by Linda Broday
“You don’t know what you’re doing, Penny,” Gentry growled in a gravelly voice. “Or who you’re messing with.”
“Maybe not, but my warning still stands. Hurt Marley and you die. I’ll blow your scarecrow head off and see what it’s stuffed with. Turn around slow and easy.”
Gentry’s eyes glittered like shiny silver buttons, and Roan felt the pure evil that came from staring into the eyes of a devil.
“What do you want with Marley?” Roan bit out, keeping the Colt aimed at Gentry’s chest. That was when he clearly saw the spot of wetness on the shoulder of Gentry’s coat and a cut on his face.
“She’s mine.”
“You’re sadly mistaken there, you piece of horse shit. She doesn’t belong to anyone, least of all you. Did you break into her hotel room last night and try to take her?”
“Why would I need to do that? If I’d wanted in, I’d have used a key.” A cold smile curved Gentry’s mouth. “The clerk owes me.”
Roan didn’t buy the statement. “Move over to that alley to your right. We’re going to finish this conversation and find some horses.”
“And miss the race?” Gentry chuckled. “I had a surprise all planned for you and everything.”
Behind them, Marley’s rifle fired, and again a roar went up from the crowd. Roan didn’t take his eyes from Gentry but assumed the noise meant she’d hit the bull’s-eye again. He gave his quarry a shove toward the alley. Getting him out of town would be a chore with enemies at every turn.
“Why can’t you just die?” Gentry spat. “What does it take to kill you?”
“A lot more than you’ve got, and I don’t have to wear a hood over my head to fight. I recognize your voice. You were with the riders that night. You’re nothing but a murderer.”
“Good luck proving that, Penny.”
As they started to cross to the alleyway, a herd of horses driven by whooping cowboys raced toward them. Roan barely had time to dive behind a tree and clear the path. When they had finally disappeared toward the outskirts of town, there was no sign of Wilbert Gentry.
Roan kicked the dirt. He’d lost the slippery man again. Hell and damnation!
He hurried back to the competition just as Marley finished her last shot. She strode toward him, her skirt snapping around her ankles, a satisfied smile on her face. “I hit the X dead center with all three shots, but so did another contestant. We have a tie.”
“I’m proud of you. You could give Annie Oakley a run for her money. When’s the shoot-off?” The second round would require a bit more skill, the targets moved back twenty more yards.
“In a few minutes.”
“That’s good.” Roan scanned the crowd for Gentry. It would be like the man to sneak back and take a potshot at Marley.
“What’s wrong?” Panic filled her voice.
“Gentry was here.” Roan told her about the conversation and how the man had escaped. “I don’t know how or why those riders came along just then, but I feel in my bones that it wasn’t by accident. They helped Gentry get away. I know it. He told me you were his.”
Marley gave a cry and covered her mouth with her trembling hands. “What does he want?” she whispered. “What? I’m not anything to him. I don’t even know him.”
Roan clasped her tightly to him, afraid to let her go for fear she’d disappear. “Don’t worry. I won’t let him get close to you. We don’t have too many friends in this town but we don’t need them. We have our guns and we can shoot the bastards.”
No one would get his Texas Star without losing a lot of blood.
“I have one,” she said softly.
“One what?”
“A friend—the waiter who works at the hotel. His name is Zach.”
“I saw you talking to him. Pardon me, but he doesn’t exactly look like he’s experienced in anything other than waiting tables.”
“Maybe not. I did glean some information though.” She moved closer to Roan and whispered, “Zach said the gang tried to recruit him but he didn’t want anything to do with them. You were right about them being young riders. They help their boss—someone named Rube—take back land that was ripped from them three years ago after the Texas Rangers rode in. It seems Rube has gathered up kids who lost either their fathers or both parents. Some of their fathers are in prison. The boys are hurt, angry, and alone. Rube feeds them, gives them a place to stay, and looks out for them.”
Roan knew from experience what that sort of kindness meant to a lost, hungry kid. Being cared for would buy a lot of loyalty. “Did Zach give you a last name?”
“No. Rube is all. Roan, this means that Gentry is not the ringleader.”
“I guess so.” He’d been wrong about that part, but the man was still involved up to his beady eyes. Had to be or he wouldn’t have been at Mose’s. It seemed the more they learned, the more the mystery deepened.
How far would he have to dig to hit pay dirt?
And would he and Marley live long enough to find all the answers?
Twenty
Roan stood near Marley as the second round of the shooting competition began. The man she was tied with stepped to the line and raised his rifle. He was a young guy, no more just an inch or two over five feet and as skinny as a willow sapling.
Roan wasn’t paying much attention beyond that, busy scanning the crowd for Gentry. So far, he saw nothing.
The contestant hit the new target with all three of his shots, but only one made it to the bull’s-eye. Marley moved into place and raised her Winchester. She took her time, putting the board in her sights. Slowly, she squeezed the trigger and sent the bullet hurtling through the air. A roar went up when the hole ripped right into the target’s dead center.
Marley stepped back and took a deep breath.
“You can do this,” Roan cheered. “Slow and easy.”
She smiled at him and toed the line again. Her second shot just missed the X, a hair outside the middle where the lines crossed.
As she raised her rifle the third time, a shot rang out from behind them. Roan grabbed Marley and hit the dirt. Screams echoed around them, and people scattered.
“Are you hurt, Marley?”
“No.”
“Stay here and keep down,” he ordered. Without waiting for an answer, he rose and raced to a tree. Counting to three, he zigzagged to another and another.
Everything was eerily quiet. He paused near the street, and movement made him look up at the second story of the hotel. A man with a rifle stood on the balcony. Sun in his eyes, Roan couldn’t tell if it was Will Gentry, but the build told him it could be. Just then, the possible shooter whirled to go inside.
Roan lifted his Colt and fired, but the man had vanished. The bullet splintered the door facing. Damn!
Though he waited for the man to show himself again, he didn’t. Roan strode quickly back to Marley.
Virginia Creek was with her, her arm around Marley. “Tell me what I can do. Would you like me to take you to the hotel where you’ll be safe?”
“No, thank you. I’m not forfeiting this competition.” Marley pulled from her arms and ran to Roan. Her heart stampeded like a herd of wild broncs. “Was someone trying to kill me?”
“I don’t know.” He held her close until her trembling stopped. “Put him out of your mind and finish this competition. I’ll be right here.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“I’ll be here too,” Virginia declared. “We aren’t going to let anyone run you off.”
Roan leaned Marley back and stared into her brown eyes. “You’re not a quitter. Don’t let them scare you. I don’t think he was trying to kill you—I’m sure he was just trying to keep you rattled.”
Marley gave him a shaky laugh. “Well, it’s working. But I won’t give up. I have one more shot, and I’m taking it.”
“Th
at’s my girl. The gentlemen are motioning to you. Go show them what you’re made of.” He didn’t mention that those so-called gentlemen looked ready to run for cover. Their eyes darted around, and they hunched over. Virginia Creek went to speak to them. Whatever she said seemed to reassure them, because their fear vanished and they stood straight.
Roan’s hand moved to the butt of his gun, ready if a shot came from behind.
Marley paid them no mind as she strode confidently into place. Roan would never have guessed the severity of her nerves if he hadn’t known. On the outside, she was cool and calm as she put the rifle to her shoulder and fired. She sent the cartridge tumbling and whirling through the air.
Again, it struck the X dead center. This time there was no cheering crowd, no applause. Even her opponent had disappeared. With Virginia and Roan standing tall beside her, she accepted the money.
* * *
With no time to celebrate, Roan and Marley hurried to get Shadow from Doc’s small barn. Roan examined her legs carefully, then they made their way to the horse race.
He checked to make sure his gun was fully loaded and patted Shadow’s sleek neck. This competition was going to test both him and the gray mare. “This is it, girl. Give it all you have.”
His gaze found Marley on the sidelines. His heart cartwheeled.
The Wheelers stood next to her.
Worry slid along his spine like melting snow. But he knew Marley’s expertise with a gun, and she already distrusted them. He had to turn his thoughts to whether the shooter from the hotel would make another appearance and run the race. He needed that money worse than ever.
That money now represented their future.
His father’s voice sounded in his ear, drowning out the noise around him. Your name is Penny and you’re not worth even that. You’re weak.
“We’ll see about that,” Roan muttered.
Gentry had promised a surprise, so he had to be alert to every movement.
Quinn—the man who’d registered riders for the event—yelled for the racers to mount up. He raised a pistol over his head, readying to fire.
The fifteen entrants swung into their saddles and moved to the starting line in the dirt. Roan sized them up. The big guy on the rust-colored sorrel could give him trouble, as well as the one on the red bay. Roan thought the sorrel was the same one Gentry had been riding, but he couldn’t be sure. He turned to the kid to the right of him and got quite a start. That peach-fuzz face had been burned into his memory the night of the bloodbath—Roan had snatched the hood from his head and stared right into those same young eyes.
The boy’s gaze met his and recognition dawned. His jaw dropped, and he swallowed hard.
Roan smiled and stretched out his hand, introducing himself as Roan Penny. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“Nope. I thought—”
“That I wouldn’t be stupid enough to show up here?” Roan suggested, grinning.
The boy shrugged. “Reckon it’s a free world.”
“I saw you there that night. Don’t bother to deny it.”
“No, mister, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The kid gave a nervous glance around him and lowered his voice. “Watch your back.”
“I intend to.” Before he could say more, the gunshot sounded the start of the race. On cue, the animals leaped forward.
He allowed Shadow an easy pace. A mile and a half called for saving the bulk of steam for the last leg. Those who raced to the forefront now would have no wind left at the end. At least he was counting on that.
“Take your time, girl. We’re just out for a leisurely stroll. The middle’s a good place to stay for now.”
As he figured, the big sorrel moved to the front right away. Roan switched his focus, caught the movements of the riders on a black gelding and a chestnut as they tried to sandwich him between them. He quickly evaded them, but he couldn’t outmaneuver the long crop the rider of the red bay was wielding. The whip caught him across his forearm.
Searing pain shot to his shoulder, then radiated across his back. He renewed his grip on the reins and clenched his jaw. They’d have to earn their pay to get him.
“So that’s the way you want to play this, huh?” he muttered into the wind.
A short distance ahead, the kid from Mose’s land swiveled in the saddle to watch. He had to know about the plan to knock Roan from his horse—and no doubt trample him into the dirt.
They’d make it appear the perfect accidental death.
A shame it hadn’t worked.
Not yet.
Their first attempts had fallen short, but that didn’t mean they were done. They’d use other, more devious tricks, and force him to go on the offense sooner than he wished. He’d known this would be no picnic. He’d earn every cent if he won.
A sloping descent down Brushy Mountain took all his wits. Once he reached level ground, he nudged Shadow harder. A stand of cedars loomed ahead. The evergreen branches were an excellent place for someone to lie in wait. The horses would have to pass close between the trees on the trail that cut through the cedar brake.
Unless…
Roan moved to the far outside right. He’d have barely enough room to go around.
Just as he neared the stand of trees, he veered sharply. His mare raced around the cedars, splashed across Indian Creek, and jumped a fence.
Hooves pounded behind him. He peered over his shoulder to see the rider on the red sorrel closing the gap.
Away from the pack, Roan had put himself in a more vulnerable position. Should there be an honest one in the bunch—which he doubted—no one could witness his death out here. No one in town would know that he’d been so ruthlessly murdered. Marley would suspect, but she’d have no way of proving it.
But he wouldn’t make this easy—he meant to put up a hell of a fight. Roan spied a thick, low branch up ahead. It could knock a rider from his horse if such a man had eyes glued on a particular target instead of paying attention to the ride.
Calm determination kept him tall and straight in the saddle.
The red sorrel breathed down his neck. Another long stretch and the rider would be on him.
“Keep coming, you bastard.” Roan timed his move. A split second before they reached the branch, he ducked and sailed below. He twisted to see if the rider had avoided it. True to his prediction, the rider rode directly into the branch, flew from the horse, and slammed into the ground. The man didn’t move, telling Roan the impact had probably knocked him out cold.
One down and a few more to go.
Another fence appeared, which Shadow jumped with ease. They raced around a bend, and Roan guided the mare back on the course with the other racers. They came out very near the front.
The kid and the fellow on the bay were in the lead. Their faces changed to looks of shock when they spotted him trailing them. Their horses had used up most of their legs, white foam spraying from the animals’ mouths.
He watched for the long crop of the man on the red bay and lunged when it snaked toward him. Again and again the horseman struck, whipping the air.
They skirted Antelope Creek. Shadow set the pace at a hard gallop, the horse giving everything she had. “Come on, girl. You can do it.” The finish line lay around the bend. Just a few more lengths. A few more yards. A few more last-ditch efforts by those behind him.
The mare’s full stride led them past the kid and edged the bay by a nose. Roan barely saw the heavy chain in time. The diabolical rider was trying to wrap it around Shadow’s fetlock.
Such a device could break fragile bones. Tear tendons. Maim a horse for life.
“The hell you will,” Roan muttered through his teeth.
The rider stretched, leaning down, swinging the chain inches from its target. Roan grabbed the man’s arm, holding it in a vise grip. Before he could latch on to the
chain, it dropped and his heart stopped.
The metal links landed under Shadow. He knew the minute she stepped down on the pieces of steel, felt it in the marrow of his bones. He tightened his grip, getting ready to go down. If he could just keep from landing under the horse, he’d be all right.
The mare stumbled.
Her forelegs buckled.
She dropped to her knees.
He braced himself for the crunch of breaking bone, held on for dear life, and prayed.
Somehow, the horse picked herself up, barely breaking a stride, and plunged on. It appeared the chain had landed on soft earth. Instead of doing the damage it had intended, it must’ve sunk harmlessly into the ground.
“Now’s the time, girl. Let’s see what you have.”
No one could say she was graceful and fluid compared to the other horses, but the mare with a broken ear wasn’t shabby either. She flew over the remaining length.
Cheers and jeers rang out.
Shadow responded, pounding across the finish line. Roan slowed where Marley and the Wheelers were and dismounted.
“You did it, son!” Silas Wheeler shouted.
Marley threw arms around him. “You won!”
Roan gave her a quick kiss. “I’ve got to see to my mare.”
He hurried to Shadow. She stood, shuddering, sides heaving, muscles quivering. She’d used everything she had in doing what he’d asked of her…and more. He checked her legs for injury, thankful to find none. Tears clogged his throat as he patted the thick, gray neck. “You’re something else, girl. I’m proud of you.”
A chorus of voices rooted, “Hip, hip, hurrah!”
Roan glanced around for the boy he’d spoken to before the race. He needed to find out what the kid knew. Maybe he’d be willing to talk.
“I say you’re a yellow-dog cheater, Roan Penny.” Wilbert Gentry’s ominous, gravelly voice came from the platform where a handful of men stood. “I say you didn’t win this race.”
A deadly quiet descended over the throng of onlookers.
Roan rested a hand on the Colt’s grip, ready for whatever came. He’d fight, and he’d probably get hurt or thrown in jail, but he’d never run. Not from anyone.
