According to Hoyle

by Abigail Roux

  They heard a banging sound from the side of the ship, then all fell silent once more. Cage found himself holding his breath again and straining to see into the heavy fog as his heart sank. It seemed as if someone had just retreated.

  “I think your Desert Flower just blew away, Boss,” Stringer murmured into Cage’s ear.

  Cage closed his eyes and tried not to react outwardly, but he knew Stringer could feel his heart hammering in his chest.

  “I couldn’t get a clear shot,” Rose told Flynn breathlessly. “Did you hear him?”

  “Yeah,” Flynn answered quietly. “Jack Kale.”

  Rose nodded, his frown deepening in concentration. “I don’t know what . . . I don’t know.”

  Flynn was surprised to see the indecision. Rose was clearly struggling with the disclosure, trying to decide how to handle it. Flynn didn’t understand why. Even if Cage was the man known as Jack Kale, what did an outlaw like Rose care? Birds of a feather flocked together, after all. Now their almost instant attraction to each other even made sense to Flynn.

  Flynn reached over and gave Rose’s shoulder a gentle shove. “You’re thinking about skinnin’ out on him, ain’t you?” he asked, appalled. “After all this time preaching to me about love and saving them and you’re just going to abandon him now?”

  Rose shot him a scowl. “Certainly not.” A light entered his dark eyes and he smiled slowly. “But now that you mention it, that is a very good idea.”

  “How ’bout you, Mister US Marshal?” Stringer shouted after another long stretch of silence. “You going to come fetch your partner ’fore we toss him overboard? Going to be hard for him to stay afloat with just the one arm!”

  Two of Stringer’s men began forcing Marshal Washington over to the railing of the boat. Cage jerked instinctively, but Stringer held him tighter. Wash didn’t struggle at all, something Cage thought was either very brave or very stupid.

  “Flynn, you don’t show yourself, you hear me?” Wash shouted into the night as they shoved him against the railing. “You kill ’em all!”

  “Do it!” Stringer barked before Wash could say any more.

  Cage struggled against him, trying to pry himself from Stringer’s grip and help the marshal. Wash kicked at one of the men holding him and rammed himself into the other, fighting to keep from being heaved over backward. The man shoved back and Wash wrapped his one good arm around his neck, clearly intending to take him overboard with him if he went.

  “Stop!” someone called from the cover of the enveloping fog.

  Stringer whirled, putting Cage between himself and the voice. The men stopped struggling with Wash and drew their guns, inching away from the railing and pointing their firearms erratically at the thick fog, trying to see the man who had spoken.

  “Let him go,” Marshal Flynn ordered, materializing out of the enveloping fog, revealing himself to them as he stepped into the weak, flickering light of an oil lamp attached to the side of the ship. He had two guns drawn, one aimed in Wash’s direction at the two men who’d been about to shove him overboard, and the other pointed at Cage and Stringer.

  “We got the drop on you, mister,” Stringer said to him. Cage could feel how tense the man was as he used him as a shield. Flynn was one twitch of Stringer’s finger away from being dead.

  There was the last resort of going completely limp. It would distract Stringer long enough for Flynn to shoot him. But Cage didn’t know if the marshal would do it, and he certainly didn’t want to be lying on the ground playing possum when Stringer decided to put one between his eyes. He decided to see how Flynn would play it.

  “I don’t want your gold, and I don’t want you,” Flynn told Stringer. “I just want them,” he demanded with a nod of his head at Wash and Cage.

  “Where’s Rose?” Stringer asked.

  “Gone,” Flynn answered with a disdainful sneer. “When you started yelling, he said it wasn’t worth it to get himself shot for Whistling Jack Kale, and he skinned out.”

  Stringer barked a laugh.

  The marshal fixed his eyes on Cage and he narrowed them. “You really Jack Kale?”

  Cage shook his head vehemently, and Stringer gripped his chin hard to stop the movement.

  When Stringer spoke, his breath gusted across Cage’s neck and caused him to shiver violently. “He is that.” He put his lips against Cage’s ear, and Cage could feel him smirking. “Whistle for him, Cage.”

  Cage snarled at him, shaking his head again at Flynn desperately. At the mere thought that Gabriel might have run when he learned who Cage was, the pain in his chest was worse than any punch to the gut. But he wasn’t Jack Kale anymore. Nothing would change that.

  “I’m not too sure I believe you,” Flynn said to Stringer thoughtfully. “But Rose did. He took your little rowboat. We found your coal shell down in the boiler room,” he went on in obvious disgust. “Put it in your skiff with a short fuse. I’m sure you heard the result. Now, I’ll tell you which one of the lifeboats we didn’t put holes in if you hand those men over right now. You can be on your way without any more blood.”

  “You saying Rose really hightailed it?” Stringer asked suspiciously.

  Flynn nodded grimly and sneered again. “Didn’t even leave me his guns.”

  Cage distantly acknowledged the odd sinking feeling in his chest as he stared at the marshal. He didn’t know if he should believe it or not, but something deep down told him that Gabriel wasn’t really gone. Would Flynn have truly let Gabriel out of his sight, knowing he might lose his prisoner in the ensuing melee?

  Stringer snorted and looked around at his men, who were growing even more jittery as the talking continued.

  “He was your prisoner,” Stringer said to Flynn shrewdly. Flynn stared back at him, unwavering. “You let your prisoner escape? Just let him sail off in our boat and leave you here to deal with us? Didn’t even try to shoot at him as he rowed off? I don’t believe you. Your sleeve’s out of aces, Marshal.”

  “I’d rather live to track him down again later than get shot now,” Marshal Flynn answered coldly. “Now, I’ll make you a deal. Last offer. I’ll take my marshal and my prisoner with me, and we’ll leave you the rest of the boat to do with as you please.”

  Stringer’s grip around Cage’s throat loosened slightly, but he was still tense and coiled like a snake. “You can take your marshal. Prisoner stays with me.”

  “No deal,” Flynn said firmly.

  Cage stared at the marshal, both impressed and exasperated by his fortitude. He was practically a dead man standing, of course, but he was a brave dead man nonetheless.

  Stringer pointed his gun at Flynn. Several of his men cocked their weapons as well. “You can live to track him down later,” Stringer murmured in a low, dangerous voice, “or you can get shot now.”

  Flynn wavered, glancing from Wash to Cage as Cage held his breath. Finally, the marshal nodded in agreement. Apparently, he was willing to sacrifice Cage in order to save Wash. Cage couldn’t find it in himself to blame the man for his decision.

  As they stood on the outer deck, tense and wary amidst the soupy fog, the very distinct sound of a shotgun’s hammer being pulled behind them echoed across the water.

  Flynn was careful not to look in the direction he knew Rose was lurking. There were too many guns to deal with for him to give away even the slightest advantage—like where his partner was positioned. He mentally winced away from the thought of Rose being his partner, and he narrowed his eyes at the scene.

  The action of the shotgun was still echoing through the dense fog as Flynn watched the ripple of panic spread through the exposed hijackers. He smiled crookedly, more as a show of confidence than any real emotion of the sort. He was anything but confident or cocky. He was, in fact, terrified of what was about to happen. Any sane man would be. Suddenly, there was a flurry of frantic activity, but to Flynn’s experienced eye, everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

  Cage jerked his body in the big man’s grasp, jamming
his shoulder into Stringer and sending him off-balance. His captor’s gun went off, sending a harmless round into the air as both men toppled over. Cage curled and held his side as if he was hurt as soon as he hit the deck, but then he scrambled up and tackled Stringer to the ground as the man tried to rise.

  The shotgun blasted from Rose’s hidden position, and one of the hijackers went flying backward and sliding across the damp wooden deck, leaving a smear of blood behind him as he did so. Another man fell as the buckshot struck him, tumbling and rolling. He got to his knees in a panic and tried to crawl toward the relative safety of the salon. Two others began firing haphazardly into the darkness as they retreated toward cover.

  Flynn fired two quick shots, nicking one man and missing the other completely as he moved for the cover of a low wall that surrounded a service stairwell. His eyes immediately searched for Wash, fear coiling in his chest as the gunfight bloomed into a bloody, chaotic mess.

  He saw Wash elbow one of his captors in the nose and send him falling backward over the railing, and then a burst of fire exploded from Wash’s linen sling. Flynn was certain the man had been shot. He watched in terrified confusion as the outlaw standing beside Wash fell to his knees and then pitched forward onto the deck. Wash didn’t go down, but instead bent and took the man’s gun amidst the fire from the retreating outlaws. He then ran for the cover of the very wall Flynn had ducked behind.

  Wash slid into the darkness beside him, panting and, to Flynn’s eternal exasperation, laughing breathlessly as he met Flynn’s eyes.

  “Sling gun,” Wash gasped gleefully. He wiggled his fingers and began trying to remove the sling from around his neck.

  Flynn rolled his eyes and didn’t even try to repress his relieved grin as wood splintered above their heads. They both flinched and ducked, covering their heads as slivers rained down on them. As soon as the firing had ceased, Wash rose to his knees and glanced over the railing. He nodded to Flynn and they began returning fire in a measured sequence. The few glimpses Flynn managed to steal told him that Rose had run out of shotgun shells and was now using two of his stolen six-shooters from his hidden perch—with slightly lessened effect—as they chased the outlaws back into the salon. Cage had lost his fight with Stringer and was once again being used as a shield as they retreated toward the doorway.

  Flynn and Wash trailed after the others toward the main cabin, taking cover behind the ornate furniture that was peppered throughout the large room. There were doors on the other side of the salon that led to the foredeck, but there was no way off the deck. Flynn and Wash had the only exit covered from this spot.

  Flynn cursed feelingly as the last of the men disappeared into the salon and safety. They had them sort of penned in, but all those passengers were in there with them and in serious danger. He and Wash may have the better position strategically, but the hijackers still had the upper hand. He felt Wash moving beside him, and he glanced over at his partner as they both knelt behind a table they had turned over. Wash was peering at the salon doors intently and gritting his teeth, his previous delight over finally being able to use his sling contraption forgotten.

  “Goddamn it.”

  “You hurt?” Flynn asked in a hoarse voice.

  “Just my damn pride,” Wash said without facing him.

  Relief flooded Flynn’s body as he examined Wash with new eyes. His small amount of time with Gabriel Rose had caused him to reconsider his priorities quite a bit.

  He knelt down again so he was facing Wash behind the overturned table. Without further thought to the consequences of his actions, he grabbed the man’s shirt and tugged him close enough to kiss him.

  Cage was half-dragged into the salon by his shirt collar, Stringer’s hands digging into his neck as he struggled with the bigger man. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been bested repeatedly in a fight like this. Either his year in anonymity had weakened him, or Bat Stringer had grown more adept at manhandling. It could possibly have been a little of both.

  Then again, Cage couldn’t remember ever having fought Stringer before, save for their last encounter when Cage had cut off the man’s finger. Cage’s no-nonsense demeanor, when he had been known as Jack Kale, had kept him safe from challenges, both physically and mentally. Stringer had loved him, and even he had been marginally afraid of him.

  Cage had been lucky in that respect, he realized. If Stringer had ever gotten it in his head to hurt him, he could have done so just like he was doing tonight. He may have had Cage bested with his strength and possibly his ability with a gun, though he didn’t think even Stringer knew that. Cage’s bruised ribs didn’t help any, but that wasn’t really here or there now. Stringer had all the advantages, even with Gabriel outside trying to get to him.

  Stringer released his collar, and Cage hit the floor hard. He snarled at the Oriental rug, growing angrier as the feeling of helplessness swamped him. He couldn’t even remember his reasons for leaving, now. He couldn’t remember why he had abandoned the men who were loyal to him, or the man who would have given his life for him. He reminded himself that his reasons had been good, and that even through the weakness brought on by pain and exhaustion, he still wanted to cut off the rest of Stringer’s fingers. Gabriel was out there fighting for him. He hadn’t left him here to die. Cage had to believe that Gabriel knew who he really was now and didn’t care.

  “What in the blue blazing hell is he doing?” Stringer bellowed. He kicked out at Cage again in frustration.

  Cage curled up, trying to protect his vulnerable parts from more abuse.

  “Who attacks twenty men with just two, huh? Who?” Stringer asked no one in particular as Cage fought not to gasp aloud. Stringer continued to rage. “This ain’t the damn Alamo! Custer’s fucking Last Stand! They all died in the end!”

  Two of Stringer’s men began blockading the salon doors as most of the passengers whimpered and tittered from the far end of the room. The rough and readies who’d all been tied up and gagged struggled against their bonds. Cage could see the fire in their eyes. If just one of those men got loose, Stringer and his men were as good as dead.

  “What do we do, Cap?” one of Stringer’s men asked breathlessly.

  Cage raised his head, recognizing the signs of panic burgeoning in the ranks. Again, his first instinct was to calm them and give orders. He fought it back and closed his eyes.

  Stringer didn’t answer. He stood staring at the door, breathing hard.

  “That goddamn trinket ain’t worth dying for!” another of the men snarled when Stringer remained silent.

  “You shut your mouth,” Stringer snapped. He began to pace back and forth restlessly.

  Cage followed his movements warily, covering his ribs with his arms as he remained curled on his side. If he didn’t move, Stringer might just lower his guard again. Cage wasn’t about to give up this fight yet.

  “He said he’d leave if we give him his prisoner; I say we do it,” Alvarado said. He was reloading his guns calmly. Stringer had picked a good man for his second-in-command. He didn’t seem to be bothered by the situation or by the blood spreading on his shoulder. A right-hand man had to be unflappable and steady. Alvarado was, but he was only any good to Stringer if Stringer listened to him.

  Another of Stringer’s men cursed at Alvarado. “Well, that was before his other prisoner started shooting at us! That marshal weren’t planning to leave any which way we went. I say we kill him.” He pointed his pistol at Cage. “And then hightail it out of here.”

  “How?” Stringer asked, his voice calm once more. “You can’t run out there with nothing but a lick and a promise, and plan to make it past that shotgun.”

  “Rose can’t be as good as they say,” the man argued. “And he’s out of buckshot; all he’s got is his irons.”

  “I seen Dusty Rose in action. He’s as fast as they say he is, you better believe it,” Stringer said as he stared off at the frightened passengers with a distant, thoughtful look. He seemed to be formulating. />
  Cage looked up in shock at what he’d said, as did all his men. He and Stringer had ridden together since they were both between hay and grass, and Cage knew neither of them had ever seen Gabriel before. Stringer was either lying to his men, or he had seen Gabriel in action some time in the past twelve months. Gabriel had told Cage he’d been laying low in Colorado and Missouri, trying to run from his reputation.

  Again, Cage felt like he was missing something. Why would Stringer have been in either territory without at least a few of his men with him? Why would he go anywhere alone? And what had Gabriel been doing that Stringer had seen him?

  Cage was still peering at him when Stringer turned. Their eyes met and Cage found himself foundering in a confused mix of the intimacy of their old connection and the unfamiliarity of the man Stringer had become in the last few years. This new Stringer was both attractive in his confidence and frightening in his anger. But most of all, Cage wanted him dead. He swallowed heavily as he recognized the light of an idea in Stringer’s eyes.

  “Gather up all the womenfolk,” Stringer ordered quietly, his gaze unwavering. His men looked at him in confusion for a moment before turning to do as he had asked without question.

  Stringer knelt in front of Cage and cocked his head. He reached out, and Cage flinched away from what he thought would be another swing of Stringer’s fist. Instead, Stringer’s fingers just barely brushed his cheek. Cage jerked his head away and tried to sit up. His pride smarted over the fact that he had to face Stringer from his back and couldn’t do it eye to eye, toe to toe. He winced and curled back on his side as his ribcage screamed in protest, but he gritted his teeth and pushed up to his knees.

  Stringer watched him with an impassive frown. “You love him?”

  Cage stared at him, his breaths coming with greater difficulty as his ribs burned and throbbed. He met Stringer’s eyes, searching for a trap in the question. He was surprised to find nothing there but sincerity. His eyes flickered away from Stringer’s piercing gaze, and he gave a confused shrug and a minute shake of his head. A few more questions like this, with Stringer’s mind full of his jealousy, Cage might be able to launch another attack. But the questions were troubling Cage too.