The Bounty

by Beth Williamson

  He’s dismissing me like a young’n underfoot.

  “Do you have a description or a wanted poster?”

  “There’s an old tintype in the folder and some wanted posters. As if they did any good.”

  Tyler was silent. He reminded himself again that he didn’t have to like Hoffman to work for him. Money is money, dirty or clean. “The reward.”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s three thousand total then.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. I told you that in my letter,” he said with a wave of his hand.

  “I want to see it.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Hoffman’s face flushed.

  “I said I want to see it. My rules for my services.”

  “Listen, boy, I have five hundred times that alone in the bank, not to mention this ranch, the cattle, and other investments,” he said, puffing out his chest. “You do your job right and you’ll get your reward. I’ll tell you what, if you bring Nicky back alive, I’ll double it.” His facsimile of a smile almost made Tyler step back a pace.

  “Double sounds reasonable to me. I still want to see it.” He paused, then repeated, “My rules for my services. And I’m only going to tell you one more time, the name is Calhoun, not boy.”

  Tyler’s eyes never moved, never blinked, never faltered. Hoffman looked away with a snort.

  “Oh, fine, then,” Hoffman said, flapping his hand in the air again. “I’ll show you in the morning before you leave. Is that acceptable to you?”

  “Morning is fine. And I want two hundred up front.”

  “Pushy bastard, aren’t you?” Hoffman practically sneered. “Fine, I’ll give you that in the morning, too.”

  Tyler nodded. “Agreed.”

  “My housekeeper left a plate on the table for me. You might as well eat it.” Hoffman reached for the whiskey as he pointed in the direction of the doorway that apparently led to the kitchen.

  Tyler gritted his teeth. This man was definitely trying his patience. “Thanks for the hospitality, Hoffman.”

  Hoffman chuckled under his breath. “Just find Nicky.”

  “I’ll find him, and bring him back alive.” Tyler would be an idiot to turn down a double reward. Hopefully Malloy wouldn’t do something stupid to get himself killed along the way. “There isn’t a man that can’t be found if I’m the one doing the looking.”

  “Calhoun?” Hoffman said, that frightening smile appearing on the older man’s lips again. “I thought you knew. Nicky is short for Nicole. She’s a woman.”

  Tyler heard a few clocks ticking in the silence. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath before he spoke. “A woman? You’ve been hunting a woman for three years and can’t find her? Who the hell did you hire, a bunch of schoolmarms?”

  Hoffman’s eyes narrowed. “She’s a goddamn murderer and a thief. She took what was mine, and I intend to see her pay for it.”

  “Look, Hoffman, I’m not bragging, mind you, but people usually call on me to find a true hard case, not a girl. I don’t think I would have ridden this far for a woman’s bounty, but I’m here anyway. Are you sure you’re not wasting your money?”

  Jesus, a woman.

  “She’s a hard case, believe me. Is you or ain’t you going to take on this bounty?”

  Tyler opened his mouth to say no, but his inner voice pulled back from that negative response. Six thousand dollars to bring in a woman alive? He was hoping for more of a challenge, but money was money, clean or dirty.

  “I’ll take it, Hoffman. I won’t argue with you about it, but you’d better hand over the six thousand when I bring her back alive. Or you and I will have a problem.”

  “I always settle my debts.” Hoffman rubbed his hands together as he grinned. He looked like an image from a funhouse mirror rather than a real man, and most definitely unsettling.

  Tyler wondered if he had just made a deal with the devil.

  ———

  A woman.

  Tyler felt himself grin. He had read the reports written on Nicky Malloy. She had avoided some of the best, that was for sure. But how? Tyler picked up the faded tintype of Nicky that was in the folder. She looked to be about sixteen or seventeen in the print. She certainly didn’t look like a dangerous outlaw, but he had studied the warrant sworn out against her. A thief and murderer at the ripe old age of nineteen. She did have the most extraordinary eyes though, almond-shaped and kind of cat-like.

  Tyler shook himself. What was he doing? This was an old tintype. The wanted poster had aged her a little, but not much. She still looked fresh and innocent. He snorted. She was twenty-two now, and life on the run was hard for a man; for a woman, it would have been twice as bad. She certainly wasn’t innocent anymore. Tyler had no doubt he’d find her.

  Setting the folder on the floor next to him, he lay down on the guest bed in Hoffman’s house, completely clothed except for his boots. Although it was a cool night, Tyler did not turn down the blankets. His rifle lay on the bed next to him, and a pistol rested just beneath the pillow. He started to drift off to sleep when he smiled again.

  A woman.

  It didn’t seem like much of a challenge. And for six thousand he was sure to bring her back alive.

  Chapter Two

  August 1883

  Three months later, Tyler grudgingly accepted the fact that hunting a woman was not as easy as he first thought. Not quite on his knees, he was hanging by his bloodied wrists, strapped to two solid wooden poles, in the middle of nowhere. The relentless heat of the summer sun beat down on his back, criss-crossed with shallow knife marks. The blood had long since caked and baked on his skin. The pain had turned to numbness for the moment. He couldn’t feel his arms, shoulders, hands, or fingers. Hell, he didn’t think he could even stand up anymore.

  “So, gringo,” came the rough voice from behind him. “You are ready to tell me, no?”

  Using a well of strength he didn’t know he had, Tyler lurched to his feet, rising to his full height. Ignoring the screaming agony of his shoulders as the weight was lifted off them, he looked out at the horizon.

  “Told you no before, amigo, but I guess since you’re so stupid, I need to repeat myself,” Tyler rasped, hoarse from three days without water. Turning his head, he looked at the man behind him. “No. You want me to say it in Spanish? No.”

  The bandito, known as Hermano to everyone, smiled at Tyler. “You dig your own grave, señor. I just want to know why you’re asking questions about a woman, and who sent you. Not hard questions to answer, I think. You are not a bandito, or an outlaw, so me, I think you hunt for bounty, no?”

  Pulling his knife from its scabbard, he caressed it as if it were a pet. The dirty chaps he wore over his pants bore a multitude of old bloodstains, and other things that Tyler didn’t want to think about. The bandito’s gray shirt was open at the throat, which was tied with a bandanna of an unidentified color that resembled dirt. Tyler’s fingers itched to grab hold of that filthy bandanna and teach Hermano a lesson in hospitality.

  Pushing back his sombrero, a hank of black hair fell over his forehead as he surveyed Tyler. “You will not last past tomorrow.”

  “Too bad, isn’t it?” Tyler wasn’t about to give this piece of shit the satisfaction of seeing him break.

  Shrugging his broad shoulders, the bandito sheathed his knife and w-alked around Tyler. “Your choice, gringo. Tell me what I want to know and you can go free.” He spread his arms wide with another smile that never reached his black eyes. Tyler knew he’d never go free, no matter what he confessed to. To an outlaw, a bounty hunter was as much an enemy as a lawman. To a bandito, he wasn’t worth the space he took up on this earth. Better off dead and buried beneath it.

  Tyler remained silent. Hermano’s lips curled back to bare his teeth as his fist smashed into his prisoner’s stomach, stealing the breath from Tyler’s body. With a muttered curse, the bandito strode away toward the cluster of crude dwellings the outlaws lived in as they passed through th
e valley.

  His brief well of strength depleted, Tyler saw stars as he desperately tried to suck air into his lungs, then all was black.

  ———

  It was dark when Tyler woke. Someone was crouched beside him, silently watching. Without moving, he opened his eyes to narrow slits to see the stranger. It could have been a child, a woman, or a man for all he saw. A cloud had spread its wings over the moon.

  “I know you’re awake. I’ve done my share of playing possum, mister, so don’t keep it up on my account.” The soft whisper floated across the night air.

  It sounded like a young boy, an American boy in a bandito hideout in Texas.

  “What do you want, kid?” he ground out through parched lips.

  “I’ll set you free, mister, but you’ve gotta tell me something first.”

  Tyler was instantly, completely awake. He struggled to his feet and willed away the spots dancing in front of his eyes and the agonizing shafts of pain blossoming in his arms and shoulders. “What?”

  “I need to know if you’re looking for somebody in particular.” The boy stood and lifted a skin of water to Tyler’s mouth.

  After lapping greedily at the cool liquid, Tyler felt like a baby denied his mother’s breast when the stranger took it away almost immediately. It was near agony.

  “All right, who?” he snarled, desperate for the water.

  “Are you looking for a woman?”

  At the boy’s question, Tyler forgot his thirst completely. Who was this boy? And why would he ask a question like that?

  “I don’t need to get laid, kid, so peddle your sister’s skirts somewhere else.”

  With an impatient huff, the dark form stood. His head reached past Tyler’s shoulder, so he wasn’t short, but he didn’t look like there was much to him from what Tyler could see.

  “Don’t play games with me, mister,” he hissed. “You know what I meant. Are you looking for Nicky Malloy?”

  Nicky was good, but Tyler Calhoun was better. He’d tracked her to Hermano’s hideout and then had stupidly gotten himself strung up like a Christmas goose.

  “What’s it to you? Is this Hermano’s latest trick?”

  The dark figure shook its head. “Hermano doesn’t know I’m here. Let’s just say that Nicky and I look out for each other. I need to know if Owen Hoffman is still sending bounty hunters after her. You sure look like a bounty hunter to me, and Hermano is convinced that’s who you are. So, I’m asking you again, are you looking for Nicky?”

  Tyler weighed his options. If he said yes, would the kid let him go? Or would he let the banditos finish him off in the morning?

  “Yeah, kid, I’m looking for Nicole Malloy. For nearly three months now.”

  The boy let out a sigh that sounded desperately sad. “That’s what I thought.”

  “You gonna let me go?”

  “You’ve got to tell Hoffman that you couldn’t find her. Promise me that you’ll do that and I’ll cut you free,” came the boy’s ragged whisper.

  Was he kidding? Did this boy actually believe a bounty hunter would follow through with a promise made in the middle of the night to a faceless, nameless stranger? And how in the hell did he know who had hired him?

  “I can’t promise you that, kid.”

  The boy turned and took a few steps away. For a moment, Tyler thought he was going to keep walking.

  “Your horse is over by the trees, saddled and ready. There’s some food, and you can have this water.” He dropped the skin to the dusty ground by Tyler’s feet.

  The moonlight burst through the cloud as the boy stepped next to him. Tyler was completely captured by the young, agonized face illuminated by the moon. He would recognize it anywhere. The faded tintype he’d studied for the past three months didn’t do her justice. She was dressed as a man, with dirty cheeks and shapeless clothes, but it couldn’t hide her. It was Nicky. He leaned toward her to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, but she stepped back quickly. The moonlight glinted off the knife, a well-used looking instrument, which sat comfortably in her hand. It had a beautiful pearl handle with intricate detailing. He wondered where she’d stolen it from.

  “Nicole.”

  Her eyes widened. “Don’t come looking for me.”

  “You know I will.”

  “You won’t find me, bounty hunter.”

  “Yeah, that’s what they all say.”

  His breath caught in his throat as the knife glided toward him. She turned to cut the leather strap binding Tyler’s right wrist. “You’ll have to free the other hand yourself.”

  “Why are you letting me go?” He was completely flummoxed by her act of kindness.

  “Human beings should never be bound, mister, pure and simple. I don’t want to see you die like a dog, even if you are a mangy bounty hunter.”

  Before he realized what she was doing, she cupped the back of his neck and kissed him hard. He tried to grab her, but all he caught was air. She moved silently, like a shadow in darkness. She touched her fingers to her lips, then turned and disappeared into the darkness.

  The woman outlaw he’d chased for three months had just kissed him and saved his life. She knew he was going to continue to chase her until he caught her, yet she let him live.

  What the hell?

  Tyler stared after her for several minutes, before he shook himself mentally. He had to get his wrist untied and get his ass out of there as quickly as he could.

  ———

  Nicky threw herself on her horse and took off into the inky night. She had let the bounty hunter free. And he’d be after her again. Even beaten, bloody, and dirty, he’d been magnificent. His hair was as black as soot, matching the stubble that graced his strong jaw. Earlier, even from a distance, she saw that his eyes were a bright blue, and up close, they were devastating. He was dark, forbidding, and mysterious. She couldn’t stop herself from kissing him. It was as if her body had taken over her mind for a moment.

  She was a woman with no future, obsessing about a bounty hunter who wanted to drag her back to Wyoming to hang.

  Damning herself for having a soft heart, she rode on through the night as silent as the moon that lit her path. Hermano had been right all along. The bounty hunter was after her and he’d infiltrated the outlaws’ valley hideout, endangering all of them. But she couldn’t stomach the thought of the man’s death on her conscience. She already had enough to deal with on that count, thank you very much.

  She supposed Hermano had been the closest thing to a friend, and a brother, she’d had since her life had become an unending nightmare…since Owen Hoffman’s bullet and her own rash impulsiveness had gotten her twin brother killed. A brief hiccup of memory tried to surface, but she quelled it with iron will. Now was not the time to start acting like a woman. It was time to start acting like a ghost.

  Chapter Three

  September 1883

  It was raining as Tyler rode into Willowbend, Oklahoma. The raindrops were barely more than a mist, but after three hours of riding in them a man could get soaked, which did nothing for his already dark mood. There was a sucking noise each time his horse’s hooves pulled out of the mud in the street, mud that seemed determined to hang onto the gelding.

  It had been six weeks since he’d escaped from Hermano’s hideout. Six long weeks. Nicky’s visage had haunted his thoughts—especially that kiss. Hell, he had even had a few dreams about her. Not that he’d admit it to anyone, but her act of kindness had touched something in him that he thought was dead and buried. He didn’t want to see her hang, but money was money, clean or dirty.

  He’d checked every whorehouse for hundreds of miles and come up with nothing except a nose full of cheap perfume and more than a few propositions. He had also carefully checked the known outlaw hangouts but, of course, no one had remembered seeing her, much less heard of her. He’d checked housekeepers, shopgirls, hell, even schoolmarms. And he had only found one small piece of information about the elusive lady outlaw. Only one measly lead�
��someone sort of meeting her description, with a pearl-handled knife sort of like hers, may have been seen in Willowbend at the saloon some time in the last month. The idiot cowboy who provided the information probably needed help finding the outhouse.

  I need a drink.

  Tyler stopped his horse at the Dogleg Saloon and dismounted with a creak of leather and a splat of mud on his boots, then secured his horse to the hitching post. As he stepped onto the planked sidewalk, Sable whinnied in protest and shook his rain-soaked mane, spraying Tyler with even more water. He glared at his horse.

  “Damn horse,” he muttered, trying to shake the rain off himself. “A little rain, and you turn into a woman, Sable.”

  The horse nickered in response to Tyler’s voice.

  “Apology accepted,” Tyler said quietly as he rubbed Sable’s wet nose. “I’ll get you out of the rain soon, boy.”

  With one last scratch for his horse, he turned and strode into the building.

  ———

  Nicky saw him enter the saloon from the card table in the back, and promptly forgot to breathe.

  Oh, sweet Jesus, it’s him.

  She’d recognize him anywhere. In fact, she had dreamed of him nearly every night for six weeks, sometimes frightening, always erotic dreams. She pressed one hand to her palpitating heart as her eyes followed the big man around the room. He approached the bar with the grace of a big cat. A big, dangerous cat.

  The barkeep this time of day was Joey, a red-haired kid covered with freckles. He stopped wiping glasses and looked like a rabbit facing a big bad wolf with eyes as wide as saucers.

  “Whiskey.” The stranger slapped down a coin on the bar.

  “Yes, sir.” Joey squeaked and jumped as though the bounty hunter had bitten him. The kid grabbed a bottle from behind the bar and poured a shot glass full of the amber liquid, spilling a good amount in the process. He set the bottle down for the stranger to use up his fifty cents’ worth of whiskey.

  “Are you cheating, Jesse?” Willard said very loudly, much louder than he should have. “What in tarnation is wrong with you? You’re as white as milk.”