Lady of the Gun

by Faye Adams

  Ramsey tipped his hat to her and rode away. He seethed inwardly, his fingers tightening on the reins, his jaw clenched almost painfully. He needed to discuss this new turn of events with his father. Instead of things getting better with Cass, they were definitely getting worse. He spurred his horse cruelly, urging the poor animal to a faster gait. He had to get home to see what damage had been done by Cass's visit. He'd lied to Hunt about the Fourth of July date. He'd implied that Cass was nearly ready to fall into bed with him. Now, with Cass showing up with that damned marshal at her side, announcing she was closing off the range, Hunt would know he'd exaggerated his progress with her. Ramsey thought about his father's anger with some trepidation and anger of his own.

  ''Well?" Cass asked as she rode alongside Brett.

  "Well, what?"

  "You're dying to say something. So go ahead.”

  Brett looked at her sideways. She sat her horse straight, her head high. The reins hung loose in her hands. Her twin Colts were snugly strapped to her thighs. Her shining chestnut hair hung down her back in a soft curl, the blue of her eyes rivaled that of the summer sky, and her full, pouty lips caused his heart to skip a beat. He wanted to say something all right. He wanted to tell her to give up her quest for revenge, but he knew she'd only argue with him about it, and in the end she would do exactly as she chose, despite anything he said.

  "Come on, Brett. I can tell you’re about to explode,” she prodded.

  Grimacing, he spoke. "Will what I say make any difference to you?"

  "Depends on what you say. It you tell me you think stringing barbed wire is a good way to flush out Tylo, then I'll agree with you. If you tell me not to do it . . . I’ll do it anyway," she answered honestly.

  Brett sighed. "Just as I thought.”

  Cass smiled. "I know what I'm doing, Brett.”

  "I don't think you do. Tylo made a good point back there, Cass."

  "You mean Ramsey?"

  "No, his father, although Ramsey echoed the statement. You're so certain that Tylo had something to do with the murders, but what about the other ranchers who use your land to get to the Losee? It might have been one of them who did it. You really haven't narrowed the field at all with this action."

  Cass smiled again. "Brett, I thought about that. First of all, my father never planned to put up wire; he only told Tylo to keep his huge herds off our land. The small herds from our other neighbors never ate away enough grass or did enough damage to warrant refusing them access.”

  "But that's going to change now with the wire.”

  “No, it won't. I plan to put in several gates around the place, just none on the Lazy T side. I'm going to tell the small ranchers they can still run through if they want to."

  "Tylo will hear about it. He'll know you've singled him out, and he'll take it personally."

  "Exactly," she said triumphantly.

  Riding into town with the marshal, Cass was surprised to see a huge campaign sign sporting the words "Jaybird Johnson for Sheriff" and the slogan, "A man of the people."

  "'What's going on here?" she asked.

  "The town's holding an election to fill Jackson's place as sheriff," Brett explained.

  "But Jaybird Johnson? He's a meddlesome bully," she exclaimed.

  Brett shrugged his shoulders. "It's not my problem. I don't live here."

  Cass narrowed her eyes as she looked at him. His dark hair curled softly over his collar, the slightest brush of a beard showed on his strong jaw, though she knew he must have shaved that morning. The color of his eyes was barely discernible beneath the shadow of his hat, but she knew their steely silver glint better than her own. He'd been in town only a short time, and yet she'd grown so used to the idea of him being around that she'd forgotten he'd be leaving soon. "Yes, you'll be heading back east, won't you?" she asked.

  Brett met her gaze. "Probably," he answered. "It depends on you," he said softly.

  Cass flushed a deep crimson when she remembered he was waiting to see whether or not she was pregnant. She realized she should know in a matter of days. "It won't be long," she told him shyly.

  Brett studied her hard. "Just let me know," he said.

  Cass cast her gaze downward. She wasn't pregnant, was she? She didn't feel any different. The odds were against it. And yet there was the possibility. Swallowing, she looked back up to see Brett still watching her. "You'll be the first to know," she practically whispered.

  Sighing, Brett forced himself to look at something other than Cass's beautiful face and form. "Look, there's another sign.," he said, changing the subject.

  Looking for it, Cass was grateful for the respite. "Conroy? The barber?" She giggled.

  "He's not exactly what you'd call forceful," Brett commented, smiling.

  "I'd say not. I wonder what makes him think he could do a good job as sheriff."

  "I'd guess the guaranteed salary," Brett said with a sardonic twist to his lips.

  "You're probably right," she agreed. "And Jaybird wants the job so he can bully people legally."

  "That'd be my guess."

  "Are they the only candidates?" she asked, looking around for more signs.

  "So far, though I've heard the undertaker is thinking about running."

  "Old Mr. Smithers? He must be seventy-five," she said, her eyes open wide with surprise.

  Brett shrugged. "Some people think being a lawman sounds easy."

  "Humph," Cass snorted. "The only man in this whole town who's qualified is you."

  Brett raised an eyebrow" "Is that an invitation to run?"

  Cass looked at him once more. “I was only thinking out loud," she explained. "'But you know, it wouldn't be a bad idea," she added after a moment. "You'd have to quit your job as a marshal, though."

  Brett had already been thinking about running for the office. He just hadn't put it into words yet, and now Cass had done it for him. It had occurred to him lately that he was getting tired of all the traveling he'd been doing in the last few years. Maybe he was ready to settle down. “Yes, I'd have to do that," he commented.

  "Would you want to?' Cass asked, suddenly apprehensive about his answer.

  "I'm not sure. I'll have to think about it." He wondered what she was thinking. If she was pregnant, he'd want to do the honorable thing and marry her. It would make things a lot easier if he held the job of sheriff. "Would you want me to stay in Twisted Creek?" he asked.

  Cass looked down. Was he asking her for some kind of commitment? She couldn't give him any. She wasn't sure how she felt about him. He was stunningly attractive, and she was still in shock that she'd made love to him. It was true that he could set her on fire with a single touch, but did that mean she was in love with him? She didn't think so, and besides, she couldn't let herself love anyone until she finished what she'd started. "You have to make your own decisions, Brett," she finally said.

  Brett felt deflated. She hadn't said what he'd hoped she'd say. "You're right. I'll have to think about it a while longer," he said.

  "When are the elections?"

  "The end of next month."

  "You still have time, then, to throw your hat in the ring."

  He nodded.

  "You'd win, you know," she remarked.

  "So far, Jaybird is the favorite."

  "That pompous ass? You'd beat him with one fist tied behind your back."

  "It's not a brawl, Cass." He smiled at her. "But thanks for the vote of confidence."

  "You're welcome." Pulling her horse to a stop in front of the general store, she dismounted. "You don't have to come in with me if you don't want to. I know you're against this."

  Brett swung down out of the saddle. "No, I think I should stick close to you while you do this crazy thing. Just in case there's trouble."

  "Suit yourself." She flipped the reins over the hitching post and stepped up on the sidewalk. The store looked busy today. Several ladies were buying fabric. One or two women were picking over the produce, and one was trying on a pair o
f shoes. Two old gentlemen smoked their pipes and played checkers on top of an empty pickle barrel, and three young men were ogling a new rifle in the display case. Cass took a deep breath and walked in through the open doors.

  "Hello, Cassidy, I'll be with you in just a minute,” called the storekeeper, Jasper Martin.

  Cass heard his voice but had to look around for a minute to find him sitting on the floor behind a stack of shoe boxes in front of the woman trying to make up her mind. “That’s all right, Mr. Martin. I'm in no hurry,” she called back.

  Brett noticed that the women buying fabric began to whisper when they heard Cass's voice. The three young men also took notice of her, their voices, too, becoming muffled. He took a step closer to her.

  Cass looked up at Brett. "Trying to shield me from gossip, Brett?" she asked, a tender smile lighting up her features.

  "I just.."

  "It's okay. I'm fairly used to it.”

  "I didn't notice it on the Fourth.”

  "I wasn't wearing trousers and guns that day.”

  "That does seem to have an effect on people.”

  "That it does." She then noticed a catalog behind the counter. "Mr. Martin, may I look at your catalog?" she called to the storekeeper.

  “Certainly, Cass. Help yourself,” he replied.

  Cass bent over and pulled the heavy catalog from behind the counter. Laying it on the countertop, she started turning pages, looking for the barbed wire.

  "Look in the farming section,” Brett suggested.

  "I'm getting there," Cass observed.

  Several pages later she was looking at plows. “You know, if I put part of my land into wheat I might make a good profit.”

  "You might," Brett agreed.

  "Oh, well, I don't have time for that now.” Turning a few more pages, she finally found the section on fencing. There she found the barbed wire. "I didn't know there was more than one kind," she remarked.

  "What can I do for you, Cassidy?” Jasper Martin asked her, stepping behind the counter.

  "I'd like to order some barbed wire, Mr. Martin."

  Jasper looked suspiciously at her.

  Brett noticed that all conversation in the store stopped completely.

  "You having trouble keeping your cows out of a garden or something?" he ventured.

  "No, sir. I’m going to fence my entire property. You can put in the order for me, can't you?"

  "I can." Martin looked around the store at his other customers. They were all waiting to hear what he was going to say. "Are you sure you want to do this, Cassidy?"

  "Yes. I've thought about it for quite a while. It's the only way I'll accomplish what I've set out to do," she answered.

  Brett's eyes narrowed at her explanation. She was being vague in her truth telling. "I've discussed it with her, Mr. Martin. There's no talking her out of it," he said.

  One old gentleman left his checker game and crossed the room. "You'd better talk her out of it, Marshal. I know folks around here who'd kill for less."

  "Someone already did." Cass's voice cut coldly through the room.

  The old man turned to face her directly. "Yes, they did. But from what I've heard, you're no better than them murderers."

  "I only made them pay for killing my family.'

  "Killing is killing. It ain't right for no reason."

  "'An eye for an eye," quoted Cass.

  "And 'Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord,” the man responded. "You can quote Scripture to me all day and it won't change the facts. You're a killer, Cassidy. Where you go, trouble follows. And this thing with the barbed wire will start trouble, as sure as I’m standing here."

  Cass stared into the rheumy eyes of the old man. "I'm not closing my land to everyone. I'm going to talk to my neighbors. They'll understand."

  "You're a fool if you believe that," he said as he turned away from her. Walking back to his seat next to the barrel, he sat down, apparently through talking.

  Cass sighed and turned to face the storekeeper once more. "Will you help me figure out how much wire I'll need?" she asked.

  Martin just nodded and reached for some paper and a pencil.

  Brett watched for the next fifteen minutes as Martin and Cass bent their heads over their figures.

  "That should about do it, Cassidy," Martin pronounced.

  "Great. Do I pay for it now?" she asked. "I can go to the bank."

  "Yes. I'll need the money to place the order"'

  "When will the order go in?"

  "I'll send it out in tomorrow's mail," he answered.

  "Alright. You write it up, and I'll go get the money." Cass turned and started for the door. "You coming?" she said to Brett as she passed.

  "I guess so," Brett answered, shaking his head in frustration.

  "Are you really sure you have to do this?" Brett asked one more time.

  "I'm sure, Brett," she said adamantly, frowning at him over her shoulder.

  Brett watched her withdraw the necessary money from the bank, then followed her back to the store. When they got there they saw that a small crowd had formed.

  "What's the meaning of this, Cass?" Seth Baker, one of Cass's neighbors asked. Several others joined in with questions.

  "Calm down, everyone," Cass told them, raising her hands to get them to quiet down. "I'm putting in gates. All you have to do is use them. You can still gain access the Losee over my land."

  "Then what's the point, Cass? You just trying to make things more difficult for us?"

  "Not at all. I know it’ll be a little more inconvenient for you, but trust me, it's something I have to do."

  Someone in the crowd spoke up: "I've seen what barbed wire does to cattle. It cuts the hell out of them."

  "If any of your cattle are injured by the wire, I'll reimburse you. You see, you have nothing to worry about."

  Baker piped up again. "Like hell we don't" My cows don't know how to open gates, and I ain't always around to do it for 'em. And August is just around the corner. It's already hittin' near ninety every day."

  "Yeah," the others chimed in.

  "Look. I'm sorry if this has come as a shock to you. I've already said I'll make it as easy as I can for you to get across my land, and I've offered to pay for any of your cattle that might be injured. There's nothing more I can do."

  "You can change your mind about the wire," Baker told her to a chorus of angry voices.

  "I won't do that. I'm putting up the wire, and you'll all just have to learn to live with my conditions," she said, standing her ground.

  A few in the crowd took threatening steps forward, but stopped when they saw the look in Brett's eyes as he stood behind her.

  "This ain't the last of this," grumbled Baker as he stomped away.

  "Yeah, you'll be hearing from us," growled another rancher before leaving with Baker.

  A few minutes later the crowd had dispersed. Sighing openly, Brett turned to face Cass.

  "You don't have to say it, Brett. I already know what you're thinking." Stepping through the doors into the now empty store, Cass walked up to the counter. "Have you got the order written, Mr. Martin?" she asked.

  The man nodded.

  "Then let's get this over with." She tossed the money on the counter.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Mmmm, this is delicious," Cass crooned over a piece of pecan pie a while later in the hotel restaurant.

  "I'm glad you're enjoying it," said Brett.

  "I'm glad you suggested it," she answered, smiling up over a bite of pie. "Are you finished already?"

  Brett looked down at his empty plate. "Appears so. I don't think my piece was as large as yours."

  "Hah. If anything, it was almost twice as big. If I didn't know better, I'd swear Rosie had a crush on you,', she teased.

  "Rosie didn't cut the pie. The other waitress did," he answered.

  "Maybe," Cass mumbled, her mouth full of pie, "but Rosie's been staring at you ever since we came in."

  Brett turned sl
ightly in his seat and looked at Rosie standing behind the counter. She was staring at him, just as Cass said she was. Something about her expression disturbed him. It was almost as if she wanted to speak to him, but was afraid to. "Excuse me a minute, will you, Cass? I want to find out what's bothering her."

  "Sure. I'll just sit here and stuff my face." She grinned up at him as he left their table and crossed the room.

  "Rosie, is something wrong?" Brett asked as he approached the counter.

  “No, Marshal, nothing," Rosie answered a bit too quickly.

  "Are you sure? You seem uneasy. You know you can talk to me,'" he offered.

  Rosie glanced down at her hands, which were nervously twisting a damp towel. She stopped them. "No, really. I'm fine," she said.

  Brett stood there a moment longer. Rosie's complexion was sallow and her eyes were dark-rimmed, as though she hadn't been sleeping. He decided to try another angle. "Is it a female thing, Rosie? I could send Cass over to talk to you if…"

  "No! I don't want her." Rosie lowered her eyes. "I mean, I don't want to talk to anybody about my troubles."

  At least she’d admitted she had trouble, he thought. "Cass is a good person, Rosie. You should give her a chance," he said.

  "She killed all those men," she said, glancing apprehensively in Cass's direction.

  "Yes. She did what she felt she had to do. Can you honestly say you wouldn't want to do the same under similar circumstances?"

  Rosie met his gaze again. "I suppose I'd be lying if I said I never felt the desire to kill anyone."

  Brett's brow knitted in curiosity. He wondered who a usually happy person like Rosie would have wanted to kill. Then the answer struck him. "Ramsey?" he said softly.

  Rosie's eyes became wide with fear. "I didn't say that. I didn't say nothin' about Ramsey Tylo. You didn't hear me say that," she gasped.

  "All right, Rosie. Calm down. You didn't say anything. I'm sorry I suggested it," he said quickly.

  “Don't ever say that again, Marshal Ryder. Don't ever tell anyone I said any such thing."

  "All right, Rosie,” he assured. “I promise. I won’t ever mention it again.”

  Rosie let out a sigh of relief. “I gotta go now. I’ve got work to do," she said, laying the towel on the counter. Picking up the coffee pot, she went to refill her customer’s cups.