Gunslingers Don't Die: A Sweet Historical Western Romance (Brides of Sweet Creek Ranch Book 2)

by Wanda Ann Thomas

  Seth shot to his feet. “It’s the truth.”

  Boone’s jaw tightened. “I’ll be heading out at first light tomorrow.”

  “You can’t go,” Tucker said, panic edging his voice. “You promised to teach me how to lasso a calf.”

  Seth skulked to the stove. “Going is what Mr. Boone does best, kid. But you will learn that soon enough.”

  Tucker slid off the bench and rushed around the table. Small, sticky hands clasped Boone’s face, and large earnest eyes met his. “Please stay.”

  Regret knifed through Boone. Tucker, a mischievous imp with saintly blue eyes and blond hair, had snagged a piece of his heart. Normally, after rounding up a boy in need of rescuing, he would make a quick trip to the ranch, and be gone before the child grew attached. But this time he had spent two months in Aurora waiting for the spring thaw, and he couldn’t ignore Tucker all that time.

  Boone felt lower than a snake’s belly. “Seth or Billy will teach you to rope cattle.”

  Fat tears rolled down Tucker’s cherub cheeks.

  Boone swore under his breath and pried Tucker’s hands from his face. “Eat your supper and leave me be.”

  Tucker’s face crumpled and he ran for the bunk room.

  A pot cover clanged against the slate sink. “Why didn’t you kick him in the gut while you were at it?” Seth said.

  One of the babies fussed. Ella made shushing noises. “I’ll go check on him.” Passing Boone, she paused to whisper in his ear, “It wouldn’t kill you to stay a few more days.”

  He hunched his shoulders. Ella was saying what everyone else was thinking. If they only knew. He died a thousand deaths every time he had to leave Sweet Creek. It would be easier to just stay away, but when he came across boys suffering from abuse or who’d been abandoned he knew the ranch was the best place for them. So he returned, and surrounded by the happy memories of his youth, he cursed the day he’d strapped on his six-shooters and turned to a life of making money as a hired gunman.

  He heard Ty exhale a heavy breath. “Supper is growing cold.”

  Trapped in a coffin of meaningless existence, Boone climbed to his feet. “I’ll throw my blanket down in the barn.”

  Millie’s barking announced the arrival of company. A moment later the ranch house door swung open and Garrett strode inside. Lanky, with long bangs hiding shy eyes, the twenty-one-year-old looked much the same as when Boone rescued him ten years ago. It was hard to believe Garrett was a homesteader, running his own start-up ranch.

  Boone extended his hand. “How are you, Garrett? You look mighty fine.”

  Garrett shook hands, then his smile faded. “You best sit down before you hear what I have to say.”

  Boone frowned. Gunslinging had a way of stirring up trouble. “Has someone come looking for me?”

  Garrett’s face was unreadable. “You’re not going to believe this. Jack is alive.”

  The blood drained from Boone’s head. “My dog…alive? Where’d you hear that?”

  “I saw Jack with my own eyes. I thought I was hallucinating or dreaming, but Jack recognized me and jumped on me and licked my face. And—”

  Boone dug his damp palms into his hips. “I’ll shoot you if you’re mistaken.”

  Garrett shifted in place. “I’m not mistaken. Guess what else I saw? Your Peacemakers. I’d recognize those special edition Colt .45s anywhere.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Boone said, reluctant to get his hopes up. “Where did you see Jack and my guns?”

  “I made a trip to Aurora and when I was leaving Hopkin’s Stables a woman approached me, asked if I was acquainted with a Boone Haven of Sweet Creek Ranch. Told me it was important she find you. And the next thing I knew, she took me to see Jack and showed me your Peacemakers.”

  Ty and the boys spoke in a jumble and the floor and ceiling spun twister-like. Boone grasped Garrett’s arm. “What woman?”

  Garrett swallowed. “Margaret Lily. She wouldn’t say more. Do you know her?”

  Boone lowered himself the bench before his legs gave out.

  Jack.

  His Peacemakers.

  Margaret Lily.

  He didn’t know whether to hug someone or shoot ‘em.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Two weeks after learning Boone was alive, Maggie stood vigil beside the half-open window of Johnson’s Boardinghouse. Colt romped with Jack on the lumpy mattress in the middle of the double-sized bed. A stiff breeze pushed at the blue-checked curtain, the brisk air the sole defense against the pent-up confines of the small room. Brigetta sat on the edge of the bed, darning a sock.

  Shaking off the slumber of winter, the frontier town of Aurora was similar to many they’d traveled through—a handful of buildings with fake storefronts, clinging flea-like to the railroad line. Cowboys hoping to be hired for the spring roundup gathered in small groups swapping gossip and smokes, after a night of drinking, gambling, and occasional fistfights.

  Brigetta stabbed the wool sock with the needle. “Dust and wind. Cowboys are welcome to keep the West. They won’t get a fight from me.”

  “I have every hope we’ll soon be on our way home,” Maggie said, nagged by memories of her first visit to the wilds of the west.

  She bit her lip. Please, please, let this be the right decision. She’d rather cut her own heart out than do anything hurtful to Colt.

  She could have sent a letter arranging to hand over Jack and the guns at the St. Louis train station, but she didn’t trust Boone to stick to the plan. She couldn’t risk him taking her by surprise, like he had four years ago when he met her train in Cheyenne instead of Laramie. She would meet Boone on her terms, determine if he was still the decent man she thought him to be when they married, despite the inconvenient fact that he’d had a bounty on his head.

  She had checked every wanted poster from St. Louis to Aurora with her heart in her throat, but Boone’s name and picture hadn’t appeared on any of them. Thank heavens!

  The article in the Globe-Democrat called Boone an itinerant gunslinger. Why wasn’t he still in jail? Had she and Frank been hunting down an innocent man? What was Boone doing with his life? She could cry for shame over the little she knew of the man she’d married. They had planned to make a life together in California. Which made sense, at the time, as he’d been a wanted man. But now?

  She had a million questions that only he could answer.

  The picture in the newspaper of him standing in front of the Aurora train station had been her only clue to Boone’s whereabouts.

  During their brief whirlwind-of-a-honeymoon he had spoken fondly of his home, a lovely sounding spot called Sweet Creek Ranch. She’d made inquiries about the ranch every chance she got on the journey westward and was relieved when she came upon a porter who had heard of the ranch and assured her it lay within fifty miles of Aurora.

  Her queries around town had been met with tight-lipped suspicion. She’d planned to speak to the man pictured with Boone in the newspaper article, but learned Buck Goodman spent most of the time at his cattle ranch.

  Colt rolled off the bed, and ran to her breathless from playing with Jack. “I love horses. Can I ride a horse today?”

  Jack followed, tail wagging expectantly.

  She peered up and down the street, wondering if she should chance a quick walk. A day and a half had passed since she spoken with young Garrett Haven and he had promised to deliver a message to Boone. The wait was torture. “I promise to take you for a horse ride before we go home. But not today.”

  Colt’s little shoulders fell, then he brightened. “I hope I get to wear a cowboy hat and a banana.”

  “Bandanna,” she corrected, glad for a reason to smile.

  Bri looked at him aghast. “Dumpling, cowboys are rude and foulmouthed. You are too sweet to be a cowboy.”

  Colt’s face screwed in a comical manner. “I’m not sweet. I’m a boy. Tell her, Mama.”

  “A boy who should be playing with his dog in his back yard,” Bri said, tyin
g off the thread with a jerk, not missing the opportunity to express her strong doubt over the wisdom of Colt accompanying Maggie to Wyoming. Bri believed Colt would grow up just fine without knowing or meeting his father, especially after learning Boone was a gunslinger.

  Maggie hugged Colt tightly, and prayed she was in the right.

  Colt squirmed loose. “Mama, you already hugged me twenty times today.”

  His innocent trust made her want to weep. He didn’t know the purpose for the train ride west, but was happy with this new adventure. He’d asked about his father a few times in the past, and her heart had broken at his sad expression when she told him his father was dead.

  She knew firsthand the pain and curiosity of not knowing your father. Her mother had married a string of losers, each one worse than the last. Husband number one, Maggie’s father, had been a cardsharp, who cheated one too many times and got himself shot for his troubles. Wendell “Lucky” Donovan. That was the sum total of what she knew about her father.

  She didn’t want that for Colt.

  Plus, Boone wasn’t dead.

  If she kept the truth from Colt, she’d be forced to tell lies or deceive him the next time he asked about his father. A thought she detested, even if she could lie, given her habit of being honest to a fault. But introducing Colt to Boone presented a different set of threats.

  She hoped coming to Aurora wasn’t a mistake. Please, don’t let it be a mistake.

  A knock sounded at the door. “Miss Lily, you have a visitor,” Mr. Johnson called in a quavering voice. “Mr. Boone Haven would like a word with you.”

  Maggie’s pulse thundered to life.

  “Let me speak to him for you,” Bri said.

  If Maggie ever needed to keep her wits about her it was now. “I’ll be there in a moment,” she called, annoyed her voice wasn’t rock steady.

  Bri’s countenance took on all the power and glory of a Scandinavian warrior princess. “You don’t have to do this.”

  Maggie didn’t know what she would have done these past few years without Bri’s reassuring presence. Bri might worry too much, but she could be counted on. Unlike her mother’s numerous husbands, who’d come and gone from Maggie’s life in rapid succession. Husband number four had been named Bob or Bill, or some other forgettable name, matching his unmemorable personality. Or had that been husband number five?

  Maggie hugged Colt again and offered Bri a grateful look. “No. My recklessness caused this mess. I’ll fix it.”

  Colt brightened. “I hope a cowboy came to see us.”

  Maggie knelt and pressed her finger to his lips. “Shh, my love. I need you to play the new game Nanny Bri taught you.”

  Bri hurried to the dresser and retrieved the cards decorated with letters of the alphabet and colorful pictures.

  Colt tittered. “B is for baseball.”

  She kissed his cheek. “Very good, my love. Stay with Nanny and I will return shortly.”

  Bri sat on the bed and held out her arms. Colt scampered to the bed, a picture of cuteness in his blue sailor suit.

  Hands shaking, Maggie dragged the wooden gun box out from beneath the bed, hefted it in both arms, and walked to the door. “Come Jack.”

  Jack glanced at Colt and whined.

  But Bri was making good on her word to keep Colt distracted.

  Shifting the box, Maggie cracked the door open. “Come, dog. Time to go home.”

  Jack sniffed the air and squeezed through the narrow opening. She followed, snapped the door closed, and hit the brick wall of Boone Haven’s hard stare.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Maggie leaned heavily against the door, wooden gun box clutched to her chest. She’d pay a king’s ransom to be able to read Boone’s thoughts

  Jack danced in a happy circle around Boone.

  “You can leave us now, Mr. Johnson,” Boone said without taking his eyes off her.

  The elderly man scurried out of the plainly furnished sitting room.

  Jack jumped up, front paws landing square on Boone’s chest.

  Boone blinked, then drew Jack in for a bear hug. “Good boy. Look at you. Except for a few more white hairs on your snout you look the same.”

  Tail wagging, Jack was a yellow ball of happy dog.

  Tears sprang to Maggie’s eyes, and she knew she’d done what was right where Jack was concerned. Colt was going to be inconsolable when he learned Jack wouldn’t be going home with them. And she was going to miss Jack, but he never was her dog. He belonged with Boone.

  Jack licked Boone’s mouth, knocking his black cowboy hat to the floor.

  Boone grinned. “I love you too, dog.”

  Maggie’s breath caught at the transformation. Dangerous as Boone might be, there was good in him too. She had doubted her memory on that count many times, but hearing the tender affection in his voice for Jack was reassuring.

  Jack broke free, raced back to her, and rubbed against her royal blue skirt. “Don’t worry about me, dog,” she said, patting him.

  Boone picked up his hat. Tall, lean, and lethal, his black eyes locked with hers. “The barber who doctored Jack told me he’d lost too much blood to live.”

  The edges of the gun box cut into her arms. “I didn’t care what anyone said. I wouldn’t give up on Jack.”

  Boone slipped his hat on his head. “Took you long enough to tell me my dog wasn’t dead.”

  “Frank told me you died in jail of wounds from the shootout. He took your guns. I kept them for…” She wanted to know more about Boone before telling him he had a son.

  Boone crossed to her, scooped up the box, his rigid arms brushing hers. Not backing away, his warm breath spilled down her neck. “You and Frank Reed best not be planning on ambushing me again.”

  She braced her back against the door to keep from sliding to the floor in a limp heap. “Frank’s dead.”

  Surprise flickered briefly in Boone’s eyes. “I knew the arrogant man’s mouth would land him in trouble.”

  The last thing she wanted to talk about was Frank Reed. “Frank liked a good spectacle. Three years ago he complained of pain in his chest at a banquet at the governor’s mansion, then dropped dead. There was a picture in the newspapers of Frank sprawled over the roast pheasant, and everything.”

  Boone shifted the gun box to one arm and brushed his knuckle along her jaw. The blue vein under his left eye pulsed. “My brothers and the boys are concerned you’re laying another trap for me. So why are you here, Miss Margaret Lily?”

  Her scalp prickled and her mouth went dry. Boone reeked of danger, the thrilling kind of danger that made her pulse thud faster. “Are they part of your gang?”

  “Gang?” he asked.

  “Your brother and the boys. Are they part of your outlaw gang?”

  He threw his head back and laughed uproariously. “The Haven Gang.” He wiped his sleeve across his damp eyes. “No. They are all ranchers or cowpokes. But it has a nice ring to it.”

  The leather and dust scent clinging to him and his ruggedly handsome face was intoxicating. And her desire for him was as strong and tangible as the first time she laid eyes on him. “I’m sorry for the insult.”

  “I can’t wait to see the boys’ faces when I tell them what you…” His smile dropped away and he stumbled back. “There you go bewitching me again. Tying me up in knots like I’m some fool schoolboy.”

  Jack paced in a nervous circle.

  She hugged her arms against the urge to reach for Boone. “I should have told you I was a lady bounty hunter. I never meant to hurt you. Could you find it in your heart to forgive—”

  “I’m done here.” Face thunderous as his voice, Boone turned and strode to the door.

  “Wait!”

  “Come, dog.”

  Jack glanced at her briefly with sad eyes, then trotted behind Boone.

  “We’re still married,” she called out. He might want to remarry. She certainly planned to. “Legally, we are husband and wife.”

  Mouth tight, h
e halted. “You call that sham you pulled a marriage?”

  Gathering her dignity like a cloak that would protect her from loneliness and heartache, she straightened and lifted her chin. “It was a real marriage.”

  “And.”

  The West’s lax laws made it a haven for unhappy couples seeking a quick end to their marriages. “We need to petition a judge for a divorce…” she swallowed the bitter taste filling her mouth “Then you can forget we were ever married.” She wouldn’t forget him. But that was her problem.

  A distressed look crossed his face. “We would need to go to Buffalo or Cheyenne.”

  Cheyenne. The heat that had burned between them in Cheyenne sparked.

  She wanted to flee to St. Louis. But she wasn’t a twenty-two-year old weak-willed woman anymore. She needed to be strong for Colt’s sake as well as her own.

  She clasped her hands tightly. “There’re other matters we need to discuss.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Entombed in the close confines of the boardinghouse, Boone’s gunslinger instincts clamored to shoot his way to safety. Proof of the danger posed by the Lady Margaret Lily’s alluring presence. She was all silk and smoothness and sensuality. All woman. All trouble.

  He hoisted the wooden gun box onto his shoulder and grabbed for the doorknob. Having his dog and guns back was worth a few moments of temptation. “Come along, dog. The boys are anxious to see you.”

  Jack remained by Lady Lily’s side.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, voice distressed.

  Once he busted out of here, he planned to say a proper howdy to Jack and suffer more dog kisses. Then he planned to get rip-roaring drunk. He tipped his Stetson in her direction. “Personally, I’d rather wallow naked in pig slop than endure a week-long trip to Buffalo to have a judge dissolve a fraudulent marriage.”

  The color drained from her perfect, beautiful face. “Boone—”

  “I’m the Cowboy Assassin. Or did you forget?”

  Her hands balled and her eyes flashed. “I don’t blame you for hating me and thinking the worst, but we will settle this matter legally. I’m sure there are folks who think nothing of bigamy, but I do. I’m not leaving Wyoming without a divorce.”