“We have about fourteen minutes,” Clint said. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“We have to go back to the hotel,” Clint said. “There’s something there I need.”
“What?”
“More guns!”
FORTY
For a moment he considered Ben’s rifle, but there was no way he could walk into that saloon carrying a rifle. That would make it obvious that he wasn’t there to turn the girls over and walk away.
“Do you really believe he would let you walk away?” Bridget asked.
“Not at all,” Clint said. “He’s going to try to kill me—all of us.”
“What are we going to do?”
“We’re not going to let him.”
Clint walked to the fallen Zack and picked up his gun.
It was an ancient Navy Colt, fully loaded, and clean enough to still work.
He wanted to go up to his room and get his Colt New Line, but time was running out.
“All right,” he said, “we’ve got to get back.”
“But what’s the plan?” she asked.
“You wait for me to start shooting,” he said, “and then you do the same.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“I’m not going to be any help, Clint,” she said. “You have to face five men alone. They’ll kill you.”
“I’m hoping that your shooting will confuse them enough to give me an edge,” Clint said.
“Okay.”
They left the hotel and headed back to the saloon.
* * *
Clint stopped across the street from the saloon, still in the shadows.
“Give me your gun,” he said.
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
She took it from the front of her belt and handed it to him. He turned her around and stuck it in the back of her belt. He had the Navy Colt in the same place in his belt.
“Okay,” Clint said, “before we go in, there’s something else I should have told you.”
“What’s that?”
“When the shooting starts,” Clint said, “you hit the floor, and keep pulling your trigger.” He started to step into the street.
“Wait,” she said.
He stopped and looked at her.
“What?”
“What if I shoot you by accident?”
“Just don’t.”
They started across the street.
* * *
“Ahern!”
“Yeah?”
Kemper pointed and said, “Here they come.”
“The girl, too?”
“Yep.”
“Okay,” Ahern said, looking around. “As soon as they walk in, kill Adams. After that we’ll take care of the girls.”
Bride was sitting still, just staring straight ahead. She hadn’t made a sound or shed a tear since Clint had left.
“Buck up, sweetheart,” Ahern said, putting his hand on the back of her neck, “you’re about to have a family reunion.”
FORTY-ONE
Clint stepped up onto the boardwalk, Bridget right next to him. He was wondering if he could have thought of a way to do this without her, given a little more time. But there was no time.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Let’s go get my sister,” she said.
They went through the batwing doors.
* * *
“Get down!” Bride shouted before anybody had a chance to pull their gun.
The shout galvanized everyone into action.
Clint drew his gun, slapped Kemper in the face with it, since he was standing so close. The man went down hard.
Jennings, Toland, and the other man all drew their weapons.
Ahern took his hand from Bride’s neck, but before he could do anything, she grabbed it and bit it.
Bridget hit the floor, pulled the gun from the back of her pants, and started pulling the trigger with her eyes closed, hoping she wouldn’t hit Clint or Bride.
Clint was firing with his right hand even as he pulled the Navy Colt out with his left. In a split second he was firing with both hands. The Navy Colt was a single-action, so he had to pull back on the hammer with his thumb before each shot. It didn’t slow him down much, though.
He killed Jennings, Toland, and the third man with three shots. He looked over at the man at the table, who was trying to shake Bride from his hand, but having a hard time of it.
Bridget ran out of bullets, kept pulling the trigger. The only sound in the room was the hammer falling on the empty chambers.
* * *
Ahern finally shook Bride off his hand, knocking her to the floor. She took a chunk of flesh with her. He then went for his gun.
“Don’t!” Clint shouted.
“Go to hell!” Ahern shouted, dragging his gun from his holster with his injured hand.
Clint fired once. Ahern went over backward with his chair.
“Is it over?” Bridget asked from the floor.
“It’s over.”
Bridget and Bride both got off the floor and ran into each other’s arms.
The patrons and bartender all got off the floor, where they’d dropped as soon as Bride had shouted.
Clint checked the bodies to make sure they were dead. Then he checked the man he had hit—Kemper—and was surprised to find two bullets in his chest. He wondered about that until he realized from the position the body was in, and where Bridget had been lying on the floor when she was shooting, that it had to be she who had shot and killed him.
He wasn’t sure whether he was going to tell her that or not.
The bartender came over to him and said, “These fellers were sayin’ you probably killed the Lane brothers. Is that true?”
“It’s true.”
“Well then, friend,” the barman said, “you just did Council Bluffs a service.”
Clint looked at the man and said, “It wasn’t my intention. Council Bluffs should have found itself a new sheriff to do the job.”
He walked over, collected the two Irish girls, and walked them out of the saloon.
FORTY-TWO
MORE THAN TWO MONTHS LATER
Bride was a lot more cooperative and less morose for the rest of the trip to Shasta, even though it was a bit harder. But at least nobody was trying to kill them.
They stopped at some towns along the way, but only to replenish supplies. They all agreed that staying in a hotel, even overnight, was inviting trouble. Somebody could see Clint, recognize him, and make a try for him, or someone could see the girls and become interested. Bridget and Bride had seen enough American men who were less than gentlemen. They didn’t want to deal with any more.
So for the remainder of the trip they only had to deal with a broken wheel, an injured horse, the weather, a wolf who got too close to camp, and some renegades from a reservation who only wanted to trade.
Bridget did contract a fever while they were traveling through Colorado, but Bride nursed her back to health and they only lost a few days because of it.
* * *
When they finally pulled into Ed O’Neil’s mining camp in Shasta County, both girls were very pleased to be there.
Clint climbed down from the wagon, helped Bridget down, then went around back and helped Bride down as well. When he turned around, he saw Ed O’Neil standing there, watching them. His old friend had his hat in his hand, and an anxious look on his face. He was cleaner than Clint had ever seen him, with his hair—what was left of it—slicked down.
“You old buzzard,” Clint said to him. “Why are you so clean? You didn’t know when we’d be getting here.”
“’Bout a week ago I fig
ured I better start keepin’ myself clean,” O’Neil said. He looked at the two girls, who appeared to be very shy.
“Bride?” O’Neil said, looking at Bridget.
“Oh, no,” Bridget said, “this is Bride, your bride-to-be.”
She stepped away to stand next to Clint.
O’Neil approached Bride, not daring to touch her, and said, “You’re even prettier than I thought you’d be.”
“Thank you, Mr. O’Neil,” Bride said with a slight curtsy.
“Oh, you’re gonna have to start callin’ me Ed,” O’Neil said. “I mean, if we’re to be husband and wife.”
“Yes, sir, Mr.—I mean, Ed. This is my sister, Bridget.”
“Hello, Miss Bridget,” O’Neil said. “I have a cabin ready. It’s the one Bride and me will live in when we’re married, but for now the two of you can share it.”
“Thank you, Mr. O’Neil,” Bridget said. “That would be fine.”
“Ed,” O’Neil said, “you both have to call me Ed.”
“Yes, Ed,” Bridget said.
“Well,” O’Neil said, “I’ll show you to the cabin, and my men will get your bags and bring them along.”
He and Bride started away, but Bridget stopped and looked at Clint.
“Are we to say good-bye here?” she asked.
“Oh, no,” O’Neil said, “Clint will be stayin’ for the weddin’—won’t ya, Clint?”
“Well,” Clint said, “since I brought them all the way, I might as well see the thing through.”
O’Neil left and said, “That’s fine, because I was figurin’ you to be my best man! Come on, ladies.”
He ushered the ladies away, leaving Clint standing there, slightly stunned.
FORTY-THREE
O’Neil showed Clint into his office and opened a bottle of whiskey.
“Them ladies is prettier than new gold, ain’t they?” he said.
“They are that,” Clint said.
They sat at a table and O’Neil poured out two glasses of whiskey.
“I can’t thank you enough for this favor, Clint.”
“It was my pleasure, Ed.”
They both drank, and then O’Neil refilled the glasses. This time they sat back in their chairs and sipped.
“Did you have any trouble?” O’Neil asked.
“Well, Ed,” Clint said, “now that you ask, let me tell you about it . . .”
* * *
After Clint had related his tale, O’Neil said, “Well, I’ll be a sonofabitch! Who the hell would be wantin’ to kill my bride-to be?”
“That’s what I was going to ask you,” Clint said. “The girls insist they weren’t followed by anyone in Ireland. They say they didn’t leave any trouble behind. That leaves somebody in this country.”
“Well,” O’Neil said, “I’m gonna have to think on that for a while, Clint.”
“You do that, Ed, because that’s an answer I’d like to have.”
They finished their drinks and O’Neil said, “I got a place for you to stay, and a bath, if ya want it.”
“Oh, I want it. And when’s the wedding to be?”
“Tomorrow, if I can get the preacher up here by then. I already sent somebody to fetch him.”
“Okay, then,” Clint said. “Show me where to stow my things and I’ll have that bath.”
O’Neil took Clint to a small cabin that wasn’t as new as the one the girls were in, and wasn’t as clean, but it had been cleaned out some just recently.
“Who am I putting out here, Ed?” Clint asked, looking around.
“Never you mind that, Clint. This place is yours for as long as you stay. Got a big wooden tub right in the back. I’ll have it filled with hot water for ya.”
“Sounds good.”
“I’ll send somebody to get you for supper,” O’Neil said. “Meanwhile I’ll think on that question. I’m sure I can think of whoever wants to hurt me that bad.”
Clint nodded and O’Neil took his leave.
Clint went out back later to find the tub steaming. He brought his gun with him. He still wasn’t dead sure there wasn’t somebody else out there who meant him and the girls—and maybe Ed O’Neil—some harm.
He eased himself into the tub, decided not to soak, but just to get himself washed off and get out. He was too vulnerable sitting in the tub.
He bathed without incident, wrapped a towel around his middle when he got out, and went back into the cabin. There was a light breeze that chilled his wet skin, so he had himself a small shot of whiskey from a bottle O’Neil had left in the cabin.
He was getting dressed when there was a knock on the door. Supper already? he thought. But he took the gun with him anyway.
When he opened the door, Bridget hurried into the cabin and said, “Close the door quickly!”
He did, and turned to face her.
“Hurry,” she said, pulling her shirt out of her pants and unbuttoning it. “We don’t have much time.”
“Bridget—”
“I want to finish what we started months ago, just in case you decide to leave in the morning.”
She pulled off the shirt and, naked to the waist, began to undo her pants. When she had them around her ankles, she sat down to take off her boots.
“Bridget, I don’t think we should—”
“Clint,” she said impatiently. “I am not asking you to marry me. Just to make love to me—now!”
Clint watched her toss away her boots and trousers, then stand before him nude.
Who was he to disappoint her?
FORTY-FOUR
They fell onto the flimsy bed, naked and pressed together. He kissed her neck and shoulders, the freckles on the slopes of her breasts, and then turned his attention to her nipples.
“Down, down,” she said, putting her hands on his head. “You know what I’ve been waiting for ever since that night.”
He did know because, truth be told, he was waiting for the same thing—to taste her.
He got down between her legs, nestled in that warm, fragrant bush, and pushed his tongue through the tangle. When he touched her, she gasped and clamped her thighs tightly around his head. He began to lap at her then, and she put her hands on his head and writhed beneath him.
“Oh, yes, oh God, yes . . .” she gasped.
He licked her, kissed, sucked her, shook his head, trying to give her as many different kinds of pleasure he could think of. She lifted her knees up, releasing his head momentarily, her feet up in the air as he continued to administer to her. Finally, her entire body shook and he thought she was going to scream and give them away, only she didn’t. The scream seemed to catch in her throat as her entire body went taut, and then she exploded beneath him into a flurry of activity. She wrapped his hair into her fingers, drummed on his back with her heels, and rode the waves until her muscles finally relaxed . . .
That was when he withdrew his face from her crotch, mounted her, and drove his hard cock into her, causing her to gasp again, with her eyes wide.
“Oh . . . my. . . God . . .” she gasped as he began to move in and out of her, slowly at first, then faster and faster until, eyes closed, he was straining to find his own release . . .
* * *
“Oh God,” she said again, moments later.
“I know,” he said. “I’m surprised this bed survived.”
She rolled into him and asked anxiously, “You’re not going to leave tomorrow, are you?”
“Well, tomorrow is the wedding, so no, not tomorrow. Maybe the next day.”
“What about finding out who sent those men after us? Won’t that take some time?”
“It might,” Clint said. “Ed’s giving it some thought now. He should know who hates him that much, though. I think
he’ll figure it out.”
“And then what?”
“And then it’ll be up to him.”
She moved her hand down over his belly until she was holding his penis in her hand.
“Oh, no,” he said, slapping her hand away, “somebody’s going to be knocking on my door any minute announcing supper.”
“Oh God,” she said, springing to her feet. “I can’t be here when they do.” She started to get dressed.
“Where does Bride think you are?”
“Just taking a walk, giving her time to talk with her groom-to-be and get acquainted.”
“So she’s going to go through with the wedding?”
“Of course,” Bridget said, pulling on her trousers. “We did not come all this way, and go through all we went through—all you went through—not to get married.”
“Well,” Clint said, “good for Ed.”
She rushed to the bed and kissed him quickly.
“I will see you at supper.”
She hurried to the door, opened it a crack, peered out, and darted away, closing the door behind her.
Clint sat up, swung his feet to the floor, and took a deep breath. Before he could do anything else, there was a knock on the door.
“Supper, Mr. Adams!” a voice called.
“Be right there!”
FORTY-FIVE
To the delight of Bridget and Bride, supper was thick steaks. Neither girl had grown tired of beef during their trip, and O’Neil was serving the best beef he could find.
They ate in another cabin O’Neil had apparently built for that purpose. Seated at a long wooden table were O’Neil, Bridget, Bride, Clint, and O’Neil’s foreman, Bill Tracy. O’Neil’s cook was an old chuck wagon cook who found the job with the gold miner when the trail drives petered out.
Ed sat at the head of the table with Clint on his right. Bridget and Bride were seated together at the other end, and it looked to Clint like Bill Tracy was taking an interest in Bridget. And she was returning it. She was glowing, and showing some of the freckles on her chest, which Tracy was drinking in.
“Tracy’s a good man,” O’Neil said. “Bridget could do worse.”
Trail to Shasta (9781101622049) Page 11
