Hero For Hire

by Sheridon Smythe

  "And how would that help?"

  Briefly, Roy outlined his plan. When he finished, Mac said, “Why should I trust you? How do I know you won't warn Ned of our plans? Your Pa would be mighty proud of you."

  Mac's quick reflex saved him from a fat lip. He caught Roy's wrist, holding him at bay as the furious boy struggled uselessly. His face was red, and the way his skinny chest heaved told Mac he was near tears. Roy's reaction both surprised and reassured him.

  Breathing hard, Roy snarled, “I hate him! He's not my Pa—not the one who raised me! He's nothing but dog meat!"

  "Then why did you go along with his plans in the first place?” Mac taunted softly.

  "Because—because he said I wasn't nothing but a skinny little kid, a sissy. He said—he said that if I let Mrs. Cord out of my sight, he'd—he'd send me to an orphanage."

  Mac felt the fight go out of Roy. Slowly, he let go of his wrist. The boy sat hard on the bunk, his breathing quick and shallow.

  "I know now that I'd rather go to an orphanage than to live with him and that mean—mean harlot.” His chest hitched in a sob; his big eyes swam with tears. “After Ma died, I didn't know what to do. Just before ... before she died, she told me who my real Pa was. She didn't want to leave me alone."

  "How did your folks die?"

  "My Pa—my step Pa—was coming out of the feed store and walked into a gun fight. He'd been blasting tree stumps and couldn't hear very good because he'd gotten too close to the dynamite.” Roy's gaze fell to his feet, his face a mask of sorrow. “Least ways that's what me and Ma figured happened."

  "And your Ma?” Mac prompted softly.

  "I reckon she died of a broken heart. After Pa died, she started gettin’ sick and laying in bed all the time. Old doc Fender said he couldn't find nothing wrong with her."

  A man would have to be made of stone not react to Roy's sad story—and Mac was no exception. But Mac was also a cautious man, and he'd seen first hand Roy's talent for convincing people. “How do I know that you're telling the truth now?"

  "I don't reckon I blame you if you don't believe me,” Roy whispered tearfully. He wiped his runny nose with his dirty sleeve and drew a shuddering breath. He looked Mac dead in the eye as he added, “But for Mrs. Cord's sake, can you try? I can help get her back—I know I can. Maybe then—maybe then you'll forgive me."

  "It would be dangerous."

  "I don't care!” Roy cried passionately. “If it means we can get Mrs. Cord back, and Ned will go to jail, then I don't care how dangerous it is."

  Mac fell silent, amazed that he would even consider trusting Roy. Stunned that he would consider sending a boy into a potentially explosive situation. Savannah's life was at stake. Did he dare take such a chance with her life hanging in the balance?

  "Get washed up and join me in the passenger car,” he instructed Roy. He had to do some thinking, and he couldn't do it while Roy was staring at him with those big, wounded eyes.

  "Does this mean you'll think about it?” Roy asked hopefully.

  "I'll think about it, but I ain't making any promises."

  "I swear to you, Mac, that if you'll give me a chance, I'll make it up to you and Mrs. Cord. She—she reminds me of my ma, and I don't want anything to happen to her."

  "Neither do I, brat. Neither do I."

  The possibility was unthinkable.

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  Chapter Thirty-Two

  When Mac and Roy stepped from the train the next morning in Paradise, a pleasant surprise awaited them.

  Mac stared at the tall, dignified Indian, then trailed his astounded gaze over the horses at Hawk's side. He shook his bewildered head as he approached his friend. “I guess it would be useless for me to ask how you knew."

  Hawk grinned. “How can I say what I can not explain? I come to repay the favor you did for me in Cornwall."

  "Are you talking about West?"

  "Yes. He has decided not to kill me, thanks to my good friend Mackenzy Cord. I can now go into town without fearing for my life."

  Mac wasn't fooled. “You don't fear anyone, Hawk, but they'd be wise to fear you."

  "Tell that to my Patricia,” Hawk said, still grinning. He focused his penetrating gaze on Roy, who stood beside Mac, gaping at him. “So we meet again, Bristling Feather."

  "Bristling Feather?” Mac cocked a brow at Roy, who flushed and scowled at Hawk.

  "That's just some ole dumb name Sparrow gave me. It don't mean nothing."

  Hawk chuckled as he handed Mac the reins to a beautiful bay gelding. He indicated to Roy that he should take the other mount, a spotted pinto pony. “You can tell me your plans on the way to Barlow's land."

  "You mean you don't know?” Mac joked, stifling a groan as he mounted the gelding. Roy didn't bother hiding his agony; he groaned and cursed, fidgeting in the saddle as if his butt was full of prickly burs.

  "Don't worry, Bristling Feather. Soon you will grow numb and fell no pain."

  Roy snorted at Hawk's comment. “Well, isn't that reassuring, Eye of the Hawk. And my name is Roy ... Hunter, not Bristling Feather. I don't have a drop of Indian blood in me."

  "You do not have to have the blood of an Indian to possess the heart of a warrior, Roy Hunter."

  Hawk's compliment, delivered so casually, took a moment to sink in. Amused, Mac watched as Roy as the boy flushed with pleasure.

  "Well, in that case, my Indian name is Bristling Feather."

  As they rode through town, Mac could feel curious eyes on them. Hawk didn't seem to notice or care, which sparked Mac's admiration.

  Roy broke the silence the moment they left the town behind them. “Aren't you going to give Mac a name, Hawk?"

  When Hawk hesitated, Mac's curiosity was aroused. “Well?” Mac prompted.

  "It is difficult to give a name to a man with so many admirable qualities,” Hawk hedged.

  Mac felt childishly disappointed. “So whistle britches here gets a name and I don't."

  "I think you've hurt Mac's feelings, Hawk."

  "Shut up, brat, Bristling Feather, Roy Hunter—whatever the hell your name is."

  "Hey, don't get mad at me! I'm not the one who—"

  "Heart of the Lion,” Hawk interjected.

  They fell silent. Mac turned the name over in his mind, deciding he liked it. He gave in to the temptation and shot Roy a smug look. But Roy wasn't paying attention; he was squinting over his shoulder.

  "I think someone's following us."

  "He, too, hunts for Barlow,” Hawk informed them.

  "He might interfere with our plans.” Mac frowned, looking back at the spec of dust in the distance. He couldn't make out who it was, but he figured it was the deputy from Jamestown.

  "Do not worry,” Hawk said. “He rides a soft horse."

  Mac was amused. “I take it it's not one of your horses?"

  Hawk's faint smile was his answer.

  Another companionable silence followed before Roy asked, “Does Aunt Patricia know what you're doing?"

  "Patricia knows that I am helping a friend."

  "Ah, so she doesn't know that you're aiding in the capture of her outlaw brother."

  "I am helping a friend,” Hawk insisted, but a guilty flush darkened his leathered cheeks.

  Mac slanted Roy a quelling look and kicked his horse into a canter, forcing Hawk and Roy to follow suit.

  * * * *

  The building was just as Roy had described; nothing more than a squatter's shack. With a sagging front porch, one window, and a storm-damaged roof, it was hard to imagine anyone wintering here—and staying warm. He hated the thought of Savannah trapped inside those wobbly walls with Barlow, perhaps hungry and cold, possibly hurt. Did she know that he would come for her?

  He and Hawk had crawled along the ground until they could peer over the hill to the shack below. Roy was preparing to launch their plan as Mac and Hawk took stock of their enemies.

  "He must have picked up the henchmen in town,” Mac whispered to
Hawk, nodding toward the dilapidated porch where two men with rifles stood guard. Mac could see the shadow of another armed man guarding the back entrance to the shack. He frowned. “I don't like the thought of Roy barging in. They might shoot first and ask questions later."

  "Remember, Barlow wants amnesty,” Hawk whispered back. “If he kills you, he knows there are others that will hunt him."

  Despite Hawk's reassuring logic, Mac continued to worry about Roy. If something happened to the kid ... “So you think they have orders not to shoot?"

  Hawk nodded. “Yes, that is what I think."

  "I hope you're right."

  "So do I, Heart of the Lion, so do I."

  Mac fell silent, tension humming along his veins. It was almost time for Roy to make an appearance. How the henchman reacted to Roy would give them an idea of how well-trained they were.

  He heard the sound of pounding hooves long before Roy came into sight, knew the exact moment the henchman heard it too.

  They raised their rifles and pointed them at Roy. One of the henchman shouted the alarm, presumably to alert Barlow.

  Fearlessly, Roy hauled on the reins and ground to a halt before the armed men. Catching sight of the rifles, the frightened horse danced and rolled his eyes. Roy's boyish voice carried clearly to the hill where Mac and Hawk held their breaths.

  "I'm here to see my pa."

  * * * *

  Of the three of them, Savannah couldn't say who was the most stunned to hear Roy's voice through the open window. Ned leaped to his feet, his face registering shock. Raquel's eyes flared wide, then narrowed with displeasure.

  She was clearly lacking in motherly instincts, Savannah noted. She arched her back, attempting to relieve the pressure on her spine from hours of holding herself stiffly upright without support. Roy was here. Did this mean that Mac wasn't far behind? Or was Roy merely finishing the job, and was here to report to Ned? Despite what she'd learned about Roy's parentage, she refused to believe that Roy was following in his father's footsteps.

  Ned's explosive reaction strengthened her belief.

  "What the blue blazes is he doing here?"

  Raquel moved to the shack's only window and peered out. “Maybe Cord sent him to make the deal,” she offered, but didn't sound convinced.

  "Bring him to me!” Ned bellowed to his henchman.

  After a short silence, Roy stumbled into the room, helped along by a rough shove from one of the armed men. Savannah's heart leaped at the sight of Roy's dear, familiar face. She silently compelled him to look her way, to give her some reassurance that everything would be okay.

  But Roy seemed to deliberately avoid looking in her direction. He stood tall and faced his angry father, his chin lifted so bravely that tears stung Savannah's eyes. The bruise on his cheek had faded to a sickly yellow, but he now sported a multitude of scratches on his face.

  Only Savannah seemed to noticed his trembling hands. The sight of that betraying movement gave her hope.

  "I came to warn you that Mac, the sheriff, and a couple of deputies are on their way here. Mac said he wasn't agreeing to no deal with you."

  Ned's hand was just a blur as he smacked Roy in the face. Roy reeled from the blow, but didn't flinch. He kept his hands to his sides and resumed his brave posture. If anything, his chin went up another notch.

  Savannah gasped. She struggled to her feet, weak and dizzy from lack of food. “Don't you dare lay another hand on him!” she ordered, her voice trembling with fury.

  Raquel casually pointed the derringer at her, effectively halting her movements in Roy's direction. “Stay right were you are, Princess."

  Ned ignored the women, his eyes blazing into Roy's defiant face. “What are you doing here?"

  "I came to help,” Roy said, his voice low and earnest. “I rode here as fast as I could, staying ahead of Mac.” He traced a particularly vicious scratch on his chin. “That's how I got all these scratches."

  "So you changed your mind, did you?"

  Roy nodded, then hung his head as if ashamed. “When Mac and Mr. Carrington found out who I was, they were gonna turn me over to the sheriff."

  "Now why would they do a thing like that?” Ned asked, his voice deceptively soft.

  When Roy lifted his head again, his eyes blazed with hatred. “They think they're too good for me now. I don't know why I was ever fooled by them in the first place. I belong here, with you and Raquel."

  Savannah shook her head, refusing to believe what she was hearing. “Roy, you can't mean what you're—"

  "Shut-up, lady!” Roy snarled at her. His eyes were narrowed to hateful slits. “I never liked you to begin with, you with your haughty, I'm-better-than-everyone-else ways! You make me sick."

  With her hand to her throat, Savannah backed away from his murderous gaze. Her back touched the wall. She slumped against it, shocked to the core by Roy's vengeful tirade. How could Roy be loyal to a man like Ned?

  "You should set up an ambush, finish them off before they get here,” Roy urged Ned. “If you don't we'll be trapped."

  "Then I'll kill his lovely wife,” Ned informed him in a vicious whisper. “Just like I shot that sissy stepfather of yours."

  Roy jerked as if Ned had delivered another blow. His voice started out faint, but quickly gathered strength as if he were pushing something ugly behind him. “That's not his wife ... Pa. They were supposed to get married tomorrow. Mac said he just going along with it because her rich daddy offered to pay him five thousand dollars if he married her.” Roy shot Savannah a glance so filled with contempt, she flinched beneath the force of it. “But Mac's changed his mind. In fact, he's hoping you will kill her so that he don't have to marry her.” His hateful laughter seared her to the bone. “I don't blame him. She does nothing but whine and complain."

  Savannah couldn't muster a protest.

  Her heart was breaking.

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  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Mac watched two of the henchmen mount up and ride away from the shack in the direction of town. He could hardly believe his eyes. “It worked!” he whispered to Hawk. “But we've got one left—the one around back."

  With a sly gleam in his eyes, Hawk unsheathed a wicked-looking knife from his boot. “He's mine. When I give the signal, you go in the front way and take care of Barlow and Raquel."

  Hawk had slipped away before Mac realized he didn't know what the signal would be. A few moments later, Mac heard the call of a coyote, a long, mournful sound that seemed to go on forever. It sounded very close, and could be none other than Hawk, Mac decided, scrambling to his feet and running toward the shack.

  He reached the building and plastered his body to the side, edging around the corner to the porch. Finding it empty, he stepped onto the rotting boards, gingerly picking his way to the door. He burst through with his gun cocked and ready, catching Barlow by surprise.

  "Don't even try it,” Mac warned as Barlow reached for his gun. From the corner of his eye, he saw Raquel slide her hand into the folds of her dress. Thanks to Savannah, Mac was able to say, “Ma'am, I wouldn't do that if I were you. It pains me to shoot a woman, but I'll do it if I have to. Here, Roy. Hold this gun on her.” He pitched Roy a gun and prayed the boy wouldn't shoot himself accidentally.

  With supreme satisfaction, Mac watched Barlow's face as Roy aimed the pistol at Raquel. Surprise, then fury contorted the outlaw's features. Mac didn't dare look at Savannah; he couldn't afford the distraction yet.

  "Why, you little bastard!” he snarled, glaring at Roy. “How can you do this to your own Pa?"

  "You ain't never been my Pa,” Roy quavered, suddenly aiming the gun at Barlow with deadly intent. “And thanks to you, the man who was my Pa is dead now. You killed him."

  "Roy...” Mac warned, recognizing the very adult rage in the boy's eyes.

  "And now I'm gonna kill you,” Roy continued as if Mac hadn't spoken. “If you're dead, you can't hurt anybody anymore."

  "Roy,” Mac trie
d again. “He's going to prison for a long time. He can't hurt anyone there."

  A lone tear streaked down Roy's face. He rubbed at it with his sleeve. “He deserves to die, Mac! He said he killed my Pa ... the man who raised me! And if he killed my Pa, then he also killed my ma."

  Mac's deep-rooted sense of justice wavered. He, above anyone, understood Roy's anguish and rage. Hadn't he wanted Barlow dead himself? As he hesitated, he heard the rustling of skirts.

  Savannah touched his arm, but her compassionate gaze was focused on the trembling boy. Her soft voice flowed over Mac like warm honey, reminding him how much he'd missed her.

  "If you kill him ... then you become him."

  Roy glared at her, a glimmer of hysteria in his eyes. “That ain't true! I could never be like him!"

  "That's right, Roy,” she continued to croon. “You could never be like Ned, so give me the gun. Let Mac handle this."

  The tears flowed freely now, peppering Roy's tattered shirt. He couldn't wipe them away fast enough. Mac tensed as Savannah approached Roy and took the gun from his unresisting fingers. The boy went to his knees, giving in to the wrenching sobs. Savannah pressed his head against her skirts, soothing his hair with her fingers. She used her free hand to train the gun on Raquel.

  Mac removed Ned's weapon, then held out his hand for Raquel's gun. He stepped back again, glancing down at Roy. The boy's sobs had eased somewhat.

  "Roy, can you tie them up?” He was hoping to help the boy take his mind off his grief.

  Roy nodded and got to his feet. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from crying. He retrieved the rope from Mac's saddle and tied Ned and Raquel's hands securely. Together they marched them onto the porch.

  Hawk stood in the yard. On the ground at his feet were the three guards, trussed and gagged. Apparently Hawk had gone after them, knowing they would return when they realized Roy had lied.

  Mac flashed his friend a grateful smile. “Can you help Roy get them on their horses while I look for the money?” Hawk nodded, and Mac turned to go back into the shack.