd over. To his surprise, Boyd fell to his knees. Ethan staggered back a step. “Get up, Boyd.”

“Can’t fight anymore, Ethan,” Boyd gasped. “Need a rest.”

“Get up, Boyd.”

All three of them heard the sound of galloping horses at the same time.

Patch joined Ethan as they sought out the figures in the distance, wondering whether help was
on the way, or whether they were in for more trouble.

Boyd didn’t hesitate. He saw his chance and took it, crawling stealthily toward where his gun lay in the dust, careful not to draw either Ethan’s or Patch’s attention.

Keeping Patch close beside him, Ethan headed for the spot where he had left his gunbelt on the ground. He had just reached it when Boyd called his name.

“Ethan.”

Ethan’s reflexes were so finely honed that he reacted to the glint of sunlight off steel without thinking. He shoved Patch out of the line of fire and snatched his Colt from his holster in one smooth, swinging arc of his arm. He fired as soon as he had a target.

Boyd grunted when the bullet struck him. He fired back, but his aim was thrown off, and his bullet sailed harmlessly wide.

“Drop the gun,” Ethan said.

Boyd shook his head. “You’re going to have to kill me, Ethan. I’d rather not hang, if it’s all the same to you. As my best friend, just do me this one last favor.”

Boyd aimed his gun at Ethan, and Ethan fired.

The force of the shot toppled Boyd backward. His legs crumpled under him and he came to rest with his arms flung wide and one leg bent under him.

“Damn you, Boyd!” Ethan swore. “You son of a bitch. I didn’t want to kill you!”

Patch arrived at Ethan’s side just as Frank and
Merielle brought their horses to a sliding stop in front of them.

“Are you all right?” Frank called to Ethan as he came off his horse.

“We’re fine,” Ethan said. Then, in a flat voice, “Boyd is dead.”

Frank helped Merielle down, then slipped his arm possessively around her waist and walked the short distance to Patch and Ethan. “Don’t waste your pity on him,” Frank said. “He deserved to die.”

“I’m glad he’s dead,” Merielle said in a hushed voice. She glanced at Boyd’s blood-soaked body and hid her face against Frank’s chest. Her whole body trembled.

Frank rocked her in his arms. “It’s all over, Merielle. You’re safe now, with me.”

Merielle looked up at Frank. There was nothing childlike about the glow of love in her eyes.

Frank swallowed so his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Once upon a time, when we were kids, I proposed to you. Do you still want to marry me?”

“Oh yes, Frank!” Merielle said. “I love you. I always have.”

Frank met Ethan’s eyes over Merielle’s head and said, “Then we’ll be married. And no one and nothing will stop us.”

“My father can’t stop us now,” Merielle said sadly. “He’s dead.”

“No, he’s not,” Ethan corrected.

Merielle whirled to face Ethan. “Father’s not dead? But I saw Boyd shoot him. At least, I
thought I did. I …” Merielle put a hand to her head. It was clear she was afraid her memory had tricked her again.