Jodi Thomas

by When a Texan Gambles

  Sam had had enough. “I don’t care what you three think of me. I’m not a wanted man. I can live anywhere I want to live. So if you think you’ll gang up on me and get me to run, you’d better think again. My wife wants to live in this place, on this land, and as long as there is breath in me, that’s exactly the way it’s going to be.”

  “Now, hold on Sam.” Jacob squared his shoulders. “There’s no point to you going off half-cocked. We’re just here to help you. A bounty hunter doesn’t just hang up his guns and decide to be a farmer.”

  “Help me? You’d all three help me by forgetting you ever knew me.”

  “Now, wait a minute.” Sheriff Riley pointed his tobacco-stained finger at Sam. “Sam’s got a great idea.”

  The other two look confused. Sam didn’t look as if he cared if he heard the sheriff’s point.

  “Sam said as long as there’s breath in him.”

  Jacob raised an eyebrow. “What are you suggesting, Riley? That Sam dies?”

  “Of course not.” Riley looked offended. “I think it would be much better if someone killed him. If he’s dead, there ain’t no one going to be looking for him, and we all know that once the man dies, the legend fades.”

  Sarah gasped for air, and all the men, except Sam, turned toward her.

  After a silence Sam said calmly, “Come on out, Sarah, love. I had a feeling you wouldn’t stay in the house.”

  She stormed to the center of the barn. “Why should I stay in the house when you men are out here thinking of killing my husband?”

  “It’s the only way, darlin‘.” Sheriff Riley sounded as if he were talking to one of his daughters. “Don’t you see, if Sam is dead, no one will be looking for him. No half-grown kid wanting to make a name for himself. No outlaw getting out of jail, planning to even the score for Sam bringing him in. No relative who blames Sam for his brother or father or son dying.”

  Sam grabbed her hand and pulled her closer to him. “It’s the only way. I got to die.”

  “And you’ve got to stay dead. No coming back in a few years to pick up extra money by bringing in a few outlaws.” Riley shrugged. “The only problem is which one of us is going to kill him.”

  Jacob stepped up. “I could do it. Claim he got caught in the crossfire with an outlaw.” Jacob grinned. “I could shoot him in the head, where there’s likely to be little damage.”

  Sam glared at the young Ranger.

  “No,” Riley said. “You’re too good a shot to let that happen.”

  “I could do it,” Willoby spoke up. “I could say I thought he was breaking into a store, and I shot before I saw who it was. I’m not that great a sheriff. An accident wouldn’t be that unusual.”

  Riley shook his head. “No one would believe you were that good, or that lucky. Men like Sam Gatlin don’t get shot by accident. Haven’t you heard the tales? He can move like darkness over the land without making a sound.”

  Sam rolled his eyes.

  Sarah finally figured out what they were talking about. “I could shoot him. I’m a good enough shot, I could hit him in the shoulder and then patch him up.”

  “Too risky.” Riley began to pace. “No one would believe you’d shoot him. You’re always patting on him like you can’t stay away from the man.” The old sheriff shook his head. “Hell if any of us can figure out why.”

  All at once everyone in the barn was arguing over who would get to shoot Sam.

  Finally Sam yelled for them all to stop. “Enough!” He added when they settled down, “How about I shoot myself. If you all keep this up, I might do it just to get some peace.”

  Riley looked as if he was considering the possibility, but said, “That wouldn’t work.”

  Before anyone could start arguing again, a low southern voice sounded from the shadows. “I’ll shoot you, Sam. It’s the least I can do.”

  No one moved but Sam. He walked to the edge of the lantern’s light. “Forget it. It would put you at too great a risk. You’ve got the kids to think about.”

  “Who is that?” Riley whispered as Jacob rested his hand on his gun.

  “I wouldn’t have my kids if it hadn’t been for you. I said I’d pay you back one day. Be in Fort Worth in the streets where lots of folks will see you die on New Year’s Eve. At midnight, when the shooting starts celebrating the new year, you’ll fall.”

  “It might work,” Riley said. “You’d die in front of half the town. No one would know who made the shot, but any fool who wants to can claim it was him.”

  Jacob pulled his Colt. “Step out from the shadows, stranger.”

  All was still. No one moved or heard anything but the wind from the open window in the loft.

  Sarah thought she heard the sound of a horse riding fast in the general direction of a place known as Satan’s Canyon.

  THIRTY-TWO

  SARAH PACED THE WOOD PLANKS IN FRONT OF THE general store waiting for the mail delivery to come in on the noon stage. For the hundredth time she wished she’d gone with Sam. He needed her.

  “They may be late today, ma‘am, what with yesterday being the first and all. It usually takes the drivers a few days to sober up enough to make their runs.”

  Sarah tried her best to act calm. “I know, I’m just expecting a letter from my husband.” Sam had been gone over a month. Riley convinced him he needed to be everywhere in the state, except around home. That way folks could say they saw him in Waco or Abilene just before he got shot.

  “There’s the stage now!” someone yelled.

  Sarah didn’t move. She’d been trying to keep from throwing up her breakfast all morning. This plot of Riley’s must be upsetting her more than she’d guessed. She almost laughed. Who wouldn’t be upset to know that two nights ago her husband had been shot on a street? A hundred things could have gone wrong. What if Frank’s aim was off? What if Sam moved at the last second and the bullet hit his heart? What if someone realized he wasn’t dead?

  “Mrs. Garrett,” the store owner said. “I’m sorry, there was no letter from your husband, but here’s the paper from Fort Worth you asked for.”

  “Thanks.” Sarah forced herself not to look at the paper. “Maybe there will be one tomorrow.” She needed to talk to someone if only for a moment. “We’ve never been separated before.”

  “Don’t you worry none, that man of yours will get his buying done up in Kansas City and be home before you know it.”

  Sarah nodded, wishing it were true that Sam had gone to Kansas City to buy horses. No one in town knew where he really was. No one but the sheriff would ever know. If Sam lived through his killing, he would be Sam Garrett from now on. They’d work the farm and raise horses and grow old together.

  She drove halfway home before she could wait no longer. Sarah stopped the wagon and opened the paper. There, in the comer of the front page, were the words she hated to read. “Sam Gatlin murdered at midnight.”

  She tried to blink away the tears long enough to read the details. No one knew who fired the shot. A Texas Ranger confirmed his identity and his death. A sister of the church knelt beside him and prayed while everyone else passed by, staring at the man who had been a legend.

  Sarah couldn’t read more. She moved on toward home, glad that Ruthie had been with him, but heartbroken that Sam wouldn’t allow her to go to Fort Worth. This time, he’d said, he didn’t need an angel to save him.

  As Sarah rounded the last bend, she saw a wagon pulled up to her house.

  Jacob Dalton stepped off the porch and waited for her. He was alone.

  Sarah hurried, jumping from the wagon even before her horse stopped. “Jacob! How did it go?”

  He caught her and held her close as he whispered, “I’m sorry, Sarah.”

  She felt her heart stop.

  “I did the best I could to keep him sober, but the damn fool thinks he needs to drink when he’s been shot.”

  Sarah jerked away. “He’s alive?”

  Jacob lifted the tarp off the wagon’s bed. “And meaner th
an hell. He’s threatened to kill me several times since I picked him up at the cemetery. Claims we left him in the coffin too long.”

  Sarah stared at her husband, dirty, covered in blood, and smelling like a saloon.

  “I tried to get him to let me clean the wound and bandage it for him, but he said he wanted you to do that. Wouldn’t let anyone touch him. So I bought enough whiskey to last, and we headed here.”

  The smell of blood and dirt and whiskey made her stomach turn over, but she knew what she had to do.

  “Help me get him up and in the house.”

  Jacob pulled on Sam’s arm. “Whoever did the shooting caught him on the left arm. All Sam had to do was lay his wound over his chest, and everyone thought he’d been shot in the heart.” Jacob took the weight of Sam’s arm across his shoulder. “I tried to tell where the shot came from, but it was like a ghost made the shot and disappeared. I’d like to have known the man Sam Gatlin trusted with his life.”

  Sam swore, then looked up. Pain-filled eyes met hers. “Morning, ma‘am. Name’s Sam Garrett.”

  She smiled. “I know who you are, you id ... who did you say you were?”

  He took her hand. “Sam Garrett.”

  Suddenly the blood and dirt didn’t matter; she hugged him wildly.

  He moaned in pain. “Could you wait a few days before you kill me again, Sarah, my love?”

  An hour later Sarah had bandaged Sam’s wound and scrubbed him clean. He offered Jacob his hand. “Thanks, friend.”

  Jacob nodded toward Sarah. “You don’t deserve her,” he said.

  “I know, but I plan on being right here by her side until they bury me instead of rocks in my coffin.”

  “Did you tell her she can get out of the marriage if she wants to?”

  “How about you tell her.” Sam grinned. “I’d like someone to see her temper if she even thought you might take her away from me.”

  Jacob shook his head. “Unlike you, Sam, I’m in no hurry to die.”

  Standing, Jacob reached for his hat. “Rest in Peace, Sam.”

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  Cottonwood, Texas

  1883

  CAPTAIN WALKER LARSON GRITTED HIS TEETH AS SERGEANT Harris ushered in another of the prostitutes who came to complain about the evacuation order. As usual, the tall, lanky sergeant grinned at the woman as if he were guiding her into the front pew on Sunday morning.

  They had a matter of hours to clear the little town before an all-out range war started and the sergeant acted like the army was there to serve tea. Cowhands from the warring ranches were already swallowing courage at saloons. By nightfall they would be itching to fight and nothing Walker and his handful of men could do would stop them.

  Walker frowned at the paperwork stacked on his desk. Since he moved into the abandoned sheriff’s quarters, he’d had nothing but trouble walk through the door. Why couldn’t these women understand that all hell was about to break loose? They’d be better off to collect their belongings and go like most of the civilians. Trouble twisted in the streets, a building tornado, but these ‘ladies of the night’ didn’t seem to hear the wind.

  “Captain, this one insists on seeing you right away.” Harris removed his hat and pointed her toward the only chair in the room other than the one Walker sat in behind his desk. “Says it’s real important.”

  Walker cleared his throat as he prepared to say what he’d said to everyone of the doves who’d come to complain. The army had a responsibility to protect them, whether they wanted help or not. With a range war threatening, what little peace this town knew was gone. Every man seemed to have chosen a side and it was only a matter of time before someone started the fight. No one would be safe and the saloons, where these women roamed, were waiting powder casks.

  This one was a beauty, though. Rich, walnut-colored hair he wouldn’t mind folding inside his grip. And young. Far too young, Walker decided, to be in such a business. But he guessed the ones who managed to hang on to their youthful looks could demand higher prices.

  She appeared wearier than the rest, as if she’d traveled a long distance. Her dusty red coat was well made but did little to hide her wares beneath. He didn’t miss the fullness of her breasts, or the way her jacket pulled in sharply along the waist.

  He forgot his standard speech as he raised his gaze and stared into eyes the warm brown of polished leather. She was the first woman in a long time who tempted him to visit the back streets.

  “‘There are no exceptions, Miss. We have to evacuate you with the rest of the ladies.” He felt sorry for her. She looked frightened and a little lost, as if her world were about to end. She was a master at playing the innocent, for she almost made him believe it.

  “I’m not with the others,” she said in little more than a whisper. “I came to see you.”

  He waited, wondering what she’d offer to be allowed to stay behind. Whatever it was, no matter how tempting, wouldn’t be enough for him to bend the rules. He hadn’t made it to captain at twenty-five by bending.

  She looked up at him with those beautiful eyes again. “The sergeant said your name was Larson ... Frank Larson, sir.”

  “That’s right.” He nodded, finding himself wishing she had come to see him about something else. Frank was his first name, but no one but his father had ever called him that. His mother had liked her family name, Walker, best. “I’m Captain Larson,” he stated, reminding her this was not a social call.

  He couldn’t tell if she were relieved by the information, or more frightened for some reason. He half expected her to bolt and run by the way she clung to the strings of her tattered handbag.

  “And you are?” He really didn’t have time to mess with learning her name, but he asked just the same.

  “Mrs. Larson,” she answered lifting her chin slightly. “Mrs. Frank Larson.”

  Walker smiled and stood. He had no idea what kind of game she was playing, but Larson was a common name. She might be married to a man who had the same name as him. That wouldn’t change a thing. His job was to try and save lives. The only way he could do that was to get her and all other women and children out of town. Except for a few widows and these prostitutes, most of the women had menfolk to look after them.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Larson. Where might your husband be?” He tried to keep his words formal as he moved around the comer of the desk. Perhaps he’d been wrong about her occupation. Maybe she was a shopkeeper’s wife or a rancher’s daughter who’d been separated from her family.

  Her eyebrows shot up in shock. “Why, right before me, sir.”

  The words hit Walker like a powerful blow to his gut. He didn’t move. The tiny possibility that she spoke the truth seeped through a crack in the wall he’d spent years building around himself.

  She twisted the cord of her bag about her fingers that appeared to be stained with ink.

  He’d seen those kinds of stains on his father’s hands many times ... printer’s ink. The clock on his cluttered desk ticked away seconds as though they both had all the time in the world.

  “You must be mistaken,” he said at last. “There is no one in the room, Ma‘am.”

  Her unsettling gaze watched him closely. “You are in the room, sir. I’m Lacy Larson, your wife.”

  Sergeant Harris opened the door suddenly, following his words into the room. “Last stage will be leaving in ten minutes, Captain.” Harris had acted as doorman for the captain for four years. He jerked back a step, well aware that he’d interrupted something even though Walker hadn’t said a word. “Begging your pardon, sir.”

  “Hold the stage,” Walker said without taking his gaze off of Lacy. “I need a few minutes with this lady.”

  “I don’t know if I can,” the sergeant mumbled. “That driver is in a powerful hurry and don’
t look like he cares much what the army has to say.”

  Walker’s cold stare shifted to Harris. “Hold it at gun-point if you have to, but that stage doesn’t leave until this woman is on it!”

  Harris nodded and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  Walker turned his full attention to Lacy Larson. “You are the woman my father bailed out of jail and married me to by proxy three years ago.” He found it hard to believe. She must have been little more than a child at the time.

  His words hadn’t been a question, but she nodded in answer anyway.

  “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen,” she answered. “How old are you.”

  “Twenty-five,” Walker snapped.

  She watched him closely. “You seem older,” she said more to herself than him. “Your father always called you his boy.”

  Walker walked in front of his desk choosing his words carefully. He didn’t want to frighten the lady further, but she had become far more than his responsibility as an officer of the government.

  She stared at the strings of her purse.

  Walker shoved paperwork aside and leaned on his desk. He crossed his long legs as he folded his arms. He stood so close to her he could touch her if he shifted. He considered himself an honest, straightforward man, but for once, he tried to think of how to be kind. She looked so frightened. He blamed his father for this mess more than her. She’d been in jail. She’d done what she thought she must to survive. But his father had paid her bail and started this whole muddle. The old man should have stayed out of his life, as well as hers. What kind of father buys his son a wife?

  “I fought,” Walker began, “to get the marriage annulled when I found out what my father had done. I’m a soldier, Ma‘am, I have no need or desire for a wife. You’d be better off married to someone else.”

  Light from the window flickered off his polished boots. She lowered her head and seemed to be focusing on the bouncing rays. He hoped he hadn’t hurt her feelings by being so direct. Surely, she couldn’t think he was turning her down. After all, until a few minutes ago he’d never seen her before. She’d probably make some farmer up near Cedar Point a great wife. She was certainly a beauty, even if she did have a questionable past.