Lady of the Gun

by Faye Adams

  "If I deign to give you one," Cass responded haughtily. She picked up her saddle and walked outside to her horse.

  Brett followed suit. "Does Rosie have any family in town?" he asked on a more serious note.

  "She lived with her grandmother when she was growing up. I think her parents died in an epidemic back east somewhere."

  "Is her grandmother still alive?"

  "I don't know. But if she's not, you can talk to the other waitresses at the hotel. I'm sure one of them would know if Rosie was seeing anyone."

  "Planned to," Brett said.

  Mounted and riding toward town a short while later, they were surprised to see a rider corning toward them fast.

  "Do you know who it is?" asked Brett.

  "I can't tell from here,"

  Brett rested his hand on the butt of his gun as the rider approached.

  "It's Buster," Cass said, surprised, as Mrs. Thompson's nephew brought his horse to a skidding stop in front of them. His hat hung loose behind him, his clothes were dusty, and sweat dripped from his skin.

  "Buster, what's wrong?" Brett questioned, his nerves instantly on edge.

  Buster was gasping for air, out of breath from his wild ride. "'I decided to stay on in Twisted Creek," he breathed. "So I need to get a job. A man in town told me to go out to the Lazy T. Said it'd most likely be the best place to start askin' for work." He stopped once more to breathe.

  "Yes, Buster?" Brett asked, alarms going off in his head at the mention of the Lazy T..

  Buster breathed deeply. "'Well, sir, I got lost straight away. It sure is easy to get turned around out here. It took me a while to get my bearings. Then I figured out where I was, or at least I thought I did, and I headed back to town to start over. That's when I found it."

  “Found what?" Brett asked.

  "The body. I found a dead body out there. I rode back to town quick as I could. I forgot you were stayin' out at Miss Wayne's place. When I remembered, I headed straight out to find you."

  "Where's the body?" Brett asked with narrowed eyes.

  Buster turned in his saddle and pointed. "It's out that-away."

  "The Lazy T," breathed Cass.

  Brett glanced at her. "Maybe."

  Cass responded, “Probably."

  "Take me to it," he directed Buster.

  "Yes, sir, Marshal""

  "Cass, you go on into town. I'll be back as soon as I can."

  "Like hell," she fumed. "I'm going with you, and you should know by now you can't stop me."

  Brett sighed and shook his head in frustration. Nudging his horse in the direction Buster had pointed, he looked at the young man and said, "Don't ever get mixed up with a stubborn woman."

  Cass rolled her eyes and smiled at Buster, causing him to blush.

  "The body ain't pretty, miss," he stammered.

  "I've seen dead men before," Cass assured him.

  "I think this one's been out there awhile."

  "I'll manage."

  "Don't try to discourage her, Buster," Brett called over his shoulder. "She'll take it as a challenge""

  Brett rode on ahead until Buster needed to guide the way. The body was in a deep wash. Brett looked down on it from up above. "Whoever did this wasn't concerned about concealing the body. I guess they figured no one would find it way out here," he speculated.

  "We're on Lazy T land," Cass informed him.

  "I guess I wasn't so lost as I thought," said Buster.

  Brett led the way down the side of the wash and rode to the body. Pulling his kerchief over his mouth and nose to filter the stench of death, he motioned for Cass and Buster to do the same. Then, dismounting, he walked closer. The man had been shot in the head, leaving not much of his face to identify him, but his clothes looked familiar. Prodding the body with the toe of his boot, Brett lifted the edge of the man's coat. A deck of cards fell out of the inside pocket and scattered beside the body. "Sharky?" Brett breathed in horror. "Sharky Draper?"

  "You know him?" asked Cass.

  "I know him," he replied, clenching his fists in anger.

  "'I didn't have nothin' to do with it, Marshal. Honest. I just found him," Buster sputtered.

  "I know you didn't kill him, Buster," Brett assured him through clenched teeth. He suspected he knew who did this. There was just no way to prove it. "We'll have to send a wagon out here for him. Would you guide the undertaker out here later today?" he asked Buster.

  "Sure thing, sir," Buster agreed.

  "Good." Swinging back up into his saddle, Brett sat very still on his horse and stared at the body. He had a gut feeling he even knew exactly when Sharky'd been murdered…that night he'd heard the shot on the Lazy T. It had sounded closer, but on a clear night sound could travel for miles. "I'm going to talk to Tylo," he announced.

  "I'm go--"'

  "I know," Brett interrupted. "You're going with me. See, Buster? What did I tell you?"

  Buster grinned nervously. "Should I go get the undertaker now, sir?"

  Brett nodded and examined Buster from head to toe with one sweeping glance. "I'll see you later in town, all right?"

  "Sure thing, sir." With that, Buster turned his horse and hightailed it toward town.

  "Let's go," Brett told Cass.

  Riding up behind the Tylo house, they were met by six men, guns drawn. "I'm Marshal Brett Ryder, and I've come to ask Tylo a few questions."

  "About what?" a belligerent cowboy demanded.

  "It's none of your damned business."

  "I'm makin' it my business," the cowboy blustered.

  "Then I'm making you my business," Brett said, his voice a threatening rasp. "We're going on to the house. If any of you try anything I'm going to shoot you right between the front teeth."

  "You talk big, Marshal," the man answered. "But there's six of us."

  One of the men began to whisper to one of the others, distracting the man who was doing the talking. "What is it, Lloyd?" he demanded, leaning over to listen. When he sat up straight, his eyes were fixed on Cass. "Cassidy Wayne, is it?"

  "That's right," Brett told him.

  "That makes a difference. I'm sure Ramsey would want to talk to you."

  Brett sent Cass an irritated look.

  Nudging her horse forward until she was abreast of him, she leaned closer. "What does that matter, as long as we get to talk to Tylo?" she asked.

  "Ramsey's the one I want to talk to," Brett informed her.

  "Ramsey? I thought you came here to talk to Hunt."

  Brett shook his head, then spurred his horse a bit" Riding to the house, he could feel Cass's eyes on him.

  After dismounting, they were led into the house. Ramsey met them in the study. "Cass, what brings you here with the marshal?" he asked.

  "She was with me when we were led to Sharky's body," Brett informed him.

  Ramsey blinked twice. "Sharky?"

  "You know Sharky. The old man who beat you so badly at poker your first day back in Twisted Creek," Brett explained, all the while watching Ramsey's eyes.

  "Oh, yes, now I recall. I did play a hand or two that day. But I don't remember the man who beat me."

  "Sharky seemed surprised you didn't remember him. He said he'd seen you around since he started coming through town twenty years ago."

  "I certainly can't be expected to remember every old poker player who comes through town."

  "No. But I think you'd remember this one. He beat you with a royal flush. You seemed quite upset by it."

  "I always get a little upset when I lose a hand of poker. Doesn't everyone?” He looked to Cass for confirmation.

  Cass was listening to the conversation with interest. Brett hadn't actually accused Ramsey of Sharky's murder, but he was establishing motive.

  "You seemed more than a little upset to me, Ramsey,” Brett continued.

  Ramsey's eyes narrowed. “Well, I certainly didn't kill him over it," he argued.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. It does seem to be a very strong coincidence that he
was murdered on Lazy T land, though, don't you think?"

  "He could have been killed by anyone, anywhere, and dumped here," Ramsey said.

  "Nope. There was too much blood around the body. He was killed on your land, all right.”

  Ramsey stood a little straighter. “I'm sorry some old man was killed on the Lazy T, but you can’t implicate me. I had nothing to do with it."

  “I may have nothing to go on yet, but I’m going to be watching you like a hawk, Ramsey. You make one move I don't like, and I'll take you down. If you so much as spit

  on the sidewalk, I'll arrest you.”

  "You can't do that,” Ramsey protested.

  "I can do just about anything I damn well please. I’m a federal marshal, remember?”

  "What's going on here?” Hunt's voice boomed as he entered the room. "The boys told me you were in here harassing Ramsey. What’s the meaning of this?”

  "A body was found on your land today, Mr., Tylo. The body of a man Ramsey had played poker with, and lost to.”

  "So?"

  “So, that makes him a possible suspect in the murder.”

  “A man gets accused of murder because he lost a hand of poker? Please, Marshal. Surely you can do better than that. If I killed every man I’d ever lost a hand of poker to there'd be practically no men left alive in Twisted Creek.”

  Brett scowled at Hunt. "Ramsey hasn't been accused….yet." he said.

  “You don't think I did this, do you, Cass?" Ramsey asked.

  "I don't know, Ramsey."

  "Cass, please. You can't think I'm capable of murder?"

  "I really don't know you, Ramsey."

  "I'll prove to you the kind of man I am. You'll see how wrong you've been to listen to the marshal's jealous lies. That's what they are, you know, lies to make me look bad in your eyes. He's in love with you. He'd do anything to discredit me. Maybe he killed Sharky so he could accuse me of it," he said, his words spilling in a jumble from his lips.

  Cass closed her eyes for a moment so she wouldn't have to see his face. "Please, Ramsey. No more." She turned and walked from the room. She had to get away from him, from this house.

  Later, after Brett and Cass had ridden off, Hunt looked disgustedly at his son. "So you thought you could get Cassidy to fall in love with you,'" he taunted. "You were so sure she'd be sweating in your bed by now. Well, look what's happened, boy. She can't stand the sight of you."

  Ramsey sat in one of the huge chairs that faced his father's desk and stared miserably at the floor.

  "She's probably screwing that marshal on a regular basis. And what are you doing about it? Nothing!" Hunt shouted. "You're not doing a goddamned thing! I told you that bitch was trouble. But did you listen to me? Do you ever listen to me? If you'd done what I told you to do in the first place we wouldn't be having problems with her now. It would have all ended years ago."

  "But you agreed," whined Ramsey.

  "Yes, damn it. You're my boy, and I gave in to you. You wanted her, so I gave you a shot at her." Hunt slammed his hands on the desk. "But you didn't come through! Don't you get it, boy? She doesn't want you. She's never going to want you. She's in love with that goddamned marshal!"

  "But I know I can…”

  "Damn it! Listen to me! Cassidy Wayne's time has run out!"

  Chapter Sixteen

  When Cass and Brett got to town they went straight to the hotel to find out where Rosie lived and to discover whether or not she'd been keeping company with anyone. Two other women who worked there said that Rosie lived alone and that as far as they knew, she had no one special in her life. But recently, they said, she'd been very secretive about who she was spending her free time with.

  Cass decided she'd like a chance to talk to Rosie alone, so Brett went to the undertaker's to see if he'd gotten back with Sharky's body. He also had some paperwork to catch up on at the sheriff’s office, and he wanted to put up some campaign posters. The election was nearing fast.

  "Are you sure you’re feeling alright?" Class asked for the tenth time since arriving at Rosie’s little house.

  "I'm fine, Cass. I really appreciate you coming all the way into town to check on me. I've been alone since Grandma died last summer."

  "I'm sorry," murmured Cass.

  "It’s okay, really. She was eighty-two, and lived a good life." Her eyes saddened then. "What would she think of me if she knew?"

  "She'd understand. She loved you unconditionally."

  "I guess so. I just feel as if I've let her memory down," she whispered.

  Cass frowned. "Don't ever feel that way. And don't worry about what anyone else thinks, either. You don't owe anyone an explanation for your actions. You don't owe anyone but yourself." She hesitated for a moment, pondering her next words. "But you do owe yourself something better than you're getting, Rosie," she said softly.

  Rosie lowered her eyes.

  "I'm not going to ask you again who's been beating you, but I will tell you he's no good for you. Don't let him hurt you any more than he already has. If you won't think about yourself, think about the baby."

  "I will ... It's just that ...Oh, Cass, I can't explain," she stammered.

  Cass put her hand affectionately on Rosie's arm. “I know. You don't have to explain. Relationships are confusing," she said, thinking about her own relationship with Brett. Ramsey had blurted that Brett loved her, but she'd never heard those words from Brett himself. He was attracted to her, and she to him, she admitted. And making love to him was ... well, more wonderful than she'd ever imagined anything could be. But did that mean he was in love with her? Wouldn't he tell her if he was? And how did she feel about him? Sighing, she stood up. "I guess I should be going now so you can get some rest."

  "I am awfully tired. Are you sure my boss understands that I'm ill?" she asked, worried about losing her job.

  "I'm sure. Brett told him you fell and hurt yourself out at my place last night and that you'd need a few days off to recover." She grinned. "Not too many people argue with Brett,” she said.

  Rosie let out a sigh of relief. "I'll have to thank him next time I see him."

  "Just get well." She turned toward the door. “And don’t let yourself be a victim again, okay?"

  "I'll try," Rosie murmured.

  "All right. I'll cheek on you again soon. And if there’s anything you need, you just get word out to me at the ranch. I can be here pretty quickly if I have to be.”

  Rosie smiled. "Thanks again, Cass."

  Cass shrugged. "What are friends for?"

  Leaving Rosie's house, Cass intended to head straight to the sheriff's office, but a little boy in a torn flannel shirt ran up to her and tugged on her arm.

  Cass looked down at him. "Yes?"

  "Are you Cassidy Wayne?" he asked with a lisp.

  Cass grinned down at the waif. He couldn't have been more than six or seven years old. "Who wants to know?” she asked.

  "A man in the alley behind the hotel," he answered.

  Cass's eyes narrowed. "A man? Who?"

  '"I don't know. He just gave me a whole dollar to come tell you he wanted to talk to you."

  Cass's heartbeat slowed as a deadly calm came over her. Bobby Fleet hadn't shown up yet. Maybe he was waiting behind the hotel for her. "What did the man look like?” she asked.

  The little boy blinked several times. He apparently hadn't thought he'd have to answer any questions. “His nose is broke," he offered after several seconds of trying to remember something about the man who’d hired him.

  Cass let out a disgusted breath. "Ramsey," she said to the boy.

  The little boy raised his shoulders and grinned lopsidedly. "He didn't tell me his name. He just said I should wait till you came out of this house and then tell you to go meet him behind the hotel." He took a deep breath.

  "Okay, you earned your dollar. You can go now,” she said.

  "Are you gonna go? I don't want him thinkin' I didn't do what he told me."

  "Yes. I'm going to go," she
told him.

  "Good!" he burst out, then took off at a dead run for the store.

  There's a tummy-ache in the making, she mused as she watched him go. Un-tying her horse, she led him to the hotel. Tethering him out front, she started for the alley, wondering what Ramsey wanted and why he had chosen such a strange location to talk.

  "Cass?" Ramsey whispered when she passed him.

  "Ramsey? What are you doing out here?" She turned to see him sitting on a wooden bench against the back wall of the hotel.

  "I wanted to talk to you alone. This is the only place I could think of where the marshal might not interrupt us."

  Cass nodded slightly. "All right," she said, sitting down next to him on the bench. "What do you want?"

  Ramsey gazed at her. "You're so beautiful, Cass," he told her.

  "Thank you." She waited,

  "I have so many plans for us, Cass."

  She looked at him in surprise. "Ramsey, I don't think…"

  "No, Cass, don't stop me. My father wants us to be together." That wasn't exactly true. His father had agreed to give him one more chance with Cass after he'd whined and argued for the better part of an hour. But this was his last chance, and Ramsey knew he couldn't mess it up.

  "Your father? What does your father have to do with anything?"

  "I just didn't expect to fall in love with you," he continued, ignoring her question.

  "Ramsey, please…"

  "I didn't kill Sharky, Cass. You have to believe that."

  Cass noticed that his eyes looked a little glazed. "Ramsey are you feeling all right?" she asked.

  Ramsey reached forward and took her hands in his. "You do believe in me, don't you? You don't think I killed Sharky, do you?"

  Cass tried to gently free her hands, but he gripped them tightly. "Of course I believe you, Ramsey,'' she lied. There was something frightening in his eyes. Something she hadn't seen there before.

  Ramsey sighed. "I knew you wouldn't believe what that bastard was saying about me," he said.

  "Who?"

  "The marshal. The marshal wants you for himself, but I have plans for us, Cass. We're going to be married. Your ranch will become a part of the Lazy T. It'll all work out perfectly."