Channing managed to fight through the daze and raise his head. He glared at Harland. “If it’s any consolation, I would rather bed with a rattler than touch Caroline. If she is with child, it isn’t mine,” he said tersely.
“Are you calling my sister a whore?” Harland fumed.
“She certainly isn’t a saint.”
Harland had never been able to manage his temper, to the point Channing knew one day, it would be self-destructive, and his lack of control would be the reason for his demise. He shifted his attention to see what the others were doing, and then focused on Harland, who cursed up a storm. Apparently, so far into his childish tantrum, he had lost focus. It was just the opportunity needed, and he intended to take full advantage.
Blowing out air, he ignored the screaming pain and went after Harland with a vengeance. Harland’s squeal alerted the others there was trouble. By the time the three men whirled around, Channing’s fingers were digging into Harland’s larynx, cutting off his oxygen. “I prefer to handle matters amicably, but obviously you like to do things dirty. I don’t take kindly to you wanting to hang me for an offense I didn’t commit,” Channing breathed.
“Shoot the bastard!”
The twig with the nasty mouth withdrew his pistol and aimed. A shot rang out and echoed through the quietness. The next actions were a dizzying whirlwind of activity. Everybody seemed to move at once, Channing ducked and rolled, and another pop pop sounded. There was a blur of movement…Channing had Harland’s gun in his hand. He pulled the trigger and nothing happened. The gun jammed.
“You always had a cheap taste in weapons,” Channing said. He tossed the gun aside.
“You lose, injun,” Harland said. He caught the rifle his partner tossed to him. “I would prefer to see you dangling from a tree, but the gunshots might send someone coming, and I can’t afford to be seen. You get to die the easy way, with a bullet between your eyes.”
Channing stared at him unflinching.
The crackle of gunfire vibrated, smoke lingered in the air, and then Channing watched Harland drop dead. Before he could assess who had made the shot, another rung out, and the twig clutched his chest and toppled over, falling face first into the dirt. He whirled around as another gunshot sounded, the bullet whizzed by his head too close for comfort, and then he heard the thud as the final assailant fell.
Channing dived and secured one of the weapons on the ground closest to his feet, seeing a shadowy figure emerge from the cluster of trees and step into the sunlight.
Noor and Channing faced off. Each pointed a gun at the other.
Channing eyed the man suspiciously. “You plan on trying to use that gun on me?”
Noor didn’t bat an eye. “Not if you don’t give me a reason.”
“I think we can both agree that would be uncouth of me since you came to my aid.” Channing grinned, and tossed the weapon away.
“It seems we are in accord.” Noor holstered his gun.
“You’re fast. One of the fastest guns I have witnessed in a long time.” Harland tossed his knife and gun in the tall grass, which he scanned. The sunlight reflected off the metal and caught his attention. He walked over and searched the area until he found the weapons. Habitually, he checked the Colt, sheathed it, and strolled to where his horse wandered by the tall grass. He patted the animal and called over his shoulder. “Thank you for the assistance. My name is Channing, by the way.”
Chapter Four
“You’re welcome.” Noor whistled for his horse.
He noticed Channing examined the animal appreciatively. “Nice stock. She’s a beauty. This is the first I have seen the grulla breed and doubted its existence until now. How did you acquire the animal?”
Noor came close to saying he selected the animal from the images the historians showed him. The breed, pronounced grew-yuh, caught his attention because of the coloring, a dark slate gray, almost blue black, with a white stripe down the back. The specimen’s uniqueness intrigued him. “My father was fortunate enough to come across her and purchased the horse for me.”
“Your father paid a handsome price. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Noor Rynoir.” He extended his hand and they shook on their new acquaintance.
“Well, Noor Rynoir, I can honestly say it’s nice to meet a stranger,” Channing said. He raked his fingers through coal black hair, setting it off his forehead, and revealed strong facial features, a defined jaw line, and brown warm but intense eyes. Maybe too serious for someone Channing’s age, Noor thought, wondering how old he might be.
“As much as I would like to leave this mess behind and head home, the sheriff wouldn’t appreciate it. My obligation is to go into town and inform him about what happened here. Sheriff Jacob will want to talk to you as well. Were you going anywhere in particular when you came across this fiasco?” Channing mounted his horse.
He followed suit and did the same, secured the horse’s reins, and kept pace with Channing. “If I were, my assumption is my direction has changed based on what you just said.”
“That would be correct. You’re not from around here.” Was it stamped on his forehead? “If you don’t mind me asking, where are you from, and what brings you to Legend, Texas? Occasionally, we get a couple of wagon trains, even fewer loners this far south who travel through our territory without good cause. We’re a few miles from the Mexico border, and sometimes renegades who escaped to there from the law cross back over and commit criminal acts, and then return. The terrain is harsh, dry, and flat for miles with nothing but dust and tumbleweed until you reach the mountains. There are only a few locations to find fresh water, and a man has to know his way around or he’ll bake before he reaches an inhabited area.” Channing glanced at Noor. “European?” he asked.
Magnus, he thought. He said instead, “No.”
“Hmm, I thought I detected a slight accent.”
He made a mental note. A group of renowned linguists tutored him on the appropriate dialect, terminology, and slang he might encounter. He felt comfortable he wouldn’t botch it with the speech and pronunciation of words, but it was unavoidable he might err on occasion and let his accent slip through.
There were two days of non-stop education and instructions from historians about the culture, environment, fashion, food, and social etiquette hammered into his head. When time ran short, they uploaded a data implant module he could access, if needed. By the time he was ready to travel, he considered himself sufficiently equipped to assimilate into the Wild West with minimal issues.
Don’t ask, don’t tell, Noor thought, and unless Channing intended to drill him for answers, he’d remain vague as possible, and wouldn’t volunteer any information.
“Did you come to experience the adventures of the Wild West?”
“What makes you think I’m not from some other region of Texas?” If he was throwing out clues he felt like a duck out of water, he needed to know what they were so he could adjust and correct the mistakes before encountering others. Duck out of water. Noor smiled inwardly. He was already thinking in clichés for this period.
“The Winchester repeater is one of the finest assembled, expensive, and not a weapon you can purchase in a local mercantile, because most common people can’t afford it. You shot with eagle eye accuracy, which means you can handle the rifle. Although, if you used it a lot, I would imagine more wear on the handle or gunmetal. Like a good woman, leather will mold around you comfortably after several uses. If you treat it right.” Channing grinned. “Your boots still have the luster and smell of new leather. The sun is high, hot, but I get the impression you’re more uncomfortable in the slacks, shirt, and vest for other reasons than the heat. You keep tugging at the collar, by the way. You have city written all over you, even though I sense an underlining lethalness you try to subdue for whatever reason.”
Channing would be a good partner during an undercover operation. With his eye for detail and intuition, he doubted anything slipped by him. He had to remember such
and stay on his toes around him.
And inquisitive, he noticed, seeing Channing about to ask another question. He steered the conversation to different topic.
“So, Harland couldn’t think of anything better to do with his life except harass you unnecessarily. It seems like a waste of time. The fact he intended to kill you with such a barbaric method is unfathomable.” He realized his blunder when Channing looked at him quizzically. In this era, hanging was a common occurrence and used by the law to mete out punishment for criminals. “I meant in the scheme of things,” he said. His generic comment really didn’t mean anything to clarify his mistake for using the term barbaric. If Channing noticed, he let him pass.
“Matt Graham raised a spoiled brat who lacked fundamental rearing, intellect, and a conscience, so it’s safe to assume eventually he would succumb to a premature death,” he said unremorsefully.
They rode in silence a good distance. Each was entranced in his own thoughts, basking in the quiet solitude surrounding the area as the sun shifted direction and dulcet shading covered the expanse of land that was welcoming, cooling, as Noor contemplated their discussion and its impact on his mission. With Channing placid, he had a moment to scan the internal file on the prejudices between Caucasians and Native Indians and read over the content.
Within his world, there were discriminations related to specie types rather than skin coloring, and it presented problems on some planets more than others. Before his father married his mother, Magnus law prohibited the intermingling of classes except for procreation. Magnus males could breed with Earthlings and it was acceptable and became a common practice when extinction threatened the Magnus race due to the experiment of one scientist who created a drug that offered selective breeding and accelerated births.
His father met his mother this way, and by the grace of the Immaculate Providence, instead of things turning out differently, they’d married. Because his father’s heritage made him royalty, selecting a non-Magnus woman, an Earthling at that, caused all types of complications until his father was able to have the law nullified. It didn’t stop the misconception unique genetics made someone a medical foible. For this reason, the census act required all mixed specie births documented and closely monitored to ensure pure Magnus people remained the majority.
What his father accomplished set a precedence other planets followed, with the exception of a few who refused to accept certain conditions of tolerance. Oridus being at the forefront, its constitution made it illegal for someone of a different race to reign over the nation.
He understood why Channing seemed bitter. It was ludicrous that people judged one another by a skin tone or a culture. Some species could shape shift to appear however they wanted, which solidified in his head the exterior of a person was nothing more than a vessel and didn’t reveal the true nature of a person. It was what was inside that counted.
The sun descended behind the mountains and made him think of time, something which seemed to tick by at a faster pace than he anticipated, and roaming around lost for a full day and a half hadn’t helped matters. At home, he would have had a global-positioning device with all coordinates programmed, pertinent sites tagged, real-time update notifications, and a homing chip seeker module. He’d relied on because it could seek out targets and insert a microorganism in the person under surveillance and was a handy device. It made apprehension easier when he was ready to snag them. Not to mention a full team of resources at his disposal who could assist with the legwork. Unfortunately, another drawback was some static materials didn’t transport and he had to do things the old-fashioned way. He had studied about the Wild West, often depicted as untamed and uncivilized wilderness, in the reading material, but he hadn’t realized the truthfulness of the documentation until now.
The inconveniences he encountered so far made him appreciate modern technology, like transportation that didn’t excrete bodily functions and vapors smelling like…a horse’s ass. He had to smile at that. What did he expect? Noor thought, watching the horse’s tail swishing back and forth and fanning the air, stirring around the dust and heat. The concentration of the weather surpassed unbearable, and if he longed for anything presently, it would be the temper-controlled environment of Sanguine. To feel the rush of pureaire pumped from the huge generators running beneath the grates to blast him and cool his body. He pushed his hat further down on his face. It helped to ease the constant beat of the sun against his skin. A small measure of relief, he ached to inhale without feeling as if he sucked in air through a syringe.
When he returned home, he’d value things he’d taken for granted.
Noor swatted at the annoying little flying things continual buzzing around his horse. “I’m looking for a woman,” he said. He didn’t have time to miss an opportunity to gather intel.
Channing grinned. “I know a few around these parts who are more than willing. The color of your skin doesn’t matter, as long as you have money.”
He hadn’t considered his complexion would be a problem until Channing made the comment. His mother had ebony skin, and out of all his siblings, he had a similar complexion but never considered it a factor until now.
Now that Channing brought it to his attention, he had to make sure he had a viable response if someone questioned his ethnicity, which was likely in this period. With what Channing just revealed about prejudices, he realized it might be a major issue when he found his target if he decided to pass off his race as a mixed breed. He glanced at Channing. Their skin tones weren’t an exact match. His was a deeper hue resembling weak tea but passable if he had to go that route to explain his ethnicity.
A sudden thought occurred to him. If his coloring was an issue, it could present a problem in acquiring the target if she had this prejudice nonsense in her head.
The thought he might have to force the woman to come to Sanguine never crossed his mind. Nothing physical, of course, but strong persuasion might be necessary. “Money is not an issue,” he said dryly, thinking about the new possibility that might add complications to the mission.
Channing glanced at Noor, his eyebrow raised marginally. “You came all this way to find a woman? What, you don’t have many eligible females readily available from wherever you reside?”
He could tell Channing joked, and he answered the question evasively. “I’m looking for a special female.” Specifically, the Agaci legacy, he thought. Of course, he knew that would be asking too much, and not to mention an insane blunder to reveal too much too soon to a stranger.
Channing’s expression pleasant, he said, “Aren’t we all? There’s something about you, Noor, I can’t put my finger on it, but you’re different. However, not to appear gauche or tenacious…my normal preference when a puzzle is presented to me, you have a right to your privacy. Perhaps, more so, you did me a huge favor with Harland and his misfits, even though saving my life doesn’t compare to finding you a woman. It’s only proper to return the favor.”
Chapter Five
Noor glanced at the two-story wooden structure with the brightly illuminated windows, railed porch where several horses were tied to a wooden post, and barrels of water in front before they entered the establishment.
As soon as they entered through the swinging double doors of Beck’s Saloon, the crowd inside paused. All eyes focused on Channing and gave him a cursory glance before the piano player started pounding the keyboard and the buxom blonde with ruby red lips and strong vocals began singing again. She was off tune, but in the smoke-filled noisy room, no one seemed to notice. The bartender poured shots, the group at the table continued playing cards, and the atmosphere returned to normal except for a few men who kept a wary eye on them.
“I thought for a minute there was going to be trouble,” he said.
Channing gave him a lopsided grin and set his hat back on his forehead. Damp dark strands fell in his face and he brushed them behind an ear. “I don’t make it a habit to come into town because there is usually one or two illustrious gunsli
ngers hanging around, aching to prove I’m not the fastest gun in these parts. It’s not a reputation I sought readily,” he said, and shrugged. “Just the way it is. I have learned to ignore the fact some don’t take kindly to my unsolicited title and want nothing more than to kill me to prove they are faster.”
“I don’t understand.”
“A quick gun can make a lot of money. Some just feed off ego and benefit from the fear their mere presence incites when they ride into town. Then there are the overzealous illustrious types who aspire for more than notoriety. The kind of men who enjoy killing…like him, who is always itching for a fight, just so you know.” He motioned to a man standing at the bar.
Noor glanced at the man and gave him the once-over. He did a quick assessment of his attire, black vest, boots with silver spurns, and dark leather chaps. He wore a hat pushed low over his forehead, which shielded him from getting a good look at his eyes. His appearance alone signaled danger. He had encountered his type on Sanguine in the worst parts of the city where the seediest people hung out. The clothes were different, but the mannerisms and the unsettling sensation he felt in the man’s presence told him everything he needed to know. He wasn’t going to turn his back on him. It was obvious the gunslinger ached for trouble.
As soon as they reached the bar, an older man sitting there swirled around on the bar stool. He noticed the starched, white, button-down shirt and shiny tin star affixed to it. An authority man, he thought. He was middle-aged with thick leathery skin and intense brown eyes that examined him like a potential suspect. He turned his attention to Channing.
“What brings you into town at this hour? Not like you, Channing.” He saw the sheriff glance at the gunslinger. His tone sounded weary, as if he thought Channing’s presence would cause all hell to break lose.
Pure Desire [Pure 3] (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 4
