Three Men and a Bounty

by Three Men

  The marshal tipped his hat at the saloon girl, never taking his eyes off of Bart as he addressed her. “If you’re sure, ma’am.”

  “Bart can be a real donkey’s tail sometimes, but he ain’t a hard case.”

  “Since the lady’s vouching for you, I won’t take you down to the hoosegow to cool your heels. You’re going to have to leave your gun behind and leave the saloon for the night, though.”

  Bart shuffled his feet, murmuring an oath before he raised his head to eyeball the lawman. “I’ll be going then.”

  “I don’t want to see you in here again starting any trouble.”

  “Oh, you won’t see me.”

  “You can get this back from the sheriff’s office.”

  Bart looked at his gun the marshal had retrieved from the floor and gritted his teeth. It wasn’t until he had grudgingly spun on his heels and headed for the swinging doors that Chris realized he had come so close to being shot down in a barroom brawl.

  All his life he had tried to avoid trouble like this, but his time on God’s green earth had taught him that trouble found him when he wasn’t looking for it.

  “You’re shivering.”

  Chris almost jumped out of his skin when Troy wrapped an arm around his shoulders and led him to the same chair Hannah had dragged him to earlier. He hadn’t even heard the man come from behind the bar. “Hannah, can you get me a towel and ask Josie if she’ll draw him a nice hot bath in one of the upstairs rooms.”

  “Sure will, Troy.”

  Chris watched as Hannah hopped to follow Troy’s orders, his heart expanding at the care and attention everyone showed him.

  “You got everything under control?” the marshal asked, coming a couple of steps closer.

  “I suspect so,” Troy said.

  “I’ll be taking my leave then.”

  Chris watched as the marshal tipped his hat and turned to head for the doors. Feeling desperate and as if he were about to lose his best friend, he blurted, “What’s your name?”

  The marshal turned back and looked at him, full lips lifting at one corner in a rakish way that made the butterflies in Chris’ stomach flutter and his shaft harden the way it did when he looked at Troy.

  What was going on?

  “James Hayden.”

  “Thanks, Marshal Hayden.”

  “James is fine.”

  “I’d like to show my appreciation, too, James. How about a drink on the house?” Troy offered.

  The marshal hesitated for just a moment before saying, “I’d best be on my way.”

  Chris didn’t realize he held his breath until the lawman turned to leave.

  “The offer’s always open,” Troy called as the lawman waved at them over his shoulder and headed for the swinging doors.

  Chris’ disappointment left his lungs in a long and louder-than-he’d-meant sigh.

  “I know what you mean, kid,” Troy murmured, and when Chris turned to him, he saw the surprise on the older man’s face, as if he hadn’t expected anyone to hear him.

  Did Troy know what he meant? Could he possibly know that he, and now James Hayden, turned Chris inside-out with hankering?

  Troy cleared his throat, then put a hand on Chris’ shoulder and squeezed. “Let’s get you out of these wet clothes and into a hot bath before you catch your death.”

  “You’ll get no arguments from me.”

  “Good to hear.” Troy smiled, and the sight was liked to set Chris on fire. The man had dimples that went from here to the next county, kind of a match for the marshal’s cleft chin, come to think of it.

  James Hayden.

  Chris tried the name on for size in his mind. He liked the way it sounded. He would have liked nothing better than to call it in the throes of passion as James pounded away inside him.

  He closed his eyes to better visualize the fantasy and wasn’t surprised when he saw Troy in the fantasy, too, with Chris sandwiched between the two larger men. The contrast between James’s mahogany skin and Chris and Troy’s fairer complexions made his stomach lurch and his cock jerk with longing in his ragged jeans.

  Thinking like that had gotten him in trouble at Whitfield’s. Best not to think like that.

  “You might want to have a doctor look at those ribs, son.”

  Chris jerked up his head at Troy’s husky voice, lifting his eyebrows in question.

  “I saw you favoring your side when you first walked in.”

  And here Chris thought he had hidden his pain so well. “I’ll be all right.”

  “Eventually, yep. It looks to me like you took a pretty good licking, though.”

  He wondered what Troy would say to the other things that had happened to him. What would Troy say if he knew what had led to his being out on the road all alone with his war bag and horse, easy prey for petty thieves?

  Would he be sympathetic or believe that Chris had deserved what he got? That someone like him, who yearned the way he did, should be punished?

  Hannah came back down the circular staircase, panting and holding the front of her ruffled skirt up to keep from tripping over it. “Josie said you can send him up whenever he’s ready.”

  Troy nodded and bent to circle Chris’ waist with an arm, helping him to his feet. Hannah mimicked the act on his opposite side, and between them, Chris headed for the staircase until Troy released him after climbing the first couple of steps.

  “I’m going to leave you in Hannah and Josie’s capable hands for now. When you finish up, come on down and we’ll get you something to eat and then talk about a job.”

  He must look pretty darn pitiful and needy that Troy knew he would ask.

  Chris nodded, unable to get any words past the lump in his throat. He’d admittedly wanted Troy’s kindness, but after all the violence and cruelty that had been dished out to him in the last forty-eight hours, he hadn’t expected it. Between Troy’s generosity and Marshal Hayden saving his life, Chris counted himself one lucky waif.

  He figured he’d look pretty darn ungrateful if he asked for anything else, but he wanted nothing more than to ask Troy if he would be coming up to check on him at all rather than him coming back downstairs.

  “What do I call you, pardner?”

  Chris turned at the sound of Troy’s voice, and his heart did a little dance in his chest at the sight of the man standing behind the bar.

  Troy looked so capable and every bit as dangerous as he had when he’d pulled his rifle on Bart. A man would certainly think twice before dry-gulching him on the road. He didn’t think Troy would ever do anything to call for him being alone on a deserted road with nothing but his horse for company, though. He was too smart for that and probably had a lot more common sense than Chris.

  Common sense would have told him to keep his distance, take the bath and meal offered but hightail it out of there as soon as possible. Maybe he should try to get a job somewhere else far, far away from a man he wanted as fiercely as he wanted Troy Barrow.

  No one had ever accused him of having common sense, though.

  “Name’s Christopher Michaels,” Chris murmured. “You can call me Chris.”

  “I’m Troy Barrow, but you probably already knew that.” He grinned and the sight hit Chris in the chest like a hammer. Before he could confirm or deny his knowledge, Troy continued. “See you when you’re done.”

  “Okay.” Chris gulped and continued following Hannah up the stairs as if he were the guest of honor at a necktie party.

  Chapter 2

  Troy felt Josie’s eyes on him as he paced the length of his office—back and forth, back and forth—until he thought he would wear a hole in the floor.

  He considered that the marshal recognized him. Why else would James Hayden have given him such sharp looks? True, he hadn’t been on the wrong side of the law in a powerful long time, not since his teens, but that kind of past tended to follow a man. Just like all the men who’d bought the farm at the end of Troy’s Dewey, the least of which had been the leader of his former g
ang. All of them were faces permanently etched on the landscape of his recollections.

  Troy paused in the middle of the floor and closed his eyes at the memory of having to shoot down a man who had cheerfully nurtured and indoctrinated him in the outlaw life. If it hadn’t been for the memory of his honest, hardworking parents, their roles could have been reversed and Troy would be the one spending the rest of his days rotting under the ground in a bone orchard. Thankfully, his life of crime with the Baird gang had been short-lived, not nearly long enough to earn him the infamous status that the rest of the men in the gang boasted. He’d earned his freedom and a fresh start at a great cost, though.

  Troy opened his eyes to look at Josie’s grinning face, glad for an excuse not to think about how things had turned out between him and Jack Baird. He had enough reminders with all the wanted posters up in town heralding the lawless antics of one Cain Baird. If he had still been in the life and bounty hunting, he’d be out on the road like any other huntsman looking to make a pretty penny off of Baird’s capture. He wasn’t in the life, though. He’d sworn it off with Jack’s death. By then he’d made his little fortune so he could settle down and leave the life behind.

  Was there really any way for him to leave that life behind when a bloodthirsty enemy ran around the countryside, dodging the law and preaching about Troy’s impending death?

  “You should see yourself over there, just a fretting so,” Josie said.

  He chuckled, releasing a little of the tension when he imagined the picture he made, practically ringing his hands like a nervous female.

  “No help for it. I’ve got a mess of stuff on my mind.” How to stay alive without revealing who and what he was uppermost in his mind. After the Indians had killed his father, he’d sworn never to let the wolf out to kill again. Instead, he’d taken up the way of the gun.

  Three years after collecting his final bounty, he’d settled down and built a peaceful, law-abiding life here in Wolf Creek, one he enjoyed, and he didn’t want to see it end because of some stupid twist of Fate.

  “Let’s deal with some of that stuff. How many lawmen have come through this town with nary a pause after seeing you? And have we forgotten that you were a lawman yourself once? It’s possible Marshal Hayden remembers you from your bounty hunting days.”

  He supposed that possible. He’d rubbed elbows with and helped numerous lawmen bringing in wanted men throughout the years. However, he knew he’d remember someone like the marshal even if the marshal didn’t remember him.

  Damn, he should never have pulled that rifle. When he’d seen Bart threatening the kid, he couldn’t help himself and instantly reacted, though. And now he might have to pay for that overprotective deed with not just his freedom but his life.

  How long before Cain’s patience waned and he got hungry enough to come out of relative hiding to collect his own pound of flesh?

  “Might as well face it. You’re being mistrustful for no reason,” Josie said.

  He knew she was right. Plenty of men pulled guns. It was a natural reaction next to ducking and running. And if he had things to do over, Troy figured he’d pull his gun again. No way could he let someone hurt that kid, not on his watch. Obviously, the boy had been through enough already. Troy wondered what.

  “Is he still in the bath?” he asked.

  “He’s been done a while now. I had Hannah settle him in a room to catch some shuteye, though. Poor thing didn’t argue a peep, so I’m guessing he needed the sleep.”

  Troy nodded. He thought that about right. Maybe when the boy woke up, Troy would call Doc Clayborn and have him check Chris out. He wanted to make sure he fared well, at least physically. He didn’t think saw-bones or anyone else could do anything about the cause behind the dark shadows Troy had seen in the boy’s gaze.

  “What room did you settle him in?”

  “Yours, of course.”

  “You always were too smart for your own good.”

  Josie put a hand on her chest and fluttered her long eyelashes at him, feigning innocence. “What? Little ol’ me?”

  Troy laughed and shook his head, admiring Josie’s smile and twinkling eyes. She wasn’t his type by a long shot, but he sure appreciated her beauty and intelligence.

  When Troy had first arrived in town, she and several other available women had thrown their bonnets in the ring, hoping he would show some interest. He’d let them all down as easily as he could. Josie proved the only one willing to stick around without the promise of a ring and soon realized that she and he were far better suited as friends and business partners than lovers. When he’d opened Barrow’s, he’d allowed Josie and her girls to use several of the rooms upstairs for entertaining, and Troy and Josie had been splitting the profits ever since.

  “I reckon if you wanted to go check on him it’d be easier to do if he was in your room.”

  “I reckon.”

  “He looked like he could use a nice, hard shoulder to lean on.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “I know hankering when I see it, and that boy near ’bout swooned every time Hannah or I mentioned your name.”

  Troy felt heat flood his cheeks and his groin at Josie’s mention of Chris’ infatuation. He hadn’t wanted to believe it could be so. He didn’t want to get his hopes up that a kid like that would even be thinking about an old sidewinder like him in that way. The idea had him just about busting out of his pants that he’d been right and hadn’t imagined the boy’s lingering, charmed stares. Sure, he was getting a little long in years, but his horns hadn’t been sawed off.

  “You look about as cute as him when you blush.”

  “You are such a rabble-rouser.”

  “I’m serious. You two would make a good couple.”

  Troy heard the suddenly serious tone of Josie’s voice and peered at her. He noticed the concerned look on her face right away. He knew what she thought. A talk like they were having could get a man beaten up or killed. And it was sweet of her to risk it.

  Was that what had happened to Chris out on the road? Had he hitched his wagon to the wrong man, one who’d turned on him?

  He counted his lucky stars every day that his first mentor had been a kind and tolerant man like Josiah Maynard, a miner who’d come across Troy after he’d escaped the Indians. He knew, however, that men like him and Chris weren’t always lucky enough to meet a kindred spirit like Josiah. Meeting his second mentor, Jack had taught him that.

  “If you ain’t interested, something tells me he’s got his eyes set on other options.”

  “Who?”

  “I heard from a little birdie he seemed just as smitten with that colored marshal as he did with you.”

  A little birdie named Hannah, no doubt. Though he could see why the kid would hanker for James Hayden. If he weren’t so worried about his past and the animal that lived inside him, he might have thrown his hat the marshal’s way himself.

  “You don’t say.”

  “I do.”

  “Guess I should go check on my guest to make sure he’s nice and comfortable.”

  “Guess you should.”

  Troy turned and headed for the door before Josie’s voice stopped him. “He’s young, Troy, but he’s been through a lot.”

  “Another little birdie?”

  She shrugged. “Woman’s intuition.”

  Troy stared at her for a long moment, searching her features. Josie didn’t do much talking about herself, so he didn’t know a lot about her past. He couldn’t begrudge her that, since he didn’t talk too much about his, either. Still, he recognized someone who’d experienced hard times, and he knew that Josie had. Temptation almost had him asking about her life, but he thought better of it. Let sleeping dogs lie, at least for now.

  He had other fish to fry, anyway, with Chris Michaels.

  * * * *

  He was an uppity coon and a phony to boot.

  Who did he think he was, anyway, flashing that fancy marshal’s badge and shooting up th
e place like he thought he owned it? Shooting men just because he could? Someone needed to put him in his place, but good. Just wasn’t right for a man like that to be walking around with a gun and all that say-so. Parker had made a powerful mistake appointin’ all them coloreds and mixed-breed Indians to such high posts, charging them with bringing in Indians, coloreds, and white men alike. T’wasn’t right locking up God-fearing men just trying to make a living and put food on the table for their family.

  Didn’t know what chapped the hide worse—that the colored boy lorded over all the more deserving white men in the community with his authority and his badge, or that he pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes, appearing normal, bedding the black whores in their house of ill-repute when he knew he preferred a man’s company in bed to a woman’s.

  Wicked pervert. He wouldn’t pull the wool over the eyes that counted.

  The marshal would be getting his comeuppance.

  And he would get it powerful soon.

  * * * *

  He couldn’t get away from them, no matter how hard he fought. He was smaller than them, and there were way more of them, enough to wrestle him to the floor and bind his wrists as if he was a helpless calf. He tried to scream, but they stuffed a rag in his mouth to keep him quiet, and when he kicked out, two of them grabbed and held his legs down.

  The aroma of manure and hay assaulted his senses. Chris fairly gagged on it when he took a deep breath through his nose to calm himself down. He tried to convince himself that they wouldn’t, they couldn’t, do what he thought they would. But then one of them jerked his pants and long johns down over his hips as the others stood by. They watched and laughed, saying things like “Teach the little chuck-eater a lesson.” or “Show him who’s boss.” One of the men brought the hot branding iron within a couple of inches of his face, so close he could see the Whitfield emblem glowing orange and could hear the sizzle of the scorching metal.

  He’d been on a couple of round-ups and seen cowpunchers brand beasts young and old, but despite its necessity, he’d never cottoned to the act much himself. He always imagined the animal’s pain, what it would feel like to have a brand seared into his flesh against his will, but cowboys and ranchers claimed animals didn’t have no will, none but what man gave them.