by Cassie Hayes
She had no desire to ever see Roy again, but it was the only thing she could think of to extend her life. And it seemed to be working, because the man was blinking with uncertainty.
“He wouldn’t…he couldn’t…” he mumbled, weighing his options. Finally, he snapped with frustration. “Get me my dinner, harlot!”
She scurried forward and made a show of brushing flecks of ash from the meat before pulling the spit free. Moving around the fire, she handed him the stick and went back to her rock on the other side. She stared at the fire while he took his time slurping every last bit of meat from the bones of that poor bunny from behind the mask of his bandana. Night had fallen completely by the time he was done.
“Bet you’re starving,” he sneered, licking grease from his grimy fingers.
In truth, she wasn’t hungry in the slightest. First, the thought of eating her rabbit, with whom she’d identified so closely, made her physically ill. On top of that, anxiety was eating her from the inside out, and it had started with her stomach. But she wanted him to think she was miserable so she shrugged and pulled a face.
“Well, too bad,” he laughed, throwing the carcass in the fire and scattering some of the coals. Her eyes never wavered from the fire, wondering if the man was going to kill her or take her to Roy. She wasn’t sure which fate was worse.
“You know, Roy’s birthday is coming up. I think I’m gonna take you to him as an early birthday present. That way he can see what he won’t be missing. He’ll be so grateful that he’ll let me kill you anyway. But if he wants to kill you himself, no skin off my nose. You’ll be dead, and that’s the important thing.
The man acted cheerful and confident as he motioned her to stand up but Emmy could sense he wasn’t entirely sure that’s how things would play out. Neither was she. In fact, she suspected her version was the most likely outcome, if Roy ever got his hands on her.
At their wedding, he’d warned her that he would kill her if she told anyone who he was. And now she was going to him willingly. A shudder rippled through her body and her mind screamed to run. But the cold black circle of the man’s gun kept her moving.
“Now walk that horse south till we get to my horse. Then we’ll just see what Roy thinks of you now!”
“I should put out the fire first,” Emmy said. David had drilled it into her head to always make sure a fire was extinguished before breaking camp. “Wouldn’t want the forest to catch fire…or draw any attention this direction.”
At his shrug, she started kicking dirt on the fire but it was too robust to extinguish with a small amount of dirt, so she knelt down and scooped up big handfuls to dump on it. It only took a minute to put out, but the gunslinger was antsy to get moving.
“Let’s go,” he commanded, waving his gun at her. Nodding, she stuck her hands in her pockets and went to Blaze, who followed her without having to be led by the reins. Such a good horse.
“So, you know my name,” Emmy said, trying to keep the conversation going. “What’s yours?”
She didn’t think he was going to answer at first, but finally he grumbled, “Frankie.”
“I’d say it was a pleasure to meet you, Frankie, but…”
“Shaddup! Less talking, more walking!”
From that point on, she kept her mouth shut and her fingers firmly wrapped around the knife hidden in her pocket.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Frankie!”
Mason’s skin crawled at the relief in Kirby’s shout. There were five outlaws in Kirby’s gang, and they’d taken down five men here tonight. But even as it was happening, something seemed off to Mason. Watson wasn’t a likely suspect as a highwayman, but everything had happened so fast that he didn’t have time to give it much thought.
“Get off him,” Frankie growled from the doorway, his pistol pressed hard into Emmy’s side and a hand wrapped tightly around her arm. “Right now, or the whore gets it.”
Mason bristled at Frankie’s insult but nodded at Jake’s nervous glance, then turned his attention on Emmy. “Emmy, you alright?”
Frankie laughed at his concern. “Oh, the big bad sheriff of Nevada County was bamboozled by this little tart, too! Ain’t that just the sweetest thing.” It wasn’t a question.
“Now drop your shooters.”
When Mason hesitated, Frankie jammed the gun harder into Emmy’s side, drawing a gasp from her. Crouching low, he laid his Winchester on the floor, with Jake and David following suit.
“Kick ‘em over this a-way.”
They obeyed. Mason couldn’t take his eyes off Emmy. He wanted to make sure Frankie hadn’t hurt her and did his best to ask the question without words. Fear was in her eyes but there was something else. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she was smiling a little.
Next to him, Kirby gained his feet, brushing dust off his front and grabbing up his gun. “Good ol’ Frankie. I can always count on you.”
“Always, Roy. I don’t know why you’re always so surprised. I’d give my life for you.”
Kirby sighed, exasperated. Seemed like they’d had this conversation before. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Now, what’d ya bring me?”
“This thing is your wife, Roy,” Frankie said, shoving Emmy forward slightly. “Ain’t such a pretty picture now, is she? I wanted you to see her true colors before I kill her.”
There was such hostility and vitriol in Frankie’s voice that Mason wondered why. What on earth could Emmy have done to him? His hatred was so intense that Mason started to really worry for her safety. A man that full of rage was unpredictable. Who knew what he might do to her?
Mason couldn’t allow her to be hurt. Not now, not after everything they’d gone through. He’d have to keep them talking until an opportunity presented itself…or till they were all taken out back and shot.
He wasn’t so much afraid for himself, but Jake and David were too young to die. Heck, ol’ Fred had been too young to die. And above all, Emmy didn’t deserve to die. His guts churned at the very idea.
“What’s the matter, Frankie?” he asked casually, as if they were jawing over a mug of beer. “You jealous or something?”
Frankie blinked at him and he knew he was right. It was a toss-up whether pressing harder would send him over the edge or give Mason an opening to take back control. They’d be dead if he didn’t do something, so he pushed.
“Aw, Frankie, don’t you know what the Bible says? ‘Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife.’ Or in this case, your boss’s wife. You could order up your own mail order bride, ya know, though I doubt you’d be so lucky as to get yourself a gem as pretty as Miss Gibson.”
Kirby chuckled and Frankie narrowed his eyes at Mason. “You don’t know nothin’, lawdog, so why don’t you just shut yer yap!”
While he was irritated, Frankie was obviously not jealous of Kirby. So what was he jealous of?
“Besides, you call this pretty?” he sneered, shoving her forward a little more. Emmy stumbled along, hands in her pockets and her gaze fixed on Mason. “Looks like she’s been rode hard and put away wet.”
“I dunno, she looks pretty fine to me,” Mason ventured, prodding to find Frankie’s tender spot. He glanced pointedly at Jake and David, who nodded their agreement.
“Then you fools must be blind! Just look at this piece of trash! Red-faced and blotchy and filthy. She looks more like a man than me! Right, Roy? Tell ‘em. Tell ‘em how ugly she is.”
Frankie was pleading with Kirby, but the devil remained passive. “Have to admit, she’s not at her finest,” he said, shrugging. “But she’s still my wife, Frankie, and you need to let her go.”
Hope that Emmy would survive this flamed in Mason’s heart. Kirby quenched it with his next words.
“I’ll be the one to punish her as I see fit.”
“But Roy, I thought—“
“You heard the man, Frankie, let his wife go.” It was a bold move but Mason sensed the end was near. Either Frankie was going to shoot Emmy or give her to Roy. He ne
eded to make sure neither of those things happened. He needed to draw their attention away from her, get them to focus on him.
“She ain’t his wife! She can’t be! It ain’t fair!” He pushed Emmy, who crumpled to the floor a little too easily, like she was trying to get out of the line of fire. Good girl, Mason thought.
“Life ain’t fair, Frankie,” Mason said, trying to egg the man on.
Anger turned what he could see of Frankie’s face beet red. He stepped toward Mason, trembling with rage. “You shaddup! I’ve had just about enough outta you!”
Mason’s vision tunneled down to a tiny focus — the black hole of eternity at the end of Frankie’s gun that was pointed right at his face — yet, oddly, his eyes caught everything else going on around him. Time slowed enough for him to see Kirby break into a grin at his foe’s imminent death.
And to see Frankie’s eye site down the barrel and his finger tighten on the trigger.
And to see David break toward Frankie while Jake lunged at Kirby. Mason knew in his heart they wouldn’t make it before a bullet found his brain.
And to see Emmy pull her hand from her pocket, her fingers grasping something. The something glinted in the dim light of the cabin and, in one swift motion, she buried it deep into Frankie’s calf.
The sound of a gunshot filled the cabin with furious noise. Mason felt the impact of the bullet and then a white heat consumed the left side of his body as he was thrown backward into the wall. The world around him faded away until the only thing he was aware of was a woman screaming in despair.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Mason!” Emmy was huddled over his motionless body, frantically scrabbling at his shirt, trying to get at his wound. “Mason! Talk to me!”
After the bullet hit him, nothing else in the world mattered. She had to help him! Jake and David were busy with Frankie and Roy, so it was up to her. She had no idea what she would do once she got his coat and shirt off but it seemed vitally important to complete that step before moving on to the next. The rest would come.
Strong fingers wrapped around her wrist and she gasped, thinking someone was trying to pull her away from Mason. She’d scratch out anyone’s eyes who dared to stop her! But looking down, she half-laughed, half-sobbed when she saw they were Mason’s fingers.
“Mason? Can you hear me?” Taking his ashen face in her hands, she let her tears splash on his cheeks, desperate for him to open his eyes.
After a brief flutter, they popped open and drank in her features. “Emmy?”
This time her laugh was all joy. Careful not to be too rough, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug. “I was so worried, Mason!”
After a moment’s hesitation, his arms wound around her, pulling her into his body, his hands searching out her face. Warmth spread through her at his touch, and when his lips found hers, she sank into them, heedless of the other people in the room.
All distractions melted away, leaving only them wrapped in a tangle of arms and lips and love and hope. Minutes or hours or days passed by the time Mason freed her mouth and gazed up at her, one hand gently cupping her face, the other fingering a strand of hair that had come loose from her kerchief.
“You were brilliant,” he breathed.
She could barely find words but shook her head, tears flying every which way. “You were hit, Mason. We need to get your shirt off to see how bad it is.”
Together they worked to reveal his bleeding shoulder. As far as Emmy could tell, he was about to die from blood loss but Mason barely winced at it. “Eh, it only grazed me. It’s gonna leave a heck of a scar but that’s about it.”
Emmy was still worried, but he leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose, smiling broadly. “Really. I’m fine. I must have hit my head against the wall, and that’s what knocked me out.”
Searching his face, Emmy saw color coming back and a twinkle of mischief returning to his eyes. Air whooshed out of her in a sigh of relief. For a minute there, she thought she’d waited too long to pull her knife on Frankie. But as it turned out, she couldn’t have time it more perfectly if she’d tried.
“What’s with all the screaming?” Mason asked, and Emmy was suddenly aware of it again. It had faded away when she thought his life was in peril. Wrapping an arm around him, she helped him stand so he could get a full view of the scene.
“What the devil is going on here?!” he shouted to make himself heard above the racket.
Jake and David were standing over Roy and Frankie, their Winchesters aimed to shoot but confusion was etched on their faces. They looked helplessly at Mason, shrugging and pleading for orders on how to proceed, but Mason was as flabbergasted as everyone else.
Roy lay dead on the floor, half of his head decorating the wall behind him. Frankie lay prone over his body, screaming and thrashing about in the throes of grief. With each movement, the gunslinger’s bandana slipped and shifted until it dangled freely, revealing the smooth round face of a woman.
All this time, Frankie was a woman! They were all stunned, temporarily paralyzed with shock. “Noooo! Roooooy!” she wailed over and over again, alternating between sobbing and screaming and pounding the floor with her tiny fists, completely heedless of the knife still buried in her calf. Mason was the first to speak — well, shout, as that was the only way for him to be heard.
“She was in love with Kirby but he obviously didn’t love her back. That’s why she hated you so much, Emmy.”
She’d wondered why Frankie seemed so offended by her very existence. This made perfect sense.
“I thought he…she…uh, when I thought she was a man, I was thinking he was jealous of Roy. That he wanted a beautiful wife like Emmy for his own. But it didn’t quite fit. This fits. Ain’t that right, Miss Frankie?!”
He nudged Frankie’s leg with his toe to get her attention, and she whipped around and actually hissed at him. Then she turned her feverish gaze on Emmy. “You! It’s all your fault! It’s your fault Roy’s dead!”
Screeching like a banshee, she yanked the knife from her leg and launched herself at Emmy. Before she could so much as gain her feet, a shot rang out and she fell backward over Roy, joining her would-be lover in death.
David and Jake’s weapons were still cold in their hands, and Mason hadn’t picked up his own yet. In unison, they all turned toward the doorway and cried out in alarm. Fred was leaning against the doorframe, blood pouring down his face and a smoking rifle in his hand.
“Fred!” they each shouted. Emmy hadn’t had a chance to wonder where he was when Frankie dragged her into the cabin; she’d been solely focused on staying alive. Now she nearly fainted at his appearance.
He slumped to the floor, blood from his head wound spattering all around him. The men helped him into the cabin, settling him in an old rocking chair near the fireplace, while Emmy searched the cabin for clean cloths.
“What happened to you man?” Mason asked, dabbing at Fred’s bloody head and motioning for Jake to attend Fred’s leg wound.
“It’s a little fuzzy, but I think…I think they musta shot me through a hole in the back wall there. I saw a couple rays of light shining through the mortar. Only thing I can figure.”
His words were a little slurry, which worried Emmy, but at least he was alive. Jake hurried over to inspect the wall, nodding.
“Yup, they mortared in some old bottles all along the back here. This one here ain’t got a backside to it. Perfect size to sight and shoot through.”
“They got me in the leg and I went down like a sack o’ potatoes. I think I was screaming like that little gal right over there till everything went black. Then I woke up with a doozy of a headache and heard a bunch of screaming so I thought I’d better see what the trouble was.”
He shrugged, then winced in pain as Mason pressed the cloth to his head. “I wasn’t about to let that terrible shrew hurt my angel Emmy, so I took a shot. Prolly shoudn’ta though. In my state, I coulda just as easily hit one o’ you. Sorry, Mace.�
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He looked up for forgiveness from his boss, who looked to be having a hard time controlling his emotions. Emmy’s heart swelled when she spotted a lone tear trickle down Mason’s tan face. Stepping forward, she took the cloth from him and gushed over Fred while Mason composed himself.
“Fred, you’re my hero! If you weren’t so badly hurt, I’d give you a big hug right now.”
Fred tilted his head up to her. “Don’t let it be said that Fred Merchant ever turned down the embrace of a beautiful woman.”
Emmy had to laugh at his shamelessness, and bent low to give him a gentle hug. “You rascal!”
The bleeding finally slowed enough for them to see the wound in his head was relatively superficial. It had generated a frightening amount of blood, but the only repercussions would be a roaring headache for a few days.
The leg wound, on the other hand, was worse. The bullet had passed through the meat of his thigh, but had not bled too much, thank goodness. Emmy found some whiskey in a cupboard and poured it over the bloody wound liberally, drawing a gasp from Fred but nothing more. Tough old geezer!
“Well, ain’t this a fine mess,” Mason said from the center of the room. “Six dead. Guess we’ll have to ride ‘em into town on their own horses for proper burials.”
“And to let everyone in town know they’re no longer in Kirby’s clutches?” asked Jake.
“That too,” Mason agreed. “I wish we could sit for a few hours to let Fred rest, but that leg needs tending to by a real sawbones. Let’s ride.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The next couple days were a blur for Mason. After having Fred tended to by a doctor in Auburn, he’d transferred custody of the gang’s bodies to the mayor and one of Watson’s honest deputies. There would be a formal inquest, of course, but no one expected any trouble. Turned out that a couple reprobates in town were friendly with some of Kirby’s gang and, with a slight amount of pressure, they revealed that Kirby’s crew had hit coaches up and down gold country, maybe as many as a dozen. The mayor was genuinely relieved Kirby and the corrupt sheriff were dead and thanked Mason by offering to pay for a night’s lodging for everyone.
