The Gallows' Bounty (West of Second Chances) (17 page)

James lifted his rifle and pointed it at the man.  A bullet would shut him up for sure.

But he didn’t have to shoot the man; Boden’s next shot caught Sims between the eyes.

James shook his head in disbelief.  How the hell had Butcher Boden shot Sims from that distance? His horse had run off with the rifle.  It seemed the man was a lucky bastard.  Not one of the shots James fired even nicked him.

At least that part of the Butcher’s legend was true.  He’d heard reports that he had the devil’s own luck.  Some even claimed a contingent of dark angels guarded the man from harm.  Nonsense, of course.

Skill beat luck any day, and James was sure he had all the skill.

Sims dead, James scanned the rest of his men.  Jenkins held his own.  French actually had a competent friend.

The sound of pounding hooves reached James’ ears, and he hoped it was Peters joining them.  He didn’t want to be caught between a pissed off Butcher Boden and his ranch hands.

The rider came within view then, and James was relieved to see Peters.  Not only that, but he approached Boden from the side.  The log the Butcher hid behind would be of little use once Peters got into position. He’d hired at least one man with initiative.

James grinned.

It was shaping up to be a great day.

THE CONFUSION OF THE
past weeks had Willow’s thoughts wandering as she searched for the heifer she and Boden had passed a while ago.  She supposed her confusion was a good thing, but it left her uncertain of her place.  Her confidence had begun to reassert itself in Boden’s care.  It felt good, but the temptation, the survival instinct to cower, continued to plague her.

When she did shy away from him, he drew her close again with a kind word or touch.  Just last night, she'd knocked his glass of water over when she'd set his plate in front of him.  He’d merely smiled and patted his lap dry, making the comment that he was glad it hadn’t been hot coffee.

And what’s more, he shared more with her than just his ranch work.  He shared a favorite pastime with her as well–shooting.  He’d challenged her to a shooting contest.  He'd won, but not by much.  Instead of gloating, he had given her a broad grin, heartfelt congratulations, and pointers for the future.

And to her great surprise he'd allowed her to join him in his nightly reading.  Yes, the man read more than handbills.  Most surprisingly he had shared the essays of Ralph Waldo Emerson with her—what most men considered dangerous food
for the female mind to be sure—yet he'd seemed to welcome her thoughts on the essays.  They’d taken time reading “Self-Reliance” to each other just last night.  Willow still wasn’t sure if she agreed with Emerson’s definition of a great man, but she was realizing more and more that Boden defined a great man in her mind.

He was reeling her in and her instinct for self-preservation balked at her growing trust in her husband.  She knew the danger of men, but Boden looked safe.

A loud noise disturbed her thoughts then.  She turned her head in its direction and listened intently. Gunfire, she realized when another shot sounded.

“You’ll have to wait,”
Willow said, thinking of the heifer she’d set out to find.

Judging from the sound of the firearms the shooting came from where she’d left Boden.  Willow withdrew her rifle from her saddle scabbard, checking the chamber.  Fully loaded.

She reckoned she’d anger Boden if she rode to his aid, but she had little choice.  Boden offered her hope, the first hope she’d had in a long while, and she wasn’t about to let anything happen to him.

In her urgency, she kicked Kitty’s sides.  The mare picked up her pace like she’d never done before.  A dozen grisly scenarios burned across
Willow’s mind as she rode hell for leather across the pasture, cattle fleeing to get out of horse and rider’s way.  Every time the gunfire stopped, Willow’s heart beat faster, and her mind conjured up images of her husband bleeding or worse yet, dead.

At the speed she traveled, she soon caught sight of Boden.  He’d holed up where she’d left him, a group of gunmen trapping him on that narrow strip of land surrounded on three sides by the bend in the creek.  If he made a run for it, he’d be shot down, so Boden hunkered behind a fallen tree.  He was well and truly trapped.

If she were to get to him, she’d have to cross the creek.  She didn’t have time to search for an easy crossing; it would rid her of the element of surprise and make her a target.  Besides, it looked as though Boden was about to be attacked from the left as well.

Willow
approached the gunfight from the right.  If she didn’t cross that creek soon and get a good shot at the gunman on the left, Boden wouldn’t make it.

The creek came closer and closer with every stretch of Kitty’s legs.  Willow held her breath as Kitty neared the point of jumping the creek.  The banks were deeper and a bit wider than
Willow had suspected, and she prayed the horse wouldn’t balk at the last moment and send her flying. 

T
HE SOUND OF GALLOPING
hooves drew Boden’s attention.  He turned, lifting his pistol as he did so.  His finger tensed on the trigger.

He lowered his firearm.  Willow rode in his direction.  Damn.  What was she doing here?  His breath caught in his throat. She had no intention of pulling Kitty back.  Instead, she rode the mare as if her body were merely an extension of the animal.  Her dark hair streamed out behind her, having come loose from its moorings, and she rode low over the mare’s neck.  Willow made a beautiful picture, but she would more than likely break her damn, fool neck.  He’d trained Kitty himself and knew she could clear the creek, but horses had a tendency to do their own thinking sometimes.  Well, the horse had better make the jump or it would wish it had.

A bullet whizzed past, and Boden hunkered lower behind the fallen tree, but his eyes remained on his wife.  In that moment, she and the horse became airborne.  She stuck with the horse through the air, but the hardest part had yet to come–sticking the landing.  Kitty’s hooves dug firmly into the ground, and Willow held her seat.  A second later, she drew a rifle from the saddle holster and gripped the reins loosely between two fingers.  Kitty still moved at a dead run.  What was Willow doing?

She lifted the rifle to her shoulder and fired.

He followed the aim of her gun and saw what prompted her rash actions.  No less than a hundred paces behind him, a gunman he’d failed to notice dropped to the ground, grasping his shoulder.  The man probably wouldn’t die, and Boden had a feeling that’s exactly how his wife had planned her shot.  Damn, but the woman could shoot.

Shots from the front drew his attention again.  Willow remained exposed in the open, and he lifted his Colt over the fallen tree and returned fire.

Alongside him Willow dismounted even though Kitty had only slowed to a gallop.  The woman hadn’t been kidding when she’d said she’d helped her pa on his ranch.  He supposed her daring had caused the man a few restless nights.

She joined him behind the log a blink later.  The skirts of her blue gingham spread out on the green summer grass behind her, making the perfect picture of femininity until she began adding bullets to her rifle.  Evidently, she didn’t realize how out of place she looked in a gunfight.

“What are you doing here?”  His fear for her roughened his words.

“I heard the shots,” she said as if it were an everyday occurrence for her to ride into the midst of a gunfight.

Shouldering her rifle, she joined her shots to his.  He resisted the urge to push her down to the ground behind the protection of the fallen tree and take care of the problem himself.

So help me God if she gets hurt
, Boden thought.

But the fact of the matter was he needed an extra gun at the moment. She shot almost as well as he did, but he sure wished she wasn’t at his side where she was likely to get herself hurt.

His next few shots hit their marks.  The gunmen were getting desperate and taking unnecessary risks, leaving themselves open targets. Willow’s shots hit true as well.  And it wasn’t long before the men were picking up their dead and wounded and heading out.

When it appeared the threat was over, Boden turned and sat with his back to the log.  Willow joined him.

He let his gun slide to the ground beside him and placed his hands on her shoulders.  His grip was none too gentle.  “What did you think you were doing?”

She blanched and went wide-eyed at his tone.  Hell, the woman had just ridden to his rescue through a firing brigade of gunmen and that hadn’t scared her, but he terrified her.

“I—I—” she stammered, trying to get a start on her explanation—“I heard the gunshots and figured you might need help.”

“You’re about the only person I know who’d think Butcher Boden needs help,” he snapped and in his agitation, rose to his feet.  Why couldn’t she have stayed where she’d been safe?

“Everyone needs help now and again,” she returned, albeit quietly.  Her face remained a few shades lighter than usual.

“Damn it,
Willow!”  Boden said although he offered her his hand.  “You scared me to death.”

She hesitated to take his hand, and Boden’s gut clenched.

“I won’t hurt you, Willow.”  He offered his hand again and this time she took it.  When she stood in front of him, he placed his arms around her shoulders and drew her to himself. “I’m sorry I snapped.”  Boden kissed the top of her head.  “I was just afraid for you.”

She relaxed slightly in his arms, and Boden knew she understood.

“I didn’t want to frighten you,” she said, lifting her gaze to his.  “I just wanted to help you.”

“You did at that,” Boden admitted.  “Watching you jump that creek nearly killed me, though.  You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

She pushed out of his grip.  Anger sparked in her blue eyes and her hands came to rest on her hips.  Her anger surprised Boden like nothing ever had.

“You almost got yourself killed!” she tossed at him as if it were somehow his fault he’d been set upon by a gang of gunslingers.

He opened his mouth to reply, but she spoke before he could.

“I can’t let you get killed.  I need you around.”

“And why’s that?” he asked.

She stilled, realizing the admission she had made.  “I rather like you—for a man, that is.”

Boden grinned.  “I rather like you, myself—for a woman.”

“Well, you won’t be around to ‘rather like me’ if you get yourself killed,” she returned, wrapping her anger around herself like a blanket.

Boden decided to press the point.  “I take it you’d miss me.”

“I’m not sure why,” she said smartly and moved to step around him.

He wouldn’t let her.  He drew her close.  “I never should have let you read Emerson these past few weeks.  It’s made you rather mouthy.”

“Like you could have stopped me,” she snapped back at him.

“See what I mean?  Mouthy,” he said.

He drew her close and placed his lips over hers.  He kissed her deeply just as he had imagined doing a thousand times.  They were soft, her lips.  His tongue traced the seam of her closed lips before gently pressing his mouth to hers.

Of their own accord, one hand lifted to the nape of her neck, while another lowered to her waist, pressing her tenderly against him.  He held her lightly, leaving her an out if she didn’t want this kiss as much as he did.  She didn’t back away and the warmth of her seeped into him.  He groaned with the pleasure of the contact.

She murmured softly against his mouth and her lips parted.  Boden deepened the kiss. She tasted sweet and felt so right in his arms.  His hand settled lower on her hip, and he drew her body closer yet.  She fit him in all the right places.

His exploration halted abruptly when he encountered something warm and wet on her lower left side.  His eyes slammed open, and he lifted his hand.

Blood.

It covered his palm.

“Willow, you’ve been shot!”

He gently set her away from him.  Boden’s hands trembled, and he tried to hide his worry as he lifted her blouse from her skirt.

“It’s nothing,”
Willow said.  She tried to step out of his reach, but he wasn’t having it.  “Boden, it only grazed me.”

“You’re still bleeding, and I know for a fact that it’s got to burn like hell.”

He reached for her again and this time she let him lift her blouse.  He lifted it just enough to see the wound.  He dabbed at it carefully with his handkerchief to clear away the blood.  She sucked in a deep breath at the contact.  He soon realized she told him the truth.  It really was only a graze.  She was a lucky woman.  And if the truth were told, he was a lucky man.

“Do I pass inspection?” she asked, amusement lacing her tone.

He carefully tucked the edge of her shirt back into her skirt.

A feminine hand reached out and covered his.  He thought perhaps he was hurting her with his efforts and he paused in what he was doing.  “Am I hurting you?”

“No, but are you hurt, too, Boden?” she said, giving him a once over.  “Your hands are trembling.”

He snatched his hand out of her grasp and stepped back.  “I think we’d better get back to the ranch.  There’s no telling what might happen next.”

NATHAN AND HIS CREW
met them three-fourths of the way home.  Everyone was armed and ready.  Now why couldn’t they have been around earlier?

“You two okay?”  Nathan asked after he’d sped to their sides.  He didn’t wait for an answer, but did a quick scan of the pair.  “Your wife’s bleeding, Boden.”

“I’m fine, Nathan,” Willow hastened to explain.  Boden figured she didn’t want anyone else probing her person.  It had been enough that she had allowed him to do so.

“Who were they?”  Nathan asked of Boden, his concern for
Willow having been surpassed.

“I’m not sure.  Rustlers maybe,” Boden ventured, though he figured the men hadn’t been a ragtag group of rustlers.  They’d appeared too polished and confident to be of that ilk.  No, he reckoned they had been sent for him specifically.  When were these unexpected attacks going to end?  He supposed they’d end when he died.  That depressing thought left him in a rather sour mood, especially when he worried that
Willow might not be so lucky in the next scuffle.

“They seemed a bit too skilled for rustlers,” Willow interjected quietly at his side.  “I’d venture they were hired guns.”

Boden swore under his breath.  The woman sure noticed a lot.  Most likely she’d seen too much of life for him to try and shelter her now.  “Willow’s probably right.”

“If that’s the case, the boys and I should probably ride out and take a look-see,” Nathan suggested.

At Boden’s nod, Nathan ascertained from Boden the direction the men had headed and how many of them there had been. He organized the men into two groups, and they headed off, leaving Willow and Boden alone once more.

“How are you feeling?”

“All right.  Just a bit sore.”

“Willow?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re all right,” Boden confessed.  “I hollered because you scared me.”

“You scared me, too,” Willow admitted.

Boden rode in silence back to the ranch, occupied with thoughts of who would have organized a group of gunmen to shoot him down.  He hadn’t seen any of their faces well enough to identify them.  More importantly, he contemplated when
Willow had become so important to him that the thought of losing her made his hands shake.

LATER THAT EVENING, NATHAN
rode into the barnyard.  He’d been in a serious mood until he spotted a pacing Boden on the porch.  He really shouldn’t laugh at the man, but he looked so serious, and his expression was furious.

Now he wouldn’t laugh at any other man in that condition, but Boden wasn’t any other man.  Nope, he was generally unshakable, the voice of reason.  He never lost his control.

Well, Boden was losing it now, and Nathan knew why.  He was falling in love.  That could make a man lose his cool even on the best of days.

Nathan knew because he’d loved his wife to the point he’d lost control when he’d lost her.  If it hadn’t been for Boden, his boys would probably be fatherless.  Nathan would have drunk himself to death if Boden hadn’t put him in charge of his ranch.  In those first days, Boden had been wrapping up his life as a bounty hunter.  Nathan’s home burnt to the ground the day his wife was killed.

As a result, Nathan had given up his homestead and set about drinking away his money.  Boden hadn’t let him.  He’d hauled his boys and him out of town and stuck them on the ranch.  It hadn’t taken Nathan long to realize there wasn’t a drop of liquor on the place.

Boden had saved his life a couple of times, and Nathan realized he shouldn’t laugh at the man, even though said man was bounding off the porch and following him into the barn.

Nathan allowed himself a smile, however, when Boden’s long strides overtook his horse’s sedate pace.  His lips were back in a straight line as soon as he dismounted.

“What’d you find?” Boden pounced on him like a mountain lion on a deer.

Nathan shrugged.  “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Boden questioned, even more furious than he’d been before if the set of his jaw and the coolness of his eyes were anything to go by.  And they were.

“No, I didn’t find anything,” Nathan confirmed.

The other hands began to come into the barn then, and Boden grabbed Nathan’s sleeve and tugged him toward the tack room.

“You wanna get me alone?” Nathan teased.

“I don’t have any time for your smart mouth now, Nathan, so shut up,” Boden said, striding into the tack room and turning to face Nathan.

“You’ve got to get a hold of yourself,” Nathan said intent on annoying Boden rather than soothing him.  Sometimes it was just damn fun to pick on the man.

“Get a hold of myself?” Boden said, a hand tearing through his hair.  “She could have gotten herself killed today.”