“Huh, I’ll tell you what, here’s a nickel for you,” Tucker said calmly, handing the coin over to the anxious shopkeeper, “and here’s a nickel for you,” he continued, giving it to the nasty-looking villain. “Isn’t that how it works? The McGills will smash up the store unless this honest, hard-workin’ shopkeeper gives ‘em half of what he takes in, and you’re here to keep track, and maybe get a little somethin’ extra for yourself if you can. How am I doin’ so far? Is that about right?”
“What are ya? Some kinda smart-mouth lookin’ for trouble?” the man sneered, snatching the coin from Tucker’s hand. “I’m thinkin’ you need to empty your goddamned pockets and give me whatever’s in ‘em.”
With lightning speed, Tucker grabbed the man’s shirt at the neck and shoved his hand between the man’s legs, clutching his balls and almost lifting him off his feet.
“Have I got your attention?” Tucker growled.
“Yeah, yeah…” the man squawked.
“All of your attention?” Tucker grunted, squeezing the soft sac in his hand.
“Yeah!”
“You tell pretty Patty boy and his no-good brother it’s time to cut and run. They need to get outta Spring Junction before I take a knife, slice off their balls, and throw ‘em in my stew for supper.”
“You’re a dead man!” the gangster croaked. “Ya d-dunno who ya d-dealin’ with.”
“Wrong,” Tucker growled, tightening his hold even more, eliciting a deep groan of pain. “They don’t know who they’re gonna be dealin’ with if they don’t skedaddle, and right quick. I’m gonna let you go, and then you’re gonna get a wiggle on, you got it? You’re gonna run real fast and deliver the message, then, buddy boy, you’re leavin’ this hell-hole, ‘cos if I ever see ya again, I’ll rip these right off. You understand what I’m tellin’ ya?”
“Wh… what?”
“Ya deaf?” Tucker snarled, squeezing even harder. “If I ever see ya again, what’s gonna happen?”
“Aaargh…”
“Yep, I’m rippin’ these plumb off, and I might just stick ‘em in your mouth, or maybe up your backside.”
“Lemme go!”
“Ya know what ya gotta do?”
“Yeah, lemme go, lemme go.”
Tucker bustled him to the door, hurled him out into the street, then turned back to the astonished man behind the counter.
“You got a back door?”
“I sure do,” he nodded, shock written across his face. “I’ve never seen anything like that in all my days. Who are you?”
“Never mind that, just point me in the right direction.”
“Through there,” he exclaimed, waving his arm to the right of his counter, “and good luck.”
Tucker moved swiftly, but paused for a quick second to grab a green shirt and light tan cowboy hat.
“I’ll be back to pay for these,” he promised as he bolted into the back of the store.
“Are you kiddin’? No charge!” the shopkeeper called after him.
Inside the dark stockroom, Tucker hastily changed his shirt and hat, stuffing those he was wearing behind a crate. He hadn’t planned to make his presence known so quickly, but the opportunity had been too good to pass up. In minutes the McGill brothers would know there was a new player in town. It would make them edgy, and Tucker was sure they’d be keyed up about who would dare to challenge them in such a profound and blatant way. No doubt they’d send out their goons to look for him, but the only description they’d have was a man wearing a blue shirt with no sleeves, and a black hat.
Hurrying through the storeroom, he spied a long steel bar with a hooked end; an idea flashed through his mind. It was risky, but risk was his middle name, and grabbing it, he darted out the door, leaving it wide open, then stood with his back against the building. In less than a minute he heard the commotion begin, but to his surprise, he also heard an Irish accent. Had the brothers themselves come to look for him?
Pulse racing, he lifted the bar ready to strike. Whoever flew through the door in pursuit of him would be the recipient of broken ribs, maybe worse. Heart pounding, Tucker waited. It was only seconds later that the sound of stomping feet on the stockroom floor sent the adrenaline pulsing through his veins, and as the man marched swiftly out the door, Tucker swung the heavy rod. It landed in the center of the man’s torso and he dropped, squeezing his eyes shut and doubling over in severe pain. Tossing the iron bar aside, Tucker fell onto one knee and clutched the man around the throat.
“I’m not killin’ ya ‘cos you’re gonna deliver a message,” he said menacingly. “The McGills leave this town, or their body parts are gonna be feedin’ the vultures,” then jumping to his feet he sprinted away, but as he ducked between two buildings to run up to Main Street, he heard someone yelling.
“Patrick, it’s Conan! Get out here quick.”
Tucker couldn’t believe his luck. He’d trumped one of the brothers!
Taking a deep breath, he continued on, and as he turned into the street he was relieved to see Kitty’s Korner was just a few doors down. Keeping a calm, even pace, he walked forward, ignoring the pandemonium he could hear behind him. He was just about to enter the saloon when a grizzled geezer with long, unkempt hair ran past him, then stopped and stared at him. For a moment Tucker felt a rare slice of panic. Had he been seen? No, impossible. There’d been no one around when he’d felled the Irishman.
“You seen anyone in a blue shirt and black hat go runnin’ by here?” the man demanded.
“I think I just saw a fella like that on his horse gallopin’ back that way,” Tucker replied, pointing in the opposite direction of the road that led to his cabin and Duke Baker’s ranch. “You didn’t see ‘im?”
Wordlessly the man bolted down the street, shouting to his cohorts and pointing toward the other side of town. Tucker paused and watched as several of the gang jumped on their horses, then spotted two others helping the gangster he’d hit with the iron bar. They were leaving the store, and the injured man was bent over and barely able to walk. It was an extremely satisfying sight, and pleased with his unexpected success, he entered the saloon.
It was just as he expected. The room was full of smoke, a piano was being pounded by a less than gifted pianist, and women dressed in gaudy, revealing clothes were lounging over their slightly drunk customers. A blonde wearing a red dress with a low neckline and plenty of lace and ruffles strutted over to him.
“Howdy, stranger, I’m Ruby. I ain’t seen you in here before, what’s your name?”
“Prescott,” he said, feigning a heavy drawl, “and I’m thirsty. How’s about ya get me drink and we have a chinwag?”
“Sure, handsome,” she grinned. “Pick yourself a table. Whatta ya want?”
“Somethin’ strong,” he replied, putting his arm around her waist and jerking her against him.
“Wow! Like you.”
“Yeah, like me!”
“I love strong men.”
“Then you’d best get me that drink,” he quipped, spinning her around and slapping her backside.
She let out a cackle, and as she sashayed away to the bar, Tucker’s sharp eyes scanned the room, settling on a group of men at a table laughing and drinking. They looked innocent enough, but when the woman serving them left, they leaned their heads together and their jocular attitude vanished. Keeping his eyes averted, he meandered over to a table nearby, but not so close it might make them suspicious. Dropping into a chair, he pulled off his hat and pretended to focus his attention on Ruby. She was heading toward him carrying their drinks.
“Here ya go, strong man,” she giggled, putting the drinks on the table and attempting to sit on his lap.
Tucker let her; she gave him cover, and with his peripheral vision he could see the group of men was paying him no attention. Picking up his glass, he took a taste of the liquor and smacked his lips together.
“Damn, woman, was that boiled up in the basement?”
“Ya said strong,” she laughed,
taking it from his hand and downing it in one gulp. “That’s how ya gotta drink it, otherwise—”
“Otherwise ya won’t drink it at all,” he chuckled.
As he flirted and joked with Ruby, he continued to watch the other customers, but the only ones of any interest remained the group at the table. When they got to their feet in unison and headed up the stairs, he placed his lips against Ruby’s neck and tightened his hold around her waist.
“How’s about you take me up to your room.”
“I don’t have a room here,” she scoffed.
“I was kinda hopin’ to show you my pistol?” he said with a wink.
“You’re funny,” she giggled. “If you wanna girl like that you’ll have to go to the other side of town. There’s a place there, Mave’s Boardin’ House. That’s where those types are.”
“I’m feelin’ a mite tired. I sure could use a lay-down. Ya don’t have ta join me, though I sure wouldn’t say no if ya did. I’m just dead on my feet.”
“You wanna stay overnight?”
“No, just a nap.”
“Lemme check with Kitty.”
Rising from his lap, she headed back to the bar and stopped to talk to a robust woman he assumed to be Kitty. The woman nodded, walked behind the counter, handed something to Ruby, then went back to entertaining her adoring customers.
“It’s all set,” Ruby said, returning to the table holding a key. “Ya can have the use of the room for an hour for fifty cents, and the whiskey was seventy-five cents, so in all it’s a buck twenty-five.”
“Ouch,” Tucker exclaimed, “but that’s how ya make your money, right?”
“Yeah,” she nodded, “drinks and conversation, and sometimes dancin’.”
“Here, Ruby, take this,” he smiled, pulling out two dollars.
“Thanks, strong man,” she beamed, handing him the key.
“Do you know the fellas that were sittin’ over there?” he asked, dropping his voice.
“I only know one, Jake’s his name, don’t know his last name. but he’s been comin’ in for a couple of weeks now, and a few days back those other two joined him,” then leaning closer, she added, “I think they’re up to no good.”
“What makes you say that?”
“They stop talkin’ when Carol serves ‘em their drinks, and they’ve got shifty eyes. Kitty calls it the lawless look, like they’ve got somethin’ to hide. I heard the two new ones say they were stayin’ at the Goldmine Hotel. I dunno about Jake.”
“Which one was Jake?”
“The one with the mustache.”
“Do you know which room they’re in?”
“Yep, room five. Why all the questions?”
“Naturally curious,” he grinned. “Thanks, Ruby. See ya in a bit.”
“If anyone asks, I didn’t tell you nothin’,” she said quickly.
“And I didn’t hear nothin’,” he replied, locking her eyes.
Grabbing his hat, he headed up the stairs, found number three, unlocked the door, and stepping inside he found the room to be surprisingly clean and more comfortable than he’d thought it would be. He messed up the bedcovers, pulled off his boots, then leaving the door ajar, he moved into the empty hallway and walked silently to room five. Standing against the wall, he could pick up smatterings of conversation, but nothing that was discernible.
Hearing the sound of a man’s boots clomping up the stairs, he hurried back to his room and slipped inside the door, leaving it cracked open. A tall, burly, mustached man sauntered past him, knocked three times on the door to room five, then let himself in. Immediately Tucker ducked back into the hallway, returning to number five for another listen. This time he hit gold. The visitor had a deep, booming voice, and Tucker could hear every word.
“Okay, boys, I got the word. The stagecoach will be pickin’ up the box at the minin’ office at three o’clock, Thursday. We’ve gotta hit it before it starts movin’.”
It was all Tucker needed to hear, and creeping back to his room, he closed the door and lay down; things were happening faster than he’d anticipated. He needed to wait about fifteen minutes before reappearing in the saloon, and after spending the time pondering his next move, he headed back downstairs. Business had picked up; there was dancing in the middle of the room and people singing around the piano. Moving quickly through the throng, he stepped outside, grateful for the cool night air, and as he turned to head back to Rose’s Lodge he saw a gray horse walking slowly down the street a short distance ahead. He didn’t pay it much attention until he noticed the horse was being ridden by a female who was sitting astride; both the horse and the woman’s posture reminded him of Dolly.
“I can’t get that girl outta my head,” he muttered, but then, to his complete astonishment, he saw her telltale red hair.
Chapter Six
Sensing eyes on her, Dolly turned her head; she was too late. Tucker was next to her horse and launching himself up. In a flash he was sitting behind her and his arms were around her body, his hands jerking the reins from hers; it had happened in seconds.
“Tucker, please, I can explain,” she protested as he turned the horse around.
“Not interested,” he declared, lowering his lips to her ear. “Save your breath, you’re gonna need it.”
Though he wished he could gallop out of town, the last thing he wanted was to draw attention, so he pushed the mare into an easy trot, keeping an even pace until he’d reached the end of the street, then he moved the mare into a canter. It was a short ride to the cabin, but he continued on to the barn. Jumping off, he opened the doors and led the horse inside, where a worried Dolly slid from the saddle, a chill shivering through her as she stared into Tucker’s angry eyes.
“Tucker, please let me—”
“Hobble your lip, girl,” he snapped, throwing her the reins.
Stepping to a nearby post, he lifted a lantern off its hook, and grateful the striking sticks were in a bag next to it, he lit the wick.
His voice had been harsh, and she stood silently watching as he closed the barn door, then pulled off the horse’s saddle. As he took back the reins and led her horse into a large closed-off area filled with straw, she searched her mind, hoping to find the words that might appease him.
“If you’re wonderin’ why I brought us in here,” he said, throwing her mare some hay, “it’s because it’s likely I’m gonna have some uninvited guests. If they show up I’m hopin’ they’ll head on back to town when they find the place empty, but if they take it into their heads to check out this barn, we’re hiding under the straw behind your horse. Got it?”
“I don’t understand,” she frowned. “Why would anyone come here?”
“’Cos there was trouble tonight, and Patty McGill might wanna see if your father has a guest in his empty cabin, that’s why.”
“What sort of trouble?”
“That can wait until after I spank your ass.”
“What? No!”
“I made it real clear! Stay away from here and from the town!” Tucker exclaimed, suddenly lunging forward and grabbing her wrist. “You’re gonna learn to listen to me!”
“No! Please! Let me explain!”
“There ain’t nothin’ you can say that’ll get you outta this,” he said gruffly. “Sometimes I shoot first, and tonight I’m gonna spank first, then you can do your explainin’.”
“Tucker, please,” she pleaded, “please don’t.”
He didn’t respond. Dragging her across the barn to a bale of hay, he dropped down and yanked her across his lap, but to his dismay he discovered her skirt wasn’t a regular skirt; it was a split skirt.
“Damn it to hell,” he cursed, “you’re lucky we’re not outside. I’d find myself a real hard stick to spank you over these pants you’re wearin’.”
“Please, let me go, you don’t understand,” she begged, trying to squirm away. “Just let me explain.”
“You can explain after I whack your butt,” he barked, placing his leg ov
er the backs of hers. “Right now I’m gonna spank you good, and next time you think about goin’ against what I say, maybe you’ll think twice.”
She continued to protest, but raising his hand, he brought it down with a strong smack, immediately following it with another, and then another, rapidly moving his flattened palm from cheek to cheek. Her yowl of pain told him her split skirt wasn’t providing as much protection he’d thought it might, and he continued to land his hot hand with slap after slap, covering every inch of her backside. Her yelps and howls grew louder, and increasing the force and tempo, he delivered a flurry of strong, stinging smacks to the center of her bottom.
“Owww, owww, please,” she wailed. “No more! My bottom is burning!”
He believed her. The spanking had been forceful, and though covered with material, he had no doubt her bottom was on fire.
She’d been fervently wriggling, so he paused to let her catch her breath, planning on finishing with several more hard swats as he scolded her, but the sound of horses’ hooves snatched his attention.
“Dagnabbit,” he muttered, pulling away his leg. “Get up and go join your mare.”
Grabbing her bottom, rubbing it and whimpering as she hurried away, she climbed through the planks of wood rather than open the gate, and moving around her horse to the corner, she gingerly slid down.
As she slipped into the shadows, Tucker doused the lantern, then walked quickly to the barn door and opened it just enough to peer through the darkness across to the cabin. In the moon’s light, he counted five men gathered in front of the hitching post. Two jumped off their horses, and marching onto the porch, they began banging on the door. Getting no response, they split up, moving around the cabin and staring through the windows. When it became obvious there was no one inside, they returned to their gang and climbed into their saddles. Tucker could hear talking, but couldn’t make out the words, then one of them pointed to the barn. For a moment he held his breath, then to his great relief they left, cantering back toward the town. He waited until they had disappeared before closing the door and relighting the lantern.
“You can come out now,” he called. “They’re gone.”
Tucker's Justice (Wild West Cowboys Book 1) Page 5
