Emmett turned the doorknob as slowly and quietly as possible and eased the door open, hoping it wouldn’t groan too loudly on its hinges. A cold tingle wriggled down his spine when it emitted a whine that felt as loud as a cavalry bugle.
Wood popped at the far end of the upstairs hallway. Was someone waiting for him to step out? Would lead fly as soon as he made his next move?
With his thumb on the hammer of his .44, he readied the coin in his free hand. No more dallying. He drew a deep breath, cocked his arm, and sailed the quarter dollar down the length of the hallway.
The coin struck the bannister at the top of the stairs at the far end of the hall and clattered downward. Clear as a bell, Emmett heard a door up the hall swing on its hinges. Someone shifted on the stairs.
He cocked the Colt and stepped out, leveling the gun as he went.
Someone emerged from the farthest room down the hall, swung to face him, and dropped an arm—to let lead fly, he supposed.
In that split second, Emmett spotted movement behind the first shooter—half a body rising in the stairwell, bringing up his own gun.
Emmett’s mind suddenly interpreted what his eyes were seeing.
“Li!” he shouted, even as he swung his own weapon a hair to the left and squeezed the trigger.
Three flashes in the dimness of the hallway. Three thunder bursts.
Glass exploded behind Emmett. A scream gagged itself in the stairwell. And Li hovered right where she was.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Arm still extended, ready to fire again, Emmett bolted forward to reach his wife.
Shooting erupted downstairs, left and right.
No longer caring how much noise he made, Emmett cried out, “Li! Talk to me.”
She raced toward him. “I almost shot you.” She began to cry. “I almost shot you, Emmett.”
“But you didn’t.” He clutched her in his left arm. His side hurt like hell from the gunfight in the saloon the other night, but that didn’t matter.
His gun hand still ready should anyone move in the stairwell, he asked her, “Are you hit?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
The gunfire below fell silent.
Emmett held Li close and called out, “Juanito?”
No answer.
Li gripped him tighter.
“Who was in the room with you?” he whispered into her ear.
“Geneve and Lupita,” she whispered back.
“Everyone OK in there?”
He felt her silky hair against his cheek as she nodded.
After leading her several steps up the hallway, he gave her a gentle nudge. “Go back in there with the ladies,” he murmured. “Keep that Lightning ready.”
She hesitated but then let go and shut herself inside the room.
Before moving again, Emmett called out, “Taft, you OK?”
Some piece of furniture scraped the wood flooring downstairs, but no one answered.
Emmett edged forward toward the top of the stairs.
Once in place, he bobbed out and back again to steal a hasty glance into the lobby below.
Instantly, a shot sounded, and a bullet ripped one of the stair rail spindles into splinters.
He glanced at the landing and saw that the man he’d dropped when he’d fired past Li was the redhead, Russ Johnson. Russ was lying there with his chest in a pool of blood and his legs draped down the stairs. A chunk of his neck was missing. That would leave Taft’s lookout man, plus the one with the stringy blond hair downstairs. Maybe more.
Another gunshot from below sent a bullet smashing into the wall to Emmett’s left.
Emmett readied himself. Keeping his Colt pointed down the stairwell, he darted to where Russ lay.
From square atop the stairs, he could see that no one occupied the part of the lobby directly ahead of him. The green settee was empty.
He stooped cautiously and retrieved Russ Johnson’s gun.
Any noise on the stairs would give away his progress to the short-trigger man below.
An idea came to him. He stuffed Russ’s Remington into his waistband and dropped his own Colt into its holster. Then—already anticipating the pain this was going to send tearing through his side—he squatted, hooked Russ Johnson’s body under the armpits, and hoisted the corpse.
Sure enough, pain sliced like a hot knife through his flank. Gritting his teeth, he let the dead weight in his arms pull him a few treads down the stairs.
He paused.
There was shuffling below and to the left.
No finessing this plan any longer. He drew a breath, took one more step down, and heaved Russ’s body forward. His hands free now, he drew both six-guns and followed the corpse to the foot of the stairs.
The gunman below took the bait and fired at his dead compadre.
Emmett dashed into the lobby, thumbing and firing both pistolos.
Taft’s witness—the one with the thick mustache and stringy blond hair—grimaced at him from behind a wingback chair near the front doors. He thrust his gun forward and let fly.
Emmett squeezed both triggers.
His Stetson flew off. In that same blink of an eye, one of the slugs he’d unleashed punched the stringy haired desperado right in the wishbone.
The outlaw staggered back a step, gaze still focused and glowering. With great effort, he raised his gun hand once again. Thumbed the hammer. Only then did his arm flag.
Emmett snapped off another shot.
The outlaw’s eyes went wide. He coughed. Then collapsed.
Emmett’s scanned the room corner to corner, searching for additional threats.
Through the open front doors, he could see folks from the saloon timidly making their way out into the street. The way they approached, it was unlikely that any gunmen waited out on the front porch.
Guardedly, he made his way toward the restaurant door. It was only when he edged to the side to check behind the hotel’s front desk that Emmett spied Taft’s body stretched out on the floor.
Finding no other gunmen lurking behind the counter, he bent to check whether Taft was still breathing. As instincts had told him, the saloon owner was gone.
“Hermano?” came the call from the kitchen.
Still scrutinizing the fallen saloon owner, Emmett answered, “Sí, Juanito?”
“Hurry back here.”
Emmett frowned. Did Juanito’s voice sound peculiar? Weak?
Six-gun still leveled in front of him, Emmett rushed through the doorway into the hotel restaurant. No one at all was there, living or dead.
When he entered the kitchen, he found Juanito in the back doorway, squatting beside a body sprawled on the floor.
“This one’s still alive,” Juanito said.
It was the one in the black shirt, feebly moving a hand and mumbling.
Emmett gave a quick glance back into the dining room then hurried to the outstretched outlaw.
“Deputy,” the outlaw murmured, eyes half-closed. “Mackey and…deputy.” His head lolled to the side.
Emmett knelt beside the outlaw. “Mackey and the deputy what?” he asked.
“Mackey.” The outlaw’s breathing was shallow and labored. His chest was blood-soaked, as was his thigh. “Deputy’s…idea.”
Emmett had to lower his ear close to the outlaw’s mouth to hear the man speak now. “Tell me,” Emmett said in a soothing voice.
“To rob Ta—” The only thing to escape the outlaw’s lips after that was his dying exhalation.
Eyeing Juanito, Emmett asked, “Did he tell you anything else?”
Juanito shook his head. “I expect we’re lucky we got this much.”
One by one, Emmett and Juanito hauled the bodies out back and laid them side by
side—Taft, the fellow in the black shirt, the one with the mustache and stringy blond hair, and the redheaded Russ Johnson.
Once done, Emmett pressed his palm against his aching side. “Taft and all his witnesses.”
“You mean Taft and the men who robbed him.” Juanito used his thumb to scratch at a bloodstain on his sleeve.
“And look what good it did ’em.”
Emmett glanced at the lights in the hotel windows. Lupita had insisted that they needed to get the blood out of the rugs before the stains set. Li and Geneve were inside doing what they could to help the poor woman.
His gaze returned to Taft’s lifeless body. Fine clothes. A man of some means. A lot of it earned by reading other gamblers—men who’d tried to bluff him and men who’d held winning hands. Funny he hadn’t made such good use of those same talents when it came to dealing with the no-counts who’d ended up killing him. Seemed like Taft had seen what he’d wanted to see…until it was too late.
Juanito heaved a sigh. “Hell of a thing that it’s not over yet.”
“Hell of a thing indeed. That deputy’s still walking around as though he had nothing whatsoever to do with all this.”
“You know what makes me angry enough to spit?”
Emmett eyed his brother-in-law. “There’s plenty enough in this whole affair to make a man angry. What’s on your mind?”
“Over money that neither you nor I ever cared one iota about, our women could have ended up just like this.” He gestured with his chin toward the shot-up bodies.
The truth of Juanito’s point hit Emmett like a mule kick to the middle. Then he raised an eyebrow. “Our women?”
“Li. Your woman, of course. And since Cage killed Sikes”—Juanito shrugged—“I’ve been thinking…”
“You and Geneve?”
In the midst of all the madness and danger, Emmett’s heart warmed for a moment. He recalled the way Juanito had been lingering close to Taft’s former upstairs girl, shielding her as much as he could from the boss who had gotten rough with her.
Juanito looked Emmett in the eyes. “I like her. I always have.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything, pard?”
Looking up at the hotel, Juanito said, “I guess I just felt like Sikes got there before me.”
Emmett punched his brother-in-law’s arm. “Sikes would be pleased to know you’re looking after her. Does she know how you feel about her?”
Juanito shook his head.
Emmett glanced at the corpses. “I suppose Li and I had better ride down to old-town San Elizario to fetch the marshal. Maybe you and Geneve can have a little talk before we get back?”
“I don’t know. It’s been a tough few weeks for Geneve.”
A light breeze stirred the night air.
“You two’ll be OK while we’re gone, though, hmm?”
“We’ll be OK.” Juanito gestured in the direction of El Paso. “I’ll keep my guns loaded and ready, though—just in case Deputy Livingston comes calling before you get back.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
By the time Emmett and Li returned with San Elizario’s town marshal, it was approaching midnight. Walking the marshal through the murders of the Singletons and then through the subsequent shoot-out took Emmett and his party well into the wee hours of the morning. By that point, everyone was too exhausted to saddle up for El Paso.
Emmett decided they would all sleep better at a hotel down in the old town rather than up at the Singletons’ place alongside the railroad station. Not only were the memories too fresh and the odors too foul from the recent bloodbaths there, but they all agreed—it was possible that when Russ Johnson and his boys didn’t return to El Paso that night, Warren Livingston might set out to investigate what had become of them. Two shoot-outs in the course of three nights were already more than enough.
In the darkness of their simple room at the Hotel Oñate in San Elizario, Emmett ran his fingers through Li’s silky hair. In his mind, he saw her standing in the upstairs hallway of the Singletons’ hotel. He saw the three bursts of flame and heard the three explosions of gunfire. His body gave a sudden shudder.
“What’s the matter, my love?” she whispered.
He swallowed. “I can’t keep putting you in so much danger.”
After a moment’s silence, she said, “I’m OK.” Her answer was no stronger than a soft breath of wind.
“You and I came a fraction of a second and mere inches from gunning each other down tonight.”
Again she was quiet before answering. “I have to confess, it scared me.”
He pulled her to himself and held her. “I’m very sorry.”
“I don’t mean that you scared me—I was frightened that I might have shot you.” She stroked his face gently and then kissed him.
“If it had been another ranger up there—me and Juanito nearly shooting each other—it would’ve been bad enough, but I can’t lose you, Li. I can’t.”
She kissed him again.
“I’ve still got to deal with Warren Livingston,” he said. “I don’t want you to be part of that.”
“Let’s not talk about this anymore,” she whispered. “Let’s just be glad we’re still together.”
She kissed him more intensely now. Her caresses soon made him forget the events of the prior few days—as well as his fears of tomorrow. All he wanted to do was show her how much she meant to him.
With El Paso on the western horizon, Emmett, Li, Juanito, and Geneve reined their horses off the main road and began to make a wide arc to the north and then to the west. They wanted to enter the city unnoticed. Warren Livingston would certainly be watching the usual route from San Elizario into El Paso. He might have men watching other roads, as well.
Besides finishing matters with Livingston, they needed to check on Jack VanDorn over at Doc Simons’s house. And the deputy would certainly know they wanted to do that. Even if they were to make it into the city unobserved, it was unlikely they’d get to the doctor’s place without being seen.
Juanito adjusted his broad-brimmed sombrero to sit better over his bandaged head. “What do you think about going right at Livingston before we even try to check on Jack?”
Emmett had been pondering that option for hours.
He glanced at Li astride her light-bay mare, then back at Geneve. Li was dressed in her own riding clothes—trim-fitting boy’s range clothes and boots, essentially. Being that anonymity was no longer critical, her duster was rolled and tied behind her saddle’s cantle. Despite his feelings about the close call in the hallway of the Singletons’ hotel, he had to admit that she was coming into her own as a gunhand. She was talented, reliable, and remarkably steady under fire.
Boy’s clothes or not, capable with a gun or not, it struck him afresh that she was still every bit the woman. A fireball, yet petite and lovely of form and face. And consummately ladylike at all the right times.
Geneve, showing a flash of fair-skinned leg where her cotton-print dress rode up above her button-up boots, was, on the other hand, a different kind of woman. Emmett imagined Geneve could handle a hide-out gun if a man pressed his luck with her up close. She possessed the kind of toughness that came with her former profession—her own ways of coping with the uglier side of life. But Emmett couldn’t envision Geneve taking care of herself like Li in a stand-up, shoot-’em-down fight. They’d need to find a place for Geneve to hide out while he and Juanito dealt with Livingston, whether head on or employing subtler tactics.
“What about the El Paso County sheriff?” Li asked. “Can we go to him and tell him what we found out about Deputy Livingston?”
Emmett thought for a moment. “We’ve got a dead man’s testimony—and not many words, at that. Plus what you saw—Livingston shooting at the marshal and Taft during the fandango in the saloon the other night.”
“And you don’t kno
w whether the sheriff will accept the testimony of a Chinese girl,” she said.
“I have no idea what he thinks of Chinese women. Bigger question is what he thinks about Livingston—what he’s willing to believe.”
“What’ll we do then?” Geneve asked.
Emmett reined in his pinto a few yards shy of where the ground took a sudden, precipitous plunge of thirty feet or more. “Hang on while I figure out how we’re gonna negotiate our way down this drop-off.”
He decided they’d follow the ridge directly toward El Paso until they found a gentler downward slope.
Guiding his horse between two stands of blooming yuccas, he asked, “Geneve, how long did you live in El Paso?”
“Two years, more or less.”
“Do you know of a quiet place where you and Li can safely wait for Juanito and me while we size up the situation?”
When he glanced back, he saw that Li was frowning at him from beneath her low-crowned, black Stetson.
A gust of hot wind stirred the desert air.
With one hand, Geneve held on to her floppy plainsman hat. “Would it be wrong if we stayed with a man friend?”
Emmett’s gaze darted instinctively to Juanito. His brother-in-law had not yet had that talk with Geneve.
“How do you know this man?” Juanito asked reservedly.
Geneve looked away. “He used to come see me sometimes…at the Wild Hog.”
Juanito drew a breath, but before he could say anything else, Geneve added, “Then he quit seeing me there.” She turned back toward the others. “He told me that if I ever needed to get away from all that and just talk to a man who didn’t—you know—that he’d be glad to fix supper for me sometime. So I went there two or three times.”
All four were quiet for a moment. The horses plodded along under the blazing afternoon sun.
“Was he sweet on you?” Emmett asked. He didn’t want Geneve to go to a place where an old flame might be rekindled just when Juanito was beginning to admit his affections for her.
“He might’ve been,” she said.
Li saved Emmett and Juanito from having to voice additional uncomfortable questions. “Why did you quit going to see him?” she asked.
Strong Suspicions (Emmett Strong Westerns Book 2) Page 25
