Three Men and a Bounty

by Three Men

  “Marshal?”

  “Come in.” At least he wasn’t in that much of a compromising position.

  Nellie turned the knob, pushed open the door and stepped aside so that James’ visitor could step into the room.

  His waif from the evening before stepped over the threshold and paused, glancing around the room as if to steady himself before he looked at James and Sarah sitting on the bed.

  My waif. Mine.

  “I didn’t know you were in the middle of…things.”

  “I told you he was entertaining.” Nellie huffed and put a hand on her hip.

  “I thought you were just saying that because you didn’t want me to see him.”

  Nellie chuckled. “Chil’, I ain’t got no reason to lie to you or anyone else. If I tells you something, then that’s the way it is. Folks ’round here know Nellie’s word is her bond.”

  The waif had the courtesy to duck his head and avert his eyes, but James didn’t miss the fierce blush that colored his high cheeks.

  Lord, his fingers itched to trace those contours, feel the peach fuzz covering the boy’s otherwise smooth face. Kid couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen, which made James a dirty old man, no matter how he cut it. He didn’t care. He plain wanted the kid. He hadn’t wanted anything as much in his life, except his freedom. And what did freedom mean when he couldn’t do with it what he wanted?

  Sarah stood, headed over to the door, and passed the kid. “He’s all yours. I was on my way out anyway.” She glanced back at James and gave him another of her sad smiles, then left.

  He hated that he’d hurt her, but there was no help for it. He’d be lying to her and himself if he fostered anything between them more than the limited carnal acts they’d shared so far.

  “Well, I guess I’ll be on my way, too, then and leave you to your…business.” Nellie glanced at James with an expression that proved at once questioning and then knowing. She looked at the boy before she turned and left.

  “Close the door and come in,” James said.

  The kid did as ordered and took several steps into the room, still much too far away for James’ liking.

  “I’m suspecting you had a good reason for coming all this way and to Nellie’s.” The implication was clear—what was the boy doing on this side of town?—and the kid didn’t hesitate to pick up the gauntlet.

  “I don’t have a problem with black folk, never did.”

  “That’s good to know.” James hid a grin, cock throbbing hard in his pants at the boy’s gumption. He remembered that kind of bravery in his own youth. He had acted on it, in fact, when he ran away from his master and fled to Indian Territory to take up refuge with various tribes where he’d honed his firearm skills. He patted the mattress beside him. “Come here.” He used the deep, commanding voice that brooked no argument and garnered him a reputation as a hard man, fully expecting the boy to obey. When he didn’t make a move forward, however, only held his hat in front of him, nervously fiddling with the brim, it surprised James.

  He gave the boy the once-over, letting his gaze linger on his flushed face before sliding down to his clothes. The shirt and pants looked almost new compared to what he’d had on last night, though both items of clothing had a couple of cuffs rolled in them to keep them from brushing his knuckles and the floor.

  “Troy loaned ’em to me,” the kid said as if anticipating James’ question.

  “It’s a decent improvement over last night.”

  “He’s a decent man.”

  “I’m sure he is.” James wondered how decent and whether that decentness could ever extend to him. He’d had a glimpse last evening but couldn’t dare hope that the hankerings he’d felt were mutual despite the offer of a drink. Could he?

  He had never had such impossible dreams before. Why now? Was he getting that long in the tooth that he invited his own downfall?

  “I just wanted to come to thank you right and proper for what you done for me yesterday.”

  “And what did I do for you exactly?”

  The boy looked at him as if he had grown a set of horns, and James almost burst out laughing, except he didn’t want the boy to think he mocked him.

  “You saved my life.”

  James took in his wide-eyed, awe-struck expression, heart filling with some unnamable emotion. “Don’t go getting all worked up over it now. I’m no Bass Reeves.”

  “Near enough, I reckon.”

  He’d had his moments and some memorable captures in his short career, but he didn’t like bragging about any of what he did. It was all in the line of duty.

  “So, what do I call you, besides kid?”

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

  “Nice to make your acquaintance, Chris. Now come here.” James watched as Chris swallowed hard before he took several steps forward, still not close enough for James’ tastes. “You afraid of me?”

  “No, sir.”

  “What’s my name?”

  “James.”

  “Then that’s what you call me.”

  Chris raised his eyes and looked at him with such hunger, James almost groaned out loud.

  “If you’re not afraid then come here and sit on the bed.”

  Again, Chris did as ordered, except he only sat on the edge of the mattress as if to say, “There, I’m sitting!”

  “So you came to thank me.”

  “That man would have killed me had you not stepped in.”

  “I don’t think that Troy would have allowed any such thing to happen on his property.”

  “I reckon not.” Chris shook his head, and James watched as honey-blond ringlets danced around his angelic face.

  He reached to tuck a stray strand of hair behind the boy’s ear, entranced by the silky-soft feel of the wisps flowing around his hand and tempted to rake both hands through the shaggy mop right and proper.

  “I like to pay my debts,” Chris murmured.

  James arched a brow. “That’s why you came?”

  “I reckon.”

  “Tell me, Chris. What do you reckon would erase this debt?”

  Chris frowned, looking adorable and tempting all at once.

  “What did Troy want for his kindness?”

  “He said nothing.”

  James almost laughed at the imagined exchange. He could see the kid insisting to Troy that he owed him the way he did to James now, wondered if Troy had been as amused. Or maybe he had been insulted. “You don’t believe him?”

  “Troy’s already given me room and board, a hot meal and clothes. And he’s teaching me the finer points of tending the bar so I can help him out and earn my keep.”

  Scratch the insulted part. It sounded more like the man was as smitten with the boy as James proved to be.

  What was he getting himself into? He barely knew Chris and what he did know spelled trouble. “Sounds like a good deal to me. Why do you think you owe him? Or me, for that matter?”

  Chris swallowed again and gave him a piercing look that about had him leaking into his long johns. James could feel the liquid heat of his hankering in his slit and shifted on the bed to get more comfortable.

  “Folks ain’t nice to you for no reason.”

  James used to believe that, too, but he had come across enough people like Troy in the world to know this wasn’t gospel. If Chris’ assumption proved true, then James wouldn’t be able to read and produce the correct warrants when he went out on a hunt, at least not as easily as he did. A rancher had taught him how to read and write when James had joined his buckaroo crew right after Emancipation and the rancher discovered he didn’t know how. He’d wanted nothing in return for his good deed other than a hard day’s work for an honest day’s pay and assurance that James wouldn’t waste the gift he’d been given. James had been glad to give both and had been devouring the written word in as many forms of literature as he could ever since. Some folks, black and white, didn’t like that he spoke and carried himself so proper. So
me folks didn’t like the idea of an educated Negro. They thought him uppity, but he didn’t put too much stock into what people thought. He tried not to, anyway.

  He cleared his throat, unsure how to respond to Chris’ cynicism. He knew he had to set the kid straight somehow so he’d know folks did do things for others without expecting a damn thing in return…unless Chris wanted to give something in return.

  “You know, you’ve got it all wrong, Chris.”

  “Got what all wrong?”

  “According to an old Chinese proverb, since I saved your life, I’m responsible for you now. That makes me pretty much in debt to you.”

  “Well, I’ll be. I never heard that one before.”

  “I’ve got a mite more years of living done than you have, and I’ve heard a few more things, I suspect.” James smiled. He’d learned a few other things from the Chinese and Greeks in his travels and through his reading, intimate bawdy things that no decent folk should know about, things that he’d love to try with Chris. “So if you’re responsible for me now, what does that mean?”

  More than anything, James wanted it to mean that the boy would stay with him, by his side and under his protection. However, he didn’t have the luxury. Not when he would be going back out on the trail eventually. What would he do with Chris then? How would he protect him from out on the trail? And who could say Troy hadn’t already staked a claim? Would he let the boy travel all the way across town by himself if he had?

  “Where’s Troy now?”

  “Back in Wolf Creek. He loaned me his horse to ride over here.”

  Definitely smitten, James thought. In some cases, a cowboy’s horse proved more important to him than a woman. If Troy lent Chris his horse then things were serious between the two men, or at least Troy wanted them to be—the same as James did.

  “I reckon he’ll be expecting you back soon to help out at the bar?”

  “I reckon.” Chris lowered his gaze for a moment, then fixed James with a penetrating stare that was liked to blow his boots off. “That woman that was here earlier…Is she your woman?”

  “Sarah? No. Not by far.”

  “Oh.”

  “How old are you?”

  Chris huffed and rolled his eyes. “Troy asked me the same thing.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “That I’m old enough.”

  James closed the space between them, bending his head until his lips were a hairsbreadth away from Chris’, close enough to hear the hitch in the boy’s breath. “You’re sure about that?”

  “I–I’m sure.”

  “You don’t sound sure.”

  “I’m twenty-one, and I know what I want.”

  Twenty-one! He might as well have been between hay and grass, neither man nor boy, for the fourteen-year gap linking their years.

  He sounded sure, but many a stronger, older, and wiser man had been brought to his knees with hankerings that he dare not satisfy.

  “I’m a sight older.” And he had seen a sight more, more than he wanted to remember—as a slave, in the war, on the trail…

  Chris licked his lips, and the critter in James’ pants liked to leap for joy, pulling him away from his violent past. Here and now with Chris mattered to him more than anything.

  James cupped the boy’s face with both hands and drew him near as he covered Chris’ mouth with his own. The taste of him set James’ senses on fire. He slid one hand down between them, cupping the solid evidence of Chris’ desire burgeoning between his legs. James rubbed the hard bulge and captured the sound of Chris’ hunger when the boy groaned into his mouth. He thrust his tongue past Chris’ parted lips and toppled the boy down against the bed.

  Their erections met flush, hot and hard. James rocked and circled his hips until Chris writhed beneath him, meeting his thrusts as a whimper climbed from his throat.

  James pulled away slightly, pausing when Chris drew his arms around his neck. He remembered how the boy had arrived in Barrow’s last night. He remembered the pain that had been etched on his fine features.

  “No. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

  He lowered his face to Chris’. “You want this?”

  “I want you. Have since I saw you in the saloon.”

  James chuckled, feeling reckless and younger than he had in years. “Feeling’s mutual.” He dipped his tongue into Chris’ mouth and swirled it around to the kid’s decided pleasure if Chris’ groans were any indication. Ready to take his fill even more, he reached for the button on Chris’ britches right before someone pounded on the door.

  James popped up his head and pushed up, his weight on his palms, as Chris scrambled from under him and sprang to his feet. He stood a good several feet away from James—much too far away.

  “Who is it?”

  “Marshal, there’s trouble downstairs! You need to come now!” Sarah’s anxious voice broke through the sexual spell that Chris had woven around him since he’d arrived. James bounded from the bed and to the door in a few quick strides, flinging it open to reveal Sarah’s tear-stained face.

  He caught her by the shoulders. “What’s happened?”

  “He’s got a gun, James.”

  He didn’t ask who. It didn’t matter. He needed to get downstairs before anyone got hurt.

  James turned back to Chris standing in the center of the room now, hat in hand again. “Don’t move from this room.”

  “But—”

  “Stay here!”

  He nabbed his holster and gun from the foot post of the bed and closed the door behind him as he headed for the stairs, trailing Sarah. He strapped his holster on while he walked, slowing down as he neared the bottom of the staircase to take in the scene in the entry hall. A white man stood just inside the threshold. The front door was open behind him. He had an arm crooked around Nellie’s throat, holding her close to his side as he threateningly waved a gun in front of her face.

  A white man in Nellie’s proved an incongruity on a normal evening, but this evening had proven to be anything but normal and looked to be getting stranger by the minute.

  James caught Nellie’s gaze and signaled her not to let on that he approached. Her nod would have been imperceptible to almost anyone else but him.

  “Where is he, girl? I know your precious black marshal is in here somewhere!”

  James thanked the Lord for the well-cushioned carpeting that camouflaged his maneuver. However, two doors on the first floor opened at the commotion, and James frantically signaled to the girls and their customers to go back into their rooms.

  The man holding Nellie hostage caught the movement on the stairs and swung around to see James near the bottom, Sarah close behind him.

  “I knew you’d come down to save your precious whore girlfriend. Well, come on then and let’s get a look at you.” The man waved his gun toward James and smiled. “You can leave the gun behind ya, though.”

  “No can do, pardner.”

  The man pressed the muzzle of his gun against Nellie’s temple, and James watched as her eyes filled with tears. They weren’t tears of fear, though. Rather, they were tears of anger and frustration. James could tell from the way her jaw worked as if she chomped at a bit.

  He peered at the gunslinger. Something about his face was familiar. Maybe he was a younger version of someone else he knew. Then it clicked. He’d recently brought in a fugitive who looked uncannily like this young man—his older brother, maybe?

  “Let the lady go. She hasn’t done anything to you. It’s me you want, right?”

  “You know damn well it is. You should have never arrested my brother. Not you.”

  James suspected the man had more of a problem with a black lawman arresting his brother than his brother being arrested at all.

  “I’m going to need you to drop your gun and give yourself up.”

  Connor McClary’s younger brother laughed and waved his gun in defiance. “And why should I do that? I already got the bulge on you, marshal.”

&
nbsp; Heart drumming, James drew his gun, prepared to do something he’d done countless times in the past, something ultimately necessary, the outcome of which he almost always regretted.

  McClary’s younger brother, however, easily pointed his gun in James’ direction and pulled the trigger. Not before James dove to the right and fired his own gun.

  His bullet found its target, striking the younger McClary in the shoulder of his gun hand and disabling him enough to make him drop his weapon.

  Nellie pulled away from him as soon as the gun clattered to the floor, kicking it farther out of the gunman’s reach as she flung herself into James’ arms.

  James held Nellie with one arm and continued to point his gun at the younger McClary with his gun hand. “Guess you’ll be joining your brother in the hoosegow then.”

  “Guess you’ll be joining the devil in hell, marshal.” The younger McClary leaned against the doorframe, eyeing James’ gun and Sarah as she retrieved his. He gritted his teeth. “Your time’s coming, boy. Soon.”

  James didn’t flinch. He’d been called worse. “No doubt, pardner.”

  Chapter 4

  Chris had hung back as long as he could, biting his bottom lip with indecision, until he heard the shots ring out downstairs.

  He rushed to the door, flung it open and ran down the hall to the stairs just in time to see James take down the gunslinger threatening Nellie.

  He stood at the top of the staircase, still amazed and awestruck by the time James put handcuffs on the gunman.

  James turned as he finished, eyes widening when he caught sight of Chris. “Are you all right? Were you hit?”

  Chris didn’t know what his expression looked like to James, but something in it must have said that he’d been hurt, so he quickly shook his head to reassure the other man.