by Bobbi Smith
“Hello, Davis,” Blade replied. “Are there any messages for me?”
“No, sir.”
Blade frowned, and Cyril quaked in his shoes as he waited for the gunfighter to say more.
“Thanks.” Blade gave him a curt, dismissing nod.
Cyril was relieved when Masters turned and walked away. Without being too obvious, Cyril studied him as he headed from the lobby. The man moved with a predatory grace that marked him as dangerous even though he appeared a normal businessman in dark trousers and coat and white shirt and tie. The clerk wondered if he were carrying a gun and then had his answer when he saw the slight, telltale bulge beneath his coat, low on his right side. A man like Masters didn’t dare go anywhere unarmed. With a reputation like his, there was always a young hothead out there wanting to prove himself against him.
For a moment, Cyril almost felt sorry for the gunman, imagining how it would feel to have to always be on guard, but the clerk quickly shoved the ridiculous emotion away. Masters had to like what he was doing or he wouldn’t be doing it. A man like him could quit any time he wanted. As another hotel guest approached, Cyril’s thoughts were torn from the intriguing gunfighter and forced back to the work at hand.
Blade left the hotel and stepped outside into the cool darkness of the New Orleans night. Again he was struck by the size of the city. He was not a fan of civilization, and a part of him longed to be back in Texas where it was wild, open, and free. He loved that wide beautiful country, and if his negotiations with his old boss, Clancy Barrett, went as well as he hoped they would, he’d soon be back there, calling Texas home permanently.
At the thought of Barrett and the ranch, the Rocking B, that he wanted to buy from him, Blade smiled. He’d heard that Clancy had left Texas and put the Rocking B up for sale, so he’d followed him here to New Orleans to make him an offer. Clancy was registered at the St. Louis Hotel, and Blade had left a message for him there earlier that afternoon. Blade had hoped they could meet right away, but since it was getting late he doubted he would hear from him that night.
At loose ends, Blade decided to try a bit of the wild side of New Orleans’ night life. He headed for the riverfront to find the kind of entertainment he was looking for—a fast game of poker and a fast, good-looking woman.
“Honey, I’m gonna bring you all the luck you need tonight!” Molly, a red-haired, big-bosomed saloon girl, crowed delightedly as she sidled up to the darkly handsome stranger who’d just joined the poker game in the back corner of the saloon where she plied her trade.
Blade chuckled as he glanced up at her. “You’re feeling lucky tonight, are you?”
“Ever since I saw you walk through that door,” she told him truthfully, her brightly painted lips parting in a smile as she rubbed her hip intimately against his shoulder. She’d seen a lot of men in her time, but there was something so compelling about this one that he’d caught her eye the moment he’d entered the bar. She’d been waiting for the chance to speak to him, and she was glad now that she’d been brazen enough to approach him. “I’m Molly.”
Blade smiled back in invitation. “Then join me, Molly. I think I could use a little extra luck tonight.”
“My pleasure,” she responded happily. Even as experienced as Molly was, this man was so handsome that her heart skipped a beat just looking at him. His overlong black hair brushed his collar, and when he smiled, his white teeth flashed brilliantly against his dark tan. Vivid gray eyes met hers knowingly, and she returned his regard without hesitation.
“I’ll need another whiskey before we get serious about playing this hand.”
“I’ll be right back, honey.”
Molly hurried off to get his drink. When she returned with the whiskey, she didn’t wait to be invited, but sat right down on his lap. Looping one arm about his shoulders, she leaned toward him giving him an unobstructed view of her bosom in the low-cut, seductive, red-satin gown.
“Anything else you need?” Molly purred.
The other men at the table chuckled knowingly.
“Just luck for right now. Hmm, let’s see about these cards . . .”
With Molly cuddling close, Blade played for several hours. Her promise of bringing him good fortune held true, for he won far more than he lost. When he was victorious, she rewarded him with a kiss, and soon the other men were wishing that they’d had sense enough to grab her for their own when they’d first come in. After a time, Molly realized that she still hadn’t learned his name.
“Sugar, I’ve been your good luck charm for hours, but I don’t know who you are.” She rubbed against him suggestively.
“The name’s Masters. Blade Masters.”
“Well, Blade Masters, if you like what I’m doing for you down here, why don’t you come upstairs with me and get real lucky?” Her breath was hot and heavy in his ear. She was tired of the poker game and ready for more exciting action.
“We’re doing so well here, I hate to leave just yet. Maybe in another few hands we’ll go,” he told her as he caressed her boldly.
The others at the table shared a stunned look of surprise at learning his identity. Several onlookers who’d gathered to watch the game moved away to spread the news among the other patrons that there was a gunfighter in their midst.
“You’re Blade Masters?” one man at the table asked. He was regarding him differently now. A touch of fear shone in his eyes.
“Is that a problem?” Blade asked tersely.
“No ... no problem.”
The game continued uninterrupted.
Across the room, a dark-haired young man stood with his back to the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand. When the news that Blade Masters was in the saloon came to him, he took a deep drink. He was a tall, lanky boy, anxious to make a name for himself as a quick draw, and he knew the man who beat Masters in a gunfight would be instantly famous across the country. Tense with excitement, he walked slowly toward the table where Blade sat facing him, playing poker.
Blade glanced up and immediately recognized the boy’s grim, determined look. Just like all the others he’d faced, this kid was too young and stupid to be afraid of him. Blade knew what was coming, and he was filled with a helpless anger. He didn’t want to face another man in a senseless gunfight, but sometimes he didn’t have a choice.
“Masters!”
A hush fell over the room, and even the piano player quit pounding out his raucous melodies. Molly and the card players at the table rose and backed away into the crowd, leaving Blade and the boy facing each other. All attention was riveted on the two men.
“Stand up, Masters.”
“Just who am I standing up for?” Blade laughed, hoping to turn the situation to his advantage.
“Name’s Cal Moore, and I think your reputation as being the fastest gun alive is one big lie.”
Blade shrugged. “So? Think what you want. It makes no difference to me.”
Cal was disappointed by his lack of response and pressed further. “In fact, I think you’re a damned coward. All those men you killed.... I think you probably shot ’em in the back.”
Blade’s gray-eyed gaze hardened, but he still did not get up. Instead, he spoke slowly and softly, “Get out of here, boy, before you start something you’re going to regret.”
Cal licked his lips and his hand dropped to hover near his sidearm. “I’ll bet that’s exactly what you did! You shot ’em all in the back. A half-breed would do a thing like that.”
Blade’s smile faded as he slowly laid down his cards. He rose to his feet in a deceptively smooth move, hoping to intimidate the boy into leaving. “Don’t push this,” he warned.
Cal knew he’d touched on a sensitive spot, a spot that would make Masters go for his gun. He believed he was ready for him. He thought he could beat him.
Blade read his thoughts. “Dying’s not a pretty thing, boy.”
“I ain’t gonna be the one dying.”
“Maybe you oughta have another drink and forget about this.”
“You don’t think I can beat you,” the foolish young man challenged.
“I know you can’t.” Blade’s voice was like velvet over steel and his eyes met Cal’s.
For one moment, the boy was shaken by the lethal look in the gunfighter’s silvery gaze. But he knew he was being watched by everyone in the saloon and he couldn’t back down, not now. He swallowed tightly.
“Don’t make this mistake, Cal. Go on back to the bar and leave it alone.”
Coldness coiled within Blade like a rattler getting ready to strike. His body seemed to relax as he let his hand drop down close to his gun, a gun he did not want to use if he could possibly avoid it.
“So, the famous Blade Masters is trying to weasel out of a fight. Maybe it’s true what they say about breeds,” he taunted. “I heard they ain’t nothing but a bunch of thieving cowards.”
Cal didn’t recognize the resignation in Blade’s eyes nor the steadiness in his hand. He continued to verbally attack him.
“I understand you had a squaw for a mother and some fly-by-night for a father. Tell me, was Masters really your pa or did you just pick some white man—maybe one of the bunch who mounted your mother that month?”
Blade could clearly see the face of his beautiful loving mother in his mind, and he knew this was one taunt he could never walk away from.
“Little boys with big mouths don’t know when to shut up,” he said with a harsh laugh. “You shouldn’t judge a good woman by your own mother, and you shouldn’t try to do a man’s job when you should still be getting your pants changed. You going to talk all night?”
The boy stiffened, but Blade seemed to relax even more. Only his eyes revealed the deadly threat. It was too late now for Cal to even think of backing down.
For the first time, Cal knew uncertainty and fear. He would have glanced nervously away, but the gunfighter’s gaze held his. Cal trembled, then knowing there was nothing more to say, he went for his gun.
Blade read his movement perfectly; and, with lightning speed, he drew his own gun and fired. The speed of his hand made everyone gasp for Cal’s gun had barely cleared leather when Blade’s bullet found its mark.
Cal looked up, shocked. This couldn’t be happening to him! He was fast! He knew he was! Suddenly, his strength left him and he crumpled to the floor, his life’s blood draining away.
Blade stared down at him feeling the same pity, anger, and bitterness that always filled him at a time like this. It had happened too often in his life, and he was tired of it ... so tired.
All those watching needed no further proof that the rumors being spread about Masters were true. Blade Masters was every bit as fast as they’d heard.
Roscoe Topps, the bartender, hurried to check the fallen man, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out he was dead.
“He’s dead,” the bartender announced. “Somebody go for the law!”
“Oh, Blade,” Molly broke the silence as she rushed to his side. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he responded, slowly holstering his gun and turning away from the sight of the carnage.
The crowd in the saloon started talking, milling about. They closed in around Roscoe, trying to get a look at Cal where he lay sprawled on the floor.
“There ain’t nothin’ to see here! Go get another drink!” Roscoe barked, annoyed by their morbid curiosity.
A deputy came rushing in a few moments later and quickly knelt with the bartender beside the body.
“What happened, Roscoe?” Lester Straub demanded.
“Gunfight. This damned fool kept agitatin’ until he went and got himself killed. It was a fair fight.”
“Who did it?”
“I did.” Blade had seen the lawman enter the saloon, and he came forward, knowing there would an interrogation.
“Who are you?”
“Blade Masters.”
Straub recognized the name, and he straightened a little as he regarded Blade. “I’m sorry about this, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to come with me down to the sheriffs office. He’s going to want to ask you a few questions.”
The last thing Blade wanted or needed was trouble with the law. Though he was innocent of any wrongdoing, he gave the deputy a curt nod of agreement.
“Let’s go,” Straub directed.
“Wait.” Molly hurried forth to grab Blade’s arm, not wanting the evening to end this way. “Will you be back?”
Blade gently withdrew from her touch. “Not tonight, Molly.”
“But what about your winnings?”
“You keep them.”
“But Blade . . .” Her eyes implored him to return to her, but she saw no answering interest in his gaze.
He turned from her and led the way out of the saloon with the deputy close behind him. He remained silent as they walked through the streets of town. When they reached the office, Sheriff Tannen was sitting at his desk. He looked up as the door opened.
“What’s the problem, Straub?”
“There was a shooting in the Backwater Saloon. Witnesses all said it was a fair fight.”
“The other man dead?” Tannen studied the man his deputy had brought in.
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s your name?” he asked Blade, noticing how easily he wore his gun and how calm he seemed.
“Masters.”
“You Blade Masters?”
“I am,” he answered flatly.
“Well, Masters, I don’t doubt for a minute what the witnesses said about the gunfight. I know your reputation. The thing is, trouble seems to follow your kind wherever you go, and I don’t want that kind of trouble in my town.”
“I’m here on business. I’ll only be here a few more days.”
“A few days isn’t good enough. I’ll give you one more day, and then I want you out of here.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“So I heard, but I have this thing about men dying.” He pinned Blade with a steady look. “I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I, sheriff.”
“Good. But just to make sure that you know I’m serious, I think I’d like you to be my guest and spend the night here with us. It might help you see the wisdom of riding out right on time.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d been jailed unfairly, and though he wanted to rage at the injustice of it, Blade knew better.
“So I’m to accept the hospitality of your jail for the night?” he asked sarcastically.
“That’s right, and first thing in the morning you’ll be free to go and finish up your business. Now, I’d like your gun, please.”
“When do I get it back?”
“I’ll personally see it returned to you when you leave in the morning. But I don’t want to get word of your using it again while you’re here. Do you understand me?”
Deputy Straub tensed at the sheriff’s words. He was expecting trouble. He was surprised when Blade only nodded and turned over his sidearm without further comment.
“Show Mr. Masters where he’s going to spend the night, Straub,” Tannen ordered, never taking his eyes off his ‘guest.’
The deputy opened the door that led to the block of jail cells, and Blade walked straight on in ahead of him. He entered the cell Straub indicated and sat down on the hard bunk. When the door was slammed shut and locked behind him, he swore under his breath.
Blade lay back and folded his arms beneath his head. He stared up at the dirty ceiling. He’d had about all the civilization he could stand and was more eager than ever to get away from New Orleans as fast as he could. Tomorrow, he decided, he would find Clancy and work out a deal with him for the ranch. When that was done, he was going to head straight back to Texas and stay there. It would feel good to be alone out on the range again.
It was late in the evening when the steamer Angel and Lucky had booked passage on from St. Louis readied itself to dock in New Orleans. Standing on deck at the rail, they watched the lights of the city as they
put into port. They had been together for almost four full days, and Angel was sure he could pass for her younger brother with no difficulty. He’d cleaned up nicely. His hair had turned out to be light brown, and he had a cute smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. There was a healthy glow in his cheeks that had been missing when they’d first met, and she thought he was already filling out nicely.
Angel had been pleasantly surprised to discover that Lucky was as bright as she’d hoped. She smiled to herself as she thought of their first meal together in the hotel dining room. It had been a disaster. She’d been horrified as she’d watched him use his fingers to eat, wolfing down the food and chewing loudly with his mouth open. While not condemning his manners publicly, she’d shown him by example the proper way to use the utensils and napkin and the correct way to chew in polite company. Thus had begun Lucky’s intensive training in etiquette, and he’d come quite far in just a few days. As for as his “language,” he had suffered only minor slips since she’d threatened him with washing out his mouth, and she was proud of him.
Sometimes, Angel would catch him watching her with a wary look in his eyes, but as soon as he realized she’d noticed, he’d mask his expression. She wasn’t quite sure what he was thinking, but she was glad that fate had thrown them together. Despite his rough edges, Lucky had an irrepressible good humor that kept her spirits up in spite of her worries about Sarah and Christopher.
Angel thought of Michael and wondered if his men were close behind them. She had no doubt that he’d sent someone after them, and she turned her attention to the riverfront to keep watch, just in case they’d somehow managed to beat them to New Orleans.
“So now what are we going to do?” Lucky asked as the steamer tied up and the gangplank was lowered.
