by Linda Broday
He set the cup on the ground beside him, picked up a handful of pebbles, and tossed a couple at a time into the stream. “Ain’t nothin’ you done, Miss Yancey.” After he tossed a few more pebbles, he said, “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Supper’s waiting.”
He stood and brushed the dirt off the seat of his britches. “Best I check on the pigs, then I’ll be in.”
Griz barked, startling Celia. He continued barking combined with a howl.
“Stay right here, Miss Yancey, while me’n Griz go see who our visitor is.” After a few strides, he turned back and said, “Stay down. If you hear gunshots, take off across the creek and hide behind that hill. It’ll stop any rounds headed your direction.”
She couldn’t decide whether to stay there or find the hiding spot before the firing started. One thing she knew for sure—she needed to have Ross teach her how to clean and shoot the Peacemaker she’d brought with her.
Within a few minutes, Griz bounded toward her, followed by Ross. “You can come to the house now. It’s the sheriff, and he’d like to talk to you.”
Ross had told her the sheriff would want a statement, even though at no time had she seen any of the robbers, nor had she shot any of them. Nevertheless, she hurried to the house. The sheriff’s horse stood at rest with one hind hoof tipped, and he sat on the porch, smoking a cigar. When she walked up, Ross said, “Sheriff, this is Miss Celia Yancey, the only passenger on the stagecoach.”
Celia’s face heated when she realized she still wore Ross’s clothing. The sheriff eyed her up and down as he stood and tipped his hat.
“My pleasure, Miss Yancey.”
She wasn’t quite sure what to do—one didn’t curtsy when one wore britches, did one? She decided a curtsy would look ridiculous. “Nice to meet you, sheriff.” Ross held the door open to the cabin and she walked through. “We were just about to have a bite to eat. Would you like to join us for supper?”
“Smells mighty fine.”
He arched his back as gunfire rang out, and fell on the porch, blood seeping from his back.
****
“Get down!” Ross grabbed both the sheriff’s hands and dragged the wounded man inside, leaving a trail of blood. Griz sniffed it, then followed them into the house.
Celia, crouching against the wall, flipped the door closed. “Do you think it was the robbers?” The robbers knew who Ross was—they’d called him Flare.
“Yep, the Sully gang. Don’t know if they were aiming at the sheriff or me.”
The sheriff needed attention, but she didn’t know if they’d be shot at again. Ross seemed to know what to do, though, which calmed her some. “I’ll get some water and rags.”
“All right, but stay down. Don’t give them a target through the window.” Then he muttered, “Should’ve left the curtains up.”
The sheriff moaned as Ross rolled him onto his belly. On her hands and knees, Celia crawled to the table, grabbed the bowl she’d set out for Ross’s soup earlier, and filled it half full with water from the bucket by the stove. The rags were too high for her to reach without standing so she tucked the dishtowel in her waistband. Then, still on all fours, she scooted the bowl to the sheriff’s side.
“Will he heal?” she asked. The sight of blood made her stomach squeamish but she didn’t dare surrender to such nonsense.
“No way of knowing—I ain’t a doctor. I seen men shot full of holes that should’ve died and didn’t, and I seen men with just a scratch not make it.” As he pulled the sheriff’s shirt up and pressed the dish towel over the wound, he said, “You take care of him while I see where the shooters are.”
“I’ll take care of him, Ross, but please don’t go skulking around outside. If it’s you they want dead, they’ll be waiting.”
“Might as well get it over with, then.” The way he set his jaw, Celia could see no use in trying to talk him out of it. Griz, either, judging from his whining.
“Whatever you think’s best. But would you load my Peacemaker before you go?” She crawled to the bureau and fetched it, along with the box of bullets, and brought it to him. “Do it slow, so I can see how to load it myself.”
He was a good teacher and she caught right on. After she assured him that she could load the pistol herself, he buckled on a brace of six-guns, then crawled to the corner and picked up a rifle.
“How are you going to get out without presenting yourself as a target in the door?” she asked, remembering what he said about the window.
“I have another way.” He moved the cot and opened a trap door in the floor. The dog trotted over to check it out, and Ross shoved him away from the entrance. “If you need to get out of the house, Celia, this here tunnel will take you to that hill I showed you earlier. There’s a pile of rocks—looks like a grave but it’s not. Move the rocks and scrape off the dirt. You’ll find a box that has jerky, a canteen, and some money. Ammunition, too, but none for a Peacemaker. Be sure to take the box of cartridges with you.”
He sat on the floor, put his feet through the opening, and climbed down the ladder a few steps, then stopped. “If you’re able to take a horse, use the one I rode. He’s a little harder to handle than the other one, but he’s faster than the wind and he can run all day.”
The sheriff groaned as he sat up, holding his side. “She’s going with you, Flare.”
“You’re in no damned shape to stay here by yourself, Sheriff.” He nodded at Celia, “Pardon my French, ma’am.”
The sheriff grunted as he struggled to his knees. “And you can’t leave your woman in a cabin that’s likely surrounded with no one to protect her but a man with a hole in his side.” He crawled over to the front door, his face screwed up in pain. “She’s going. I’m covering you. If I die, you can toss me to the coyotes, but at least you’ll have your woman with you.”
****
Miss Yancey would be a liability whether Ross left her or took her. The sheriff likely wouldn’t make it one way are the other, and since he was so all fired set on it, Ross might as well take her. He struck a lucifer and lit a kerosene lantern.
“Stay, Griz. Keep the sheriff company.” To Celia, he said, “Come on, Miss Yancey. And no squealing at spiders.”
She grabbed a wooden spoon and crawled to the trapdoor. “Spiders don’t bother me, but cobwebs, I could do without.”
“You’d better stuff the pistol in your waistband while we’re in the tunnel. It ain’t too roomy.”
She did as he told her, but it looked like it would fall out, so he crawled beside her and positioned the weapon securely in her britches. His britches that she wore. The intimacy of her wearing his clothes—and touching her—roused his protectiveness and a little of something else.
“Do you think they’re still out there?” she asked.
A rifle shot shattered the window, and the two of them flattened to the floor.
“Yep.” He jumped into the hole, standing on a ladder. “Come on.”
Celia hesitated, but when he tugged at her arm, she came right along. He had to hand it to her—she never shied from a hardship.
“Why do you have a tunnel?” she asked once they climbed down and had entered the lateral passageway. He hadn’t been joking about the small size, and he barely fit. His arms occasionally brushed the shoring and he couldn’t stand up straight.
“Didn’t have anything better to do last winter while I was snowed in, and I thought it would be easier to fetch water from the creek if I had a tunnel, so I started digging.” Then, too, in the back of his mind, he knew Sully would come after him. If not Sully, then it would’ve been the relative of some other wanted man Ross had captured or killed.
“But those men know you,” Celia said as she waved the wooden spoon in front of her to clear the cobwebs. “Back at the stagecoach, one of them called you Flare.”
“A lot of men know me. Don’t mean I wanna have anything to do with them. I’m a farmer now.” He wished she’d quit asking questions he didn’t want to answer.
“What were you before? Were you a lawman?”
“For a while. Ain’t much money in it, though, unless you straddle the fence, which I won’t do.”
“So after that, you bought this farm?”
“After a fashion.”
“But what did you do during the fashion?”
“Hunted.”
She was finally quiet so maybe her curiosity was finally satisfied.
“Hunting what?”
He didn’t answer, and after a spell she gasped. “Were you a bounty hunter?”
She was too bright a lantern not to guess, but it saddened him that she had. “Good money at it. Done now, though. I’m a farmer.”
“The tunnel was a good decision. Others might come looking for you.”
“That’s a fact.” He slowed when he saw daylight. “Don’t talk unless you have to,” he whispered. “We’re just about there. You stay here until I take a look around, and then I’ll come back for you if I think it’s all right for you to come out. But one thing—if I tell you to stay put somewhere, then you dang well stay put. Else, you’re liable to get shot. Savvy?”
“Yes, I understand.”
He danged well hoped she did. Any woman who got stuck with him would be in danger, whether she died from an enemy’s bullet or from childbirth. When Jenny died, he’d sworn off women forever. Now, another woman was under his protection and he aimed to see that she’d wake up in the morning.
“I’m going out, now. Mind what I told you.” He poked his head out through the opening and took a study of the area. No bushes moved and no birds squawked.
He eased himself out and, keeping low to the ground, circled around behind the house, staying beside the creek behind the junipers. When he heard gunfire, he flattened himself, careful not to create a puff of dust. The Sullys made no attempt to hide—Bob, the old man, and four others sat on their horses in the middle of the road right in front of the house.
Ross made his way back to the tunnel opening. His first priority would be to get Celia out of there and to safety. Best she head down the creek, away from the fray.
“Come on, now,” he whispered. When she emerged, he helped her up. “I want you to follow that creek and keep going. It’ll take you into town. You’ll have some rough going, but keep to the creek.”
“I won’t leave you.” She held her pistol in one hand and the wooden spoon in the other. “You can put me behind a rock and I’ll shoot and shoot. Then you can find out where they are and, um, take care of the situation.”
“If you was a man, that’s exactly what I’d tell you to do. But you ain’t a man, and that’s the end of it.”
“It’s not the end of it. You need help. You helped me, and now I’m going to help you.” She scowled at him. “And that’s the end of it.”
“You are the contrariest woman I have ever met.”
Her scowl changed to a pretty smile. “A compliment of the highest honor, Mr. Flaherty.”
****
“Come out of the house, Flare,” Bob Sully hollered. “And fight like a man!”
The sheriff answered his request by firing twice. Celia stayed close by Ross’s side, trying her best not to snap any twigs, sneeze, or do anything that might call attention to him. She followed him down the creek, then up the hill to a pile of boulders about twenty feet behind the barn.
“He’s reloading,” Ross whispered. “We’ll stay right here until he cuts loose with another round.”
“How do you know?” Celia asked. She could see most of the Sully gang and part of the house.
“Sixth round. Always keep count—then you know what you’re up against.”
“But you said to only load five,” she whispered.
“Load six when you need them. Like right now.”
Celia loaded a sixth bullet. “Where do you want me to go?”
“Stay right here. When the sheriff fires another shot, or in two minutes, whichever comes first, start firing. Count to twenty between each shot. Aim low in front of the horses—kick up as much dirt as you can.”
“And where will you be?”
“I’ll be making my way around the pasture to the field next to the house. There’s some alfalfa growing and it’s pretty tall. I can belly-crawl through it without them noticing so long as you keep ’em busy.”
“Then what?”
“Then you keep pulling the trigger until you’re down to the last five rounds and leave the rest to me. If things don’t go my way, head back to the creek and follow it to town.”
He turned to leave, but she grasped his shoulder to give him a peck on the cheek for luck. Instead, he faced her and she kissed him right square on the lips. She was stunned.
He must have been stunned, too, because he stared at her for the longest moment.
“For luck,” she whispered.
****
Not a whole lot rattled Ross, but that one sweet kiss shook him right down to his boots, and everything in between.
“Your luck, or mine?” he asked.
“Ours.”
He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a kiss she’d remember. Hellfire, he’d remember it, too. Her lips were soft and responsive, her kiss unschooled but passionate. Another couple of shots shattered the moment. He pushed himself away from her.
“I have a feeling this is my lucky day.” He caressed her cheek. “Remember, keep firing and aim low. And stay down.”
Ross had a tactical dilemma. If Celia could hit the broadside of the barn, he’d have placed her where she could do some good. As it was, she could only create a distraction and maybe scare the horses. Now, he had to position himself in the alfalfa field—the least cover, and no shielding at all. Once he started firing, every shot had to count.
Six against one. Not odds he would’ve picked, but he had to play the hand he was dealt. Shots from the house became less frequent, leading him to believe that the sheriff was weakening. Ross had to crawl through the alfalfa and do it fast, all the while keeping his belly to the ground. With a pistol in each hand, he used his elbows and knees to inch forward as fast as possible.
He heard Celia fire. Horses whinnied and a man yelled, “He’s got us in a crossfire.”
“Hold your ground,” old man Sully called. “Either they’re firing blind, or they can’t hit what they’re aiming at.”
Ross hurried ahead, alfalfa and the bugs smacking him in the face as he crawled. A bull snake gave him a start, but then slithered away. He hoped to not to come face to face with a rattler—that would be bad. More gunfire. He lifted his head enough to see the Sullys shooting at Celia’s position.
She couldn’t hold out long. He hunkered down and scrambled as quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself, hoping with all his heart that she stayed behind that rock—and that the Sullys didn’t take out after her.
Finally, Ross came to the dry ditch that bordered the field next to the farmyard. The gang was within firing range, but their backs were to him. He’d never backshot a man and he wouldn’t start now, even at six to one odds.
“Drop your weapons and get the hell out of here,” he hollered. He ducked down as bullets zinged by. He could tell they didn’t know exactly where he was. He crawled backward ten feet and shot the closest one’s hat off. “Right now!”
They answered his request with even more gunfire, but none came close to hitting him. Meantime, Celia let loose with three shots in a row, kicking up dirt in front of the horses. The sheriff shot from the house and one of the men fell. Another spurred his horse toward Ross, so he set bead and squeezed the trigger. Two down.
“Take cover!” the old man yelled as he dismounted and ran into the barn. Ross aimed again, but missed. The next shot hit its mark and another gang member crumpled to the ground. Three to one.
But Celia had stopped firing and so had the sheriff. Ross didn’t know where Bob Sully or the third gang member went, but the old man was in the barn, so that was a good place to start.
Ros
s ran across the farmyard, attracting fire, but didn’t get hit. Maybe that kiss was lucky after all. When he made it to the barn, he flattened his back against the wall and drew his other pistol. The first had two shots left, and the second had all six. He inched his way back until he rounded the corner behind the barn and could see the boulder where he’d left Celia.
She bobbed up and shot at him, the bullet lodging five feet from his head. When she saw it was him, she covered her mouth and ducked back behind the rock. Ross crouched low beside the back gate and peeked into the barn. The old man was in the front, firing at the house through the barn window.
Just as Ross was about to call him out, Sully turned and aimed. “I got plans for you, Flare.” He pointed to the barnyard with his thumb. “Go on out there. A bullet’s too good for you—I want you to die slow. My boy, the one that’s left, is gonna beat the livin’ daylights out of you, and once he’s done with that, I’ll plug you in the gut so it takes two or three painful days to die. And while you’re dying, you just think about my boy Lem, what you done killed.”
“That would be Lem, your boy who liked to molest women before he killed them. What a proud papa you must be.”
“Save your breath, Flare.” Sully motioned to the barn’s front door. “Get a move on.” The old man stood back and Ross didn’t see any way to trip him up, so he held his pistols behind his back and walked steadily through the barn, facing Sully all the way, out to the middle of the yard.
For all he knew, Sully would shoot him in the back. His only hope was that Celia could get away.
****
Celia heard a man’s voice in the barn and although she couldn’t understand the words, his tone sounded threatening. He must have Ross at a disadvantage. She had to do something!
The pigs squealed mightily and she saw a hulking man sliding around in the pigsty, cursing and scaring the poor little critters. He slipped and fell on his back, swore, and when he got to his feet, kicked the runt in the side. The little piglet squealed in pain. Without thinking, she dashed out from behind the boulder and as he put his hand on the fence rail, she smacked it hard with a wooden spoon. He hollered and cursed, holding his hand to his chest.
