by Faye Adams
Lady of the Gun
By
Faye Adams
Copyright © 1996, 2013 Faye A. Simak (Swoboda)
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be used without express, written consent of the author.
Other books by this Author:
Click title to preview;
Western Historical Romances
‘Women of the Triple X Trilogy’
Book 1 - Rosebud
Book 2 - The Goodnight Loving Trail
Book 3 - Under A Texas Moon
Time-travel Romance
Mermaid's Dream
Available now, Faye Adams’ contemporary holiday romance:
White Christmas Wishes
“Bah humbug!” This is Maggie’s sentiment toward the impending holiday season. Three wishes have been made, and though she doesn’t believe in magic, the wishes start coming true! Will one of those wishes bring her true love? She doubts it but maybe…just maybe Maggie will have to start believing in the magic of Christmas Wishes.
Lady of the Gun
Chapter One
“Uncle Darby, wake up," Cassidy whispered as she shook the old man's shoulder.
"'What? Cass? It’s still dark out. What are you doing up already?" Darby peered up through bleary eyes at his niece.
"I'm going into town and I didn’t want you to worry if I wasn't back before you got up."
Darby sat up quickly and looked suspiciously at Cass. "What are you going into town so early for?"
"I've got business."
"What kind of business?"
Cass scowled in the semi-darkness of her uncle's room. She'd been sure he'd be too sleepy to question her. He was dead set against her continued quest for revenge, and she didn't want to hear another lecture. "I just have things to do."
Darby swung his spindly, long-john-clad legs over the edge of the bed. "What things?" he asked somberly.
Cass clenched her jaw and breathed a heavy sigh through her nose. "I'm going to talk to Sheriff Jackson," she finally said.
"Damn it, Cass. Can't you let it be? Your ma and pa would want it to end" They wouldn't have wanted you to do what you've done so far."
Cass turned and started to leave the room, tired of the same conversation they'd been having since she returned to her home in Twisted Creek.
"Cass, don't walk away from me, girl" You know I'm right. Just let it be," Darby insisted, wrapping a blanket around his waist as he followed her from the bedroom.
Cass stopped in the main room of their small home and turned to face him. No!" she hissed. "I won't let it be. I saw those bastards murder my entire family. I can't just let it be!" She crossed to the pegs beside the door and pulled her guns from their place. Wrapping the twin gun belts low on her hips, she strapped them tightly to her thighs. Turning to once more face her uncle, she saw the sadness in his eyes as he watched her. "I can't let it be," she whispered.
"But you already killed four of them fellas. Ain't that enough?" Darby tried again.
"It won't be enough until I get the man who was behind the killings," she answered.
"So why the trip to see the sheriff? He's already done all he can."
"Jackson never did half enough. I had to go find those killers myself. I'm only hoping he can do one thing for me."
"What?"
"I want him to talk to Mr. Tylo."
"Tylo? Are you crazy, girl?"
"Why the hell is everyone so afraid to talk to Hunt Tylo? He isn't God," Cass said disgustedly.
“No, he ain't God. But he might as well be in these parts. He's got the biggest spread around. Hell, his ranch keeps Twisted Creek on the map."
"And he's the one man who had something to gain from my family's destruction," Cass argued.
"What? Tell me what did he gain from their deaths?"
Cass narrowed her eyes. "His cattle have been running across our land with free access to the Losee River ever since Pa and Ma and the kids were murdered."
Darby rubbed his hand over his eyes. "I need a drink," he sighed. Cass had been on a one-horse track since her family had been slaughtered. Actually, she'd been exacting her own kind of justice ever since she'd taught herself how to shoot. Darby crossed to the fireplace and took a bottle of whiskey from the mantel. Tugging out the cork, he raised the bottle to his lips and let the fiery liquid slide down his throat. "You really think Hunt Tylo had something to do with your pa's murder? You think he had yow ma and the kids killed? He was your pa's friend, Cass. He even courted your ma for a while when they were kids. Hell, with the kind of money and power he has, do you really believe he'd wipe out a whole family just so's his cows could get to water a little quicker and easier?"
Cass had wondered for the past five years why her family had been massacred. She'd lain awake at night reliving the horror of returning home to see the murderers finishing their handiwork. When she did sleep, she would wake in a cold sweat remembering details of the scene. "I know it wasn't a random act by passing outlaws, as Sheriff Jackson was so quick to assume. Someone wanted my family dead. I'm just trying to figure out who."
Darby lowered himself onto one of the rickety chairs next to the table. "Well, it wasn't Hunt Tylo, Cass." He took another swig from the bottle. "You're getting desperate and grasping at straws."
Cass clenched her fists" "Maybe. But I can't let it go. And Tylo is the only person I can think of who gained anything after my family was killed. I just want Jackson to question him a little."
"So you're going to go bother the sheriff at this god-awful hour to nag him about this again," Darby grumbled.
"I should think you'd be grateful that I want this settled," she said. "Pa was your younger brother, remember?" She tried to keep the accusation from her voice, but couldn't entirely.
Darby lowered his eyes. He'd felt the hurt of losing his baby brother and his family. What happened was horrible and senseless, and he'd cried and drunk himself into oblivion for several days, but a body had to go on. He looked up at his beautiful niece. If only Cass could let it go. She was hanging on to her anger with a vengeance, and he was terrified it was going to get her killed. Killed, or so eaten up by emotion that she'd rather be dead. "Cass honey, it ain't gonna bring 'em back. Even if you find and kill every last one of those bastards, it ain't gonna bring 'em back," he said quietly.
Tears stung Cass's eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "I know that, but I have to finish this," she said with resolve. She crossed the room and put her arm around her uncle's shoulders. Bending over, she kissed the top of his hairless head. "I'm going to talk to the sheriff and check on the saddle I left to be repaired at the livery. Is there anything you need from town?"
Darby eyeballed the whiskey bottle. "'Nother one of these wouldn't hurt," he said.
"You shouldn't drink so early in the morning," she admonished gently.
"And you shouldn't wear your guns to town so much. Folks are already afraid of you."
Straightening her back, she walked toward the door. "I don't care if folks are afraid of me," she said over her shoulder. "I'll be back in a few hours, and I'll bring you your whiskey." Just before going through the door she turned back around. "Tell Soony when he gets up that his damned chicken pecked the crap out of Mirabelle again."
"You'd think that cat'd have enough sense to stay out of that chicken's way," remarked Darby.
"Well, she doesn't,"
"You want Soony to fix anything special for dinner tonight?"
Cass thought for a moment. It was Sunday. There'd been a time in her life when that meant something. "No, anything he feels like cooking is fine with me." Sighing she pulled open the door and went outside into the sti
llness of the early morning.
Riding to town, Cass thought about what Darby had said about the townspeople being afraid of her. She did care, but it couldn't be helped. She couldn't take the chance of going anywhere without her guns. Not yet, anyway. Someday she would hang up her guns for good. When she'd finally rid the world of the scum that had destroyed her family.
Adjusting her seat, she couldn't keep her mind from wandering back to the day she'd come home to find her family being murdered. She'd been visiting Darby that morning at his mine, Darby's Dream, had brought him biscuits her mother'd baked special. That early morning visit had kept her from being murdered too.
She couldn't stop the shudder that coursed through her at the memories. Her father and mother, both shot through the head. Her brothers also shot, but several times. And her little sister burned to death in the fire that engulfed their home. No. She couldn't let it go, no matter what Darby said.
She squirmed a bit in the saddle as the memories became foggy in her mind. There was much she remembered about the massacre. Details that had led her on her search for the murderers. Details that had pinpointed the men when she'd found them. Men she'd bested in gunfights and seen fall to their deaths at her hand. But there were things she couldn't remember. Important facts that, try as she might, she couldn't force to the front of her memory. Her head would ache from the strain of trying to remember. "Damn," she fumed, as once again she felt that something was eluding her.
"But I do remember the gun," she whispered.
As the murderers had finished their work and begun to ride away, she'd seen their leader wave his gun in the air. The image of the sun glinting off the silver handle had burned its way into her memory like a fiery brand. Throughout the years she'd searched for the men and exacted her revenge. But no one could tell her about the man with the silver gun.
"Someday I'll find you," she promised the faceless killer. "Someday you'll find yourself in the sights of my gun. And when I pull the trigger you'll know you're on your way to hell," she whispered.
Cass entered Twisted Creek the way she always did, checking the horses at the livery on the outskirts of town for strange mounts and looking to see if any horses she didn't recognize were tied to the hitching posts. Frowning, she saw a strange palomino tethered outside the Best Bet Saloon. "Might be trouble," she mouthed as she passed.
Banging on the back door of the jail a few minutes later, she was greeted by a grumpy sheriff still in his long-handle underwear.
"What the hell do you want this early in the morning, Cassidy?" he barked when he saw who'd awakened him.
Cass didn't let his gruff greeting sway her. Instead, she pushed past him into the jail and picked up the coffee pot. "You go put on your pants while I get some water for the coffee," she told him. She headed out to the pump and was soon back inside, measuring coffee into the pot and setting it on the woodstove. After stirring up the coals, she slid a log into the fire.
Sheriff Jackson shook his head as he pulled on his pants, then stomped his feet into his boots. He would never get used to Cassidy's abrupt ways. As he tucked in his shirt, he stepped to the doorway that divided his living area from the jail, and watched her waiting impatiently in front of the stove.
Cassidy Wayne was a beautiful woman. She was tall and slender, though curved in the right places, and had long dark chestnut hair and deep blue eyes. Her Skin glowed with a creamy light, just touched by the sun, and her lips were full, perhaps a bit too full, which made her appear to be pouting slightly, like a woman who had just been properly kissed, which led a man to thinking all sorts of things he shouldn't. Jackson cleared his throat as he left his living quarters. "Now, what do you want, Cassidy?"
Cass looked at the sheriff as he entered the jail. She smiled when she noticed he'd buttoned his shirt wrong. "Long night, Sheriff?" she teased, letting her gaze linger on his shirt.
Jackson looked down. Damn, he thought. He'd been looking at Cassidy so intently that he'd messed up dressing, himself. "A man has a right to make a mistake now and then," he grumbled, beginning the re-buttoning process.
Cass watched him adjusting his shirt and waited. She wanted his full attention when she spoke to him about Tylo. Crossing to a chair opposite the sheriff's desk, she sat down, pulling one booted foot up to rest on her knee.
Sheriff Jackson finished with his shirt and looked up to find Cassidy sitting, waiting for him. "All right, what can I do for you, Cassidy?" He stepped behind his desk and sat down.
"I want you to question Hunt Tylo about the murders," she said bluntly.
Jackson heaved a heavy sigh' "Damn, Cassidy. You don't want much do you? Can't you just let it go?"
Cass's nerves screamed at hearing the same question her uncle had asked her earlier. “No, I can't let it go," she answered, her voice a threatening monotone.
"But why Tylo? There wasn't any evidence that pointed to Mr. Tylo five years ago. And you've already killed almost everyone who had anything to do with it."
"Almost," she repeated his word. "And almost isn't good enough. I want the man responsible. The one who planned the murder and paid those guns to carry it out."
Jackson rubbed his hand over his forehead, then looked toward the coffee pot, wishing it was finished brewing. "Look, Cassidy, I did all I could when your family was
killed. The posse lost the gunmen's trail. In all the years you went searching for the killers, you've never found one piece of evidence to prove it was more than what I said it was from the start-just some drunken bastards that got carried away during a robbery."
A shutter had fallen over Cass's eyes. "They didn't take anything," she said stonily.
"They got scared."
"They weren't scared, Sheriff. I was there, remember?"
Jackson let his eyes meet hers. "I remember, Cassidy. And I'm sorry you had to see something so horrible. But it's over.”
Cass stood up abruptly and slammed her hands on his desk. "It's not over. It won't be over until the last man is dead. The man with the silver gun."
Jackson leaned back in his chair. "You think Tylo's the man with the silver gun?" he asked, tired of fighting this fight with her.
"I don't know, but he's the only person who benefited from my parents' death."
"How?"
"He's been letting his cattle use our land to get to the Losee."
Jackson stood and crossed to the coffee pot, grateful the liquid had become dark and hot while he and Cassidy had been talking. Pouring himself a cup, he thought about what she'd said. "Didn't he use your father's land before?"
Cass looked down. "Yes, but ..."
"Then why on earth would Tylo kill your family for something he was already doing?"
"Pa wanted him to stop. I heard them arguing about it."
"Did he stop?"
“No."
Jackson raised his shoulders.
"You don't think Tylo had anything to do with it, do you?" Cass asked.
"No, Cassidy, I don't. The man was using your father's land, so they'd obviously come to an agreement before your father's death." He sipped his coffee and watched her over the rim of the cup.
Cass wasn't convinced. But she had no proof. When she'd taught herself how to shoot, she'd vowed to rid the earth of every man who'd had anything to do with her family's death. She'd searched them out one by one and killed them, legally, in gunfights. And until she'd found herself close to Twisted Creek, it hadn't struck her that her search had brought her back home. There had to be a reason for it. "Darby says I’m grasping at straws," she said quietly.
"I agree with him," Jackson confirmed. "You've been through hell these past years, Cassidy. Maybe you're not seeing things clearly anymore. You need to take it easy. Start over."
Cass met the older man's eyes. Jackson was barely as tall as she was. He was pushing sixty, thick through the middle, and had gray running through his dark hair and mustache. He was older than her father would have been. "I can't stop," she said. "Will you talk to Tyl
o?”
"I'd rather not get folks riled up about the murders again, Cassidy. It's bad enough you came back wearing those damned guns and carrying a reputation a mile wide'"
"If you don't talk to him, I will," she said bluntly.
"Now, Cassidy..."
"I mean it, Sheriff. If you don't ask him a few questions, I'll be glad to do it. But I won't be as polite as you."
Jackson set his cup roughly on his desk, sloshing coffee over the rim. "Damn it, Cassidy. I don't want you starting any trouble."
"Then talk to Tylo for me. Just get a feeling from what he tells you. If he seems nervous, let me know"'
Jackson shook his head. "You think I'd tell you if I thought he was guilty? I wouldn't. You'd ride over there and shoot him before I could arrest him and the circuit judge could get here to hold a trial."
"Then you believe there's a chance he's guilty?"
"Damn it, Cassidy, I didn't say that. Quit putting words in my mouth. I'll go talk to him. That's all I' do for now."
Cass let her breath out slowly. She was relieved she'd been able to talk Jackson into going out to see Tylo. "All right, Sheriff. Thank you."
"You get along now and let me drink the rest of my coffee in peace."
Cass nodded. "When ..."
"This afternoon. I'll go this afternoon. Now get!" Jackson waved his arm at her, shooing her from his office.
Federal Marshal Brett Ryder narrowed his eyes as he neared the town of Twisted Creek. He was still angry with his superiors for sending him on this wild-goose chase. It didn't matter that they thought they had good reason. Turning to stretch out the kinks that the last twenty-four hours in the saddle had put in his back, he scanned the buildings of the town as he rode closer and let his mind wander to the reason he'd been banished from investigating the murder of his best friend and colleague, Gerald lvers. He could remember them telling him he was too close to the case, too personally involved. "Hell yes, I was involved," he grumbled between tight lips. Gerald was my friend, and I’m the one who found him with a bullet in his head, he finished in thought. Anger and the desire for revenge surged through his veins. Clenching his jaw, he knew his anger was what prompted his captain to send him to Twisted Creek, Wyoming.
