Wed to the Texas Outlaw (15 page)

“You lie,” Bird said, but his eyes had grown round.

It was a relief to see the blood returning to Giselle's face. Perhaps she had hope that Melinda would be able to spin their way out of this.

“What about the time he robbed a bank and killed the seven customers inside?” Bird asked. “That one true? I read it in a dime novel.”

“Now, that's just an insult. There were ten people. It was reported as seven because there were already three other robbers in the bank when my Boone came in. I suppose they didn't deserve counting, being worthless drifters.

“I'm half sick of speaking with you, Bird King. Giselle, are you prepared to die right now?”

“I reckon so, if there's no other way about it.”

“So am I. Honestly, as Boone's wife, I've been expecting it for some time. But you, young man? Are you ready?”

“You should know that her husband is mad for her.”

Melinda felt her respect for Giselle grow. Here she was only a trigger itch from being shot in the head and yet she managed to control her panic enough to build depth to the tall tale.

“He will be disconsolate,” Melinda affirmed with a sigh. If her voice quavered he would merely think it was from sorrow. “Even I don't like Boone when he's disconsolate. My guess is that he won't kill you at once. Oh, and count on me and Giselle watching in ghostly form, cheering while he takes his time dispatching you. Surely you believe in ghosts? The stories I could tell about that! Boone has quite the menagerie following him.

“Well, anyway, he'll start with your fingers is my guess, snipping them off from pinky to thumb. That's what he did when someone accidentally ran over the cat with his wagon. As I recall those shears still have dried blood on them, but I reckon that will be a small worry to you. After that he'll likely snip off your not-even-fully-mature member. Have you even put it to proper use yet?” She glanced at his crotch and shook her head. “He'll probably send it home to your brothers tied up with a pink bow.”

Finally the fool was beginning to turn pale. His hand shook. This would not do since he still had the gun directed at Giselle's temple.

“Of course, you still have a choice. Eat this delicious meal in somewhat clean clothing, or kill us then sit here hungry and wondering what my husband will do to avenge us. The choice is completely yours.”

Indecision clouded his expression.

Lightly, Giselle touched the barrel of the pistol, curled her fingers around it and moved it away from her face.

Bird yanked it back. Cussing, he stared into Giselle's face. Without a doubt, he was half a second away from pulling the trigger.

But he was distracted. Boone had warned her about hesitation and she saw it in Bird.

In the second he took to gloat about his power over Giselle, enjoy his kill, Melinda snatched the gun from her skirt pocket.

She shoved it hard at Bird's temple. The thought of pulling the trigger flipped her stomach. Even so, she forced her hand not to tremble.

Startled, the kid's attention pivoted to her. In an instant of confusion, he loosened his grip on the gun.

Melinda snatched it away.

With both guns pointed at his chest, she tried to scramble beyond his reach but Bird was fast. He grabbed her skirt.

Luckily, Giselle was just as fast. She kicked Bird's arm, then hurried behind Melinda and the safety of the two weapons.

“If you're gonna tell him about this, might as well go ahead and shoot me quick, do me a favor.”

She took a step backward, then another, her knees locked so they would not give out under her. Giselle grabbed her at the waist with both arms, her weight sagging against Melinda's back.

“Of course I'll tell him,” she answered while pulling the door closed. “You can count on the same kindness that you and your family showed Mr. Coulter.”

Outside, with the door bolted, Giselle slid down in a faint.

Melinda's knees gave way. Kneeling on the ground she bent over Giselle and vomited onto the dirt.

* * *

Jasper Springs looked as it had the first time Boone had seen it, except that the general store was an ash heap with a few blackened beams sticking out of the mess.

With the exception of the cheerful gurgle of the spring, town was silent. Everyone was holed up inside, probably too scared to stick their noses out the door.

A dog ran back and forth along a front yard fence, barking a greeting—or warning. A curtain from the window moved aside then fell instantly back into place.

When he approached the saloon, Boone decided it would be best to circle around it a time or two to determine whether the Kings were even inside.

If they were, he wouldn't risk walking into a trap. While the outlaws had demanded the meeting, he would determine the location.

Three passes in front of the open door and there was still no movement within the dim interior.

On the fourth pass, he reined the horse to a stop and waited. A chill skittered across his scalp. Could be a trap, after all—but for the folks back at the ranch.

He whirled the horse around, ready for a hell-bent race toward home.

Boot steps slammed the boardwalk. Buck King stepped out of the saloon.

“His Fartin' Majesty says you can approach his exalted presence now.” Buck spewed a glob of spit over his shoulder, back through the door he had just come out of. “Says to dust off your boots first.”

“If your brother wants a get-together, he can meet me at the spring. Not alone. I want you all there. Bring the butcher.”

“You've got yourself some balls, I'll say that for you.”

“My town, my rules.”

Dismounting the horse, Boone led it toward the spring. He made sure not to look behind him even though it felt as though half a dozen stares were crawling on his back.

Wasn't sure whose they were. Outlaws after his blood or folks hiding behind curtains wondering what unholy mess was coming upon them next.

Sitting on a boulder at the spring, he dipped his Stetson in the cold water then let the horse drink from it. He was in the middle of his own refreshment when he heard footsteps crossing the dirt, coming from the direction of the saloon. Finishing his drink leisurely—deliberately—he guessed there were at least three men.

It wasn't until the boot falls stopped that he glanced up, water dribbling from his fingers and chin. He wiped his sleeve across his face.

“Where's Lump?”

Efrin led the procession. If the man had tail feathers they'd be splayed like a strutting peacock's. To the left of His Highness stood Buck. Boone wondered if a scowl was his singular expression. Flanking Efrin on the right was a man who could only be Leland.

“You'll kneel in the presence of your king,” announced his royal idiocy.

“You always been crazy?” Boone asked, settling more comfortably on the rock.

“Just since puberty,” Buck explained. “Before that he was just a mean cuss.”

“Shut your disrespecting face!” Efrin roared, his royal dignity slipping.

What the sovereign didn't seem to notice was Buck's gun hand inching toward his holster then clenching in a tight fist.

“Please, Mr. Walker, ignore my brothers.” Leland strode forward, his hand extended in greeting. “They've always been a contentious lot.”

Deliberately, Boone folded his arms across his chest. “You accosted my wife.”

“Just a bit of friendly banter.”

“Left a bruise.”

“Such fair skin.” Leland shrugged, withdrew his hand. “I beg the pardon of you both.”

He didn't. Even though he spoke the words, the snicker in his eyes was unmistakable.

“Where's the butcher? If his hand isn't on the end of his arm I'll shoot you all where you stand.”

“Fetch him, Buck,” ordered Efrin.

Buck, his face flushing vivid red, spun on his older brother. “I'm done with you ordering me around!”

“Better fetch him.” Boone arched a brow. “I reckon you've heard I'm a man of little patience.”

Damned if Buck didn't growl like a cornered cougar while he stomped across the road to the saloon.

“I reckon there's a good reason you dragged me from my lunch?”

“I don't like your insolent tone. I insist that you stand while I speak.”

Boone wondered how a lunatic could be the leader of this group, unless, as he suspected, they were all lunatics.

“That so?” He stood, paced off the distance between them. Efrin had to look up to make eye contact—way up. “Here's what I insist. Give back the food you took from my store.”

“Who made it yours?”

Boone grabbed King by the shirtfront, lifted him to the toes of his glimmering boots.

“I did.” He held the criminal, glowering gaze to glowering gaze.

The standoff ended only when the villain glanced away.

Boone set King back on his feet and yanked the lapels of the fancy coat back into place.

“Brought the butcher,” Buck announced, shoving the man forward.

Any fool could see that his hands were bound too tight. His face was chalk white. No wonder he was trembling.

“Cut his bonds.” Boone ground his teeth, felt the tick in his jaw. Boone Walker, the legend, surged within him. “Then bring the lecher.”

“Maybe you got the balls to disturb him while he's—”

Boone drew his gun. It slid from his holster, a deadly hiss of metal across leather. He was every bit the fast draw that his reputation painted him to be.

“Go get him. When we're all together, tight and cozy, you'll tell me why you brought me here.”

Power was the only law the Kings respected. If his wasn't more threatening than theirs, he might not ride out of here.

“Go home, sir,” he said to the butcher in a kinder tone. “You'll keep your hand.”

A moment later, after a long, tense silence, Buck came out of the saloon dragging his brother by the ear.

“We'll talk now,” Boone said, his voice cold, in command. “I've already wasted the day on the four of you.”

He assumed it was Bird's release that they wanted to discuss. It would be springtime in hell when that happened. He had one outlaw in custody and there he would stay.

“We'd like to allow you to join us,” Efrin said. “Last time, you refused. This time you will not. You may sit while we discuss it.”

Hell's curses.

Boone returned to his boulder because it was close to his horse. He jammed his gun back into the holster but kept his hand at the ready.

“We respect you, Mr. Walker,” Leland said with a single nod of his head. “We're as alike as snakes twined in a pit.”

He knew he ought to say something. There must be an intelligent thought still in his mind. Couldn't quite summon it, though.

“There's no need for us to be at odds.” This from Efrin. “Rule this town with us.”

“Already do.” He picked up the horse's dangling reins, pretended to casually stroke the leather. Things here were not going to end well. He needed to be quick away. “Why would I share it with you?”

“For protection—why else?” This from Leland. “We offer safety—freedom of a sort.”

“We'd be allies. With your talents, you'd have our backs, the same as we'd have yours. Safety in numbers,” said Leland. “No more life on the run. We've got a fine, high life here.”

Leland's smile looked as genuine as fool's gold.

Unless he missed his guess, Fancy Pants was counting on Boone's bounty to give him that high life.

But the reality was they hadn't said anything that wasn't the truth.

In many ways, he was like them. By hitching up, he would know what they were doing at all times. And he would gain a sort of freedom without having to risk his life or anyone else's.

Looked at in a certain way, the offer made sense because he would live a life he was accustomed to, a life of corruption.

No standards to live up to. No more struggle trying to be good enough, fearing that he didn't have it in him.

What the hell did he know about being respectable? About as much as the dung beetle crawling across his boot.

Mathers had given him a tweaked and tarnished badge. Went to show how much confidence he actually had in him doing the right thing.

A damaged symbol for a damaged soul.

Respect for law and order would not keep him from hitching up with the Kings. But there was something that would—or rather
someone
.

In this moment of temptation her lovely smile flashed in his mind. He would take a bullet in the brain before he would betray Melinda's trust.

Never once had she wavered in her belief of him.

If she was so dang certain that he had a future obeying the law, maybe he did. He'd never met a more clever person in his life, nor one more spirited.

The truth was he'd rather die on this very spot than see disappointment in her eyes. Disappointment that he put there.

Boone kicked the insect off his boot.

“You all haven't asked about your brother. I find it odd, being that alliances mean so all-fired much to you.”

“Figured you had him,” Buck said, finally letting go of Lump, who stared blankly around before lumbering single-mindedly toward the saloon and his interrupted pleasure.

“That being the case, we figured you'd already killed him.” Leland folded his arms over his fancy coat. “Decided we'd forgive you for it when you become one of us. A life for a death, so to speak.”

Boone calmly mounted his horse. In the guise of a casual attitude, he didn't draw his gun even though he figured he was going to need it.

He nodded in what would appear to be a friendly parting gesture. As though he meant to agree to the unholy merger.

A hundred feet down the road, he turned, rifle drawn from the saddle pack, cocked and ready to fire.

He settled his aim on Efrin's chest. It gave him pause to think of actually pulling the trigger, but folks lived with regrets. They were a part of life.