ROMANCE: Regency Romance: Fated to His Kiss (Historical Victorian Romance) (Historical Regency Romance Fantasy Short Stories) (10 page)

              He was deep in thought as the riders crossed the plain, keeping close to the shadows.

*****

              Curly thought he had the drop on Jeb and lowered his rifle.

              “Not yet, you idiot.” Brock muttered. They were still a long distance away from their target. The sun was beginning to set. From long experience as a gunman, Brock knew he wanted to catch Jeb in the perfect light, from the right, safe distance. There were no heights from which he’d be able to shoot adequately; otherwise, he’d have chosen that approach.

              “I got him, though” Curly complained.

              Brock gritted his teeth. He wasn’t pleased to be working with these local guys. Johnny, the lean man to his left on the pinto, might have half a brain, but Curly and Ike were pure morons. He wished that Frank had let him work on his own.

              “You got him? Great. Wait until I give the word. If you miss him, it’s going to be your ass Frank takes it out on. Not mine.”

              “Yeah, okay.” Curly glumly agreed.

              “In fact, ride on the hell out of here. You’re getting on my last nerve. We’ll do this ourselves. You boys just follow my lead.”

              Curly turned his horse angrily and left. The man wouldn’t normally take guff from anyone, but Brock had a reputation as a skilled killer. None of them wanted to cross him.

              The three remaining men watched as Jeb rode along and finally stopped and got off his horse. The man was checking something on a sheep, possibly its hoof. Brock judged the light to be just right.

              “All right boys. Draw on him. After you take your shot, ride in and finish him if he don’t go down. We clear?”

              “You got it.” Johnny said, pulling out his gun.

              “Let’s go. Wait.” He saw a glint of metal flashing from behind the sheep.

              The gun blasted three times. He felt a sharp pain along his shoulder blade and a moment later Ike was spinning and falling off his horse.

              “Damn it!” He shot, but the shots went wide. Johnny’s missed their mark as well. Once it was clear they’d failed, they spurred their horses forward.

              It was less than ideal, but Brock felt reasonably sure he could still put the man in the ground. It’d be his fiftieth kill, and he hated the idea of missing that magic number.

              They closed the distance quickly, but from a stationary position with a dead sheep in front of him- one of them had apparently gunned down the sheep- he was taking his time and picking his target. Brock unloaded and was about to give Johnny another order when he saw the man was slumped over the neck of his horse. He slid and fell off.

              It was just him and the target now, and he was in a far worse position than he had been when he’d started off. He slowed the horse and, from his higher position, assumed he’d get the shot off without a problem. As Brock gained control over his horse, he smiled and began to lower his gun.

              Unfortunately for Brock, his gun fell from his lifeless hands as a shot rang out from his intended target. The gunman followed his gun as he dropped off the horse.

              Jeb stood up, letting himself breath for the first time since the ambush had begun. He’d seen them from a distance minutes before they’d begun their attack. He’d expected he’d there would be retribution for his showdown at the Daisy, but he hadn’t expected it would be so blunt.

              “The Sheriff be damned.” Jeb said to himself, looking down at the dead body before him. “Time to take a ride into town.”

              Jeb rode into Oak Ridge half-expecting there would be a gunfight right on the streets as he rushed in to call out Frank. No one confronted him. But with three killers lying in pools of their own blood on his property, two of whom everyone knew to be in the employ of Frank Durant, he felt confident that it was time to confront his brother’s killer. If the Sheriff wanted to step in, that’d be his mistake.

              As he tied up at the Lucky Star, he thought he did spy Sheriff Robert Tate hanging back in the shadows along the side of the road, disinterested in the wild music, shouting, and cursing taking place in the tavern. A couple of ladies of the night were hanging about from the balcony on the building’s second story, and they called down to Jeb to grab his attention. He ignored them.

              “Watcha doing’ here, Jeb?” A man called out. It was, as he suspected, the Sheriff.

              “Ike Harmon and Johnny Gould are out on my property, same men that likely killed Tom. If you want to know, Bob, I intend to ask Frank a few direct questions about it.”

              Sheriff Tate stepped out of the shadows. “Well, that’s a mighty shame, Jeb. Always thought you were smarter than your brother. But I guess you don’t care much about that lady friend of yours, if you think it’s okay to be so brazen about your line of questioning.”

              The words caught in his throat. “I- I don’t know what you mean, Bob. Make that clear.”

              “I mean I just saw Curly Roberts escorting that Forest woman, the one from Baltimore you’ve been keeping’ company with today. He thought she could do with a bit of better company up in here. You go in there looking to cause trouble, you might not like what you find.”

              That settled his mind. “I’ll be going in there and bringing her back out. You plan to stop me?”

              The Sheriff considered the matter by looking down at his boot. “Well, I guess all of you can settle your own affairs. I may not be the best sheriff-”

              “You’re in Durant’s pocket. We all know that.”

              “I may not be the best sheriff, but I am still sheriff. Anyone other than Durant and his boys gets hurt in there, I’ll see to the law. You understand?”

              Jeb gave the man a slow smile. “Yes, Sheriff Tate. I think we understand each other.”

              “Good luck.” The man turned his back and walked away purposefully, clearly not wanting to be anywhere nearby when the shooting started.

              “Guess I better go in.” Jeb said to himself, steeling his nerve. “Don’t nobody live forever anyhow.”

*****

              On the second floor of the Lucky Star, Louisa was laying on a bed, bound, gagged, and terrified. So far, her abductor had tried nothing to harm her. He was sitting in a corner, looking bored and unhappy.

              Curly had come to her boarding house and caught her off-guard by drawing a gun on her. With only a few words, he’d made it clear she had to follow him. His behavior was bizarre, though. There was almost no pleasure in what he did, while at the restaurant it had seemed that he had nothing but lasciviousness about him.

              She tried pleading with him with her eyes. He saw it, looked away. After she started to make a great deal of incessant noise under the gag. He tried to ignore her, but as she grew louder, he finally got up and went over, pulling down her gag unkindly.

              “You keep making noise, I’ll plug you, got it? Just keep it shut.”

              “Water. Please! That’s all I ask for.”

              He huffed in annoyance. “Later.”

              “Please! I’m so thirsty. Or at least leave the gag off for a bit. I promise, I’ll be quiet.”

              Curly shook his head. “I don’t know.”

              Louisa tried to gather her thoughts and speak clearly. “Curly, whoever told you- it was Frank right? If Frank told you to do this thing, he mostly wanted to keep me quiet so I wouldn’t shout, right? That makes sense. So if I’m not noisy, there’s no reason to keep this on me. I don’t want you to hurt me. Therefore, you can trust me. Is that okay then?”

              He grunted his assent, then sat back in the chair.

              “You’re too kind. I’d like to ask another kindness. If you could get me a glass of water, I’d be most grateful. Could you do that, Curly?”

              He considered the matter before giving a curt nod and leaving the room.

              It was her chance. She had been working at the poorly bound knots from the moment he’d tied her up. Curly was, apparently, quite bad at tying a rope into knots. She slipped her delicate hands out and began to look around for anything should could use as a weapon. When her eyes settled on something, she smiled to herself.

              Curly returned with the water and she appeared as she was, her hands bound behind her back. “Thank you so much.” She told him. “Please, just give me a sip.”

              The downstairs had been raucous that night as it normally was, but they both paused when they realized it had gone silent. Curly paused as he brought the glass to her lips, and turned around.

              She didn’t hesitate. Louisa brought the chamber pot up that she’d had hidden behind her and slammed it onto the man’s temple. He crumpled below the bed and she sprang up to escape.

*****

              Downstairs, the music stopped as Jeb Bradford entered the saloon, armed with a rifle. Durant was sitting at a card table, looking very much like the king of the world. When Jeb entered, he spotted no less than four of Durant’s gunmen spread around the room.

              “Aw hellfire.” Durant cried from behind the table. He tried to leap to his feet, but the table was in his way.

              “Durant!” Jeb held his gun steady, aimed directly at the man’s head. Frank stopped in his tracks, his hands hovering over his gun belt. Jeb kept a close eye on the other men.

              “Durant, there’s been enough bloodshed. I’m going to make you a deal. You leave town right now. Just take off. You leave and never come back, and I’ll let you live another day. Boys,” he added, addressing the hired guns, “You don’t need to get cut down for this man. There’s no reason you need to die.”

              Frank didn’t move. “So I just walk on out and you’ll let me go- just like that?”

              “You have my word.”

              “Well.” He seemed to think it over. “All right then. You’re a fair man, Jeb Bradford. I’ll give you that.”

              A crashing sound of pottery momentarily distracted Jeb and he looked up when he heard the clatter. Frank took the opportunity to draw and fire.

              The bullet grazed Jeb’s cheek. It burned as it cut the skin. Almost reflexively, he squeezed the trigger on the rifle, and Frank Durant flew backwards, slamming into the wall behind him.

              A man behind the bar tried to go for his gun, but Jeb cried out to him, holding out a hand. “Wait! Stop where you are.”

              The bartender held very still, weighing his options. “I’m listening. Go on.”

              “My business is done. I’ll give you the same deal I gave Frank, and I mean it. Come on, fellas. There’s other towns, other jobs. I’ll even give you time to pack. Just leave your guns where they are.”

              The survivors looked at one another. The bartender walked away from his weapon, hands up. They all began shuffling by him, looking down and leaving quickly.

              After they’d all gone, Jeb had a chance to look up at the second floor. Louisa was standing there, looking winded and relieved. “You’re here!” She called out in surprise.

              “I am, Miss Louisa. And I see you’ve managed your own escape.”

              “That I have.” She replied, and hurried down the stairs to him. “But I always appreciate your good help, Mr. Bradford!”

*****

              “This is nice.” Louisa proclaimed as they sat down by the river. Jeb had taken her by horseback to the quiet spot beneath a large shade tree.

              “I’d hoped you’d feel that way, Miss Louisa.” He said. Jeb spread out a blanket and began to set out a spread of bread, cheese, meat, and fruits.

              “I hope you aren’t too confident in yourself, Mr. Bradford.”

              He chuckled. “I’d never be so bold. I do think at this point in our acquaintance it would be fine if you just called me Jeb, Miss Louisa.” He sat and offered a hand.

              She sat down on the blanket beside him. “Very well, Jeb. But you must also call me Louisa.”

              “I’ll do that, ma’am. Louisa, I mean. It may take a little getting you used to.”

              “I don’t mind if you don’t, Jeb.” She murmured.

              They sat quietly, enjoying their meal and watching the river roll by. Louisa was grateful for the silence. The violence and horror of the month before had unnerved her in many ways. But with Frank Durant’s reign of terror now a thing of the past, Oak Ridge was becoming a real town again. Business at the Daisy was booming. The Lucky Star hadn’t shut down overnight, but it’s activities were limited to being little more than a watering hole. The Sheriff had decided to enforce the law again, enforcing a curfew and putting an end to the gambling and the brothel. Things had gotten much better overall, as the last of the worst element went on to other parts of the West.

              “You know, my sister has a funny idea.” Jeb said after they’d finished. “She thinks I might be falling in love with you.”