by Amy Faye
"Oh."
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine a world where things went better than she was worrying they would. She could do it, but it was hard. Damn hard.
Glen kept his horse a little ways behind. A busted leg wasn't going to hurt Bill's ability to ride a horse. Glen knew that from past personal experience. So he made the man ride on ahead.
"Come on, Glen. Why don't you let me go?"
"You pulled a gun. You're lucky I didn't shoot you dead where you stood."
"My damn leg, it hurts! Just, let me stay here a while. I won't go back to the ranch. I'll just lay up here a little while, and then I'll be on my way. You could even head on into town, have one of the Sheriff's boys pick me up."
"I don't think I'm going to do that, Bill."
Catherine's former husband wasn't making it hard to believe that he was hurt. In addition to his whimpering in pain, the man was clutching at his leg with one hand, working the reins with the other. The bleeding had stopped by now, but it sure would hurt like seventeen hells. It would have been a mercy to give the man a bottle of something to drink, but there wasn't anything in the house.
Besides that he hadn't earned any mercy. Not in the entire time that Glen had known him, and not in the years before that either if the story were to be believed.
They rode in silence for a while, except for Bill's wordless fussing over the pain in his leg. For a moment, Glen almost thought things were going to be alright. He took his hand off the Spencer for a moment to check the positioning of his pistol anyways.
As he reached for it, a shot rang out, and the horse he was riding fell over. A voice cried out: "GO!"
Bill's leg wasn't stopping him from riding, that much was clear. The other horse took off like a shot. Glen's leg was caught. He pulled on it hard, and it moved maybe a quarter of an inch. The horse was heavy, and it wasn't moving.
Glen managed to roll just enough to get the pistol free, dropped it in the dirt beside him. Then he took the rifle. He was going to have to be ready for anything. But it was a very specific sort of anything, and as luck would have it, he was very good at this one.
Movement in the rocks, off to the south. Glen pressed himself halfway-sitting and then took aim. The shot must not have hit, because a moment later a shot came back. A thankful miss.
There was no reason to waste his ammunition like this. Not when he was at such a disadvantage. Glen needed to find a way to get out from under this horse, and fast. Sooner or later they would find a way over to him, a way that didn't expose them too much to fire. At this distance, he couldn't be sure of a hit.
Once they were close, well… he was out in the open, and pinned there. It wouldn't be much of a fight, no matter how good he was.
"Give up, Riley! We got you outgunned! We won't hurt you, you just give up on this!"
They were closer now. He could hear it. Or perhaps they had him badly enough outgunned that they were all through the hills, hidden in different places.
Well, that was just about great. After all, things were going so well for him already. Why not make it a party?
Glen shoved the butt of his rifle under the horse's flank, lifted with all the strength he could muster. His leg moved a little, though the screaming pain that shot through him as he did it told him that he was in no shape for fighting.
He shouldn't have been doing this. Should've had more men, should've done something unexpected. Instead, he'd done what anyone could predict he would do. He took Bill into the Sheriff. That, or the morgue.
He let out a breath. What was he supposed to do, though? Kill the man, hide his body, and get ready for more trouble?
That they were working together was no question. Howell hadn't waited more than an instant to bolt, like they had planned the whole thing. Like he was waiting for the signal.
He levered up the horse again, screamed out in pain as he bent his leg out of the way. But he was free, and that was what counted for something—right?
The nearest cover was fifty yards. If he was lucky, then they were still too far to hit him. But with his leg… could he get there in time? He could tell that he would only barely be able to use it. Might be he couldn't do more than walk the distance, and just about anyone could hit him, moving that slow.
He had to risk it. He took a powerful stride with his good leg and caught the weight on his right side. Every fiber in his body was in agony. He grit his teeth harder, forced himself to stay standing, and took another step. If he kept the weight off that leg as much as possible, he could at least keep himself moving fast. But how he was going to get out of here alive, without being able to move, he couldn't say.
What's more, if they knew he was here, and the whole thing was a plan, what was happening with Catherine? She wasn't safe. He'd need to end this, and he'd need to end it quickly.
He leaned back against the steep slope of a rocky hill. He had to catch his breath, because he didn't have the luxury of wasting shots. He had to make this quick, because if he didn't, Catherine was dead.
Thirty Four
Catherine knew something was coming. She just didn't know what.
Glen had taken the rifle. At least he'd listened to her that much. She had Billy's pistol, still kicked off in the corner. On second thought Catherine picked it up, rubbed it against her apron, and put it in her apron pocket. It was heavy, but she would manage. Then she set a chair in front of the children's room and sat down.
Cole wouldn't like not being able to leave, but he would have to learn to deal with it. But the first goon to come through that door was going to get it. She settled in against the chair-back and pulled the gun free, checking and seeing that it was, indeed, loaded. Then she pulled the hammer back. It was a stretch with her thumb and hard to pull—she decided to just use two hands. She'd have to remember that when the time came. If the time came.
Then she waited. Ten minutes. Then twenty. Then an hour. Nothing. For a long, deliriously happy moment she almost believed that she was overestimating the danger. Still she forced herself to stay upright, to keep herself focused. She couldn't let that focus slip for even a second. Her children were at risk. Too much of a risk.
Jesus—the twins. She heard the noise an instant after the idea occurred to her, knocked the chair aside and yanked the door open. The giant red-head was already through the window, and he had Grace in his lap.
One arm was around her shoulder, keeping her from escaping easily. The other, though…
The knife gleamed from the lamplight in the front room. The damn lamps. She should have doused them, she knew. Anyone who wanted to could see her sitting there. Waiting. It would take a fool to come in through the front door seeing her there. It was her own fool fault that this had happened. But now she would have to deal with it. No time for crying.
"Don't hurt them!"
His deep voice was smooth and surprisingly calm for how excited the scene she came into was. "Of course not, Catherine. How's Billy doing?"
She gripped the gun. "I couldn't say."
"He told me he'd be coming by later, I thought I'd drop by and see him while he was in town."
"Let her go."
"You know I can't do that, Catherine. I need to make sure you won't shoot me, after all. A knife up against a gun? That's hardly fair."
She stared at him, trying to judge whether or not she could trust him to let the girl go if she were to put the gun down. She knew instinctively that she couldn't.
What other choice did she have? She wasn't going to try to shoot him through her daughter. She wasn't that confident, and it was dark. He could have that wicked-looking blade through the girl's chest before Cathy could get the gun level.
The weapon made a loud, dull clunk when it hit the floor. "Now let her go."
"Of course. I said I would, didn't I?"
He rose to his feet, letting Grace off his lap. She took her brother and they scampered out of the room. Good, Catherine thought. Get out of here. Hide until Glen can get back.
He could be in town by now. It was only a matter of time until he was back. An hour, or maybe less. Just a matter of time, but if she let things get violent… he was minutes, maybe an hour away. Not seconds. Not little enough time that she could outrun Rod until he showed up.
"Come on, don't you remember me? Not even a little?"
"G'away. I'll let you go. Nobody has to know—" she could hear the hysteria starting to overtake her voice, but she couldn't escape it. She was panicking. Too afraid to do anything but beg him to leave.
"You don't remember when your husband let me—"
Catherine could feel hot tears starting to well up in her eyes. They stung, and she wanted to reach for the gun. It would only be two long steps for the big man to be across the room and end that easily. Perhaps, even, permanently. She wouldn't have the chance to do what she was thinking of.
"I was laid up for three days after. The doc had to stitch my face up."
"You do remember!" Rod smiled, showing off a silver tooth that gleamed bright even in the low light of the room. "See, I knew we had something special. A girl like you—you're wasted on a guy like Billy. Tell me—did loverboy shoot him?"
She nodded. Her voice wasn't working. She just wanted to be able to get away. Wanted him to stop being here. Wanted to forget all of this.
"Where's the body?"
"He's not dead. We patched up his leg and they—they went on to—"
"Oh. You know, I thought that might happen. Billy, you know, he's not too reliable. Well… you would know that. You're his wife, after all." The tears were still falling. She could barely see him walking up to her. "Poor thing."
"Glen—when Glen gets here, he's going to—" she broke back into sobs, her back pressed against the wall. If only she were a better shot. More confident. If only she had a knife, or she could just get his attention turned away for a few seconds.
"I don't think he will, Cathy. I don't think he will." Rodney reached down, picked up the weapon off the floor. "You see, I thought this might happen. I said that, didn't I? Well, so, I set up a little surprise party for him. On account of how old friends me and Billy are."
She didn't want to believe him. But she had learned to do the smart thing, not what she wanted to do. And the way he said it, she didn't have it in her to believe him.
"Just—don't hurt the children."
"Of course not." He sounded so sympathetic when he wanted to. She could see the perverse amusement he got out of taunting her like that.
She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.
Glen peered through the window, light shining out. He felt the spot on his ribs again. Shot, sure as anything. But it wasn't bad. He would live, if it didn't get any worse. He just had to hope it wouldn't.
Glen let himself relax a moment. It was going to be a close thing. With his leg, he might have been a bit too slow this time. Catherine turned away and took a step. Glen ducked his head out of the way.
It was a cruel thing not to let her know he was there, not to let her know that he was okay. But he needed a few more moments, perhaps an instant. If he could end this without killing Rod—he shouldn't have. He knew that in the moment that he thought it.
The man didn't deserve it. Not after everything he'd done. But that wasn't Glen's decision. It never had been, not in truth. He took a deep breath and checked the ammunition on the Smith and Wesson. Still loaded. Good.
He crossed into the room, glad for having seen the twins leave. They didn't need to see what came next. One thick arm went around the giant's neck, the other pressed the barrel of the pistol into his spine. He straightened up real quick, then.
"You're coming with me, and we're going to go into town."
Rod slipped Glen's grasp, turned. He saw the knife an instant later, but too late to knock it away. So instead he squeezed the trigger. The knife clattered to the ground beside Rod's body.
"Are you alright?"
Catherine slapped him, hard enough to hurt. "Don't you ever scare me like that again."
He couldn't help the smile that came across his face. "Yes ma'am."
Thirty Five
Epilogue
Catherine watched her husband as he got out of bed. She wanted him to come back. There was still time left in the morning, and Catherine wanted little more than to spend it wrapped up in his arms, their limbs entangled—but he was always working early, at the desk before the sun broke the horizon.
Glen pulled on his blue jeans and started working the buttons up, turned and saw Catherine looking at him. He smiled. "You checkin' me out?"
She raised her eyebrows. "No, sir. I wouldn't dare."
"That's what I thought." He pulled a shirt from the closet and put his arms through, one after the other. Catherine's looks hadn't changed one bit. Well, most of her. Her belly was just starting to show. Folks would be talking about that.
He would let them talk. There was no stopping it. They were going to talk no matter what happened. They would have talked if they hadn't gotten pregnant, too. Just a matter of time. They would move on to something else.
Glen couldn't help himself. He stepped back over to the bed, knelt on it and leaned in to give his wife a kiss. Three years now, and they were finally settled. Things felt normal. It took them long enough.
He went back over to the bureau and ran the belt through the loops of his jeans. Fitted the holster through.
"I love you," he said, turning to Catherine one last time before he left.
"I love you too, hon."
"I'll see you tonight."
"I know you will. Be safe."
"I always am."
He smiled at the routine as he made his way to the door. Finally feeling normal. He pulled on the leather coat, looked down at the table by the door. The pin was still there, right where he'd left it last night. He fitted it onto his chest.
Wouldn't be much of a Sheriff without it, after all.
Hot Gossip
Historical Western Romance
Amy Faye
Published by Heartthrob Publishing
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Here’s a preview of the sexy love story you’re about to read…
...He pulled away. "Last chance to change your mind," he breathed. It took a real force of effort to stop as long as he had.
She answered by rocking her hips forward. "Shut up and kiss me."
He intended to do a great deal more than that, though. He turned, her weight still suspended in his arms, and dropped her on the sofa. She bounced a little ways back up, and by the time she was settled he was beside her, working the buttons on her dress as quick as his thick fingers would allow.
Her skirt came off easily. How many layers did these proper ladies wear, he cursed. Then a wicked idea struck him, and his hand started to trace a line up between her thighs. There was one sure way to avoid too much trouble.
Marie was gasping for air, now, her breath coming in ragged spurts that had a little more voice to them than might have been absolutely necessary. His cock strained against his jeans, desperate to get out and join the game.
He found her already moist. His fingers barely grazed across her lips and she jolted in surprise, her hand darting down to stop him. She stopped it as he did it again, his fingers darting between the outer lips and finding the hardened nub at the top of her womanhood.
Her legs parted for him and he couldn't stop a smile from spreading on his face.
"Oh, you liked that?"
"Shut up," she said again. There was something erotic about hearing her using that kind of language.
"I'll shut up when I please," he growled. His fingers dipped lower and promptly thrust inside.
She didn't respond with heavy breathing or soft mewls, this time. She let out a full-throated groan of pleasure. His fingers explored the inside of her, her walls gripping him, pulling him in with the vain hope that he'll be inside long enough to complete s
ome evolutionary need.
She let out a soft whimper when he withdrew his hands from her skirt. She needed something more, something that she hadn't gotten yet. Chris knew exactly what that thing was, even if she didn't. And he had every intention of giving it to her.
He worked his belt loose and opened the fly on his jeans. He settled into the place between her thighs, enjoying the way that they gripped around his hips, and lined himself up with her entrance.
Marie's breath came hard and heavy, her eyes halfway-closed with arousal. Then he started to press in, and they shot open. He pushed the rest of the way in and held himself there for a long moment, his lips pressing against the soft skin of her neck, enjoying the feeling of her body so close to his.
"Are you alright?"
She didn't answer right away. She was caught somewhere, he could hear, between wanting to take shallow breaths and taking them too fast, too deep.
"I'm alright," she said. He smiled.
"Ready?"
She nodded. Chris didn't need her to say it twice. His hips moved back and slammed forward again, thrusting himself as deep into her as their cramped position would allow. Her arms reached around his neck and pulled tight, but he didn't stop himself.
His movements were quick and powerful. Whatever concern for her well-being he might have had was gone, now, taking whatever he could get in order to sate his animal lust. Her voice in his ear drove him harder, faster, sending him onto the edge of madness as they fucked...
One
Marie Bainbridge leaned up against a post and tried to remind herself that she should have been pleased that Applewood Junction was finally getting back to business as usual. The last change away from the ordinary had been almost six months ago, and she'd been it.
That wasn't entirely true, of course. The previous schoolteacher, one Mrs. Whittle, had passed on in her sleep. The people of Applewood Junction wrote the territorial governor, and he, in turn, had ended up getting in touch with Marie through her father.
