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

by Wanda Ann Thomas

The look of joy on Margaret’s face made her even more stunningly beautiful. “It’s been a dream of mine for many years. Once I return to St. Louis, I will start my career as a kindergarten teacher.”

  “I heard tell of these newfangled kindergarten classes instituted by a Miss Susan Blow in St. Louis,” Buck said. “It must have taken hold good, if they are hiring more teachers.”

  Maggie smiled wider. “Were you a teacher, Mr. Goodman?”

  Buck made a face. “I gave teaching a try, but quickly learned I’d rather chase after stubborn cows than corral a roomful of schoolchildren.”

  “A teacher?” Boone said, sucker punched, staring at Margaret Lily. “You?”

  The question snuffed the light from her eyes. “I used the money I earned as a bounty hunter to train to be a teacher.”

  “Miss Maggie was the smartest in her class,” Brigetta said, brimming with pride.

  Buck slapped his knee. “A bounty hunter turned kindergarten teacher. Now there’s a story I’d like to hear.”

  Maggie blushed with embarrassment. “Shouldn’t we be on our way?”

  Colt hopped from foot to foot. “I can run fast. Do you want to see?”

  “Don’t go running off,” Boone said patting Colt’s head, but seething inside. What kind of horse crap was she pedaling? Kindergarten teacher? Yes, and he was the king of England.

  Seth stepped in. “I got the kid.”

  “Give me your hand,” Boone ordered Margaret, then spoke in her ear. “You best not be spinning more lies.”

  She tensed, grasped her skirt, and clutched the waist-high buckboard. “I don’t want your help.”

  Her highfalutin clothes were as impractical as they were eye-catching. “No, but you’re going to need a hand anyways.”

  She hiked her hem and tried to climb onto the wagon, but her narrow skirt impeded her movements. She tried again, then whirled on him. “I didn’t have any problem boarding the train.”

  He relished seeing her unsettled and unsure, when she did the same to his insides. He clasped her waist and lifted her off the ground.

  Her palms pushed against his chest. “Put me down.”

  Engulfed in her light citrus smell, seeing her elegant neck exposed, revealing the rapid beat of her pulse beneath her sleek jaw, he instantly regretted putting his hands on her. “Stop struggling,” he said between gritted teeth.

  Her mouth skimmed his ear. “I wasn’t lying, you brute.”

  Breathing heavy, he set her on the wooden bench. “You and Buck should get along just dandy, both of you being college educated.”

  Buck chuckled. “Boone has a high opinion of learning.”

  Margaret arched a brow. “Does he? Mr. Haven, you and I must have a discussion on the matter later.”

  A gust of grit-laced dust raked Boone’s face. He’d rather eat sagebrush than have a private talk, but he needed to make certain Margaret Lily posed no danger to his family. “Yes, we will.”

  “Plan for a short conversation,” Seth said, leading Colt to Black Lightning.

  Boone was having a terrible day when he welcomed Seth’s sarcasm.

  “Ready to ride?” Boone asked Colt, wrangling his temper.

  Lightning swung his big head around and sniffed at Colt’s white-trimmed sailor suit.

  Colt grinned and patted the horse’s nose. “Lightning likes me.”

  “That’s cause he’s a right smart horse,” Boone placed his Stetson on Colt’s head. What was Maggie thinking dressing Colt like a sissy? Besides being impractical, the clothes looked gosh-darned uncomfortable. “I’m going to have to ask your Aunt Ella to sew you up some proper cowboy clothes. Would you like that?”

  Colt nodded with enthusiasm. “Who’s Aunt Ella? I don’t have any aunts.”

  The tension knotting Boone’s temples eased. He lifted Colt up and sat him in the saddle. “You have a whole passel of family at—”

  A distinctive metal click sounded. Boone drew his gun, spun around, and stared down the barrel of a gun aimed at his chest.

  “I could have killed the Cowboy Assassin three times over,” said a cool-eyed killer, who couldn’t be more than twenty. He sat on a horse beside the most detestable man in Aurora, the cattle baron Beau Blackwell.

  Seth and Garrett pulled their revolvers. Buck pointed a Winchester in the stranger’s direction. The color drained from Maggie and Brigetta’s faces. Jack growled menacingly. Confused, Colt clung to the saddle horn.

  For the first time in many years Boone felt fear. That’s because he had something to lose. “We got women and a child with us.”

  Curious onlookers lined Aurora’s wooden sidewalks. Blackwell smoothed his droopy mustache. “This here is Joe Smith, a cattle detective sent by the county stock growers association to root out cattle rustlers.”

  Square-jawed and dressed in a fringed buckskin jacket and grease-stained raccoon cap, the youth scratched his nose with the gleaming Smith & Wesson. “Listen up, folks, especially you grease pots. If I catch you cutting down Mr. Blackwell’s barbed fences, I’ll arrest you. If I find you trespassing on Mr. Blackwell’s ranch, I’ll fill your breeches with lead. If I find you rustling cattle, I’ll hang you.”

  “He’s trying to bait you,” Boone said, cautioning homesteaders Garrett and Buck from taking offense at being called grease pots.

  Garrett’s chest puffed. “We have a much right to run our herds on the open plains as the cattle barons.”

  “Cattle detective,” Buck scoffed. “If you want to find the guilty party behind most of the unlawful shenanigans you should start by investigating Mr. Blackwell and the other cattle barons.”

  Beau Blackwell wore a bored look. “You boys can’t say you haven’t been warned.”

  Seth cocked his six-shooter and leveled it at Blackwell. “How would you like me to send you back to your maker?”

  Boone pushed Seth’s hand down. He fought to keep his voice level. “Don’t make threats you ain’t prepared to carry out.”

  “You’re going to let ‘em push us around?” Seth hissed.

  Joe Smith patted his spare Smith & Wesson. “I can draw as fast left-handed as I can right-handed. I shot down four cattle rustlers out of Laramie before any of them got a hand on their revolvers.”

  “You’re the Arkansas Kid,” Buck said, a mix of caution and respect reflected in his eyes.

  Rumor had it the Arkansas Kid had already killed a dozen men. The young killer directed a challenging look at Boone. “Wyoming hasn’t ever seen the like of me.”

  Boone cursed under his breath. The quickest way for an unproven gunslinger to make a reputation for himself was to gun down an experienced gunslinger. This was the exact reason he only came home when absolutely necessary. Boone narrowed his eyes. “Stay away from Sweet Creek and you won’t have any trouble with the Haven family.”

  One hand gripping Black Lightning’s mane, Colt raised his other hand and pointed his finger like a gun. “Do you want me to shoot him, Daddy?”

  The Arkansas Kid swung his Smith & Wesson in Colt’s direction.

  Margaret sprang to her feet. “Colt, hush, my love.”

  Buck grasped her arm. “Boone won’t allow any harm to come to the boy.”

  Sweat dampened Boone’s back. He fought to keep his voice level. “Put your gun away and get a move on.”

  The Arkansas Kid grinned, holstered his Smith & Wesson, and examined his thumbnail. “I’m real curious about Sweet Creek Ranch. Home of the Cowboy Assassin. I hear it’s a real pretty place.”

  Boone’s blood heated to a murderous boil. “Stay clear of my family.”

  “Sorry. Did I rile you?” the Arkansas Kid asked with an irksome grin.

  Beau Blackwell tipped his bowler hat. “Give my best to Ty and Ella.”

  Wheeling their horse around, he and the Arkansas Kid rode southward out of town.

  Seth gripped the handles of his beat-up pair of Dragoon revolvers. “We could have taken ‘em.”

  “Someone ought to plant a boot in the s
eat of your pants,” Boone growled, furious with himself for letting his guard down. Caught up in his fascination with Colt and lusting over Margaret Lily, he’d been ambushed. Taken by complete surprise. The lapse was unforgivable. “They had the jump on us.”

  “What kind of men threaten law-abiding citizens and children?” Brigetta asked, voice ripe with revulsion.

  Margaret clasped her hands. “I’m sure those men are the exception.”

  Boone swung onto the saddle and settled Colt on his lap. False comfort wouldn’t help anyone. “The West ain’t tamed. Not by a long shot.”

  Maggie sat and wrapped an arm around Brigetta.

  Boone nudged Lightning ahead and guided the travel party out of town.

  Leaving home to become a gunslinger had been plain stupid. Pa and Ma had been killed by miscreants seeking revenge for his actions. Boone wouldn’t be the cause of more death and misery. Once he settled matters with Margaret, he’d put her and Colt and Brigetta on an eastbound train, and he would leave Wyoming and stay away for good.

  CHAPTER TEN

  On edge after the unwelcome run-in with Blackwell and the Arkansas Kid and the plodding pace of the twenty-mile trip to Buck and Ugly Sally’s homestead cabin, Boone forced another forkful of beef and potato into his mouth, counting the moments until he could escape. He liked people fine, but years of solitary living left him yearning for the freedom and quiet of sleeping under a canopy of stars.

  Ugly Sally set a steaming apple pie smelling of cinnamon in the center of the homely table they were crowded around. Dressed in colorful Eastern finery, Margaret, Brigetta, and Colt looked like flowers among weeds sitting beside Seth, Garrett, and Buck in their homespun clothes.

  Buck patted his wife’s rump. “My Sally makes a prize-winning pie, don’t you, sweetheart?”

  A head taller than her husband, Ugly Sally’s beautiful smile competed for attention with her overlarge, bumpy nose. “I could cook mud pies and Buck would rave over them.”

  “I love pie,” Colt said, squeezing in between his mother and Brigetta.

  Margaret scooted closer to Boone, her slender arm pressing against his. She glanced up, her face suffused with color. “I can take Colt back onto my lap.”

  Boone should move over and give them both more room, but the electric attraction between them was as powerful now as it was the instant they laid eyes on each other four years ago. He cleared his throat. “Quarters won’t be so tight at Sweet Creek Ranch.”

  Ugly Sally cut into the pie and served a steaming slice to Maggie. “The Haven place is the prettiest ranch in Wyoming.”

  “If you couldn’t tell, Ugly Sally and my Ma were old friends,” Boone said.

  Brigetta wrinkled her nose. “Sally, why do you allow these clods to insult you?”

  Ugly Sally dished pie onto a plate and handed it to Brigetta. “Don’t be offended for my sake. I’m not blind. I know my looks, at best, are plain. If I’d have stayed in Bath, Maine, I might never have married. But I hadn’t been in Wyoming a week before I had five offers of marriage.” She smiled at Buck. “I relished the attention for several months until I couldn’t say no to this charmer. The men I’d disappointed took to calling me Ugly Sally. One of the things I fancy about the West is the blunt honesty. But I also know that if I was widowed tomorrow, I’d have men lining up at my door wanting to marry Ugly Sally. Pretty as you are Miss Brigetta, you will have cowboys shooting each other to gain your attention.”

  Boone knew Ugly Sally meant well, but Brigetta’s face grew red, revealing a rose birthmark. “America can keep her cowboys. I’m saving my money to return to Sweden.”

  Garrett forked up a bite a pie from Brigetta’s plate. “The Big Horn Mountains might suit you more than the Alps.”

  Brigetta cuffed Garrett’s sleeve. “What do you know about the Alps? You are the biggest clod of the bunch.”

  “If you say so, ma’am,” Garrett said, stuffing his fork into his mouth with a slight smile.

  Ugly Sally shoveled pie onto Boone’s plate. “Buck and I been talking. Aurora needs a sheriff. We think—”

  “Sweetheart,” Buck said, with affection, “You’re supposed to ply Boone with your pie before we get down to business.”

  Ugly Sally shrugged. “I figured I’d ask before he makes himself scarce.” She turned her eyes on Margaret. “If you can keep Boone in one place for more than an hour you’re doing good.”

  Looking uncomfortable, Maggie shifted, her arm brushing Boone’s.

  His blood hummed to life. Was she remembering their wedding night and the three days they’d spent holed up in the hotel room? Shoving the thought aside, he drew the conversation back to the business at hand. “State your business, Buck.”

  Buck drew Ugly Sally onto his lap. “We think you’d make a right dandy sheriff.”

  A strike from a branding iron would cause less of a jolt. “Whoa up. Stop talking nonsense.”

  Ugly Sally draped her arm around Buck’s neck. “What’s so farfetched about that? Bullies like Beau Blackwell and the Arkansas Kid will think twice before tangling with Sheriff Boone Haven.”

  Boone couldn’t believe his ears. “Me…a lawman?”

  Never short on roguish grins, Buck wagged his brows. “Sheriff sounds more respectable than gunslinger. But you’re both hired guns.”

  Colt crawled onto Maggie’s lap. “Sheriffs get to wear a badge with a star. Will your badge have a star, Daddy?”

  Boone’s collar felt too tight. A sheriff. Blast it, he liked the sound. He shook the idea away. Buck Goodman and Ugly Sally well might be the only folks in Aurora who’d think he would make a good sheriff. He patted Colt on the head. “I reckon the badge would have a star.” Needing fresh air, he stood and, tipping his hat on the way out the door, he thanked Ugly Sally for the meal and escaped into the dark.

  A stiff gale dogged his steps. He put his head down and retreated to the dilapidated barn to check on the horses. Lighting an oil lamp and hunting up a horse brush, he ran the bristles over Lightning’s back. Sheriff Haven. The idea was as laughable as Margaret Lily calling herself a schoolteacher.

  The barn door creaked open. “Boone?” Margaret’s urgent voice carried on the wind wafting through the patchwork walls.

  His pulse kicked. “What do you want?”

  The glow from the lamp shimmered over her honey-blond hair, contrasting sharply with the anger darkening her beautiful face. “I wasn’t spinning lies. I used the reward money I earned as a bounty hunter to attend a training school for kindergarten teachers.”

  The last forty-eight hours had held one surprise after another, and the longer he spent in her company the more he was coming to see he might have judged her too harshly. Thinking of her as Margaret Lily was a disservice. Her manners and behavior were above reproach. He cleared his throat. “Colt couldn’t ask for a more attentive, loving mother.”

  “You believe me?”

  Her rosy blush made his gut tighten. Past sins weren’t to blame for his anger. The real problem was rooted in his reaction to her. His body remembered and wanted Margaret Lily.

  She drifted closer. “I kept planning to tell you the truth about Frank and being a lady bounty hunter, but I could find the right time. I cried my heart out when Frank told me you were dead. I never meant to hurt—”

  He tossed the horse brush aside and advanced on her. “Blast you! I don’t want your pity. I want to hear you panting my name.” He pulled her against his body and crushed his mouth to hers.

  “Boone,” she groaned.

  He stroked her back and nipped her jaw.

  She knocked his Stetson from his head, fisted her hands in his hair, and drew his mouth to her neck.

  Searing heat raced through his veins. He scooped her up and headed for the nearby haystack, intent on learning if she still wore that compact derringer strapped to her thigh. “You’re sinfully gorgeous, darling.”

  “Boone,” Maggie kicked her feet and struggled against him. “Boone, stop. We can’t.”
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  Fighting off the fervor clouding his good sense, he gently set her on her feet. “I don’t know what got into me.”

  She raced to the barn door. Pausing, she looked back. Wisps of golden hair floated over her face. Her neck was chafed red from the stubble of his beard. “It’s not just you. I’m equally at fault.”

  Then she was gone, the lamp light wavering from the draft of the door swinging closed. Boone snatched up his Stetson and beat the dirt from the brim. What just happened? Where did this leave them? Blast it! He wanted Maggie more than ever.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  After another day of jouncing travel over rutted trails, with only an old horse blanket between her and the wooden buckboard bench, Maggie welcomed the sight of Garrett’s rustic homestead. The jutting spires of the Big Horn Mountains in the distance put the tiny cabin and lean-to barn to shame. But the waving grassland, dotted with purple and pink wildflowers, was absolutely gorgeous.

  Her face warmed, recalling Boone’s gravelly voice and the dangerous thrill his words had aroused. You’re sinfully gorgeous, darling. Haunted by the moment of passionate insanity they’d shared, the close quarters of Garrett’s one-room cabin gave her pause. She would seek a private moment with Boone and clear the air. She wasn’t a silly schoolgirl who needed to go tiptoeing around a man.

  The horses drawing the wagon shifted restlessly. Garrett, who had taken over the driving from Buck, hopped to the ground and offered his hand to Brigetta.

  Bri climbed down, eschewing Garrett’s help. “I didn’t believe you, but your outhouse is the same size as your cabin.”

  Garrett’s lips twitched with a smile. “It was almost larger. Ox suggested building a two-seater privy, but I wanted to save the lumber for a chicken coop.”

  Ox, a tall, strapping young man, stared dumbstruck at Bri. Garrett nudged his elbow. “This here is Ox. He’s giving me a hand, getting the ranch up and running.”

  Plump cheeks flaming red, Ox tipped his extra-large cowboy hat. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “This is the start of a real ranch?” Bri asked, flustered.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Garrett said, with pride. “Someday, it’ll be a right pretty one too.”