The Gunsmith 406

by JR Roberts

“No.”

  They kissed again …

  After a while they moved away from the fire and spread out their blankets on the ground. Clint wasn’t being a fool. Even if Terry was trying to pull something he was taking her up on her generous offer to sample her wares. After all she was a lovely girl with smooth skin and firm breasts.

  Undressed they sank down to the blankets in a hot embrace. Clint, however, still had the presence of mind to make sure his gun was within easy reach.

  He kissed her breasts, sucked her nipples, and slid one hand down between her legs. She gasped as his fingertip found her wetness.

  “Oh God,” she said, as a shudder passed through her body.

  He didn’t know how experienced she was. After all, she was very young. He was breaking a lot of his unwritten rules lately – no sex with married women, no sex with very young women. But this young woman needed to be kept busy so that no trickery could occur to her, and this was a very pleasant way to do it.

  He kissed his way down her body and she looked down at him as he nestled his face between her legs.

  “W-what are you doing?” she asked.

  “Relax,” he said, “you’ll like it.”

  “But … nobody’s ever done that be—ohhh.” She reached down to grab his head as his tongue began to work on her.

  Initially, he thought she was going to try to pull his head away, but in the end she simply held it in her hands, and then applied pressure to keep him there.

  He moved his hands over her body, rubbing her breasts, pinching her nipples, so she’d have a variety of sensations to contend with. Finally, her entire body was wracked by spasms and he realized she’d just had an experience she’d never had before.

  As he got to his knees she folded herself into a fetal position and laid there, catching her breath.

  “You …” she said, then tried again. “You … what was that? I’ve never … felt anything like that before.”

  “That’s probably because up until now you’ve only been with boys, fumbling around in barns.”

  “Does that … is that what’s supposed to happen … every time?”

  “With the right person.”

  She looked at him, stretched her body out again, and asked. “Now what?”

  “You want more?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “I haven’t even got started, yet.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Clint was sure that Terry thought she was seducing him. He didn’t know what she had in mind beyond that, but thought he had pretty much turned the tables on her.

  They slept in each other’s arms, but she was so exhausted from the night’s activities that he was able to slip from her grasp, stoke the fire and make coffee. The smell woke her up.

  He was pouring two cups when he heard something.

  “What a night—” she started, but he silenced her with a swipe of his hand.

  Eclipse was also showing agitated signs of having heard something.

  “What is it?” she asked, keeping her voice down.

  “Somebody’s out there.”

  She turned to look. “Where?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” he said. “Just out there … somewhere.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Hunker down,” he said. ”Stay down low, no matter what happens.”

  “What’s going to happen?”

  “Get down!” he said. “They’re coming in now.”

  They both listened intently, hearing someone approaching. It took a while. Finally, a man on horseback appeared, entering their camp.

  Clint recognized him.

  “That’s Dave Peterson,” Terry said. “He works for my father.”

  “I know.”

  “Be careful,” she warned. “He wouldn’t come alone.”

  “Just stay down.”

  Clint took a few steps forward, positioned himself between the rider and the girl, and waited.

  Peterson rode up and stopped about ten feet away.

  “Adams.”

  “Peterson.”

  “You know my name.”

  “Terry knows it,” Clint told him. “I don’t know you from Adam.”

  Peterson grinned as if it was a joke, then realized it was not.

  “What do you want here?” he asked.

  “The girl, actually.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  Clint moved aside just enough for the hired gun to see Terry.

  “Miss Restin,” Peterson said, “your father has sent me to bring you home.”

  “And what happens to my original deal with Mr. Restin?” Clint asked.

  “Mr. Restin says he released you from that deal,” Peterson said.

  “And he doesn’t want me back in Festus?”

  “He doesn’t care where you go.”

  “Don’t believe him, Clint,” Terry said. “That doesn’t sound like my father.”

  “Miss Restin,” Peterson said, “you really should saddle your horse and come home with me. Your father is waiting for you.”

  “And what about going to school in Sacramento?” she asked.

  “He doesn’t care about that,” the gunman said. “He just wants you back.”

  Terry, hunkered down by the fire all this time according to Clint’s instructions, suddenly stood up and said very loudly, “No.”

  “What?”

  “No,” she repeated. “I’m not going with you. I’m staying with Clint.”

  “But Miss—”

  “You heard what she said, Peterson,” Clint said. “This play isn’t working for you, so you better just go ahead make your next one.”

  “What next one?”

  “Tell your boys to come on in.”

  “You think I need help taking care of you, Adams?” Peterson asked.

  “I’ve known men like you my whole life, Peterson,” Clint said.

  “And what kind of men are those, Adams?”

  “Your kind run in packs,” Clint said. “You don’t have the nerve to face anybody man-to-man, one against one, on your own – let alone me.”

  “That’s what you think?”

  Clint laughed.

  “That’s what I know, Peterson,” he said. “Why don’t you step down from your horse and prove me wrong?”

  “You know what, Adams?” Peterson said. “That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

  “Clint—”

  “I know, Terry,” Clint said. “Just move aside, out of the line of fire.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Rhodes, Spenser and Banks had succeeded in circling to the east and then working their way back until they were ahead of Clint Adams and Terry Restin.

  “How do we know we’re in time?” Spenser asked.

  “Yeah,” Banks said, “what if Peterson’s already dead?”

  ”Either of you hear a shot?”

  “No,” Spenser said.

  “Nuh-uh,” Banks said, shaking his head.

  “Then he’s not dead.”

  “Yeah, but still—” Spenser said.

  “Peterson and me checked our watches,” Rhodes said. “Don’t worry, we’re right where we’re supposed to be.”

  “So what do we do now?” Banks asked.

  “We dismount and move in closer.”

  “How do we know they even camped for the night?” Spenser asked.

  “Why wouldn’t they?”

  “Some people travel at night,” Banks said.

  “When they have a reason to,” Rhodes said. “Look, this was the point of us getting in front of Adams, to catch him while he was camped. Now I saw his fire last night, so I know he’s camped.”

  “And what’s Peterson doin’?” Banks asked.

  “He’s movin’ in the front.”

  “When?”

  Rhodes took out his watch, looked at it and said, “Right about now! And if we don’t move, we’re liable to hear some shots.”

  “Why didn’t Peterson te
ll all of us this plan instead of just you?”

  “Because neither of you would have remembered it, would you?”

  Banks and Spenser looked at each other.

  “Come on,” Rhodes said, “we have to move in until we hear voices …”

  Peterson watched as Terry moved away, out of the line of fire.

  “Well?” Clint said. “Either dismount or turn your horse around.”

  Peterson didn’t move. That’s when Clint realized he was waiting for something.

  Or someone.

  Or three someones.

  Clint listened intently. This could be tricky.

  Peterson was waiting, hoping that Stan Rhodes was able to get those other two idiots, Banks and Spenser, into position. Without them this plan could go terribly wrong.

  Of course, that all depended on how fast the Gunsmith was now that he was older – and whether or not Peterson was as fast as he thought he was.

  He had told Vance Restin that he could outdraw Clint Adams. He had assured his boss of that, without a doubt. He still thought he could, and Restin had told him to take care of things in a way that was sure to work – and this was it.

  But Dave Peterson still wanted to do it his way. He only wished he had some witnesses. Of course, the girl would see him gun down the Gunsmith, but she wouldn’t live much longer after that, herself.

  “You going to dismount, or turn and run, Peterson?” Clint Adams asked.

  “I’m dismounting, Adams,” he said.

  Rhodes held his hand up, stopping Spenser and Banks behind him.

  “What?” Banks asked.

  “Shh,” Rhodes said. “Listen.”

  They all listened, and they heard voices.

  “That’s them,” Rhodes said. “Okay, spread out.”

  Clint watched, listened and waited. He had to split his senses if he and Terry were going to come out of this alive.

  Peterson slid his foot out of his stirrup, brought his leg around to dismount. As he did, he drew his gun, hoping to catch Clint flat-footed.

  It didn’t work.

  Clint saw exactly what the man was doing. He drew his own gun and fired. The bullet struck Peterson solidly, yanked him right from the saddle. As he hit the ground with a thud his gun went flying.

  “Jesus!” Terry gasped. “Clint—”

  Clint looked at her, held his left hand out for her to stay put. He walked to the fallen man and checked him.

  “Is he dead?”

  “He is,” he said. “But his partners are here.”

  “Where?”

  At that moment someone stepped on a twig and it snapped, sounding like a stick of dynamite.

  “There!” he said.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Clint quickly rushed to Terry’s side and crouched down next to her.

  “Where are they?” she asked.

  “They’ll be coming in,” he explained, “now that they heard a shot.”

  “B-but … from where?” she asked. “Where will they come from?”

  “There’s three of them,” he explained, “so they’ll come from three sides.”

  Her head swiveled around as she tried to look at all sides at once.

  “All at once?”

  “Yes.”

  “But … there’s only one of you.”

  “That’s what they’re counting on.”

  “Well … give me a gun.”

  “What?”

  “I can help,” she said. “Without a gun, I’m in the way. With a gun, I can help.”

  He moved quickly to his saddle and saddlebags, grabbed his rifle and skittered back to her.

  “Can you shoot a rifle?”

  “Of course.”

  As he handed it to her, they came …

  Spenser moved first. He saw Peterson lying on the ground. The man had the money on him, that’s what he was worried about.

  “Damn it!” he swore, and broke into the open, hoping to get to Peterson’s body…

  Banks was thinking the same way. Peterson was down, probably dead, and all the money was with him. Or did Adams take it off him, already?

  He saw Spenser make his move, and started running himself, his gun held out in front of him …

  Rhodes saw that Peterson was down, and knew he had to take over, be the new leader. That meant he had to get that money from Peterson – or from Adams.

  Spenser moved first, and then he saw Banks go. He gripped his gun tightly, and followed.

  “Protect yourself!” Clint said to Terry. “Don’t try to help me, but protect yourself.”

  He stood, gun in hand, saw the men coming, one, two, and then three.

  Two of the men were running to Peterson’s body. The third man stopped in his tracks, looked at Clint and raised his gun.

  “Don’t do it!” Clint called.

  The man didn’t listen. He fired a wild shot, missed, then prepared to fire a more well aimed shot.

  Clint couldn’t wait. He fired …

  Rhodes felt the bullet strike him squarely in the chest. The air went out of his lungs, the strength faded from his hands. He dropped his gun to the ground, and then fell on top of it.

  Clint took in the action in an instant, saw that the other two men were running toward the fallen Peterson. He decided to hold off on any more shooting, and see what they had planned.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Spenser and Banks reached the fallen Dave Peterson at the same time. They started going through his pockets, and it was Spenser who came out with the envelope stuffed with money.

  “Gimme that!” Banks snapped.

  “Later!” Spenser said. “Here comes Adams!”

  They both turned as Clint advanced on them. His gun was back in his holster.

  “You boys find what you wanted?”

  The two men faced him, guns in hand. And in his left hand, Spenser had the envelope filled with money. There was no way in hell he was going to let that go.

  “Adams,” Banks said. “We don’t want no trouble. You killed Peterson and Rhodes. That’s enough for us. We’ll just mount up and be on our way.”

  “Yeah,” Spenser said. “How about it?”

  Before any of them could speak they all heard the lever on a rifle being worked.

  “Leave the money,” she said.

  “What?” Spenser asked.

  Clint turned his head just slightly, to see Terry Restin standing right next to him, her rifle trained on the two paid gunmen.

  “The money my father paid you,” she said. “You can both ride out, but you have to leave the money right there on the ground.”

  “Now look, girlie,” Banks said, almost panicking at the thought of leaving the money behind, “we earned all of that money—”

  “Oh yeah?” Clint asked. “And just how do you think you did that?”

  Neither man commented.

  “So, what exactly was your job?” Clint asked. “What were you going to do to this girl after you bushwacked and killed me?”

  “Look, Adams—”

  “What was it?” Clint asked, cutting Banks off. “Rape? Murder?”

  “Naw, naw,” Spenser said, “it wasn’t nothin’ like that. Honest.”

  “Then what?” Clint asked. “Come on, give it to us. You’ve got two choices. Tell us what we want to know, or use those guns.”

  Spenser’s left hand tightened on the envelope. He didn’t want to give it up.

  “You need this little girl to back your play, Adams?” he asked, deciding on another tactic. “That ain’t what I heard about the Gunsmith.”

  “It doesn’t really matter to me what you think you’ve heard about me,” Clint said. “I think I might just step aside and let this little girl take matters into her own hands. What do you think of that?”

  Banks laughed shortly. “That’d be givin’ her old man just what he paid us for.”

  Spenser gave his partner a dirty look, but it was too late to take the remark back.

  “And what doe
s that mean?” Clint asked. “Wait, are you trying to say her father hired the four of you to kill me, and then her?”

  The two men looked at each other, and then at the girl with the rifle.

  “You’re bluffin’,” Banks said.

  “You’re right,” Clint said. “I am bluffing.”

  The two men looked smug, but only for a moment.

  “I would never have her do something I could do myself,” Clint went on. “Now what’s it going to be? Your partners are starting to rot. We’ve got to get them buried. Are you going to walk away, or be buried with them?”

  Banks looked over at the two bodies, but Spenser looked at the money in his hand.

  “Okay,” he said, “okay, tell the girl to put the rifle down.”

  “Go on, Terry.”

  “But—”

  “Put it down and go sit by the fire.”

  “Clint—”

  “Do as I say.”

  Reluctantly, the girl lowered the rifle and walked back to the fire. Clint turned his head just slightly to make sure she went.

  Spenser held his left hand out a bit so that Banks could see the money in it, and raised his eyebrows. Banks nodded, and they both started to bring up their guns.

  “Clin—” Terry started to shout, but she realized that Clint knew what was happening, all along. As she watched, he drew his gun quicker than her eyes could follow and shot both men, who already had their guns in their hands.

  The two men fell over backwards, their guns falling from their lifeless hands. However, Spenser’s left hand closed tightly around the envelope of money.

  Terry ran to Clint’s side.

  “You knew,” she said.

  “They had to try it,” Clint said. “It was all about that money.”

  Terry stepped forward, reached down carefully to grab the envelope in Spenser’s hand without actually touching the dead man. She had to pull very hard to free it from his death grip.

  “We’ll take that money back to your father,” Clint said to her.

  “Why the hell would we do that!” Terry asked. “This is yours.”