Lady of the Gun

by Faye Adams

  Cass saw Brett enter the room and busied herself with making sure the silverware was straight on the table. She caught her Uncle Darby watching her and stepped back from the table, stuffing her hands in her trouser pockets.

  "How are those scratches?" Darby asked as Brett neared the table.

  Brett tore his gaze from Cass's blushing face and looked at the older man. "I'll live," he answered, smiling. “Thanks again for the shirt."

  Darby raised his hand to brush off the thank you. “Aw, that's okay. I got lots of shirts. Never do wear them all." Standing, he crossed to the mantel and took down some glasses and the fresh bottle of whiskey Cass had brought him from town. "You want a drink?" he offered Brett.

  "Sure. Sounds good."

  "Cass?" Darby offered.

  "No, thank you, Uncle." She rarely drank, and when she did it wasn't whiskey that passed her lips. Her uncle knew this, so his offer of the drink was unusual.

  "Come eat, please," said Soony as he carried a platter of chicken into the room from the kitchen. Setting the heavy platter in the center of the table, he addressed Cass. "Pork Chop is very sorry for today," he told her sincerely.

  "She is, eh?" Cass asked.

  'Yes, Missy Cass. She says she'll never do it again."

  Brett grinned at the man's words. "That chicken talks to you?" he couldn't help asking.

  Soony looked at Brett. “Yes, sir, Mr. Brett. She tells me many things."

  Brett walked to the table and waited to find out where he should sit. "What kinds of things does she tell you?" he coaxed.

  Soony looked sideways at the new man in their midst. "She tells me when it's going to rain," he explained.

  "Anything else?" Brett urged.

  "Don't encourage him," Cass said lightly as she took her seat at the head of the table. "If you get him started he'll never be quiet." She smiled fondly at Soony while she spoke.

  Soony returned her smile and left the room to fetch the rest of the meal.

  Darby sat in the seat opposite Cass, indicating Brett should sit to his right, Cass's left.

  Brett took his place and waited while Soony made two more trips with serving dishes. Soony then sat at the table across from him, and it was Soony who lowered his head first for prayers. Brett did likewise and listened while Darby said grace. It was only when he raised his eyes that he noticed Cass didn't join in this ritual. She sat instead with her head level, her eyes open, and her mouth set in a grim line. When he met her gaze, she didn't look away, only stared blankly at him until Darby was finished with the prayer.

  "Amen," Darby and Soony said in unison.

  Cass continued to stare at Brett as though she expected him to say something about her nonparticipation in the saying of grace.

  Brett saw the glint of a challenge in Cass's blue eyes and chose to not to comment. Along with the challenge, deep within her beautiful eyes he saw the look of death once again. Saying grace with her uncle and Soony reminded her of her family and what she'd set out to do. Instead, he let his eyes talk to her, sadly, quietly. He let her know he felt her thoughts.

  Cass tilted her jaw slightly at the look she received from Brett. She knew what he was thinking, and she didn't like it. She didn't want to be inside his head, and she sure as hell didn't want him inside hers. Tearing her gaze from his, she grabbed a bowl of biscuits and tossed two of them on her plate. "Biscuits?" she offered Soony. Soony was busy picking over the chicken and barely looked up.

  "May I have some biscuits, please?" Brett asked.

  Cass looked back into the gray eyes of the dark-haired man watching her so intently. Handing him the bowl, she glared at him, hoping to make him understand that she didn't want his sympathy, or his interference.

  After dinner, when Soony was finishing up the dishes and talking to Pork Chop, who pecked the ground just outside the open kitchen door, Darby sat in his chair beside the cold fireplace. "This is a toasty spot in the winter," he thought out loud.

  "I'll bet it is," Brett commented, leaning against the mantel with his elbow. Cass had disappeared right after excusing herself from the table, and Brett assumed it was to take a discreet trip to the outhouse. She'd been gone quite a while, though, and he was beginning to worry about her.

  Leaving the fireplace and covering the distance to the front door, he peered out, searching the yard for her form.

  "She usually takes walks after dinner. Been doin' it since her family was killed. I think she visits their graves."

  “I didn't see a cemetery as we rode in."

  Darby shook his head and swallowed the last drop of whiskey in his glass, his third since dinner. "You wouldn't. It's over the bill behind the barn. Closer to the Losee. It’s where she wanted them buried."

  Brett nodded, uncertain of an appropriate comment. He hated to picture Cass kneeling over her family's graves. He was surprised at the pity and sadness he felt for her. He usually didn't get so involved with the people he came in contact with. At least not this quickly.

  Darby filled his glass again and held up the bottle toward Brett, lowering it when the marshal declined another drink. "Sometimes this is all I can do to forget."

  Brett nodded again. "And Cass?" he asked softly.

  "She doesn't want to forget. It's been five years. You'd think she'd be ready to put it to rest, but she hangs on to her anger" She lets it fester inside her. Sometimes I can see the hurt and the anger just burnin' to get out." He shook his head sadly. "Then she smiles and kisses my old head and tells me everything will be all right." He took another long drink. “I sure do love that gal. It's been torture watchin' what she's done and gone through. And now Sheriff Jackson's dead. It'll be worse than ever now."

  Brett knew that the old man spoke the truth. The look in Cass's eyes was convincing as nothing else would have been, and after seeing her take down Henry Fleet, he knew she had the ability to carry out her plans. He just wished she could be talked out of this mission she'd set herself.

  Some people were meant to be killers, and others were not. Cass was the latter. He knew that each time she killed it took a little more out of her. Each death she witnessed left its mark on her. Soon, he felt, she would reach her limit, and he hoped when she did she wouldn't completely crack under the pressure.

  “Come sit down and have another drink, Marshal," urged Darby. "Have several. She’ll be a while."

  Brett shrugged and walked away from the door. Accepting the offered drink and sinking down into the soft chair opposite Darby, he realized how exhausted he was. He needed to get back to town to his hotel room, but he wanted to see Cass again before he left.

  It was dark before Cass came walking into the house once more. Raising her eyebrows at the sight of Brett sitting across from her uncle, she walked between the two men. "I thought you'd have left for town by now," she said to Brett, taking in the relaxed way he sat back the chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

  "I wanted to make sure you were safe inside before I left," he explained.

  "I’m not a child. I am perfectly safe walking around my own property."

  Brett shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe." He pushed himself forward, preparing to stand up. "Now that I know for sure that you're safe, I'll be going."

  Cass frowned as she detected a slight slurring of his words. "You're drunk," she accused.

  Brett grinned up at her. "Not drunk, just relaxed."

  Cass shook her head and glanced to where her uncle smiled into the empty fireplace. "You did this. You got him this way."

  Brett chuckled slightly, and Darby looked away from the fireplace, "He's a big boy, Cass. I didn't force him to drink."

  Cass looked from her uncle to Brett. He was indeed a big boy. "Fine," she mumbled.

  "Fine," Brett mimicked. "Then I'll be on my way." Pushing himself up from the chair, he staggered as he put his weight on his feet.

  Grabbing Brett's arm to steady him, Cass glared up at him. "You can't ride like this. You'll fall flat on your face."

 
Brett was surprised the whiskey had affected him so strongly. It was probably because of his lack of sleep in the last two days. "I'll be fine," he tried to assure her, slurring his words even worse than before and swaying slightly.

  Cass stepped forward and wrapped his arm over her shoulders. For just a second she was aware of the feel of his muscled chest against hers as she turned to accept his weight. She hurriedly twisted around to a less suggestive angle. “You’re staying here tonight," she told him. "I'll help you to the bed."

  Brett still felt the warmth of Cass's breasts against his chest where she'd touched him so briefly. Blood pounded in his ears as he leaned over to smell the sweet fragrance of her hair. "To bed?" he asked softly, his head swimming with the heady scent of her.

  Cass's gaze shot up to meet Brett's. "The bed right here in the living room." She led him around behind Darby's chair. "This bed," she told him, indicating the small daybed pushed against the wall and covered with pillows and folded quilts.

  Brett looked at the bed and frowned. "I don't think I'll fit," he grumbled. Then, stepping slightly away from Cass, he looked her up and down. "I don't think you'd fit, either."

  "Well, I don't have to sleep here. You do. And whether or not you fit is no concern of mine. You're the one who got too drunk to ride back to town. Now sit down and I'll help you off with your boots," she ordered.

  Brett lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, grinning at her gruff tone. “You can sure get bossy when you want to," he accused teasingly.

  "Ain't that the truth," interjected Darby" "And she pouts, too."

  Brett laughed at Darby's remark. "I believe it," he agreed.

  Cass looked with irritation at one man and then the other. “Well, then, to hell with the both of you. You, Marshal, can just sleep with your boots on. And, Uncle Darby, you can sit in that chair and swill whiskey until you drown yourself. I'm not going to stand here and be insulted by the likes of you two. I'm going to bed." She turned with a haughty air and stomped from the room.

  "Told you she pouted," said Darby when he felt Cass was safely out of earshot.

  "I'll bet she threw temper tantrums when she was a little girl," commented Brett.

  "Still would if she thought she could get away with it," added Darby quietly, yawning.

  Brett pushed some of the pillows and quilts out of the way and lay down. His whole body ached with the exhaustion he felt as he closed his eyes. It was only seconds before he began to dream. In his dreams Cass was smiling up at him with no fear or anger in her beautiful blue eyes.

  Cass couldn't sleep. Her insomnia was nothing new. Since the loss of her family, no matter how tired and sleepy she was, as soon as she laid her head on her pillow she was wide awake. And tonight was no different. Sighing heavily, she forced her eyes to close and tried to lie perfectly still, hoping she'd nod off if she thought pleasant thoughts. The only thoughts that filled her head on this night, though, were of Henry Fleet as he fell dead in the dusty street of Twisted Creek. Brett wondered if Henry's brother Bobby would come looking for her. He probably would. "Let him come," she murmured into the warm night air.

  Sighing heavily, she turned over onto her stomach and propped herself up on her pillows. She could see out her window in this position, and sometimes staring out into the darkness helped her clear her mind. This night it didn't. Sheriff Jackson's death ..she was sure he'd been murdered.. Ramsey Tylo's return and strange behavior toward her, and Marshal Brett Ryder's entrance into her life kept her head swimming with thoughts that threatened to keep her awake all night.

  Finally, after what felt like several hours of lying awake, she decided she needed to take a walk. It was the only thing that truly helped when the insomnia got this bad.

  After tiptoeing from her room, she made her way down the short hallway to the living room. Stopping before she entered, she listened for Brett's breathing. She didn't want to awaken him. "Fat chance of waking a drunk," she whispered to herself. Proceeding quietly to the front door, she was soon outside and walking toward the burned-out ruin of her family home.

  Brett heard a sound and opened his eyes, instantly wide awake. It took him several seconds to remember where he was, and then he relaxed only slightly. There were too many possibilities for trouble in Cass's life for him to be sure the sound he'd heard didn't mean danger. Sitting up, he grimaced at the pounding that began in his head. Damned whiskey, he thought. Holding his temples, he listened. There was no other sound. The house was silent. Had he really heard something? Was his mind playing tricks on him? He didn't think so.

  Standing up, he walked quietly to the window and looked around the yard, wanting to make sure no one was snooping around. The moon was bright and illuminated the night very well. He could see the barn and other outbuildings clearly. He could see his horse in the corral, along with Cass’s and several others. They were calm. No sign of any trouble. He then looked toward the trees beyond the yard. The trees where Cass's family had been murdered. A shiver of apprehension brushed his soul. Something moved out there. Something ethereal seemed to float through the shadows of the trees.

  Brett blinked several times, then squinted, trying to make out what he was seeing. A voice somewhere inside his head said ghosts, but his common sense argued otherwise. Reaching for the doorknob, he turned it silently, determined to find out who or what was moving around outside in the middle of the night.

  Cass sat on a little stone pile in front of what was left of the fireplace in her family's burned-out home. She let her mind wander back to the days before the murders. Back to the days before she'd held a gun for any reason other than to hunt game with her father and brothers. Back to the days when she could still let her tears fall freely because she wasn't afraid she'd never stop crying if she got started.

  Taking a deep breath of the wonderful fresh night air, she remembered her mother and how she'd laughed at her children's antics when they were up to mischief. She remembered one particular incident when she was about ten. Her brothers had bet her she couldn't get their new bull into her bedroom and back out to the barn without either of her parents finding out about it. She'd managed to get the bull through the house without doing too much damage, but the stubborn animal refused to leave her room once he got there. She chuckled as she remembered the panic she'd felt as she pushed with all of her ten-year-old strength against the huge back end of the smelly animal, and the look on her mother's face when she walked in and saw what was going on.

  Her mother had stood stock-still for a moment, horror registering on her pretty face, then calmly told her that if she didn't get the bull out of her room before bedtime she'd have to sleep with it. Cass laughed softly again in remembrance.

  Brett stepped softly through the trees, peering around them one at a time to ensure his concealment. He didn't want whatever was out here in the dark to know he was coming. When he finally reached the edge of the stand of tall pines, he could see the burned-out remains of what had once been a large house. Scanning the broken, charred timbers, the blackened stones of the foundation, and the precariously leaning chimney, he searched the area. Then he saw it. Huddled near the fireplace was something small and white. He remembered Sheriff Jackson telling him that Cass's little sister had burned to death in the house, and an eerie shiver sliced through him. Just then he heard a sound. A soft whimper.

  Stepping from his hiding place in the shadows, Brett moved toward the ghostly apparition. Moving stealthily over the bare ground, he made his way to the foundation and stepped silently over it. He heard another sound floating on the night air, and moved closer still. It wasn't until he was standing only a few feet from the specter that it moved and he realized with a jolt to his senses that it was Cass, curled up with her head on her knees. His heart rocked with pity as he heard her whimper once more. This is where she does her crying, he thought. No longer concerned about his silence, he took one more step toward her.

  Cass jumped at the sound behind her. Damning herself for not bringing her guns
along with her, she rose to face her attacker. "It's you." She let her breath out when she recognized Brett in the moonlight. "What the hell do you think you're doing sneaking around out here in the dark?" she demanded.

  "I wasn't sneaking," Brett said defensively. "At least not once I saw it was you out here."

  "Who did you think it would be?"

  "I didn't know. I thought I heard a noise, and when I looked out the window to investigate, I saw something white moving through these trees." At his words, Brett looked more closely at Cass. She was wearing nothing more than a filmy cotton nightgown. It was what he'd seen in the moonlight, and now that he knew it was no ghostly apparition, it struck him hard that she was barely clothed.

  Cass, too, responded to Brett's words about something white in the trees. She swallowed, suddenly self-conscious. "As you can see, it's only me. You can go back to the house now," she told him without meeting his gaze.

  "I thought you were crying," he said softly.

  Cass raised her eyes to his. "I don't cry," she stated simply.

  "Never?"

  "Never. Now please leave me alone."

  Her insistence that she never cried bothered him more than if he'd found her weeping uncontrollably. He took a step closer to her and saw her cross her arms protectively in front of her, a move that pushed her breasts up against the soft cotton of her gown and caused his blood pressure to raise measurably. "I heard . . ." He was certain he'd heard her sobs.

  "I was laughing," she explained. Standing so close to Brett with nothing but her nightgown covering her body was terribly unnerving. Why hadn't she grabbed her robe before she'd left her room? Because before tonight she'd never had a strange man around the place, she answered her own silent question "Will you please go back to the house?" she asked him, shivering slightly.

  "You're cold?" Brett took another step nearer, near enough to smell the sweet fragrance of her hair as a light breeze caught and lifted it in the moonlight. His senses reeled at her scent.

  "I'm not cold," she answered quickly. How could she explain that it was his nearness that caused her to shiver, not the night air.