The Last Cahill Cowboy

by Jenna Kernan

  “We have cobbler.” Cassie’s smile seemed to offer something else entirely.

  Chance loved cobbler. “No, thanks.”

  Leanna raised a brow. Cassie cleared the dishes and cast Chance one more brilliant smile before swaying back toward the kitchen. It was a wonder she didn’t dislocate something.

  “That girl has set her cap at you.”

  Chance rubbed his jaw, feeling the bristle of his whiskers already coming in. “You gotta pull her off me, Annie, or you’ll have one less reformed dove.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Me? No. But what about her?”

  “And don’t change the subject. Is Ellie all right after the shooting?”

  Why had Chance thought that Leanna knew about their kiss? He didn’t know what to make of it himself. He’d kissed plenty of women, but that kiss had gone straight through him like a Comanche arrow with a barbed tip. If they hadn’t been interrupted he might have laid her on that big, soft bed.

  He had only been half joking when he’d told her the door would be unlocked. He winced as he recalled that dunderheaded comment. What kind of a thing was that to say to a proper gal like Ellie? And she had called him out on it, just as she should have.

  He’d been around easy women too long. That was his only possible excuse.

  He rubbed his hand over his jaw. “She’s fine, I guess. Mother treats her bad.”

  Leanna pulled a face. “Oh, Minnie again. She thinks the world revolves around whether Ellie gets the right husband, instead of wanting her daughter to find someone who makes her happy.”

  “And she doesn’t like being called Squirt anymore.”

  “Well, she’s not ten years old, Chance, and really, she never did like it.”

  “But she isn’t much bigger than when she was.” He nursed his wounds with his coffee. “And she went after me like a snake in a horse pasture. Liked to stomp me to death.”

  “Ellie? I’ve never even heard her raise her voice. She’s the most polite, quiet, endearing person in the entire town.”

  “Not to me she isn’t.”

  “You have that effect on people.”

  “She said not everyone solves problems by running.”

  Leanna went still. “That doesn’t sound like Ellie.” After another moment’s consideration, she leaned half-across the table and narrowed her eyes on him. “What did you say to her?”

  “Nothing. I just suggested she might not want to stay where she isn’t appreciated.”

  “Chance, despite her mother’s interference and all that has happened, Ellis is still my best friend. So if you hurt her I will pull out your intestines and tie them to a tree.”

  Leanna had read too many accounts of Indian abductions, but he knew she could use a knife because he’d taught her to throw one. Looking back, teaching her to fight like a Comanche might not have been the wisest of moves.

  “I’m warning you, Chance.”

  So he was not going to mention the kiss to Leanna, then.

  “What about what she said to me? You going to warn her off, too?”

  “Certainly not. She’s right. We’ve both been running. What you need is to find something that’s worth staying for.”

  “You make about as much sense as Squirt.”

  “Don’t call her that.”

  “She got a beau?”

  Leanna positively beamed at him and he realized she assumed he had a healthy interest. Best dissuade her of that notion pronto. Even if he did think Ellie was more interesting than most females, as Ellie had so aptly pointed out, the only thing he could give her was a reputation.

  “You askin’?” Her voice took on that flirty, vivacious tone he’d seen her use to great effect when she was younger. She’d had all the boys for miles around panting after her and every momma scheming how to make Leanna her daughter-in-law. Chance’s spirits fell as he realized they didn’t want her anymore. Did they even speak to her?

  “I’m not asking for that reason. Lord, Annie, she’s like a sister to me.” His neck prickled at the lie and his insides began to tingle as he recalled the softness of her lips beneath his. Ellie was hot as a Mexican summer. He could hardly believe a proper little miss could kiss like that.

  Leanna leaned in, thumping her elbows on the table and resting her chin on her laced fingers. “All right, then, smarty, why are you asking?”

  “I heard Minnie say she thinks either Ira or Johny Fitzgerald would be good marriage material.” Her face told him all he needed to know on how she felt about that. “Been a while since I seen those boys but I was concerned that they might still be the bullies I remember.”

  Leanna’s spine stiffened. “Worse now than ever.”

  “Why aren’t they on the cattle drive with their pa?”

  “I’m not sure if their father has cut them off. But they seem to be across the tracks more than at the ranch.”

  “Maybe I’ll take a stroll that way before bed.”

  “You be careful.”

  Chance stood and replaced his hat. “Thanks for supper, Annie.”

  “I wish you’d come over to the house.”

  “I get itchy indoors.”

  “Yet you’re staying at the Royale?” She watched for a reaction.

  Chance drew his hat low over his eyes. “Those Fitzgerald boys still running with Preston Van Slyck?”

  Leanna went pale. He took her elbow and guided her back to her chair, then took a seat beside her.

  “What? If he touched you, I—”

  Leanna raised a hand to silence him. “I shot Preston a few weeks back, Chance. I killed him.”

  Chapter Seven

  Chance shivered as if someone had just thrown a bucket of icy water over his head. His baby sister had killed a man.

  “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” One look at Leanna and his own pain dissolved into concern for her. Her pale face and huge blue eyes stopped him. Leanna had obviously been to hell and back since he’d seen her last.

  “Annie?”

  “He took Cabe and he shot my husband.”

  “But why?”

  Leanna dropped her gaze to her lap and spoke to her hands. “Preston discovered we were trying to connect his father to Mama’s and Papa’s deaths and took Cabe to make me stop. Cleve went after Cabe.”

  Chance thought of a man ready to die to protect a child and his estimation of Cleve jumped.

  “I got there after Cleve. Preston had a gun to my husband’s head, so I used my rifle. Aim, hold your breath, let half of it out, squeeze. Just like you taught me.” Leanna met his gaze.

  He was afraid her haunted look would never leave him.

  She seemed different now, reminding him of Bowie, with her cool stare. He’d been right, the experience had changed her. He felt as if he had lost his little baby sister and he wasn’t sure he knew this woman at all.

  “I think you saved our lives, Chance. If you hadn’t taught me to shoot…”

  “But I did and you remembered when it counted.”

  Leanna looked different without her bright smile and bubbly personality.

  “So he’s dead now,” she said, spinning the ring on her index finger.

  “The world is better without him. I know it and so do you. Don’t you spend one second feeling remorseful.”

  Leanna began to cry. He thought to take her hand, give her a hug like Ma would have done. But he felt awkward and unsure.

  “I see it, the entire thing, in my head,” she said. “It plagues me.”

  “That happens. It will pass with time.”

  She looked up. “It will?”

  “Yup,” he lied.

  She sighed, as if relieved, and wiped her eyes. He thought of her husband, shot protecting a child that wasn’t even his.

  Holden had done the right thing, but Chance still didn’t know if he was the right man for his sister.

  Leanna shook her dark head as if throwing off her melancholy and wiped beneath her eyes with her index fingers.

 
Chance made up his mind about something.

  “I’d like to meet Cleve properly, Annie. I’ll come to supper anytime you like.”

  Her smile returned. “Oh, Chance. It means so much to me that you two get along. He’s been a blessing, protecting me and Boodle and the girls. He’s the love of my life and I want you two to be friends.”

  Chance nodded his willingness to try, even if he didn’t really have friends. All he’d ever had was Leanna. Though Bowie and he had established a fragile truce. He wondered if it would last, because he knew he was about to do things that neither Bowie nor Leanna would like.

  “What about his father, Willem? He been bothering you?”

  “No. He has actually been in my place a few times. But I don’t trust him. When Preston took Boodle, he told Cleve that his father keeps two sets of books and has been robbing us blind. Cleve said Preston was positively jubilant as he told him that the Cahills might own the town, but the Van Slycks were the ones getting rich.”

  “That’s why Quin is calling for an audit.”

  “Yes.” She looked surprised. “Did Bowie tell you?”

  “Yeah, but he forgot to mention Preston.” Chance leaned forward. “You still got your pistol?”

  She nodded.

  “Keep it close, Annie. I can’t have anything happen to you.”

  She smiled and lifted a hand to his cheek. “Ah, you’re going to make me cry again.” She dropped her hand. “You need any money?”

  He slid a hand in his pocket, feeling the scarce coins knock together. Damned if he’d take money from his little sister.

  “Chance? I wouldn’t even have this place if not for you.”

  “I brought in another bounty, Annie. I’m fine.”

  Now she looked sad again. “See you tomorrow for supper?”

  “You bet.”

  “Be careful.”

  He grinned at her and then headed out the door.

  Night had descended but the town was still full of light. Seemed no one went to bed early in this town, either.

  Chance headed for the red-light district—bars, billiards and brothels. He didn’t enter Pearl’s Palace out of deference to Leanna’s stance against prostitution, plus he didn’t need a woman…or at least the kind you had to pay for. Monty’s Dance Hall was lively. He ran into Ned Womack at the Black Diamond and was happy to accept a beer. Unfortunately, Ned, still scattered as buckshot, had forgotten his wallet, so Chance picked up the bill.

  Womack, who was a neighbor to the 4C, was broad as a barn door with a misshapen nose and eyebrows that grew so thick and wiry they crept halfway up his forehead. He had recently lost his wife and told Chance that he had, as yet, been unsuccessful in finding a replacement. Chance could see that the big barrel of a man might be daunting to most women and wondered if his lack of a wife accounted for his disheveled appearance. He and Chance tried out the new billiard table and Chance decided to stir things up by telling him he was in town to sell his share of the 4C. It was a lie, but it gave Chance a reason to be here. He also said that he wouldn’t speak to Leanna and that Bowie wouldn’t speak to him. Nothing like a rift to bring the devil to his door. Ned liked to talk, so telling him was like posting a damned flyer. Word would get out. The two parted ways when Chance continued to Hell’s Corner Saloon, the final establishment in the row.

  He’d barely set foot in the place when Ira Fitzgerald slithered over to greet him. Chance didn’t trust Ira and immediately looked for Ira’s younger brother, Johny. He spotted him engaged in a game of cards at the table beside three men who Chance did not know and one he did—Glen Whitaker. Bowie’s deputy seemed to be losing, judging from the tiny pile of chips before him and the crease in his brow.

  Chance flicked his gaze back to Ira.

  “Well, well, I heard you was back in town. Welcome home, Chance.”

  Ira hadn’t changed much. He still had sandy-brown hair, bulging green eyes, a large nose and a sneer that seemed permanently fixed on his face. He’d filled out some, losing the lean frame that came from riding and roping all day.

  “Ira, surprised you aren’t on the drive.”

  “We have hired hands for that. Besides, I’ve had enough of eating dust for a lifetime. You, too, I expect.”

  Chance said nothing to that.

  “Heard tell you brung in twelve men, all shot clean through the head.”

  “Is it that many?” Chance would have liked to join the card game, but he’d need to wait for his wire from Deadwood. Until then he had credit only at the hotel, and that thanks to Oscar.

  “You going back to work at the 4C?” asked Ira, sticking his big nose where it didn’t belong.

  “No plans yet.”

  “What brings you home, then?”

  “Following Annie, just like always.”

  “Oh, well, she sure did cause a stir, what with that bastar—” Ira must have caught Chance’s look because he reconsidered and tried again. “With the girls and all. She sure is a spitfire.”

  “See your brother’s working on losing the family fortune.” Chance nodded toward Johny, the younger, meaner brother. He still had that dangerous look in his eye. The boy was as erratic as the weather.

  Ira glanced back at Johny. “Oh, he wins most nights, especially if Whitaker is playing. The man is a menace to hisself. So, you staying in town?”

  “For now.”

  “Well, if you’re looking for work you just got to ask.”

  Chance leaned in. “Need somebody killed, do you?”

  Ira tried for a laugh and ended up rubbing his neck. “’Course not. Just we could use a man like you.”

  A man like him, a killer, a man people crossed the street to avoid walking past, is that what he meant?

  “I’ll think on it.”

  “Oh, sure.” He clapped him on the shoulder.

  Chance narrowed his eyes and Ira’s hand slid away.

  “Buy you a drink?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Well, then, I’ll see you around.”

  Chance nodded. “Count on it.”

  Ira hesitated and gave him a long look and then headed off. Chance had the greatest respect for their father, Donald Fitzgerald, but he did not like his sons.

  He’d come out tonight only to get his bearings in a town he barely recognized. Not one of these places had existed when he’d ridden out. But now the railroad had split the town into two sections, good and bad.

  Which side did he fit on?

  Chance was just about to leave when he spotted a familiar face—Atherton, the blacksmith who used to shoe horses for the 4C.

  “Why, Chance Cahill, that you?”

  “Good to see you, Sidney. Still shoeing horses?”

  He nodded. “It’s a real honor to have you here. We been reading about you in the paper. How many men you brung in?”

  “Some.” And he could see the face of each and every one of them.

  “Why, that’s fine. First one’s on me.”

  “Why, I thank you.” This was the benefit of bounty hunting. Someone always wanted to buy him beer, but nothing was really free. They expected to hear tales of his bounty hunts and he didn’t like talking about it.

  Shooting a man was sometimes necessary, but it wasn’t something to brag about or make your reputation on. Shooting was all he was good at and he’d turned that into a living. But he wasn’t proud of it.

  Atherton returned with his beer, but Chance could tell he’d told every man at the other end of the bar just who was drinking in Hell’s Corner Saloon, because the men were gawking and whispering like old ladies. Chance knew what would happen next.

  He had nearly finished his beer when three young bucks at the north end of the bar began making remarks about how they heard Chance shot his bounties in the back. He didn’t bite. The comments got louder, harder to ignore. Sidney went to talk to them to no avail. Chance tried to figure which one would come over—the big one, the little one or the one wobbling on his feet. He guessed right; the litt
le guy, the one with the most to prove, headed in his direction. He pulled in beside Chance, who had now spun so he was leaning back against the bar.

  “Let’s see how fast you are with them pistols,” demanded the cowboy.

  This is why he never stayed anywhere too long. They all came out like cockroaches at night—the young ones, the tough ones, the ones all looking to make their reputation by putting him in the ground. One day someone would succeed. But he had business first.

  “You aiming to try to outdraw me or just want to see me shoot someone?”

  “You don’t look so tough.”

  “You go back to your friends now, son.”

  “I ain’t your son. And I sure as hell don’t take orders from a man who shoots fellers in the back.”

  He was spoiling for a fight. Chance considered his options. Despite what the boy thought, he was not a gunfighter and he had no stomach for killing a man purely because he was too stupid to know he looked death in the face.

  “What are you looking at?” said the boy. He glanced back at his buddies, puffing up like a rooster strutting across the yard.

  Chance looked to Bowie’s deputy, expecting him to intervene. But he just sat there like a lump on a log studying his cards. Chance returned his attention to the boy.

  “Last chance, boy. You run off now.”

  “Or what?”

  “You want to see me pull these pistols? You first.”

  That would make it a fair fight. Bowie couldn’t blame him, but he knew he still would.

  The stupid kid went for his pistol. Chance’s reaction was a blur.

  Chapter Eight

  The boy was slow as cold molasses. Chance had his pistol out before he’d even cleared leather.

  The boy froze, fist clenched on the handle of the gun, the barrel still stuck half in his shiny new holster. His eyes grew wide now and the saloon was quiet as church on Easter Sunday, everyone waiting for him to kill this stupid kid.

  Chance spun his Colt repeater so he held the barrel.

  “You wanted to see my pistol? Here it is.” He hit the boy right between his raised eyebrows. His opponent dropped to his knees, clutching his forehead. Blood spurted between his clenched fingers.